Category: Life Style

The things we take for granted in life are the most fragile

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Traffic. Weather. Getting the kids to school on time. Did that guy signal before he drove into my lane? Groceries. Bills. Getting good seats at the theater. A good parking spot at the mall. Making sure the restaurant got your order right. Does the place we are going to have beer? What’s google say? Fuck all that bullshit.

If Siri told you something bad was going to happen to something you take for granted today, what the fuck would you do about it? Would you finish that tweet or text first?

I’m going to get on a soapbox here, and I don’t care what you say about it. A good friend of mine-Paul Walker-had a post about a tragedy that stirred something inside of me, and now I must write. That’s what writers do. You quiet the noise in your head by typing it out. So here I go..

The things we take for granted in life are in fact the most fragile things on this earth.  (more…)

Happily Married 12 years later: A true story

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The first thing that comes to mind is the sweat. I was sweating profusely through my forehead, and it wouldn’t stop. Normally, someone would attach fear and nerves to this, but that wasn’t really the case. I was just ready to get this thing going. Rachel and I had been engaged since a Dave Matthews Band concert nearly two and a half years before this night. Getting married requires a healthy amount of cash if you want to do it right, so time had to be mortgaged over a certain period of time.

Finally, the wait was over. February 18th, 2005 was our day for two reasons: there was no Cardinals game that day and I was marrying the love of my life.

I know, it’s not so cool these days to say that your spouse is the love of your life. It’s as if being nice to one another is hard enough these days that an honest love isn’t allowed. When you are married to someone, saying “I love you” can become an arbitrary practice that most men write off as too sappy or vulnerable to admit and women wonder if they really mean it. The thing for me is clear-I really do love my wife. I need her every day, or else I’m screwed. I’m lost with her in this mad world. If you find a good wife, you are that much closer to a good life. I’m a hopeless romantic, a lover of old school ideals, and one of them is the belief that marriage can still produce a happily ever after. Now, back to the sweats.  (more…)

Don’t forget about your grandparents

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December 11th is a shitty day for me and for an easy reason; Five years ago, my grandmother Meme took a fall down a flight of steps. 13 days later, she was gone, and my family took a shot to the kidneys of its foundation.

Henrietta “Meme” Bulus was as loving of a person as you could get. She wanted to know everything about you inside five minutes, even if she had only met you a minute ago. She wasn’t writing a book, but simply keeping tabs on you for good reason. She would grab your forearm, pull you in close, and focus 105 percent of her attention on you. It was if Barbara Walters was taking place right in front of you right at this very minute.

It reminds of a timeless message. A piece of advice if you will. Don’t forget about your grandparents. Life moves quick, and rarely slows down to allow you to check and update your planner. Phone calls are simple easy ways to stay in touch, but paying them a visit is an entirely different world of devotion. You show up, and it’s like Brad Pitt or Julia Roberts walked into the room in the form of their grandchild. 15-30 minutes. Perhaps an hour.  (more…)

Fallen cop should make us be better

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I didn’t know Blake Snyder. I feel like I got to know him today too late. He was a 33 year old cop with a wife and two year old kid. Cute, right? Blake was shot and killed this morning when he responded to a disturbance call in Affton. An 18 year old shot him point blank as Blake got out of his squad car, voicing the young man to show him his hands.

This is just terrible. Blake served St. Louis County police for four years and had a two year old son that won’t have a fucking clue why dad isn’t coming home tonight. In case you forgot or don’t have kids, two years old is when a kid starts to recognize, download, and capture every thought and reaction. They start to get it. I can’t imagine the pain and torment swirling through the Snyder home right now.

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Death has zero fucks to give about your personal situation. It lands down and takes, and leaves before you can file a complaint. It’s a real son of a bitch. Right now, his wife is having to plan a memorial, funeral, and other things that she didn’t plan on this week.

Blake got up this morning thinking it was just going to be another day at the office. Strap on the badge, put on the gun, and protect and serve a little. He won’t go home tonight.

We live in such a violent, cruel, and unforgiving world with enough cynicism and hate to fill a galaxy. When are we going to come to grips with ourselves and the ability to end life? It’s a disease that is spreading. It has nothing to do with white and black and everything to do with right and wrong. White and black lives matter. All life matters. 

Do me a favor and try to be less cynical tomorrow when you wake up. If you have to be cynical, do it in the afternoon and evening briefly. Cut that shit away. Hug your kids. Shake a friend’s hand. Kiss your loved ones. Smile more than frown. Do something happy. Go to bed with a sentimental vibe. Look around. Appreciate the time. Some don’t get enough of it. Some barely get any at all.

It’s okay to be sentimental, folks. It basically means you are allowing yourself to be optimistic. We need more of that and less of the killing thing.

The difference between a smile and a sad face is a mere decision to make it that way.

