Sunday, February 27, 2011

"And if I go, before Im old
Oh brother of mine, please don't forget me if I go
And if I die, before my time
Oh sweet sister of mine, do not regret me if I die"

About a year ago I was driving my dad to radiation treatment, and this song came on from a mixtape CD I had burned him when we went down to SF for his surgery. The lyrics and the tonality are both powerful. I knew he would dig it. He said to me, "I want you to play this at my funeral" while fighting back some tears.

That's why I put it on the mix.

I was just driving down Sierra Street and it came on my iPod in the shuffle. I hadn't heard it since the wake. I'm driving the same car I was, but there is nobody sitting next to me.

Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Back to the BLC

I'm leaving the gracious company of my hosts, Mike and Kelly Falbo...and leaving my two angels with Babymama, Erin, Michael, and their cousins. But I'm not leaving the memories of a couple of the raddest days I've had in this lifetime. These two monkeys are so much fun. I'll talk more about a couple of the highlights later, but I have to go get on a plane and back to reality.

So enjoy these:







I did.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Composition

I’m sitting next to my 4-year-old daughter on a plane, letting her rock out with my skull candy headphones and watching her make up some sick seat-dance moves to The Dead Weather. All the while I am enjoying something I haven’t had in a minute…time to compose myself. That’s what this blog is after all, right? My self-composition? Or maybe it’s my defensive explanation, or descriptive narrative, or verbal assault on the senses of anyone with the minerals and stomach to continually come back for more punishment, entertainment or loathing…or for the poor soul that stumbles on this page accidentally and makes it, typically, about a paragraph into the thing before I drop an F-bomb. Fuckin’-A that’s what this is.

So we’re on the way down to Disneyland. Yes, THE Disneyland, aka: the Happiest Place On Earth. I think my 7 and 4 year olds will soon discover that sensory overload, sugar-infused roller-coaster rides, and some good old-fashioned Walt Magic are indeed the proper ingredients for just that H.P.O.E. recipe. I can’t believe it’s their first time. I’m so lucky to have this opportunity with them right now. There’s a good crew headed down, including their mom, my sister and her family, and of course my stowaways: the voices in my head.

Right now the voices are enjoying the room to stretch their legs out on the page, this snow white word doc that is quickly becoming peppered with the things I have been marinating on for a little while, eventually to be uploaded to the internetz from the first spot in Orange County that allows me to do so. Good thing too, because just this afternoon, my sweet friend and occasional Disneyesque princess, Aly, informed me, “Your blog is getting boring again.” Well smack my ass and call me Cinderella, I won’t let that happen! Not this time! Not while I have a good hour or more of white airplane noise to focus my mind and energy into a sexy 17-inch screen. And it is hot. Like one of the hottest things I have in my life, this MacBook Prothat I sometimes wake up next to, too constantly aware of it’s importance and delicacy to set it on the ground before I fade into the short, sweet sleep. Yeah, she’s pretty. And hot.

But there is another heat emanating from the horizon. A fun, beautiful, rarefied, stylish kind of Canned Heat that has revealed itself like the High Sierra sun over the easterly railroad tracks I cross over every morning on my way into the world. And yes Aly, you get to take some credit for grabbing me by the chin, pointing my head to the right, and saying, “Look at that!” I love looking into the sun early in the morning. It’s just beginning, and it’s new, and you never know if this new day will be average, fade into the overcast clouds, or possibly be the brightest, hottest example of what this life is supposed to be all about. And for a while, you can actually look at this dawnburst, without a real threat of going blind or burning up your retinas.

For extended viewing pleasure, I highly suggest a good pair of sunglasses. Aviators never go out of style. Neither does style itself. It’s always a preferred means of communicating one’s image choices and personality quirks to the visual dimension that we all immediately make conscious and subconscious judgments in before we even have the chance to meet someone in person. I am guilty of keeping myself at arms-length from a lot of people lately, and I can speak from experience that I often sit back and watch and listen and learn about someone from how they move, dress, behave, or project themselves before I truly engage them on any real personal level. But I have recently learned that I may not be all that off in this process, because by the time I get real with those people whose styles I most admire, whom I have decided that I want to know what kind of game they want to spit to back up the clothes they rock or the swagger they bounce with: I almost always find out that they have the personality to pull off the brand of themselves that they are building.

