Nerd-Rage.

Fair warning: Directly following this line is where I am going to going to have a little meltdown. Again, consider this fair warning, the nerd-rage is imminent.

Last week, having run out nonsensical of things to Google, I decided it would be most productive to stream episodes of Firefly whilst I played Tetris. I had heard tell vague praises about its level of awesome, but nothing much aside from it having spawned the movie Serenity and a large, fairly rabid, fan base. I watched, getting more and more addicted with each installment. When I came upon the last episode in the first season I noticed the site contained no links leading to the second. I began searching. My beloved Google was not turning up what I required. It turns out I will be searching for a while, because there is no second season.

An almost uncanny reenactment of my finding out that Fox canceled Firefly before the 2nd season. Right down to the mustache and blue leisure suit:

About 8 years late, I am feeling what every other nerd was feeling back in ‘03: a whole lot of rage accompanied by bewildering shock. Being behind the curve has not caused the pain to dissipate any faster. It seems that terrible fan fiction and irate message board/forum postings is where my fellow sci-fi fiends go to grieve. Seeing as I haven’t scraped the bottom of the barrel and begun penning fan fiction yet I figured I would use blogging as my message board to communicate said displeasure.

To the powers that be: What in the hell are you people doing up there? Stop casting another spin off of Rock of Love and do your jobs! And by “do your jobs” I mean: consult with Jaimie and the panel of nerds she holds congress with; so as not to crush our souls into the dirt when you make such grossly inappropriate decisions regarding our television viewing. Fer god’s sake! What the hell is being an American even worth/good for/about if I cannot live in the peace and reassurance that my favorite shows will not be canceled hither and yon at the whimsy of some a-hole CEO.

The Bachelor has been running for a good 45 seasons, inspired just under 4 dozen spin offs, and a continuous string of “the most dramatic rose ceremony”s ever that are mind-numbing in their sameness. All of this with a fluctuation of the same 8 viewers. Do the math. That is crap. Hell, if you took all the money that has gone into implants, teeth whitening, and booze on that one show you could fund a personal reenactment of Firefly on my front lawn starring the original cast and crew. Actually that isn’t such a bad idea. Let’s do that.

[Pausing for effect and a phone call from Nathan Fillion to iron out scheduling conflicts]

Yes, yes, I am taking this very hard. There are many more injustices in the world that outpace my show being canceled (and 8 years before I even know about it), but I am hard pressed to specifically name one. The Firefly debacle wouldn’t be so brutal if I had not been smacked in the mouth with an announcement that Caprica had also, more recently, been canned. So basically this is just a case of the big guy picking on the lesser known, emotionally handicapped fan in Seattle. I could only be angrier if I were Joss Whendon himself, and if you need to ask who that is you probably need a translator for the rest of this blog.

I am not a “Screw the man!” kind of person, but these (relatively) recent incidents of blatant disregard for sci-fi fans have embittered me greatly. Is there a support group someone can point me towards? Therapy doesn’t count either. I need a place to cry that I don’t have to pay by the hour and that provides free donuts and coffee after.

Moral of the Story:

If the world revolved around me, as per my request, travesties like this wouldn’t happen. Just sayin’.

Also, Nathan Fillion, call me. I’ve got next weekend open.

The Yoga Is A Lie.

I am laying here on my couch. Unable to do much beyond a short list of things that requires very little effort:

• Breathing
• Panting
• Watching two seasons of Community on my laptop
• Writing stupid blogs
• Oh, and whining/whimpering anytime I have to make use of motor skills

This is what New Year’s resolutions and a yoga class have done to me. My friend Holly extended the invitation and I went thinking it would be all seren-ness and mostly lying on the ground finding my center/chi/happy place or whatever. I should have taken into consideration that if Holly can perform an activity with so much joy and minimal effort it probably means my body will shut down from fatigue just under 8 minutes in.

Holly is a woman that religiously gets up at 4 a.m. and heads to the gym before work.That is just crazy talk. My jealousy of her discipline aside, she is clearly in better shape than I am and I should have understand that our bodies don’t operate on the same levels. Mostly because she treats hers like a temple and I eat a lot of bacon. See the disconnect?

When I walked into the studio with my yoga mat; yes, I have my own for God knows what reason. The instructor took one look at me and asked in a genuinely concerned tone “Is this your first time doing yoga?!?” I nodded yes. Which is not totally true, but I didn't want to explain that it had been five years since my last involvement. “GREAT! You are going to love it!” she said. What a liar.

The experience started off deceptively beautiful. Full of slow movements and graceful (read: easy for Jaimie to accomplish) poses. Then somewhere BAM! fast moving (read: faster than Jaimie wanted to move) and distressing (read: More physical activity than Jaimie has partaken of in more than a decade) poses. I am honestly surprised I didn’t lose consciousness.

