Birthdays, a Birthday and One More Birthday.

June 3rd 1972. Austin, Texas.
Yes, that's the day I was brought forth. My parents have since referred to it as "Black Wednesday". This year I turned 38. Yes, really. Feeling old. Kids I skate with have never been in a world without the Simpsons. They have no idea of the horror of a Reagan Administration. The USSR is just something in old Atlases'. The US was never without a professional soccer league (not that anyone cares even now).
Still, its not that bad. I have a family I'd kill or die for. I'm sitting out in the backyard smoking a hookah (more on this in a later post) writing this on my Blackberry. I have a lot to be thankful for. And unlike many other people in my generation, I am. I'm healthier than I've ever been (shut up about cigars, pipes and hookahs. I said healthier, not healthy) and have almost a year and a half sober. I have a better outlook than ever before. I can just about always find the positive in any situation and am just about always smiling. Finding joy in everyday life is an awesome way to live and I highly recommend it.


June 3rd 1998. Takoma Park, Maryland.
Gareth Jae Graham was given to me. Yes, we share a birthday, how awesome is that? As his mom and I held him and each-other crying with joy at this perfect, tiny thing, I jokingly asked her what she was going to do for my birthday the following year. She left me. Win again.
Gareth gets his name from two sources. First, it starts with a "G" (both my dad's and my name start with "G") and second, it's Welsh. That's a nod to my mothers father and his family (as a side note, they had to leave Wales when my Great Grandfather killed an English-man in a bar when he was told he could no longer speak in his native language. So yeah, fuck the crown).
His middle name comes from my best friend I met in elementary school. I know he'd have hated for me to use his full name. We took the first letter and put a Welsh spin on the spelling. Jamil died shortly after I turned 21 and I still miss him terribly. That I couldn't save him is one of only two regrets I will always carry with me. Don't get me wrong, I don't beat myself up about it. I try to use it as a reminder that I need to cherish every moment I'm gifted to spend with loved ones. And that no sacrifice is too great for those we care about.

June 12th, 2002. Wahsington DC.
Blaise Graham Gambino was born to the most loving mother anyone has ever had or could hope to have. It is with great embarrassment and humiliation that I confess I was not present. There is no defense for the decisions I made at the time and I will not attempt to defend myself now. All I can say is that I am no longer the person I was then. The reasons for my not being present are not something I'm going to go into here but it is my firm hope that someday I will be able to be the father to Blaise I should have been from that day. This is, as you may have guessed, my second and biggest regret. Blaise is one of the most amazing people I have ever met and I'm glad to be apart of his life. I truly hope that after he realizes he has this to hold against me, he will forgive me. There is a lesson here too but one I hope no one else has to learn. Kids will bring out the best in you as well as show you the worst in you.

June 26 1994. Charlestown West (by God) Virginia.
My dog Bezboo was born. My Grandparents had a cabin just outside of Charlestown that we went to on weekends in the summer. It was my first summer living on my own. My mom hated (and still hates) dogs. I was always told "You can have a dog when you live on your own". So we went one weekend I and I got my dog. She was 4 weeks old when I called dibs on her and we went back the following weekend to get her. She has been my friend, companion and sometimes the only thing alive that would put up with my shit. I had names narrowed down to Shenna (from the Ramones song), Anarchy, Bes and Bamboo (used as a symbol in Eastern art for the start of a new path). As I was just starting out on my own I was leaning towards Bamboo but really liked the idea of Bes. The description in the symbol book was something like "A grotesque figure with tongue hanging out placed over doors to ward off evil and protect." What's that, if not a dog? So Bezboo it was (I liked the "Z". What? Z's are cool).

I have way more to tell about my affection for my kids and dog than you have patience to read about, so I'll leave it at this; I am fully aware that having lived my life the way I have, I in no way deserve these gifts. I am fully aware that I have taken for granted these miraculous people and animal. I know that I'm as out of chances as one can get. I can only say I see what I have and am lucky beyond words that I still have them in my life and I promise that I will continue to work just as hard as I have for the last year. I know I can never make up for the past and won't try to. But to each of these amazing people (and one dog) I can say "I love you with all of my heart and will do so for the rest of my life".

Just Checking In.

Hey gang (if you guys still read this), I know it's been a while, but don't fret, I have plenty of things to talk about. I'm just kinda swamped. I'll have two or three posts in the next few days. "What do we have to look forward to?" I hear you ask with bated breath. Birthdays, back problems, a new hobby and a lifestyle change (By "lifestyle change", I mean a new greener way of doing something, not an admission of some deeply buried... well, I'm not gay.) among other things. Also, dart season starts next week so you should expect some rants about that.
Check back in a while and read the goodness.
Oh and by the by, my mustache is looking good. With a little wax I could remind you of someone...

End of Week Check-In

It's a long weekend. It's been a long week. Here's some goofy shit I ran into recently. I hope you all have a good time this weekend and remember to take pics of weird stuff and send 'em in.

Mixed nuts;

This morning on the bus-

A guy digging out belly button lint. Thankfully, his own.








I found the pic of the lady and her Tonka-sized "yellow" flower.










