The whole 10 Truths bit was something I did back in the original days of the blog, and it happened to be something I reread last night and enjoyed. Without further ado, I present 10 More Truths for this glorious sunny Wednesday.
1. I'm Still Trying to Lose Weight...Honest!
This whole thing started as a weight loss blog, but it has since become something else completely. I know I haven't really touched on my progress all that much, but know that I'm still trying! I stocked up at Costco a couple of weekends ago, so I'm back in the habit of bringing my lunch with me everyday and making supper at home at night most of the time. They had some fantastic pre-cooked teriyaki chicken breasts that I've been pairing with vegetables or rice or whatever steamer bag I find. I even had teriyaki chicken tacos. Okay, so maybe I lean a little too heavily on that teriyaki chicken, but it takes four minutes to make and then I just have to find something that it can sit on to look like a meal. I haven't seen drastic fluctuations in my weight, but I'm right at that 270 lb mark. Funny sidebar: I jumped on the scale Monday morning to see what kind of damage I had done over weekend (yeah, I still suck at weekends, especially those that I spend alone). I have the scale in my extra bathroom so that I actually have to make some effort if I want to check it daily, but the flat surfaces in the extra bathroom aren't all that huge once you get the rugs in. So, I managed to clear off a 12" x 12" square and jumped on up. My scale has a similar mechanism as the one on The Biggest Loser, so there is high drama as I wait for it to calculate. I looked down and saw 262. I was amazed! I was ecstatic! I went to pump my fist in the air and throw myself a high five when I realized my arm was already up...and hanging on the top of the door frame. In my effort to maintain balance (it's not a good thing when you're too fat to stand on the scale without holding on to something for fear of tipping over) I evidently took off about 10 lbs. of pressure. I reweighed myself (two more times, hoping to take the average), but the next two times gave me a more accurate 272. Bummer. I might write a new weight loss book that focuses solely on finding something to hold on to when you weight yourself. Anyway, I'm still trying, which is evident in my stopping at McDonald's this morning and ordering a coffee and apple slices with yogurt instead of four breakfast sandwiches.
2. I'm Not Getting Enough Sleep
I've never been a super sleeper. I wake up usually about every hour to an hour and a half. I'm a very vivid dreamer, so even when I do sleep I don't always wake up feeling rested because I'm living a whole other life when I close my eyes (see: HSP). For some reason this latest time change has really messed with everything, and now I'm basically not sleeping at all. I was getting in a really good habit of being in bed by 10:30 and shutting it down around 11. Now I'm back to being up well after midnight, or just laying in bed tossing and turning. When the alarm goes off in the morning at 6:45, I'm just exhausted and want to roll back over because somewhere in the back of my head I know that it is still 5:45. Last night my new neighbors upstairs decided to play some kind of music/video game that had a bass line that sounded like a beating heart. I tried to sleep through it for two hour or so, but then I finally snapped at 2:30. Maybe it was the old Housing Director in me, but I got out of bed, put on my jeans, and was ready to chew some butt. Thankfully before I got too far I remembered that I don't live in the dorms anymore and can't just go pound on doors and tell people to shut it down. I might get murdered for that now. I heard some of the guys outside on their deck having a chat about life, so I kindly stuck my head out the door and said, "Ummmm, fellas, this is Jeff, your downstairs neighbor. I've got to work in the morning, so would you mind turning down the bass a little." They were super nice about it, but the damage had already been done. I laid awake in bed for at least another hour. When I did finally fall asleep, I lasted about an hour, and then I was awake again. I dozed back off for about a half hour before the alarm started chirping. I think I probably need a sleep study done, but I'm afraid it might result in me having to wear one of those mask setups. I'm nearly 30, single, graying, and overweight. I don't need any more strikes against me in the bedroom. I don't drink caffeine after 2 pm, so I'm not sure what else to try. I'd love to hear some hints.
3. A Lot of My Friends Are HSPs, Too
Also, a lot of my friends are apparently women (as per the rate of response to pretty much all of my blogs, but this one in particular). One side note: the book does say that women tend to skew higher, so just because you have a relatively high score after the assessment doesn't necessarily mean that you are super duper HSP. Or maybe it does. If you're wondering, I'd encourage you to pick up one of her books. They are pretty quick reads, and it is at least moderately entertaining to read it and think, "Hey, that sounds just like me!" Just like horoscopes...
4. Happy Hour Makes Me Happy!
One of my dreams when I originally decided to come to Minnesota was to find other young people who did young fun things. I loved my coworkers in Sheldon, but the very large majority of them had families and small kids and needed to go home after work to be good parents. They were super fun and when we did get together outside of work, we always had a blast. But I wanted more, so I left for the bright lights of the suburbs. My new co-workers and I take full advantage of what is known as "happy hour". Perhaps you've heard of it. As much as I'm a shut-in, it is nice to go out once a week with like minded people and spend an hour or two talking life, business, or whatever else pops into our minds, and all for under $10. Happy hour may have been that missing piece in my life the past couple of years.
5. Music Rocks and Rolls
- For rocking out behind the steering wheel - "Dog Days Are Over" by Florence and the Machine and "Kick Drum Heart" by Avett Brothers. Both songs have just the right beat for me to embarrass myself at a stoplight.
- For rocking out when I wake up in the morning and get ready - The Temptations station on Pandora. I like to slow jam my way into the morning, plus I get to do a little swoop and swirl in front of the mirror.
- For rocking out every time I wake up in the middle of the night - "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John. I'm not sure why, but all week I've woke up singing this song.
- For mellowing it out before bed - Anything by MoZella or Regina Spektor. I've been preaching MoZella since I saw her at House of Blues in Vegas a couple years back. She's amazing and is going to be huge. I know you've heard her stuff on commercials or when you're shopping at Gap/Old Navy/Abercrombie. Now it is time for you to hear her on your iPod.
- For every other waking second - Mumford and Sons, or Avett Brothers. Both bands' latest CDs must be listened to in their entirety. I am starting to get why Bon Jovi is so mad at iTunes for killing the art of the album experience. The newest Avett Brothers CD is probably the first one ever that I learned the words to every single song. If I don't see them in concert in the next 12 months, I'm going to explode. Seriously, YouTube their live performances and tell me that a two hour show of that wouldn't be the greatest thing in the world.
6. I Might Be a Fashion Icon
I woke up this morning and had an epiphany in my closet. Pieces of an outfit started glowing, begging me to pull them, assemble them, and wear the hell out of them. Sweater vest, shirt, tie, pants. It all made so much sense, and I wondered how I had never put the combination together. I decided to get dressed out of eye line of a mirror so that I could see the entire ensemble all at once, kind of my own mini-fashion show (I swear I'm not gay). I had already gelled my hair and put my glasses on, so I was going to be in my full glory. I walked into my bathroom to see the full result, and I kid you not, I am pretty sure I heard a harp playing somewhere overhead. I had created outfit nirvana. I went to work confident that I might not ever look better than I did at this exact moment, thinking that I needed to take cell phone pictures of myself so that I could remember how it all went together in case I had a hot date someday. Ladies and gentlemen, today was my day. That is until I got to work and an older woman told me I looked "spiffy" and that she "wouldn't have guessed that those colors were supposed to go together". I spent the rest of the day contemplating buying a hoodie from the bookstore to cover my shame.
7. My Beard Is Reaching New Heights (or Is It Widths?)
My beard is becoming pretty glorious. I wasn't really allowed to have facial hair when I worked at NCC because I had a couple of bratty, nagging co-workers (hahaha) who made sure that I looked to their standards. I tried a couple of times to get it off the ground, but without the proper time needed to become a majestic mane I always ended up shaving it off. Well, that all changed when I came to Minnesota. The beard has been in full effect since July, with only one small hiccup about two months ago when the plastic head came off my trimmer and caused me to shave a spot a little too close for my comfort, resulting in a complete beard sacrifice. But it is back, and it hasn't even been trimmed since early February. I also hadn't gotten a haircut since before Valentine's Day, so it was starting to get shaggier than it has been in a long time. Major life events tend to cause me to neglect little things like that, plus I've always been a little jealous of people who didn't have Chia pet hair that mandated monthly haircuts. Well, today I finally made it in to Great Clips, but I didn't have the foresight to trim the beard before I cut the hair. People, this thing is out of control. It sticks out further than the rest of my head, which is really saying something since I have an enormous melon. I always wanted glorious facial hair, but was afraid that it was stacking the deck against me even more. I'm 5'10", 270 lbs, bad skin, Chia pet hair....and a beard? Seemed a bit much. With that said, Jenna loved the beard, and there's a cute girl on Match.com that I'm e-mailing back and forth with that says in her profile that she loves bearded guys, too. So as long as there is the possibility that I might be able to get a little AND keep my beard, it stays! (Those who truly know me realize how ridiculous that last statement was.) It will probably get trimmed tonight so I don't look like some kind of lumberjack serial killer, although I'm becoming more and more convinced that's what these Minnesota girls like. You know, someone who in an afternoon can clear a forest and put Steve Buscemi in a wood chipper.
8. I'm Trying Online Dating Again
I've mentioned this in passing a couple of times, but I officially decided to reactivate the Match.com account. Online dating is perfect for me because it allows me to start forming an emotional connection that helps me overcome my physical hesitations. The whole process is a little weird, and I realized as I was shopping for couches online that the two were virtually one in the same. Still, if I can find the love of my life and buy a sectional all from the comfort of my recliner, I've got to take advantage of the opportunity. I've got so much more to say about online dating, but I think I'll make that its own entry in the near future.
9. Google Might Take Over the World (So Just Enjoy the Ride)
I've officially given in and Google-ized my life. I opened a G-Mail account. My blog is housed on a Google site. I signed up for Google Talk and Google Docs, and even have a Google telephone number that makes voicemails into texts. I plan on buying an Android phone in the near future so that I can Google whenever I want. Instead of using Internet Explorer or Firefox, I've switched to Google Chrome (a highly recommended move) on my home and work computers. I can also use Google's handy dandy tools to measure the success of my blog. This is what I know:
-By the end of today, this blog will have been viewed 2,500 times since I first created it.
-The blog is usually accessed via Facebook, but has also been accessed by Google Russia, Google UK, Yandex (a Russian search engine), and through various e-mail accounts. Thanks for sharing!
-The blog has been accessed more than once by people in the US, Canada, UK, Germany, Russia, Ecuador, India, Australia, Singapore, Netherlands, Spain, China, Slovenia, Greece, and Turkey.
- Most of those folks probably stumbled on to the blog when they searched for the keywords "male nudity" (from the title of an entry that featured my belly).
- Other keyword searches that have lead people to my blog are "feed bin with stand 270lbs", "malenudity on doctor", "I feel like when", "bald head template", "the bad because i m", and "mike golic what happened to his nutri-system diet he is now fat".
10. The World Might Be Coming to an End
...because my 81-year young grandma officially Friend Requested me on Facebook last night. And followed it up with a Wall Post. And is probably reading my blog. You want the truth? I'm not sure you (or I) can handle the truth!
Holla at you, Slovenia,
Jeff
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Nobody Puts Jeff In The Corner!
Ladies and gentlemen, I am ready to open up about a subject that is near and dear to my heart. This is probably not the best follow-up post to the one yesterday considering I mentioned how I sometimes lean sensitive and am not super manly, but it doesn't matter because I have a confession to make. The truth is....(dramatic pause)...I am a dancer! That's right, I love to dance. Not the "jump-out-of-a-cake-at-a-bachelorette-party" type (although I could for a nominal fee), but the lose yourself in the music, funky get down kind of dance. Now, I would encourage you not to confuse a love of dancing with a natural talent for it. In fact, I'm pretty awful. But it doesn't matter because it is the one activity that I've really stopped caring what other people think.