There are conservative leaders in the business world who are always clean cut and respectable, projecting honesty and integrity in a way that can only be dishonest compensation when it goes too far into the glisten and boast. There are the disheveled and unshaven homeless masses that splatter the banks of the river or the highway underpasses, keeping warm with the same beards that the plaid-clad hipsters don’t have the patience or life experience to truly understand. There are the 21-year-old Gucci-inked individuals whose only true individuality is disappearing more quickly than ever with every haute couture hand tattoo or skin bedazzling, caring less about what they will do than how they will look doing it. (Don’t get me wrong, both are important to me –doing good and looking good while you do it - but one should be a direct result of the other, not the means to the end). There are the beautiful, loving, caring duos that I know walking hand-in-gorgeous hand with each other and demonstrating that adorable, charitable, honest and true love is still the most beautiful style anyone can wear; and always better when paired up! [Insert blatant Estee reference here. Ligon’s: you too. Paddy & Sarah: duh. That raccoon couple I saw climbing up into the tree last night…you were also rad. I doubt you read my blog, though…sorry.] There are the kids…my kids…the fucking sweetest, smilingest, booty-shakingest, Mickey-Mouse-T-shirt-wearing angels that show me every day that if you can rock the style, you better rock the smile. Oh yeah, and then there’s this brown-eyed, soft-skinned, pretty-well-known, individually-designed and self-built-from-scratch-style that I was blasted with like a burst of light last night. I’m still trying to figure out what to do with that one…but it’s good. It’s a style I think might be worth studying more closely. There’s so much more I want to know. I knew just from seeing this style a while back that there would be plenty to find out! To say the very least, it’s well-composed.


OK, now the plane is landing. The chick in the horribly styled stewardess uniform and intentionally darkened roots just barked at me to turn off my computer. She knows nothing about composition.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Man Maker

Nothing like having your arms turn to jelly in front of your 7-year-old son, (prior to the end of the workout), to humble you. But that's what happened at Willie's House of Pain today. Might have been the progression of 100 straight-leg sit ups to 90 push-ups to 80 medicine ball squat jump shots to 70 v-up sit-ups to 60 mat-jumps to 50 ring push-ups to 40 gladiator dumbbell push ups...to crash. Literally. On my face. Couldn't DO another push up much less the dumbbell extension arm lift finish. WTF? And Sean was with me, and he happened to do the workout with me, and yes, he beat me on the sit ups in the beginning.


I can already see Willie bringing his little tot Cruze in at about age 3. And he'll probably beat me, too. Thanks, Willie, for letting Sean tag along. I figured that a Sunday would be slow enough to keep him out of the way. And it's good to have the little man along for the ride today...we're going to show a couple of apartments now, then eat, and then go finish chainsawing the tree in my front yard that crashed down on my house much like the demon from Paranormal Activity at about 4am Saturday morning.


I think we're going to need some Old Granite Street protein prior to finishing off that tree. The way my arms are feeling right now, I might have a 7-year-old wielding a chainsaw in my front yard in about 5-4-3-2....


Friday, February 18, 2011

West Coast Hip Hop Night


West Coast Hip Hop Night
Originally uploaded by daddyisaninja.
I popped into the BLCC to check out one of the only gigs that didn't get shut down by the snow tonight. It was pretty kicked back, and it was good. Hosted and starring Tony, aka: Locus, I was pretty impressed to see a little slice of Reno's fairly decent hip hop community in the crowd by about the middle of the show. And even more impressive was the way Tony has elevated his game lately...even touching on moments of channeling his inner Al Green when he let his voice start to sing towards the end. It's fun to meet and watch these very talented young people grow in our community. I was happy to be in attendance during the spoken-word portion of the evening, when Locus paid respect to Black History Month by spitting out a piece he must have called "I'm Black". And I didn't even really get hit with any "I was born white so I should feel guilty" bullshit either.

All in all a nice little Thursday night.

