The music opened this Sunday with Sheryl Crow’s “My Favorite Mistake”. 

Favorite Line:

Well maybe nothin’ lasts forever
Even when you stay together

Personally, I’m not sure I have a favorite mistake. I’m not fond of them. I’ve made plenty, I tend to regret them than reminisce about them. 

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The Night Before Thanksgiving

2016

Written 11/23/2016

This is the 4th
time I’ve sat here on Thanksgiving Eve slapping these keys trying to make
sense. 2013, 2014, and 2015 can be found below.

Tonight, I had the
opportunity to go back to my home town and hang out with some old friends, but
I had to pass. I didn’t trust my car to drive the 30-35 minutes to Statesville
to ride the rest of the way with another friend. I don’t trust it to go much
further than the short trips that I generally take. It has two issues on it’s
to-fix-list. One was quoted out at about 1k(and hopefully will be addressed
shortly) the other yet to be determined. I’ve already thrown about 400 at that
particular problem and that didn’t fix it. It’s frustrating. But, to be
brutally honest, I could have had a 2017 whatever with 17 miles sitting in the
drive way and I can’t promise that I would have gone. Well, maybe I wouldn’t be
in the same mindset if the 2017 whatever was sitting outside.

This is where I
could easily insert that Jonathan Tropper quote. Maybe it should just be my
mantra, but it fits. If I didn’t mention it last year, I would quote it again,
but if you read this whole jumbled cluster of letters you’ll see it, or you can
click here.

It would have been
nice to see them. In this little snippet from last year, I also wrote about the
last time I saw them. I could quote that again since that hasn’t changed
either. But it would have been nice to sit around with a cold beer or four and
catch up, and spend some time with them.

Maybe I’ll wake up
one day soon and shake myself out of this funk. I’m picturing a 75lb puppy
coming out of a river and drying himself off. Maybe that would work.

I guess when I finish
this I’ll sit down and read back through the previous 3 entries and I wish I
could say I feel like I’m in a better place, physically, mentally, emotionally,
etc, but that would be spitting lies.  

I think at one point
I made a post about being thankful for having an imagination but in the end, it
might be negative thing. Hard to tell.

The night before
Thanksgiving used to be a part of the Holiday festivities. Now it’s just a
Wednesday.

2013

thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/27/13

The night before Thanksgiving used to be one of my favorite nights of the year. Back in my hometown, it was a night when friends would gather at one of the few watering holes where said friends could share some adult beverages.

We’d usually start off at one place with dinner and beers. Note there was an s on the end of the word beer, but then we’d cross the street to a new place that had karaoke, more BEER, and more old friends. Well, truth be told a few old enemies would pop in here and there.

We’d share some memories, stretch some truths, tell some lies, and it was fun seeing old friends. Of course it was fun seeing old flames too. We’d have a ball, signing each other up for the previously mentioned karaoke and trying to find the most fucked up song or funniest song for them to sing. Oh how I wish it were modern day where every cell phone had a video, because watching an ole ball coach singing “Funky Cold Medina” or “Brickhouse” as his long hair swayed and his hairy little nubby feet attempted a bit of a drunken dance. Oh I’d pay good money to have footage of that, but of course if that were modern day, seeing a coach/teacher slightly intoxicated on youtube or some other form of social media would be grounds for his dismissal which is bullshit, since he was simply an adult having some fun with other adults. Like I said I would pay good money (if I had good money) to see that footage once again.

You’d see faces pop in of people you hadn’t seen since high school, or hadn’t seen in quite some time You’d see a bombshell walk through the door and you are like well I could always see some cuteness in that awkward teen from years ago. Of course at the end of the night you’d have the same two or three guys trying to sneak out on a bar bill. At times you’d have a group of them trying to bribe someone into trying to get on top of the bull in the corral. Yes, an actual bull in an actual corral out in front of the steakhouse. He wasn’t there long, but he was there.

An ex would walk up and whisper in your ear, “I’ve got something to show you”, and you simply respond what’s that? While she says come out here and you walk to the back side of the building and she takes your hand and slides it down her pants and you feel her freshly shaved pussy, which was definitely new. You make plans for Black Friday to spend the day fucking like you used to.

As I said, you hear some old stories, that 55 yard touchdown was up to about 63. You argue about beating a rival 43-34 when some former teammate is swearing on his Momma that it was 43-30. You simply say, look, I know what it was. That is my pin # and has been ever since. You flag down another teammate and he confirms that it was 43-34, and then he gives the other guy a hard time for forgetting it.

At this point you are 15-20 beers into the night and you know you could very well drink another dozen or so if the bar wasn’t closing. You crawl into a minivan which was basically a shuttle service. You drop the old ball coach off at his miniature mansion and tell him to cut his hair. He flips the group off with that stumpy middle finger and then he waves.

You come home, crawl into bed and think about the night. You think about the memories, you think about that freshly shaved pussy.

Oh I sure miss those days.

2014

thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/26/2014

It’s still one of the things I miss about my hometown. I don’t miss much, but I miss my friends, the old haunts, the stories that stretch the truth from time to time.  Someone bringing up a time at party and someone trying to deny it ever happened.   As I said in the original post it was a time for friends to see friends. That is/was one of the beauties about a small town. A part of it you didn’t really respect or understand completely when you were there.

