Eimertoons - Eimer's Credit Card

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Night Run

My eyes popped open from my deep sleep. I looked over at the clock. It was 3:20 a.m.

The stress of buying a new home, changing jobs and being a literary success took its toll on my brain. 

After tossing and turning in bed for an hour and a half, I thought to myself, "Fuck it, I’m going on a run."

I quietly skirted out of my bed, tip-toed around the house to grab my running gear and quietly slipped out of the house.  

Like a chef walking into a meat freezer, a cool breeze hit my face and took my breath away. I stared in awe at the darkened Bath night.

“Where are you UFO’s?” I thought to myself. “Will I ever see you before I die?”

With that last thought, I hopped into the car, clicked on the ignition and slowly careened out of my driveway.

I pulled into Bath Nature Preserve around 3:50 a.m. for an impromptu illegal run (hours are from dawn to dusk). So here I was. The darkness enveloped the entire sky. The skitters and scampers of little forest creatures could be heard in the distance. But that was it. The air was still. I could see my breath misting in the cool air.

To be honest, I was a bit creeped out.

“Maybe I’ll just get back in the car and drive over to the high school and do a couple laps on the track,” I thought to myself.

“Pffft,” the little Eimer devil whispered on my shoulder. “Are you really going to be that big of a pussy?”

“Nooo,” I said to my evil doppelganger, then pulled a 180. “Fuck it, I’m already here. What’s the worse thing that could happen?”

I could die. Gulp!

Thankfully, I had my trusty Energizer Headlamp with four unique shine frequencies, including infrared lens. Yeah, it was dark, but I would be safe and sound as long as my headlamp remained on for my 3.5-mile night run.

"Right?"

I set my watch and took off down the dark grainy path. In the distance to East, I saw the slightest spit of  light from the Fairlawn shopping center. No sign of the sun trying to pull itself out of the darkness. Too early I guessed.

The trail took me through a field. 

I felt a slight tickling at my back and thought about the 'thing' from JEEPERS CREATURES. The thing that could fly in the air. The thing with the cowboy hat. The thing with the dusty MATRIX-like coat. The thing that likes to use people’s bones to create an altar.

Anticipating an aerial assault, I lurched my neck back and forth shining the light from here to there. No JEEPERS. No CREEPERS. 

I continued to run and cut off down a gravel hill, which connected to a rough the horse trail - a trail that was separated to the right by a huge pillar of pine trees and oaks and horse pastures to the left. I noticed a huge mansion, outdoor lights glowing in the distance. Yeah, I was in Bath after all.

I descended the hill and my near-sightedness kicked into high gear as I noticed a black spot down the way. The blur became the creature from XTRO, the alien creature that dropped from the sky and raped a woman with its mouth. A horror that still haunts me to this day. I ignored the lump of whatever on the ground. It may have hissed at me. I picked up my steps and glided by the creature before it could impregnate me with its nasty-eating orifice.

The horse trail careened up a hill. My breathing deeper and shallower, I huffed and puffed up a like the Little Engine That Could; the flashlight on my head bobbing up and down, up and down illuminating the ground in a wobbly, almost-BLAIR WITCH PROJECT-type of cinema verite.

I ran up a forty-five degree incline near the natural gas pump, one of six that lay in the Bath Nature Preserve. To my left, a strange formation stepped out of the woods, it looked to me like the possessed goat in DRAG ME TO HELL. I remembered the white eyes. The satanic look. The immediate hunger for human flesh. My heart began to race as I passed the creature that lay before me...

...only a deer.

It gave out a snort and took off into the woods. That’s when I felt my heart beating more than the required 200 beats per minute. The buck snorted, once again, and shot off into another section of the woods. 

I hung a left down an old grassy trail, which connected, back again with the main running trail, and approached an old wooden bridge.

In the darkness, it almost appeared like a moat bridge from CASTLE GREYSKULL inviting me to commiserate with the likes of He-Man, Man-At-Arms, Beast Man and, more importantly, She-Ra to discuss the political situations with Skeletor on Planet Eternia over a pint of mead.