I think my love of dancing probably started in the 80's. I was raised on the hip hop streets of South Dakota where I often had to pop and lock just to survive. My family used to pump Footloose while I spun around on the kitchen floor when I was three or four. I learned to line dance off of an exercise tape along with three other classmates when I was in the 5th grade, and we did it at a concert as the rest of our classmates stood behind us and sang Boot Scootin' Boogie. I even conned one of the girls in my class into taking swing dance lessons with me in high school. There were definitely some years where the dancing shoes hung in the closet, particularly from 7th grade through junior year, when all the guys at the school dances sat on one side of the gym and made fun of the girls on the other, but by the end of high school we started to realize that the more we were on the dance floor (even if it meant just standing there with our hands in our pockets), the more attention we received from the ladies.
Through college I had kind of retreated back into "too-cool-for-school" mode and sat at the table while my friends were out grinding on any girl that backed that thang up. (God, I'm getting old. Just thinking about partying "from the windows to the walls" gives me agita.) I still had the rhythm in me, but it was usually relegated to dancing behind the wheel of my car or Tom Cruise-ing it in the privacy of my own home. I was sure that my dancing days were over.
But just as I was hanging up my dancing shoes for the last time, a miracle happened. The heavens opened up and delivered me a gift: the wedding dance. To date, I have been in 13 different weddings, and I've probably attended at least 15-20 more on top of that as an adult. I still remember coming home from my aunt and uncle's wedding dance (I was rocking the tux as the ring bearer (at the time I thought it was ring bear, so I was always looking around for that damn bear to show up and carry his weight)) and telling my grandma that my feet hurt so much, but that I had the best time in the world. It took about 15-20 years before that spark was reignited and I realized that the natural habitat of this ring bearer was the wedding dance. My dancing days 2.0 started when I was barely 21 and making my rounds at wedding dances with Chris and Jill. At the time, the dancing took place because I was too drunk to fight my inhibition. At one of my first (probably the first) and most fun wedding dances, I saw Jill's dad, Darrell, lighting the dance floor on fire and the ladies (mostly related to him, but still) flocking to his mad skills. In Darrell I saw my future.
I've carried Darrell's light with me ever since. It doesn't take much to get me on the dance floor anymore. In fact, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I have single handedly gotten the party started on a few occasions. Sure, I've stepped on a few toes in the process (sorry again, Amanda), but I've really started to hit my stride, white guy overbite and all. There is a bar in Walker, MN, that probably wants a pair of my shoes bronzed because every year we go up there for Eel Pout, I don't go home until I've danced with every lady in the place. What amazes me is how many people WANT to dance and don't because of nerves or attitude or whatever. It is easy to spot those people tapping their toes at the table, and it doesn't take much more than a "You wanna dance?" to get them on the floor. I would explain the phenomenon as them probably thinking, "Hey, we can't possibly look more stupid than this guy, but he looks like he's having fun, so what the hell." I had a similar "aha!" moment at a certain wedding dance when I saw a certain friend drop a certain pair of pants and dance with a certain pillar. A packed dance floor is a fun dance floor, just so long as there is enough room for someone to cast an imaginary fishing line across the floor and let me fish dance over to them.
The newest craze is dance video games that expect full motion participation. Jenna and I had bought up as many as we could for the Wii because we both loved dancing together. Let me tell you, this girl knew how to shake it, and she could learn full dance routines in minutes. Still, that didn't stop me from trying to out Kriss-Kross her or try to take her down on Thriller. The great thing about these games is that just like Rock Band and Guitar Hero before them, they seem to draw in everybody. Guys that never in a million years would sing Yellow Submarine while holding a plastic guitar or dance to Wham! are suddenly taking part because it is a game and a competition, and that is evidently enough to make it cool. I'm encouraged for the future of wedding dances as I really believe that these games are going to unlock the inner Astaire in people and I won't have to work so hard to find company on the dance floor.
Unfortunately, I now live in an apartment with people living directly below me, so my dance and activity games and videos are rendered useless in an effort to avoid falling into their living room. My hope would be to someday meet someone who shares my love of booty shaking and maybe take a class or two. None of that fancy-pants ballroom nonsense, but maybe another swing course. My mom has tried so hard over the years to teach me to jitterbug and I even took those aforementioned classes in high school, but nothing ever really stuck. I seem to need my own space and my own freedom to explore my art, but I'd like to give something a little more controlled a shot in hopes that I'll do less damage to those around me. Someday I might even try tap. I've always done this stupid little soft shoe thing, especially on linoleum and desk chair roller pads where it makes a little noise, but even though I'm pretty sure I've almost got it mastered, I know I won't get hired by any companies without some formal training. Ever since I saw Singing In the Rain, I've thought, "Wow, that Gene Kelly is cool. He's totally going to bang Princess Leia's mom!" (For those of you under 65, feel free to Google that joke.) Maybe when I retire I can finally take some time to try to become more like him. Or! Or maybe even better, I'll have a son who I can force to learn to tap, and I'll be one of those stage parents that screams, "Heel, toe, heel, toe, Joey! You're never going to dance in the rain unless you snap those ankles through, dammit!" Then when he's dating a super model and making millions, I can finally live my dream through him, despite his scathing autobiography, "Daddy Dearest". Still, it would probably be worth it.
Until then, I'll work on meeting new single friends that could potentially have wedding dances someday so that I can finally show off my fully memorized Christopher Walken routine seen here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCDIYvFmgW8
Two steppin' through Tuesday,
Jeff "Twinkle Toes" Pool
I think my love of dancing probably started in the 80's. I was raised on the hip hop streets of South Dakota where I often had to pop and lock just to survive. My family used to pump Footloose while I spun around on the kitchen floor when I was three or four. I learned to line dance off of an exercise tape along with three other classmates when I was in the 5th grade, and we did it at a concert as the rest of our classmates stood behind us and sang Boot Scootin' Boogie. I even conned one of the girls in my class into taking swing dance lessons with me in high school. There were definitely some years where the dancing shoes hung in the closet, particularly from 7th grade through junior year, when all the guys at the school dances sat on one side of the gym and made fun of the girls on the other, but by the end of high school we started to realize that the more we were on the dance floor (even if it meant just standing there with our hands in our pockets), the more attention we received from the ladies.
Through college I had kind of retreated back into "too-cool-for-school" mode and sat at the table while my friends were out grinding on any girl that backed that thang up. (God, I'm getting old. Just thinking about partying "from the windows to the walls" gives me agita.) I still had the rhythm in me, but it was usually relegated to dancing behind the wheel of my car or Tom Cruise-ing it in the privacy of my own home. I was sure that my dancing days were over.
But just as I was hanging up my dancing shoes for the last time, a miracle happened. The heavens opened up and delivered me a gift: the wedding dance. To date, I have been in 13 different weddings, and I've probably attended at least 15-20 more on top of that as an adult. I still remember coming home from my aunt and uncle's wedding dance (I was rocking the tux as the ring bearer (at the time I thought it was ring bear, so I was always looking around for that damn bear to show up and carry his weight)) and telling my grandma that my feet hurt so much, but that I had the best time in the world. It took about 15-20 years before that spark was reignited and I realized that the natural habitat of this ring bearer was the wedding dance. My dancing days 2.0 started when I was barely 21 and making my rounds at wedding dances with Chris and Jill. At the time, the dancing took place because I was too drunk to fight my inhibition. At one of my first (probably the first) and most fun wedding dances, I saw Jill's dad, Darrell, lighting the dance floor on fire and the ladies (mostly related to him, but still) flocking to his mad skills. In Darrell I saw my future.
I've carried Darrell's light with me ever since. It doesn't take much to get me on the dance floor anymore. In fact, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I have single handedly gotten the party started on a few occasions. Sure, I've stepped on a few toes in the process (sorry again, Amanda), but I've really started to hit my stride, white guy overbite and all. There is a bar in Walker, MN, that probably wants a pair of my shoes bronzed because every year we go up there for Eel Pout, I don't go home until I've danced with every lady in the place. What amazes me is how many people WANT to dance and don't because of nerves or attitude or whatever. It is easy to spot those people tapping their toes at the table, and it doesn't take much more than a "You wanna dance?" to get them on the floor. I would explain the phenomenon as them probably thinking, "Hey, we can't possibly look more stupid than this guy, but he looks like he's having fun, so what the hell." I had a similar "aha!" moment at a certain wedding dance when I saw a certain friend drop a certain pair of pants and dance with a certain pillar. A packed dance floor is a fun dance floor, just so long as there is enough room for someone to cast an imaginary fishing line across the floor and let me fish dance over to them.
The newest craze is dance video games that expect full motion participation. Jenna and I had bought up as many as we could for the Wii because we both loved dancing together. Let me tell you, this girl knew how to shake it, and she could learn full dance routines in minutes. Still, that didn't stop me from trying to out Kriss-Kross her or try to take her down on Thriller. The great thing about these games is that just like Rock Band and Guitar Hero before them, they seem to draw in everybody. Guys that never in a million years would sing Yellow Submarine while holding a plastic guitar or dance to Wham! are suddenly taking part because it is a game and a competition, and that is evidently enough to make it cool. I'm encouraged for the future of wedding dances as I really believe that these games are going to unlock the inner Astaire in people and I won't have to work so hard to find company on the dance floor.
Unfortunately, I now live in an apartment with people living directly below me, so my dance and activity games and videos are rendered useless in an effort to avoid falling into their living room. My hope would be to someday meet someone who shares my love of booty shaking and maybe take a class or two. None of that fancy-pants ballroom nonsense, but maybe another swing course. My mom has tried so hard over the years to teach me to jitterbug and I even took those aforementioned classes in high school, but nothing ever really stuck. I seem to need my own space and my own freedom to explore my art, but I'd like to give something a little more controlled a shot in hopes that I'll do less damage to those around me. Someday I might even try tap. I've always done this stupid little soft shoe thing, especially on linoleum and desk chair roller pads where it makes a little noise, but even though I'm pretty sure I've almost got it mastered, I know I won't get hired by any companies without some formal training. Ever since I saw Singing In the Rain, I've thought, "Wow, that Gene Kelly is cool. He's totally going to bang Princess Leia's mom!" (For those of you under 65, feel free to Google that joke.) Maybe when I retire I can finally take some time to try to become more like him. Or! Or maybe even better, I'll have a son who I can force to learn to tap, and I'll be one of those stage parents that screams, "Heel, toe, heel, toe, Joey! You're never going to dance in the rain unless you snap those ankles through, dammit!" Then when he's dating a super model and making millions, I can finally live my dream through him, despite his scathing autobiography, "Daddy Dearest". Still, it would probably be worth it.
Until then, I'll work on meeting new single friends that could potentially have wedding dances someday so that I can finally show off my fully memorized Christopher Walken routine seen here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCDIYvFmgW8
Two steppin' through Tuesday,
Jeff "Twinkle Toes" Pool
Monday, March 28, 2011
Monday 1530: JLP the HSP
WARNING! This post contains large amounts of psedu-psychology. If you're not interested in self-help mumbo jumbo, I would advise you to turn around now and go back and look at the pictures I took of my belly back in November. If you continue, please remember that you've been warned!
I've always known something was a little off with me. Ever since I was a little kid I had a sneaky suspicion that what was going on upstairs in the old noodle might not be occurring in the heads of those around me. I noticed things that I felt other people didn't always notice, and I always felt like I could empathize better than others and that people often came to me with problems because of it. I was able to retain very information better than those around me, and I can still remember very specific details of events in my life from when I was very young. I had a very active imagination that usually leaked into fantastically real dreams, both day and night. I loved being around people, but at the same time I usually had the urge to just be alone with my thoughts. I felt like a walking oxymoron because I was an extroverted introvert. Or was it an introverted extrovert? I wanted so badly for the whole world to see me, but the minute that they did I wanted nothing more than to just be another face in the crowd. I hated crowds at events like state tournaments, and I'd get nervous to the point where I'd have to go sit by myself. I was often overly emotional and sensitive. I've always hated scary movies because I can't handle the suspenseful music and cheap scares. I would cry when people would leave or when I would leave others. I lingered on every word that people said to me, trying to assign context and subtext. I acted very shy and uncomfortable in new situations, yet I was overly affectionate to those I became close to. I connected to music, TV, and movies, and I would often obsess on songs until I wrangled all of the emotional meaning out of them. I'm not able to sleep in a bed with someone else because I'm constantly aware of their presence (my parents probably hated traveling with me since this usually meant I had to have a roll-away or I'd sleep on the floor until I was old enough to know what was on hotel floors). These traits continued into adulthood.
