Friday, August 19, 2011


Sometimes the only way to get into a good head space is to move out of the one you are currently in. Actually getting up and physically moving is a great start to this process. Preferably on a longboard, with a giant, happy animal pulling you into the next.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

I'm sorry

Seriously, Tumblr, I didn't mean it. Your shit is actually quite tight. I'm just acting out of anger in the post below, and that anger should really be addressed at either, or the millions (it has to be millions, right?) of tumblr bloggers that don't utilize your awesome forum to the full extent of it's capabilities. It is, after all, the Indian not the arrow. I am, just now, beginning to discover how intricate and awesome moving my blog...yup, that's where I'm going with this...might be. Change hurts, OK...I don't mean to be so passive-aggressive, beautiful, intriguing tumblr. I'm just hurt and confused. Until next time...I'll be watching you.


I think I might get a tumblr account. Looking through pages and pages of lost memories and posts is really fucking unnerving. I forgot about it for a while, and then I just came back to the blog and I see a bunch of black squares with exclamation points where pictures are supposed to be and I start to think, "What the fucking fuck!?"

Thank God for that word sometimes. For words at all. I think if I went far back enough on the blog I might find, (IF blogger has yet to implode the post) a video link of Frank Zappa talking about the power of language and words. He was right. And I'm proud to be a free-thinking, speech-spinning, American Born blogger with very little concern for what offense the reader...yes, you, my solo creepy reader...might take to the occasional F-Bomb, or S-H word, or otherwise. Pick a letter, follow it up with the word "word", and chances are that I have dropped it here on the Evolution a time or two, and that's the point of the whole thing right this very minute, is that THIS moment is the EXACT moment in time that is now and is worthy of a word that so perfectly describes my disdain for the fact that my posts have been diminished and become of less consequence or significance because the pictures have almost all just disappeared. And sorry, there's no better way to put it than that it's simply kinda F'ed up. The more I fade into the future, the more the reality sets in that they aren't going to magically re-appear, and my Doogie Howseresque diary of sorts (Fuck you, too, Austin), is but a glimmer of the blog that it once was, it could have been, it never will be. Oh well.

Truth be told, it's probably better that I learn to stand upright in my shit talking posture, leaning not against the crutch of pretty pictures, or a joke that can only be told in the wordless thousand words that are captured in a millisecond. I'll leave that work for the photogs, and the tumblr peeps, and maybe, just MAYBE I'll start one of my own...if I ever get off the box long enough to quit crying and start posting pictures of stuff I like. Like everyone else does. MOSTLY just other people's shit, to be quite honest! The more I think about it, most of the pictures I see on other people's tumblr's (is that srrsly how you spell it, btw? wtf!) are of stuff they didn't make, think of, or even photograph! Gosh, the more time I spend ranting about it the more I am beginning to think that the written word is where it's at and all you fools living in Tumbler Land...that's the way it's spelled, THAT's the way I WOULD SPELL fooooools all think you are putting something out there into the world that represents you or what you dream about or what you WILL do or WOULD do and by that attachment somehow, some WAY you are actually creating something!! (Not you, Hodges, I just realized this is beginning to get a little racey here, and you post a lot of vanity photos, sure, but mostly funny stuff, and you actually do have a little bit of talent to back it up, so pardon my aside, but I wanted to clear your name before proceeding to say) YOU ARE CREATING ABOUT AS MUCH AS A 7 YEAR OLD MAKING A COLLAGE WITH PASTE AND SCISSORS AND PEOPLE MAGAZINE!!! Seriously, I think I'll have Sean grab a bunch of my mags and a pair of scissors, and I'll see what HE COMES UP WITH and I'll call it an experiment into the tumblr thing, because that's how interesting I find it to be when I'm studying your page which studies everyone else's page studying celebrities, and models, and on occasion a picture of an ACTUAL WRITER! Well, not that you KNEW he was a writer, but he had a cool beard, and the picture must have used a cool filter like Lord Kelvin or whatever, so it looks all olde-tymey and stuff, and OMG's another shot of Ryan Gosling...better PUT IT ON MY TUMBLEBLOG!!!

