May 14

Passage

The sound of thunder filled the air as I began to pile sand into mounds at the beach. Creation always seems to give way to the basic act of holding sand while watching it slip through my fingers. Slowly, diminishing remnants of a forgotten purpose work their way through my grip. Each granule a representation of a moment in time. Time falls around me, effortlessly, and through my hand tiny mounds form. Their significance small, the act of observing its travel satiated, forgotten. A mesmerizing progression that allows my mind to give way to unspoken theories. Ponderings so deep that peripheral vision blurs into darkness, as I surrender myself inward. Until I look up and see that my anthills have become one with the beach and the wrinkles of time have been smoothed out, leaving a straight determinate timeline separating now from then and in that moment the passages of time have fabricated a life out of retrospect.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/05/passage/

May 03

Nicotine. You stank bitch.

I am in a dark, dark place.

I have been addicted to nicotine for approximately the last 20-30 years. My estimates of time are hazy. Due mostly to the fact that I haven’t been a boring stick in the mud my entire life. I regret exactly jack shit for the record.

I’m sorry if I am a bit abrasive. My body’s dependence on this terrible drug has me bending over backwards right now. I have tried quitting a few times in the past. The symptoms are always exactly the same. Let me explain to you what it’s like quitting nicotine. It’s not a sharp knife to the heart pang. Like I am going to murder someone immediately if I don’t get a smoke/dip. It’s more like the tide. Creeping ever forward. Inch by inch and always there. The first couple of weeks it’s all you think about. Every second of every day. Even though a sharp thought can take you away for a moment, it comes back. Like the tide. And you KNOW, just one cigarette or one dip will make all of it go away. Like in 30 seconds.

I can’t imagine what it’s like being on heroin or other hard drugs. Trying to quit. I make a thousand excuses a day to myself on why one little dip can’t possibly hurt.

I know what you are saying. “He’s full of shit. He’s on day two. He is incredibly hot for 43.” Ok the last part was some old man wishful thinking. But you are correct. Most “quits” end up falling short and banging their knee getting off that wagon. Let me explain to you why you are wrong and I am so confident that I will be successful.
I have an addictive personality. I get highly invested in things. I have things I like. And things I must have. Most things fall into the former. I like to gamble and I will, at times, go blow it out at the casino and spend way more than many people think I should. But that’s when I have play money. I’m not the guy, and have never been the guy, that is going to go blow the rent on the craps tables and end up homeless.

Nicotine has me though. If I don’t drink for a few days, I am not sitting around every night thinking “I have to get a drink right now”. Nicotine does that to me. I am thinking, RIGHT NOW, how incredibly sweet a dip would be. I will be thinking it when I get up in the morning. The difference is, this time, I have made up my mind. I AM going to quit this disgusting habit. My dental hygienist told me a week ago that my gum line was receding. She always warns me about my dipping but this was the first time she produced what I perceive as evidence. She told me that once the gums recede so far, the underlying tissue is much more susceptible to decay and it will go much quicker. This was the wake up call I needed. I always dipped because I couldn’t see any discernable effects. This was touchable.

You have to have your mind made up to quit any habit. Of this I am sure. And I mean truly made up. No bullshit. In my entire life I can only remember one time that my mind was “made up” about quitting. And I quit. For six straight months. Then my dad died. Everybody has an excuse but for those that know me, this was a traumatic experience. I went into about a two month shock. Well, it was during this time that I decided not much of anything mattered and I started dipping again because “who gives a shit, really”.

I have made up my mind for the second time. I will not dip again.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/05/4114/

May 01

Potty Mouth

Earlier today on Facebook I saw a “conversation” break out that was inspiration for the following diatribe. I am a member of one of the FB for sale pages. I am a member of a few of them but this one is called “Man Stuff for Sale or Trade”. I actually like this group a lot. Like the title says, it’s man stuff. Equipment, old beater cars, tools, and my new favorite, guns. I’m not interested in the guns per se. I just find the postings hilarious. FB doesn’t allow you to sell guns on its site. So everybody posts it as something else. There will be a photo of a Buzz Lightyear doll lying next to an AR-15. “Slightly Used Buzz Lightyear Doll For Sale”. I don’t know why but it just cracks me up.