Then, my mind immediately shifted to think the story of BILLY GOATS GRUFF; more importantly the troll that lurked beneath the bridge. "Could there be a troll underneath this bridge?" I thought as I clopped, clopped, clopped underneath the wooden slats, I overheard the stream gently bubbling underneath my feet. 

Then I heard a rustle. Then I did a 180-degree turn and high-tailed it off the bridge back to the trial and up the hill. I imagined the angry CAVE TROLL from THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING, pulling itself from the wooden bridge, goblins by its side, as it ripped and tore the sides of the bridge and quickly reached the nape of my neck.

I yanked my head back. Nothing. I let out a sigh and continued on my journey.

About two miles into my run, I was getting into my groove. Heart beat at 180 or slightly higher, half a yard steps, even breathing and a nice 9:00 pace (hey, I’m not trying to break any world records, here). The darkness grew more ominous as I entered an overlap of trees and slightly into the denser forest.

I heard a faint rustle in the woods to my right. I shined the light into the weeds. Deep in the distance a faint shadow appeared. Memories of AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON shot through my skull. The scene where the man is heading up the escalator and scans down the steps to see the hulking werewolf slowly, almost casually, heading toward its prey.

Which reminded me of a story...

When I was a little kid, we had two sets of stairs in our house. The first set of steps ran up from the kitchen and pantry into the upstairs bedroom, which I shared with my brother. Every single time I walked down those steps I was convinced a demonic Gladiator Centaur with bow and arrow in hand was going to shoot out of the attic door, pull three of four fiery arrows from his sheath and, in a machine gun cadence, proceed to shoot them towards my back. Convinced this was going to happen, I always sprinted down the steps like a boy possessed.

The second set of steps headed down into the basement. The steps had openings beneath each step. No carpet, no wood, just functional steps. Going down into the basement was never a problem. However, heading upstairs, was a big problem. I was convinced that as I reached the sixth set of steps, the WEREWOLF from THE HOWLING was going to shoot his hand through the open slats, snatch my ankle and squeeze with all its might. Convinced this was going to happen, I always bounded up the basement steps like a boy possessed – as well. "Why do you do that?!!" my mother would always scream.

Back to the night run...

My pace quickened. My blood pressure felt like it shot up another 10 points. Goosebumps covered my entire body anticipating a strike from the beast in the woods. However, after another inspection with my trusty light, the shadow revealed itself to be a large boulder. Phew! Instant death diverted once again.

I careened off the bike path and onto a dirt, running trail past a gargantuan steel dragon. The JABBERWOCKY from Alice in Wonderland???!!!! No, only the steel pulsing of a gas well going up and down, up and down. Chugging gas from the ground up into its steel basin.

The trail careened into an even darker forested umbrella. Blackness covered me like a cold blanket of Death. I clicked the highest shine function on my Energizer Headlamp.

The crunch of my steps on the hard pebbles and rocks was the only sound echoing into the eerie, wooded terror land. I thought of the movie PUMPKINHEAD. The green creature spawned by hate from some section of hell. I thought about the CENOBITES from HELLRAISER, led by Pinhead, the unflinching psychopaths from Hades. The  things that wanted to tear your soul apart. I glanced over into what I knew was an empty, dried up bog. For an instant, I thought I saw the menacing creatures waiting in the woods. Waiting for me to slightly step off the trail so they could tear my body from limb to limb, ripping each and every piece of my body until only a puddle of blood remained.

I closed my eyes. “Just movies,” I said to myself. “Only movies.” I opened my eyes and the creatures were gone.

Again, wanting this run to be over, I quickened my pace once again as I set up another hill, which turned slightly into a concrete path before opening up into a field of wheat, or hay, or simply tall grass. I wasn’t sure. I ran into a plume of fog, which slightly cooled my body. It felt like I was running into a thousand deathly souls roaming the Earth.

For a moment I was expecting the creature DARKNESS from the movie LEGEND to come through the fog, through the smoke; inserting his scabbard hand into my heart and ripping it into pieces.

This was supposed to be a 30-minute repast during my day. It was supposed to be my relaxing three-mile run. Instead, it was my own personal internal hell. My own personal demons terrorizing my every step.

Which reminds me...

