Toddler Fight Club Tests the Doctor's Joke Limits!

I recently got wind of the Toddler Fight Club story the same way I get all my news: from Facebook.  Apparently some daycare workers made toddlers fight one another for sport.  I quickly wrote a blog post in my head that was full of sick humor, starting off with saying how if the story leaked, someone involved must have broken the first rule of Toddler Fight Club.  The jokes I wrote only got more in depth and sick from there . . .

Then I read the story.  I love kids so I got a little angry and nauseous when I read about these sick individuals doing something so heinous with children they were trusted with taking care of.  I have written about all kinds of things on this rag through out the years, but even I couldn't joke about this one.  I had to scrap the blog post.  

Sorry, readers.  I guess I'm getting soft . . .

How about you?  Any blogs you guys almost wrote or jokes you had to stop yourself from making?

I'm Not Rob Anymore!

I have been putting off a lot of things because I'm moving in a couple weeks.  I'm not buying a lot of groceries and I'm not ordering anything to this apartment, which means I haven't ordered a new book to read.  A friend was over and gave me back my copy of "High Fidelity" by Nick Honrny, and while I am not even sure it is, in fact, my copy, I decided to give it another read. 

It's still a very funny and insightful book, but I can't fully relate to Rob, the protagonist, anymore.  There was a time, not long after I read it, where I was him, and most people who knew me would agree.  I was way too interested in rock music to a snobbish degree, I actually worked in a record store for a long time, and I got miserable over failed relationships and played sad songs until I cried.

I'm not that guy anymore.  I'm not Rob!

Even the last relationship I got out of, I was really hurt (even if it was painfully obvious to everyone around me that it was the wrong woman for me), but I bounced back beautifully.  I took all the right steps: Never called her again, cut off all mutual friends, work out like an animal, and got right back into the game with other women to feel good again as quickly as possible.

What I did 5 years prior was more like what Rob would have done: Wallow in self pitty spinning Smiths records, keep trying to figure out what went wrong, feel inadequate about myself in every way imaginable, and let it affect my personal and professional life to a marked degree.

Now look at me.  I'm getting my own place with the woman I love, leaving this frat house with the four roommates behind, I love my job and it's going great, I'm staying in shape - and at 35-years-old (the same age as Rob in the book), I'm finally an adult.  I should have been this guy when I was 27, but I have no regrets.  I grew up one way or another and I've had this blog full of goofy tales to mark my progress, albeit a slow process.  Thanks for reading those of you who have been along for the ride, and expect more grown-up style writing to come and some goofy stuff too  . . . I still gotta be me!

Getting My Grown Man On

I was working with a group of inner city Black kids last week, and they were all talking about going to clubs. One kid asked if I went to clubs, and I explained to him that I don't like going all the way downtown to a place where I have to wait in line, and then they won't let me in because I have jeans and Chucks on. I really don't like people telling me how to dress. He said to me, "Come on! You gotta get your grown man on."

I was called out by a kid half my age who was thrown out of his high school.

Well, today I got some really nice pants to wear to work in an attempt to get the grown man on in the twenty-ten.