Anyway, obviously there are mostly dudes in this group. Apparently one of the dudes dropped a F bomb in a comment. One of the other members asked him to watch his language. This ended up launching an entirely different thread on the pros and cons of colorful language. Basically you had a few guys saying that it shouldn’t be allowed because of kids possibly seeing it or just general decorum. The majority of the folks in there were cussing until they were red in the face saying they should be able to say whatever the #$%^ they want to. One fella threatened to kick everyone’s internet rumps if they were foolish enough to find their way to Long Beach. He had a couple of takers. Not sure how that turned out.

I jumped in with the old farts. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have a grade” A” potty mouth. F-bombs, compound cusswords, the c word the ladies like so much, you name it and I probably say it fairly regular. But I try to be audience specific in my usage of foul language. I am not always successful but I try not to cuss in front of my family. And I am certainly not about to break out a mother&$^%$# around strangers. That was really the point I was trying to get across to everyone in the group. It seems to me that there is a pretty exponential erosion of civility across society. I’m no social conservative and usually land on the liberal side of these type issues but to me it always boils down to your rights ending where mine begin. I don’t want to listen to your foul mouth when I am eating dinner with my family. And as my wife will attest, I have called people out in real life for just such behavior.

What level of jackass (it’s an animal, I’m ok) do you have to be to think it’s ok to cuss indiscriminately in public? I attribute it to the “me” culture. It’s the same reason people take forever in a line when it’s their turn. “Screw you, I’m getting mine.” Will you shout out $%#$sucker in church? Of course you won’t. Why is that? I will tell you. It’s respect. You should have that same level of respect when you are around strangers or anyone who might not be ok with hearing it. You are posting on a public page on the most popular social media site the world has ever seen. It’s a pretty good assumption that you don’t know who some of these people are.

This just seems like common sense to me. But if the past 4 decades have taught me anything at all, it’s that common sense becomes a more rare commodity with each passing year.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/05/potty-mouth/

Apr 21

Transgender Bathrooms and Big Foot

So apparently transgenders using the wrong toilet is a thing now. At least that’s what I keep hearing on the right leaning radio programs. The XM radio free trial ran out in my work truck so I am stuck listening to terrestrial radio and South Mississippi only has right leaning radio programs, for anyone wondering why I am even listening to them.

Anywho, so I am gathering that this is a REALLY big deal listening to these radio folks. Apparently there are dozens of transgenders nationwide attempting to use a bathroom that wasn’t purposefully intended for them.
I don’t even really know what “transgender” means to tell you the truth. Because I honestly don’t give a shit. You’re a boy who wants to be a girl or vice versa? You were born with penis but you chopped it off? You had a doctor implant your apple with a stem? I don’t care. I have too many actual things going on in this world to get myself wrapped up over what you believe you are.

According to the conservative mouthpieces, perverts are trying to sneak into the opposite sexes bathrooms so they can molest children. I’m not kidding. This is their argument.

I find this topic to be so incredibly ridiculous that I actually feel a little guilty giving it the time of day to write this blog. But here goes.

I honestly don’t think I have ever witnessed a transgender person going into the wrong restroom. Hell, I’m not sure I have ever witnessed a transgender person doing anything. I honestly feel like we are having a nationwide conversation on what we really need to do about all the Sasquatches hoarding all the Slim Jims. Now do I want a man in the same bathroom as my daughters? Of course not. I will call out any dude I see going into a women’s restroom (unless it’s a single guy who gets tired of waiting on the dude having a turd baby in the men’s restroom at a gas station and ducks into the ladies restroom, I have done this). Now, this will literally never happen in my lifetime, but if it does, I am ready Freddy. Now what do I do if it’s a particularly ugly woman who looks like a man? I’m not sure about that one. Maybe we need a bathroom for ugly people.