Sometimes during my run, I think about death. I think about possibly dying when I’m older on one of these trails. Will my body be found? Will it lie there and slowly decay for years and years? What will people think when they come upon it?

Sometimes, even during my day runs, I look back and imagine a black figure gliding effortlessly through the trail, 50 yards or so behind me, matching my pace, waiting, anticipating that moment when I trip, my heart skips, I have a stroke or I simply stop breathing.

Back on the trail...

I came around the turn and approached a ubiquitous shadow; a blurry figure walking closer to me. This was the time that I wished for my glasses, or contacts or the fucking Lasik eye surgery. Anything for me to focus on the image in front of me.

Was this my time? Was this my death?  Was that the GRIM REAPER from THE MEANING OF LIFE with his long scythe waiting patiently for me to finish my run. Waiting patiently to take me away from my family, my kids and my not-so-bad life?

“Excuse me,” the creature said. Only it wasn’t a creature.

“Huh,” I said startled as I slowed to a brief walk, then stopped in front of the man’s face. He was an older gentleman, about 60 or 65. A just-as-old golden retriever stood next to him panting a rather jolly pant.

“Do you know how to get back to the main bike trail?”

I nodded and pointed in the direction I came. “Follow this loop and it will take you back to the trail.”

“Thank you so much,” the man said petting the top of his dog’s head. An odd two-second silence whisked between us. My mind started again. I imagined a knife in his back pocket. I imagined the OLDER GENTELMAN from the movie LET THE RIGHT ONE IN. The guy who killed in order to accumulate fresh blood for his young vampire princess. I took a slight step back from the man and the dog, which looked a bit angrier from the last second I looked at him.

“A little creepy out at this time of day, eh?” asked the old man.

I nodded.

“Your mind can play some crazy tricks on you that’s for sure” he said.

“You’re telling me,” I said. “Be careful.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” the old man laughed and patted his loyal dog on top of the head. “That’s why I have her to protect me.”

I looked at the dog and through about my dog, Otto; a loyal Rottweiler-Doberman mix that was the best dog in the world.

“Well, have a good run,” the old man smiled and started on his way. “And thank you.”

“You too,” I said and headed off to my car.

During my half-mile run back to my car, I thought about the old man. I thought about the ghosts and goblins that tormented my mind. I thought about my life, my dreams, my family and my job.

I thought about all the scary things that this world can throw at you day in and day out. And all of the things on this Earth that can just as easily take you away from it all.

I thought about my mother whispering in my ear before heading off to school. “Heck, every time you step outside of your house, you can get killed,” she said. “Just think of all the ways you can die in a day...”

For some reason those comments have stuck in my mind.

Today, I was able to outrun and outfox Pumpkinhead, the Cave Troll, the American Werewolf in London, the grim specter of Death and other creatures lingering and lurking in the back of my brain.

Tomorrow, I may not be so lucky.

Maybe I’ll go on an afternoon run instead.

Big 4-0? Ain't Nuthin But a G' Thang (sort of)

Back in 2005, my wife-to-be announced that she was pregnant with our daughter.

During the 10 seconds following her not-so-shocking announcement, I didn't think about the wonder of life that was growing inside her belly. Nor did I think about getting a normal job or even visiting Amazon.com to purchase the most-recent publication of  What to Expect When You're Expecting.

Nope. Instead, I played the 'Add 20' game.

I immediately added 20 years to my life in order to see how old I was going to be when my children would be out of the house.

I know. I know. This may sound terrible and a bit selfish. Many will say that I'm 'totally missing the point of having a kid completely', which I'll 100% agree.

But I digress. The 'Add 20' game had me at about 55 years old. Not too shabby. It's old enough to be able to start stock-piling money for my eventual retirement at age 90. And it's young enough to start scratching things off of my bucket list.

Which leads me to my birthday. On July 6, I was fortunate enough to reach the young age of 40.

I'm nut sure what the hub-bub is all about. Turning 40 is really, truly no big deal. Well, a little I guess.

Minus some slight lower back pain, some doctors would say that I'm better shape than I was at 21. And I'll tend to agree. I've cut down on my drinking. I exercise almost every single day. I drink V8, homemade fruit smoothies and wheat grass every other day. I watch my sodium, I eat more vegetables and fruits. And, surprisingly, I'm slowly but surely retiring a number of fast food joints from my list-including my most recent retirement, Chick-Fil-A.

