If Real Life Was More Like Wrestling...

-There would be a five-day waiting period to buy a folding chair.

-You could leave your workplace whenever you liked, as long as you were back inside before a count of ten.

-All interviews on CNN would begin, "Well, you know something, Mean Gene?!?!?"

-The IRS would recognize "Parts Unknown" as a legal residence.

-Whenever you walked into any building, your theme music would start to play.

-The most common injury at hospitals nationwide would be, "Mysterious cut on forehead."

-You could break any law you wanted to, as long as the referee didn't see you.

-Lou Dobbs would complain about all these Luchadors taking jobs from good old AMERICAN high-flyers.

-Vince McMahon would re-write history and claim HE wrote the Declaration of Independence.

-Furniture stores would rate tables based on style, color, construction and "breakability."

-It would be forbidden by law for any woman to wear a garment that came within a foot of her neck.

-You could walk into a convenience store wearing a mask and no one would call the cops.

-Spandex sales? Through the roof.

-The guy in the rainbow wig at basketball games would have a sign reading "AUSTIN 3:16."

-All the major events of your life would be on pay-per-view.

-Mickey Rourke would have won the Oscar, dammit.

-Face paint wouldn't just be for Halloween and tailgating anymore.

-Andre the Giant wouldn't just have a posse, he'd have a FRIGGIN' ARMY.

-The Super Bowl would be referred to as, "That game that happens the week after the Royal Rumble."

-All conversations would begin with a collar and elbow tie-up.

-All Japanese immigrants would be required to learn how to spit green mist.

-When you "retired," you'd be expected back at work a few weeks later.

-You couldn't drink bottled water without spitting it dramatically in the air and posing.

More as I think of them... :)

And Now For Something Completely Different...

I just made the Top 50 in the Face of Fox Toledo auditions!

No, really, check it out...

See? I'm the very last video listed on the page (and trying not to read anything into that).

This is my second time going for the job - last time I made the top 14. Aiming to do a LITTLE better this time.

Also, this time around folks can vote for their favorites by simply watching their video. Now, I'm NOT asking you guys to go the website and watch my video 40,000 times to ensure my place in the top 10. But if you wanted to, you know, just because it's an awesome video and I'm such a damn handsome man, I won't stop you or anything... :)

Yes

According to the doctor this afternoon, I have diabetes.

I am immediately being started on a medication (oral, not injected) to get my blood sugar under control, but the lion's share of the work has to come from me.

The doctor looked me dead in the face and said, "The best thing you can do is eat half as much as you do now."

There's more to it, of course. No sugar. No fruit. Almost no carbs. More protein. More exercise.

Strangely, my attitude is not one of sadness or fear, but of resolution. It's happened, my lifestyle and eating choices have caused it, and now it's up to me to correct it.

All I have to do is take care of myself. Something I have been negligent in doing in recent years. But that all changes now. It must.

Maybe the changes this brings will help me to see a path to getting the rest of my life on track, as well.

There is far too much good in my life, far too many wonderful people and things for me to experience and love, to let my health be a secondary concern. Not now, not ever.

I will not let my weight dictate who I am any longer.

The rest of my life starts now.

An Open Letter to TNA

Dear TNA,

Jeff Jarrett, the founder of the company and the man who has been the heart and soul of TNA since it first began, was sent home last month because he had the audacity of dating Kurt Angle's soon-to-be-ex-wife.

This weekend, Kurt Angle was arrested for allegedly stalking his current girlfriend, was driving without a license, and found in possession of HGH. He was STILL allowed to wrestle and retain his world title at last night's PPV.

To an outside observer, your priorities appear to be, shall we say, out of whack.

Mike Johnson on PWInsider has it 100% right: it's time to get Kurt the hell out of the ring and get him checked out. Enough warning signs are there. The last thing wrestling needs is another tragedy. You guys have the power to take steps to prevent what might one. For the good of everyone, sit Angle down and get him looked at. Please.

A Concerned Fan,
-Jeff McGinnis

There Only Was One Choice

by Harry Chapin

There's a kid out on my corner -- hear him strumming like a fool
Shivering in his dungarees -- but still he's going to school
His cheeks are made of peach fuzz -- his hopes may be the same
But he's signed up as a soldier out to play the music game

There are fake patches on his jacket -- he's used bleach to fade his jeans
With a brand new stay pressed shirt -- and some creased and wrinkled dreams
His face a blemish garden -- but his eyes are virgin clear
His voice is Chicken Little's -- But he's hearing Paul Revere

When he catches himself giggling -- he forces up a sneer
Though he'd rather have a milk shake -- he keeps forcing down the beer
Just another folkie -- late in coming down the pike
Riding his guitar -- he left Kid brother with his bike

And he's got Guthrie running in his bones
He's the hobo kid who's left his home
And his Beatles records and the Rolling Stones
This boy is staying acoustic.

