I'm going to tell you a paintball story today. Paintball is a game that I've often described as 'tempered aggression'.  You have to attack, but you must be smart about it.  It requires killer instinct with calm precision. It's a game where you must be fleet on your feet and aware of your surroundings.  You compute who is where, what their angle is, and how you can shoot them without them shooting you.  It's a game of field dominance.  It is as mental as it is physical, but the physical side is something that brings out the beast in men.  Sometimes.  I've seen best friends fight, I've seen people blow up at each other for almost no reason.  And yes, I have even been caught up in the bullshit in rare times. 

Today was one of those times. 

I've been playing at this field for about 6 years.  I know it well and I'm a good player.  I try to keep my trap shut because I know my game speaks well for me.   In fact almost every week I've gotten a knick-name. Here are some:

Rambo, Captain America, The Assassin, Lighting Bolt, Darth Vader, Robocop, Darkman, even Master Sargent from Halo and the list goes on and on and on.  Call me cocky, I don't care. I'm just telling this story honestly for what it is, and this back story is important in understanding what's to come. Over the years, I alone know most every week people give me a knick-name and it's always one out of respect for my ability. The fact I repeat it now, I'd appreciate it if you as a reader don't get the wrong idea.  Meanwhile if I was full of hubris on the paintball field, I wouldn't last long. 

Having said that, this article will be PG article.  It's not for kids to read.  Most women may not even understand it, although I'm sure you'll have strong opinions.

Every year or so, some asshole gets in my grill (face).  It's been about two years since I've had someone pull this with me and today was one of those unsatisfying moments.  Here is what happened.  I start that day by being assigned randomly on a team and squashing the other side on behalf of my team.   Not because I intended to but it just happened.   As a courtesy I go to the other team after the game and tell the other team that I'll lay back next game as I'm not here to ruin anybody's day.  A moment or two later a couple guys answer back, "Naw man you don't have to do that..." and his voice trailed off with something else.  I kept my word. Next game I offered the team some recon and took a point position directing bodies without being a jerk about it.  I shot three paint-balls in the game and I think the second one was the one that took out their point man.  That was enough for me.  I tried to move people up to attack and enjoy the fun.  And for the most part I only needed to move a couple less aggressive players as I was on a team with what seemed to amount to a bunch of overtly aggressive 20 year old punks from Middletown Delaware mixed with a couple of hopeful intermediates.  It seemed the other side had some newbs and few strong players.  I would later find out how right I was in this assessment. 

Next game I offer to switch sides as I can see my team is aggressive and the other team needs help.  Here is where my story comes into focus.

A buddy of mine named Jeff shows up and they put him on the team I was previously on.  Jeff and I are not allowed to play on the same team as we have equal skill and the field operators don't want to see us demolish everyone else.  We reluctantly accept this decision. We often both play down as to not make people just playing at this field for the first time not want to return.  In this next game I tip him off that he is on a good team.  I know I'll need to step up my game. I like a challenge.  On the break I take a key midfield position.  I shoot one guy in the head and begin to think due to my dominant position I should just relax and take my time.  I decided I'll keep an eye on Jeff.  I didn't do a good job of keeping an eye on Jeff. 

Meanwhile I'm trading shots with a guy that will not post out of his position putting me in a long waiting game. Being posted means to be slightly out of your bunker in a ready shooting position.  You want to be posted so that when your opponent decides to post out, you can then just fire off a couple shots and get a quick head shot.  Essentially I'm posted out on the opposite side of battle waiting for this guy to come out so I can shoot him.  Thirty seconds of waiting can seem a long time.  I waited and waited.  I'm usually very patient.

In my boredom I raised my head just enough and in a rare sloppy moment and gave Jeff a clean shot at my head from the opposing side.  I felt two hit me in the temple and peeking up I could see Jeff delivered the shots.  I underestimated his position which allowed him a clean lane of shooting.  Live and learn.  I called myself out.  I put my hand up out of the bunker and wave a few times that I'm coming out and begin to stand.  A barrage of paint comes at me from other players.  I stand up now calling out, "My hand is up for a reason, I'm out!"  Letting everyone know not to shoot any more. 

