Stolen Ashes

Okay, the story on the news just now was about two sisters whose dead mother's ashes were stolen, and it seemed like a good title for this post.

Things have been slow on the family's blogs around here. I've been busy for the last few weeks and really haven't had the time to update myself, so here's the latest news on the Danimal front.

Gettin' Buff

I've been working for Theron lately, helping him out with some painting projects he's been working on. Painting is hard work! Who'da thunk it? It's hot and difficult, and involves alot of bending and kneeling; two things my body has a severe disliking for. Good thing for me I've been able to survive it, although I begin and end each day walking hunched over like an old man.

My fitness regimen just got a serious kick in the pants in the last week. I've been working out for several months now, and it's helped me feel better in ways I can't believe, but I just felt I wasn't doing enough. My core strength isn't there like it should be, and I just haven't been pushing myself to the limits of my abilities.

So I joined a gym. It's a nice little place called Dave's up on Main, and it is one of the most perfect gyms for my needs that I could have ever found. The place is small and uncrowded. It's really a gym for men, which works for me. I hate working out in front of women. The organized girly classes, designated female only areas, the BS; it just ain't worth it. Besides, there is no way to crush the ego more than to be huffing and puffing in the gym and to feel like a pansy in front of the ladies. No guy wants to do it. We're all wired to want to be rough and tough and immune to pain and be hunters, protectors, and warriors, and that's why I think most guys who don't work out ever start. It sucks to show weakness, especially in front of the female animal, and no man wants to admit to not being impressive. But everyone has to start somewhere, and finding a comfortable gym is the first step to getting back in shape.

The first couple of times I went in, I was the only one in the place, and the co-owner who was working at the time spent an hour and a half babysitting me and running me through the workouts I wanted. It was great.

Monday I went over and there were a couple of guys inside working out. One of the guys, a seriously ripped dude who looked like the kind of man most men want to emulate psychically, found out that I was a newbie and took it upon himself to help me out. When I really worked the weights and went just that much farther, he cheered me on and kept me trying even when I wanted to quit. I thought that was cool.

I love my gym.

Today I trashed myself. I worked my whole body- chest, legs, arms, back, shoulders, core, cardio. Everything. I'm sitting here with my arms shaking every time I lift them, and I'm pretty sure that if I try to stand right now, I'm gonna be on the floor. It's awesome!

Try it for yourself.

New Skillz

So my buddy Jeremy is an IT and computer networking guy. A good one. He's been doing alot of freelance work lately, and I've been helping him when he needs an extra pair of hands. Now, Jeremy started doing this stuff about ten or eleven years ago with Cableamerica, and at the time he tried to get me in on it and get me a job there as well. To my everlasting dismay, I said no. I didn't think I could do it, so I wussed out. Talk about missed opportunities.

So now Jeremy's been talking about this again. He wants to teach me what he knows, and get me into the tech sector. Sounds good to me. There is plenty of freelance work out there, and I'm in a good position to get up to speed with some real world experience behind my belt- a little on the job training teaches you more than a school would, and it's a whole lot cheaper to boot. So I'm going to take him up on it. I bought a good but inexpensive computer recently and I'm going to use that as my training computer.

The idea is to get to the point where I can find a way to work from home, anywhere I am, and still make a good living, or at least supplement my income. Either way I win.

I've got a little idea about expatriating occasionally to Central America that's percolating in the back of my head, and I'll need some way to make a living while I'm chillin' in a hammock on a beach in San Pedro Sula or wherever. They always need tech-savvy people in developing nations. Hopefully by the time I'm forty or so I'll be in the swing of things. We'll see.

That's Cool

It's all the same, only the names will change.
Everyday, it seems were wasting away.
Another place, where the faces are so cold.
I'd drive all night just to get back home!

I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride!
I'm wanted, dead or alive!
Wanted, dead or alive!

So I'm sitting here tonight bored silly and needing a change. What kind of change, I don't know, but something different is needed. Something cool! Most of the time I'd have to admit that I'm a creature that abhors change, but occasionally my inner nomad (the tiny wild-eyed mutant lodged deep in my psyche, riding over the desert dunes on his smelly camel forever chasing the elusive Jade Star of the Mad Pharaoh Ankenaten. Yeah, that one.), trumps the relaxed, content part of my personality and I feel the need to go off and throw caution to the wind and start doing things. Usually this desire lasts about as long as it takes me to get to the nearest bookstore, but at the moment I wanna do something unexpected and weird. Something crazy and pointless. Cause some trouble, and do something that I'll maybe regret later.

Unfortunately, there are always circumstances that block my attempts to shake things up. Money is usually the culprit, sometime there are physical challenges, possible legal difficulties, and sometimes it's just pure laziness that keeps me from doing the things I want to do. And always, the cautious, logical part of me that tells me not to when I'm about to do something retarded is always in control, and it really pisses me off.

You ever get to feeling that way?

What is it I want to do? Nothing, and everything.

I wanna run over the deserts chasing coyotes with a knife between my teeth. I wanna be a deep sea welder on an oil rig in shark-infested waters. I wanna be a bush pilot in the Kalahari desert. I wanna be a small unit operator deep in the mountains of Afghanistan hunting for Osama. I wanna get in a knife fight over a smoldery-eyed senorita in a seaside dive in Argentina. I wanna smuggle Hannah Montana glitter jeans in the dead of night across the Bosnian border and sell them to shifty, untrustworthy Serb profiteers who plan to rob me of my illicit goods. I wanna tear across the seas at 80 knots per hour in a hijacked go-fast boat, hoist the black flag, and sink a Greenpeace barge with a giant harpoon gun while screaming battle cries that would give a Yakuza enforcer nightmares. I wanna be a renegade lumberjack and fell redwood trees in California, just because. I wanna learn how to ambush FARC terrorists in a jungle gunfighting camp in Costa Rica. I wanna liberate Thracian grave artifacts in Bulgaria and sell them to British art buyers. I wanna live like a wild Navajo in Canyon de Chelly for a month, next to a spring. I wanna find a shipwreck. I wanna rebuild a '70's muscle car and name it Cindy. I wanna be a bootlegger, makin' moonshine and runnin' hell-fer-leather from 'dem revenoo'ers. I wanna make a b-grade zombie cult film in the Superstition Mountains, ascend to the Invisible Clergy, and finally kick George Romero off his bony throne as King of the Walking Dead!

Aah, but what the heck, maybe I'll just get a night job at Wal-mart.

That'd be cool.