I Think I Need A Shave

I haven’t shaved my head for almost two weeks now. This is the longest it’s been in about three years. I love saying that, the longest it’s been, like I’m back in the 70’s with hair to my shoulders. I think a gerbil has longer hair than I do right now. I think the style is called male pattern baldness. It seems to be pretty popular with guys my age.

I haven’t seen my hair in quite a while. It’s really pretty weird seeing it again. It’s kind of a salt n pepper color and that’s something that will take a while to get used to. To me it feels real thick in back. I know that’s just because I haven’t felt the back of my head with hair on it for quite a while, but still, it feels thicker than it should be.

I’m not sure if I like it. I think it makes me look older but the folks here at work don’t all agree. I look around and see other guys my age with the same crown of hair and I see how they let it grow in the back and have it tied up in a ponytail. I’m really not into that look. I think it just looks like someone trying to fake their age. I used to debate dyeing my beard, which comes in grey, but it just seems so ridiculous. I sort of flip flop on this whole looking younger thing. I don’t like the idea that we have to work so hard to keep our youthful appearance. Hell, the way I act seems to keep people wondering about my age that I sometimes wonder how old I am myself.

What’s really sad is that the only reason my hair has grown at all is because I’m just too lazy to shave it. If I let it go for more than a day or two it just takes so long to shave it that I just don’t want to do it. I think my biggest fear about having it like this is the thought that people would think that I’m one of those guys who are fooling themselves about my hair. Trust me folks, I know I’m bald. I’m the youngest of three brothers and I don’t know of a conversation in our lives that didn’t entail one of them telling me I was bald or in the process of getting there.

My Father is also bald. I think he’s one of those guys that kids himself. He wears a toupee, has since I was very young. It’s always been so obvious to anyone seeing him that he’s wearing a rug that I would wonder if he knew that they knew? He’s always made sure that even when home he would keep it on just in case someone would knock on the door. All four of us kids have some great stories of Dad hiding his baldness when the piece wasn’t around. It would always make me laugh when he wasn’t wearing it, how he would put his hand on top of his head. As if that would make it so people would not know he was bald.

I will say this about my follicly challenged scalp. It really doesn’t look bad completely shaved. I don’t have any marks or bumps on my head that make me look like some kind of alien. When I do shave I use baby oil before the shave cream and it gives my skin a nice glow and boy does it tan well. I think I’ll go home and shave.

Man, Can He Write A Song

When flipping through the radio dial nowadays you will undoubtedly come across a few of what they call “classic rock” stations. The normal run of artists have the typical “Beatles”, “Pink Floyd”, “Led Zeppelin” and what I consider the most misunderstood of all, “The Who”.

Whenever most people think about “The Who” they think of this hard rock band that played real loud and had numerous songs that became fm radio staples. Many remember the tragedy in Cincinnati in the late 70’s when 11 kids were crushed to death due to poor crowd management and oh yeah, they did that “Tommy” thing too but few if any think much more of them than that.

I think most fans know that Pete Townshend wrote pretty much all the songs the band ever recorded but I am more and more under the impression that outside of Paul McCartney, he is the greatest songwriter of the era.

“Why don’t you all fade away?
Don’t try to dig what we all say”

The first song that comes to mind is the song, “My Generation”. The song was released in 1965 and said just what the youth of the day was trying so hard to get across to the older generation: Leave us alone, you don’t get us. You never will. Even today when listening to the song you can feel the energy just smashing it’s way out of the speakers.

In 1969, when Townshend was 24 years old, the band released the rock opera “Tommy”. It was, as we all know, the story of a deaf, dumb and blind kid who could “sure play a mean pinball”. That’s the basic explanation, listen to the album and you’ll see it’s so much more. Child abuse plays an amazingly central role in the story. It’s no wonder the album was banned in England and there were a few radio stations in the states that also refused to play any songs from it. Truly the first of it’s kind. The album was made into a movie in 1973 with Ann Margret and Oliver Reed in starring roles as the parents of Tommy and you can still catch it on cable stations on a regular basis.

In 1973, another rock opera, “Quadrophenia” was released. Though not nearly as popular as “Tommy” the album did have some songs of note. “515” “Sea and Sand” and “Love Reign O’re Me” are all wonderfully written songs that tackle issues such as teenage sex, the generation gap and the power of love.


“When I walked in through the door
Thought it was me I was looking for
she was the first song I ever sang
but it stopped as soon as it began”


Between the two albums previously mentioned “The Who” released the album “Who’s Next”? Considered by many to be their greatest collection, it can easily pass as a greatest hits set. The album contains what is probably my favorite song by the band, “The Song Is Over”.