There's Seeger singing in his heart
He hopes his songs will somehow start
To heal the cracks that split apart
America gone plastic

And now there's Dylan dripping from his mouth
He's hitching himself way down south
To learn a little black and blues
From old street men who paid their dues
'Cause they knew they had nothing to lose
They knew it
So they just got to it

With cracked old Gibsons and red clay shoes
Playing 1-4-5 chords like good news
And cursed with skin that calls for blood
They put their face and feet in mud
But oh they learned the music from way down there
The real ones learn it somewhere

Strum your guitar -- sing it kid
Just write about your feelings -- not the things you never did
Inexperience -- it once had cursed me
But your youth is no handicap -- it's what makes you thirsty

Hey, kid

You know you can hear your footsteps as you're kicking up the dust
And the rustling in the shadows tells you secrets you can trust
The capturing of whispers is the way to write a song
It's when you get to microphones the music can go wrong

You can't see the audience with spotlights in your eyes
Your feet can't feel the highway from where the Lear jet flies
When you glide in silent splendor in your padded limousines
Only you are crying there behind the silver screen

Now you battle dragons -- but they'll all turn into frogs
When you grab the wheel of fortune -- you get caught up in the cogs

First your art turns into craft -- then the yahoos start to laugh
Then you'll hear the jackals howl 'cause they love to watch the fall
They're the lost ones out there feeding on the wounded and the bleeding
They always are the first to see the cracks upon the walls...

When I started this song I was still thirty-three
The age that Mozart died and sweet Jesus was set free
Keats and Shelley too soon finished, Charley Parker would be
And I fantasized some tragedy'd be soon curtailing me

Well just today I had my birthday -- I made it thirty-four
Mere mortal, not immortal, not star-crossed anymore
I've got this problem with my aging I no longer can ignore
A tame and toothless tabby can't produce a lion's roar

And I can't help being frightened on these midnight afternoons
When I ask the loaded questions -- Why does winter come so soon?
And where are all the golden girls that I was singing for
The daybreak chorus of my dreams serenades no more

Yeah the minute man is going soft -- the mirror's on the shelf
Only when the truth's up there -- can you fool yourself
I am the aged jester -- who won't gracefully retire
A clumsy clown without a net caught staggering on the high wire

Yesterday's a collar that has settled round my waist
Today keeps slipping by me, it leaves no aftertaste
Tomorrow is a daydream, the future's never true
Am I just a fading fire or a breeze passing through?

Hello my Country
I once came to tell everyone your story
Your passion was my poetry
And your past my most potent glory
Your promise was my prayer
Your hypocrisy my nightmare
And your problems fill my present
Are we both going somewhere?

Step right up young lady --
Your two hundred birthdays make you old if not senile
And we see the symptoms there in your rigor mortis smile
With your old folks eating dog food and your children eating paint
While the pirates own the flag and sell us sermons on restraint

And while blood's the only language that your deaf old ears can hear
And still you will not answer with that message coming clear
Does it mean there's no more ripples in your tired old glory stream
And the buzzards own the carcass of your dream?

B*U*Y Centennial
Sell 'em pre-canned laughter
America Perennial
Sing happy ever after

There's a Dance Band on the Titanic
Singing Nearer My God to Thee
And the iceberg's on the starboard bow
Won't you dance with me

Yes I read it in the New York Times
That was on the stands today
It said that dreams were out of fashion
We'll hear no more empty promises
There'll be no more wasted passions
To clutter up our play

It really was a good sign
The words went on to say
It shows that we are growing up
In oh so many healthy ways
And I told myself this is
Exactly where I'm at
But I don't much like thinking about that

Harry -- are you really so naïve
You can honestly believe
That the country's getting better
When all you do is let her alone

Harry -- Can you really be surprised
when it's there before your eyes
when you hold the knife that carves her
you live the life that starves her to the bone

Good dreams don't come cheap
You've got to pay for them
If you just dream when you're asleep
There is no way for them
to come alive
to survive

It's not enough to listen -- it's not enough to see
When the hurricane is coming on it's not enough to flee
It's not enough to be in love -- we hide behind that word
It's not enough to be alive when your future's been deferred

What I've run through my body, what I've run through my mind
My breath's the only rhythm -- and the tempo is my time
My enemy is hopelessness -- my ally honest doubt
The answer is a question that I never will find out

Is music propaganda -- should I boogie, Rock and Roll
Or just an early warning system hitched up to my soul
Am I observer or participant or huckster of belief
Making too much of a life so mercifully brief?

So I stride down sunny streets and the band plays back my song
They're applauding at my shadow long after I am gone
Should I hold this wistful notion that the journey is worthwhile
Or tiptoe cross the chasm with a song and a smile

Well, I got up this morning -- I don't need to know no more
It evaporated nightmares that had boiled the night before
With every new day's dawning my kid climbs in my bed
And tells the cynics of the board room your language is dead

And as I wander with my music through the jungles of despair
My kid will learn guitar and find his street corner somewhere
There he'll make the silence listen to the dream behind the voice
And show his minstrel Hamlet daddy that there only was one choice

Strum your guitar -- sing it kid
Just write about your feelings -- not the things you never did
Inexperience -- it once had cursed me
But your youth is no handicap -- it's what makes you thirsty

Hey, kid

Strum your guitar -- sing it kid
Just write about your feelings -- not the things you never did

Dance Band...

