Gingerdead Man

Today on the radio I heard some DJ say "Up next, we will be discussing how you choose to eat a gingerbread man and what that says about your personality."

And none of the digestive diagnoses were good either. The woman was like "If you go right for the head it means your abrasive and impatient. If you eat the limbs first it means you have self esteem issues and feel unworthy to lead and if you go straight for the buttons you are meticulous and annoying."

Can I ask a question? Is there any aspect of life that can remain unexamined?! Does every activity need to have some underlying epiphany attached to it? Seriously, I'm all for self-reflection, but do I really need to be made aware of what Aristotle thinks about my eating habits? I know my waistline is held together by borrowed time thanks to my lifestyle and lineage and I'm at a point in my life where I fit too comfortably into outfits and elevators to be self-conscious about the way I eat, so can't I just enjoy that a little longer?! Eating a gingerbread man is already weird enough partaking in this candy coated cannibalism of consuming something with four limbs and a face. For me, every first bite is accompanied with a fear that I'm going to hear it shout "NOT THE GUMDROP BUTTONS!!!" can we just leave it there?

I Am Fantasy

I take my dog out around 5 a.m. every morning. Which typically means that the only active things in my neighborhood at that time are he and I and the streetlights. It is quiet and peaceful and also has given me inspiration for a movie about a man and his dog struggling to survive in post apocalyptic Nashua, New Hampshire. The film was accidentally released with what was meant to be a joke title, “I Am Fantasy.” While he is indoors, Sammy has the ambition of a Saturday morning adolescent at 8 a.m. However, on walks I tend to let Sammy roam around a bit. A while back he started to walk toward a seemingly harmless, small shadowy figure. As I got closer, I noticed the creature was black with a single white stripe, a skunk! All inquisitive little Sammy was thinking was “We’re Going to be Friends” (as much as I hate to explain jokes, I put that in quotes because that is a song by The White Stripes.....HA! Get it?! My sincerest apologies to anyone who already got the reference 😔) I scooped him up like a loose football and guided him back towards the house. Needless to say, but I almost didn’t even need a morning coffee after that stinky scare. Lastly, I’d like to address that I am absolutely onboard with the irony here of grabbing Sammy away from a skunk and rushing him into my house given the overwhelmingly negative response that the Yankee Candle people got following the release of this years holiday scent, Bachelor Pad.

Call Me by My Name

As some of you may know, I had it pretty rough as a child.

You see, my parents made the dumbfounding decision to have alliterative offspring, meaning my brother, Michael and I were given names that started with the same letter.

Why a parent would do this to themselves is lost on me. Sometimes my parents would stare in silence, looking at me like I was the two remaining answers after using the 50/50 lifeline on the hit gameshow “Who Wants to be a Parent?” Then they would try to mask the amnesia with affection and just throw out nicknames like “sweetie” or “dear” or just collectively refer to us as their “M&Ms” but I knew what they were trying to pull!

I’ve heard from people who think my brother and I look exactly alike and their are others who are certain that one of us was picked up at “the store.” Personally, I don’t see where the confusion is. Michael played football and lacrosse and I played Xbox and Minesweeper so I have to imagine it wasn’t so it really comes down to asking yourself “did I have to move to the side when walking down the hallway or did I just feel a light breeze?” I feel like it wasn’t so much the look as it was the letter that was to blame. I haven’t made a whole lot of preemptive parenting decisions, but I have decided I am going name children by alternating between first and last letters of the alphabet. So my lineage lineup will look sound something like Adam, Zachary, Bryan and Yadon  or or Andrea, Zoey and Brianna (sorry, but definitely stopping at 3 girls. I’ve heard too many stories of people holding out hope for that boy and long story short, the dad now needs to make bathroom reservations a week in advance.)

