"Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console..."-St. Francis of Asisi

Hey! I promise, a post is on the way as soon as I get some more work done. I just wanted to share this, because a friend and I were discussing prayers, and this one came to mind. For those of Faith, for those who read, or for those who simply stop to rest before Googling on, I offer this prayer for you my friends...

Lord make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt, faith.
Where there is despair, hope.
Where there is darkness, light.
And where there is sadness, joy.

O divine master grant that I may
not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love
For it is in giving that we receive-
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen

You don't know what it's like…"-Econoline Crush

Justification. A moderately big word that means "just if I can explain-ation." "Ation? It's Greek. Nobody really knows what the hell it means, but if you say it to a German, he'll say

Gesundheit and offer you Gesichtsgewebe. I swear, It's not nearly as gross as it sounds.

Neither is justification. We all do it; you justify reading my blog.

I just keep hoping he'll be funny...

It's ok. Justification, Gesundheit, it's all the same; just wipe it on your sleeve and move on.

I justify things daily. My life is a Twister mat of justification. For those of you too young for Twister, that's Dance Dance Revolution without the video game. one mat, one spinner, countless morons shaped like pretzels. Unless of course it's Date Twister. Then there's no moron, just a naked couple with an embarrassed glow and a big smile justifying the Cubist human tower to the EMT.

"How..?"

"She's a gymnast."

"Hi!"

"Ohhhh…uhm sir, what's that on the center green dot?"

"Nevermind…"

That's justification.

The reason I bring this up is that I'm busy strapping myself down with the justification chain right now. As a matter of fact, If you could hold that end for a moment while I wrap myself up tighter... Great thanks. Uhm, leave the wallet on the desk. No, I'm telling you, don't bother. Trust me, there's nothing there.

Ok, back to the justification. See, when MyEx left, I was left with my little cubbie spaces of free time. Like any good clutter rat, I quickly filled those spaces with stuff. In my case: work.

That's great, except all work and no play make Rob a…well, they make him a Blogger. Yeah, my mom was horrified too. Dad's sent me a few brochures from a gigolo school hoping I'll make something more of my life. I'm not sure I'm ready to be Richard Gere, but I do agree I need to step away from the keyboard every once and a while. I hate that my parents have to hide in the back of church.

"There go the Boyds. Did you hear? Their son's a blogger."

"Oh, those poor people…"

That's where I begin justifying baby steps. Maybe swap my keyboard for a game controller. It's a great idea--even better if my PS2 wasn't broken. I have other systems, but nobody makes games for the Atari 2600, the TurboGrafix or the Super Nintendo any more. Well they don't make games for the PS2 either, but at least with that I could pretend to be cool while playing Grand Theft Auto. It's all about justification while you're car's bouncing to the radio beat atop sidewalk pedestrians.

The next link in my justification chain is fashioned from vanity. I try to get in a little exercise because I work at home. I run, I work out, I sit on my butt. I do item three much more than one and two, which is a shame, it burns fewer calories. Still one and two require thought and time. Item three can be done anytime by anyone.

That's what brought me to the next link. I was exorcising my mind, watching TV and I saw this ad for a product called the Wii Fit. Yeah! A work out video game! How cool is that?

At first I left that link on the floor for somebody else to pick up. It was expensive, and out of stock everywhere. The problem is, "out of stock" is Aramaic for "must have." Just ask the Iphone salesman from last year.

"Can I help you sir?"

"Yeah, I want this."

"Ok."

Yeah, there's one born every minute, and it looks like my parents got a winner.

When I was 5, I wanted the Fisher Price castle. I saw it in a magazine ad, and I was in love. It had a dungeon, a trap door, a secret passage, and a dragon. What more could a five year old kid want? I showed my parents, and said "I want."