I no longer have ties to my home town other than a few friends, with my parents being gone, and having moved away quite some time ago. A small part of me regrets leaving, but the majority of me is glad that I did.

Memories don’t die, but they sure can fade away.

2015

thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/25/2015

I wouldn’t call it writer’s block, I’d call it just not in the mood to reminisce. With that said, I’ll give it a shot, since this become some annual ritual. I do know I’ll be tracking down the Ron Green(former Charlotte Observer columnist) annual Thanksgiving article tomorrow.

Earlier tonight on the back deck while grilling some burgers I thought of some old friends, some old times. That  made me remember that I have really neglected my YD&B side blog, but that happens.

Thoughts drift back 18-20-22 years. Thoughts drift to better times, happier times. Maybe it was being more carefree, not fully understanding responsibilities. Then it reminded me of a quote from a book I read this year year. “This is Where I Leave You” by Jonathan Tropper, it was made into a movie which was decent, but the book was better as books often are.  I know I shared the quote, but here it is again.

“It’s just hard to see people from your past when your present is so cataclysmically fucked.”

The last time I saw most of my old friends was the summer of 2014 at the funeral of one their father’s. While I sit here typing this, half thankful that I’m not there at the moment, I know it would be like that July night. Wouldn’t miss a beat and it would be like old times. Telling stories, sharing memories, laughing till you are about to choke on a beer. So I’m torn. Part of me wishes I was there instead of typing this, but another part is glad that I’m not.  The dreadfully sad part of it is that is one a handful of times that I’ve actually enjoyed myself.  Past > Present, with the future yet to be in the equation. Really sucks.

It really sucks knowing that the next time I’ll likely see most of them will be at another funeral. But that is how the cookie crumbles at times.  

Life, can be a
fickle, volatile, capricious beast. Maybe
I’m being kind because I don’t want to piss off Mother Nature, but if life were
a baseball pitcher, it would be a mixture of scattered parts of Sandy Koufax
and Don Drysdale, all the talent in the world and the stones to throw one at
your head just to get you off the plate. I guess that means it would have to
have some Bob Gibson thrown in for good measure.

While some are
stuck in their own versions of “Groundhog Day”, without the ability to throw a
right hook at Ned Ryerson, others are all over the place, like a wild little
league pitcher than control his ever changing body, with something new making a
visit on a daily basis.

Some books have
more chapters, just as some people see the sun rise and set more often.  Yesterday, I awoke to the news of the untimely
death of the Miami Marlins ace José
Fernández at age 24. A life that seems not to
have had enough sun sets since he died so young. I’m not going to pretend to
know a lot about him. I know he appeared to love life, he seemed to have a
passion about the game of baseball that likely filtered out into anything he
did. I know he escaped Cuba as a teenager and I recall the footage of him
reconnecting with his grandmother (in hindsight that is even more beautiful
today). I don’t know the details, of what happened on the water, and I’m not
one to search for every detail of an event like that, I simply just hate that
it happened.

As the night and
weekend was winding down, I noticed some tweets talking about golf legend
Arnold Palmer had passed away at the age of 87. Two famous sports athletes in
the same day. Two of who knows how many people that took their last breath on
Sunday September 26, 2016. Mr. Palmer saw many more sunsets than Mr. Fernandez,
that is for certain. The golfer walked the earth 53 years before the young
right hander was even born. That # encapsulates my father’s entire life and
then some. It’s damn near 4 of Mr. Fernandez’ lifetimes.

The discussion of death
and age always seem to make me go back to Lou Gehrig and
Bob Hope. Again, two famous people that we know far more details about than we
are entitled to know. I could handle being wealthy, but I wouldn’t want to be
famous. Gehrig and Hope were born three weeks apart in 1903. Lou died in 1941
at 37, and Bob lived to be 100. I guess the thing that is hard to comprehend
about that is the images of Gehrig we see are black and white, he’s young, he’s
fit, he’s the by god Captain of the New York Yankees. With Hope we get to see
the older, shorter, fatter, balder comedian and entertainer on USO tours, or
other events on tv. It’s hard to imagine they were born in the same year.

Fernandez and
Palmer certainly weren’t the same age, but their time on earth ended the same
day. May both of them rest in peace, and it is certain that each has a legacy
that will live on. Late-night funnyman David Letterman had his friend and musician
Warren Zevon on his show once after Zevon learned he terminal lung cancer.
Letterman asked if he had any new perspectives, and Zevon simply summed it up by
saying one should “enjoy every sandwich”. The golfer Sam Sneed once told Ted
Williams that golfers “had to play their foul balls”, a cute and funny quote
between two legends. Sticking with a sports theme and playing off of Zevon’s
thought, I guess one should “swing at every pitch”, you simply never know. Now
whether I have the ability to encompass that thought process or not is an
entirely different story.

What does it cost to legally change your name? Gofundme time? I should really change my name to complicated since it seems every single thing in the world is far more complicated than it needs to be.

Maybe I should go with Komplicated so I can keep my initials. The sad thing is this at first seemed like de ja vu, but it’s not. I’ve joked about doing it with tech support/customer service calls/etc, but I also made a similar post on 6/17/13. Imagine that. 

He learned about life at sixteen, first from Dostoevsky and then from the whores of New Orleans

Richard Brautigan