Blake Snyder wasn’t a perfect man. There’s a fair probability that he could be a real asshole on occasion and maybe even perform some practical jokes. He was also a good man who, according to his chief of police, liked helping people and that is why he became a cop in his late 20’s and not his early 20’s.

There’s no doubt that I look at this painful tragedy and think of my own situation. I am a 34 year old man, one year older than Blake. I will be 35 in February. I have a wife and a five year old son. Over a decade ago, I applied to be a St. Louis County police officer. I aced the written tests. Passed the physical and the video analysis. I never heard back from them. I didn’t become a cop and instead entered the warehouse industry and eventually, writing and radio. I will be home with my family tonight.

Blake will not and that really screws me up. I sit back and imagine what his son is thinking. I imagine what Vin would think if I wasn’t coming home. During our 20 months in Arkansas, Vin and I became closer than ever. We did everything together. We were two peas in a pod. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Best friends. Allies.

I can’t leave without Vin asking where I am going. I can’t return home and touch my front door without  a massive hug from Vinny. He needs his dad. I need him. Separating that cord is a scary thought. I can’t stop thinking about that today. The “What if” game….is a mindfuck.

Let’s all try to be better tomorrow. Less violent. More forgiving. Smile more. Frown less. Be more sentimental than cynical. The world has cynicism for days.

Rest in peace, Blake. I didn’t know you but I’ll try to be better from here on out.

Fathers Day: Don’t take it for granted

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Call your parents. Please don’t forget. Whether you are close or not, it’s important to call. It’s a rarity that a talk with your parents goes smoothly. One side is thinking about one thing and the other side is more than likely deflecting topics to get off the phone. It’s awkward sometimes but damn it, please talk to your parents. Keep in touch with your family because sooner or later they will be gone and you may not get a warning.

When it comes to life, there is no script or plan. Things happen and only part of the time is there a reason or theme attached. I’m a lucky guy. I grew up with two All Star parents who kept a roof over my head, worked hard to provide for my brother and I, and didn’t give up. As I sit here 34 years old and counting, I am very close with my parents, especially my dad. We are best friends and so much alike it is scary yet cool at the same time.

I am not entirely sure what I will do when my dad goes. I am not sure how I will act or care to be perceived for weeks or months. I may just want to shut down. I may want to hit something. I may want to cry. It is a day that I can’t even think too long about because someone up top may notice and push it in motion to challenge me to react. Life doesn’t warn you about a loss coming. It just takes something away and waits to see how tough you are as a result. I need my dad around and every son or daughter should at least make an effort to speak to their dad. (more…)

Marrying at 23 years old: Best Move I Ever Made

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11 years ago, at a place called Orlando Gardens off Watson Road in St. Louis, I married my wife Rachel. I was 23 years old, mostly clueless but sure about one thing. I loved this woman and everything else would sort itself out. That’s life. It doesn’t give you all the answers early on but when a beautiful tough and resilient five foot three inch lady stands in front of you, you get down on a fucking knee.

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Around 15 years ago(add a few months to that), I proposed to my wife at a Dave Matthews Band concert. In a haze of reefer and great music, I decided to pop the question. I didn’t have a ring. Only a promise. As Dave played “Where Are You Going”, I took his lead and asked her a question. When you pop the question at a young age, nerves and uneasiness crawl up inside your body like insurgents. Most people fail because they do it to fix something in their life. Some do it because it’s cool. Others watch too many movies. I did it because I wanted to spend some time with this woman. The girl that burned a hole in my back outside Hatch Hall at Mizzou. The girl who left a note on my dorm room door asking me when I was going to ask her out(I was working the manual scoreboard that weekend!). (more…)

“Can’t Stop Colin”: The true story of fighting cancer at a young age

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“Can’t Stop Colin” isn’t just a mantra for the Schlereth Family. It is a way of life. Remember that cool video the St. Louis Blues tweeted out in late January about a young man returning to the ice after a long battle with cancer. Well, here is his story. Meet Colin.

Colin Schlereth hasn’t endured a normal childhood, but the one thing he has never let go of is the pursuit of happiness. He has digested a different value of life and how to live through a unique battle with cancer, one that caught up to him nearly two years ago. Armed with an excellent team of doctors and nurses at St. Louis Children’s Hospital and an assist from the St. Louis Blues, he is thriving today. It wasn’t easy this bright.

Colin’s mom, Becky, remembers the early warning signs. “It’s hard to watch because he started skating at age 3. He’s a beautiful skater and was going up and up. Then, it was an entire year of watching him deteriorate on the ice. We wondered if it was his skates or something making him disengage. It didn’t make sense. We bought two pairs of skates. Then he got a hockey concussion because he was so unbalanced and got thrust into the boards on a hit. The concussion was only the first warning sign. After three months of continued problems, headaches, bigger falls and dizziness, Becky called a sports concussion doctor. An MRI revealed the tumor. (more…)

STL to Little Rock: Lost and Found

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A year ago, I was terrified.

