Sometimes My Stupidity Amazes Me

As you may or may not know, I have a Craftsman lawnmower that is every bit as old as I am. I paid $120ish dollars for it a few years ago and after a couple cans of orange spray paint, it became a horrible version of the General Lee from The Dukes of Hazard. I did this mainly as joke and less an attempt to produce something beautiful. The thought of my neighbors having to stare at this abomination as I putt around the yard makes me smile widely. Despite being in good condition for it's age, 'The General' as I frequently call it much to the dismay of my wife was plagued by several nagging problems.

The ignition switch is tricky, I have to turn it a certain way and hold my mouth ever so slightly agape before the engine will crank. I have to manually hold the choke on the carburetor while doing a rain dance, plus everything needed to make the engine crank. The chain guard being old and bent has caused the chain to break numerous times. One summer I probably replaced 4 or more master links before I found the exact problem, the guys at the hardware store were not surprised at all to see me every week. The nut holding the blade to the spindle on the deck is kinda stripped and if I hit anything other than grass, it's gotta be flipped on it's side and beat mercilessly until it's once again snug enough to mow. The belts slip, the tires are all full of fix-a-flat and it's as loud as it is ugly. BUT at the end of the day, the yard is mowed and it's still easier than push mowing. I left out one little detail... the battery.

The battery has never been good. However, after a few jump starts at the beginning of the mowing season it will kinda start charging and will work for the rest of the year until the mowing season ends. Thus, I have never really contemplated getting a new battery. I have a good charger, but the method of choice is usually to hook it up to the red top optima battery in my old Camaro (I know, how trashy can one guy be right?) But yesterday I learned a very important lesson, a lesson that at least 3 men I have learned my 'man lessons' from had warned me about. Always take my rings off while working on ANYTHING.

My father and older brother were mechanics by trade for most of my childhood. I grew up in a garage and I still love all things motorized. My friend Corey, who for all intents and purposes, is my other older brother and I have spent countless hours working on things over the years. I have always watched him take his rings off before working on anything. I was never one for wearing rings in the past, so this was never an issue. I hated any hand accessories, I never wore rings, bracelets or even watches. But now having a wedding ring and several others, I rarely bother to take them off.

A day or so before my father passed away, he gave me his rings. One of which had a curious little notch in it that was the result of him accidentally arcing electricity through it and severely burning his finger. After that, he made sure his rings were nowhere near anything he was working on. Needless to say, he had warned me of this very event. My brother had warned me to avoid wearing rings at least 6 billion times. I beheld Corey first hand for years making sure his rings were in pocket. So yesterday was my second time using the riding mower this year, I had been push mowing due to the blade being loose as indicated before. As I ever so carefully turn the key, my fears are confirmed. The battery is dead. My rings were on my fingers. How dumb can I be right?

Like always I rolled it to the Camaro and began to hook up the jumper cables. The space the battery sits in is kinda tight due to the location and it's a bit like playing Operation. I suck at Operation. As I hooked the last positive to the post of the battery, my ring made contact with the side of the car and the clamp. A shower of sparks began to fly and as I tried to pull my hand out it got wedged there for way longer than it should have. After what seemed like 15 minutes I finally freed my finger. The ring was still glowing a bit and there was an ever so tiny flame underneath that I promptly blew out. This particular ring doesn't come off easy under normal circumstances so I knew I was in trouble when I tugged gently and it was still firmly in place smoldering. I could do nothing but helplessly stare it as I made my way to the water hose. I doused it with water and gave another slight tug. This time the ring broke lose and came off...with more skin than I would have believed possible. I couldn't help but laugh.

There I stood, fully deserving of what I had just experienced. I knew better, I felt so stupid. But I also felt some sense of closeness to my father. Despite any pain I was in, I found myself smiling. My ring has the same little curious notch in it now. I realized that no matter how many times you are told not to do something, it sometimes takes first hand experience to truly learn NOT to do it. I will NEVER wear my rings again while working on anything.

Lastly, I leave you with the least gross picture I have. Enjoy. :D

My Blood Pours Out In Black And White...

So I have a blog. I like to write. Yet I never sit down and write blogs. I can directly blame this key flaw in my logic to my recent build up of mental anguish. The pressure in my head builds and without this blog acting as a bypass valve, I have gone quite insane. I have a lifetime of regrets. Missed opportunities, blown chances, and moments while reflecting that I cringe at my own words and actions.

Here's to having dreams and not chasing them. I consider myself a dreamer, I think we all start out that way. I once believed that life would walk up and hand me opportunities by the boatload and I would just ride an easy wave of good fortune right into my childhood dream of being an entertainer. I thought positive thoughts and meager talent was enough to shoot for the stars. No one ever gave me the 'you can do anything' speech, though I never received the 'you suck and can do nothing right' speech either. This spurred me at an early age to formulate my own opinion that someday, despite being born in the middle of nowhere without the financial means to ever leave said nowhere, that I would someday be up in lights.

But I'm here now to tell you boys and girls, in case you weren't aware, life does not work that way. It takes a lot of drive and hard work to get ahead in anything, but us artsy kids often lack both. The people on your iPods and television screens didn't just trip and fall into fortune and fame. Many times people with very little 'talent' to speak of are at the very forefront of entertainment, while truly talented people pump gas down the street to make ends meet. I am by NO means saying that I'm amazing at anything enough that someone would pay good money to see it. As well, I'm not saying that the occasional 'Cinderella Story' doesn't happen, but it's the exception and not the rule. The fact is that I feel like I have greatly let myself down. Here is the saddest fact of all. I'm not alone.

We've grown up in an age where television and more recently the internet have deceived everyone under 35 into thinking that they are or at any second, could become superstars. That we are owed something. That we are culturally relevant. That we are on the verge of fame. I'm another Snooki just waiting to happen. I know there are exceptions to those statements as well.

I have friends who are well grounded. They grew up and did what is expected of them in the south. They got married, started reproducing as quickly as possible and working 9 to 5 jobs. Sprinkle in some church, NASCAR and Wal-Mart, and they are able to put away their silly childish dreams and exude some semblance of happiness and contentment. I envy these friends, for my brain just isn't wired in such a manner. I'm not implying I'm special or above anyone. It's more an issue of not understanding why I can't be happy simply where I am. I don't have it bad. I'm very fortunate to have the support system that I have and I'm thankful. That makes it tough to pinpoint the source of the uneasiness and malaise.

I have other friends who have picked a coast or a much larger city, fled to it and are now in some form of entertainment or artistic expression even if they themselves are not the main event. They are at least in the same arena. They are working in something they love whether they still dream of one day being a star attraction or they have settled for just being a part of it all, they too seem at least satisfied. I envy them just as much. I still believe success in anything artistic takes an amount of confidence bordering on arrogance that I just have trouble with. I am a very logical person and I have trouble believing my own hype. Confidence and humility are in a constant knife fight in my brain.

The abridged version boils down to this. If I had only tried harder, put forth some more effort, then I could settle happily into obscurity. Live a quiet, normal life and be content. But knowing that I never really tried, that's what will eat at me. That's what keeps me up at night. I know I should let go of all this regret, but after clenching it so tightly, for so long it's a tall order.

If you're still reading at this point, please don't think this is a pity party. Please don't go away thinking 'Wow that dude's is a few days from a shot gun in his mouth.' I'm still a musician, it's all I know how to really be. Our band Level Ground is doing well and we are working very hard one day at a time to make our passion our profession. We are able to reach out to others who are struggling with various problems through the Celebrate Recovery program. Just as I am struggling every day to stop looking back and move forward. Regret can only hold you back, let it go. Just let it go.