Week of November 8th

Adopt a Positive Mental Attitude!

 

I know you’ve been reading these blog posts for quite some time now so I’m going to ask you to actually try to remember something very important that I wrote about a few months ago.  It’s not the dancing cowboy (that despite the colder weather  is still dancing in short shorts and a cowboy hat down along the shores of the Cape Cod Canal each night around sunset), and no I’m not referring to the GIANT 700 pound tuna we wrestled out of the ocean back in September.  Sadly I’m also not talking about drinking 3453890 vodka tonics at my 25 year old buddy’s (yes the one with a third kid on the way!) wedding, or being a tourist on the Vineyard and eating a near world record amount of ice cream.

I’m talking about that week back in March where it seemed as if I couldn’t walk anywhere without stepping in dog poop.  Talk about a sh*&ty week. 

I want you to envision stepping in a heaping pile of dog poop.  Maybe you’re on your way to work, dressed nicely, shoes polished before your big morning business meeting.  You have your iced coffee in one hand, smartphone in the other, smiling and walking proudly down the street to the MBTA bus stop.  When out of nowhere you take a step and smear your new Berluti alligator skin shoes into a hot, heaping, pile of good old fashioned doo-doo.

What’s your natural reaction?

“You’ve got to be kidding me!  I just bought these shoes the other day!  This is ridiculous, why would God do this to me?  Damn dogs, and stupid owners not picking up after them.  What is the deal these days?  These people need to get a grip.  Man I’m going to smell like doodie at this meeting.  See ya later promotion…”

I’d say that could be a pretty typical reaction for the average American these days, wouldn’t you agree?

And how would reacting  to your new found poop-predicament in that tone end up making you feel?

Pissed off?  Singled out for punishment from God? Agitated?  Annoyed?  Frustrated?  Anxious?  I mean the list of bad feelings goes on forever, doesn’t it?

Well only if you allow it to…

What if just by guiding your thoughts a little differently you could substitute all those nasty “feeling” words for something better.  Wouldn’t it be nice to know that even if you’re a chronic “stepper of sh#t” it’s still possible to feel great, at ease, pleasant, excited, passionate, and best of all-happy?

Well I’m a firm believer that it’s easily possible, no matter what the circumstances. 

For example, after initially stepping in poop, instead of thinking…

“You’ve got to be kidding me!  I just bought these shoes the other day!  This is ridiculous, why would God do this to me?

                                            Try guiding your thoughts to something a bit more pleasant such as…

“You’ve got to be kidding me!  The odds of this occuring are ridiculous if you think about it.  I mean, the average person takes 7,192 steps per day.  So the last time I remember stepping in dog crap was last summer, which was over 6 months ago, which means I’ve successfully gone 1,294,560 steps IN A ROW without stepping in poop.  That’s utterly amazing if you think about the number of dogs in this city!  To be quite honest I guess Boston dog owners are pretty good at cleaning up after their pets.  I bet in other countries people step in poop a lot more often.  I can probably get most of this off with that stick  over there anyways.  I guess this isn’t really the end of the world.”

How did that make you feel just reading that?  Funny?  Light hearted?  Joyful?  Was it a little strange to look at it that way? 

If you find it utterly ridiculous to think about the situation in that sort of light then awesome!  You’ve just been awoken to the power of thinking positive.

If you think good thoughts you’ll feel good.  If you think bad thoughts you’ll feel bad.  If you can think good thoughts, despite being in a “not so great” situation then kudos to you, because that is how you stay happy no matter what life situation you may currently be experiencing. 

But what about situations that really are terrible?  How can you possibly expect us to feel good about truly awful things?  Well, I’m not asking you to feel good right away, just to feel a little bit better.

For example:

The oil spill in the Gulf- typical response- “What a mess.  That oil’s going to be around forever.  The beaches will never be the same, the economy may never recover, not to mention the lives that were lost.  The Gulf will never again be the beautiful place it once was.”

-new response- “I really am saddened by the spill.  I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have lost a loved one, or not be able to go to the beach, and then know that animals are dying and suffering.  But maybe this could be a turning point for us.  I think that this spill has made us all care a little more about our environment.  I’d say the odds of America moving forward to alternative energy sources are improved now because of this spill.  Personally, I will never again take a nice clean beach for granted, and will certainly appreciate my own life a lot more.”

I believe positive thinking can make anybody’s life better.  For the last 2 months I have consciously safeguarded myself against any thought other than a positive thought and I’m happy to say I’ve never felt more relaxed, hopeful, energetic, excited, optimistic, and happy.  I’m certainly no Buddha but I think I may be on to something.

Your life is what you think it to be!