Rise of the Machines

I’ve never been one of those “the machines are listening in and will one day rise up” people, but this was just weird. Yesterday while I was in the car, “Let me clear my throat” was on the radio and I got to a red light right at the part when he goes “FREEZE!” And today I was getting my “Uptown Funk” on in downtown Nashua and got to a red light at the part “Stop! Wait a minute.” Years ago, the car in front of us did the unthinkable and actually used their blinker while my radio was blasting “to the left, to the left...” I also find an inappropriate level of inspiration from the fact that when I’m coming up on a yellow light, My CRV, or Sir Fix-a-lot, tends to throw on “Don’t Stop Believin’”

Awkward Silence

Another comedic misfire brought to you by yours truly 😒

I am very blessed to be the godfather of the newest addition to the family and that means I have seized the opportunity to make as many “Godfather” references as humanly possible.

A few days ago my dad text me saying “how u doing, godfather?” To which I replied with the second of the two Godfather references I can make and said “DO NOT ASK ME ABOUT MY BUSINESS!” Pretty solid, right?

So I don’t hear from him for two days and our next digitized dialogue has to do with his desire to see me diversify my dinner menu beyond the microwave. However, my fear is that my so much as preheating the oven and cooking up some concoction will lead to an unappetizing epidemic that social studies books 30 years from now will refer to as the “Wootonic Plague” and the “Blond Death”

Tough Crowd

Sometimes my jokes don’t go over the way I plan (yeah Mark, we know!)

My brother, my dad and myself have a group chat that was originally intended to keep each other accountable for exercising called the “Gym” chat. Unfortunately, the content of the conversation has strayed from its origins, but the group name is the same. Mainly because “Fart Jokes and Fight Nights” doesn’t fit as a group name. I had them over for the Mcgregor vs Khabib fight and at the end of the night my dad texted the group saying “Great night guys! Thank you Mark for hosting.” Now, if you watched the fight you know that after it was over, Khabib jumped into the audience and started whaling on someone. This is a huge “no no.” Among the post-it note of precautions taken in the UFC rule book are: 1. Don’t ruin the other guys chances of passing his single remaining brain cell down to his kids with a low blow 2. The cage is an enclosure, not a jungle gym 3. No interaction with the audience, this is a combat sport, not a Blue Man Group concert. So after my dad sent his text, I replied by saying “No problem! After you guys left I jumped the neighbors fence and started fighting their dog for some reason......” I’m not going to lie, I was kinda giggling to myself as I typed out the message and anxiously awaited their replies. And waited and waited and waited. The group chat saw no activity until there was a completely unrelated text the next morning. My hope is that there was some sort of cell phone snafu that caused the silence, but my fear is that the silence was a form of communication ☹️ oh well, they can’t all be winners.

Student Driver

I have seen a lot of scary things on cars in my day. Treacherous trunk trinkets like bumper stickers with curse words,  New York Yankee stickers on vandalism-worthy vehicles who have clearly taken a wrong turn and wandered deep into the heart of Red Sox country. However, the most attention grabbing auto ornament I have laid eyes on are cars with the catastrophic coupling of words informing me that the car in front is under the command of a "Student Driver." Everyone has to go through the process learning at some point and I understand that. In fact, it is mostly the teachers I have a problem with. I was behind a student driver doing 20mph in a 30mph zone for what felt like an eternity. The frequency and ferocity with which the brakes were being hit lead me to the only conceivable conclusions that either there was a small creature loose in that car both of them were unsuccessfully trying to kill or they were the first contestants on the new GSN Smash hit game show "Crash Cab." Now, I feel comfortable sharing something with you about one of my dads' shortcomings as a father because for him, getting into Facebook is like breaking into Fort Knox so I am sure he will never see this (RIGHT, PEOPLE?!) when he was teaching me to drive he said "Go five miles per hour over the speed limit to keep with the flow of traffic ('but Mark, it is a speed LIMIT! Yeah, well the rim of an ice bowl is the limit to a serving, but do we obey that? No, we compact that sucker down with a spoon like we are packing to leave for a Candy Land Cruise in the morning, heap on a Himalayan mountains sized helping of whipped cream on the top and pray that gravity and gluttony cooperate for the return trip to the couch. My point being, there are grey areas. Proverbs says "Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it." So, please for the LOVE OF GOD, train them to go a little faster!