Now what I don't want, is to paint the picture of a spoiled child. I wasn't. I wanted to be, but I got bad parents who couldn't spoil me to save their lives. Trust me, I tried, no use. Timmy down the block? His parents spoiled him like chunky milk. Me? I think the stork tripped over the chimney and dropped me down at the wrong house. This family actually believed in "Values." Yeah whatever, lets go back to "I want."

I knew there was a chance I wouldn't get the castle, so I spent a lot of time with the magazine staring at the picture and playing with that. The blond kid holding the Knight? That was me without my glasses. If I took mine off, I could see the similarity. Day after day I played with my picture. Yeah, I know, these techniques would carry into my teenage Playboy years…

Anyway, To make a short story long, I got the castle. And today, I'm getting a Wii Fit. After countless hours of imagining me exercising, I can now make it a reality. It's cool too because now I can be a yoga expert too! I've always dreamed of that! You didn't know? Yeah, ever since I saw the cartoon bear with "pic-a-nic" baskets I said, "that's me!"

This yoga looks a little different, and to be honest, the moves scare me a little. I have no dexterity, and balancing maneuvers on a little board seem daunting. Still, in my head I'm a master.

We'll see when the UPS guy delivers the board. I could require an EMT before my justification chain is complete.

"Rampart, I've got a wee man with a Wii injury. Yeah, it looks like he was attempting a ruptured stork, and now he's a concussive klutzy cow."

"Roger that Squad 51. Start him on a lube-down, Ringer's lactate solution IV stat."

"Roger that Rampart."

That's right, Nintendo wasn't happy just injuring our thumb, they won't be happy until we've justified our whole bodies to their sadistic needs. I think they sell that game too.

Soul Reaper 3: The Wii Years!

So yeah, I jumped through all the flaming hoops and made it to the next level of exercise. I now have a Wii Fit.

Tomorrow I'll justify buying a Wii to hook it up to.

"Life's not about what's better than…"-John Butler Trio

"No, you get a hug." That's what she said, and then proved it. I did get a hug, and she gave it to me. Wow! I’m moving up in the world. I'm used pockets full of ire. What do I do with a hug. For lack of something better, I returned it.

Now I don't have the hug anymore. That's ok. I enjoyed it while it lasted.

Don't ask me to do that writer thing where writerly people use all those big cool adjectives to describe things. This was a married pregnant woman, and although I really enjoyed the hug I'm not going to cheapen it with words like "squishy," "smelly," or "sweaty." I won't put words in her mouth; if that's what she thought, and how she wants to describe hugging Rob, I'll let her do it herself. Me, I rather enjoyed the hug.

It was a church. She was outside on the steps talking with some friends from our Wednesday Bible study, and I stepped out of the church and into oven. She looked up, excused herself and gave me a hug.

What's better than a hug? Her husband offered me an office air conditioner! Oh, he doesn't know enough about it to be sure it'll work for me, but still. He offered. A hug and an AC? Ask Hugh Grant, you can't find those things on an LA street corner. And not without ending up in the newspaper the next day. I decided to hang around and see what was next.

Nothing. I'd experienced my highlight. I did get to help one of the elders put away a folding table. My self-indulgent side was most disappointed.

Uhm excuse me? What's in this for me? A new car, maybe?

That was my Sunday. Monday came and went. I think the highlight was this post on one of my blogs:

I have nothing fantastic to say but you know I can't just keep my big mouth shut so I wanted to tell you I was here.

Huh. WHEEE!

I leave my desk and go get some water. I'm sweating from all the excitement. As I'm gathering the ice from the freezer, I realize something. I'm dismissing this post, but still this is much more than I had last year. Last year at this time my network was all but non-existent. Last year today my highlight post was:

There ya go, Humor, the best medicine!

Gee thanks. I'd just come home to an empty house and I was choking it down the best I could.

Mmmm! Can I have another spoonful of laughs please!