Look folks, if you look like a dude, go to the little boys room. If you look like a woman, go to the little girls room. Keep your eyes on your own equipment and stop pissing on the toilet seats and floor.

AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CAN WE PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS BULLSHIT.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/04/transgender-bathrooms-and-big-foot/

Apr 14

Ahh Religion

A friend asked me recently “Why do you have so much anger towards religion?”

It’s a fair question. My animosity towards organized religion springs forth occasionally although I usually try to not discuss it, especially on social media. But sometimes, after a state passes a “religious freedom” law and sometimes fueled by Crown Royal, I let people know exactly where I stand on organized religion.

I don’t like it. People in crowds are dangerous. People who think they are serving a higher power are hugely dangerous. All anyone needs do is take a look around the world currently to see how much damage “religion” does. People have been killing people as long as there have been people, over worshiping the wrong God.

I don’t have a problem with God, or the idea of a supreme being. I rely on science. But science can only take us back so far. Particularly to the moment of the Big Bang. What comes before that moment, as opined by Stephen Hawking, is up to interpretation. Call it God or spaghetti monsters or whatever blows your skirt up. Creationists like to say “something can’t come from nothing”. I actually agree with you. But then we come to a sticky wicket of what made God. Creationists will end the conversation here. Nothing came before God. But how can that possibly be? You just used that argument to justify God’s existence. So something had to make God. And something had to make that something. It’s a never ending circle.

But back to my problem with organized religion. I like the Ghandi quote. “I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians.” My ire rises when “good Christians” try to infuse their ideology into the mainstream. American Christians, by and large, support bringing Christianity back into our schools. They want to teach intelligent design along with evolution in our schools. They want to change the textbooks in Texas which affects the textbooks nationwide. They want to be able to discriminate against homosexuals. The examples can go on and on forever. I get your affection for religion. It’s a basic human trait. It gives you hope in hopeless situations. It gives meaning to death. It’s scary to think that when its over…its over. I understand all of that. My problem comes in when you take this imagined superiority and try to force it down everyone else’s throats. Your religion should not be the law of the land. Islam does that. How is that working out for them?

For the love of Jesus, just do good. Your church is packing lunches for the homeless? I will contribute. Hell, I might come down and volunteer. If your religion or church is preaching hate, in any form, you may want to reconsider your religion. It’s ok to say “I don’t believe this bullshit anymore.”

I am going to confess something now. Something I have never said publicly except to my wife. I pray every night. Have since I was as kid. It’s a version of the Lord’s Prayer. The Lord’s Prayer with a hopeful few lines thrown in for the blessings of my family and forgiveness of their sins. It’s a type of Pascal’s Wager. What harm can it do?

I like the idea of God just as much as you do. I find the likelihood of such a being existing to be poor. But I still hope He’s there.

I’m only human.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/04/ahh-religion/

Mar 07

2 Points

**editors note: We have a guest writer today here in the MTGU. Jaret Bates, the aspiring writer and 13 year old son of a friend of Mac. Very cool MS State Bulldog story. Good job Jaret!**

As the SEC Basketball regular season comes to a close here’s a story you might not hear on SportsCenter tonight.

Reggie Patterson, a Junior at Mississippi State, scored 2 points in Saturday’s 79-66 win against the Auburn Tigers. You may think “Big deal, 2 points!” but these two points will be forever remembered by Patterson. There is a story behind these two points, a story of the ups and downs leading to overall triumph.

The story goes back to Baldwyn High School in the small town of Baldwyn, Mississippi, just over 3 years ago. Patterson had a very successful career in high school averaging 17 ppg and 23 ppg his Junior year. Coaches said Patterson had the hardest work ethic and was the first to show and the last to leave from training of any sort. Patterson was being recruited by some Division 1 programs, that was until he blew out his knee right before his Senior season began.