Adult Language

One way I can tell that I am getting  older is that I am beginning to use adult language. Now, when I say adult language I don’t mean it in the Hollywood sense like using words that would get Dial soap shoved down my diaphragm. Nor do I mean I have started to use words like Periphrasis, which  to me sounds like the name of the Greek god of Paraphrasing and that theory provides enough evidence as to why that word has yet to be incorporated into one of my unabridged anecdotes.  I just find myself saying things that I never thought I would say. I went to look at a house with a friend over the weekend and out loud and excitedly I said “Are those granite countertops!” What the heck is wrong with me?! (Rhetorical question, please do not answer) 😕

The Measure of a Man

I feel as though I have one more hurdle to leap prior to becoming a full-fledged adult.
You see, in the past I have dogsat for my neighbor and she has sometimes paid me in cash which can be spent anywhere and on anything, but as a guy in my 20s I have also accepted a 6-pack of my favorite beer as payment for looking after her pooch. A few days ago, she gave me a very nice gift of some zucchini bread from the garden in our backyard. Several days later, I found a case of orange soda on my steps.

Now, if you have been in a conversation with me for any length of time, chances are you have been subjected to one or all three of these topics:1. Facts about the American Civil War
2. Some poorly remembered and recited bit from a comedian
3. My unyielding and undying love for orange soda.

You have to understand, absolutely ANY OTHER soda would have drawn suspicion. I would have slung a Sprite from my steps to Salem. I would have punted Pibb from my porch to Portsmouth, I would have diaper shot a Dr. Pepper from my deck to the campus at Dartmouth. However, because this soda happened to be my absolute favorite, Mr. Optimist Prime shows up like "Well, this was obviously the second part of my gift and was absolutely meant to be!" Breaking the seal on my third can of soda nearly drown out the bleep of my phone with a text from my neighbor saying that that after years of living in the same home, her son had accidently put a case of orange soda on the wrong set of steps and she inquired as to whether or not I had seen it.

The things that people consider lying about mostly include money or merchandise. For me, the knowledge of the whereabouts of a certain soda are included on that list. Luckily, she concluded her text by saying it was ok if I had drank a few, because what exactly constitutes "a few" is still open to interpretation. I handed over what was left and am alive to talk about, so it is safe to say everyone was a winner here.

Meet the Parents

"Meeting the parents" can be a very stressful interaction. However, the one thing no one bothers to prepare for is the first time your brother meets your girlfriends grandparents.

While my brother, his girlfriend and I were driving back from Michigan, we made a stop in New York to have dinner with her grandparents. Upon answering the door, her grandfather said "Hi, I am Bill and this is my wife, Margaret."

We sat down to a nice dinner and as old folks do, the grandparents got to talking and telling all sorts of stories. Bill punctuated each of his anecdotes by saying "Isn't that right, Mark?" I nodded politely and continued to eat the free food, happy that Bill wanted to include me in the conversation. This continued for some time as Bill rambled his way through retelling after retelling of tales from his younger years, always fact checking his historical accuracy by saying "Right, Mark?"

Now, you are probably well ahead of me on this one and know that he was not saying Mark, but was using a precious little pet name for his beloved wife, Marg, and he was pronouncing the "G" as in "Good going!" and not "G" as in "Gee, I wonder if he is going to embarrass me in any way, shape or form at this dinner?" I had never heard this pronunciation at any prior point in my life.

Because I am self-absorbed with a spotty attention span, this entire time I had thought Bill had been saying my name and of all of the times I could have chosen to finally illicit some acknowledgement, I picked the wrong one. Bill walked over to the fridge and after shuffling a few thing around said "Marg, where's the butter?" Having been snapped out of the spell cast by the scrumptious supper, in a very confused tone I said "I.......couldn't tell you."

They both looked at me with carefree, unmasked judgement that old age allows and I decided it best that I not say anything else for the remainder of the meal.

