Saturday, June 27, 2009


Oh, but you must! It's a kick-ass game. It's like golf (obviously) but it is played with flying discs, heavier and smaller than your average Frisbee. There are different styles of discs--some more malleable than others. Putting discs, mid-range discs and driving discs. Each disc maintains a different trajectory. Some hook like motherfuckers and others are more stable--these fly straighter to the basket.

I have been playing for about fifteen years now. It is a great way to get outside and get some exercise and have loads of fun. If you haven't tried it, do! You'll get hooked, just like I did a decade-and-a-half ago.

[Yes, I am getting paid by Innova to write this. :-P]

Friday, June 26, 2009


Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, and the King of Pop.

Damn. It always seems to work that way, doesn't it?

McMahon was 86 and Farrah had cancer, but Michael Jackson? He was only 50 or so. He left the life as strangely as he led it, apparently. My thoughts are that the stressors of his life (the fame, the fall from grace) finally had their way with his body. But, who knows?

It is strange, though, how the Trifecta of Famous Deaths always seems to be dead-on.

Um. No pun intended?

Sunday, June 21, 2009


June 21st. Fathers' Day. June 21st. The first day of Summer.

It has been about seven-and-a-half months since my father passed away. I haven't thought about him every day, but, often, when I have felt like I were in a hole from which I could not extricate myself, the memory of Robert Raymond came to my mind and I found myself digging deeper within myself to "make Dad proud." (Or, at least, to not embarrass Dad.)

Dad is in another realm, now. He lives here on Earth only through memories and objects of his that just scream Daddy B. His safari hat, for instance. Every time I look at that damned thing (hell, every time I think about that thing) I tear up. He always wore it a jaunty angle and the hat was him. Sunglasses beneath the brim, his big beard beneath the glasses. It is then when I miss the hell out of him; and it is then when the final weeks of his life come smacking me back in the head with a clarifying jangle. I remember his final days and I remember the sense of impotence that I--we all--felt. I wanted to hasten his exit Stage Left, yet I didn't want him to leave. No one should have to leave this life, this transition station, in that way. In all actuality, his was a quick exit. He was really only in a helpless state for about two weeks. Yeah, I can say that. "Only" two weeks. Try living it, Adam. Where each minute seems like an hour. Where some limbs are paralyzed and to speak is a Siphyean chore. But.

Let's remember the good times, shall we? I tend to sink readily--almost greedily--into gloom and doom and dark shadows.

Growing up, Dad was always the strong bear of a man. Seen from a little kid's perspective, he was larger than life. Big booming voice, super-wide shoulders, big bushy black beard. Thick muscled forearms. A ubiquitous glint in his eyes. He was a mischievous guy, he was a playful guy; he kept us three kids entertained. And he worked hard. He worked his ass off. An engineer at Chrysler, he would come home during the week for the dinner hour and then shoot off to his second business, a yarn and loom shop. He'd put in about five or six hours there--business was definitely not always booming--and then he'd come home and go to sleep and then start it up all over again the next day. I'd like to say that I got my sense of hard work from my father, but, no. I'm a little lazy, sometimes. When I'm at work, sure, I bust my ass. But I have not nearly the drive my dad had. And that's okay. I'm fine with that. Everyone is different. Everyone has their own pace to life. My dad's was hyperkenetic...until he retired. And then he was off to globe-trotting. Kenya, India, China, Vietnam.

I miss him, sure. It's a part of life, sure. But, today, on Fathers' Day, I just want to send a shout out to Bobby B., wherever he is. I miss you, Dad, I love you, Dad, and you'll always be the number one dad in my life. I just hope that I can live up to what you did. I love you, father.


Tuesday, June 16, 2009


We get spoiled as adults, I think. Though life can be tough (and often is a bee-yotch), I think that we take for granted the luxuries of life. Take, for instance, the automobile. Most of us have cars, as adults. It is only when they're on the fritz that we truly understand how much of a privilege, how much of a luxury, car ownership is.

My brake lights have been staying on, when the car is in any gear other than Park, for about a month, now. I--and my co-worker--tried installing a new brake switch today and, when that didn't solve the quandary, I drove my little Focus hatchback to the garage after work and dropped it off. I told the uber-sun-touched woman behind the desk what the problem was and then I commenced to hoof it to my house. The garage is located at Nine-and-a-half and Hilton and I live two blocks east of Ten-and-a-half and Hilton. A little more than a mile away. My backpack was slung over my left shoulder and my red plastic Coleman lunchbox was in my right hand.

Now, I used to walk to and from when I was in grade school. 'Twas about a mile from my house. There and back. Two miles a day.

To have never had is far better than to have had and then lost.

Exercise excluded, I think the difference between walking when you're a kid and walking when you're an adult is that you've been conditioned, as a "grown-up", to go from Point A to Point B in as little time as possible. As a kid, you just haven't been initiated into the Kar Klub and so you know not what could be.

Slow it down. Walk it. Right? Well, no. Not really. Actually, I like being able to climb into a wheeled machine and go from Point A to Point B in eight minutes rather than thirty.

But, here's the rub: I like walking, once in a while. The world slows down. I'm not in such a rush. I see things that I'd never have seen had I been behind the wheel. I guess this is kind of akin to taking rural highways on trips rather than bulleting along on the super expressways. You see more of Life.

I'm sorry. I'm taking a simple walk from the garage and turning it into some kind of life experience. It truly wasn't all that. made me think. It stretched my mind, a bit. I didn't see anything special. Nothing to write home about. Though what I saw was Ordinary, seen through a different perspective, it became Extraordinary. [Just a brief interjection, here: "Extraordinary" seems like a misnomer. If something is "extraordinary" would that not mean that it were "ordinary" jacked up; would it not be "ordinary" on steroids? If so, why would that be a superlative? Wouldn't it mean that whatever was just as ordinary, if not more ordinary, as ordinary could be?]

Anyway, things are seen differently through a walker's eyes. Blurs of pedestrians become three-dimensional people. Dogs on the sidewalk become, perhaps, threats instead of four-legged sidewalk canterers. A house's landscaping can be appraised at a more moderate pace. It's actually kind of cool.

This really wasn't meant to be a kind of slow-down-and-smell-the-roses type of post, but I guess it turned into just that.

JUNE 16TH, 2009, 1:00 AM

I just haven't felt much like writing, lately. I don't's just one of those things. My verve for writing will come back to me.

In other news, June 16th was/is my mom and dad's anniversary. I forget how many years they were together. I think it was, like, 45 years, or something. This will be the first time in almost half a century that my mom will be apart from my dad on their anniversary date. She's a tough one, my mom. She's quite emotional, but she also keeps her feelings to herself. If that sounds contradictory, well, I guess it is.

She's going to Port Huron tomorrow, to the trailer, to spend some time by the water. I have the feeling that she won't be by herself. Memories can be almost tangible, sometimes. Dad will be with her.

I wish her a peaceful, loving, time.

Monday, June 01, 2009


For Meagan Elizabeth.



Freddy had it kicking, on this one.

Enjoy, babe.