Back in the day (circa 1920) 40 was a point in your life that you simply shrugged off and continued working until you basically dropped at the ripe, old age of 57 years old (if you were fortunate enough to be a white male).

Now, in 2012, this ceremonial birthday serves as a crossroad, a halfway point of one's life. A time to ruminate about everything that you've achieved. Graduation from Ohio State, two marathons, marriage, two healthy kids, a self-published novella of mediocre short horror stories and a cartoon published in Hustler come to mind.

It's also a time to put the remainder of this crazy thing called life in perspective and think about where you want to be as you travel down this old, dusty (and bumpy) road...

...and to play the 'Plus 20' game yet again. But this time for real.

I've written in the past about the number of vacations that I, probably, have left in my lifetime. Well, in addition to the 'Plus 60' clock and the 'Vacation' clock, I've also added the 'Countdown to 60' clock.

Deep in the caverns of my mind and soul, which I probably won't share with the world right now until they come to fruition, I've laid out a number of personal challenges to myself. Things that I would like to see come to fruition before I turn 60 (or Plus 20, as I like to say this year).

These challenges are personal goals and dreams. Some are modest (To be interviewed by Oprah Winfrey for some sort of achievement). Some are selfish (To be interviewed by Howard Stern for some sort of achievement). Some of these goals are for the good of my family (pay off our house, pay for my kid's college). And some of these ideas have to do with seeing a little bit more of the world before my knees go out, my liver goes kaput and I'm stuck in some god-for-saken rest home staring out the window wondering where the hell my life went.

You know, those type of goals.

However, as it turns out, one of those 'Plus 20' goals will come to fruition in two days.

As I've recently wrote about in various posts, I'm an avid hiker. Having scrambled most of the Applachian Trail in Virginia as well as some parts of Tennessee, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and New Jersey - I've always wanted to visit one of the wildest, craziest parts of the Appalachian Trail...The White Mountains. It's a place I've always yearned to venture, but never had the funds to achieve.

Tuesday, Aug. 7, I will fly out to New Hampshire to hike Mount Washington via the Appalachian Trail on a three-day trek from Crawford Notch to Pinkham Notch. Also, we (myself and a couple of my fellow kick-ass hiker buddies) will also hit the Franconia Notch Trail - a 8.5 loop that is supposed to also kick ass. We'll see.

This trip will mark one of the many exciting things that I have planned for myself and my family over the next 20 years, which includes traveling, writing, running, publishing, drawing and fixing up my home.

Ironically, 'Work more hours' isn't on this list. However, 'Innovative ways to make more money' is.

You know, some people say that 'Age is a State of Mind'. After turning 40, I totally agree.

I mean, I still feel like that snot-nosed kid who bought his first 12-pack of Natural Light at a 7-Eleven in Wheeling when he was 17 years old. And hell yeah it was with a fake ID that I made myself.

Hmmm? Yet another achievement to ruminate upon during this exciting year.

It's all in the numbers. Life, that is.

Just got back from my doctor. I had a blood test to check my cholestoral and other stuff. It's amazing how much they can read from a couple vials of blood.

In any event,

- My cholestorel isn't great (204)
- My good cholestoral is bad (45)
- My bad cholestoral is bad (130 - think)
- My triglycerides were up (due to frequent stops to Dunkin Donuts, no doubt)
- My liver function was OK. Not great. OK

Well, why am I highlighting all of this to total strangers? I don't know. But I do know that I'm not 25 anymore. I'm going to be 38 in July, which is very weird writing it (even saying it). I still feel like I'm 25. Perhaps, I'm still eating that way as well.

While I was on a run yesterday, I was thinking how bad off my body would be if I didn't exercise. Take note, I got these crappy results and I EXERCISE ALMOST EVERY DAY.

(sigh)

Well, at least I don't have cancer. At least, I don't have some sort of crazy kidney or liver disease. At least, it's just high cholestorol. Which can be treated with a pill.