It’s just my personal opinion but I think Townshend’s voice is one of the better ones in rock. Though he wasn’t the lead singer of the band my favorites have always been the ones where his voice was a prominent feature. To me, he just seems to sing with so much more feeling than Roger Daltrey, the official “lead singer” of the band. Maybe it’s because he writes the songs and he feels what they are truly about. The songs obviously have more meaning to the one that writes them than to one that’s asked to interpret them.

“I don't know why I thought I should have some kind of
divine right to the blues,
It's sympathy not tears people need when they're the
front page sad news.”

Throughout the years Townshend has released a number of solo albums and collaborated with other artists. He’s had a few hits outside of “The Who” and still continues to tour and record. There are a number of “Greatest Hits” type records that have been released over the years featuring Townshend on his own and if you are so inclined to look into them I think his album “Gold” will give you a true sampling of the different types of songs he’s recorded over the years.

I think that if one listens to Townshend sing some of the hard rock songs from “The Who” in an acoustical manner you’d get a completely different feeling for the songs many of you banged your heads to in your youth.

I Just Don't Buy It

I went to Yom Kippur services with my Mom last night at the local Synagogue. It’s by far, the biggest holiday of the year, for those of the Jewish faith. I haven’t gone for Yom Kippur since I was a little kid. I don’t know what I expect when I do these things but I’m always feeling let down after it’s over. I feel like such a hypocrite. I used to have the same feeling when I would let Shelly drag me to church every once in a while during our marriage.

Maybe it’s a type of jealously on my part of the people that feel the “spirit” flowing through them, I don’t know. I’ve written on a few occasions about my lack of faith and I don’t want anyone to think that I’m making light of those who do believe but I just can’t seem to buy it. I’m all for the “whatever floats your boat” thing when it comes to ones beliefs yet I find myself so, not angry, but maybe it’s disappointment in myself for not catching on.

I wish more than any of you would ever know that I could buy in to this concept of this almighty being. It just seems that life would be so much easier if I could. Yet, it seems not to be for me. I think it must go back to the concept of thinking too much. Being too logical, or at least thinking that way. The whole concept of a God is so illogical to me that most times I can’t even imagine it.

There are so many things in life that would be so much easier to understand if I had this belief that you would think, being the wimp I am, that I would jump right into it. But I just can’t do it. Plain and simple, it just doesn’t make sense to me.I know so many people of faith and I can totally understand how and why they have this belief. The problem I have is their amazement at the concept of someone not believing. I’ve always wondered how anyone of intelligence can entertain this faith they feel so strongly about, yet I know an incredible amount of very bright people who believe. It’s these same folks, in many instances, that are just as amazed that I don’t share this belief.

I’ve always enjoyed a well thought out discussion on the subject but it invariably turns into an ugly argument that can only be rivaled by a liberal/conservative fight. I get turned off very quickly by that and stop the discussion as soon as that happens. I’m all for anyone believing in anything they want, myself, I just don’t buy it.

Daddy's Little Girl

I went to my oldest daughters wedding this past weekend. I thought I was doing pretty well, holding it together and all. It was a very emotional couple of days for me and I can only tell you that before coming out I would have given the world to have not gotten on the plane. I’m not sure anyone can understand this but I am just not comfortable seeing Shelly and I think we both feel that this was probably the last time we’ll try to do anything as a “family”.

Apart from that I probably had one of my proudest moments as a father. As you can see by the picture, Amanda looked great. She was so happy and really enjoyed herself. Before I came out I knew that I’d be walking her down the “aisle” as it were but it didn’t really hit me until the time came. She looked so beautiful as she came down the stairs to me and before she got all the way down we were joking about how she wasn’t going to cry and that she wasn’t that kind of bride. When she got to the bottom I told her how wonderful she looked and we hugged. At this point we both started tearing up and I promise you, I can’t think of any other place in the world I’d have rather been than holding my daughter on her wedding day.

Amanda and Blake both knew their biological father and neither has seen him in over 15 years. They both grew up with me as their father figure for better or worst and I’m not putting myself down here but I’ve often felt I could have done a much better job. That being said, neither of them had any choice in the matter.

Adam, Amanda’s new husband, also grew up in a broken home but both his biological and stepfather play an important role in his life. Before going on, I need to say, Adam is a great guy and Amanda couldn’t have done better. They have lived together for a couple years and have bought themselves a condo and done an awful lot of work making it their own. If any of you out there that don’t know them ever have the good fortune to, you’d be very proud.

The thing that really hit me at the wedding was the introductions. Being introduced around to Adam’s family I was presented as Amanda’s father. I didn’t think anything of it until introduced to Tony, Adam’s stepfather. He was introduced as his stepfather. It occurred to me that I have never in Amanda’s life been introduced that way.