I recently stumbled upon an idea that I've done some reading on, and I think I might finally have an explanation. According to research done by Elaine Aron, I am a Highly-Sensitive Person (HSP). More specifically, I'm an HSM (Highly Sensitive Man). It started with a self-test online and led to an interlibrary loan of some of Dr.. Aron's works. As soon as I started reading, I felt like I had finally found a category to call my own. Some of the more interesting common denominators I found were things like when I attend a conference, I become overwhelmed and would prefer to spend time in my room alone. That's me! I sometimes attend conferences and end up skipping sessions, not because I'm lazy or disinterested, but because I feel like I need to get away to process things I'm hearing. In her book "The Highly Sensitive Person In Love," she talks about how HSP's will often avoid being in an intimate relationship because the fear and knowledge of the possibility of being hurt often outweighs the desire and ability to start up a relationship. Ding, ding, ding! I couldn't have said it better myself. She also talks about how HSM's in particular have a hard time initiating physical contact, even in the form of a kiss, because they are always worried that they are missing a sign and don't want to be seen as too forceful. If you were one of the many lucky girls who had the opportunity to try to date me or one of the lucky people at a lunch table who were blessed with hearing my frustrations and nerves about this very subject, you'll know how true this one is, too. Another indicator is that we have a hard time living with others or in communal living because even the slightest change in room temperature, lighting, or noise level becomes grating, and we often times want to have our own rooms when we go on vacations because we need to be able to completely control the environment. Welcome to my Hell! I have a new neighbor that moved in upstairs, and every time he stands up and I hear a floor board creek, I feel like walking upstairs and punching him in the face. On our recent fishing trip, I had to spend about 20 minutes before we went to the bar just lying in my own dark bedroom to just reset. (By the way, bars are a nightmare for me. Waaaaay too many people, sounds, smells, etc. for this guy. Luckily they serve things that help me overcome.) I also get startled by phone calls and unexpected knocks on my door and will often ignore both until I'm ready to deal with it on my own terms. Weird, I know.
The other big one is that HSM's in particular generally relate to women better and often feel uncomfortable around men, with other men often feeling uncomfortable around them. I've often been pegged by family members and outsiders as being kind of off, and in more than one occasion it was insinuated that I was gay (not that there's anything wrong with that). But the thing is, I love the ladies. I wish I was a more manly man who could do manly man things, but I'm not. I can't change the oil, drive a tractor, or kill animals. I can tell you what cardigan looks best with your tie, tell when you're hurt and lend you a caring ear, and drive you to the airport. Dr. Aron says that often times HSM's are made more HSM-ey because they are raised primarily by women during their formative years, lacking a male role model to properly teach him how to deal and cope with emotions in an acceptable masculine way. These traits are also enhanced when the child feels like he needs to be there emotionally for his mother. This blog is in no way an indictment on anything my parents ever did, but the truth is that for a couple of years I spent the bulk of my time with mom and my two grandmothers, and anyone who knows me knows that I'm a mama's boy and that my mother and I have a pretty deep emotional connection that was enhanced during a stint where it was just the two of us.
The other thing that Dr. Aron mentions in her book is that there are people out there that are very high sensation and thrill seekers (HTS). She is a HSP, her husband is a HTS. She talks about how these two personalities can often clash because the HTS wants as much stimulation in the environment as possible, whereas she wants it in little chunks that she can control. She also talks about how rocky the relationship was because in the beginning, she was completely guarded and protected herself, although inside she desperately wanted to give all of herself to him. Then when she finally made the decision to fully trust him, she almost overwhelmed him with affection. In hindsight, I think this is what happened to Jenna and me. Jenna was definitely an HTS, and she was always looking for new things to keep her interested. Stimulation didn't bother her one bit. She lived over 4th Street in Sioux City, across from a bar that had loud music and drunken party-goers screaming outside all night long. She was also next to train tracks and had neighbors on all sides that seemed to lack the common decency to shut the hell up. She never noticed a single one of them. When I'd stay over, I'd make her turn a fan on and made her buy darkened curtains because I almost had a nervous breakdown. On the internal side, I was super guarded because I was afraid to trust her (I hadn't really, fully trusted someone in a loving way in a long time), but when I finally did I opened a floodgate on her that I'm not sure she was ever all that comfortable with. My main goal was to make her happy, because with her being happy, I was happy. Typing that, I'm fully aware that this was an odd codependency, but that is how I operate in all of my relationships. I hate having people be upset with me (or upset in general), and I need to be loved and liked. To know that I'm not liked is too much for me, and I will do anything in my power to balance that back out. In hindsight, I think Jenna was doing everything she could to try to understand where I was coming from, but I think having a man that was so emotional and sensitive was too alien for her and too unlike who she was. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't walking around crying at every turn. But I was very affectionate and didn't hide feelings. I needed her and needed to be needed by her. She needed independence and freedom, and was secure enough to not need me all the time. In hindsight, I know she started pushing me away a couple of months ago, but I couldn't process that and just held on tighter.
Maybe I'm still trying to assign meaning to something that doesn't need that assignment, but I'm pretty sure I'm an HSP and that's what I do. There's some really interesting stuff on why HSP's are who they are, and I could totally relate. If I was a superhero, I'd be Highly Sensitive Man, and my creation story would be similar to 20% of other Americans by her estimate. Oh, and I could fly.
I share with you all of this because I think it will provide some insight into the way I've handled things in the past (probably with you at some point) and the way I'll deal with things in the future. This isn't a defect, but rather a trait that I feel like I've known about for years but never had the verbiage to explain it to others. In fact, I think it is a great strength when used appropriately. I live a rich, complex life internally, and that helps in my day to day operations externally. It helps me be creative, and it helps me be a great story teller. Those who know me know that I love to tell grandiose stories of my exploits, and while all of them are rooted in truth, there is almost always embellishment. I've long said that I feel like my life is a movie with a constant narration in my head, and it is that narration that I like to share with you because it is almost always a little bit entertaining. I also think it helps me be a great friend and co-worker.
It also explains why I'm quick to say that I'm okay in one breath and then retreat to my apartment by myself for a couple of days and disconnect from the entire world as I try to cope with everything going on. My life is an open book, yet I somehow manage to be incredibly private. I just confided in a friend that this is the first blog post that I seriously considered deleting after I had written it because it might have officially crossed my threshold of a comfort level for vulnerability, and I have already imagined the reaction it will create in different people based on their connection to me. However, I'm going to roll with it because this blog is about insight and, right or wrong, I have found insight in the HSP theory.
I'll leave you with this, a song lyric from my favorite band and one of Jenna and I's favorite songs (January Wedding by the Avett Brothers):
I don't feel weak but I do need sometimes for her to protect me
And reconnect me to the beauty that I'm missin'
So, I've got a favor to ask of all of you. Until I find that next someone special, help me stay connected. After living alone for the better part of the past decade, it becomes entirely too convenient for me to disconnect and live in my own little world filled with bad sitcoms from the 80's and Spyder Solitaire. I don't need a babysitter or an events coordinator, but know that no matter how much it seems like I'm dealing with all of this on my own and pushing people away, I deeply want and appreciate all of the support, understanding and love you've all given me.
Well, this post officially sucks and is a major downer, so I promise something more blue skies tomorrow. In the meantime, if you'd like to read more about the HSP, here's a link:
http://www.hsperson.com/index.html
If you took the self-assessment and found that we have similar characteristics, let me know! I've always been interested in shared experiences and commonalities, so maybe we can grab a coffee and be sensitive together.
Sensitively yours,
Jeff
I've always known something was a little off with me. Ever since I was a little kid I had a sneaky suspicion that what was going on upstairs in the old noodle might not be occurring in the heads of those around me. I noticed things that I felt other people didn't always notice, and I always felt like I could empathize better than others and that people often came to me with problems because of it. I was able to retain very information better than those around me, and I can still remember very specific details of events in my life from when I was very young. I had a very active imagination that usually leaked into fantastically real dreams, both day and night. I loved being around people, but at the same time I usually had the urge to just be alone with my thoughts. I felt like a walking oxymoron because I was an extroverted introvert. Or was it an introverted extrovert? I wanted so badly for the whole world to see me, but the minute that they did I wanted nothing more than to just be another face in the crowd. I hated crowds at events like state tournaments, and I'd get nervous to the point where I'd have to go sit by myself. I was often overly emotional and sensitive. I've always hated scary movies because I can't handle the suspenseful music and cheap scares. I would cry when people would leave or when I would leave others. I lingered on every word that people said to me, trying to assign context and subtext. I acted very shy and uncomfortable in new situations, yet I was overly affectionate to those I became close to. I connected to music, TV, and movies, and I would often obsess on songs until I wrangled all of the emotional meaning out of them. I'm not able to sleep in a bed with someone else because I'm constantly aware of their presence (my parents probably hated traveling with me since this usually meant I had to have a roll-away or I'd sleep on the floor until I was old enough to know what was on hotel floors). These traits continued into adulthood.
I recently stumbled upon an idea that I've done some reading on, and I think I might finally have an explanation. According to research done by Elaine Aron, I am a Highly-Sensitive Person (HSP). More specifically, I'm an HSM (Highly Sensitive Man). It started with a self-test online and led to an interlibrary loan of some of Dr.. Aron's works. As soon as I started reading, I felt like I had finally found a category to call my own. Some of the more interesting common denominators I found were things like when I attend a conference, I become overwhelmed and would prefer to spend time in my room alone. That's me! I sometimes attend conferences and end up skipping sessions, not because I'm lazy or disinterested, but because I feel like I need to get away to process things I'm hearing. In her book "The Highly Sensitive Person In Love," she talks about how HSP's will often avoid being in an intimate relationship because the fear and knowledge of the possibility of being hurt often outweighs the desire and ability to start up a relationship. Ding, ding, ding! I couldn't have said it better myself. She also talks about how HSM's in particular have a hard time initiating physical contact, even in the form of a kiss, because they are always worried that they are missing a sign and don't want to be seen as too forceful. If you were one of the many lucky girls who had the opportunity to try to date me or one of the lucky people at a lunch table who were blessed with hearing my frustrations and nerves about this very subject, you'll know how true this one is, too. Another indicator is that we have a hard time living with others or in communal living because even the slightest change in room temperature, lighting, or noise level becomes grating, and we often times want to have our own rooms when we go on vacations because we need to be able to completely control the environment. Welcome to my Hell! I have a new neighbor that moved in upstairs, and every time he stands up and I hear a floor board creek, I feel like walking upstairs and punching him in the face. On our recent fishing trip, I had to spend about 20 minutes before we went to the bar just lying in my own dark bedroom to just reset. (By the way, bars are a nightmare for me. Waaaaay too many people, sounds, smells, etc. for this guy. Luckily they serve things that help me overcome.) I also get startled by phone calls and unexpected knocks on my door and will often ignore both until I'm ready to deal with it on my own terms. Weird, I know.