Holly was all:



And I was all:

And the instructor was all:

And my body was all:

In reality, the probability is high that I blacked out. Simply put, there is no way my body made it through the class. I'm sure the instructor had seen this type thing before. The out-of-shape newbie does too much too soon running headlong into a resolution she made New Years Eve with the aid of copious amounts of champagne. Evidently champagne initiates a belief that no matter how much fast food you have consumed nor how ridiculous your bacon to veggie ratio is you can perform on par with someone that actually cares for their body. Weird. Being the kind and considerate individuals they were I am sure I was checked for bleeding and then laid back down my precious yoga mat; allowed to regain awareness on my own. Thereby saving what little self-esteem I had in the bank.

The moral of this story: Considering hanging out with people at your level of un-fitness or below. It makes life simpler and potentially less painful; if you can’t help yourself, find someone like Holly. Even if you are forced to work out, she will probably cook something amazing later to make up for it. Oh! and don’t make stupid resolutions you know damn well aren’t going to happen. If you render yourself a paraplegic trying to be a bad ass you can kiss the resolution making goodbye. Well at least the ones that don’t require one of those wheel chairs that are voice/breath activated.

In the words of Jeff Winger from Community

“I don’t say this often, but dream a little smaller.”

Since...

A year ago, I came home after Joey's memorial and sat in my house for a good 5 weeks. No showering. No cleaning. No normal humanity. Plenty of weeping. More than enough. Sometimes I would just sit in my living room, wearing one of his huge t-shirts and watch 300 and sob. Who am I kidding? I still do that…

Joey would think it was pretty funny that I cry after I see any movie that has large explosions/awesome fight scenes/aliens of any kind. District 9: cried like a baby. Predators: cried like a baby. Star Wars: cry like a baby. I don’t know if anyone else is sensing a pattern here…

I am sure that there are people who are tired of hearing me grieve for my little brother. “Give it a rest already”, some have probably thought. To be honest, I am weary of it too. Because every moment I spend in grieving is one more moment I also spend in a world where my family never be whole…

“Every minute of life since then has been marked by his absence. Every action has lacked dimension because he is not here to measure it against.”

Today is a 365 days since…
8765 hours since...
A newborn, red-headed nephew that is a namesake since…
An epic out pour of love and support from SO many people in so many places since…
40ish tattoos on bodies all over the world since…
4 times I have called my mother and sobbed in the phone at 3 in the morning since…
A retired football jersey since…
“10 More Yards” spoken daily, sometimes more, since…
More heart break than should be legal since…

Life is a beautiful wonder of strange things. It is hard to balance so much sorrow with so many miraculous and incredible points of light on a day-to-day basis. I hurt on an almost implausible level, but I am so blessed even then.

I miss your face papi. All day. Every day.

Ten More Yards...

The Depth of It.

I guess I am doing this as an outlet. As a place to mourn my brother, Joey. A place to say how much it hurts and to find some comfort in talking about him. In showing my humanity and brokenness I hope that someone, somewhere understands the depth of my grief and the love that I have for my brother, no matter if he is here to love physically, or if I have wait it out and hug his neck on the other side.

My brother Joey was a good man. He was an 18-year-old football player. He was a Star Wars nerd at heart. He was the soft, silent, kindness in our family. Too much life was left ahead of this man to be taken so soon.

I find it hard to say that Joey is dead. I choose instead to say "When Joey left." because to me, that is easier to grasp than the reality that my brother does not draw breath on this earth any more. It is easier than dragging my ass out of bed knowing that my family is not whole if I do something as simple as changing my phrasing. I am hard headed even when it doesn't make any sense. There are some things I don't feel like accepting so I just won't. For now.

I am told that one day this won't hurt as much. That my heart won't break repeatedly in a 24 hour period, but until then I take the grief and I will carry it. That man is worth every second I feel like my heart will fall out. Every. Single. Painful. Moment.

I am grateful for the years I did get, abbreviated as they were, because at least it was something.

The night before Joey left, he had a good day. A really good day. He went out to eat with our brother Ben and two of their best friends. Everyone went back to the house and watched a movie. Everyone said "goodnight"s, "love you"s, and "see you tomorrow"s. Joey went to sleep healthy. As far as he was concerned he got to wake up the next morning to show off his new State Championship ring. He would wake up to his see his beautiful girlfriend, Anna sometime that week. He would wake up to a good life. He had it going on. He had it all before him.

Joey never woke up.

And that morning, from the moment Ben walked in the room and found him we would all spiral into a pain that we would be staggered by. One that rises to the surface with every breath we take.

Knowing all that we hurt. All that we suffer. All that we bear. I wouldn't change it for the world. If Joey had to go. This was the way. Without pain and without knowledge. He never hurt and he never had time to question. He had the best year of his life. He had a great day with his friends... and then he was gone. I acquiesce to every laceration of memory because if him being happy right until the end meant that we had to hurt that much more now, I'll take it. Everyday for the rest of my life, I will take it.

Joey, you are worth every second. I love you papi. Ten more yards...