Rich people stuff.

Is it cool, a day after Christmas, to post about all the stuff you got for Christmas? I'm gonna do it anyway.

Mostly, I got some socks and undershirts, an pretty awesome green sweater, various gift cards and the like. But I also came away with some cool, rich-people stuff.

The highlights:

* A Swiss Army knife. I'm not sure the exact model, but it has a large blade, a small blade, a can opener, bottle opener, a phillip's head screwdriver and a leather punch/sewing deal.

Oddly enough, I've never had a Swiss Army knife before. And I have a few knives, yes. Maybe this isn't rich people stuff, but it's totally nice because cutting loose strings my co-workers' sleeves was getting scary with this.

* A Nixon Private. If you know me, you know I like watches. This one is huge and all black and super SEXY! Congratulations me.

* A fancy-ass Chrome riding jacket. Aside from being made for bike riders (and I ride, some), this jacket just looks cool.

I know Christmas is not about getting stuff (or even giving stuff, really), but I do(seriously and truly) appreciate everything I got. No joke.

So, thanks and love to you.

Of broken toes

I broke my toe.

First: No, I didn't stub it on the couch. I kicked a guy's foot. OK, it wasn't an actual kick, it was more like his foot and my foot crunching up against each other accidentally. Actually, it was more my toes (toe, singular, rather, the fourth one on the left foot, that little piggy, there), crunching up against his foot. Or something like that, I wasn't really watching. Not the point.

Point is: It hurts. It hurts more now than it did when it happened. Which is why I walked around on it for a full week before deciding to see the doctor. It didn't turn black and blue, really, which I was waiting for. And there was no crazy swelling (at least not at first). So, as a man (male of the species) I figured it was fine. Maybe I jammed it hard, which though painful, isn't a medical condition worthy of a doctor's visit. Then, round 'bout yesterday morning, when I woke up at 5 a.m. with a dull sort of foot ache, I decided I should probably at least get it checked out. What if it was dislocated? A $20 copay is worth some piece of mind, right?

So, this morning: I go to the doctor, to the X-Ray tech, then back to the doctor who says "yep, there you are," then shows me on the X-ray a nice little zig-zag crack across the fourth toe, left foot. Actually, thinking about it now makes me a bit queasy. It hurts.

And what does he do?: What everyone knows they do with broken toes. He tapes it up. He straps it to the next functioning toe and sends me on my merry way, which is apprapo, I guess, this being Christmas eve and all. There was no setting it back in place. No tiny toe cast. No pain meds. Just some clear tape and a "take it easy on that foot for awhile."

This is the first bone I've broken since the seventh grade and truthfully, I feel a bit gypped.

For the first time in my life

So, there is this video of a performance I did on Friday night as part of the Beehive's Four Year Anniversary. It went terribly awry. I haven't watched the video, so I'm not sure how it looks from an outside perspective, but it felt pretty f'in crappy. I don't play electic guitar as a rule, so when the guitar wasn't making any noise, I should have taken it for a sign. When the it finally kicked on and was terribly out of tune, I should have run for the hills. But, like a true performer, I trudged through it, only to be heckled by rabid Patrick Contreras fans. Ouch! Not that I blame them. And in truth, there is something to be learned from an event like this. It's called humility. It's good to get knocked down a peg or two every now and again, to realize you are not as funny or talented, or prepared, as you thought you were. What's the old saying ... what doesn't kill you? I'm stronger now. So, there.

My winter cough

It's funny how short my memory can be. Like, I forgot that just last year I had a hacking cough that wouldn't go away and spent the better part of January eating Fisherman's Friends like candy. Or, that the same cough has been with me since highschool. It's how my friends knew I was in the room.

"AhHack!"

"Hey Josh."

When I started coughing last week, it was like it was happening for the first time ever.

From class reunions

The thing you learn from going to your 10-year (or 11-year) class reunion is:

* People get old, quick. I don't mean in that I-used-to-play-football-but-now-I-have-a-desk-job-so-all-that-muscle-turned-to-fat-and-gave-me-a-big-ole-fat-face way. This is more a matter of spirit. These people have resigned to act their age. Whatever that means. Marriage and kids and soccer, from the looks of it. Terrible haircuts and too much makeup for the ladies. Button down shirts (top three buttons open and roll up to the elbow) and expensive jeans for the dudes. Joining the Lions Clubs or some shit. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective, but if that's how old I'm supposed to be, I don't feel my age.

* We're all the same. All that crap that separted us in highschool doesn't really matter at a certain point. All the cliques and ego, it all sort of goes away. We all get humbled, I think, and can finally relate to each other on an even level. Now, that doesn't mean some people aren't idiots still. It just means they're idiocy doesn't have the power it used to. Realizing that can be a liberating thing.