So what happened? How did I get so popular? Well, I stopped bitching about MyEx leaving for one thing. I kinda had to suck that one up. After that, well I thank my mom and dad for my natural beauty and charm and beyond that, I don't know. And considering what I've got, I still think Quasimodo can ring more bells with his bell tower charisma than I ever could with my hermit hideaway hokum. I really am not that charming. Ask MyEx.

Still, I share qualities that other people can identify with. I try to put myself out there so that I can help me, and in the process, maybe help them. Despite the fact that I work at home, I try to get out when I can.

I'm NBC. I'm building my network. This season, we're adding Friends.

In one of my blogs last season I lamented that I felt so alone. I wondered if I disappeared, would anybody notice? Today I know there are those that would, and they're not just bill collectors. What's more, by taking 20 seconds to post, my "nothing fantastic" friend has made sure that I know that.

It's a hug, a post, an air conditioner. They're the things that keep me alive. You too! Because, you're in this as well. See, if you're reading, you somehow identify with me, even if you were just Googling "Hairy-Butt Studs in Miniskirts," you came here. I'm here for you.

The truth is it's so hard when we're going through a divorce, because all we want to do is curl in a ball and forget the world. Yet it's the world that we want to forget that's on the other end of our lifeline tether.

We need to get out and rebuild. It takes time but it's worth it. Trust me, that's what I did. That's what I'm still doing. Rob wasn't built in a day, and contrary to popular belief, all roads don't lead to Rob. They should. But I'm still having zoning issues. That's Ok, for now, I work on making Rob available on all roads. I'll make Rob a household name.

That's right! I'll make it synonymous with your everyday. You'll holding conversations and you'll include me by name!

"What happened today?"

"I was Robbed."

"Really?"

Ok, maybe not that, but I'll work something else out. The point is, I'm trying. So should you! Get out there, be visible, be Gumby, and extend yourself! The people you meet today, will carry you through tomorrow. Believe me. You're carrying me right now. Yeah sorry about the beans for lunch.

Hey!

Ouch!

Come back!

"Funny how they could have lived…"-Nine Black Alps

He tried to kick free. I watched him as the air bubbles burbled towards the surface. He kicked, but his leg was caught in the maw of a giant crocodile. The camera panned back so that you the viewer could be sure it was trapped too. See? Locked jaw, trapped leg. The other leg is a flurry of motion. Now let's cut back to a close up of the man's panicked face. See the wide eyes and the teeth gripping to his aerator? That's acting! That's panic.

The fact that the croc is dead isn't any consolation. You might as well offer him a 10 year's supply of Moped Turtle Wax, cuz lying on the bottom of the ocean trapped by a dead croc is just as appealing. Well maybe I would rather have the turtle wax. For this guy, it wasn't a choice.

A woman swims up to him. The first thing you notice is the nice bikini: very stylish, comfort fitting and TV-MA revealing. The second thing you notice is probably the first thing croc-boy sees: she's got a knife longer than her forearm. She points back to the man's locked leg with her free hand, makes a sawing gesture with her knife hand, then gives a thumbs up.

The man's eye are now about to pop out of his head in terror. No, this isn't his wife's divorce technique. This is a bad movie on The Sci-fi Network. Their vaults are apparently full of these buried treasures.

I work at home and I'm here to tell you, weekend TV doesn't get any better than this. If you want I can show you. I can turn to SPIKE, they're playing all the CSI reruns I might have missed last week or the week before when they ran the same marathon. Right now they're showing the episode where Warrick is divorcing his wife.

How now Brown's frau?

Yeah, good times. Oh, that's on too, but I think I've had all of the good time I need to see those reruns since the 1970's. Any episode I haven't seen yet, I'll never miss. Single mom, raising her kids, keepin' her head above water, making a wave when she can. Yeah, ain't she lucky she's got 'em? Sorry, this sounds like divorce TV to me and I don't get that channel. They want me to pay extra for that. I already paid extra for "divorce: the home game," No thanks.

Sorry, bad TV makes me cranky. I suppose I should get out and get a life, but I'm watching the guy kicking even harder at the dead croc now. The girls having a heck of a time getting the serrated blade to cut against his leg. The Ginsu ad five minutes ago said it would work here--even after she sawed a tin can. It doesn't seem to be living up to it's potential.

It goes to show, you can't buy all you see on TV. I mean sure, she's got a knife, and he's got a crocodile skin boot, but if she's got to cut it off at the ankle, the fit's too tight. He should be glad he didn't buy the matching QVC underwear.

See I don't really know what's worse here. The fact that I'm watching this now, or the fact that I've already seen it. It's all a rerun. I've seen everything that's on, and I'm ready for something new. Still, I'm watching the same ol' stuff play out.

I'm ready. It's not there. I need some excitement. Something fresh. I've tried watching other things. I think they're showing Dr. Who later. I used to like that, but I think they took that final step into oblivion when they introduced the logic levitator.

"What's a logic levitator, Dr.?"

"I'm glad you asked. It's a suspension device. We take everything you know about the world and how it works--there's science, math, history and many other big words you can't possibly understand, let alone pronounce--and we stick them on this device, like so. Then we turn it on and voila! All logic is outside of your reach like a refrigerator top cookie jar from a 3 year old. Now you don't know anything about gravity and such rot, and we're free to introduce plot twists like 'man comes from Pandas' and you won't know the difference."

Yeah. I was a persistent 3 year old. This is too much for me to swallow.

Pandas? Really? I had no idea. It explains how they trained the Kung-Fu guy to talk…

It's really the same thing Lifetime does with male/female relationships, there's just a sci-fi perspective.

See even the crappy TV hit's too close to home. It's all Whine and loss. Where's my Magnum PI? Even in rerun, he offered excitement. I do watch Three and a Half Men, but it gets kind of confusing. I remember John Cryer as Ducky, but now Ducky is an old British dude on NCIS? It's like a Tolstoy. I need character flow charts for my TV to figure out who's who. I guess that's one form of excitement: Switch up what you know, and make it new. Ok, it's not so much "new," but work with me I'm making lemonade TV here and all I have is the Turtle Wax powder.

I'm sitting in my office, working on reruns. I should get out, but I can't. I'm living vicariously through TV characters. I think that may be why I also like Burn Notice. It's my guilty pleasure. Spy show, with the guy who used to be in the Evil Dead movies. It's good to see he's survived. Oh, he's not the star of this show, but he is why I stay. Well him and the gun smuggling ex girlfriend. If I believe the storyline here, she gives me hope that there's a woman out there for me. The one on TV's name is Fiona. Yeah, I know. She'd kick my butt then kill me, but what a way to go. And it's definitely better than having your leg sawed from a crocodiles mouth. Which, if I believe TV, is my only other option.

See, I think that's one of the things that scares me. No not Fiona (ROWR!), but I worry about the reruns. I was part of the episodes once. The laugh-track was on cue, and I liked everything I saw and did. Still, the ending was abrupt and unfulfilling. I don't want to do another rerun. I want something new with promise--something with some follow through, but how do I know that's what I'm getting? How do I know I haven't set myself up for another Dr. Who episode of suspended belief and false expectations?

Sometimes I wish I could just turn it off and walk away, but I can't. It's who I am. Oh look! The Croc-boy's blood loss has drawn shark frenzy with bloodlusts. Yeah, he really should have gone with the Turtle Wax...

"…Had to Leave…"-X

The world according to the Beatles: it was 20 years ago today... Well that day changes every day you listen to the song, doesn't it? It's like watching Rudy again and again. Each time you think maybe Rudy make the team, and each time you and Rudy are both disappointed. That's ok. He may not be good at football, but he makes one heck of a pillow fighting hobbit. Put him on a spit with an apple in his mouth, and he's also good eats.

More Sam Spam anyone?