Two guys about the age of 20 started cursing at me from the back.  I say 'from the back'  because that is where newbs camp out on the back line. These brave guys start cursing at me, "Yeah you suck, get off the field f'ing asshole."  As soon as that line was delivered there was more.  So as I'm walking off, I say, "Who said that?"  Two guys yell out, "Me!" followed by, "What the fuck are you gonna do about it asshole?" and they   more »

I've often asserted the journey is the reward in life.  Reaching your goal can be bitter sweet.  Experiencing your goal is where the value is.   I'm not alone in this thinking.   Check out this story:

The Black Belt

A parable tells about a martial artist who kneels before a master sensei in a ceremony to receive the hard-earned Black Belt. After years of relentless training, the student has finally reached a pinnacle of achievement in the discipline.

"Before granting the belt, you must pass one more test," the sensei solemnly tells the young man.

"I'm ready," responds the student, expecting perhaps one more round of sparring.

"You must answer the essential question: What is the true meaning of the Black Belt?"

"Why, the end of my journey," says the student. "A well-deserved reward for my hard work."

The master waits for more. Clearly, he is not satisfied. The sensei finally speaks: "You are not ready for the Black Belt. Return in one year."

As the student kneels before his master a year later, he is again asked the question, "What is the true meaning of the Black Belt?"

"It is a symbol of distinction and the highest achievement in our art," the young man responds.

Again the master waits for more. Still unsatisfied, he says once more: "You are not ready for the Black Belt. Return in one year."

A year later the student kneels before his sensei and hears the question, "What is the true meaning of the Black Belt?"

This time he answers, "The Black Belt represents not the end, but the beginning, the start of a never-ending journey of discipline, work and the pursuit of an ever higher standard."

"Yes," says the master. "You are now ready to receive the Black Belt and begin your work."

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There was a day I fell into danger. I met a girl.  Love.  It was that good feeling we all search for.  It was the feeling we all hope for.  It was a feeling I once scorned and ignored.  I was that fool that dared to think I was lucky enough.  If there is a feeling of winning the lottery and actually holding the winning ticket, I had that feeling.  The feeling that it must be a dream and I refused to wake up for the fear it would end.

Then it seemed as soon as it was upon me, it vanished -- because she told me she'd never hurt me.  That man which was the most dangerous of men on earth was vulnerable.  The fickle heart was captured.  I felt a change in her.  The electricity that binded us together was no illusion, so why did she open her eyes?  Why did she wake up from such a good dream.  After all, it was meant to be a dream come true.  Did her heart stop beating for me?  I'll never know, for she would never say.  She just let me go and faded away.  Left to my pain, it was time for me to wake up.

Some dream, some do.  It's a fatal cause to think you can wake up from a dream and still be in love.  Dreams only come true while you are dreaming.  When you wake up from that dream love is no longer a source of happiness; love becomes painful.

What makes love so painful?  I think it is the understanding we have that we only get one go around in life.  The time we lost we never get back and when we lose someone we care about, we are faced with what we believe is futile future.  I mean to say that the absence of that person we love changes how we live.   There is the life you had before them where you were happy to be alone, and the life you have after them as they've taught you the value of being with someone you care about.  You care about someone more than yourself. You have a sense of purpose with them.  When they are gone, you feel you have no purpose.  You feel loneliness instead of just being alone.

Ironically when love is blind you see things most clear.  The day she said she'd never hurt me was the day I should have realized she would.  You see when she broke my heart I said to her, "You said you loved me." Her answer was simply, "Now I don't."  Love is ...a dangerous language. 

I opened my eyes and every star in the sky stopped shining. I stepped back into the shadow and felt I deserved to be a fool.  I was angry, I was sad.  I was everything but crushed, because I had at least had my dignity.  I danced a little dance, picked up the pieces and moved on.  I was honest with my emotions and felt what some men never come to know.  I had a gift that was not meant to be taken away; a gift, shimmering in my mind that for a brief time I held in my arms. 

Reluctantly I accepted my fate.  My eyes began to bear down hard with a glare.   I was once again the most dangerous of men on earth. After all I was no stranger to danger and love is      more »

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

By F.Scott Fitzgerald

Chapter I

As long ago as 1860 it was the proper thing to be born at home. At present, so I am told, the high gods of medicine have decreed that the first cries of the young shall be uttered upon the anaesthetic air of a hospital, preferably a fashionable one. So young Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were fifty years ahead of style when they decided, one day in the summer of 1860, that their first baby should be born in a hospital. Whether this anachronism had any bearing upon the astonishing history I am about to set down will never be known.