The other big one is that HSM's in particular generally relate to women better and often feel uncomfortable around men, with other men often feeling uncomfortable around them. I've often been pegged by family members and outsiders as being kind of off, and in more than one occasion it was insinuated that I was gay (not that there's anything wrong with that). But the thing is, I love the ladies. I wish I was a more manly man who could do manly man things, but I'm not. I can't change the oil, drive a tractor, or kill animals. I can tell you what cardigan looks best with your tie, tell when you're hurt and lend you a caring ear, and drive you to the airport. Dr. Aron says that often times HSM's are made more HSM-ey because they are raised primarily by women during their formative years, lacking a male role model to properly teach him how to deal and cope with emotions in an acceptable masculine way. These traits are also enhanced when the child feels like he needs to be there emotionally for his mother. This blog is in no way an indictment on anything my parents ever did, but the truth is that for a couple of years I spent the bulk of my time with mom and my two grandmothers, and anyone who knows me knows that I'm a mama's boy and that my mother and I have a pretty deep emotional connection that was enhanced during a stint where it was just the two of us.
The other thing that Dr. Aron mentions in her book is that there are people out there that are very high sensation and thrill seekers (HTS). She is a HSP, her husband is a HTS. She talks about how these two personalities can often clash because the HTS wants as much stimulation in the environment as possible, whereas she wants it in little chunks that she can control. She also talks about how rocky the relationship was because in the beginning, she was completely guarded and protected herself, although inside she desperately wanted to give all of herself to him. Then when she finally made the decision to fully trust him, she almost overwhelmed him with affection. In hindsight, I think this is what happened to Jenna and me. Jenna was definitely an HTS, and she was always looking for new things to keep her interested. Stimulation didn't bother her one bit. She lived over 4th Street in Sioux City, across from a bar that had loud music and drunken party-goers screaming outside all night long. She was also next to train tracks and had neighbors on all sides that seemed to lack the common decency to shut the hell up. She never noticed a single one of them. When I'd stay over, I'd make her turn a fan on and made her buy darkened curtains because I almost had a nervous breakdown. On the internal side, I was super guarded because I was afraid to trust her (I hadn't really, fully trusted someone in a loving way in a long time), but when I finally did I opened a floodgate on her that I'm not sure she was ever all that comfortable with. My main goal was to make her happy, because with her being happy, I was happy. Typing that, I'm fully aware that this was an odd codependency, but that is how I operate in all of my relationships. I hate having people be upset with me (or upset in general), and I need to be loved and liked. To know that I'm not liked is too much for me, and I will do anything in my power to balance that back out. In hindsight, I think Jenna was doing everything she could to try to understand where I was coming from, but I think having a man that was so emotional and sensitive was too alien for her and too unlike who she was. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't walking around crying at every turn. But I was very affectionate and didn't hide feelings. I needed her and needed to be needed by her. She needed independence and freedom, and was secure enough to not need me all the time. In hindsight, I know she started pushing me away a couple of months ago, but I couldn't process that and just held on tighter.
Maybe I'm still trying to assign meaning to something that doesn't need that assignment, but I'm pretty sure I'm an HSP and that's what I do. There's some really interesting stuff on why HSP's are who they are, and I could totally relate. If I was a superhero, I'd be Highly Sensitive Man, and my creation story would be similar to 20% of other Americans by her estimate. Oh, and I could fly.
I share with you all of this because I think it will provide some insight into the way I've handled things in the past (probably with you at some point) and the way I'll deal with things in the future. This isn't a defect, but rather a trait that I feel like I've known about for years but never had the verbiage to explain it to others. In fact, I think it is a great strength when used appropriately. I live a rich, complex life internally, and that helps in my day to day operations externally. It helps me be creative, and it helps me be a great story teller. Those who know me know that I love to tell grandiose stories of my exploits, and while all of them are rooted in truth, there is almost always embellishment. I've long said that I feel like my life is a movie with a constant narration in my head, and it is that narration that I like to share with you because it is almost always a little bit entertaining. I also think it helps me be a great friend and co-worker.
It also explains why I'm quick to say that I'm okay in one breath and then retreat to my apartment by myself for a couple of days and disconnect from the entire world as I try to cope with everything going on. My life is an open book, yet I somehow manage to be incredibly private. I just confided in a friend that this is the first blog post that I seriously considered deleting after I had written it because it might have officially crossed my threshold of a comfort level for vulnerability, and I have already imagined the reaction it will create in different people based on their connection to me. However, I'm going to roll with it because this blog is about insight and, right or wrong, I have found insight in the HSP theory.
I'll leave you with this, a song lyric from my favorite band and one of Jenna and I's favorite songs (January Wedding by the Avett Brothers):
I don't feel weak but I do need sometimes for her to protect me
And reconnect me to the beauty that I'm missin'
So, I've got a favor to ask of all of you. Until I find that next someone special, help me stay connected. After living alone for the better part of the past decade, it becomes entirely too convenient for me to disconnect and live in my own little world filled with bad sitcoms from the 80's and Spyder Solitaire. I don't need a babysitter or an events coordinator, but know that no matter how much it seems like I'm dealing with all of this on my own and pushing people away, I deeply want and appreciate all of the support, understanding and love you've all given me.
Well, this post officially sucks and is a major downer, so I promise something more blue skies tomorrow. In the meantime, if you'd like to read more about the HSP, here's a link:
http://www.hsperson.com/index.html
If you took the self-assessment and found that we have similar characteristics, let me know! I've always been interested in shared experiences and commonalities, so maybe we can grab a coffee and be sensitive together.
Sensitively yours,
Jeff
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Happy Hump Day!
Happy Wednesday, and to all my friends in North Dakota and Minnesota, Happy March Blizzard Day! Thankfully I've lived in the Midwest long enough to never fall for those first nice weeks in March, but with the inches of ice covered with inches of snow, this storm really seems like a doozy. Wednesdays are my sleep-in day since I generally work late on our other campus, but when I woke up and looked out the window and turned on the TV to see all the school cancellations, I knew that driving wasn't in the cards for today. Just as the spring thaw turned back into the spring freeze, I feel like my brain went back into hibernation. I know that I won't be able to post here every day, but as I try to get started back up, I want my postings to be a little more regular. With that said, I stumbled onto an old note I had posted on Facebook that I found pretty amusing. I wrote it almost two years ago, and amazingly it is still accurate for today. The post was about movies that I thought were the best or most influential to me.
I've recently signed up for Netflix because I don't have cable and I started getting really tired of forgetting to bring back Redbox movies. I've also stopped buying DVD's, mostly because I'm getting really sick and tired of constantly moving them. At last count I had over 1,000, and I'm starting to think that's about 900 too many.
With all of that said, I'm still a huge movie and TV buff and Netflix offers me the opportunity to stream their content directly to my PS3/Wii/Blu-ray player. I've been watching some of the most off the wall, random shows and movies, and for the most part, I've given up on regular TV except for the weekly two hours I give to Glee, Modern Family, and The Office. There is one terrifying element to Netflix, though. It monitors your watching habits and kicks out suggestions on other things that you might watch. I think it should be mandatory that people carry these suggestions on a name tag attached to their shirts at all times because it is pretty revealing as to who people really are. For instance, if you met me on a first date in a coffee shop and took thirty seconds to read my name tag, you would realize that I enjoy critically-acclaimed comedies from the 80's, space travel television (really?), mind bending suspense and action, documentary-style reality shows, dark alternative comedy, and goofy children's cartoons. At that point most girls would take their Venti Vanilla Latte and hit the road, thus avoiding the inevitable break-up down the line when we're having the argument over whether we should watch Grey's Anatomy or Scooby-Doo Unmasks the Space Bandit. I actually use this method of screening on Match.com. In my first e-mail, I always ask women what is on their iPod and their favorite cartoon was as a kid. The music thing always ranges and is more or less my control question, but their response to the cartoon question immediately weeds out 80% of the population. After all, could I really see myself spending the rest of my life with someone who picks Sailor Moon over She-ra or Bobby's World? Maybe, but only if she's really, really good looking.
So, without further ado, a flashback to 2009 and the 15 Most Influential Movies for Jeffrey L. Pool (Updates in Parenthesis):
1) The Wizard of Oz- To the best of my knowledge, my first favorite movie and probably the one that was the most influential in a lot of my future entertainment choices. My grandma Nita taped it on TV for me and it was probably the best babysitter she could find since I'd lay on the carpet starting when I was really, really little and just be transfixed for hours. I'm a completely heterosexual 27 (29) year old male, and I still love musicals to this day. It was seriously magic for me. I still can recite almost every single word and can sing any of the songs on cue. It was that important to me.
2) PeeWee's Big Adventure- This movie confused the hell out of me when I was a kid, but I loved it so much. It was so weird in a way I'd never seen before, and it was also really, really dark in its humor, so much so that I remember being really scared during a couple of parts. I think this was my first glimpse of my darker, sarcastic side. Also in this category, both Harry and the Hendersons and Howard the Duck. My grandma Pat had both of these on tape, and they felt a little more "adult" than the Disney movies I got to watch at grandma Nita's. I looked forward to almost every weekend getting to go spend the night with the Pools, getting just a little bit of coffee to dunk Oreos in, and watching either Harry or Howard. I own both on DVD, and although they haven't really stood the test of time, there are still moments that give me flashbacks to those nights.
3) Follow That Bird- I swear I don't just watch kids' movies! But in terms of important movies in my life, next to Wizard of Oz this one takes the cake. I was a big Sesame Street/Muppet fan, and this was the first full-length Sesame feature. You will all think I'm crazy, but if you haven't seen this movie, you need to! If you have kids, pretend like they are reason you are putting it on. Like a lot of Jim Henson movies, this one had a lot of adult themes and emotions that you wouldn't get on PBS. The music is awesome (Waylon Jennings makes a cameo!), the writing and acting are great, and it was probably the first time as a child I remember relating emotionally to a movie. I still get teary eyed when Big Bird breaks into his Blue Bird/Be Back Home song. Yes, I can also sing every word to every song in this one, too, just like most of the Muppet movies' songs. No, that isn't pathetic.
4) Very Bad Things- You probably haven't seen this movie. Hell, you probably haven't even heard of it. You can pick it up in any $2 bin at Walmart, but it wasn't a throw-away movie to me. My friends and I all managed to get into this movie even though we weren't old enough, and the commercials looked hilarious. It was a darker version of The Hangover. Long story short, a bunch of friends go to Vegas, get crazy, kill a hooker, and spend the rest of the movie trying to deal with it. Sounds hilarious, right? Well, it is! And the characters in the movie matched up almost perfectly with all of my high school friends. Not everybody loved it as much as I did, but it was right up my dark comedy alley.
5) Shawshank Redemption- Shawshank was the first movie that made me understand the importance of a really, really good film. I've seen this movie so many times, and everytime it feels like the first time and I catch something new I missed the first 25 times. Probably the best story and acting of all the films on the list. (I've since seen a lot of other films that were much better than this one, but this one still is one of my favorites because it taught me you didn't need singing puppets or big explosions to be entertaining.)
6) Pulp Fiction - I was 13 when this first came out and somehow Dan and I talked my mom into renting this for us. At the time the big buzz was around the "Royale with cheese" scene, and we both thought we were these mature, smart, dark-humored guys that would totally get this movie. What I remember from our first viewing was that we counted the word "fuck" like 30 times in the first 15 minutes. I don't know that we made it much further than that before we figured out it wasn't for us. I rewatched Pulp Fiction again a couple of years ago because I'd seen Kill Bill and thought it was time to go back and review the old Tarantino movies. After I finished Pulp Fiction I was blown away. I went and got supper and came back and watched it again. The writing is so sharp, the dialogue so over-the-top, and the entire tone so unique that I couldn't believe I had been missing it in my life.
7) Dirty Work- Alright, another movie that most people would just toss away. But this one is a shout out to my sister. We were lucky enough to have HBO when we were kids, so while my mom and dad were at work all summer, Shelbi and I would stay at home and watch movies we probably shouldn't have watched. The plot is so ridiculous, Norm McDonald can't act to save his life, and Chris Farley gets his nose bit off by a Saigon whore, but there was something about it that made Shelbi and I cheese out everytime (and if you know the old-school HBO rotation where they would show Radio Flyer, Short Circuit, Dirty Work, and Police Academy over and over and over again, you know we saw it a lot). Also, this was the start of my fascination with Artie Lange that continues on today with my obsession with the Howard Stern Show. This and Shawshank were the first two movies I ever bought.