That's the great thing about movies and music: anniversaries shift like a Rubik's cube. Each calendar twist moves it further away or draws it one square closer to their now. In real life anniversaries are indelible; they stick to one date. You can't lift them to clean the blot underneath, or move them to another room because company is coming over; the stain is always there. They're black calendar jots, and they're going nowhere.

I know what you're saying, "But Rob, you're anniversary isn't until next month." Well, first off, thanks for remembering. What did you get me? Second off, That's not the anniversary I'm talking about. You can still get me gifts though. I never turn them away, no matter which calendar blemish you're celebrating.

It was this weekend last year that I sat in a Laughlin Hotel while MyEx moved out. Now I probably wasn't sitting in my room, cuz, staring at the walls, dwelling on MyEx's Exodus from our dwelling wasn't a smart survival technique. If I were going to do that, I might as well have parked my car on the curb, and watched the movers like they were a drive-in actors.

"Oh look! There goes my sofa! More popcorn--extra salt, please!"

For those of you not from the west coast, Laughlin is Las Vegas' ugly half sister. What happens in Laughlin, probably won't stay there, but chances are it won't matter. You could get in more trouble skipping third period algebra.

I was in a casino hotel because Laughlin casinos are cheap. So are their hotels. I didn't have a lot of money to spend, but the brochure promised swimming pools and 115 degree heat. It also pictured cabana boys wandering past the deep end, tossing in bay seasoning every 15 minutes. They used the water to boil lobsters. I stayed in the casino, scaring off the tourists.

"Are you here with your wife?"

"Oh no, I'm staying here while she's moving out of my house."

"OK--Well I think I need to check out the swimming pool."

Yeah, I was fun to be around at that time. Cocktail waitresses kept away from me like Dance Debs from polyester. Casino floor drinks are free, and I was lying in the middle of Harrah's paisley eye sore weeping loudly lapping for liquor. Unlike Rudy, This wasn't my proudest moment. In fact, it was probably like Sgt. Peppers 50th reunion, except they'll never have one. It's always only 20 years ago today…

Still it was a better place to hang out than at my house. MyEx had hired movers and was directing them what to take and what to leave. If I'd have been there, I'd have told them where to put it. Yeah. Sobbing on a casino carpet was a much better place for the friendly divorce.

Actually it was a good distraction. I played a few games, and I think that I left with everything I arrived with. You can't say that on many vacations. Interestingly enough though, I couldn't say that about my return home. It definitely wasn't the same as I'd left it.

Still, MyEx didn't take hardly anything that we didn't already discuss. In fact, I could tell she'd tried to be diplomatic about some things. I want to say I appreciated that, but I wasn't in an appreciative mood. I probably wouldn't say much about appreciation at all.

So now it's a year later. The anniversary is here. How do I feel? Pretty good, really. Not "good" that MyEx left or "good" that she packed the dish and ran away with the spoon. But "good" that I made it a year on my own. I proved I could survive without the things she took away. Like Rudy, I may suck, but I'm still in the game.

See I think we need to take time to remember how far we've come. In track, they say never look back, but I think it's an important thing to do in life. It's not about letting that guy behind you catch up, it's about letting your heart and your spirit catch up. It's saying, "look how far we've come," before you work towards that distance you still need to complete.

I look forward to the day I can say "it was 20 years ago today," and unlike Sgt Pepper, I'm not cursed to live the same anniversary over and over. I can move forward. I can thrive.

Uhm...

So they tell me the purple whipped cream is normal. It's just because
of Tonight's book release (book release?). Ok, but if there's no. Blog
tomorrow could you check my house for a poisoned corpse? It'll answer
to the name of Rob. Then again if it answers, it's probably not a
corpse, huh?

"the words and her name and the reasons…"-Gaslight Anthem

I hate thinking. Looking at my monitor, somebody was forcing me to do so.