I shall tell you what occurred, and let you judge for yourself. The Roger Buttons held an enviable position, both social and financial, in ante-bellum Baltimore. They were related to the This Family and the That Family, which, as every Southerner knew, entitled them to membership in that enormous peerage which largely populated the Confederacy. This was their first experience with the charming old custom of having babies--Mr. Button was naturally nervous. He hoped it would be a boy so that he could be sent to Yale College in Connecticut, at which institution Mr. Button himself had been known for four years by the somewhat obvious nickname of "Cuff."

On the September morning consecrated to the enormous event he arose nervously at six o'clock dressed himself, adjusted an impeccable stock, and hurried forth through the streets of Baltimore to the hospital, to determine whether the darkness of the night had borne in new life upon its bosom.

When he was approximately a hundred yards from the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen he saw Doctor Keene, the family physician, descending the front steps, rubbing his hands together with a washing movement--as all doctors are required to do by the unwritten ethics of their profession.

Mr. Roger Button, the president of Roger Button & Co., Wholesale Hardware, began to run toward Doctor Keene with much less dignity than was expected from a Southern gentleman of that picturesque period. "Doctor Keene!" he called. "Oh, Doctor Keene!"

The doctor heard him, faced around, and stood waiting, a curious expression settling on his harsh, medicinal face as Mr. Button drew near.

"What happened?" demanded Mr. Button, as he came up in a gasping rush. "What was it? How is she" A boy? Who is it? What---"

"Talk sense!" said Doctor Keene sharply, He appeared somewhat irritated.

"Is the child born?" begged Mr. Button.

Doctor Keene frowned. "Why, yes, I suppose so--after a fashion." Again he threw a curious glance at Mr. Button.

"Is my wife all right?"

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To my casual readers you should know I'm divorced.  I'm single, at least in the term that I'm not married again.  How single I am is my business but suffice it to say I'm single.

Today I'd like to visit the topic of single women in the dating realm.  Here is the situation.  For whomever I'm seeing, I don't overdose on seeing them.  The reason is simple.  In my life my children come first and my own needs come second.  It isn't that difficult to explain.   This means any time I set aside for going out comes after my children's needs are met.  But to the people that meet me for the first time, they don't know that.  They just see a guy that appears to be single... if I'm not in the company of a woman.

For instance... The other night my children are away visiting with their respective mothers.  What do I do?  Ahh the quiet! LOL.   I put my K2'S, skate over to blockbuster to return a movie, skate down to the park and skate around it.  Then I skate a few miles down the road and pick up a chocolate milk.  Skate to the gym and get in a workout.  Take some time out by the pool to cool off and back on the road.  It's approaching 7pm and I figure I'll hit McGlynn's for a bite to eat and watch some of the Phillies game. 

Now this seems like an innocuous evening right?  Well, first off let me tell you that women do in fact objectify men as much as any man sees a woman dressed scantily as an object.  Stopping on a bench in the park to rest and read, a woman sits down next to me and chats me up. Yes she asked me what ...   more »

One More Day - PART TWO

Darrin felt his voice, he saw his body but he could not control it.  I saw himself from the outside.  He stood outside himself and watched what he could not change.  This was not at all what he expected.  He recognized the time and the moment with Mellissa, but he could not enter his body.   Was this what the man meant by not being what he expected?

Darrin recognized his own words, “I want one more day to know how much you love me.”   And he was reminded of the situation by Mellissa’s, “Who said I loved you?”

He watched and walked about as that morning wore on.  When he and his wife parted ways at the lunch time hour, Darrin made the obvious choice to follow his wife.  She had told him that she wanted to visit a friends office while he played soccer with his friends in Central Park.

Always wondering what it would be like to be with the one you love when they are not with you, it suddenly gave Darrin an uneasy feeling.  After all, what if she said things against him, or what if she didn’t go to see a friend at work?  And this is just the truth Darrin did not expect or want to learn.

Darrin followed her to a cab when she always asserted her greater understanding for the subway.  Already it seemed he was learning more of his wife than he realized; but he was sure there was a reason.  He didn’t catch the address as he ran up behind her and his ghost like shadow stepped through her into the passenger seat.  Sitting next to her in the cab he noticed she was checking her make-up.  She pulled from her purse a ...   more »

Darrin had a few friends but none he could rely on.  Not because their hearts were cold, it was simply a matter of time.  In this modern world every man and woman has their own problems.    In this modern world life’s challenges consume us, we often look self-absorbed when we have rent to pay, credit cards to pay and our own families relying on us.  Who has time to help a friend move out when it means taking precious time off from work or from our own family?

