The Unauthorized Biography of Rosco P. Coltrane

When it's my moment in the sun, I won't forget that I am blessed, but every hero walks alone, thinking of more things to confess

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Location: Owensboro, Kentucky, United States


Thursday, October 05, 2006

Why I Feel Sorry For T.O.

I quote T.O. (Terrell Owens) a lot. Not a lot, but, in jest, I quote one of his dumbest and funniest sound bites.

"I love me some me!"

It is even the tongue-in-cheek name of one of my many fantasy football teams.

I have always thought that T.O. was one of the hardest playing football players from whistle to whistle in the NFL. By far the best wide receiver in the game. He is a beast. A physical specimen. But he is also the biggest pain in the ass in a league filled with pains in the ass.

But after the events of the past week, and his did-he-or-didn't-he suicide attempt, I really began to feel sorry for T.O. Sure, I knew about his abusive childhood and bad attitude. And while the news filtered out about his "suicide attempt," my opinion swayed from thinking it was true to thinking it was a publicity stunt to thinking that it was just something that got overblown. But when his publicist came out and said that T.O. was not depressed and had "25 millions reasons to live," I began to pity T.O.

What a sad commentary on someone's life. How can five words convey so much sadness in someone's life. The emptiness he must feel. The shallowness of his heart. Those five little words make me pity T.O. Sure, he is rich and famous, but if his life is simply about attention and money the only thing I can do is feel sorry for him.

I don't know, I guess I could begin to count all the reasons why I enjoy my life. I am sure of only two things. I am pretty sure I couldn't count 25 million reasons why and I know none of those reasons would have to do with money.

There is getting a hot chocolate at over air-conditioned and sub-zero Starbucks in town. There is Justin and Shelli asking me where I have been and why they haven't got any "Lafe Time" lately. There is pint night. There is that first song that they play at church, when the high hat is keeping the beat and the first notes on the electric guitar are being played that tells everyone it is time to worship. There are hugs from the kids at the Greenhouse and trying to simultaneously stop Rachel Joy from crying after her mom leaves and wipe her nose. These is that anticipation when I am finishing reading a book. There is waving to other Jeep drivers. There is figuring out a difficult problem. There are getting MP3's of my best friend's new song. There are unexpected phone calls and emails.

I could go on and on and on.

T.O. can afford any luxury in the world, but he can't buy a life like mine for 25 million dollars. This old world might say T.O. is so much more wealthier than me, and he is, but he is so much poorer...

Monday, October 02, 2006

The Pasgetti Monster


I spent a lot of quality time with little Reed when I was back home. The first morning I was home, I ran over to wake him up. He was sleeping in that funny little position that little kids always seem to sleep in. His butt was sticking straight in the air. He wasn’t quite sure who this dude was waking him up. He was pretty hesitant at first. After I scared him once, he began to warm up to me. When Jodi was warming up her car and getting ready for the day, Reed and I were jamming to Death Cab For Cutie with my headphones as I was feeding him his bottle.

When I got back from Utah, he was at the house for pretty much the entire weekend. On Saturday night, Mom issued an ultimatum: Reed was going to spend the night and my dad and I better be there to play with him. So, after a bit of a nap, I woke up to find my dad and Reed sitting in the living room watching Scarface, the wholesome family movie that it is. I went over and laid down next to Reed and said “HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND!!!”

At dinnertime, I learned that I had to put Reed’s spaghetti in the freezer to cool it off a bit. After laying down a tarp beneath his high chair, he began to suck his spaghetti with the power of an Oreck vacuum cleaner. The sound that he made would have been considered offensive if it weren’t so cute.