I'm stepping off my pedestal this time. No diatribe on the ills of western civilisation, no political commentary on Babylon and the criticism of the American justice system. None of that shit. For this episode, number six of season one, I'm going to let you all peek behind the curtain.
Okay, you figured me out. The week is almost over and I needed a topic for a blog and I couldn't think of anything so you get this piece of shit instead.
Without further ado, here's four things you didn't know about me.
1) I love, read that LOVE, the Spice Girls. Somewhere between my lust for attractive girls, my sucker for an English accent, and my being a bit of an Anglophile, I fell a complete sucker for the five Spices brought together to take over the world with cheesy lyrics, great pop melodies, and perfect timing.
And when I say LOVE, I mean LOOOOVE. I'd buy all the special poster edition magazines. But I'd buy two! One was for hanging up on the wall, the other was to save like it was a collector's item. Ugh, I know, I was such a loser. My bedroom in DC during high school, one wall had the Union Jack hanging, and the other, the longest wall of my room, had Spice posters from corner to corner. I was Spice mad. I had seen "Spice World" four times in theatres, even dragging my dad once. Needless to say he hated it. I bought the movie the day it came out on VHS. In fact, I pre-ordered it from my neighbourhood Sam Goody! I had their live concert on tape, I had two tapes of their official video, I bought their trading stickers, their lollipops, even the dolls. Fuck me, I was such a pathetic teeny bopper. I've never liked pop music nor the teen bands, but who could resist the power of Spice?!
Oh and I still bring their albums into rotation. To this very day. Favourite Spice Girls track? Too easy. Who Do You Think You Are?
2) The smartest and best decision I've ever made was to marry Jessica.
I know, weird right? I'm like most men you see married on television. Get me away from the wife, and I can go on and on about how terrible being married is, how the wife is so silly or irrational, whatever else she may be. All of this may be true or may not be (but it's true), yet still, marrying her was is the highlight of my life to date. We're guaranteed a great marriage anyway because on our wedding day, Tottenham finally beat Arsenal after 10 long years of nothing in league play. I'd say that's a good sign.
So what? She's stubborn, opinionated, emotionally isolated, and likes to annoy me, and likes to do as she would not like done unto, but shit we all have our flaws, right? I mean, I suck at life my damn self, so who am I to judge?
I can tell you this: she's pretty awesome too. Where I'm an idealist, stick to my beliefs, and deal with theories, she's grounded and focused on where she's going. We're perfect supplementary angles. Sometimes we're both 90 degrees, but if one swings to 120, the other has no problem stepping back and being the other 60 degrees. When she can't do math, sure I ridicule her, and then step in and do the math. When I can't be the huggy, kissy parent, she comes in and does all that sappy shit. I sit through her boring movies, she sits through my Marlins games. I do the cooking in the house, she does the cooking out of the house.
Marriage is hard fucking work, people. There's a lot of love, and a lot of hate. Every day can be a challenge, and if at the end of it, you didn't kill each other and wanna do it again tomorrow, you've got a lot more going for you than a lot of other people today. So, sure, I love my wife, she's the best. But if you ever ask me publicly, I'll deny, deny, deny. It's just what us husbands are supposed to do.
3) Unless you know me personally and quite intimately, you probably didn't know I had an eight year stretch of being a conservative social Republican with a GOP only voting record until 2008.
Phew, feels good to get that dirty secret off my chest. I fell victim to a perfect storm. I moved to DC in'96, and went to a parochial school--Seventh-day Adventist, to be exact. I myself was a Christian at the time, but nominally. I was a pet project for a few teachers, a heathen that could potentially be brought to the feet of the cross. Looking back, I was nothing more than the African or indigenous American, only I was beaten with whips, I was beaten with love and kindness. Either way, the endgame was the same--get this guy to accept the Christ. I even had a teacher, my math teacher at that, say by the time graduation comes around, I'll have abandoned all teachings of Marxism I had and would be better for it.
Well after three years at that school, I had found the Christ, converted to Catholicism (which my senior bible teacher was none too thrilled about but was at least pleased as punch I believed), and was seventeen and part of the John McCain street team. There's the perfect storm. My senior year was centred around the 2000 presidential primaries, and with my new-found conservatism but with sensibilities, I'd thrown my hat in for McCain. From this moment on up unto 2008, I had hadn't voted for any non Republican candidate in any election. I voted for the second GW term (I was only 17 for the first GW term), I voted for Jeb Bush, I voted against even the slightest liberal amendments and propositions just to keep a fantastically clean voting record.
Finally, somewhere in 2008, I reestablished old principles and worldviews and luckily broke the shackles of that horseshit conservatism and of a faith that doesn't have my interests at centre (no offence to those who ascribe to either of those). I finally even voted outside the GOP and helped elect Obama. But don't think I'll ever do that again. I'm a third party guy, I stick to my guns and he's not with my guns. But yep, for eight years there, I was a real two-bit Uncle Tom ass brother. Let's forget that ever happened.
4) I have an odd fascination with death. It's one of those things I like about Mexican culture, the macabre isn't profane, it's often celebrated actually. I can't go a day without thinking of the many ways one thing can go wrong and I can die.
I can be in the kitchen cooking, and literally visualise the ceiling caving in out of nowhere and crushing me. When I lived in DC, I would sit on the Metro and could always visualise a passenger taking the seat behind me and simply blowing my brains out with a point-blank shot to the back of the head. No matter where I go, what I do, I see where and how I can die while being there and doing whatever.
Sounds creepy probably, but it's not so much a fear thing. It's not that I'm afraid to die. I just don't disrespect death and and overlook it or put some kind of positive spin on it. I'm going to die one way or another. The only thing I wish was that I didn't see it so often. I've started to relax on it, but it's not completely gone. The next time I get into a car, I'll see the fiery crash at the intersection. The next time I go to check the mail at night, I'll see the car turn the corner with its headlights off and run me down.
What can I say? I'm neurotic and shit happens.
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