As much as I hate to reach the end of this story and provide you with a moral that you probably could have given me at the beginning here's the deal: In my lifetime, I performed admirably as Left Wing for the Salem Saints hockey team, I walk into a Buffalo Wild Wings and management there immediately calls their distributors to adjust accordingly for the immense hit that there in stock items are about to take (a fact that I am dang proud of). However, I am not and will never claim to be the greatest wing man in the world.

If the Shoe Fits

I have sank to a new low in my life.

I looked at the shoe rack in my basement and came to the horrifying realization that I can no longer count the pairs of shoes I own on two hands as I am now the out of control owner of 11 different pairs of footwear. I can blame part of that on my move to the city as having trash pickup made it necessary to have a pair of shoes I could slip on and off. My job also made it mandatory to wear a pair of slip-resistant shoes (judging by the effectiveness of these, I'm guessing they tested them out by having a tightrope walking Buddhist Monk Black Belt put them on and walk across some pavement that someone had spilled some water from a pipette onto......"yeah, they're good.") I also have a pair of running shoes that haven't been touched since high school, but are there to look good in case company shows up. Otherwise, they serve as a "Remember your non-lazy self?" on a shelf. Undoubtedly this admission of guilt has split people into one of two camps, neither of which bodes well for me, because right now you are either thinking "HA! LOSER!" or you have the attitude of any of the anabolic enthusiasts with a work schedule that causes them to share a gym time slot with me as these people have a tendency to look at my greatest athletic efforts and think "aw, that's cute."

(I Scream, You Scream) We All Scream for.....

I have been on the road driving behind antique cars and in front of cops, but by far, the weirdest array of emotions came a few days ago when I was driving behind an ice cream truck for a solid twenty minutes. It was weird for me because I noticed in two separate areas the truck had printed on it the phrase “watch for children.” I don’t know at what point something meant to be attention grabbing and informative becomes unnecessary and awkward, but for me, that number is apparently two. It doesn’t matter who your products target demographic is, that seems to be a little much. After a while, it got hot out and I started to want some ice cream, but I didn’t have any cash so I thought about what would happen if I tried to rob them with nothing, but a pair of keys, a sideways baseball cap and the first ever carjacking with the opening line of “excuse me, but if it’s not too much trouble......” but I have this fear that ice cream trucks are all retired converted military vehicles and my unconvincing assault will be met with someone from behind the counter shoving a bazooka in my face. I don’t know where this deep desire of mine came from to hold them up for a few hoodsie cups, because I never played violent video games games growing up, I played Madden and NHL, so my best bet would be to hop in a genetics lab and create a team of employees that all have customer service, speed and dessert knowledge overall ratings of 99% and demolish the competition. Unfortunately, I remembered that driving is a “full attention” task for me and I don’t do well when it is hot out and any ice cream man who glances in his rear view mirror to see someone pouring sweat with this intense look on their face has probably already called for backup

Street School

Now that I am an "adult" summer vacation is not really a thing, but in recognition of school being out for the summer I'd like to share with you the things I learned over the years outside of the classroom and reflect on the time I spent in it.

I think it's only appropriate that we start out with a lesson from Alice Cooper. The first time I ever heard the word "incognito" was in his song "No More Mr. Nice Guy" so I asked my dad what it meant and thus increased my vocabulary.

To this day, when spelling bananas, I put way too much emphasis on the "B" and say the rest of it rather rhythmically, thanks a lot Gwen Stefani!

I spell Florida by spelling Flo Rida and putting them together

In my Finance class, we learned how to write a complaint letter and my paper was the only one that got an "A" and I'm still confused whether this says something good or bad about me as a person.

I've learned not to compare myself to others. However, one area of self-evaluation does cause me to beam with pride. You see, I've started down the slippery slope of coffee consumption, but a piece of information from my dad made me realize there are degrees to ones dependence. There's a little switch on my coffee maker just above where the pot goes and my dad told me that the purpose of this little doohickey is so that people can pour themselves a cup of coffee as it's still brewing. Removing the pot trips the switch and causes the flow of coffee to stop. Who the hell is this for?!?! I start brewing my coffee and I go about my day until it finishes. I'm not claiming to be Sister Starbucks just because I possess this rational level of restraint and patience, but who sets this thing up and then stands there salivating like some kind of Maxwell House mad scientist mumbling to themselves "Come on, give me the coffee! Give me the precious!"