Speaking of pills, it feels like I'm at CVS every other day picking up prescriptions for either myself, my kids and my wife.

I like that my bartender knows my name and my drink.

I don't like that my pharmacist knows my name and what drugs I'm taking.

Hey! Parenting is getting easier.

For the past three years, I've glanced out the window at beautiful sunny days, pining to get outside and enjoy the great outdoors.

Then I begrudgingly would glance at my kids' closed doors, anxiously waiting for them to wake up from their naps so I could get outisde.

You know...people say that the first two years of your kid's life on this planet is pure bliss.

Let me tell you, most of them are lying.

As a matter of fact, the first two years of a child's life is a lot of:

- Buttwiping
- Sitting around
- Hanging inside the house
- Hovering
- Making sure they don't smack their head on sharp corners
- Feeding
- Getting woken up at night
- Missing out on life's events (which I wrote about previously)

Like I said, not for me.

However, with my daughter almost 4 and my son almost 3, I think I've hit a fatherhood turning point this spring.

Just yesterday, I was able to mow my entire 2.5 acre lawn with my kids hanging out in the backyard playing. Sure, I gave them each lawn-mower rides while mowing. But it was so great to see them walking around, picking up sticks, throwing rocks and being actual kids.

And it was liberating for me.

This spring and summer we've got a number of funcentric kid things on the docket...more trips to the swimming pool, amusement parks (Kennywood and Cedar Point), zoos (Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Akron and Columbus), road trips, cookouts, soccer, hiking on trails, vacation to the Jersey Shore, and let's not forget their first film at a bonafide movie theater (Toy Story 3).

Maybe, even possibly, a camping trip. (probably not).

And you know what? I'm looking forward to every single one of them. To add to that, I don't even feel like I'm 37. I feel like I did when I just graduated college. But a little smarter with a little more money in my bank account.

But I digress...

Yep, I put in my solid three years of baby rearing. Now it's time to get outside, rub the eye boogers out of my eyes and take a deep breath of the nice, warm outside air.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

I'm finally back. With no more babies in tow.

Only pre-schoolers

Socks! Dammit! Melting Snow! Shit!

So, we have this mudroom at our house.

I'm sure all of you understand the concept of a mud room, correct? In olden days, when you returned from the outside conditions from a hard days' huntin' or farmin' they would walk into the mudroom and strip off your boots, clothes, socks, etc.

Wife is happy her house is mud-free. Husband is happy that wife is happy. Kids are happy that the two aren't fighting.

Our mudroom is not only our mud room, it's also our computer room. Plus, it's connected to three different doors: the door to the garage (which also houses our trash cans), the sliding door to the backyard and the door to the front of the house. It also used to be our dog's room until he died last August. (sob!)

In any event, a lot of traffic comes through the mud room and I'm constantly hopping back and forth doing various things. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.

So, yesterday I stepped onto the linoleum floor and (BAM!) the melted snowy water started seeping through my sock and into my right foot.

I bit my lip.

Then, I searched for another dry spot on the linoleum and, like Frogger hopping across the lily pads in the popular 80's video game, I jumped into the air. I landed with a SPLISH. The melted snowy water started seeping through my sock and into my left foot.

"Dammit," I grimaced cursing the melted snow.

"Dammit," I hear behind me.

My head pops up and, with wide eyes, I do a 180-degree turn. My two-year old son is staring straight at me.

"No, no, no," I say walking over to my son, but step into a big puddle of melted snow, which completely soaks my already-wet right foot.

"Shit," I scream, but it comes out like slow molasses and sounds almost like 'Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiit'.

"Sheeeeeeiiiiiit," my son screams mocking my slow molasses speak.

"Dammit," I say condemning myself for saying 'Shit' in front of my son.

"Dammit," my son responds staring up at me with those innocent eyes.

I take a pause.

"No, Daddy messed up," I say to my son. "We don't say 'Dammit', we say 'Darn it', understand?"

"Dammit," my son responds with an evil smile. Then he runs away.

"No, no, no, wait," I scream and take another step towards my son and SPLOSH, my left foot steps into the same puddle of melted snow.

"Fuck," I scream out.

"Fuck," I hear someone scream behind me.

