They were Bloggers once........

All good things must come to an end. That almost implies that if it's bad, you're stuck with it forever. Death and taxes so far have held to that implication with great success so far. One thing that seems to hold equally true in life is the "phases" we all go thru, those different periods in our lives when something holds our interest for a certain duration, and then we drop it and move onto something different. No matter how dedicated, or fanatical we may become in certain endeavors, it seems that ultimately boredom will set in and doom that particular undertaking to that "what was I thinking" period that we like to file away and forget. Disco is one of those fleeting moments in many people's lives that became a religion for the moment, an embarrassment in retrospect. Of course, yours truly will never admit to having fallen victim to that particular little fling, but I was there in the midst of it, it happened, you guys all loved it, be honest and admit it. No, don't defend it, don't tell me how wonderful it all was, how much fun it was and how fulfilling it was, just admit to it and move on. You punk rockers, wipe that smug smile off your face; that was a travesty as well.

Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone. I don't have a leg to stand on here. I flew model rockets. I flew these things in serious competition, and set records. As an adult. I could defend having done it, having spent the money, the time, the gas money driving to championships, having been President of the NASA Houston chapter of the National Association of Rocketry, and yes, lobbing eggs into the sky to see if they could be recovered unbroken. What WAS I thinking? Who knows, I was relatively young, and I did relatively dumb things in my youth. If I had to do it all over again, would I? I wish I could answer that. It was friggin fun at the time!

For a period after my first divorce and my second marriage, I was a karaoke fanatic. Just like those clueless individuals who show up at the American Idol auditions and cause us real physical pain, I somehow got this idea that I could actually carry a tune. I got so addicted to it I was going out every damn night, getting up on that stage every chance I could trying out new songs. Well, maybe the more they drank, the better I sounded, but whatever the truth of the matter was, it was their own damn faults........they clapped, they cheered, complete strangers would stop me in a store aisle and ask me if I was that singer at Attitudes. Having listened to recordings of my singing, I have to ask the question; What in the HELL were THEY thinking? Still, fame is fame. Even if it's better described as infamy.

I have done many things I am proud of to this very day. I served my country onboard a nuclear fast attack submarine, during an invisible war that not much people knew anything about. I lived in Alaska when it was still cold, and hiked a fair number of miles in the middle of Denali National Park, and watched as North America's tallest mountain stood in all it's majesty on a clear summer day.


I rode cheap taxi's thru the streets of Lisbon, Portugal, and spent a few memorable nights with very beautiful lady who didn't speak English, but spoke another language quite well. I snorkeled in La Jolla Bay and the clear waters of St Thomas, Virgin Islands, and drove a van on the wrong side of the road, which isn't easy when all your instincts are shouting at you to get to the right. It watched a movie at an outdoor theatre in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and was so happy to only be visiting. I survived a monster hurricane as a child and learned first hand just how pitiful mankind can be at the mercy of nature. And I watched as Ed Sullivan introduced the Fab Four to America in all their black-and-white glory on a grainy little television set.

Nowadays, as I struggle with life by the side of my loving wife, about the only obsession I have left to me is this blog. If times weren't so tough, I imagine I would be doing other things, like taking vacations to places I haven't seen before, building furniture of my own design in a woodshop, perhaps hang gliding off a mountainside, because I would be living in the mountains, not on this god-forsaken acre of sand in hot and humid Florida. But, I'm not, and I'm not sure I ever will. So, for now, for the cost of an internet connection and my still active imagination, I take trips thru the universe on this Imac, via this thing called Madness, Musings, and Melancholy. It may not be much, but it's mine.


I have watched in dismay as several of the best minds I have tapped into drop off the scope, heading off in new directions, their lives either having taken a turn for the worse, or the better. Those that have found something better to do with their spare time, well, I do not blame them for their good fortune. I wish them the best. I suspect in due time, this blog will for some reason or another, good or bad, fall by the wayside and THE Michael will become just another one of those "things" you did during that period of your life when there seemed to be nothing better to do. I hope I'm not remembered that way, exactly. I hope I am missed. Like I'm missing Shandi and Terri right now.