I will be overweight. Probably.

As I chewed, I relished the bits of black cookie. I glanced into the rear view mirror, noticed the edges of my mouth surrounded with my leftovers, and knew that I could be come a victim. My eyes tried to lie, but like any criminal, I finally got caught.

I have F.P.; you know, fat potential. Most overweight people blame genes. Others use eating to drown their sorrows.. That's me. I find comfort in the Oreo milkshake at jack-in-the-box. I can admit it. That is the first step in overcoming addictions and problems, admitting that you have an issue. Its sad really, how much better I felt after sucking down 32 oz. of ice-cream and whipped cream.

Second step, in overcomng a problem, is creating a p.o.a.; you know, a plan of action, which includes goals. All of which I haven't come up with. So, I'm going to turn that F.P. into a reality. I'm gunna have a belly, double chin, and a super expensive life insurance deductible.

One in the same

Netflix will be the end of me. Here I am, 3:00 am... Just finished watching a movie... So stupid.

So, lately, I have been watching a lot of Al Pacino. He is pretty much the same character over and over; Gritty, no nonsense, terrible at keeping his life in order, the kind of a guy that makes your hair stand on end when he stares at you. He is intense. Whether he is playing a criminal, cop, or coach, I wouldn't mess with him. He has become a master at that role. Just like Will Ferrel at comedy, Oprah at TV, Keanue Reeves at... Sucking.. As well as Nicolas Cage and Brendan Fraiser....

As you watch Al, throughout his movie career, he seems to just get more tired, heavier bags appear under his eyes, and less patience. I've learned a few things from Al, as I've seen his aging. I do not think Al is a role model. I bet he is a piece of garbage, even the characters he portrays aren't that great, but nonetheless, they have some redeeming qualities that make you root for Pacino. He is loyal. That is super important; to stay loyal to family and friends. His Trust was gained, earned, over a lifetime, and could disappear in instant. He's got a good heart, somewhere, underneath all of the blood he just shed. One thing that has really struck me is that in the end, the previous choices PAC made, were his ultimate demise.

Fate is determined by us. We become exactly who we want to be. It's not easy to be our better self, to be honest, to be good. In reality, I think Pacino keeps playing these roles because that is who he really is, a man full of guilt. He doesn't appear happy, and the only peace he attained is when he was succumbed to sleep, via death. What a sad life to replay over and over.

We are the product of our choices. That is the common theme here. That is what the cowboy of the dusty plain was saying. External influences can affect you in some way, but it is adhering to those externalities that change your life. We can be like Al, always running from the past, our future determined already with disaster because he waited too long to fix his problems. It's all up to us.

Pfffffttttt

I wished I had a super cool name. One that has a real kick to it, like Roberto Luongo, Mason McGinnis, or Xavier Carter. I wished that until I watched the documentary "Freakonomics". They did this study that showed that the more unique your name is or culturally charged, the less likely you'll get a job. People are racist. So in essence, having the most dull, boring name, is the best option.

I have decided that my first boy will be Michael or Douglas. How American does Doug sound? My daughter, Leslie, a total mothers name. Then, to test if this theory is true, I will name my son Ravi and my next daughter imanotwhite. purfect.

Where in the world did LeBron come from? Bryan? Lebryan? Bryan's nickname was Bron?

A poet, from a dusty plain

One morning I woke up, really early. I didn't know what to do with myself. I worked out, read a little, ate, showered... Sorry for all those Facebook updates... Then I thought, maybe I'll write a poem. Now, generally, I don't have those kind of thoughts, like ever. I haven't written a poem since my junior year of high school, but nonetheless, I gave it a shot. What could it hurt? Be gentle on me. I'm still a novice.

This was written by my 1870's self, a cowboy. He's a got a story to share.

I'm a lying man, that's the only truth I knew.
Mistakes I've made, not numbered a few.
Plauged with pain, a lost soul was I.
Downtrodden and whipped, the end was surely nigh.

Then she came, saved me from my plight.
She offered redemption, she showed me the light.
My better self, that's who I became.
Not for her, nor for the fame.

Changed to deserve an angel from God.
No longer a hypocrite, not guilty of fraud.
A second chance given, it was never earned.
Able to cross them bridges, the ones I burned.

I'm still awaiting for that call.
A woman, who's going to help me overcome my fall.
So today I stand alone, a decision to make.
To become a man or continue to fake.

This may be too deep for ya. Questions? Call me.

Fairy tales are for kids.

Welcome to the real world, you little jerk.