I twist around and see my three-year old daughter staring at me.

Why I Love Autumn in Northeast Ohio

Plenty of sun, cool nights and luke-warm days. Can't beat it.

In my opinion, this is the best time to be a resident in The Buckeye State.

Save your vacation days for Winter and Spring!

Hell, I didn't even bring up football starting this Saturday too!!

Check out the below 8-day forecast:

Blood Tests & Not-So-Bad News

I just had a blood test yesterday. Not by choice. Doctor’s orders.

The blood test was at 8 a.m.

After they drained my arm, I hopped into my car and went on with my daily life. You know - work, creating unique ads and copy for various cell-phone, pharmaceutical and retail companies, day-dreaming about not working, running, drinking a cocktail or two and - more importantly - contemplating my life.

You see, the night before, I had just heard from a friend that Adam Yauch (MCA from The Beastie Boys) was diagnosed with cancer. So, suffice to say, I was feeling a little weird about life, death, giving blood, and the pursuit - or the end - of happiness.

In any event, around 4 p.m. my cellphone rang. It was a number that I didn’t recognize.

Out of curiosity, I answered.

“Hello, Mr. Eimer?” The voice on the other end said.

“Yeah?” I asked thinking it might be a telemarketer.

“Uh, yeah, this is Doc Brown.”

My eyes perked up. “Oh hey! How’s it going?”

“Um, not so good. We received your package today.”

“Really?” I said. “That was fast. They said it would take a couple days for the results.”

“Mmm, yeah,” the man said on the other line. “I’m afraid we have some very bad news.”

The blood drained out of my head. My heart started to pound.

“Hold on a sec.”

I was driving, so I decided to pull into the next available driveway to brace myself for the bad news to come.

I swallowed, regained my composure and calmly put my face to the phone.

“What is it?”

“Well sir, I opened your order, here and -"

For a split second, my mind shot out all the possibilities. Was it Leukemia? Diabetes? Crohn's Disease? The big C?

"Annnnd?" I asked.

"And....well, I'm sorry to say this, but none of your pictures turned out.”

Wha? Pictures? Order? Package? Could this be some sort of cruel joke?

“What pictures, exactly, are your referring to?” I asked. "X-rays or something?"

"No, no X-rays," he said. “The black and white film roll that you dropped off last week."

My mind went blank.

“Who is this, again?” I asked.

The guy seem perturbed. “Doc Brown from McCallister Photo.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Nope," he said. "That’s just what they always called me.”

I let out a deep sigh, thanked the man, hung up the phone and smiled.

That was the best bad news I heard all week.

Hell, I'd even wager all year.

I just wanna bang on a drum all day

It was 8 a.m. (today actually)

As I opened the door to exit my home to begin my 35-minute commute to Beachwood, I took a minute, or two, to take in the natural surroundings around me.

A warm wind was blowing in from the west.

Trees were opening their leaves happily gasping for CO2.

A rabbit hopped around the field.

The clouds were white and puffy, like little fluffy feminine napkins.

The sky as blue as Windex.

It was then that my attention turned to a man, in full Lance Armstrong biking gear, peddling up the road. He was huffing and puffing but had a intense, yet content, look on his face.

"Must be nice," I bellowed out to the man as I tossed my laptop bag into the car.

The man looked over and smiled.

"Yep," he yelled back. "It is."

(sigh)

For the first time in my life I realized that this work stuff is definitely getting in the way of my free time.

Appletrees, Bonfires, Bath and Cidiots

While we were on our vacation, our backyard apple tree was knocked down in a wind/thunder/rain storm.

It’s a bummer because the apple tree itself, was a nice accoutrement to our backyard. It evened out the entire feng shui of the property. Plus, it was always the first thing that caught my eye when I looked out my kitchen window.

A neighbor and I cut down the remainder of the tree for firewood. My neighbor took his turn and cut horizontally into the base of the tree. Black ants poured out, like the scene from The Mummy when the scarab beatles attacked Indiana-Jones wannabe Brendan Fraser and made him scream like a little girl.

Since my neighbor is almost 60 years old, I had the unique pleasure of dragging the deathly remains of the apple tree to a burn pile.