Ryan

Week of November 1st

Put a New Spin on an Acronymn

Whether you love em or hate em, the “stars” of Jersey Shore are known by just about everyone.  And if you’ve watched a few episodes then you know how Ronnie, The Situation, Paulie D and that other kid LOVE their GTL sessions.  For those who are not experts in Jersey Shore acronyms that would indeed, I kid you not, stand for “Gym, Tanning, Laundry,” which believe it or not, is according to them, the ONLY and BEST way any man could start his day.  Well unfortunately for me, this past week I did a little GTL’ing of myself. 

I love going to the gym because it keeps my mind clear, and my body fit, but mostly because I simply love how I look in spandex.  Just kidding I’ve always preferred sweat pants or mesh shorts.  Regardless of your attire the gym is also a great way to stay energetic and positive.  So whether you decide to attend the gym in spandex or mesh shorts, from the bottom of my achy breaky heart I’d highly recommend it.

But like many things that we all do, after doing them for any lengthy amount of time, it’s easy to start to think that you have it all figured out.  So despite my scrawny biceps, skimpy shoulders, and soft as a baby butt cheeks, I was recently thinking that I had this entire “working out” gig pretty much conquered.  So yesterday when I was offered my first ever gym session with an actual trainer I kind of laughed a bit on the inside.  In all honesty this guy had a baby beer belly.  “A beer belly on a personal trainer, ha!” I said to myself…what are we training for a hot dog eating competition?   A whoopie pie convention?  God damnit I’d love a whoopie pie right about now. 

But yesterday whoopie pies were not on the menu.  No no, whoopie of my ass was the only thing I had coming.

It all began with the dreaded squat thrust.  It’s not possible to hump the air any faster than this dude had me humping.  I have a new found respect for any job that requires repeated humping movements/squat thrusts throughtout the course of the day.  One straight minute of squat humping agony later I could barely move my hips.  Thank god they weren’t playing Shakira, because I would not have been able to dance.

But it didn’t stop there!  After a five second break… A 5 SECOND BREAK!!!…I was on a mat cringing through some variation of an abdominal exercise that I would rather refer to as a demented kama sutra position.  I was starting to wonder where this guy was getting his inspiration or training from, and whether I should of worn spandex because my shorts were now basically down over my head, exposing anyone else in the gym to an indecent/unsafe amount of Irish Pale Upper Thigh glare.  I was basically mooning myself in the mirror when he started yelling (and I really don’t like yelling) at me to switch back to squat thrusts.  Goodness gracious what have I gotten myself into.

The next 30 minutes consisted of an unending tsunami or squat thrusts, crunches, jumping rope, pushups, planks, back extensions and then…

Well it’s difficult to remember because I think I repressed part of the next exercise.  Or maybe I blacked out, or possibly it was a combination of the two.  But after doing 30 chest extensions in just under a minute something went wrong inside of me.  

I flash backed to High School.  It was varsity basketball practice sophomore year.  Yes that’s right, varsity as a sophomore-too bad I airballed my first ever free throws.  Back to back air balls in front a few hundred people.  Slighly hilarious yet devestating at the time.  Anyways forget about that…it was sophomore year Bball practice and we were being run to the ground.  Hours of wind sprints.  People collapsing all around me.  People throwing up on the sidelines.  Weaker men crying in the locker room.  Broken ankles, broken spirit, broken dreams.  What a bunch of freaking Sally’s, I would think to myself.  These kids are the biggest wimps I’ve ever seen, I remember saying.  Well things have a way of coming back to bite you in the butt, and when they do, you best be wearing some serious boxer shorts because it’s going to bite you hard.

It was at this moment that I snapped back to reality.  Things were not good.  My legs were wobbly, I think I was having hot flashes, and my stomach…oh boy my stomach was not good at all.

It was at that moment that the term GTL will forever be redefined in my book. 

Gym, Throw Up, and Leave immediately. 

It was such a nice gym too.  I hope they let me back.

Yours Truly,

Ryan

Week of October 25th

Well here we are again.  Like just about every other New Year’s resolution that I’ve ever made, 2010’s has encountered another dreaded hiccup.  Have you been successful with your New Year’s resolution?  I hope you have been.  But like me I’m sure you can remember some past resolutions that didn’t turn out so well.  Like for example…

 I remember back in ’98, when I promised myself I wouldn’t swear for a year, and then I dropped an “oh sh#t” after I dumped a girl via written note.  Watching her happily walk away down the steps off the school bus, not knowing  the drama that was contained in that shoddy triangularly folded piece of white notebook paper.  Her young life forever altered.  Sent into a state of deep depression I’m sure.  Who could ever bounce back from an experience like that?  How could I ever be THE PERSON, THE CAUSE for a lifetime of utter turmoil and despair.  Especially at the young tender age of 13.  Yes young and tender.  Two words I’ve never used together to describe myself.  Two words that should never be used together to describe a male, period.