You can take a guess at how he did it, and if you guessed “training” you’re right. He went from having offers from D1 programs to only having one offer. That offer was with Northeast Community College.

NECC is located in Booneville, Mississippi. In his one season at NECC he started 7 out of his 19 games, averaged 4.7 ppg and shot a mere 31.5% from the field. Late in the season Patterson had yet another career ending injury, this time it was in his wrist. Little did Patterson know, once again this injury would only end his career at that school.

The wrist injury led to Patterson thinking he was done with basketball. Patterson then enrolled at his dream school, Mississippi State University. As a Sophomore Patterson was looking for a way to earn a little more tuition money. He then became a manager for the Mississippi State basketball team. His decision made sense, as he would get to see every single game at Humphrey Coliseum (otherwise known as “The HUMP”), just for handing out towels and Gatorade and doing a little equipment work. He was allowed to train with the team and once again had one of the best work ethics in the gym and he wasn’t even on the team. He formed bonds with the team’s players, and even would scrimmage with some of them after practices or in off time.

Mississippi State Basketball coach, Ben Howland, saw this work and the friendships he had made with the team members. So before this season started he offered him a spot in the team as a Walk On. Patterson gladly accepted it.

Fast Forward to today with 1:27 left in Mississippi State’s win over Auburn. Ben Howland calls a timeout and calls the Senior starters off to a standing ovation at The HUMP. He then puts in 4 seniors who haven’t had much playing in their career and 1 junior with a special story. 13 seconds later, during a beautiful double pick roll and pass play, Reggie Patterson takes the ball, drives the hole, and throws up an off the glass fadeaway lay in for his first career points at Mississippi State. The crowd went nuts. The Mississippi State bench went nuts and even Bruce Pearl, Auburn’s head coach, showed a little bit of a smile.

Reggie Patterson. From small town high school star, to a struggling season at NECC, to a season of being a towel boy, to a season of being part of the team and topping it off with his first career points. This is the reason you should never quit, just keep working hard, and never let an injury be an excuse!

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/03/2-points/

Mar 02

Well, I held out as long as I could. POTUS 2016

What can I say? This has been the most interesting run up to the Presidential election I have ever witnessed.

I have never seen or could have imagined a person more ill prepared to be POTUS (President of the United States) than Donald J. Trump. The man literally has no plan. For anything. Here’s an example of how Trump answers every question about policy.

Reporter-“Mr. Trump, an infestation of roaches has been discovered in the White House’s kitchen. What are your specific plans for dealing with this infestation?”

Trump-“We have many plans and I am going to have great people around me. The wall between the kitchen and the living room just got 10 feet higher. The leader of the roaches, I know him because I am a very successful businessman as you know, is an idiot. I have many words.”

Now, take my word for it, if you haven’t been paying attention but this lack of any concrete plans for actually doing anything once he is elected matters ZERO to his supporters. His numbers keep going up. I will admit, at first, I just thought Trumps support came from uneducated, angry white rednecks. And make no mistake, he ABSOLUTELY still has that voting block locked down. But Trump is winning across the spectrum. It’s impossible to pigeonhole the Trump supporter at this point. I saw a quote a few weeks back that sums up the majority of his mountain of support. A supporter said “I am voting with my middle finger.” That HAS to be a huge part of this movement.

Now, I could not personally vote for Trump because I know he’s a bigot with no plan. But one part of me likes the absolute wrench he is going to be to the system. For the record, I think Kasich is the only one of them running on the republican side that isn’t certifiably insane. But if you tied a brick to my finger and pointed a gun to my head, I would vote for Trump over any of the rest of them. Cruz is the scariest person left standing. If you created a politician in a lab and made him 180 degrees from me on every single subject, you would end up with Ted Cruz. I am giving you a (albeit small) out in this piece to vote for Trump. Please, under no circumstances, vote for Eddie Munster.