8) Fight Club- Fight Club is the movie that reminds me most of my best friend in high school. He and I went and saw this together, and it was the coolest movie in the world at the time. I have a bad habit of being able to guess the entire plots of movies within the first 15 minutes, but this one completely caught me off guard. When we got done, we both were all amped up and blown away. I immediately wanted to see it again to see how I could miss such a huge twist. Same thing with the movies Memento and The Game. Also, Brad Pitt went from being a pretty boy to pretty bad ass.
9) Office Space- Post age 12, I have not seen a movie as much as I've seen this one. Dave, Dan and I would watch this almost nightly one summer, and Chris and I watched it almost nightly in college. We would quote it all the time to the point I'm sure we were obnoxious. It also was the movie that put this crazy notion in my head that I shouldn't be happy working a job that didn't make me happy, which is probably why I am never content in life. Damn you, Mike Judge! (In the same vein, we watched Super Troopers somewhere in the neighborhood of a million times.)
10) Edward Scissorhands- This movie had it all. 1) The creepiness of a Tim Burton movie that I was still fascinated with since PeeWee. 2) The story of a kid who didn't fit in during a time when I was starting to feel awkward and like I didn't fit in. 3) Heavy rotation on HBO.
11) Ferris Bueller's Day Off - Ferris first came out when I was 5, so needless to say I didn't find it until later in life. Still, the story was timeless. I can be a little bipolar, and I like to think that when I'm at my best I'm in full-Ferris, but at my worst I'm a complete Cameron.
12) Mallrats- If I was stuck on a deserted island and could only pick the works of one writer/director to take with me, with all due respect to Tarantino, Burton, Spielberg, Scorsese, and Hughes, I would grab the Kevin Smith catalog in a heart beat. Kevin Smith's characters talk exactly like I think...rambling, sarcastic, pessimistically optimistic, and always laced with pop culture. Mallrats, Clerks 1 and 2, Chasing Amy, and even Jay and Silent Bob strike back are all masterpieces to me.
13) Mr. Holland's Opus - This movie came out when I was a huge band geek and just coming out of junior high. I went to see it with Dan and some girls that we were trying to impress since we had just figured out that girls weren't so icky after all. So, what did I do to impress the girls? I cried. Not once, but twice during the movie. I don't know if it was the hormones or some deep-down dad issues I had, but this movie made me tear up like I was cutting onions. And you know what? I still cry everytime I watch it and Stranger on the Shore is still the greatest clarinet solo of all time. Deal with it.
14) Stranger Than Fiction - This movie is just really smart. I don't know what else to say about it other than I like smart movies that are a little existential in nature. Sideways, American Spledor and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind are also smart, and I like those, too. That's all.
15) X-Men/Spiderman/Transformers - The original movies in these series all make me feel like a kid. I saw them all in the theater on opening night, and I sat on the edge of my seat with a huge smile on my face the entire time. Sometimes movies just need to make you forget the troubles of being an adult and bring you back to the days when giant robots fought other giant robots and people fixed their problems by growing giant metal claws or swinging over New York City by a giant web.
( 16) I'm adding to the list because since I wrote this, I've discovered the Coen brothers in a big way. I love Fargo, Big Lebowski, True Grit, No Country For Old Men, Raising Arizona, Barton Fink, and A Serious Man. Their movies are full of the subtle, not so subtle, and the absurd. I think Joel and Ethan might take over Kevin Smith as my desert island collection someday, especially considering KS recently said he was putting his View Askew universe to rest.)
Keeping couch warm and the popcorn I Can't Believe It's Not Buttered,
Jeff
P.S. - If you have Netflix, I'd really recommend the 6-part PBS docu-series "Circus". I plowed through the whole thing last night, and while it was probably a little fluffy, it was still super entertaining to see what goes on with the cast and crew behind the scenes.
I've recently signed up for Netflix because I don't have cable and I started getting really tired of forgetting to bring back Redbox movies. I've also stopped buying DVD's, mostly because I'm getting really sick and tired of constantly moving them. At last count I had over 1,000, and I'm starting to think that's about 900 too many.
With all of that said, I'm still a huge movie and TV buff and Netflix offers me the opportunity to stream their content directly to my PS3/Wii/Blu-ray player. I've been watching some of the most off the wall, random shows and movies, and for the most part, I've given up on regular TV except for the weekly two hours I give to Glee, Modern Family, and The Office. There is one terrifying element to Netflix, though. It monitors your watching habits and kicks out suggestions on other things that you might watch. I think it should be mandatory that people carry these suggestions on a name tag attached to their shirts at all times because it is pretty revealing as to who people really are. For instance, if you met me on a first date in a coffee shop and took thirty seconds to read my name tag, you would realize that I enjoy critically-acclaimed comedies from the 80's, space travel television (really?), mind bending suspense and action, documentary-style reality shows, dark alternative comedy, and goofy children's cartoons. At that point most girls would take their Venti Vanilla Latte and hit the road, thus avoiding the inevitable break-up down the line when we're having the argument over whether we should watch Grey's Anatomy or Scooby-Doo Unmasks the Space Bandit. I actually use this method of screening on Match.com. In my first e-mail, I always ask women what is on their iPod and their favorite cartoon was as a kid. The music thing always ranges and is more or less my control question, but their response to the cartoon question immediately weeds out 80% of the population. After all, could I really see myself spending the rest of my life with someone who picks Sailor Moon over She-ra or Bobby's World? Maybe, but only if she's really, really good looking.
So, without further ado, a flashback to 2009 and the 15 Most Influential Movies for Jeffrey L. Pool (Updates in Parenthesis):
1) The Wizard of Oz- To the best of my knowledge, my first favorite movie and probably the one that was the most influential in a lot of my future entertainment choices. My grandma Nita taped it on TV for me and it was probably the best babysitter she could find since I'd lay on the carpet starting when I was really, really little and just be transfixed for hours. I'm a completely heterosexual 27 (29) year old male, and I still love musicals to this day. It was seriously magic for me. I still can recite almost every single word and can sing any of the songs on cue. It was that important to me.
2) PeeWee's Big Adventure- This movie confused the hell out of me when I was a kid, but I loved it so much. It was so weird in a way I'd never seen before, and it was also really, really dark in its humor, so much so that I remember being really scared during a couple of parts. I think this was my first glimpse of my darker, sarcastic side. Also in this category, both Harry and the Hendersons and Howard the Duck. My grandma Pat had both of these on tape, and they felt a little more "adult" than the Disney movies I got to watch at grandma Nita's. I looked forward to almost every weekend getting to go spend the night with the Pools, getting just a little bit of coffee to dunk Oreos in, and watching either Harry or Howard. I own both on DVD, and although they haven't really stood the test of time, there are still moments that give me flashbacks to those nights.
3) Follow That Bird- I swear I don't just watch kids' movies! But in terms of important movies in my life, next to Wizard of Oz this one takes the cake. I was a big Sesame Street/Muppet fan, and this was the first full-length Sesame feature. You will all think I'm crazy, but if you haven't seen this movie, you need to! If you have kids, pretend like they are reason you are putting it on. Like a lot of Jim Henson movies, this one had a lot of adult themes and emotions that you wouldn't get on PBS. The music is awesome (Waylon Jennings makes a cameo!), the writing and acting are great, and it was probably the first time as a child I remember relating emotionally to a movie. I still get teary eyed when Big Bird breaks into his Blue Bird/Be Back Home song. Yes, I can also sing every word to every song in this one, too, just like most of the Muppet movies' songs. No, that isn't pathetic.
4) Very Bad Things- You probably haven't seen this movie. Hell, you probably haven't even heard of it. You can pick it up in any $2 bin at Walmart, but it wasn't a throw-away movie to me. My friends and I all managed to get into this movie even though we weren't old enough, and the commercials looked hilarious. It was a darker version of The Hangover. Long story short, a bunch of friends go to Vegas, get crazy, kill a hooker, and spend the rest of the movie trying to deal with it. Sounds hilarious, right? Well, it is! And the characters in the movie matched up almost perfectly with all of my high school friends. Not everybody loved it as much as I did, but it was right up my dark comedy alley.
5) Shawshank Redemption- Shawshank was the first movie that made me understand the importance of a really, really good film. I've seen this movie so many times, and everytime it feels like the first time and I catch something new I missed the first 25 times. Probably the best story and acting of all the films on the list. (I've since seen a lot of other films that were much better than this one, but this one still is one of my favorites because it taught me you didn't need singing puppets or big explosions to be entertaining.)
6) Pulp Fiction - I was 13 when this first came out and somehow Dan and I talked my mom into renting this for us. At the time the big buzz was around the "Royale with cheese" scene, and we both thought we were these mature, smart, dark-humored guys that would totally get this movie. What I remember from our first viewing was that we counted the word "fuck" like 30 times in the first 15 minutes. I don't know that we made it much further than that before we figured out it wasn't for us. I rewatched Pulp Fiction again a couple of years ago because I'd seen Kill Bill and thought it was time to go back and review the old Tarantino movies. After I finished Pulp Fiction I was blown away. I went and got supper and came back and watched it again. The writing is so sharp, the dialogue so over-the-top, and the entire tone so unique that I couldn't believe I had been missing it in my life.
7) Dirty Work- Alright, another movie that most people would just toss away. But this one is a shout out to my sister. We were lucky enough to have HBO when we were kids, so while my mom and dad were at work all summer, Shelbi and I would stay at home and watch movies we probably shouldn't have watched. The plot is so ridiculous, Norm McDonald can't act to save his life, and Chris Farley gets his nose bit off by a Saigon whore, but there was something about it that made Shelbi and I cheese out everytime (and if you know the old-school HBO rotation where they would show Radio Flyer, Short Circuit, Dirty Work, and Police Academy over and over and over again, you know we saw it a lot). Also, this was the start of my fascination with Artie Lange that continues on today with my obsession with the Howard Stern Show. This and Shawshank were the first two movies I ever bought.
8) Fight Club- Fight Club is the movie that reminds me most of my best friend in high school. He and I went and saw this together, and it was the coolest movie in the world at the time. I have a bad habit of being able to guess the entire plots of movies within the first 15 minutes, but this one completely caught me off guard. When we got done, we both were all amped up and blown away. I immediately wanted to see it again to see how I could miss such a huge twist. Same thing with the movies Memento and The Game. Also, Brad Pitt went from being a pretty boy to pretty bad ass.
9) Office Space- Post age 12, I have not seen a movie as much as I've seen this one. Dave, Dan and I would watch this almost nightly one summer, and Chris and I watched it almost nightly in college. We would quote it all the time to the point I'm sure we were obnoxious. It also was the movie that put this crazy notion in my head that I shouldn't be happy working a job that didn't make me happy, which is probably why I am never content in life. Damn you, Mike Judge! (In the same vein, we watched Super Troopers somewhere in the neighborhood of a million times.)
10) Edward Scissorhands- This movie had it all. 1) The creepiness of a Tim Burton movie that I was still fascinated with since PeeWee. 2) The story of a kid who didn't fit in during a time when I was starting to feel awkward and like I didn't fit in. 3) Heavy rotation on HBO.
11) Ferris Bueller's Day Off - Ferris first came out when I was 5, so needless to say I didn't find it until later in life. Still, the story was timeless. I can be a little bipolar, and I like to think that when I'm at my best I'm in full-Ferris, but at my worst I'm a complete Cameron.
12) Mallrats- If I was stuck on a deserted island and could only pick the works of one writer/director to take with me, with all due respect to Tarantino, Burton, Spielberg, Scorsese, and Hughes, I would grab the Kevin Smith catalog in a heart beat. Kevin Smith's characters talk exactly like I think...rambling, sarcastic, pessimistically optimistic, and always laced with pop culture. Mallrats, Clerks 1 and 2, Chasing Amy, and even Jay and Silent Bob strike back are all masterpieces to me.