Now, in Bath, Ohio, it’s illegal to have bonfires. Big roaring bonfires. However, I have only witnessed one summons from the fire department since I moved here in 2006. Some knucklehead across the street was burning leaves in his front yard on an Autumn Saturday morning, which created a blanket of smoke visible from the outer space.

So, this past Saturday night, I decided to light said pile of brush on fire. We didn’t invite anyone over. We didn’t buy stuff for s'mores. We didn’t haul a keg next to the fire and start drinking. We just lit the goddamn thing and watched what happened.

Prior to starting the bonfire, I poured about a half-gallon of gas onto the dry wood, just to ensure that we would have a successful fire.

After a big ‘POOF’, the fire took shape. And started getting higher, and hotter, and higher, and hotter. In fact, the highness and the hotness of the fire caught the attention of my neighbors who live in a cul-de-sac about a half-mile away from my house. It was a man and woman, and they both had beverages in their hand complete with red, puffy Catholic faces.

“Hey there,” the guy said. “We saw the fire and thought we’d come over and introduce ourselves.”

As I was shaking their hands, I already had my reservations about these two. Something shouted out ‘nosy neighbor worried about forest fire’ instead of ‘future friends’.

We started talking about life, liberty and the future of Bath.

“So, how do you like it here?”the dude asked.

“Pretty good, we moved in about…”

“Holy shit,” the guy interrupted. “Is that a gas can!” He pointed the red can that said “GASOLINE” on the front.

“Yeah, I thought I’d toss a little on the fire to, you know, get it started.”

The couple looked at each other.

“That’s a cidiot for ya!” the man said and they both cackled like hyenas.

I chuckled. “What’s a cidiot?”

“Oh nothing,” the woman answered. “Just our little term for city folks who move out to the country and try to do country things.”

The smile was wiped off my face.

“Well,” I said. “Technically, this isn’t the country. I mean we’re about a mile and a half from an Old Navy. And I grew up in the country (I did the fake parentheses with my hands) for 18 years of my life until I moved away for college.”

“Hey, hey, don’t get upset,” the guy said. “We was only joking. A little mineral oil, dry newspaper or motor oil will do the trick just fine.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I said almost instantly forgetting his advice. Just to spite this guy, I already knew the next fire I was going to start was going to be with my good, ol' trusty gas can.

After a couple more minutes of conversation they moseyed along their way. Pointing at trees. Taking about property and other stuff that ‘country’ people talk about.

Don’t know what my point was.
Maybe it was my new introduction to the word ‘cidiots’.

Maybe it’s, as a get older and older, I’m starting to call people out on their bullshit.

Maybe I’m just sick of people that think they know everything, but – after they open their mouth and start talking for a couple seconds – you realize they don’t really know anything at all.
Now that I think of it, it’s probably the latter.

A question about giving blood...

I was driving to work today thinking about the possibility of giving blood. I've never done it. Not sure why. I'm not entirely disgusted or light-headed when they red stuff has spurted out of my body in the past.

The thing I was wondering is if giving blood is healthy - for you - the person giving the blood.

Get rid of your old blood that's been surging through your body for 36+ years and have your body create new, fresh blood that revitalized. Like making Kool-aid in the summer - with insulin instead of sugar.

I'm curious if giving blood raises your life expectancy in any way too?

Hmmm, maybe that's a chapter for FREAKANOMICS BOOK 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

Cities and Big Castles

My family (that's weird to say!) and I were driving up to Lakewood - from Bath - to visit the park and Lake Erie.

We were driving up 77 North and, there in the distance you could see the tall cement buildings of rundown Cleveland, Ohio.

"Wow," my daughter shrieked. "Big castle!!"

I imagined a weary traveller on horseback taking a swig of mead, and in the distance, noticing the tall spires of the castle.

Never really thought of it that way.

Remembering Alex

Three years ago, our dog Alex started to go blind.

A quick X-ray showed that she had a brain tumor.

Less than a year later, she was totally blind.

Surprisingly, she handled herself very well. In no time at all she was walking around our house without banging her head on any furniture.

I wish I could say that I would have handled the situation with such gusto.