One thing I can say is that by all appearances, the Republicans are FED UP with the establishment wing of their party. Trump and Cruz are “anti-establishment” candidates. Bush has already packed up his bags and is screaming at Barbara Bush from the basement “MA…MEATLOAF!” Rubio, the establishment’s last hope, is circling the drain. The GOP seems to be pushing everyone to get out so Cruz can take on Trump. I think this is a mistake. The more people you have running against Trump, the more delegates you can siphon away from him. Your goal is to keep Trump from hitting the magic number before the convention. Then you can pull whatever shenanigans are involved in a brokered convention and snatch it away from him. If everyone gets out now, here’s what will happen. Trumps support can ONLY go up. His supporters aren’t going anywhere, you know that. You would have to be a fool to think that all of Rubio’s and Kasichs supporters will automatically go to Cruz. No one likes Cruz, including his mama. Some of that support is going to leach over to Trump. If they drop out, you are effectively handing the nomination to Trump. Now I know the GOP establishment is following me closely looking for advice.  But if you were smart, you’d listen to ole Uncle Mac on this one.

The republican grass roots are rejecting the establishment. They seem to have figured out that the establishment politicians in their party really don’t give a shit about them. One group who doesn’t seem to have gotten this memo is the democrats. They are just pushing ole Hillary towards the nomination. When poll after poll shows Bernie Sanders beating EVERY republican candidate in the general election. Hillary only beats Trump and loses to both Cruz and Rubio. Be careful throwing around those “idiot” monikers my liberal friends. As of right now, the biggest fools in the room are you. You are giving the election to the GOP if you put up Hillary. Once again, listen to ole Uncle Mac.

One last piece of advice to any who are feeling lost in this election. Please remember that there are not only two parties. There are numerous third parties around. I will be voting for Gary Johnson with the libertarians just like I did in the last POTUS election. Fellow Mississippians, you will not be wasting a vote voting third party. The Dem and Rep candidates suck. Mississippi is going to go Trump and Hillary going away no matter what you do. The redneck and black vote will make sure of that. Find an alternative candidate that doesn’t give you heartburn voting for. Or just write my name in. I will do it. I at least have a better foreign policy plan than Donald.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/03/well-i-held-out-as-long-as-i-could-potus-2016/

Feb 25

Fishing Under the Dingleberry Tree

 

Quote of the Day:
Son, you want to learn from this. It ain’t no use atall fishing under the Dingleberry Trees of life…Near ’bout ever’body gets caught under them at one time or another… It might be a bad job, a mean boss or a foreclosing banker… But whatever the situation, remember: you ain’t got to stay under the tree and get plopped on.” –Robert Neill, Don’t Fish Under the Dingleberry Tree

The old man lay there, mostly listening, but wanting to be part of the conversation too. Well, he wasn’t really all that old. Older-than-me-old but certainly not old-enough-to-die old. He had no interest in talking about the future. He’d taken care of as much of that as he could when it still mattered, and tied up the last loose end that he could earlier that day, telling his oldest that she was in charge now.

It occurred to me in those moments that we all need something to give us an advantage in life; something we are good at, something we can offer to the world at large. His life was slipping away, but there was one thing he had over all of us who weren’t dying–at least not imminently–and that was the longest memory in the room. He’d seen more than any of us, and he wanted to talk about some of that–the past–his people, some of whom would never be spoken of again in this world, in a short time, not because nobody cared but because they simply had not been there like he had.

His daughter took the cue and asked about Pop’s childhood. Christmas had just come and gone and our kids were still basking in the glow of new electronics and toys and clothes. What were some of the gifts he treasured most from childhood?

Childhood, I thought? This old guy? I’d known him over ten years and never have I known a less childlike personality. But it turns out it was there all along. Beneath the tubes and through the exhaustion and pain shone the bright eyes of joy and innocence as he told us about his electric train and his stuffed teddy bear, Snort.