13) Mr. Holland's Opus - This movie came out when I was a huge band geek and just coming out of junior high. I went to see it with Dan and some girls that we were trying to impress since we had just figured out that girls weren't so icky after all. So, what did I do to impress the girls? I cried. Not once, but twice during the movie. I don't know if it was the hormones or some deep-down dad issues I had, but this movie made me tear up like I was cutting onions. And you know what? I still cry everytime I watch it and Stranger on the Shore is still the greatest clarinet solo of all time. Deal with it.
14) Stranger Than Fiction - This movie is just really smart. I don't know what else to say about it other than I like smart movies that are a little existential in nature. Sideways, American Spledor and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind are also smart, and I like those, too. That's all.
15) X-Men/Spiderman/Transformers - The original movies in these series all make me feel like a kid. I saw them all in the theater on opening night, and I sat on the edge of my seat with a huge smile on my face the entire time. Sometimes movies just need to make you forget the troubles of being an adult and bring you back to the days when giant robots fought other giant robots and people fixed their problems by growing giant metal claws or swinging over New York City by a giant web.
( 16) I'm adding to the list because since I wrote this, I've discovered the Coen brothers in a big way. I love Fargo, Big Lebowski, True Grit, No Country For Old Men, Raising Arizona, Barton Fink, and A Serious Man. Their movies are full of the subtle, not so subtle, and the absurd. I think Joel and Ethan might take over Kevin Smith as my desert island collection someday, especially considering KS recently said he was putting his View Askew universe to rest.)
Keeping couch warm and the popcorn I Can't Believe It's Not Buttered,
Jeff
P.S. - If you have Netflix, I'd really recommend the 6-part PBS docu-series "Circus". I plowed through the whole thing last night, and while it was probably a little fluffy, it was still super entertaining to see what goes on with the cast and crew behind the scenes.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Sensational Seven
With March Madness fully upon us, it only feels natural to share with the world the greatest basketball tale ever told. It has nothing to do with ESPN's Fab Five documentary. I mean, sure those guys were pretty good and all, but they couldn't hold a candle to the Sensational Seven, the greatest conglomerate of basketball talent since the 1992 Dream Team. Our tale begins in rural South Dakota (cue Wayne's World dream sequence, doodly doo, doodly doo, doodly doo):
I grew up in an environment that could make any kid an NBA standout. I had a coach for a dad that had me playing on teams since I was barely big enough to hold the ball. To put it into perspective, we were still young enough for it to be acceptable to wear snow boots to games. Throughout my childhood basketball was always present, whether it was spending days in the gym coloring and reading while my dad coached high school teams, watching the neighborhood kids come over to play in our driveway in Tea, or laying on the carpet crying along with Michael Jordan as he hugged his first championship trophy (wow, those were all exceptionally passive involvements). When I moved to Hartford, I was quickly introduced to a culture where sports were king. I began playing on intramural and Tri-State teams in the 4th grade, attending yearly summer basketball camps, and going to every open gym we could get into. By the time we reached junior high, I had a group of friends who lived and breathed basketball. Our rooms were all decorated with our favorite teams (mine was the Bulls, and I got lucky enough that my parents bought a house with red carpet in one of the bedrooms to complete my total worship) and our driveways had lines painted where the free throw and three point lines were. Almost every summer day was spent playing together, learning each other's games, and making videos of us dunking on 6 foot rims (which, as a 5 foot tall, 185 lb 5th grader, I still find to be pretty impressive). We really had a lot going for us.
Since our group was so tight knit, we figured for sure that we had basketball greatness ahead of us. Through junior high and into our freshman year, we eagerly anticipated the growth spurts that would make our bodies finally catch up to how great we knew our skills were. Around our freshman/sophomore years we all shot up to 5'10"-5'11". I remember thinking, "Next stop, 6'5"!" Unfortunately, that train to Tallsville never pulled into the station and suddenly our All-Star basketball team was just seven guys that were all roughly the same boring, average height. We also had a class of super athletes above and below us. Future, thy name is mediocrity.
Still, even with our height disadvantages, we had a fairly successful year and came within one errant pass of winning our conference our freshman year. What we lacked in athleticism we made up for with chemistry. We carried that momentum into our sophomore year, where we knew we'd be competing for spots on the JV with the loaded freshman class below us. The first practice was harsh, but most of us were relieved to see our names had made the list to come back to the second one. That afternoon practice was even more brutal, and at the end of it my friends and I were all called into the office for a little sit down chat with the coach. "Boys, I just want to be up front with all of you. We won't be cutting you, but you need to know that you're probably never going to see playing time in a game. We'd like you guys to come to practice, work hard, and serve as support players to the rest of the guys, and maybe after a couple of years we can squeeze you into a game." That was super reassuring.
We all left that practice feeling disheartened knowing that our basketball futures were now being relegated to being tackling dummies for everyone else and that we could easily be replaced with a folding chair with a broom stuck in it. The "brave" move probably would have been to show up, work hard, and hope for a Rudy like story where we were allowed to come in during the last minute of a blow out so that our names could be etched in history, but we were players, dammit, and we needed to play. That's when the magic happened...
We found out that there was a league in Sioux Falls at the local YMCA that was fairly competitive. My best take on it was that it featured some of the best athletes in South Dakota's biggest city and surround areas that could never keep their grades up or stay out of trouble. That's probably not a fair assessment, but judging by the number of times someone on our team got punched or someone on the other team smelled like they just came from the bar, I can't help but feel like it was at least a little accurate. Still, we had our hearts set on proving people wrong, so we loaded up our warm-up jerseys and lay-up drills and brought them to the big city. I can't even fathom how impressive we must have looked in our matching uniforms with two real high school coaches roaming the sidelines. All of the other teams had to wear whatever sweat covered jerseys the YMCA dug out of a box somewhere and answer to some poor schlub who got stuck driving his kid brother to the Y. And had the other teams showed up more than two minutes before tip-off, they would have seen some of the best warm-up drills this side of the Big Sioux. Okay, so maybe we overdid it a bit, but we had one goal in mind: championship!
Here's a quick glimpse at the Sensational Seven:
Travis "Rip" Grace - Our only true point guard, Travis had a way of putting his head down and getting to the lane not seen since Isiah Thomas.
Dan "Schmidty" Schmidt - Our leanest team member, Dan was also our fastest and best jumper. To watch Schmidty glide through the lane and towards the rim was like watching Brian Boitano glide across the ice. The kid was smooth.
Brent "Cosmo" Kramer - If God ever sent an angel to kiss the shooting hand of someone, it was Kramer. He always lurked just outside the three point line, waiting for the kick out to break the other team's back and heart.
Jeff "Big Red" "Red Rocket" "Lumberjack" "Pete" Peterson - How does someone with absolutely no jumping ability succeed in basketball? By perfecting the backwards jump shot! Pete was a scrapper who led the team in punches received by the other team.
John "Guido" Fortney - Fortney was the illegitimate child of Wolverine and the Incredible Hulk. Driven by anger and a need to win, he was able to keep himself reined in and was our Swiss Army Knife, possessing all the tools needed to succeed inside or out.
Josh "Yoshi" Siemonsma - I often wonder if Yoshi has a time machine stashed somewhere that he used to go back and teach Kareem and Wilt how to shoot the hook shot. Yoshi was our tallest guy (he'd have to verify, but probably right around 6'), so by default he was our center. He was also the only one who didn't get the tackling dummy speech, so he made some sacrifices to jump over to the Y-League to chase glory.
Jeffrey "Poolman" Pool - While not the most athletic/talented/skilled player on the floor, he often played the smartest. Pool usually benefited from being in the right place at the right time (which was never a coincidence) and was always more happy grabbing a rebound or dishing out to Kramer than scoring. He was just like Dennis Rodman without all the political incorrectness.
Our first year in the league was pretty rough. It took some time to realize that we probably needed to carry a shiv in our sock in order to be successful. By year two, we were pulling it together. Since we had all played on the same team since we were 4th graders, we benefited from always knowing where the other guys were going to be at all times. We were almost always outsized, but it didn't matter because we had enough scrappers and box out fundamentals to make sure that we controlled all areas of the court. While we fell just short of our championship goals, word was starting to get out.
By year three, we were impressing people both on the court and off. We had a full cheering section that filled both the upstairs and downstairs bleachers. We toiled through a rough season, avenged losses from previous years, and found ourselves standing at the top of the proverbial mountain. There were no super stars or egos, just five friends who trusted in each other enough to take our grounded game to new heights. Now, to some, winning a YMCA intramural championship might not seem like that big of a deal, but to me, it was the world. It was a culmination of years of practice, and really the culmination of years of friendship. We knew we'd never get a banner hung in the gym at our high school, but we did get a free T-shirt, and by God, that meant something. We also received miniature trophies that featured a shoe and a basketball, and I have had that trophy prominently displayed on every desk I've ever had (as I typed that, I just looked around my current desk and realized it isn't sitting there and that it is on top of my refrigerator at home. I could have just deleted that last sentence, but I needed you to feel my shame. You'd better believe that the trophy will be here tomorrow).
I continued playing basketball in intramurals through college, and I was lucky enough to find another great group of friends that immediately gelled on the court, but we never quite reached the level of the Sensational Seven. Since then, I've maybe laced up the sneakers once or twice, but I've more or less settled on being a spectator. I was satisfied with my career even if it ended with the NBA never calling and, as of this writing, no documentarians have contacted me requesting the rights to our story. But the dream still lives.
What did this whole story have to do with me bettering my life? Well, the main point is that I finally realized that it might not ever get better than when I was an 18-year old with a free t-shirt and a trophy with a shoe on it. Just kidding! I have some newly found friends at work that play basketball daily over lunch. They've started to invite me to play with them, and while trading food time for exercise time has never been high on my priorities, I've decided to take them up on their offer. I tried playing last Friday for the first time, and I quickly remembered why we spent the first three days of every season conditioning. I made it about 12 minutes before I went wheezing into the locker room. I also tried busting out a couple of my sweet moves, but while the brain still remembers how to get to the rim, the body has all but forgotten. In one particularly sad display, I juked right, crossed-over left, drove to the hole, and had every intention of jump stopping, ball faking, and scoring two. Instead my knees decided that making 270 lbs come to a complete stop wasn't in the cards, and they decided to let me just keep going until I fell out of bounds.
So, with March Madness fully pulsing through me, I'm going to rededicate myself to achieving my life's goal of basketball success. The first step is finding the right shoes, and I can't help but think that with all of the Air Jordans I've ever owned there has to be a pair laying around somewhere with a little magic left in them. Tonight I plan on laying on my back in the middle of the living room as I try to perfect the goose neck jump shot. Hell, I might even set up a folding chair with a broom in it and dribble around it a little. With a little hard work and dedication, another free T-shirt is never out of the question.
Chasing my hoop dreams and that XL T-shirt,
Poolman
Go UNC!
I grew up in an environment that could make any kid an NBA standout. I had a coach for a dad that had me playing on teams since I was barely big enough to hold the ball. To put it into perspective, we were still young enough for it to be acceptable to wear snow boots to games. Throughout my childhood basketball was always present, whether it was spending days in the gym coloring and reading while my dad coached high school teams, watching the neighborhood kids come over to play in our driveway in Tea, or laying on the carpet crying along with Michael Jordan as he hugged his first championship trophy (wow, those were all exceptionally passive involvements). When I moved to Hartford, I was quickly introduced to a culture where sports were king. I began playing on intramural and Tri-State teams in the 4th grade, attending yearly summer basketball camps, and going to every open gym we could get into. By the time we reached junior high, I had a group of friends who lived and breathed basketball. Our rooms were all decorated with our favorite teams (mine was the Bulls, and I got lucky enough that my parents bought a house with red carpet in one of the bedrooms to complete my total worship) and our driveways had lines painted where the free throw and three point lines were. Almost every summer day was spent playing together, learning each other's games, and making videos of us dunking on 6 foot rims (which, as a 5 foot tall, 185 lb 5th grader, I still find to be pretty impressive). We really had a lot going for us.