 That could certainly be classified as an EPIC FAIL.  And to everyone’s surprise the girl is thriving and basically killing life.  Making more money than me, probably has more friends, and is even better looking.  Apparently it pays to get dumped via college ruled paper and pencil.

I’m sure you can relate.  Whether its a resolution to quit smoking, save more money, or just be a better person it’s always a challenge.  You’re basically you, the way you’ve always been, and then the very next day you force yourself to make a drastic change of some sort.  That’s certainly asking a lot.  So in my own defense, I certainly have not kept up with adding weekly “new cool things to do” blog posts, but I’m pretty happy I gave it a go.  Plus here we go again after a short break, picking up almost where we left off.  That’s good enough for me, and if it’s not good enough for you, well you can go sit on a jelly donut.

Go Hiking in a Rock Chasm

So what better morning activity could one think of other than climbing over giant boulders in a glacier carved rock chasm in bobcat territory?  Especially being slightly still hungover from the past weekend because you just can’t hang like you could in college.  AND sleep deprived because you saw Paranormal Activity 2 in the theater the night before.  Because you KNEW, you just KNEW you shouldn’t have watched a scary movie like that after 9PM.  Because god damnit, you may be the strongest man in all of Massachusetts, but there’s nothing, ABSOLUTLEY god damn nothing you can do to beat up a ghost, no matter how much whey protein you put down each morning with your ham and eggs.  So yeah hiking in the woods.  Give it a try sometime its god damn invigorating.

The first thing to remember when you’re on a hike is that you are in God’s Country.  It pays to be prepared.  That’s why it’s important to wear appropriate attire and be in good physical condition.  This is what it said on the sign in the parking lot so it must be true.  Also, it’s very important to know that out in the wilderness, anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.  So make sure you visit the men’s or ladie’s room before setting off into the woods.   There was no sign stating this but believe me based on personal experience its a god damn must.

I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face upon arrival.  Not because I was at one of the most picturesque spots in all of Central Massachusetts, but because my compact car Buttons actually survived the hour drive.  Looking back at Buttons as I treked off into the wooded abyss I wondered if I would make it back.. if I would ever see Buttons again.  For I had a feeling in my gut that this would truly turn into another classic case of Man vs. Wild.

But actually it wouldn’t at all.  The only animal we saw was a chipmunk.   Which narrowly escaped me and my stick.  However I did spot a stoned college kid about 60 yards off into the woods, staring at us behind a tree.  I’m not sure if he honestly thought I couldn’t see him.  But being that stoned he probably figured I’d think his bright orange hat blended into his surroundings.  Maybe he thought he resembled an orange tree, which of course are common here in the woodlands of MA, if you’re really, really, really high. 

Anyways a great time was had by all.  Let me rephrase that.  A slightly better than mediocre time was had by all.  Final tally for the day was one chipmunk, one stoned kid, and 12,342 trees/bushes.  All jokes aside, right now is a spectacular time to get outside in New England.  There’s still some foliage, its not too cold, and there’s tons of hot chicks in our local forests.  I’d recommend re-reading that sentence if you didn’t find anything peculiar.

Soak up some fresh air!

Ryan

Week of July 12th

Be a tourist, ride a carousel, eat copious amounts of ice cream, and get sunburnt on an island

“Remember that a dream unifies the body, mind, and spirit. It provides you with insight into your own self and a means for self-exploration. In understanding your dreams, you will have a better understanding and discovery of your true self.” ~ online source

Well this one’s got me stumped.  Because last night, while all you people were sound asleep off in fairy tale dream land, I was getting bit in the ass by a crocodile while simultaneously trying to fend off an adult male grizzly bear.  Through it all I remember telling myself to remain calm, cool, and collective, knowing that if I could only just wrap this crocodile with some duct tape, and find some honey for this grizzly bear, that I would survive, rather DOMINATE this life threatening ordeal.  I looked everywhere but found no honey, so I resorted to plan B, which consisted of roundhouse kicks and uppercuts to the bear’s jaw, all while a 20 foot crocodile hung from my left butt cheek.  I could literally feel its teeth, and to be quite honest it wasn’t as bad as I always thought it would be.  Yes I have thought many times about being bit in the ass by a crocodile-I did study abroad in Australia, but I never imagined it actually coming to fruition. 

After what seemed to be more roundhouse kicks than every Jackie Chang movie combined the bear finally backed down, and the crocodile mysteriously let go of my butt and dissapeared back into the depths of my unconscious.  I woke up, went downstairs, grabbed some orange juice, turned on the Discovery Channel, and low and behold it was a special on the world’s most deadly animals, and of course, the crocodile was being featured.