(names were made up. Any similarities to your life is completely by coincidence. This is a fictional story with a real theme. I would never write about you.)

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Charles. He had a friend name Samuel. They were best friends. They were friends with many friends, like Mikey, Reggie, and Jet. These boys liked girls, but getting the best girls was hard. Jet moved too fast. Reggie was too sweet. Mikey was too shy. Samuel might have been gay. But Charles, he was able to slay the hottest babes. The other boys didn't mind, because Charles' babe would bring other babes. This was all fine until Charles brought his new woman to meet them...

Eyes were fixed on her, well, the boys would sneak glances, to stare at her. Her jokes couldn't seem more funny. Her intelligence was mediocre, making her seem to good to be true. She was a sheer dean. (sheer dean is a term used in the Hyde home. It means she is without question, a keeper, a ten, aka your childrens mother) All of the boys had a crush on her, but none of them would come out and say it, that would be wrong.

Kind of like Samuel admitting he had a crush on Jet... That would be wrong, cause that would change the dynamic of their relationship. Jet wouldn't be mature about it or supportive really.

What could they do to get Charles girl? All of them could see that Charles was a bad match for this sheer dean. They would and could treat her better. Alas, they dreamed of the couple breaking. The bro code forbade them from trying to ruin the relationship. What could they do? A lie, yes? A rumor of sorts. No, that was overplayed in recent movies. Murder? Too far. Send her love notes? Give me break.

Actually, this story sucks. The point is to get over her... Or pull a Dane Cook. I really just posted this so I could put this link up. Fair warning, this website has some very foul language, but makes me laugh.

Why are you the villain?

If I could speak to LeBron, if I had just five solid minutes with him, where he would answer any of my questions and was real with me, I think I'd ask him one thing; how do you do it?

He of course would wonder what I was referring to. He'd probably assume I was talking about playing in the NBA, the kind of time it takes to stay on top. Maybe he'd think I was talking about his freakish size and athletic ability, or maintaing the iconic image he has, but he'd be wrong. I'm really wondering how he, as a mere mortal, can function in a world that is crashing down on him. A world that hates him.

I didn't even finish watching the finals. My brother (huge LBJ fan, man lover of LBJ) turned it off. I turned my phone off because it was blowing up with texts, mocking me for rooting and wanting to believe that James not only could take over a game, but actually defy critics and raise up to Jordan status. He failed. The Heat quit. All the talk, all the brashness, the hype, the arrogance, the promises, became punch lines. The big three fell. The preseason parade was the only light show Miami would see this year.

Everyone hates him, he might as well go eat worms... And that's what he did in the finals. That's what he's done his whole career in games that mattered. All the ammo on James, from the "chosen one" tat to the decision, finally hit him. The target on his back is finally punctured with numerous holes. He can't win when it's supposed to be Bron time.

How does he live?

I cannot understand how a human can function with that much pressure on him. When you have the President chime in on your career, you know the world is watching. Imagine for a second people hating you for not playing a game the way they want you to play, People talking about you all the time... Is he really the bad guy? Is he really that bad?

Did he crack? He's only had pressure on him to be the best since he was 12. So, yeah, he cracked, but wouldn't you?

Bill Simmons has some good thoughts.

Buy from me....

Selling door to door is hard. No question about it. People can be some real jerks (white people), rain sucks and the nice weather feels like a kick in the face. Your mind starts to wander on the doors. You start to think about friends back home or what you would be doing... The worst is the nightmares. Just when you think selling is over, you go to sleep and it creeps into your dreams. Haunting really. I thought money would be enough to endure the trials, but it isn't. The only thing that keeps me going is pride. I don't want to be a quitter.

Here are some observations I have about selling in the Tacoma area: white people are jerks. Black people are much more trusting. Hispanics are too nice to kick you out of their home and just say 'no' flat out. Asians will NEVER buy. Old people hate young people. White trash people usually rent and never pass credit.

What has really struck me is how easy it is to break into homes. It is scary. I mean, go look at your front door. Did you look at your dead blot? There is maybe a half inch of wood holding that bolt in there. Use a chain lock, I don't care, you could be 120 lbs and break down the door. You can kick down a door in 2.5. Or your windows... That's cake. We live in so much trust in this world that it makes me nervous. I look at other countries and all of their homes have bars on their windows. That's basic protocol. We aren't that far away. I knocked a neighborhood that had six murders within a five month period. This was maybe a few miles from a nice part of town. Washington isn't really known for killing and break-ins.

I may be going in a huge circle here, just think about it. Look around you. What is holding people back from going ape wild? Thin pieces of paper.