Well after that hit me the chick in me came out and my eyes were leaking like a cheap faucet. I was so glad I had my sunglasses on. I don’t know if anyone else noticed. Adam’s mother approached me and told me at that time how things were going to go and where I was to meet Amanda to walk her. She said that Amanda was upstairs saying how she needed to make sure her “Dad” was at the bottom of the stairs to meet her.

Later in the evening when many had gone home we were standing around talking and I wanted to tell Amanda how much the introduction thing I mentioned before meant to me. She then said and did something that I will take to my grave as one of the most loving things anyone has ever said to me. She said that there’s that old thing about how girls always look for someone just like their father to marry and then she pointed at Adam and then me and just nodded her head. Needless to say I lost it again and so did she as we hugged.

At the end of the night as we were saying goodbye we told each other how much this evening meant to each other. As we hugged I told her that no matter how far away I happened to be in miles I would always be “right here” and to not ever forget it. Well Amanda, I’m at the airport right now and heading back to Michigan but take heed of those words. I’m the easiest guy in the world to find. After all, daddy’s right here.

The First Step Is Admitting The Problem

I am a talk radio junkie. I have been for much longer than it’s been popular. I started listening to talk radio around 1984. It started with Larry King. Before he was ever on television he was an overnight talk show host. I know this because I used to hear him while driving across the country during one of my many moves.

Back in the days before satellite radio, the only stations you could get out in the middle of nowhere were A.M. stations. And unless you wanted to listen to country music or religious radio, your only option was Larry King. They didn’t even have sports talk radio then.

Once I started listening I was always looking for more. Here I was in my mid 20’s and when a friend would get in the car with me and the radio would come on, I’d take all kinds of crap because the radio would be on and tuned to an A.M. station.

When I lived in Las Vegas from late ’84 till fall of ’87 I would have Larry talk me to sleep each night. I didn’t even have a bed. There I’d be, laying on the floor of my bedroom listening to “The Larry King Show”. If I happened to still be awake when the show ended there was an F.M. all news station that I could flip to.

I don’t even remember when I would listen to music but it seems I did. I remember getting into bands like REM and The B-52’s during that time but I didn’t have a car while in Vegas so I didn’t listen to music there. I even remember the call letters of the news station there, it was knew fm.
When I moved back to California in ’87 I found the all news station in Los Angeles and would listen to that all the time. I remember at some point they started broadcasting “60 Minutes” every Sunday night. That was pretty cool. I used to love listening to the network news at the top of the hour. The only time I’d find myself leaving the local talk stations was when there was a baseball game on another station.

After I got married in 1990 I still would try to listen to talk radio but it was pretty difficult with Shelly and the kids. Totally understandable how a four and eight year old kid didn’t care about the news or financial info. I would still get to listen when I was alone and after I got a job at the help desk for the company I was working for I could listen to my hearts content. It was 110 miles each way and I’d get in a good four hours round trip each day.

Another thing I started listening to in the 90’s was NPR. I could usually keep myself occupied for hours with the stories I’d hear on it. One of the programs I really like and still listen to is called “This American Life”. It’s kind of like a news magazine and it’s pretty cool.

One thing that’s great about having my IPOD is the Itunes that comes with it. If you go to the Itunes store you can download what they call podcasts for free. One of the free ones available is “This American Life” I’ve joined a gym recently and I love listening to the many talk programs I get from the itunes store. I know, I know, everybody else is listening to music to help pump them up and do their workout but I’m a talk radio freak. I can set myself on the treadmill for upwards of an hour and listen to an entire episode of “This American Life” before I’m done. I then switch to music and hit a few machines.

I find that I get bored with the music and invariably switch back to some talk program I’ve downloaded. I’m such a nerd.

Look At Me Being All Social!

I ran up to grab dinner from this local take-out Mexican place about a half mile from the house a few weeks ago after work. As I walked into the house with my dinner, my cell was ringing; I had left it home when I took off. I answered it and found that it was a woman from work. She said she had seen me as I was leaving the strip mall where I got dinner and that she was there at the bar next door to the restaurant with some friends and asked if I’d like to come and join them.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had the same or similar invitation throughout my life. I, like so many others, have grown into adulthood during a time when happy hour was and is still a very popular after work scene. I have gone to a few, more for the bar food buffet that you find at these things than for the alcohol. In all honesty, since I turned 21, oh those many years ago, I have probably gone to “Happy Hour” less than 20 times. That’s less than once a year.

I’m sure I could go through a long, repetitive list of reasons why I have only been to this everyday social gathering on so few occasions but I’ve said it all before. Suffice it to say, I’ve never felt comfortable in these situations.

My normal reaction to any invitation like this is to come up with some totally made up reason as to why I can’t make it. I’d normally throw in an apology and a profuse thank you for the invite but explain again that whatever it was that I had made up certainly had to take precedence over whatever the invite entailed.