There was a pause in the conversation after that and being psychologically incapable of withstanding such awkwardness, I launched in to a tale for Pop about the Karaoke machine that his youngest granddaughter had received for Christmas. It came with a “Girl Pop” CD with tunes from such, er, musical luminaries as Taylor Swift. There was a video of his daughter and her daughter singing out of tune and dancing out of sync to a song they really hadn’t learned yet, and I showed it to him for a laugh. His fingers struggled to grasp and hold the iPhone, upsetting me greatly, but he took no note of it. His attitude was not of self pity, or shame or hopelessness, but rather of persistence–he wanted to see it. Instead of laughing at their ineptitude, he bobbed his head, dancing along in bed to the beat. It seems the brash young man with skills to impress the ladies was still in there somewhere too.

No one else felt like talking yet so I launched in to another story for Pop. We had just returned from a visit to Colonial Williamsburg, Jamestown and Yorktown, Virginia. Pop and I shared a love for history and it was a safe place for a son-in-law to steer conversations throughout our relationship–that and of course stories of his grandchildren. This one was both, so I knew he’d enjoy.

I told Pop about the trench lines still in place around Yorktown, the historical tidbits we’d picked up about the great American victory there, and then described how his eight year old granddaughter had taken it all in. She’d been most interested in the portraits of the founding fathers. Unfortunately what she saw was not heroic, near mythical personifications of courage and ingenuity, but rosy-cheeked men in wigs, garish outfits, pointed shoes, and Zoolanderesque poses…..Well, the girl wanted a photo taken outside with a cannon and she wanted to look like a Revolutionary hero, so……she put her hand upside down on her hip, stuck her foot out, threw her shoulders back and started saying, in her prissiest voice, “I’m George Washington. Look at me, I’m George Washington. I’m so pretty.”

Pop actually laughed at that one, maybe his last laugh come to think of it.

You could see the spark of life and though I am sad to admit I cannot remember Pop’s tales of his Grandparents and other lost relations, I am fortunate to have seen and learned that even at the last, there was life worth living, right up through to the point where it is gone.

Five days later I met S.P.’s college buddies and lifelong friends next to his grave. It was the saddest of occasions, and there were plenty of tears, yet these old guys–well, older-than-me-guys but not old-enough-to-be-burying-their-college-buddy-guys filled our heads with laughter. One of them had written a book titled Don’t Fish Under the Dingleberry Tree and dedicated it to S.P.

From a bear named Snort, to the years that inspired his dedication in such a fantastically named book, through being a Father, Husband, and Grandfather, one of the consistent themes of his life was a well honed sense of humor, and that’s not a bad way to be remembered if you asked me. A month and a half later, I know that’s how his memory is coalescing in my own mind–around laughter. I’m sure part of the reason for that is due to our final exchange.

After the prissy George Washington story, Pop was tired. So I told him it was time for me to leave and I’d be back tomorrow. He motioned me over–I can see him snickering in that Great Coffee Room In the Sky with a few like minded spirits even as I type–and as I leaned in to hear him I saw a familiar twinkling-mischievous look in his eye that always indicated something important or maybe something funny, possibly both was on his mind. Was there something I should do for his girls? Was there a time in his frat days when they’d dressed a pledge as George Washington in drag? Did he like my shirt? I don’t know, and I guess it’ll be awhile before I do, but these were his final words to me, and I like to think it brought him a spike of pleasure, another opportunity to enjoy an advantage in life, even as the seconds ticked away.

Remind me…. I have something to tell you.”

 

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/02/fishing-under-the-dingleberry-tree/

Feb 17

Oh.My.God.