I have learned it is okay to disagree with someone else's position and not be a jerk about it. The amount of negativity on social media is mind boggling! On any public page dedicated to certain subject matter, the top comment seems more often than not to be some irate internet user going off as to why they don't like whatever it is that is being talked about and why their personal point of view is correct. I guess if people want to spend their time in such a way that is completely up to them, but it doesn't make sense for someone to stop into every store they see in order to let the owner know that they have no intention of shopping there, because that would be a gigantic waste of everyone's time.

I learned that my level of automotive intellect is in dire need of some fine tuning because any time I am with a group of people and conversation turns to cars I end up standing there and saying something like "Yeah.....steering wheels are crazy, right?"

Being a first time home owner has also been a wakeup call, because any time I so much as change a lightbulb I get this feeling like "Why don't I have my own HGTV show yet?"

I learned my 7s times tables by counting touchdown passes by Tom Brady and my division by how many of those touchdowns got called back because of doing something illegal.

I learned about the 9s times tables "trick" long after I had use for it and I opted to just do the math in my head like a normal person, but it did provide me with some relief, because for years I thought that the girl sitting next to me was some kind of witch trying to put a spell on her math test.

Survival of the Wittiest

Yesterday while walking my dog, Sammy, around the ‘hood this giant, half dog, half wolf, half bodybuilder that was too busy lifting weights to bother with learning fractions came barreling around the corner and Sammy gave me this precious look like “You’re going to protect me, right?”

In my best attempt at cross-species communication, I looked at him as if to say “Strength is not my strong suit. I was on the debate team, the geography club and the track team so I can try to convince him that eating us is a bad idea, I can suggest he move to a location with the highest density of dogs or we can get the heck out of here, your pick.”

Paws

I know that me teaching proper etiquette is like getting a vocabulary lesson from a Vulpix, but It is considered good manners to sit with your chair tucked in and to situate oneself a balled up fist away from the table.

While I’m sure this is to prevent people from just smashing their face into their food like they are bobbing for appetizers, I have found it serves another purpose. You see, every breakfast I now have a barking beggar right beside me. He lurks at every lunch and seeks to devour every dinner. Watching........waiting for that inevitable incident where I have a motor skills meltdown, where my hand-eye coordination takes it’s habitual hiatus and food hits the floor. He has a bowl full of water and a dish packed to the brim with food that I have hunted down and provided, but like a kindergartner who struggles with contentment, he wants what I have. In the past, I have gone scuba diving in the Caribbean and mingled amongst sting rays and sharks. Nothing makes me more uneasy than trying to enjoy a plateful of pizza while being ever so aware of the puppy’s presence......Circling........Savoring and getting me to say “I think I’m gonna need a bigger plate.”

Honey, I Shrunk the Roommates!

Here's something they didn't tell me when I first got my puppy: Eventually, I would start to find tiny little teeth around the house.

The first one I saw I was like “I don’t have popcorn in the house, what the heck is this?!” It’s turned into a little "Easter enamel hunt like “Where will the next one be?” I feel as though I moved into a house where a hockey player, a beaver, the tooth fairy and a version of the children’s toy, “Crocodile Dentist” that came to life were best friends in high school so they made the novice mistake of deciding “Let’s all live together! We’ll learn about each other’s nasty habits and weird quirks and ultimately, that we can only tolerate each other in small, spaced out doses and everything will be totally fine!”

Verbal jousting eventually turned to violence. In order to salvage the situation one of them thought “I know, let’s use a shrink ray, scale ourselves down so we’re not getting all up in each other’s grizzy so often.” (because that’s how the Crocodile Dentist talks) Sadly, the trail of tiny teeth only serves as evidence to the inevitable ending that while there have made a valiant effort to coexist peacefully, it’s just not going to work out.