Now I'm going to try and get 5 hours of sleep before plowing my way through the snow down to Willie's Warehouse of Insanity.

Goodnight. I think.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Bombs

They called him the Hungarian Howitzer because even with a bum knee he just stepped back and dropped bombs.




#aimfortheendzoneandwearafurcoat, #fuckem

Grrrrrrl

This will be epic.

It's been torn down, and it's almost built back up. From scratch. Kinda like the best people I have ever met.

I'm going to go fast and hard on this one.

You will probably not see me.

I may get lost for a while...as much as possible, anyway.

Rebuilding.


Monday, February 14, 2011

Colossal Phoenix

The shriek is piercing and louder than sound itself but you don't hear it coming down until it hits, with the momentum and power of a thousand lifetimes moving at 343.2 meters per second. And it will kill you or it will explode around you into dust, only to await you in the next life. It's love and it's hate and it's occasionally personified in the most beautiful tragic forms imaginable.


"Well she's running to the hills again,
Can you tell me if she'll ever return?
She must be Mother Nature's child
Cause she's running to the call of the wild.
She's talking to the trees again,
Telling me that she's one of them.
Lookin' at the bird in the tree,
Though she's never gonna notice me, no."



Friday, February 11, 2011

No yawning

I'm still here for your entertainment.

If you were at Willie's House of Pain this morning, it might have been slightly entertaining to witness me suck wind while flipping tires, hitting them with a sledgehammer, doing gladiator dumbell pushups, barbell deadlifts, dragging a tire in a race with some other dude out back (he didn't have a tire chained to HIM, fyi), etc, etc, etc...no puke. Not for a lack of effort.

"Olympic Lifting" session on Sunday. I peed my pants with fear just a little bit when Willie said so. This is going to hurt.

But I'll tell you what: starting the morning off before the sunrise with a workout like this really gets my head straight for the rest of the day. And I saw Estee and Digesti again, doing their own thing...talking some shit. Funtimes.

Life is pretty good these days. I'm reconnecting with old friends, and remembering how much fun it is. I'm planning on a weekend full of working at the office, with the occasional procrastination to possibly update this blog. Apparently it's becoming "boring", and I can't let that happen.

Work is slammed, and I am doing my best just to keep up. This weekend should help. I'm counting my blessings daily to be involved in some of the best and most pioneering happenings in Downtown Reno over the last few years...and a few on the horizon as well. As tough as the economy might be, there are still risk takers, progressive thinkers, entrepreneurs and visionaries everywhere I turn. I am stoked just to rub shoulders with them, and on occasion, help out. Cliche as it might be, I Love This Place too.

In other news, my kids are finally going to get a taste of the Magic Kingdom at the end of the month. There is an element of surprise yet to be revealed to all involved, so DON'T BLOW IT!! Luckily Sean spends his time on the internet looking at skate videos and hamsters, so I'm not worried about the spoiler at this point. But it's going to be Epic.

Dude, as I get further into this post, I am realizing that it's actually still boring. This is like filler content, puked out on the page in defense of myself after being called out for what I am these days: kinda boring?

Maybe.

Or maybe I'm just a sleeper, laying low, storing up the reserves, biding my time...waiting for the next big thing in my life. Or just the next thing. Who knows.









Tuesday, February 8, 2011

W.H.O.P.

In the mix today @ Willie's House of Pain:

  • KB Sumo Squats
  • Laird Lunges (With a 45# plate curl...pretty sure Laird would have laughed and blown snot out of his horse nose as he passed me on the beach with a tree trunk in his hand if he heard these being called "Laird Lunges", but they do the trick for me)
  • Bungee Runs. Yeah, it's me tied to a steel pole with a bungee cord. Ask Willie what happens when he puts the little carrot (ball) as far away as possible and I have to get it...backwards airborn rugburn. I wasn't the first. Won't be the last.
  • Dumbell "Man Makers". No vomit.
  • Ring Dips.
  • There were a couple more activities on this, the "assessment workout", but I don't remember because I was in a dizzy state of stupidity. I can't wait to see what the "real workout" is like.
Good morning, Sunshine!


