Chicken Soup for the Emo Soul.

I woke up this morning and felt really depressed. I really hate how sometimes depression comes on and you can feel that it's entirely chemical. I attribute at least 90% of my depressive episodes to chemical/biological factors...I mean to say, that it's all internal and isn't caused by environment. When I woke up this morning I could actually "feel" the chemistry in my brain was slightly off balance...off kilter. Does this make sense? Am I explaining this well enough?

So...the depression sets in and then everything affects it. I just dropped my wife off at work and saw this guy that I absolutely despise. He works next door to my wife's place of employment. He's a shoe store employee. I've had a previous altercation with him involving "parking rights" in a private parking lot. He wanted me to move my car. I didn't want to move. He told me I had to move. I realized that: A.) I was leaving anyway B.) That I couldn't fight the guy with my 8 month old baby in the car 

SO! I moved the car whilst glaring and mimic'd the words "fuck you pussy" as I reversed the car. 

Anyway, I saw him today as my wife walked into work with her friend and he "checked out" my wife and her friend as they entered the building via the service entrance. It filled me with such rage! Such exquisite and pristine rage! And honestly...this guy...everyone would hate this guy if they met him. He is one of those rare individuals that contribute absolutely nothing to society. Once again with the baby in the car I was rendered violently impotent. What can I do anyway? I have five children to think about? What am I going to do? Beat the guy to a pulp? What would be the outcome of that? I would go to jail. I do not want to go to jail. Also, as all men understand...wanting to fight someone doesn't guarantee that you'll win. It may give you an advantage. Going into a fight; you never know exactly how skilled your opponent is...so...maybe this guy is an ass kicking machine? I'm sure I'll never find out...unless he does some aggregious enough to warrant an ass whoopin' ...
Furthermore, why is that women are so accomodating to everyone's feelings? I know for a fact that my wife hates this guy too but she's cordial to him. It's because she's a nice person...I just wish that she would do one of two things:
1. Tell the guy "Don't even look at me or my husband will tear your heart out!"
or
2. Completely ignore the guy.
And I guess this is how I would prefer that she deal with any asshole.  

It begs the question...are women too nice? I believe they are. I got off subject. Heh. The whole episode sent me further into depression. 

Jesus. Who cares?! Right? This is not an entertaining post. 

Crap. I gotta go clean. Do some laundry. Play with the baby. 

I should edit all these post. Christ, the first two posts sound like I aspire to be a Gen X Robert Fulghm! Is this Chicken Soup for the Emo Soul? 

Who reads this crap?

No one.

Driving An Airplane Drunk.

In the summer of 1985 my father attempted to finish a video game that appeared to have no apparent ending. The game was River Raid and the video game system was the Atari 5200. My mother and he had divorced a few years before and he had been subsequently banished to the land where most divorced 1970's fathers dwelled; a place where father's who only saw
their children every other weekend spent their downtime consuming copius amounts of cheap beer, bad television, and deep regret. In retrospect it appears that maybe the original demographic for the home video game market included these men. That's me reaching a little. This was a time in home video gaming where cheats weren't readily available on the internet; being that there was no internet in 1985...well, at least not the internet we've become accustomed to. So, you had to earn your accomplishments the old-fashioned way through sweat and frustration. The early days of video-gaming likening themselves to the Cro-Magnon man trapping wild boar or making fire.
River Raid! The concept was simple enough: you were the captain of a pixelated aircraft, set forth, for reasons unknown to you to destroy whatever got in your way. Easy enough. The real challenge was presented when the playable area progressively got smaller as you careened through the levels. Of course adding in the variables of crappy controllers and escalating drunkenness-not to mention 70's dad frustration and anger-made for a game that seemed not only to challenge your hand-eye dexterity but the very core of your patience, eventually leaving you to contemplate (as many games did and often do) the very meaning of life itself! What are we here for? This?! To control a mish-mash of pixelated trickery? To consume alcohol and Winston 100's while piloting a plane on a hellbound suicide mission?
The story goes that my Dad never finished the game but I like to imagine that he did. I'll set the scene: He turns out the lights leaving only the glow of the old television going, he turns the mini fan on and positions it to direct it's cooling powers on the game console. He pops open his ninth Busch beer of the night and lights his Winston. He flexes his hand a little, puts on his gargantuan headphones pumping Led Zep 1 at full volume and whispers to himself: "Tonight is the night. I'm flying you home old girl."
Yeah, I like to believe that my dad drove that airplane drunk; and eventually landed it.

The Riddle of Steel.

I type this first post from my iPhone while the baby plays with the television remote. She seems content stuffing it into the cushions of the couch and retrieving it. I realized today while I finished my load of laundry that my childhood dream of being a BMX adventurer was over. Am I wrong or does every man dream of this somewhere between the ages of eight and ten. I chipped my two front teeth trying to pull some Mongoose stunt/trick whilst evading imaginary enemies. I shoulda put that word in quotes: "enemies"
I can't be wrong. Surely, it is a shared dream. I had an entire series of films constructed around my off-brand BMX bike: The Screamer. The series would star me and the antagonist would be played by Robert Loggia or James Earl Jones. The soundtrack would be culled from the
Van Halen discography. My love interest; Elizabeth Shue would pine for my attention but ultimately find herself one step behind a man and his trusty bike. That was the "riddle of steel"! It was 1984 and video games were worth far less than a mound of dirt and dream of that one great jump, some sweet rockin' tunes, and a girl that understood it all.
So, this is the Sahd Man Blog. Sahd-Stay At Home Dad Blog.
I should probably edit that first post a little better...but I won't. I'll leave that to the real writers. My wife is a real writer. Her talent is amazing and otherworldly. This is me boasting about my wife. I love her. She's amazing.
I am a SAHD...more on that in my next post.
Gotta run. The baby is calling.