Since our group was so tight knit, we figured for sure that we had basketball greatness ahead of us. Through junior high and into our freshman year, we eagerly anticipated the growth spurts that would make our bodies finally catch up to how great we knew our skills were. Around our freshman/sophomore years we all shot up to 5'10"-5'11". I remember thinking, "Next stop, 6'5"!" Unfortunately, that train to Tallsville never pulled into the station and suddenly our All-Star basketball team was just seven guys that were all roughly the same boring, average height. We also had a class of super athletes above and below us. Future, thy name is mediocrity.
Still, even with our height disadvantages, we had a fairly successful year and came within one errant pass of winning our conference our freshman year. What we lacked in athleticism we made up for with chemistry. We carried that momentum into our sophomore year, where we knew we'd be competing for spots on the JV with the loaded freshman class below us. The first practice was harsh, but most of us were relieved to see our names had made the list to come back to the second one. That afternoon practice was even more brutal, and at the end of it my friends and I were all called into the office for a little sit down chat with the coach. "Boys, I just want to be up front with all of you. We won't be cutting you, but you need to know that you're probably never going to see playing time in a game. We'd like you guys to come to practice, work hard, and serve as support players to the rest of the guys, and maybe after a couple of years we can squeeze you into a game." That was super reassuring.
We all left that practice feeling disheartened knowing that our basketball futures were now being relegated to being tackling dummies for everyone else and that we could easily be replaced with a folding chair with a broom stuck in it. The "brave" move probably would have been to show up, work hard, and hope for a Rudy like story where we were allowed to come in during the last minute of a blow out so that our names could be etched in history, but we were players, dammit, and we needed to play. That's when the magic happened...
We found out that there was a league in Sioux Falls at the local YMCA that was fairly competitive. My best take on it was that it featured some of the best athletes in South Dakota's biggest city and surround areas that could never keep their grades up or stay out of trouble. That's probably not a fair assessment, but judging by the number of times someone on our team got punched or someone on the other team smelled like they just came from the bar, I can't help but feel like it was at least a little accurate. Still, we had our hearts set on proving people wrong, so we loaded up our warm-up jerseys and lay-up drills and brought them to the big city. I can't even fathom how impressive we must have looked in our matching uniforms with two real high school coaches roaming the sidelines. All of the other teams had to wear whatever sweat covered jerseys the YMCA dug out of a box somewhere and answer to some poor schlub who got stuck driving his kid brother to the Y. And had the other teams showed up more than two minutes before tip-off, they would have seen some of the best warm-up drills this side of the Big Sioux. Okay, so maybe we overdid it a bit, but we had one goal in mind: championship!
Here's a quick glimpse at the Sensational Seven:
Travis "Rip" Grace - Our only true point guard, Travis had a way of putting his head down and getting to the lane not seen since Isiah Thomas.
Dan "Schmidty" Schmidt - Our leanest team member, Dan was also our fastest and best jumper. To watch Schmidty glide through the lane and towards the rim was like watching Brian Boitano glide across the ice. The kid was smooth.
Brent "Cosmo" Kramer - If God ever sent an angel to kiss the shooting hand of someone, it was Kramer. He always lurked just outside the three point line, waiting for the kick out to break the other team's back and heart.
Jeff "Big Red" "Red Rocket" "Lumberjack" "Pete" Peterson - How does someone with absolutely no jumping ability succeed in basketball? By perfecting the backwards jump shot! Pete was a scrapper who led the team in punches received by the other team.
John "Guido" Fortney - Fortney was the illegitimate child of Wolverine and the Incredible Hulk. Driven by anger and a need to win, he was able to keep himself reined in and was our Swiss Army Knife, possessing all the tools needed to succeed inside or out.
Josh "Yoshi" Siemonsma - I often wonder if Yoshi has a time machine stashed somewhere that he used to go back and teach Kareem and Wilt how to shoot the hook shot. Yoshi was our tallest guy (he'd have to verify, but probably right around 6'), so by default he was our center. He was also the only one who didn't get the tackling dummy speech, so he made some sacrifices to jump over to the Y-League to chase glory.
Jeffrey "Poolman" Pool - While not the most athletic/talented/skilled player on the floor, he often played the smartest. Pool usually benefited from being in the right place at the right time (which was never a coincidence) and was always more happy grabbing a rebound or dishing out to Kramer than scoring. He was just like Dennis Rodman without all the political incorrectness.
Our first year in the league was pretty rough. It took some time to realize that we probably needed to carry a shiv in our sock in order to be successful. By year two, we were pulling it together. Since we had all played on the same team since we were 4th graders, we benefited from always knowing where the other guys were going to be at all times. We were almost always outsized, but it didn't matter because we had enough scrappers and box out fundamentals to make sure that we controlled all areas of the court. While we fell just short of our championship goals, word was starting to get out.
By year three, we were impressing people both on the court and off. We had a full cheering section that filled both the upstairs and downstairs bleachers. We toiled through a rough season, avenged losses from previous years, and found ourselves standing at the top of the proverbial mountain. There were no super stars or egos, just five friends who trusted in each other enough to take our grounded game to new heights. Now, to some, winning a YMCA intramural championship might not seem like that big of a deal, but to me, it was the world. It was a culmination of years of practice, and really the culmination of years of friendship. We knew we'd never get a banner hung in the gym at our high school, but we did get a free T-shirt, and by God, that meant something. We also received miniature trophies that featured a shoe and a basketball, and I have had that trophy prominently displayed on every desk I've ever had (as I typed that, I just looked around my current desk and realized it isn't sitting there and that it is on top of my refrigerator at home. I could have just deleted that last sentence, but I needed you to feel my shame. You'd better believe that the trophy will be here tomorrow).
I continued playing basketball in intramurals through college, and I was lucky enough to find another great group of friends that immediately gelled on the court, but we never quite reached the level of the Sensational Seven. Since then, I've maybe laced up the sneakers once or twice, but I've more or less settled on being a spectator. I was satisfied with my career even if it ended with the NBA never calling and, as of this writing, no documentarians have contacted me requesting the rights to our story. But the dream still lives.
What did this whole story have to do with me bettering my life? Well, the main point is that I finally realized that it might not ever get better than when I was an 18-year old with a free t-shirt and a trophy with a shoe on it. Just kidding! I have some newly found friends at work that play basketball daily over lunch. They've started to invite me to play with them, and while trading food time for exercise time has never been high on my priorities, I've decided to take them up on their offer. I tried playing last Friday for the first time, and I quickly remembered why we spent the first three days of every season conditioning. I made it about 12 minutes before I went wheezing into the locker room. I also tried busting out a couple of my sweet moves, but while the brain still remembers how to get to the rim, the body has all but forgotten. In one particularly sad display, I juked right, crossed-over left, drove to the hole, and had every intention of jump stopping, ball faking, and scoring two. Instead my knees decided that making 270 lbs come to a complete stop wasn't in the cards, and they decided to let me just keep going until I fell out of bounds.
So, with March Madness fully pulsing through me, I'm going to rededicate myself to achieving my life's goal of basketball success. The first step is finding the right shoes, and I can't help but think that with all of the Air Jordans I've ever owned there has to be a pair laying around somewhere with a little magic left in them. Tonight I plan on laying on my back in the middle of the living room as I try to perfect the goose neck jump shot. Hell, I might even set up a folding chair with a broom in it and dribble around it a little. With a little hard work and dedication, another free T-shirt is never out of the question.
Chasing my hoop dreams and that XL T-shirt,
Poolman
Go UNC!
Monday, March 21, 2011
Monday 1529: The Healing Process
Hello to my dearest friends and readers, and welcome back to the rebirth of 1509 Mondays. What started as a weight loss blog is about to morph into something much more meaningful because, at its core, the 1509 Mondays represented new beginnings with each new week. I went back and reread my very first post, and I talked about how my life was finally coming together with the exception of my being fat, and that I wanted to change that part of my life before I hit 30. You followed faithfully and supported my efforts through the last blog post, but at a certain point I hit my wall, both creatively and health wise. I had a tremendous secret at the time that I was keeping, and it was really a huge part of my mission. As of Thanksgiving weekend, I had an engagement ring that was burning a hole in my pocket, and since my rededication to health was born out of my rededication to life thanks to Jenna, I had a hard time not writing about her or us and how it effected my journey. My journey was our journey, and it became increasingly difficult to not talk about my nerves and my anxieties about the upcoming proposal and everything else that was going on in my life without spilling the beans. So, I just stopped spilling them altogether.
But you all just wouldn't let it die...
So, I'm turning back to the blog to continue to chronicle my journey towards a better me. In case you hadn't heard, Jenna said yes, and we were off to the races with wedding planning. I took on the bulk of the wedding planning because I was so excited, and I wanted to keep Jenna's stress and anxiety levels to a minimum. What I didn't realize in my overzealous enthusiasm was that I was becoming the only participant in the relationship. The warning signs were all there, but I was so excited that my time had finally come. Unfortunately, Jenna wasn't as excited and was dealing with a situation that was snowballing out of her control. Exactly a month ago yesterday, Jenna decided that she couldn't continue with the relationship and needed to end it in order to keep me from getting hurt even more down the road. She didn't share my enthusiasm or feelings, so she made the decision to call it quits rather than waiting until we got closer to the day or, God forbid, after we actually signed on the dotted line.
I'm not going to lie; I was devastated. At the time I didn't understand how we could go from 120 mph to a complete stop all at once. It took me a couple of weeks and a lot of tears to realize that she made a decision that I could never have made, and that while it hurt in a way that I hadn't hurt before, I'm thankful that she was able to do it when she did. There are a lot of feelings that come with that kind of event. Although I've been reassured a million times that it wasn't anything I had done, I still felt guilty. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, sad, and angry. It was funny, because my emotional trip through the break-up mirrored my weight loss journey, and every Monday seemed to be a reset. Monday 1525 (the day after) featured the longest car ride in my life as I drove through a blizzard and ice storm by myself, trying to drive through tears, fighting off the urge to pull over and get sick. A five hour trip turned into an eight hour trip that featured NPR being turned up as loud as I could get it in hopes of drowning out the thoughts running through my mind. Monday 1526 came after my first weekend alone. I thought I had made some major emotional progress through the week, and foolishly convinced myself that I was okay to be by myself for two straight days. The result was disastrous. The negative self-talk, the constant "what-ifs" and dwellings almost totally destroyed me. I was starting to see some of the darkness creep in that I hadn't seen in a couple of years, but I was self-aware enough to not fall into old bad habits. Monday 1527 came after my first weekend where I allowed myself to drink again. I knew I wasn't ready, but I felt like I needed to prove something to myself. It resulted in me sitting in an alley outside the bar sobbing, punching the ground, and repeatedly calling Jenna over and over. It wasn't my best moment.
But something else happened on Monday 1527. I asked Jenna to call me so that I could apologize for the weekend, and she obliged. I told her that train wreck Jeff was not the Jeff that I wanted her to have as her lasting image of me. I also asked her if there was ever a chance that we could be together again as a couple, and she told me that, no, there wasn't anyway she could see it happening. With those words, it was like an immediate weight was lifted from me. No longer did I have to carry the burden of waiting forever for her to come around like I did in my first real relationship. Jenna officially set me free, and both physically and mentally I could feel myself starting to perk up. I had taken a couple of days of work off to go ice fishing at the end of that week, and even though we nearly died, it was still a fantastic weekend because I finally let myself be me again. Monday 1528 was like I was a whole new man.