This one was different though; I accepted and said I’d be right down. I have never done that before. I’m the first one to come up with a million reasons as to why I can’t make it, but the truth is, I’m just too self-conscious to join in with the group.

I don’t know why I agreed to meet them and I know that for normal, social people it wouldn’t be any kind of big deal. But, for me, this was huge. Once I got in the car I was actually telling myself to not start thinking about it and just do it. The ride down to the bar takes maybe a minute and a half and the whole way there I was fighting with myself to stay on course, don’t start thinking of the millions of excuses I’ve used over the years to avoid the possibility of enjoying myself.

It’s like the golf outing I wrote about a couple months ago. I knew that I would undoubtedly enjoy myself but I get so freaked about the whole idea of socializing that it makes me feel like I’m having a heart attack. It’s really strange because I know I’ll be able to “flip the switch” and seem like the most social person in the world once I’m there. It’s the getting there thing that wears me out.

Since that night I’ve met them a couple other times and I’m hoping it gets easier as I go more often but so far it’s still a stress filled day once I know I’ve committed to showing up. The people I have met on these nights are much younger than I, late 20’s, but it’s still an attempt.

The worst part about it is the fact that I know what’s happening to my head the whole time. This is one of those times that I wish I were a complete moron (no comments from the peanut gallery) and had no idea what was happening to me. I wish I could just stop thinking so much.

A number of months ago I wrote something about mental illness. I said then that the toughest thing about being mentally ill is if you are still intact enough to know that you are ill. It’s sort of like the same thing I’m talking about now. In the previous post I asked the question, “Do the ill know they’re ill”? In this case I know the answer. I know the problem and I’m trying to work on it. I really am. Yeah, it’s a slow process, 46 years, but I’m trying.

Onward, Through The Fog!

Just in case you haven’t noticed, for reasons I’ll explain, the blog “This And That” has disappeared. I wish to thank you all for reading it when I would let you know I had posted something new. For those that read it purely by chance, thank you too.

I have saved all the things I have written over the last year and am in the process of publishing the blog for posterity. I think it’d be real cool to have something with my name on it printed and bound for me to keep for my children’s children. I think it’s important for future generations to see how incredibly messed up dear old gramps was before they put him in the home.

In the mean time I can’t seem to stop writing so I’ve started this new blog and after reading the posts from the first one I feel the title of the blog is apt. After all, that is pretty much what I do here, and that’s ok. It’s sort of a therapy/strange thoughts kind of thing and admittedly, I throw in a good story once in awhile.

So here goes another chapter and let’s see where it goes. I will continue to let you all know when I post and hopefully you will all still be reading what it is, however trivial to your lives, I have to say.

I will promise you that what I write will be new, exciting, emotionally driven and, oh who am I kidding, at least it’ll be new.

What's A Guy To Do?

I came home from work the other day and took Lucky out back for a few minutes and came upstairs to change. As I was taking my shirt off I felt a little pinch on my cheek and rubbed it a bit. It started to hurt pretty bad, not really hurt, it was like when you get fiberglass foam on you. It was tingling and really started to bother me.

I splashed some cold water on my cheek and started rubbing it while looking in the mirror to see what was going on. I think it was at this point that I started to feel that familiar feeling that’s happened so many times in the last two years. My thoughts were confirmed when I saw the bite on my cheek and noticed the swelling had started.

I went and got my epipen and shot that into my thigh and started going down the stairs to get some ice. I heard Maegan down there and yelled to her that I had been stung. As she tells it, it was more like one long slur instead of words but she eventually got it and hung up the phone. We got the ice and I came back upstairs to take my Benedryl cocktail. I then buttoned down for an evening of groggy bliss.

My left cheek swelled to the point that people thought I had some chew in there. Friday night it felt like my teeth on that side were being pulled out. It was only after a few beers that the pain subsided. I was really surprised how much it hurt. I was out with friends and probably should have just come home but I go out so seldom that I really wanted to stay.

I was taking ibuprofen and that was really effective for the pain during the day and I would do the Benedryl thing at night. The problem with the Benedryl is how groggy it left me during the day. I wonder if the venom has something to do with that?

It’s now Monday morning and I’ve shaved for the first time since Thursday. The bite is still visible and it’s still swollen. It doesn’t hurt like it did and I’ll keep taking ibuprofen until the swelling is gone. I didn’t take any Benedryl last night because I have to work today and I was groggy all day yesterday. I have to think clearly today, as I have to work.

There has got to be something in my chemistry that attracts these things. Being allergic is one thing but ask yourself when the last time you were stung by a bee. I can bet that it is nowhere near the frequency that I do. Maybe it’s my sweat or something that I give off that attracts them but it’s pretty ridiculous. I’ve looked on the web to see if there is anything I can take or do to help but it looks like I’m just flat out of luck.