Kathryn Puse, 1922-2009

(Here is the eulogy I will be reading at the funeral tomorrow.)

"I love you, too."

She would say it often, and to anyone she felt needed to hear it. She was a remarkably giving person, almost to a fault. She cared dearly about her family, among which I am proud to be counted. Indeed, Kathryn Puse was the kindest and most loving individual I have ever known.

My memories of my grandmother are colored by my upbringing, and the fact that I grew up in a house just a few hundred feet from her home. Grandma and Grandpa's place was always just a short walk away, allowing my brother and I their constant company. As close as we were to our aunts, uncles, cousins and other extended family, our bond with our mother's parents was strongest of all.

Her marriage to Herbert Puse had been going strong for almost 30 years by the time we came along. They had wed in 1948 after a year of courtship. Grandma had worked successfully for several years as a secretary, and at my Grandpa's behest, settled down as a housewife. She had never intended to be a "farmer's wife," but sometimes love makes our choices for us. Grandpa would cultivate his land as a farmer, in addition to his full-time job for the state in construction, and Grandma would make a home for him and their two daughters, Jane, my mother, and Judy, my aunt.

When my mother and father wed, they soon took up residence in a small house on Grandpa's property, one which Grandma and Grandpa themselves had once lived in. And it was in these environs that my brother and I grew up in, with both a loving home and a loving home-away-from-home within easy reach.

A year or so after his retirement, a bad car accident left Grandpa in bad shape, unable to really take care of himself. For the better part of the next decade, Grandma would attend to him constantly, taking the burden of his care on herself, and asking for help in only the most trying of circumstances. This is indicative of two of Grandma's defining traits: her remarkable selflessness and her remarkable stubbornness. She was so giving you felt she would barely take her own needs into account, and this could be somewhat maddening to those of us who cared about her.

But through all the struggles and health problems, both Grandpa's and her own, she continued to care for him until his death in 2002. About a year later, at my parents' behest, I moved in with Grandma, as her own health had been worrisome since 1998, when she'd had quadruple bypass surgery. I was there to help ease her burden, and help out as much as she wanted.

Which, it turned out, was not much. Grandma's selfless stubbornness remained intact, and she continued, by and large, to care for herself. If I were to describe my relationship to my grandmother during those years, it would be more as a roommate than a caregiver, as anything she *could* do, she *would* do, never asking for help, and always politely declining any offer of the same.

Eventually she would make concessions to the effects of illness and time: the loss of her driver's license, walking with a cane and then a walker to get around the house. As she began to experience more health difficulties, she began to accept my offers of assistance more frequently. But right up to her last day in the house, she was still doing the lion's share of her own housework. It was, after all, her house.

When she left home for foot surgery in February, it was worrisome, as any surgery was at her age, but not uncommon. She'd had problems with her feet for several years, owing to poor circulation. But as her weeks of recovery became months, and more serious health problems began to reveal themselves, the realization began to settle in that this time, she might not pull through.

At this, I began to visit her more and more frequently at Heartland, her assisted care center. I stopped by, if not every day, then more often than not, and did something that I should have been doing far more often in the preceding years: Talked to her. About life, about her past, about family, about everything. For as long as I can remember, she had been such an important part of my life, yet I had known her mostly as just "Grandma." I wanted to know her a bit as Kathryn, too.

And I also wanted the chance to let her know how much she had meant to me, and tell her that I loved her. I closed every conversation with those words, and she always responded, "I love you, too."

She held on for a long time, displaying her stubbornness once again. Some days she would seem to be in decline, and then would bounce back yet again. Then, 3 weeks ago, word came that her condition had taken a sharp turn for the worse. I went to her room as soon as I could. She was in clear pain, and could barely speak, limited to an occasional acknowledgment of "yeah" and "okay." I told her once more how much she had meant to me, how much I would miss her, and that I was proud to be her grandson. Then, before I left, I hugged her, kissed her forehead, and said, "I love you."

She responded with the longest sentence I heard her say that day: "I love you, too."

In true Grandma fashion, the next day she bounced back yet again, conversing much more lucidly than just 12 hours before. For the next two weeks, she would have good days and bad, and we'd all visit as often as we could. When I received a call on Friday that she seemed to be failing, any thoughts that this might be it were tempered by the fact that Grandma's stubbornness would not permit her to go.

But when we visited her this time, she wasn't talking at all. And when I said goodbye and that I loved her, this time, she didn't respond.

Of course, she didn't have to. I knew. We all knew. She said it with her every action, every moment of her life. Every minute spent caring for Grandpa. Every task she did herself because she "didn't want to be a bother." Every laugh, every hug, every tear. Her words echoed in every moment spent with those she cared about.

I love you, too.