In the process of all of this feeling and healing, I also had a major "life event" happen that oddly mirrored my emotional issues. The Sunday before Monday 1528 (a week ago yesterday), I was driving home from ice fishing, finally able to enjoy music again without thinking every lyric was about me. I stopped in Sauk Centre, MN, to fill up on gas. It was cold and I was only wearing a T-shirt, so I was trying to hurry the process up. In my rush to get back into my car, I reached for the receipt, quickly turned around, and got a face full of car door. I heard my nose crack and could feel the blood starting to come down my face, so I did the natural thing: I jumped back into my car so that I could bleed all over. You might consider this a stretch, but this analogy helped me a lot last week. Originally I thought I had just gotten a bloody nose and that once I stopped the bleeding, I was going to be okay (the break-up), but upon further inspection, I realized that the wound was much deeper than I had originally thought (weeks 1 and 2). Instead of doing the right thing by calling for help, I decided to tackle the issue on my own and did something reckless (drinking when I wasn't ready) and drove myself to the hospital while I was trying to stop a trauma and keep the blood out of my eyes. It turned out that I needed six stitches in my nose to hold it back together, but once those stitches were in, I knew I was going to be okay. After I left the emergency room, I called all of my friends and family to tell them about it, but to let them know that I was fine. For all of last week I had a pretty gnarly looking wound that I carried everywhere with me, but no matter how ugly it was, I knew it would eventually heal. Throughout the week there were times where it irritated me, and a couple of times where I accidentally bopped myself in the glasses and the pain came rushing back, but for the most part, as the week progressed, I began to forget it was even there. Yesterday, I got the stitches out, and while there is definitely a scar, it isn't as ugly as I initially thought it was going to be. I somehow managed to punch myself square in the nose last night when I was getting into bed, and while it still hurt, it didn't bleed or overwhelm me. There are still going to be times where I do something stupid and pick at the wound, and the scar may never go away, but I'm honestly okay.
So, here I am, Monday 1529, with a new nose and a new lease on life. I want to thank everyone for all of their love and support through it all. Your unconditional love and no-nonsense advice helped me heal at the rate I needed to heal, but still kept me from veering into a lane of depression and self-pity. I especially want to thank my parents, not only because they were in Sioux City when it happened and gave me a literal shoulder to cry on, but because they were good about not pressing the issue, even though it is in their nature to want to put that Band-Aid on my scraped knee and kiss it until it feels better. Also, either through nature or nurture they gave me the sense of humor that I've been able to use through it all. Even when it hurt the most (and even when I walked into the emergency room with blood all over my face and clothes), I was still able to keep things in perspective, try my best to keep it light hearted, and laugh my way to being better. The other great thing that came from all of this is that I'm now way more invested in my life in Minnesota. The people at work have really stepped up to take care of me, knowing that I'm kind of up here in Coon Rapids physically alone. I can 100% say that I wouldn't have made it without them, and friendships that I had pre-break up are even stronger now.
Where does that leave me and the blog? Well, with cautious optimism I'm ready to say, "I'm back (again)!" I was fairly conscious of my ability to gain 30 lbs through all of this, and I knew taking care of myself physically was essential to staying tough mentally. I slipped a little in the past week or two, and I've fallen back into the eating out all the time habits. Still, I'm not far off from where I was when I stopped blogging in December, so I'm going to jump back into this thing again and see what I can get accomplished. After all, I'm single and ready to mingle, so I've got to put my best foot forward.
Here are some things that you can expect to find in the newly reborn blog: more information about the betterment of Jeff as a whole (you guys can only read so much about my eating habits, and I can only write so much), a continued presentation of the unabashed truth, and a cautious optimism towards the future. What you won't find is whining, self-pity (well, at least not a lot), or any negative feelings towards or dirt on Jenna. A month ago I ready to spend the rest of my life with her, and while I hate what happened, I have no hate towards her. She did what she thought was best for both of us, and being a month removed, I respect her for that and still love her as the great friend she's been to me for the past three years. I truly hope she finds happiness, and I know that I will, too.
I'll leave you some song lyrics that have become my new mantra the past couple of weeks. In the midst of my iPod betraying me with five straight songs in the vein of What Hurts the Most and What She's Doing Now, I got an unexpected pick me up from Regina Spektor:
Now, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again
So, thanks for joining me again on my journey to peer inside myself, find the things I like, and then share them with the world. It should be good for a few laughs.
With much love and thanks,
Jeff
P.S.- Thanks to Jenny for pointing out the similarities of the nose/heart situations (although I totally was coming to it on my own).
P.P.S. - If you're in the market for a beautiful engagement ring, I know a guy who can get you a great deal! Just kidding, but not really.
But you all just wouldn't let it die...
So, I'm turning back to the blog to continue to chronicle my journey towards a better me. In case you hadn't heard, Jenna said yes, and we were off to the races with wedding planning. I took on the bulk of the wedding planning because I was so excited, and I wanted to keep Jenna's stress and anxiety levels to a minimum. What I didn't realize in my overzealous enthusiasm was that I was becoming the only participant in the relationship. The warning signs were all there, but I was so excited that my time had finally come. Unfortunately, Jenna wasn't as excited and was dealing with a situation that was snowballing out of her control. Exactly a month ago yesterday, Jenna decided that she couldn't continue with the relationship and needed to end it in order to keep me from getting hurt even more down the road. She didn't share my enthusiasm or feelings, so she made the decision to call it quits rather than waiting until we got closer to the day or, God forbid, after we actually signed on the dotted line.
I'm not going to lie; I was devastated. At the time I didn't understand how we could go from 120 mph to a complete stop all at once. It took me a couple of weeks and a lot of tears to realize that she made a decision that I could never have made, and that while it hurt in a way that I hadn't hurt before, I'm thankful that she was able to do it when she did. There are a lot of feelings that come with that kind of event. Although I've been reassured a million times that it wasn't anything I had done, I still felt guilty. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, sad, and angry. It was funny, because my emotional trip through the break-up mirrored my weight loss journey, and every Monday seemed to be a reset. Monday 1525 (the day after) featured the longest car ride in my life as I drove through a blizzard and ice storm by myself, trying to drive through tears, fighting off the urge to pull over and get sick. A five hour trip turned into an eight hour trip that featured NPR being turned up as loud as I could get it in hopes of drowning out the thoughts running through my mind. Monday 1526 came after my first weekend alone. I thought I had made some major emotional progress through the week, and foolishly convinced myself that I was okay to be by myself for two straight days. The result was disastrous. The negative self-talk, the constant "what-ifs" and dwellings almost totally destroyed me. I was starting to see some of the darkness creep in that I hadn't seen in a couple of years, but I was self-aware enough to not fall into old bad habits. Monday 1527 came after my first weekend where I allowed myself to drink again. I knew I wasn't ready, but I felt like I needed to prove something to myself. It resulted in me sitting in an alley outside the bar sobbing, punching the ground, and repeatedly calling Jenna over and over. It wasn't my best moment.
But something else happened on Monday 1527. I asked Jenna to call me so that I could apologize for the weekend, and she obliged. I told her that train wreck Jeff was not the Jeff that I wanted her to have as her lasting image of me. I also asked her if there was ever a chance that we could be together again as a couple, and she told me that, no, there wasn't anyway she could see it happening. With those words, it was like an immediate weight was lifted from me. No longer did I have to carry the burden of waiting forever for her to come around like I did in my first real relationship. Jenna officially set me free, and both physically and mentally I could feel myself starting to perk up. I had taken a couple of days of work off to go ice fishing at the end of that week, and even though we nearly died, it was still a fantastic weekend because I finally let myself be me again. Monday 1528 was like I was a whole new man.
In the process of all of this feeling and healing, I also had a major "life event" happen that oddly mirrored my emotional issues. The Sunday before Monday 1528 (a week ago yesterday), I was driving home from ice fishing, finally able to enjoy music again without thinking every lyric was about me. I stopped in Sauk Centre, MN, to fill up on gas. It was cold and I was only wearing a T-shirt, so I was trying to hurry the process up. In my rush to get back into my car, I reached for the receipt, quickly turned around, and got a face full of car door. I heard my nose crack and could feel the blood starting to come down my face, so I did the natural thing: I jumped back into my car so that I could bleed all over. You might consider this a stretch, but this analogy helped me a lot last week. Originally I thought I had just gotten a bloody nose and that once I stopped the bleeding, I was going to be okay (the break-up), but upon further inspection, I realized that the wound was much deeper than I had originally thought (weeks 1 and 2). Instead of doing the right thing by calling for help, I decided to tackle the issue on my own and did something reckless (drinking when I wasn't ready) and drove myself to the hospital while I was trying to stop a trauma and keep the blood out of my eyes. It turned out that I needed six stitches in my nose to hold it back together, but once those stitches were in, I knew I was going to be okay. After I left the emergency room, I called all of my friends and family to tell them about it, but to let them know that I was fine. For all of last week I had a pretty gnarly looking wound that I carried everywhere with me, but no matter how ugly it was, I knew it would eventually heal. Throughout the week there were times where it irritated me, and a couple of times where I accidentally bopped myself in the glasses and the pain came rushing back, but for the most part, as the week progressed, I began to forget it was even there. Yesterday, I got the stitches out, and while there is definitely a scar, it isn't as ugly as I initially thought it was going to be. I somehow managed to punch myself square in the nose last night when I was getting into bed, and while it still hurt, it didn't bleed or overwhelm me. There are still going to be times where I do something stupid and pick at the wound, and the scar may never go away, but I'm honestly okay.
So, here I am, Monday 1529, with a new nose and a new lease on life. I want to thank everyone for all of their love and support through it all. Your unconditional love and no-nonsense advice helped me heal at the rate I needed to heal, but still kept me from veering into a lane of depression and self-pity. I especially want to thank my parents, not only because they were in Sioux City when it happened and gave me a literal shoulder to cry on, but because they were good about not pressing the issue, even though it is in their nature to want to put that Band-Aid on my scraped knee and kiss it until it feels better. Also, either through nature or nurture they gave me the sense of humor that I've been able to use through it all. Even when it hurt the most (and even when I walked into the emergency room with blood all over my face and clothes), I was still able to keep things in perspective, try my best to keep it light hearted, and laugh my way to being better. The other great thing that came from all of this is that I'm now way more invested in my life in Minnesota. The people at work have really stepped up to take care of me, knowing that I'm kind of up here in Coon Rapids physically alone. I can 100% say that I wouldn't have made it without them, and friendships that I had pre-break up are even stronger now.
Where does that leave me and the blog? Well, with cautious optimism I'm ready to say, "I'm back (again)!" I was fairly conscious of my ability to gain 30 lbs through all of this, and I knew taking care of myself physically was essential to staying tough mentally. I slipped a little in the past week or two, and I've fallen back into the eating out all the time habits. Still, I'm not far off from where I was when I stopped blogging in December, so I'm going to jump back into this thing again and see what I can get accomplished. After all, I'm single and ready to mingle, so I've got to put my best foot forward.
Here are some things that you can expect to find in the newly reborn blog: more information about the betterment of Jeff as a whole (you guys can only read so much about my eating habits, and I can only write so much), a continued presentation of the unabashed truth, and a cautious optimism towards the future. What you won't find is whining, self-pity (well, at least not a lot), or any negative feelings towards or dirt on Jenna. A month ago I ready to spend the rest of my life with her, and while I hate what happened, I have no hate towards her. She did what she thought was best for both of us, and being a month removed, I respect her for that and still love her as the great friend she's been to me for the past three years. I truly hope she finds happiness, and I know that I will, too.
I'll leave you some song lyrics that have become my new mantra the past couple of weeks. In the midst of my iPod betraying me with five straight songs in the vein of What Hurts the Most and What She's Doing Now, I got an unexpected pick me up from Regina Spektor:
Now, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again
So, thanks for joining me again on my journey to peer inside myself, find the things I like, and then share them with the world. It should be good for a few laughs.
With much love and thanks,
Jeff
P.S.- Thanks to Jenny for pointing out the similarities of the nose/heart situations (although I totally was coming to it on my own).
P.P.S. - If you're in the market for a beautiful engagement ring, I know a guy who can get you a great deal! Just kidding, but not really.
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