Wingding Talkers

Twelve years of hard work completely and utterly undone!

I’d like to believe that I have a lot going for me. I’m a hard worker, friendly and I cook a mean hamburger. However, I’ll be the first to admit that my handwriting certainly has never and most likely will never come out looking  like calligraphy. For the past few years, the only writing I’ve done are stock sheets for work and I’m writing those up under duress and trying to get them done as quickly as possible. With my decision of placing a higher value on productivity over penmanship, the paper always ends up looking like someone tried to trace Sam and Frodo’s path of travel through a map of Middle Earth. The good news is I could probably write anything I wanted on there and people could spend years of uselessness trying to crack the code of the “Wingding Talkers.”

Ode to Mediocrity

A Hat Trick is when someone scores three goals in a game. In hockey, a Gordie Howe hat trick is when, in a single game, someone has a goal, an assist and a fight. During my playing days, a Mark Woonton hat trick was when I walked into the correct locker room, put my skates on the right feet and looked in the direction I was supposed to be looking prior to every puck drop.

My dad said if I scored one goal, he’d carry my hockey stick out of the locker room to the car. If I scored two goals, he’d also carry my equipment bag and if I scored three goals, we’d pack up the van move to Canada and I’d pursue a career in hockey full time. I’m sure this was meant as incentive to play well, but with this as my motivation, he inadvertently taught me to never pass the puck, ever! I was taking it from my own teammates, flying around the ice like the Rogue Rink Runner. As you can tell by my current residence and nearly transparent triceps, I scored plenty of goals but could never complete the trifecta. Every time I left the rink having scored only one one goal,  I’d bust through the doors, beat red in the face, breathing heavily struggling with a giant duffel bag shouting “BRING THE CAR AROUND, QUICK!!!” and to this day, I consider it a complete miracle that that chain of events didn't put me as the prime suspect for every murder in the past week within a 50 mile radius. There’s something to be said for striving to be a mediocre talent, because I’m proud of my playing days, but I’m also proud to still be an American.

Market Basket Case Study 2 : Toast Protocol

I have a deeply rooted admiration and envy for those of you who can walk through a grocery store with the planning, purpose and precision of an MI6 agent moving toward an extraction point. Oftentimes, I have the pick up plan of a preschooler in a pinball machine.

"Ok, I'm going to get Pop Tarts, soda, chocolate milk, Nacho Cheese Doritos, a frozen pizza, grab a handful of grapes out of an open bag in the produce aisle to get my serving of fruit for the week and then because that's only five things, I can get in the express lane and I'm out of there!"

Super Dad

Every parent is a superhero.

Now that I’ve had a puppy for a while I feel as though I’ve graduated to become a member of the “JV Justice League.” I remember my dad used to pull this move where he’d put a liquid chocolate topping on my brother and my ice cream, turn around and perform some sort of “Sundae sorcery” on our dessert and it would turn into a solid. As I’d later learn, the 3 ingredients required in becoming this culinary Copperfield were simply: Shell topping, stupid children and time.  As Sammy has been healing this week I’ve developed both superhuman hearing and night vision. I used to possess the ability to sleep through a mild nuclear holocaust (not sure there are levels to that) and over the past few days if Sammy decided to launch a nighttime gnawing on his cone, I’d (admittedly half awake) pop right up and snap his cone back in place in complete darkness with the speed and skill of Doris from your Nana’s Nocturnal Knitting Club. Those who know me best, know that to say I have fine motor skills, you’d pronounce the word “fine” with the sassiness of a child who knows they won’t be getting their way and if you had to put all your money on either me or a pre-child labor law factory working 8 year old fresh off a 48 hour shift to button up a shirt faster, we all know your money is going on the lethargic latter lad.

 I feel as though I’ve hit on a major aspect of adult living because I’m able to move my mentality from “I haven’t slept well these past few days” to “I’ve acquired a new skill” and the fact that I’ve arrived at the conclusion “I think I might be a superhero” may not be the most dignified destination, I feel as though in this journey of life, I’m at least headed the right way.