Here's an old pic of some random ass t-shirt. The wearer was about 60. I'm not sure what the artist is trying to convey, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's a commentary on the general dissatisfaction of today's youth with the woman's right movement on the sea floor. Or that divers like boobies.



This guys not trying hard enough, the cars not even the right color.

Quotes of Note;

When asked by Alice what he would like to do for his birthday next week, my 11 year old said, and I quote exactly word for word, "Bacon." Now I have no idea how one goes about doing bacon, but I'm all about finding out.

It's a tattoo, not a competition.

This is something that's been eating at me for a long time. I guess you could say I've been thinking about writing this long before I had an outlet for it and now I have a nifty new blog to unburden myself, and pass it on to you.
I have tattoos. I have what some of my friends and family would describe as a lot of tattoos. I don't personally think of them as "a lot" because I know many people that have lots more.
I love my tattoos, I love having them and I love getting them. I really enjoy the whole experience. The buzzing sound the machine makes, the smell of the inks, disinfectants, various soaps and the shop itself. Meeting and talking to the artist. Meeting and talking to the other tattooies in the shop. The process of the design. The feel, yes even that. The pain is a very real and special part. You get a rush from it, your body releases endorphins in response to the pain. You have to go inward and experience the pain but not let it bother you. It's wild. I love talking about tattoos. Everywhere I go someone asks me about them and usually leaves with more than they wanted to know.
The thing I hate about my tattoos is the assumption of competition. Just about everywhere I go someone is compelled to tell me about a brother, friend, guy that walks a dog or ex-boyfriend that has way more than I do. I get "Yeah, but I know this guy that has waaaay more than you do..." I don't care. I mean I really don't care. I am fully aware that there are thousands upon thousands of people that have more tattoos than I do. And I don't care. You know what? They don't care either. It's like people think there's some International Tattoo Championship(tm) at stake and they have to tell me I'm falling behind.
I've always wanted to tell the women that say these things to me, "My brother's girlfriend? Yeah, shes way prettier than you." Just out of the blue and total deadpan. "Hey, hows it going? Nice weather. Man, this girl I know has way bigger tits than you. Do you like the Who?". Guys could get the same thing. "You watch the DC United match last night? Wow, your sideburns look like you did them in the dark, this guy that walks my dog cuts his way better."
I'm not sure why people feel the need to let me know my position on the International Tattoo Championship(tm)leader-board but I can tell you no one with tattoos has ever told me about it. Maybe it's something I'm not meant to know about. Maybe somewhere out there in non-tattoo society they're keeping tabs and will give out an award after they all compare notes. I don't really know but if that's the case, I wish they'd hurry up and give it out 'cause I'm tired of hearing about it.

Week in review!

So this week I worked. Did laundry. Did dishes...yadda yadda yadda.
Really this was a week about setting boundaries for an ADHD addled 7 year old. He is not a fan. His mom and I are not a fan of his not being a fan. The circle begins.
Adventures on the bus;
As a public transportation guy I see a lot of goofy shit. I see people act in ways that I never thought I'd see. I'll try to dig up some pics of some of the nut jobs I've seen. Like the guy with his pants around his knees. No, not a teenager with bad fashion sense, just some random guy that could either hold onto the bus railing or his pants but, for some inexplicable reason, not both. Or the lady with a yellow plastic rose in her hair. It was as big as a Tonka Dumptruck and the color of pee in the snow. There was the person of indeterminate sex that had an old shoelace as a headband too.
Today we were at a light and the bus driver (who was really friendly and chatty) was telling a young woman at a stop that she was too pretty to be smoking a cigarette. She said it was because of stress and the bus driver was just beginning to tell her stress is a choice (I generally agree) when the woman next to her cut in yelling "We don't want to talk to you! Get your ugly black ass out of here!". The younger woman and everyone on the bus started laughing. The young lady then started saying she didn't know the old crazy lady. The crazy lady was flipping out telling the bus driver to leave (the light was still red), screeching, and giving us all the finger and everyone on the bus was telling the young lady to give the old crazy lady a cigarette 'cause obviously she was the one who was stressed out. At any rate it was a trip. The bus driver was cool about the whole thing and didn't really seem bummed about it. I told him he needed some water balloons for this kind of shit. I think he's gonna get some. If it were me, I'd have hit the bitch with a rock.

People watching;
A guy playing air keyboard outside the Giant. No music. No headphones. Dude was jamming though.
Lady fishing in her lawn. No water. No bucket to cast into. Just sitting and reelin' it in, real slow. I wanted to ask if they were biting today but something about the scene reminded me of a Far Side strip and I went on about my businesses.
That's about it for my week. I'll probably remember some more details later and put them in next weeks and as I do this more, I'll take notes and fill you in on some more of the questionable members of my community.

Ahhh, parenting.

The lady had it right. "Kids suck." Raising kids is not what's its cracked up to be. You work all week to make money to buy the little fuckers food. You work all night to keep the house safe and clean. You work all day to educate them. You make the picky bastards one of the two things they actually eat every night for dinner. And do the dishes they leave on the table. Then, when you have the audacity to ask them on Sunday to clean their room, you get "you suck, jackass."


Remind me why I can't beat them?

This is a test.

This is a test to see if I can post from my mobile. It's prolly best to just ignore it.