Apparently the purpose of this dream was to get me to watch more Discovery Channel.

Oh, and I have no freaking clue why the font is blue.

So speaking of the world’s most deadly animals, what’s the deal with old women these days?  I’m talking about the 70+ crowd that exhibit a thorougly disgruntled attitude 60% of the time every time.  For example let me outline this past week’s encounter with a 70+ She Devil:

We had just wrapped up a successful fishing trip and I was driving the truck with the boat and trailer home.  I needed to stop at the bait shop, naturally, so I slowed down to make an easy right hand turn like I had 100 times in the past.  I put on my directionals, made the turn, and parked the truck boat and trailer in the same spot as always.  It was what happended next that made me worry about the safety of this grandma’s grandchildren.

Sitting there fumbling for my wallet I watched the car that was behind us drive by.  I watched the car that was behind that car, a man in a mini van also drive by.  And I also watched the car behind the man in the mini van happily drive right on by towards the Sagamore Bridge.  And then, the fourth car behind us, a senior citizen woman in some type of white four door sedan type of car drove up, slooooooooooooowed way down to almost a stop, made direct and intimidating eye contact and flipped up what had to be the largest middle finger on any woman in the world, and continued to hold the gesture for a good 5-6 seconds before driving away towards the bridge.

To say I was a little shaken up would have been an understatement.  All I could think of was the poor 70 year old man that had to deal with this women’s high degree of pissitivity-which according to urban dictionary is differing degrees of being pissed of that one can encounter.

I suppose it was my fault, next time I will drive faster, which is always the smart thing to do.

On a happier note I had the luxury of going to Martha’s Vineyard with some very fine people this past week.  I ate some very fine ice cream, and rode around on a very fine carousel.  We body boarded some very fine waves, and had some very fine particles of sand get lodged in some very fine places.  It was an awesome relaxing day, and I’d highly recommend making the trip this summer.  The ferry’s only 7 bucks, and all in all if you don’t buy the entire Island it can be a rather inexpensive weekend adventure.

In the meantime, watch out for old disguntled women with high levels of pissitivity!

Ryan

 

 

Week of June 14th

Go to a Jimmy Buffet concert

 

There is a place that exists, far far away from the normal places which we so often visit.  A place where a beer bellied man can get away with wearing a pink flowery lei, and shaking his bon bon in a tiki skirt is encouraged.  It’s an expressive place where attractive young women can flash their boobs for free margaritas, and also a place where unattractive older women can also flash their boobs for free margaritas, and the beer bellied bon bon men in the pink leis are so drunk they can’t tell the difference.  And if you’re not careful you will take a splash of hard alcohol to the face, shot from someone’s tequila filled super soaker squirt gun.  And you will eat copious amounts of cheeseburgers in paradise.

Sounds like a fairy tale, or even a euphoric dream.  But in reality it’s called tailgating at a Jimmy Buffet concert.  Where the world’s most important questions, such as “Why don’t we get drunk and screw?” are sometimes answered right in front of you. 

It was going to be a jam packed weekend.  A John Butler Trio concert Friday night  that would lead into an all day Buffet tailgating party Saturday.  Deciding it was in our best interest to get into the spirit of the weekend we donned a few hawaiin shirts, put on some Bob Marley, and stirred up a tropical drink.  I was fired up, and it was only February.

Most people who go to Buffet start getting excited right around that time of the year-February.  The depths of the winter that brings on the cold doldrums of the gray season are best dealt with by dreams of warmer days in bathing suits, sitting by a kiddie pool in the parking lot of the Comcast Center.  It may have been February when I started to dream of tailgating at Buffet, but now it was go time.  Ah it was finally upon us-Jimmy Buffet, and I was super jacked up.

What would I see this year? I giant pirate ship?  Well Ryan, yes you saw a giant pirate ship.

50 year old men passed out before 2pm in their cars?  Yes Ryan, remember that middle aged guy in the pink shirt in the parking lot next to you that passed out before 2pm?  Yes, yes I sure do.

An Assumption College professor partying as if he had just turned 21?  Oh yes, I saw/drank out of the beer ball with him.

I could go on for days…

The concert began sometime around 7 or 8 and it was awesome.  You honestly just can’t beat a $10 sippy cup of beer.  Just kidding you most certainly can, but at this point in the day, who really cares.

But be EXTREMELY cautious when sharing a margarita inside the concert.  You may get carded.  I feel as if I look about 26 years old.  And in the shape I was probably in at the concert, I may have looked more like 50.  Regardless I made one false step and took a sip of a margarita that I had not purchased myself, and BOOM! as fast as a lightning bolt the most crazed, authoritative, and devoted ID checker was on my case.  21 means 21 to this chick-she ate, slept, and excreted illegal ID’s-I could tell.  Ironically enough I unfortunately did not have my ID on me, and was one hula skirt short of getting kicked out of Jimmy Buffet for sipping on a margarita.  Go figure.