I wanted to share some thoughts I had while driving to work this morning. My drive to work is generally about a 30 minute ride on quiet country backroads so it makes for good contemplatin’ time. Anyway, I was thinking about my kids as I often do. I was actually thinking about how I hoped that technology would advance far enough in their lifetimes that they could transfer their consciousnesses into an immortal shell. You know, like transferring all of your knowledge into a computer or robot. This will eventually be possible, although probably not in my childrens’ lifetimes.

Well, this little jaunt down the rabbit hole got me to wondering what their immortal lives would be like. My first thought was that it would suck. As many movies and books have pointed out, one of the worst things about it would be watching everyone you know and love grow old (or not) and die. All of them. And you would continually be making new relationships, just to watch them marching to the same fate.

I started thinking about how jaded an immortal person must be. You know how really old people are cranky and generally don’t like many people? I think this is from just spending 100 years with the human race. Imagine if you spent 1000 with them. 100,000 years. At some point you would have to get to the point that you literally can’t take it anymore. Have you ever been stuck at a party or meeting that you can’t wait to leave? Then the anxiety builds until you are just about ready to slice your wrists just so the ambulance will come and get you the hell out of there? I think it might be like that except times a million. So you can’t take it anymore. You decide to go ahead and kill yourself. But you can’t. You’re immortal dumbass.

So now what do you do? I can only guess. I suppose you might try to take over the world in some way. I mean, what else do you have to do? Maybe one day you garner enough power to wipe the world clean and start over. You have the time after all.

Perhaps one day you get so fed up, you just fly away to the outer reaches of the universe. Leaving the Earth jackasses to their own devices.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/02/oh-my-god/

Feb 05

Just Watched A Guy Build The Millenium Falcon with LEGOS

I hate people that build fancy stuff with LEGOS. There, I said it. Like, seriously, who do they think they are? I played with legos as a kid like most kids of the 70’s. Kids today have no idea how spoiled they are. With their smart phones and Candy Crush level 954. I hate to be the “walked uphill in the snow both ways” old man here, but dadblammit, I walked uphill both ways as a kid. We literally had two toys growing up boys and girls. LEGOS and Lincoln Logs. The fact that you don’t even know what Lincoln Logs are kinda makes my point.

I could build exactly jack shit with Legos. Like a four walled symmetrical house was about the most advanced thing I ever produced. The crazy fancy prefabbed kits didn’t exist back then. You had like four different shaped blocks. We pretty much just plugged pieces together and tried to imagine them as cool things. Like you look at clouds. It was sad. You should mourn. When Minecraft became popular a few years ago, I checked it out. It took me about 2 minutes to realize what it was and I ran screaming from my computer “IT’S F&%$$ING LEGOS”.

My childhood wasn’t totally devoid of cool toys. I had a Stretch Armstrong doll. It was a superhero that would actually stretch out all over the place. Yes, it was probably filled with asbestos but let’s not rain on my memory parade. I also had a motorized game that had a spinning wheel at the bottom and you manually released little bombs from a plane hovering over the surface. That may have been the coolest game I ever owned. I am pretty sure Ted Cruz had one as a child. There was also the coolest football game ever made, Mattel Electronic Football. With all its little green lines. Then Atari came out and I was the #1 defender of the Earth against Space Invaders. Along with Pong and the tank battle game.

I also got many hundreds of hours of entertainment out of a magnifying glass. I literally burned every insect in the general vicinity of Edgewood Ave and 14th Street. I still remember getting in big time trouble for holding a 4 inch magnet to the tv. Which left a permanent 4 inch magnet shape in the television tube. I also used to cut the comics out of the newspaper. Peanuts and Garfield and all the rest. I actually had big paper grocery bags filled with them at my grandparents house. I suppose I thought they would someday be worth money.

I just wonder if today’s kids, being dumb as stumps as they are, will look back on their childhood toys with such nostalgia. Or if we have become so immune to everything that they won’t at all.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2016/02/just-watched-a-guy-build-the-millenium-falcon-with-legos/

Older posts «

%d bloggers like this: