Saints

These pictures are all out of order. I really need to get a camera. I took these with my phone and I can only upload them from my phone to the blog site, and then I type the post from my computer. I'm not quite up to the level of professional writer yet.

My friend Mason and I decided to go to this game between the Saints and the Sioux City Explorers about a week ago. I had never been to their new stadium and I was looking for a baseball experience with a little more excitement than I had seen in the two previous attempts by the floundering millionaires.

I had seen the lights from the highway several times so I knew where it was. We parked (for $5!) and made the quick walk to the C.H.S. Field. I was astonished at how many people were out and about on such an overcast evening. Energy filled the air, and I could hear the crowd in waves of chattering as we approached our destination. It felt like baseball.

We had our tickets scanned off of Mason's phone and we walked in to find our seats. The view from this picture above is what you can get for under $20, better than a fair price for being so close.

The standard nauseating smells of fried foods and stale beer filled my nostrils, I loved it. We sat down and enjoyed a moment of silence for the Orlando massacre followed by a great performance of our National Anthem. The game got under way and before the first inning was over, I saw our team score more runs than I had seen plated in the two Twins games I had been to, combined. It was quite thrilling.

We decided to walk around after the second inning to see what the place had to offer. The Saints had mounted a 5-0 lead so we didn't pay too much attention to the field. We came upon the olde-style carnival speed-pitch game at which several youths were throwing in the high 50's and low 60's. Surely we were older, stronger, and wiser than them so we paid up two dollars each and I took my place to throw.

I wound up and gave it my all. "33!" Said the man with no friends and a studio apartment in a bad part of town. "...fuck you say!?" Said the young man with a great arm and charming demeanor. Surely he was reading the information incorrectly. I wound up again and let it go and the liar said, "41." And again, "49." Mason did a little better, but we both agreed that we were better than the man suggested. Now confident in our true abilities as Major League pitchers, we moved on.

A view from center field.

I took a picture of her but wasn't bold enough to stop and inquire of her role in the grand scheme of things.

Here's the actual band they had playing instead of the traditional organist. They had a special guest which was pretty cool. I had heard Har Mar Superstar on The Current a few times, and although he was hard to hear, he really had a good voice. He wasn't the only celebrity in attendance, Andrew Zimmern was also in the crowd but I didn't get to see him.

The lights came on, the opposing team had tied it up 5-5, and we were in the ninth inning. It was just before ten when I said we should probably get going to get home by our curfew. We stopped by the exit to see if anything important would happen. We got to see the manager get ejected for reasons unknown, then turned and walked away.

We made it about 50 feet away from the stadium when we heard the crowd erupt in cheers. The very next batter hit a walk-off home run, and we missed it by about two minutes. We made it home by 10:20 which means we could have stayed a little longer. But it's better to be safe than sorry when it comes to the possibility of going back to prison.

Honorable mention: This is Sister Rosalind. She's been giving free hugs and backrubs for  I think, over 20 years at every home game. I asked if she could take a picture with me and she agreed.

It was a fun night. There were a few moments where I wished I was just a normal fella and could have some local beer, but those moments passed. It'll be really nice to be off ISR so I can enjoy a little more time out and about, enjoying what the city has to offer.

From Willie to Bacon

I’ve had Willie over at my place for a week now. It’s been great. He seems to have caught on to who I am as he gives me that old familiar stare. I see this look in his eyes and it’s like he remembers all of those years, good and bad. He’s returned to good health after an expensive scare. The only conclusion after a battery of tests at the Vet was that he has stage two kidney failure. They said he has about a year or two left. So, that sounds about right anyhow. He’s pushing 14 so I’m not surprised that he has some sort of illness. What wasn’t explained, however, was why he was sick for two weeks. Our only theory is that he had a bad reaction to the sedative he was given for his oral surgery. I can understand that as I have also ingested Ketamine several times in my life. It took me out for a while, too. I’m bringing him back to Connie’s today or tomorrow because I know they miss him over there, but I think from now on I will have him over more often, and possibly forever after a few more visits.

I’m throwing a little bit of a cookout today at my new place. I have wanted to do this for a while and yesterday I just sort of went for it. By that I mean I posted it on the almighty Facebook, without which I would have had to send out flyers and make telephone calls to individual people, depleting my time in front of the relax-o-vision.

And speaking of T.V., I really need to get a gym membership. I did a little research on the internet, again avoiding personal communication at all costs, and I liked the looks of a little Mexican place called La Fitness which in English is The Fitness. It all looks so good from the get go, only $30 per month. I can handle that easily enough. So I type in all of my information, and not until the very last page do they tell you there’s a $99 one-time charge and you have to pay for the first and last month’s membership right now, plus tax. So, $30 goes up to about $180 right quick like, and I kindly push the “X” button in the upper right hand corner of my screen and say, “Good day.” I mean, I could have parted with the money I suppose, it really wasn’t about that, it was about making a $180 commitment vs. a $30 commitment. I really need to start getting back into shape but it requires a little work on my part that I’m not quite willing to pay for yet. The thought crossed my mind that I had everything I needed to start running again and how nice it is to run around Como Lake, and God I hate running and it’s so boring and Dairy Queen is on the way to Como Lake, and I would use less gas if I just went to Dairy Queen, and that just makes sense. I’m going green, I’m helping the environment, and I’m getting nutrients my body needs.

Exercise…Ex..Er..Cise.

…Ex..Ar..Size…

…Eggs..Are..Sides…

…For Bacon…

…Bacon…

See what I did there? I showed you how my brain works. It’s sooooo much easier to sit at home and watch T.V. while cooking bacon than it is to start exercising again. At least I can recognize that. Maybe I need to put in that $180 to make myself get into the gym a few times per week.

I’m at Nina’s Coffee shop again, as is my tradition for Saturday mornings, and there’s a couple standing maybe three feet in front of me at a newspaper rack and although they probably don’t see it, to me it appears that they’re spying on me over the top of their respective papers, like in a bad movie or cartoon. I’m not paranoid, merely observing. And they’re gone.

How Cavalier

So clearly it was an outright lie I told about the follow by email link being fixed. I thought I had it figured out, but alas, I was wrong. At this point I think it’s safe to say that I don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to technology. Here’s an example.

For the past few months, the turn signals in my car have slowly but surely failing to stay on. I’ll flip the switch, you know, left or right, and sometimes I’ll get a blink or two or maybe even fifteen out of them, and then they stop. I will do the same thing repeatedly until I turn, but often they will stop working altogether. I am not a fan of cars that fail to signal turns, and I am, for the most part, now one of “those people.” It got pretty bad in the last week so I went to an auto parts store to purchase a turn signal relay, which is what the internet told me the most likely problem was.

Auto Zone is a nifty little place filled with things I will never understand, or at the very least never need. It was a slow Sunday afternoon when I went in but the line was slow moving. The cashier guy was friendly and helpful, and he even let me watch as he searched for my part on his computer. I bought the relay for $17 and that was two weeks ago.

Even according to the internet, it is impossible to find the little box on a 2001 Chevrolet Cavalier (Ladies, I don’t usually brag, but it’s got an AM/FM radio.) and I have looked absolutely everywhere. I’ve opened up the steering column, looked in and around the fuse box, and under the hood. It simply does not exist with the tools I own to unearth car things.

At this point I decided it wasn’t a faulty relay, rather a bad turn signal switch. That’s the lever that sticks out of the left side on the steering column. So, again I consulted the internet, and purchased one from Amazon for $35, with free shipping from my Prime account. I didn’t do any research on how to make the modification, which is usually how things explode. So, after work on Friday (yesterday), I stopped at Walmart (go ahead and pass that up if you get the chance to go on a Friday night at about 5PM) and purchased my very first ratchet set. I went back to Walmart about an hour later to trade that ratchet set for one with metric sockets, because I foolishly assumed an American car would have standard bolts. Anywho, (I love people watching. I’m at Nina’s Coffee Shop on Selby and Western, and there is a rather portly gentleman with an ill-fitting wig in high heels and bright red lipstick standing in front of me waiting for his coffee. It’s not so much him or his attire that fascinates me, but the reaction of the people around him. But, I digress.) I get home and park in the driveway. My landlord is in the backyard watering the grass seeds he put down three weeks ago. He claims that the birds have eaten all of the seeds which makes me wonder what he’s actually watering. I begin to tear apart the steering column yet again. It looks pretty simple, and it is. There’s only one minor problem, there’s a safety feature that makes the horn honk when I remove the first bolt and a little metal piston makes contact with metal on the steering wheel. Easily enough, I disable the horn by removing the proper fuse. The switch comes out and goes back in with relative ease. I’m proud of myself.

I turn the key into the on position, and I signal a fake right turn which doesn’t have the desired effect on my landlord. I thought maybe he would duck for cover. It blinks! One, two, three, four, nothing. Fuck. Maybe I should try a left turn? Same result. It’s not a bad switch at all. I think that probably somewhere in the depths and innards of a Cavalier is a turn signal relay, they just don’t want me to find it.

I really don’t want to have to take it in, but I fear that’s the only option left. But how much will it cost for them to prod and poke and search? Too much.

Well, that’s all I’ve got for this one. If any of you who read this can fix cars, let me know.

Get out and enjoy this beautiful weather!

Fountain

I took this picture just North of the Oronoco exit on Highway 52 yesterday on my way down to my old home in Fountain.

Upon seeing the sign for the city limits of Fountain, my mind filled with mixed emotions, both excitement for seeing friends that I hadn't seen in years, and dread for seeing my old places of employment and driving by my old apartment where I did/sold meth before I went to prison.