Fins to the left!

Ryan

Week of June 7th

Read a book you normally wouldn’t think to pick up

“Holy shit you’ve got to be kidding me.”  I thought to myself as I saw something big, REAL big come out of the water just off the bow.  There was however a slight chop to the water and when cruising at  30 knots,  it’s easy to mistake a random wave for a big something else in the water.  I cruised on until 25 feet off the starboard rail a 250 pound behemoth of a bluefin came hurdling after a mackerel.  “Huh I guess I did see something.”

“Holy shit!” I heard from the stern as the rest of the crew began to realize what was occuring a mere hop, skip, and jump to our east.  We had inlanders on board this morning that had certainly never witnessed anything like this before.  Behind the first tuna was a second, and behind him a third, all well over 200 pounds and on the casting gear we had there was a slight probability that any of my customers would stand a chance.  I figured if we hooked up I’d let them each take turns until their backs, legs, and/or arms fatigued to the point where they had to give up.  An experience they’d surely remember.  Amongst the pandemonium a cast went out, and quite literally knocked the tuna upside the head, however the beast didn’t turn.  Damn.  Another cast, pinpoint right on, and yet still nothing.  Not interested-the fish swam on.

30 bass and a dozen or so whale sightings later we returned back to harbor without any tuna.  A great day all around, but nothing really that special or out of the ordinary.  But wait, what really does constitute ordinary?  The book that I finished this past week has given me an entire new twist on just that.

Lets take a second and really analyze the situation with the behemoth tuna fish.  It was 7AM and I had three people onboard who had never before been sportfishing on Cape Cod Bay.  Now my thinking was somewhat along the lines of:

 “Alright we need to find the fish today, so I’m going to run straight across the bay 21 miles to Provincetown (which has a lot of fish this time of year, and of course gay men too) so these guys can take home some fillets and feel as if they got their money’s worth.  If one of these tuna bites these guys will indeed shit themselves.  They have no clue how to reel it in-I’m going to have to show one of them how to drive the boat while I take care of it.  Damnit why won’t this thing bite, I bet I’d get a sweet tip if they went home with 200 pounds of tuna when they were expecting stripers.  The wind’s coming out of the west around 10mph which is fine…as long as it doesn’t pick up.  If it starts blowing 25mph for any reason, it’s going to be a real long ride home on the Miss Loretta, or b) a huge pain in the ass putting these guys on a ferry back to Plymouth.  I bet they wouldn’t feel like they got their money’s worth then.  OK the tuna are gone, reel em in we’re heading to P-town.”

  Aside from all these “in the moment” thoughts I also had plenty of extraneous thoughts that floated into and out of my mind during that brief few minutes that definitely played some role in how I experienced the moment.  What I was doing this time the day before, what I had for breakfast, how the sky reminded me of a day I had out here when I was younger, the ridiculous things that probably went on at P-town the night before.  The list goes on and on.

The point is that for me, the entire situation wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.  My thinking was very matter of fact, when I doubt that’s how these guys would describe the experience. 

I started thinking about how I would feel if I was in their boots.  Maybe it could have been more along these lines.  “What was I thinking waking up at 2AM and driving two hours to come out this morning.  Things at home really didn’t warrant this.  My wife hasn’t been happy since we had to refinance the house, plus her mother isn’t doing all that well.  I really should have taken it easier on that young guy at work yesterday.  Well he had it coming anyways, I’m just trying to keep everyone safe-I’ll be retiring soon so who really cares.  What the hell was that?  A tuna!?  Where the heck are we anyways?  I can barely see land.  I hope this kid knows what he’s doing…should I tell him I can’t swim?  No I’m sure I’ll be fine, just stay seated.  Uh oh he doesn’t look very happy.  Was I supposed to catch that thing?  Does he realize I haven’t been on a boat in 15 years?  Damn I wish I brought some coffee. 

It wasn’t until later in the trip that I realized that they really did wish they brought coffee, that some of them couldn’t swim, and that a serious injury had almost occurred to one of them at work the past week.  All information that had I known during that moment, would have completely changed how I stereotyped their experience.

All in all it probably would not have changed much had I known exactly how these guys were feeling at that moment.  It wasn’t a terribly important situation to begin with, we were of course, just trying to have some fun fishing.  But what if it had been an important conversation with your boss at the office or with an upset boyfriend/girlfriend?  I know for me a lot of issues in the past could have been resolved much easier if I had someone to slap me in the face, and then make me put myself in the other person’s shoes before opening my mouth.  I may not have a person to slap me in the face, but reading this latest book is certainly the next best thing.