Yeah, after further consideration, I will be sticking to this pathetic excuse for what used to be a blog full of oft-beautiful content, and do my god DAMNDEST to make it interesting from here on out. With WORDS! With content from inside my brain. Or at least, if it's truly content from within someone else's brain, I'll do my best to give credit where credit is due. So THANK YOU, fucking FRANK ZAPPA for telling it like is was and still is, and THANK YOU Ernie Hemingway for not really giving two shits, and THANKS MOM AND DAD for making me the way I am, and THANKS Uncle 'Trick for sticking to your writing guns and always giving the shout outs when I needed them, and THANKS siblings for reading the blog even though 33.3% of you really thinks I should tone it down a bunch, but mostly A THANKYA JEYSUS for inventing the Internet, computers and cocaine, 2 of which I am using right now, and I won't say which. If you have to ask yourself "Is he serious?" you have totally proved yourself to be a qualified candidate for tumblr. Again, Hodges, not you...your's is cool.

Did I thank Austin again? He was, after all, the one who showed me the Doogie Howser mirror and made my smile vanish into the ether yet again, like so many times in the past 25 have a gift. Keep reading anyway...I like your shit talk. I feel like we are doing it right now...a dialogue stretched out over time, my understanding that I am not truly insane and speaking to myself supported by the occasional, brief, and mostly uninteresting anonymous comment you like to leave. And the one time a year you get drunk and call me. I know you have a kid now, but I still expect some shit owe me a phone call anyway, so I'll talk to you soon. YOU've been called out.

That's what this is, anyway...a dialogue. That's what all of the great writers did and do and will continue to do is keep pushing forward, keep inventing or re-inventing, or describing or articulating the way it was, is, might be, should be, never will's one big, long conversation that spans the ages, and when done with creativity, consideration, and originality, can stand the test of all be live on immortal. And who of us shall really be so lucky, who of us shall write that which will be great!? As I sit, stewing over lost pictures and time, I realize that it shall not in fact make me any less great. I will not fear greatness, because whether I was born with it, I achieve it, or I have it thrust upon me, it will be mine. I didn't really invent that last part, by the way, I saw it on a picture on a tumblr blog. It speaks to me. But the real point is that even if it is not greatness from within, I will do my best to edify the greatness I see around me, in my kids, my friends, my enemies and the strange all the world there is this greatness, and I will continue to do my best to elevate it here on the Evolution.

And I'll call it a day for now. This has been a rant.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

This guy

Sean is making his way towards his black belt. Last night in class, the head instructor mentioned the various levels of performance that are expected of the varying degrees of black belts in the studio. One measure of performance that is expected of each level is fitness-based, and each degree is expected to perform a certain number of push ups and sit ups, for example. As people test for their belts, they perform the necessary amount of push ups or sit ups and often times they set records for how many they can do in a row. The numbers were pretty amazing. The instructor then went on to say that the "Little Dragons", (Sean's class), were going to do a push up test to see if anyone could set a record. I knew that Sean would be in the running for this.

As the entire class proceeded to get down and do the push ups, I didn't think much about how all of these little kids didn't really do push ups. All of them did a version of a push up that would not be accepted in most adult circles...the "mini-pump", the torso-only push up, etc. Then there was Sean. I have always told him how proud I am of how hard he works, and what good form he keeps when doing his push ups. He even kicked my ass, as I recall, at Cross Fit one humbling morning earlier this year. Well, true to form, Sean, stiff as a board, and nose to the ground every single time, busted out 30 push ups in a row last night, and set the bar for the class. He won an ice cold Gatorade as his reward for being so fucking legit.

Those are, of course, my words. As are: I love this kid.

Monday, August 1, 2011

A Princess at 5

Ireland turned 5 yesterday. I had her cracking UP while the two of us were sitting in the hot tub at the Montage, breaking away from the disco dance party held in her honor. I was telling her what a TEENY TINY little thing she was when she was born and how I held her in my arms and kissed her and hugged her and this information seemed to be appropriately hilarious to her. I don't really care what makes her laugh, I just love to see that awesomely beautiful smile of hers, and she had it on all night as she swam, open presents, ran around, and was just a perfect little 5 year old. Like she had been practicing to be 5 or something. Truth is, and most of us are aware, she is really practicing to be 16 right now. She kind of seems like she knows just about everything a 16 year old should know already.

Like she wants her ears pierced and Justin Bieber is awesome.

I'm not giving in on the earrings just yet, but she added to her collection of Bieber-a-bilia, high heels, tu-tu's, Barbie's, and friends yesterday.

Some things I know about Ireland:

She isn't scared.
She will try anything.
She adores her big brother.
She likes to play hard to get with me.
She was born to dance and knows how to shake her booty (see previous post).

I love everything about her.

Happy Birthday, Sissy. You make me very happy.