In December of 2014, my family and I moved from my hometown of St. Louis to Little Rock, basically going from familiar and safe to the middle of fucking nowhere. Little Rock was too quiet, desolate and full of different people I didn’t know or recognize. This was crazy and it wasn’t a drill.

We settled into a new apartment complex that seemed like the set for Walking Dead or Breaking Bad(the desert scenes). Nothing was around. The closest thing to get a bite to eat was McDonalds, IHOP or Firehouse Subs(just shoot me). Change is a motherfucker because it upends everything you are close to and replaces it with other shit. Friends and family will tell you to stay busy and adapt, but it’s not that easy. It’s not a Matrix like upload or an easy progression. It takes time and usually involves panic.

We moved down here for my wife’s new job. A huge promotion. She was getting her own store and would truly boost the economic income of our household and also provide me with a chance to write for a living. It was a win-win professionally but personally it was a hardship. I freaked out. Big time. I questioned everything I thought was figured out in my life. Imagine your life is a large puzzle and then three kids go over to it and smash it apart and the pieces don’t fit they way they used to. It’s insane and threw me a curveball and truly hurt those around me. After 2-3 months of soul searching and mental ass kicking, I dug both feet in and stayed. I got used to my surroundings.

I found a gym, a coffee shop that didn’t produce slop, and a movie theater. The three needs a man like myself craves in order to truly fit into a hole. I’m sorry, Arkansas folks, but this place isn’t as good as St. Louis. Not even close. Missouri has this place beat in every area, including the area of “don’t ask me a 100 fucking questions at an auto shop while we wait for our cars to be worked on”. STL is still the center of my universe and a place I call home. I think of this Little Rock experiment as being stationed oversears for a couple years and simply a trial I must push through. No offense Little Rock. I am sure you would say the same thing of St. Louis if you were shipped there suddenly.

That was the reason it hurt so bad. No matter how I was prepared for it or ready to make the switch, a move out of state never feels normal. It feels like you are being taken, and there is no Liam Neeson coming to save you. It’s like being dumped somewhere where people talk differently, there’s several Mexican restaurants and basically no clear way out. You make do. It’s not like it has been easy folks.

*First, the in your face idea the people down here have is fucked up. I can be standing outside at a gas station or somewhere else in public and people feel like it’s time to get to know me and my whole life story. Before I can finish pumping gas, they are telling me good schools to go to and how this is good. The entire time, I have zero fucks to give. You find out how private you are when people invade your personal space every day. I don’t need to tell everyone my life story. Get in line.

*The food is mostly shit. Especially in a place called Maumelle. You know what your surrounding food is. David’s Burgers(Five Guys evil twin). Zaxby’s(KFC’s fucked up brother), McDonalds, IHop, Firehouse Subs(Subway’s demented cousin) and 2-3 Mexican places and shitty pizza joints. Your one truly good restaurant, Cheers, doesn’t know your fucking name and is crazy expensive. There are a few other places to eat that you won’t feel like some personal space with a toilet is out of the question later, but overall, it sucks.

*There is no hockey. People don’t even know what hockey is. They need to work on that.

*They don’t treat the roads during snow storms or freezing rain servings. Seriously, they shut the city down and call it. Like a rain shower dropping on a baseball field and the umps don’t even treat the field or anything. I am from St. Louis, where snow and ice are frequent and the roads are treated with salt and plowed. Down here, they do nothing. Sorry for all the people that actually have to drive to work. Get some ice skates or a sled.

*That no hockey thing….yeah..Fox Sports Midwest Blues hockey is blacked out down here.

Every place has its drawbacks, but the good thing is the more I look around the better things get. ARK can produce a fine sunset and has several good parks to run through. The people are nice. Too nice. Waffle House has grown on me so that is nice. There is good food. You just have to drive to it. So there isn’t all misery down here. It’s not as good as the Lou.

The important thing is I am fine. A year ago I wasn’t. My wife and I are happier than ever even though we bicker like Italians. My son and I get to spend a lot of time together. My writing is reaching new areas that are bringing me notoriety. Thing are good and they have gotten that way due to hard work and introspection.

For future re-locators, I have this advice. Keep it and store it or toss it into the infinite abyss of unneeded knowledge. It’s recycled through my experience but that doesn’t make it any less real or poignant. If you have to move or relocate to someplace completely different, give it time before you lose your shit completely. It’s okay to panic, as long as your feet are touching the ground and insanity doesn’t enter your mind. Know that every place has something for you, no matter how gray it seems at first. Trust me. It gets better.

Or you can always adopt Winston Churchill’s advice.

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

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Little Rock isn’t hell to me yet, but it’s not St. Louis. Not even close. However, these days, I am just fine.