In reality we never fully understand what the person across the table or in the car next to us has been through.  Communicating with anyone and everyone is a heck of a lot easier if we stop and think about what they may be feeling, before just blabbering on.  Oh, and the name of the book is The Road Less Traveled, and traditionally, its certainly not something I would normally pick up, but now that I’m finished reading those 350 pages, I’m sure as hell glad I did pick it up.

So turn off the tube and pick up a book,

Ryan

Week of May 31st

Take something you like to do and make a little business out of it

Do you have an indoor cat?  Have you ever been around one for an extended period of time?  Well if not let me give you a quick run down of what an indoor cat is.

An indoor cat is the epitome of laziness.  It is entropy in action.  A typical day for one of these apathetic felines is as follows, with its human equivalent in parantheses:

     1)  Wake up and whine until someone feeds it something (annoying, spoiled, brat of a kid)

     2)  Take a nap an hour after it just woke up (87 year old senior citizen who has nothing else to do, and/or hungover college student)

     3)  Get all hyped up over a can of tuna, put on a show of affection until someone gives it some ( someone who will use whatever means necessary to get what they

           they want, and then do nothing to return the favor)

     4)  Throw up somewhere, leave it for someone else to clean up, and continue its day like nothing happened (someone who consistently does not pull their own

           weight and expects everyone else to take care of them)

     5)  Run away from anyone or anything it has not previously encountered (someone who is terrified of taking any kind of risk, or face any sort of challenge)

     6)  Lay around and occassionally eat more food from its bowl until it becomes obese (drowning your sorrows by abusing any sort of substance)

     7)  Spend the vast majority of its day completely on its own, not going out of its way to greet you as you walk through the door, sit with you, play with you,

           or really do anything out of its established normal routine (self-centered people)

     8)  Hiss at people who feed it and ultimately are responsible for its survival (pessimists, people who get belligerently upset over insignificant things, biting

          the hand that feeds you)

I’m really not all that fond of  indoor cats.  I know they’re often times cute, cuddly, and do have their positive traits.  But  they’re attitudes drive me bonkers. They are a fine example of what we should strive to not become.  However I see people all the time that remind me of indoor cats.  It’s a shame.  The guy flicking you off as he drives by.  The person who doesn’t say please or thank you to the clerk at Dunkin’ Donuts.  The guy always starting fights at the bar.  The girl who backstabs and gossips about everyone to make her feel better about herself.  The parents that go out every weekend instead of hanging out with their small children.  The person who accepts where they’re at in life, and gives up on moving ahead and trying to make things better off for themselves. 

You could go on for days.

I don’t want to turn into an indoor cat.  But it would be easy to do if I let myself.  I think a lot of us have momentarily glimpses of indoor cat behavior from time to time, which is understandable, but lets not let it overtake us to the point that we’re flicking people off for doing the speed limit.  Which happened to me the other day.

So to avoid becoming a stagnant cat-like person my friend and I have decided to try to turn a passion of ours into a business.  I have no freakin clue if we will ever make a single dollar off this thing.  But, it does feel good at least trying.  I’d imagine that many of the people reading this right now have some phenomenal ideas.  Ideas about what they’d ideally like to do with their lives, or occupation, or relationships, but are too lazy or fearful of what might happen if they go for it.  That is A-OK!

I think we’re all intrinsically lazy.  It’s the least path of resistance to stay where you’re at, and ignore that burning inside of you that’s trying to tell you to take a chance.  Without getting to psychoanalytical, why not give it a go?

Or we could just sit around all day, get fat, and throw up on the new carpet like my parents’ indoor cat.

Just do it,

Ryan 

Week of May 24th

Throw a beach party and take someone to see the dancing cowboy who drinks milk not beer

So I believe I’ve mentioned the whole cowboy wanna-be thing before, however I feel like this is such an important Cape Icon that this past week’s encounter needs to once again be reiterated in excruciating detail.

He is a more popular guy than I once thought.  Popular in the right way?  Well that is for us all to decide individually, but he is popular nonetheless.  I had gone about a week or so without a sighting, and was worried that he may have moved onto other cowboy activities other than dancing-say a rodeo, going on a country music tour, or lassoing  juvenile cows that must wonder why they just can’t be milked each morning like the rest of the cow population.  But no no no, the dancing cowboy is still around, as Lauren-a once dancing cowboy sighting virgin (emphasis on dancing cowboy SIGHTING virgin and nothing more) had the absolute pleasure of witnessing the other evening.

