This is my uncle Russell Klatt. I never got to know him real well. After graduating college he moved around a bunch doing awesome things. I know at one point when I was a kid he was working with a wildlife group to study and protect an endangered owl species. He used to send photos to my mom. They were really cool.
Today is Groundhog Day, and Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow. Or he didn’t see it. I’m actually writing this before Phil was put to work, and I don’t have same the prognostication abilities as rodents. Normally I wouldn’t give two thoughts about this “holiday,” let alone a few hundred written words, but something from those two thoughts I wasn’t giving piqued my interest.
“My dad could beat up your dad!” Was a constant playground taunt. Well, supposedly. I’ve never actually heard anyone say it, nor have I ever said it. But according to flickering pictures it’s a thing kids say to one another. Sure we all want to think our dads are better than other people’s dads, but we end up taking this mentality to nearly all other things we like.
Well it’s the end of another year, or the start depending on your view and time zone. And I could do like everyone else and reflect on the year that was or make resolutions for the upcoming year. But we all know I’m not like everyone else. The year was fine, next year will have ups and downs and I can only the best me I can be, blah blah blah. And I’m mostly not a fan of this holiday and will probably be in bed by ten, because I just don’t care. But I wanted to post about a few random thoughts I have been thinking about. Some things that are too short for their own dedicated posts. Back at CJS these would have been considered random musings. Just some things you can think about while waiting for the ball to drop. Or just some things to make you wonder why you read this site. Either way, enjoy or don’t. Whatever.
Over the weekend I participated in the 48 Hour Film Project in Denver. This is an annual event in which you are given only 48 hours to write, film, and edit a 4 to 7 minute movie. Friday at 7 p.m. your team randomly chooses a genre and is given the required character, line of dialog, and prop. Then it’s off to the races! I had fun this year and I would like to share my experience.
The car came to a stop. I got out and viewed the road ahead. Sight was limited, but I kept looking. I knew I had to go. I wasn’t sure what was out there. I have no idea what lies ahead, but as Thoreau told me, that is but a tiny matter to what lies inside me.
It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times; or so the opening to A Tale of Two Cities goes, or something close to that. This is my version of that book, or probably not. Aside from that first line I know nothing about the book. This is probably more like Country Mouse, City Mouse. But also not really. Ok, here it is: recently I took a couple of trips to two different areas and I learned a few things about myself.
What? The actual line is, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”? You stupid monkey.
On March 8th, 2014 I met Keith and Corrie at local brewery to try out some new beers. I had a few, but kept the intake low enough that I could still drive home, where I got some Thai food and drank another beer. While I have had a few tastes since then, this beer would be the last one I drank.
I was recently talking to a friend about birthdays. I’m usually one to not care too terribly much about my birthday. I don’t like to be the center of attention or make a big deal out of nothing. But this friend of mine said she approaches birthdays in a different way. It’s more of a reflective day for her. She re-evaluates where she is in life and where she wants to be. Or to use a Bouncing Souls lyric, “Who am, who I was, and who I want to be.” I liked this notion, and based the past year, I thought I would take this approach with my upcoming birthday.
It’s the time of the year when most of the internet decides to look back on the year. When I do that one of the first things I see is the summer afternoon where I curled up on my bed, clutched my childhood stuffed animal (a mouse I call Eekers), and listened to one of my first punk rock albums: The Swingin’ Utters’ A Juvenile Product of the Working Class. I found much comfort as those songs transported me back to middle school days.
Do you remember middle school? Yeah, it was nightmare. But I still found that better than the state I was in. So when I look back on the year that was, it looks pretty miserable, and for the first time in years I am actually looking forward to the New Year’s holiday.