The good outweighed the bad and I arrived at Seth's place shortly after 8am. We talked for a while, and within an hour, my cheeks hurt from laughter. We decided to round up the dogs and head out to his family campground where we used to play yard games, and drink excessively. I had purchased a new Wiffle bat for the occasion because I wanted to play my favorite game there, Campground Baseball.

I got a pretty good shot here. The yellow ball appears to be hovering mid-air, but has been released by the pitcher and is on the way to home plate which is the chair. The batter is Seth's brother, and the pitcher is his son. 

This is from the outfielders viewpoint. Originally, the game was played by only Seth and myself, and the dogs were the outfielders. The game would never have existed without a dog to get every hit/missed ball. Thank you Willie.

This is Audrey, Seth's kid. She's ten years old now, and has been my favorite kid in the world since she was just one. I wrote to her many times while I was away, and she wrote me back. I was so happy to see her smiling face yesterday. Love ya kiddo!

We played baseball, talked, and cooked over a cherry wood fire. Friends came and went, and the time flew by so quickly. I could have used 12 more hours. I decided to share a picture of these mini cheesecakes that Chelsey, Audrey's mother, made in honor of my visit. One was s'mores, and the other Reese's. They were fabulous, and I gained at least one pound yesterday just from them.

This little guy here, that's Dan-O. Dave and Allyssa are two very good friends of mine, and while I was in prison, they made a baby. I'm not sure how, but they said it was really fun. Daniel is one of the happiest kids I've ever seen with a constant mischievous grin on his face. He sat still long enough for this picture, and was moving around for the rest of the day. Go, go, go!

Yes I had a great day. I had no cravings for drugs or alcohol. Driving through Rochester on the way back was tough. I saw so many places I had done bad things. I drove by the junk yard where I woke up going 70mph backwards and somehow didn't injure myself. I could see so many of the hotels I stayed in along the highway where I sold meth and went crazy. Every exit I passed I could recall certain places or situations on or near those roads that made me so grateful that I am not bound by those chains anymore. I don't like Rochester. Rather, Rochester shouldn't like me. I don't think I ever made one rational decision in all of the years that I lived there. I'm glad they made a highway that goes right through it. 

I'm looking forward to going back to Fountain. It still felt like home.

I'm Still Not Perfect

What the fuck is wrong with you? You know who you are. You turned onto University Avenue this morning and I had to slam on my brakes. Then you proceeded cautiously at roughly 20mph, no more, no less. You probably saw me in your rear-view mirror throwing my arms up in the air and gesturing to you in a manner suggesting that you should fournicate with yourself. If you had the ability to read lips, you might have been upset for a good portion of the rest of your day because I had some ideas of what you could do with your ass.

Didn't you all get the memo that I'm the most important driver on the roads? Surely I tell people through my body language and aggressive driving tactics. And did you know that it is my sole responsibility to hold you to the highest standards of what I think driving laws are? It's a tough job, but I think I do it well.

Here's an example of how I teach others the rules of the road. Let's say you see an opening in traffic so you take a right and I happen to be behind you at whatever distance. What you didn't know is that I saw you turning and I sped up so I would have an opportunity to slam on my brakes to teach you a lesson. Now that's pretty nice of me. Had I been the one turning, and a car came up too quickly behind me, I would have proceeded at roughly 20mph to teach them a lesson about speeding.

Does this all sound a little fucked up? Great! You're paying attention. This is an example of what I've been fighting since childhood: Perfectionism, which is a controlling behavior. I wrote a paper on the subject in treatment in prison, and I've come a long way. But I'm still not perfect.

Perfectionism isn’t exactly what you might think it is. You see, I hold myself to the highest standards when it comes to, well, anything. And when those standards aren’t met, I blame it on something or somebody else. Here’s the thing, I also hold you to the highest standards. I need you to do everything perfectly, or I’m going to let you know about it. Not through direct communication, but again with body language like sighing or visible frustration.

This is just one of the many things that has come up while writing out my fourth step. I’m taking my personal inventory, something I did in a different fashion in prison, but there appears to be some leftovers. I’m okay with it though. Already I’ve been making changes mentally in my thought process, and I’ve been able to let go of a lot of baggage and anger. I still have two weeks left of this fourth step workshop I’ve been attending, and this week we are going to go over our sex inventory, something about which I’m a little nervous because I haven’t thought about it for years. Quite candidly, I’m not even sure what the process is, or what I will have to spell out, but I will know tonight.

I drove home from work today without even so much as thinking a bad thought about a fellow motorist. I didn’t even look in my rear-view to make sure the guy turning in behind me used his blinker and changed lanes appropriately. Traffic was bad, but I just listened to the radio, and that seemed to distract my mind for long enough to get home.

One thing I am constantly working on is the thoughts that go through my head. I need them to be more positive, and they are becoming that way, but I still find myself saying bad things in my head about people like my boss, and the poor man at the Arby’s that didn’t seem very bright. None of those thoughts made this world a better place.  From now on, I will focus on what I can do to help others. I will be less selfish and self-centered. And we will see how that goes for a while.