I had a good feeling as I drove to the canal that this could be the night we see Mr. Cowboy really dance his socks off and luckily for us, as soon as we pulled my peanut sized focus into the canal parking lot, we spotted our man-decked out in a Kenny Chesney cowboy hat, a cutoff button down shirt, and EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE short shorts dancing his tanning bed titties off barefoot in the corner of the parking lot.  The dozen or so people walking around did not phase him, but only energized him even more to shake what he’s got, which is really only 6’3” of 100% Shakira trapped in a man’s body.  We proceeded on with caution…

To my ears’ surprise it was not Johnny Cash, but something more like Tina Turner he had playing.  He must have been going on for quite some time before we arrived, because just as we walked by he opened his truck bed work tool hatch, and pulled out to my disbelief a gallon of fresh Shaw’s milk.  Was it 2%, low fat, or skim?  I may never know, but I do know that on this day, milk my friends, was an excellent choice.

We all party differently, some of us with drugs, some with beer, and some…well I guess some prefer a good dose of calcium.  With that said on Memorial Day we took our partying to the beach.  Nothing terribly new and exciting, but when you throw an 8 foot dingy, a sandbar island with polish horseshoes, and a bunch of people you sort of kind of know that decide to just show up randomly, it does turn into an afternoon unlike any before.

7,565,349 twisted teas later and it’s definitely unchartered territory.

That reminds me of another goal for this summer.  Get on the label of a twisted tea bottle.  I think it’d be a nice thing to show the grandkids someday.  I can picture it now, on my last few breaths of life, looking around at my wonderful family and saying “Well everyone, it’s been one hell of a ride.  You’re old fart of a grandpa here had one great life.  I may not have accumulated much of an inheritance for you all, but I did accomplish one important thing.  Honey, open up that refrigerator over there.  Yep the one with my purade dinner in it.  I’d like you all to have this 6 pack of twisted teas with grandpop’s picture on the label.”  Wouldn’t that be cool, I’m sure they’d be thrilled.

Memorial Day is a great day for grilling and we wasted no time getting to it.  We all went on topless boat rides.  Well actually no one lost their tops but we did have an 8 foot rowboat that I learned provides more than enough entertainment for people with 10 plus livations in their system.  Don’t worry we only stayed in literally 2 feet of water with the thing.

All in all it was a solid afternoon and I highly recommend that on the next nice weekend day you find yourself a beach, a boat, and a cocktail or two.  Relax, sit in the sun, and if you’re like me, don’t forget your SPF 50. 

Happy Summer Everybody,

Ryan

Week of May 17th

Interrupt the reproductive cycle of wild animals by yanking 1300 fish from the sea in two days and then sell them to your local Portuguese population

I think I have been getting high a lot recently as an unforeseen consequence of constantly breathing in paint fumes in a not well ventilated basement.  I’ll explain the paint thing in a later post, however I have been coming up with a lot of creative and “out of the box” ideas as of late.  It makes me doubt whether inhaling paint fumes is actually a bad thing at all. But just to clarify things I am not huffing paint.

So while painting stuff this past week it hit me like a ton of bricks that a giant biomass of atlantic mackerel were spawning just off the coast of Sagamore Beach.  A revelation that I’m sure you all have experienced.  Sitting there inadvertently inhaling aerosol paint fumes I decided to make a few calls to New Bedford’s Portuguese population (or atleast representatives hereof), spoke a little commercial fishing wheeling and dealing, and bingo bango bongo we have a new business.  It was time to put the lines in the water and break up this giant fish orgy.

The next morning my father and I found ourselves just off the east end of the Cape Cod Canal, watching a beautiful sunrise, enjoying the warm mid May breeze.  It was a very romantic scene, especially when I knew that just 20 feet under our boat were thousands of tasty egg and sperm filled atlantic mackerel.  Before you could say Jumping Jesus Jehovah Witnesses we were hooked up! 

If you’ve never been mackerel fishing then here is a quick run down of how it goes.  You find the fish, you put a line with five silvery hooks in the water, you jig it up and down, five mackerel bite and get hooked onto it, you yank the mackerel in the boat, the mackerel piss poop and shoot sperm on the boat, on you, and anyone and anything else within five to six square feet.  When the fishing’s hot this can go on for hours.  That’s a lot of fish sperm people.

So without further ado we had about 300 of the 12-18 inch fishies flopping all over the deck.  It was ridiculous.  Another hour later we had another 300 piled up upon the orginal 300.  Now it was game time.  I chucked all the fish in the back of the pickup truck, sped down I-195 dropped the mackerel off to my new good friend Tiago, sped back to the Sandwich Marina, hoppped back onto the Miss Loretta, and was back getting spooged on by mackerel.  We were back at it, and my father and I wreaked like two, giant, smelly hormone covered mackerel.