So it is that Darrin found himself after his divorce sitting alone in his home waiting for the movers he didn’t feel he should have needed to move out the remainder of his memories.  Memories in the form of couches, dressers and small knick-knacks from trips taken with his soon to be ex-wife.    Milling about he found one small kaleidoscope she favored lying behind a dusty cherub they both picked out on a trip to St. Barts.   He recalled the day they sat together on a small topless beach.   She was too shy to take her top off and he knew why.   He kept her secret hidden from everyone.  After all, a woman wasn’t supposed to have that problem. But he accepted her faults and all.   In their discomfort, they both walked the small seaside village where on one back street they found a hole in the wall store named, Blessings.  On an obscure rack lay a number of small cherubs, each with a promise to which they'd fullfill if you owned them.  Darrin and Mellissa admired them all.  Right next to the one promising answers was one for fertility.  It was there they found the cherub that was supposed to bring good fortune to those seeking to have a baby.  That day never came.

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This is the story of the little bird...  The lesson in this story has helped me navigate life and the people in it.

There was this little baby bird that fell from it's tree in the cold of snow.    It starts peeping, "Pa peep! Pa peep!" as it was damn near freezing.

Along comes this cow.  She looks down at the little bird and feels sorry for it.   She raises her tail and... "splah!" 

...She drops a steaming hot cow pie right on top of it.  

The little bird starts again... "Pa peep! Pa peep!"  Because it's hungry. 

Along comes a mean ole Coyote...  It reachs down easy into the cow pie and picks the little bird up.   He raises the little bird higher and brushes the dirt off him real nice.

And then... "Gulp!" Swallows the little bird down all in one bite!

There is a moral to the story but you have to figure it out for yourself...

 

 

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This is the truth.  In light of the Natalee Holloway case I'd like to tell a true story.

A few years ago in 2001 I went on a trip to Aruba with my wife.  It was a dry island.  People said it was a desert island and they were right.  There was not a lot to do there if you were not in the water and we ended up renting a jeep for the week. 

On the island there are two small cone shaped mountains.  I don't know if you can call them mountains but they are clear to see on the island and they jut upwards like pyramids. 

We wanted to explore a good bit and one day we drove towards them.  We worked are way toward the north east and found ourselves at the foot of the bigger one. 

It had a couple large radio antennas on it.  It even had a staircase ascending to the top. We assumed that at one time this may have been restricted area, but now, anyone could take a hike to the top.  At two points there were cement platforms. The first one about a third of the way up, the second about halfway up.    Near the lower one was a small hut to take a break from the sun.    It was about twenty or so feet off to the left ot the staircase path.  We parked the jeep in the dust and began to climb to the top.  It wasn't tough and it took a about 3 minutes to reach the top.  It was high and steep but because the grade was so great you got up it real quick if you didn't stop walking.  We didn't feel at all winded when we reached the top.  I think we were about 500 feet ...   more »

Warning, this article is a complete joke and not based on reality, there is not one iota of truth to it.  Read it at your own risk.  It is a story about pump and dump. 

Let's step into the cold world of dating without love... marriage without love.   Let's call it a business deal. 

Ah... my misleading headlines...  I don't mean can a woman buy beauty... I mean can a man buy a woman, or more directly.. buy a beautiful woman?  The real underlying question is why would he?  Take for instance the tale of a trading position.  Think of it.  Men are like stock traders on wall street.  They are an earning asset.   From a superficial point of view in the world of single people... men grow in value.  They increase their income, and their looks don't generally fade.  And looks in a man are not what makes them attractive.  It's their money.  Women find men attractive based on how much they are worth... monetarily.   If man is a earning asset then a woman is a depreciating asset.  Her beauty is her commodity.

Think of it.  A woman is beautiful today.  She nails down a great guy and what happens?  For few years she is beautiful.  She's young, upbeat, keeping herself fit etc...  But in a few short years... time takes it's toll.   In traders terms this woman is a depreciating asset while the man is an earning asset.  She could be petulant and selfish, the deal is still brokered on beauty.   Marriage under these circumstances with a woman is not an efficient market, while dating is.   Men have learned that in order to avoid being pumped (married) and dumped (divorced and looted) they've delineated that marriage is too risky and investment to embark on when they would be obviously ...   more »