The words gathered in tiny town meeting in my IM window, "My friend had a shoe shopping emergency today and I couldn't help her. "

Uhm, and I can? Why are you telling me? I'm a guy. I believe in the shoe trinity: Work, play and dress. All other shoes are false footwear. Shoe emergency? How can I relate to that?

I chose sarcasm: "OH THE HORROR!!!"

The beauty of sarcasm in generation text is that it doesn't get you smacked by the nearest flail-able object. Well, that and the nearest flail-able chat object is, at worst, an angry emoticon. "OMG, that hurt…" Yeah, more sarcasm. People love it. In real life, sarcasm hurts. I don't know how many purse dogs I've had flung across my skull.

"Yelp!"

"Ow!"

LOL!

Luckily for me, in cyberspace no one can see you sneer. Sometimes people take me seriously. "I know!!!" was my friend's reply. She thought I was serious.

Yeah, I like text. More than I like shoes apparently. I like my NoCal friend too. I know a lot about her. I know she's married. I know she's fun to talk to. I know she likes cool music. What I didn't know, is that she's apparently a nurse in a hospital shoe ward.

"I need peep-toe pumps, stat!"

It's cool we all have our areas of expertise, and areas of concern. I fully expect to be watching the Sci-fi Channel one night. There'll be some demon possessed snake robot horror movie on, staring Dean Cain as a misunderstood hero, Miss April 1996 as the woman who tells him size doesn't matter, and Ron Jeremy, as the snake. They'll cut to a commercial, and my friend will be walking the streets of a third world village of mud huts. "This is Mayla," my friend will say pointing to the emaciated waif keeping pace beside her. "Mayla, used to walk barefoot through these streets, hunting for scraps and rats to eat. Now, thanks to your donations, she's wearing Prada, and she can trade tricks for sandwiches."

Ok, so we need to work on my friends compassion, but her heart's in the right place, I swear. Me? Other than in the middle of my chest I'm not too sure about where my heart is. I mean like I said, I have talents, but sarcasm doesn't win you a humanitarian award.

I like music, but that's not a lot better. Tsking loudly as somebody picks up the latest Hanna Montana CD doesn't really help the world, does it? I suppose I could be more proactive, but I don't see where spraying them in the face with Lysol mace and batting the contaminated disc from their hand is going to help.

I've been accused by people lately of being a good guy, but I'm not so sure where they get that. Altruistic Rob is no more real than Santa's sore sleigh butt. I'm sarcastic. Are they misinterpreting that as "Good guy?"

Ruh-Ro Raggy!

Still, if they see it, doesn't that make it so? Haven't I said that it's all about perception? It worked for MyEx. In our last months I was Ron Jeremy, Robot Snake from Hell! Ok, maybe not the Ron Jeremy part, but the look in her eyes said the names she was thinking weren't good. Then again, she heard the sarcasm. In her defense, the sarcastic smog was pretty thick around that time.

So now I'm going off what she left me with, and I'm trying to understand this new good guy image. I mean, it could be true, but I'm not really familiar with this Rob. My NoCal friend said I should be. After seven hours in shoe triage, she told me that she thought I was sympathetic, and empathetic towards people. I nodded, but she couldn't see it, so I typed, "nodding." She understood. I didn't. I had to look up the two big words. All I knew is that they were partially "pathetic."

Oh she is so gonna get a double dose of sarcasm later!

I looked up the "em" word. The dictionary said, "attribution of feelings to an object." Huh, my monitor looked confused, "You don't do that, Rob." "I know," I said. My shoe friend had been smelling feet again. Then I read the second definition. "Understanding of another's feelings." Well I liked that one better, but was it true? I barely understand my own feelings, how could I understand others?

I suppose I could understand how my friend felt that way. I'm sure I seemed nice. I'd listened to her shoe horror story, and she thought I'd empathized. When we were done talking she was happy. I'm not even sure what I did. I've heard we can be our most helpful when we don't even think about it.

Don't even think about it?

That's the answer!

I never think! I'm more helpful than I thought!