The fishing was just as hot as when we left it.  Each and every drop of the line resulted in five more mackerel in the boat.  Neither of us were talking to each other, we had run out of things to say.  Until I noticed that I kept getting hit in the back with something.  “What the hell is that?” I thought to myself.  I knew I was getting shat, and spooged on continously on the front of my shirt, I mean who doesn’t, but what the hell is hitting me in my back.  It wasn’t until I turned around for a peak that I realized my own father had decided to aim each and every mackerel he was catching directly at my back, so that all of the fishs’ excrements would strategically whack me blindsided like a bullet you never saw coming.  What a guy.

It was quite the trip, and it was repeated with different crew members for another three trips.  But unfortunately, like all good animal orgies, the mackerel spawn seems to have come to a dramatic end.  The biomass has moved north, which is a good thing for my overall hygeine.  I had caught mackerel plenty of times before, but never to this extent.  All I can hope for is that all those Portuguese appreciate the great amounts of effort, soap, and scrubbing it took to get all that mackerel spooge out of my hair and beard.  Until next time…

Catch ’em up!

Ryan

Week of May 10th

Go to the wedding of the kid that you NEVER imagined would be the first to get married, and have one hell of a good time

It was one of those nights that you wish you could stay out past midnight.  The town fireworks show had just ended and we were all back at my good friend’s house.  It was a gorgeously warm night, and the stars were lighting up the otherwise moonless sky.  It had been an awesome night by freshmen year in High School standards, and I remember being all sorts of jacked up swimming around in my buddy’s ridiculous outdoor pool.   Surprisingly I actually had some people that were willing to hang out with me that night, and they all jumped right on in, enjoying those precious nights of school summer vacation.  Ahh, what a relaxing memory of bygone days…

Until my buddy Brian came hollering buck ass naked off the diving board giving everyone the full moon along with numerous dolphin-esque swimming movements, his bare ass lighting up the night’s sky. 

Yep, you guessed it, the kid that used to jump naked into the swimming pool amongst other ridiculous mooning incidents got married last weekend to a beautiful young lady, has two beautiful young children, a steady job, a home, and is now the first person out of all my friends to take that next leap.  How the hell that all happended is a mystery to me, everyone around me, and probably him too.

Sitting there at his wedding I couldn’t help but analyze the many changes that we have been undergoing these past couple of years.  Do we ever really grow up?  Did my friend have some sort of genetic “switch” that went off inside of him, triggering him to want to settle down, open a 401K, and get a prescription for Cialis?  Okay well hopefully we have a few more years until whiskey dick turns chronic, but I honestly do find it interesting how people turn out.  You may be yourself today, but who in God’s name are you going to be tomorrow?  I certainly have no freakin’ idea!

I think some of us, myself included, have often felt “stuck” over the past couple years.  Thinking that we’re still young and should be partying with our pants off, but then again also thinking that we really should be concentrating on a career and getting enough money put away for a downpayment on a house.  In other words, I think you may be able to agree with me that it can get overwhelming.  Which usually only leads to more parties without pantalones. 

I’m starting to think that there really is no timeline that needs to be followed.  I do believe that we need to keep growing, and pushing forward, but that the time it takes to get to that next step isn’t all that important-as long as we get there happily, and aren’t still living with our rents by age 30.  Man I should have been a psych major.

So as I sat there downing my 22nd mixed drink of the night I thought to myself these thoughts, had another mixed drink, and then forgot these thoughts until now.  I danced my titties off, put the ladies to bed at 10:30pm, and then went back out with Mazzola until 1am.  All in all it was quite the wedding, and I think it really made a lof of us sit back and think about where we are job wise, relationship wise, and any other wise we could think of.

So that’s my spheel.  Who knows what’s going to happen tomorrow, tonight, or two seconds from now.  All I know is that we’d all be much better off if we try facing it with an optimistic attitude instead of a pessimistic one.  Just today I got flicked off for doing the speed limit on route 93.  Excuse me sir but are you really that upset that I care about my safety and those around me that I drive responsibly? 

He was probably just pissed off because he expected to see some hot chick behind my car’s steering wheel, and then realized the brutal reality that some 24 year old white male with uneven facial hair was driving a chick car.  Another guy who’s lost his vehicular testicles because he cares about gas mileage and not having a $200/month car payment.  But really buddy, when you flicked me off I just chuckled, because I’m so much happier with things than you must be.  But I really do hope things change for you and you start becoming more cheery for lack of a better expression.

Welp, that’s enough psychoanlytical talk for now.  By now I’ve probably managed to scare away the 4 people that actually read through this entire blog.  But hey if not, thanks for reading and I’ll see you out there in Buttons, my oversize go-cart of a car, debating whether or not I should switch businesses, move to another country, get married, save for a mortgage, or blow it all on drugs, sex, and rock n’roll. 

Best of luck!

Ryan