Don't Quote Me On This

I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I am responsible for pretty much every famous quote ever. Here are the quotes and the context in which I had originally intended them to be used:

"That's one small step for (a) man, one giant leap for mankind."

- Pretty much any time I get out of bed without hitting the snooze button


"Efforts and courage are not enough without purpose and direction."

-Driving around in circles in Boston for an hour and a half trying to make sense of the people, places and things

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

- Psyching myself up thinking I could totally sit through "Truth or Dare" in theaters even though myself, my friends and everyone in their seats knows that I'm going to end up crapping my pants at least twice

"I didn't fail the test, I just found one hundred ways to do it wrong."

 - Trying to justify and weasel my way out of a bad grade in a Philosophy class by using that whole "The question is more important than the answer" crap against them

"We become what we think about."

- When I tell myself I'm going to go to the gym and then I realize how good it made me feel just to have the thought so I figure I will save the environment the catastrophe caused by the emissions released from my car while driving over there and still feel satisfied by the idea of me going to the gym

"To be good, and to do good, is all we have to do."

- In 1st grade, my teacher had to hastily step out of the classroom and take a phone call so sure turned to me, being the only kid sitting in the front row like a good little doobie, and said "Mark, you're in charge." I turned to my classmates and got the statement above out just before tape was placed over my mouth, I was shoved to the ground and general chaos ensued.

"Success is walking from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm."

- About one week after the above incident, my class celebrated Valentine's Day and I got to hand out cards to the giddy and grotesque girls in my class. My ratio of recipients was that of a beggar on the street, most people walked by or looked the other way and the ones that accepted my envelope of ambition just felt sorry for me.

"When you cease to dream you cease to live."

- In math class, we stayed on scatter plots and box and whisker long enough to make someone want to plot out a few plans of their own. My classmates, myself and my conscious mind gravitated away from the material and one day I drifted off to sleep only to hear my teachers' booming voice "MARK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I quite appropriately responded with the words above as I had certainly felt that my life was in jeopardy.

"If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough."

- Too often in life, I've sat for 90 minutes listening to someone tell me about a 30 minute show (including commercials) and this approach is a real shot in the foot because any hope of me now wanting to sit through this program, seemingly with the plot of the Penrose steps, is completely and utterly dashed. I've said this and later found out that the other person had not even explained their way up to the first commercial break yet.

"Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can."

- In all fairness this one wasn't me and it may not be a direct quote because my dad was speaking through a crackling Walkie Talkie. My family had gone on a hike and my mom made the mistake of allowing me to have two sandwiches for lunch when we got to the peak and my father made the mistake of charging ahead down the mountain. I picked up the pace, but soon realized that the digested deli meat was going to reach its final destination long before I did. I grabbed my Wakie Talkie and exclaimed "What should I do?!" My eyes darted around looking for the most lavatory-like landscape and my gaze turned to locate the seemingly softest leaves. On the other end, in the unmistakable tone of desperation, but imminent defeat my dad said "Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can."



 

Train of Thought

I sincerely believe that had I been born in the 1800s I definitely would have been a train robber. I don't think I possess the cunning nature it takes to pull off train heists or the general disregard for the law that is required in that line of work, but what I do have is a deeply rooted hatred for trains.

When I'm sitting in my car at a railroad crossing, waiting for two pay periods for this unnecessary obstruction as it moves with the speed and resolve of a bitter husband in a Yankee candle store, I can't help but have the same thought of anyone who saw me walk into a party in high school, "What are you doing here?! We don't need you!" There's a good chance that anything that train is carrying can be shipped via some other means or has legs to get to where it's going under its own power. I'm not saying that what guys like Jesse James and Butch Cassidy did was right, but I get it.

The New Guy

I was fortunate in that I did not move around a lot as a child.

 After being born in Detroit, I moved to New Hampshire when I was one year old (I typically fabricate the amount of time I spent on the mean streets of the midwest because when people of the serene, still and slow moving suburbs hear that I am from Detroit they have a tendency to BACK OFF!) So I can't empathize with people who walk into a new school and think "I have no idea who these people are, where I am or where I'm supposed to be."

However, this is essentially the feeling I have any time I walk out of a store and look out on the vastness of vehicles in any parking lot bigger than a two car garage. My life will never be turned into a movie because there's not nearly enough conflict or romance to keep anyone's interest and sadly, the title "Dude, Where's My Car?" has already been taken. With the amount of time I've spent standing at a crosswalk with a bag full of freezer meals and ice cream, I can honestly say that the most aptly named invention I've ever encountered is the panic button.

Hopeless Shopper and the Goblet of Flavorlessness

So far, since moving out on my own I have accidentally purchased plantains instead of bananas, extra crunchy peanut butter instead of normal peanut butter that doesn’t serve as a viable alternative to gravel and avocado flavored Ranch dressing instead of regular ranch dressing because I firmly believe that not everything needs to taste like avocados. In what is now the fourth  installment of “My Mistakes at Market Basket” I accidentally bought an apple juice labeled “Tots First Apple Juice” which boasts about having 40% less sugar which is kind of the equivalent of me bragging about my income to my dad. “Hey you know that useful stuff that you love? Well, this things got wayyy less of it!” So, if I resort back to “baby babble” and throwing a tantrum about eating fruits and vegetables, you all know why. I paid for it, so I’m going to drink it, but the plan is to start paying attention and sincerely hope that there is not a follow up to Hopeless Shopper and the Goblet of Flavorlessness.

DorkCenter Top 10

Sometimes I feel like I don’t get enough credit. Like when a pen rolls off the table and I catch it in midair and then look  around like “Did you see that?!?!” Then  I remember that I live by myself.

Or when I’m walking past a door that suddenly flies open so I juke out of the way and avoid being hit. I instantly get the impression that I should be dubbed the “Dion Lewis of the Doorways.” They ought to come up with something for situations like that. Something for people with no athletic aspirations whatsoever who show brief moments of brilliance, ya know? Like a “DorkCenter Top 10.”

Stranger Danger

This afternoon I was walking down my street and there was some guy in a big ole truck parked on the side of the road. I stopped and talked to him for a while because now that I live on my own my "words per day" count has gone wayyy down and every now and again I stumble upon some unfortunate soul who becomes a victim of my daily dialogue dump, the vacating of all of my vowels and the coughing up of all of my consonants. We talked for a while and then he asked me "Which house do you live in?"

That threw up a huge red flag and I was like  "ummmmm.........over there........" and arbitrarily pointed at a bunch of trees. I just found it very odd to ask someone where they live and I'm not just saying that because he was a trucker. If he had been in a Subaru Outback I wouldn't have been like "Here's where I live, here's when I'm home and here's where I keep my spare key. You make me feel safe.” He seemed like a nice guy, but I didn't want to take any chances. I walked home thinking "What if that guy was some weirdo and robbed me or something? I really dodged a bullet there." So I walked away from that situation feeling pretty good. Also, not that life is a competition, but I got a little boost because he told me that my credit card number and social security number were wayyy bigger than his.

Wishful Sinking

Today I was cleaning some dishes in the sink and as I was rinsing off the last few pieces of silverware I noticed that I was bleeding. After the initial shock, the aftershock, the static shock and listening to Timbaland’s album, Shock Value, I had this surreal and straight up serendipitous moment of Samson-like strength as I thought “Dang, I was bleeding and didn’t even know it?! I must be bad to the bone!” I looked closer in order to assess the injury and came up with the demoralizing diagnosis that this substance seeping from finger was ketchup from the dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets I had eaten for dinner.

Puppy Party

Having a puppy means that I perpetually walk around my house with the demeanor of a parent who is sure their kid had a party at the house while they were gone, but they haven’t found any evidence to support the theory yet. Except instead of beer and smokes I’m looking for pee and poop.

“Just be honest. Tell me what happened and I promise I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”