Point of No Return
Ours is an ever-changing world. What was acceptable in the past may be frowned upon today. What existed in the past may not exist today. And what wasn’t there yesterday might be there today.
Life is filled with metaphorical peaks and valleys. Inevitably, we all face those sacred moments in time that lift us to great heights, or sink us into seemingly endless despair.
Cal Ripken Jr. and Eddie Murray each hit approximately 14,276 home runs in my neighborhood. Art Monk and Charley Taylor made about 10,000 touchdown catches apiece on the same pristine field. And Len Bias probably dropped 100,000 points on our local basketball court.
There are times when I’m seated at my desk with a vacant look in my eyes and a smattering of profanity dripping off my lips. The truth be told, that’s my general make-up at the office, but it just escalates on those uneasy Wednesday mornings when I can’t think of anything to write about at all for that week’s column.
“A firearms instructor in southern Massachusetts has been assigned to other duties after his gun accidentally went off while he was teaching a class on weapons safety.”
Have you ever had that metaphorical bucket of cold water poured on your head just when you thought things were going as well as they ever have?
How about 18 million gallons of cold water?
It’s been suggested that I’m a bit of a “Momma’s Boy.”
Despite my rampant cynicism and me-against-the-world philosphy on life, I’m somewhat easily astounded.
There comes a time in each man’s life when he must look himself in the mirror, take an honest appraisal of himself and come to terms with what he truly is in the grand scheme of things.
At first, I thought it was merely an aroma-induced mirage. There I was, sweating and cursing to myself as I was slogging through some yard work on Sunday, when the sweet odor overwhelmed my senses. My original thought was that I was having some kind of imaginary sensation coursing through my veins because my body wasn’t used to the physical toll I was putting on it.
Tired of hearing about Barrack Obama’s vile-spewing preacher friend? Fed up with stories about Hillary Clinton dodging imaginary sniper bullets on her way to a tea party? Has your stomach taken as much as it can when envisioning the very thought of John McCain having an affair with, well, anybody?
The world is just a little smaller these days.
We all encounter a wide array a people over our lifetimes. Be it in a social setting, religious observance, work or some other venue, we meet people — some that we really enjoy, and others that we could do without pretty easily. The majority of the people we meet are exactly that: People we meet.
I was talking to a good friend of mine the other day who is also in this strange business of newspapers. He was telling me that he was driving down the road for an assignment where he was to take up position outside the home of the mother of Ashley Alexandra Dupre, the alleged prostitute involved in the scandal surrounding former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer.
Can you feel it in the air?
Just in case you missed it, Brett Favre retired earlier this week.
I’ve managed to steal time.
I’ve been Betamaxed.
Actually, the realization just hit me that many of you might not remember Betamax, and the battle for technological supremacy it had with VHS during the 1980s. An even scarier thought is the notion that some of you might not even be familiar with the VHS format. So, in a nutshell, I got Betamaxed, and I’m getting old.
Man likes to push himself. For the most part, we like to test our limits, exert ourselves to reaching new heights and attempt to get more out of ourselves than a logical mind would think possible. It’s why people climb mountains, or work long hours or practice our passions tirelessly — knowing that perfection is out of our grasp, but still certainly worth pursuing.
The scene seemed all too familiar.
It’s creeping again.
English is a language of adaptation. The language itself is a conglomeration of already-established dialects, and has continued to grow as it assimilates itself to jargon, new technology and conversational fads. It’s a beautiful thing, in that the way we converse with one another is through a breathing, growing idiom that changes just as frequently as the rest of the world around us does.
Man, some folks are just flat-out cold.
I’m starting to think it might be a good idea for me to start enjoying the wonders of tropical fish.
Though I’m cynical in regards to most things in life, there is still a part of me that leans to the idealistic side.
I’m not exactly what you’d consider a conspiracy theorist.