Sunday, February 6, 2011

Snake


So if you haven't yet picked up the latest edition of GQ Magazine, I'll fill you in on one of my favorite little "bits" from this month's "25 Coolest Athletes of All Time" feature. There is a column on Kenny Stabler, who was possibly the coolest redneck known to the 1970's. Describing a playoff game against Baltimore, former coach John Madden was quoted as saying, "We were between the first and second overtime, and we've got the ball. So Kenny and I are standing face-to-face, and I'm talking fast, spitting out formations, play calls, changing my mind: 'Maybe we should do this, run that.' And Kenny's facing me, but he's also looking past me into the stands. He says, 'You know what, John?' And I think he's gonna tell me a play he thinks we should run, so I say 'Yeah, Snake*, what is it?' And he goes, 'These fans sure got their money's worth today.' Then he just goes out there and throws a touchdown pass to Dave Casper to win the game."


*Yeah, that's right, they fucking used to call him "Snake".

Snake is my spirit animal for the week.

Chet

It's a big, crazy world

And the wold of DarrenF is filled with Angry Birds.

The guy is pretty funny. I found his blog by hitting the "next blog" button on from my own page. I think that although the majority of his well-written post is brain candy, he does close with a rather cool line:

"I am competitive against one main competitor: me. Beating me is what's most important; conversely, losing to me sucks. And if I can then, after beating myself repeatedly, look up, survey the landscape and see that I'm better than everyone else? Well fuck me, I call that an achievement."

Funny.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Today

I saw Tron w/ Sean. It was cool. It also triggered a memory and then a tidal wave of followers.











Just being honest. It's hard.

Friday, February 4, 2011

On Nixon


I was driving down Nixon last night to pick up my kids for Karate and Gymnastics. There was still some light in the sky, about that cool time of night when the colors change and pop, and my eyes play tricks on me. I saw a runner headed my direction about 4 or 5 blocks up. For about 2 seconds I actually thought it was my dad. I wanted it to be. Then I knew it wasn't and I was overcome by sadness for a couple of minutes.

Then I got my kids and rocked it.
Then I made the rounds to stay on top of the business.
Then I got up at 5:30 and got my ass kicked in a good way.


That's what's happening.



Thursday, February 3, 2011

X2


Day Two: Squats, medicine ball three-pointers-into-squats, box jumping, 400 meters, low-ring-push-ups, pull ups, dumbell clean and press, sandbag half moons, v-ups. I'm pretty sure I got all but one of those names wrong. But that's what I did. And I still didn't puke...yet. Too dizzy to get to that point...but close. When I told him yesterday that I was working out with Willie, Fairchild admitted that when HE was at X-Fit, he puked at least 3 times.

Willie spent a couple of minutes this morning looking for the pictures of that on his computer.

Fuck.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Getsum

Today is already a good day. I almost puked and passed out this morning, thanks to Willie Kahl. It's been a minute since I've started any kind of real training like this. In fact, it's been over a year...the last year has been a relative ass-kicker of a different kind. So the occasional 1-2 miles with the dogs, or 30 minutes in the weight room (and let's be honest, we're probably talking a cumulative 2 hours in the last 12 months), and the last couple of years of just plain bullshit I have endured do not qualify as any kind of "work out". Maybe an emotional one, at best.

So today it starts, and I'm going to track my progress, on occasion, here on the ol' Evo. So enjoy, or feel free to hit the "next blog" button up there and move on to sexier pastures. But this space...this head space...it's already going up to the next level.

Oh, and my psych-up mix that woke me up this morning is a combination of Wolfmother, The Dead Weather, and a few others that I threw into a list entitled "RockFuck" last night. That's as close as I can get to how it makes me feel. Sorry, mom. I think I might be getting tourette's. Well, no, "getting" is inaccurate.

Bonus plot twist: while I'm "warming up", trying to achieve the 300-calories-in-10-minutes status of the guys that trained for the movie "300" (not really close...stay tuned), I look up and see Estee and Digesti walk in. At first I was a little scared to think that these guys are going to be witness to some over-the-top wind-sucking and possible whining, but having thought about it some more, I'm actually a little more motivated to do work.

Bring on the early mornings!