The Perfect Nap

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The bed is right there, literally asking you to dance. It’s 65 degrees outside so the air conditioning isn’t needed but the heat won’t help you either if you get too chilly. You open the windows and let the sounds of the outside world carry you into a relaxed state. It’s nap time.

That time where everything stops. Slows down for a moment. The brain can recharge or brainstorm erratic futures via the dream stage. Some of the best parts of my life have been those exhausted moments right before you crawl into a warm bed and wrap yourself up in the covers. Or you collapse on the couch and roll into it. It takes a few adjustments but eventually the pilot in your cerebral cortex nods at you that comfortable has been found. This is the best. You realize you will actually get to sleep.

The cell phone is set down. The bills that you owe stay folded in the office, locked up because they don’t have legs. The kids are either at daycare, asleep themselves or losing themselves in a movie. The door is bolted and the kid is trusted. It’s better if they are being watched because this will deter from a good nap. Worry and tension aren’t welcome in a warm bed. They are assholes who hold your mind ransom for hours. Let’s say the kid is gone and in good care. It’s just you, the remote, and the cell phone with the bed calling your name.

I have often thought of humans as flawed manually operated computers or cell phones. We can run for a long time but sooner or later a charge will be needed. A rest. I am not talking black coffee or a red bull. I am talking sleep. Shut eye. A snooze. Take the shoes and socks off, get horizontal and drift for a bit. Our minds can only go for so long before they start to fry. Headaches, itchy eyes and blurred vision are all signs of stop fucking around and sleep.

I get 4-5 hours on average per night/day. Sometimes 7-8. It depends. The feeling of sleep deprivation is an apparent one with me. I am a writer, tireless in subjects that I can reach. I have a kid. A wife. I am a stay at home dad. Parents don’t get days off. At least good ones don’t. I cook, clean, care for, write, and clean some more. I drink a lot of coffee. I don’t like sugar but we sleep with each other on occasion via a box of Boston Baked Beans or Skittles. I work out and find fitness wherever I can, like a dog chasing its own reflection on a wall. I don’t stop so when I finally do, it’s epic.

The bed commands my attention. It doesn’t talk back. It just wants to stay warm and a body is needed for that. Like two things coming together for shelter in a storm. You lay down, and attempt to watch something, like 13 minutes of an hour long television show. It’s hopeless but like a child’s bedtime book being acted out by very good looking people. Or you just listen to the outside sounds. Car horns, birds, kids playing close by or the wind whipping around the building. Soundtracks aren’t hard to find once you open the windows. The best writers work with the windows open. The best sleep happens then too. You shouldn’t get too comfortable though. There needs to be an edge in your slumber. So when you do fall, you fall hard and sudden.

You wake up and it could be the year 2030 with World War III going on outside. Whatever it is, you’ll deal with it after your first cup of coffee is being downloaded into your system, like a computer taking time to reboot after an improper shutdown sequence.

No matter what happens, you will feel better. The body is charged. The mood is improving. You may want more sleep, but the more you do the more awake you will feel. There will be a push in your steps. Energy is stored so you can access it easily. Water is good. Exercise is fine. Freedom of speech is eternal. Sleep is required to fully function. It could be a small or large amount. When you get it, you know it. There’s good sleep and there’s tossing and turning.

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Do yourself and the others around you a favor and find some good sleep. Take the perfect nap.

Buffa’s Beer Stop: Farmhouse Tank 7

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Since everybody is in a Kansas City state of mind with the Royals winning the World Series last week, I thought I’d toss out a delicious Kansas City beer. Sometimes, Budweiser and Miller Lite don’t do the trick and you need a truly unique brew to tide you over a rough Thursday. Something to make Friday seem a little closer. That beer this week is Farmhouse Tank 7, a special production from the Boulevard folks in KC. Check it out.

Carrying an alcohol percentage of 8.5 percent, which is enough to knock you down but not out, Tank 7 comes in 16 ounce bottles and a four pack at most neighborhood stores. When Boulevard’s brewers were testing out new formulas for a Belgian Farmhouse Ale, they created this beast. You could it accidental, but Tank 7 is a different kind of beer. When you first take a sip, a combination of fruits surfaces before a dry hoppy finish sends you well on your way to the pull. Think of Rogue Dead Guy ale, but with more attitude in its finish.

While Tank 7 may be a bit pricey at 10 dollars for a four pack, the taste elevates the experience and also allows the consumer to need only one or two bottles to do the trick of getting in that feel good mode. You don’t need to surround yourself with beer cans to get the great effect of a buzz. Tank 7 lives up to its name and is worth checking out. It’s got personality, a cool back story and a taste that is unique among what you may consider drink worthy in the 314. Also, you are giving a small nod to the I-70 rival and World Series champion Royals at the same time. Nothing wrong with respect in a bottle that tastes this good.