She loved to chase balls (the tennis and soccer variety.) So I grabbed her old soccer ball from Old Navy, cut a small hole in the ball and inserted some bells that I bought at a local pet store.

Alex had her very own jingling blind ball (patent pending).

Save slamming into a couple trees now and again, she had a blast chasing that ball.

It didn't even seem like she was blind.

Life went on. We moved. We still took her on walks. And I still kicked that raggedy old ball around.

By this time, there were no more bells in the ball, but she could still chase it by the sound of the ball rolling in the grass.

Then she had her first seizure.

The doctor said to expect more in the near future. And, if it happened, it was up to us to decide when to end her suffering.

It was early morning on June 25, 2007. Alex had three seizures in eight hours.

If you've ever seen an animal (or a human) have a seizure, there's nothing you can really do. You have to wait. And watch. And wait. Until the seizure is over.

It's freaking brutal. I can't even imagine watching a person you love go through that.

I just started a new job in Cleveland. So we decided to wait until after work to take her to the doctor.

That day would be her last day on Earth.

Around 11 a.m. I got another call, Alex had three more seizures. I called my wife-to-be and we both left work around 1 p.m. and headed for home.

It was time.

We picked up Alex and took her to the Metropolitan Vet Hospital in Copley, Ohio.

The doctor took her into the room to place a catheter in her arm. As we waited, my heart started to pound. Then the tears started to roll.

After five minutes or so, the doctor told us to come in. Alex was in the corner shaking and scared. But her tail started to wag when she heard my wife-to-be's voice. (I was an adopted father to Alex).

We had a couple minutes with her and told her goodbye. The doctor came in, explained the procedure and we both got on the floor with her.

She inserted the first shot of this green liquid. About 20 seconds passed and Alex slumped to the ground in a sleeping position.

She was still breathing. But silent. A couple seconds later, she injected another shot and checked her heartbeat.

Less than 10 seconds later, she was dead.

The doctor left. We spent about five minutes in the room with her.

I didn't think I'd be as emotional, but I was happy I was there.

They cremated her body. Her ashes are still in our garage.

We're still waiting to take the ashes to spread on one of her favorite spots...the beach at the jersey shore.

Until then, they'll remain in the garage waiting to be freed. Possibly next Spring or Summer.

Here's to you Alex.

I miss kicking that old, raggedy ball around the yard with you.

Playing The Game of Life.

I recently played Milton Bradley's The Game of Life.

I decided to take the college route and became a doctor.

Just like that, I was making $90,000 a payday. (All the while, I can't remember working on one single patient.)

In short, LIFE was good.

Suddenly, I got married to this beautiful pink peg. She was tall, slender and had a beautiful pink head. She was perfect.

We quickly got hitched at this beautiful white church. It was a wedding that I would soon forget. To be totally honest, I can't even remember the bachelor party. (Don't tell the wife. Ha Ha!)

We consumated our relationship during our honeymoon and had a number of pink and blue pegs on our journey through LIFE. (The time just whizzes by doesn't it?)

In addition to collecting a payday (sometimes two during a spin), I donated some of my cash to charities. Hell, I even had to pay bills and taxes along the way.

We were a family. One crank of the wheel at a time, we were living LIFE.

Ain't it grand?

So here I am in my beautiful green car, with my beautiful pink wife and a carload of blue and pink pegs. Then I think to myself, "Well, how did I get here?"

I passed one of my final paydays and collected my final paycheck. Then, I drove my family across a bridge, past the farmhouse shack and headed straight to the mansion next door.

I pulled myself out of my car, stretched my aching bones. I then gazed at my pink wife and my pink and blue kids. (I was working and driving so much that I really didn't get a chance to know them.)

The wind was blowing. The leaves were falling. There was a slight chill in the air. I felt it in my heart.

It was time to retire.

"This game called LIFE played out pretty fast," I thought to myself. "Seems like only 15 minutes ag0 that I graduated, got married and had kids."

Then I got depressed. Then I got desperate.

Then, with a makeshift purple plastic rifle that I fashioned from two of my kids with a burning match, I shot myself in my big, blue mind.

Goodbye LIFE. I'm headed to that great big multi-colored cardboard box in the sky.