Modern Farming

I do not currently have any new pics to write about so I have been scouring my hard drive to dig up anything I find remotely interesting. this is something I found.

Rock out

Some people are born to certain things. Some are born to lead, some to follow. Others are born to work, while more are born lazy. Some, a very select few that includes myself are born to Rock. It isn’t something learned or earned, it just is. Now some people rock with their gift for the guitar, drums, or vocals. Some write lyrics that change generations. Myself, I can pick up virtually any plastic guitar and turn it into rock history. When I first set my hands on this one I didn’t know what awaited me, but I did know it was only the first of many. I ended up, as most of you know, rocking wireless guitar hero controllers in ways no one could’ve anticipated. They said you couldn’t play “Bark at the Moon” whilst executing a chair dive. Or nail the solo in “Hotel California” in the midst of a powerslide Van Halen only dreams about. I did.

Dumb Dog.

This animal is smart for being so stupid. He shows remarkable capacity to learn new things, and even a larger capacity to forget them if they are not properly backed by bribes. Example: I tried to get him to sit for nearly a year with no luck, it took all of 30 minutes once a treat was given every single time. He has been very bad about accidents until recently. We started making sure he was taken out on a schedule, he would sometimes go to the bathroom, sometimes not, and sometimes not go outside come in side disappear for a minute and I would find a problem shortly after. So kaje started giving him treats, one per evacuation. It took him about a day to go whenever we took him out and he is finally letting us know when he needs to go. However, we are finding that if he goes outside and gets his treats, if he then goes more than a half hour inside with no treat he makes us take him outside, walks to the spot he uses lifts his leg just long enough to show us he made an effort of it and runs back for a treat. Everyone abuses the system.

Hot? Of course.

Fashion, I’m all about that stuff. Accessories, I’m totally into them. So when the opportunity presented itself for me to get an earring I thought to myself, “it wouldn’t be right to deprive the world of seeing me accented by an earring.” So there you have it. I find the jewel to be simple and elegant while remaining playful and aloof. You know, it reflects me. It’s not everyday that a man can look this good, you’re welcome.

Ok, so after posting that story I went digging through a bunch of old stuff and I found this. I wrote this for college class and havent even looked at it since. I remember the basic plot but didn't re-read it. I have no idea how many mistakes are in it, or how bad it is, but I haven't had any good pics lately so here is another story. One thing on the pic however, I wrote this story more than for years ago and tonight i type in "man by car" it was like the forth pic and is almost exactly right. on here is the story.

The car moved at a quick pace towards its much feared destination. The driver tapped his hands rhythmically, though no music was playing. Frank, a man about twenty-nine years old with premature wrinkles, was headed to his hometown. His hometown was a place that he had not seen for many years, partly due to his job but mostly to do with his fear. However, with the insistence of his wife, he was finally on his way home to make peace with an old friend.

Frank had wanted to do this for years, but he always managed to find an excuse to keep him from confronting the problem. “What’s the point anyway? After this long it doesn’t even matter anymore,” he told himself. He knew, though, that he would never be able to make peace with himself until he did so with his best friend. Though Frank was not embittered against his long-time friend, he still had trouble facing him after all he had done.

As he drew nearer to his destination the rhythmic beat increased in speed and severity until the tips of his fingers were numb. Frank was far too concerned with his reunion with his friend to notice. As Frank removed his foot from the gas petal, eased in the clutch of his ‘65 candy apple red mustang, and let his foot sink slowly and methodically onto the break, he felt his heart sink in time. He had underestimated the weight of the meeting and now felt himself nearly in the throes of an anxiety attack.

As the anxiety crept over him he spotted his friend at the mouth of a path near the end of the stone parking lot. This startled Frank for a moment, but he quickly dismissed the feeling. Frank placed his foot on the otherwise empty stone lot and began the long slow walk towards his friend. Frank walked like a condemned man would walk from his cell to the end of a death row sentence. He was terrified of the man, at this point standing only ten feet away from him, not because of what the other man might to do him, but because of his own shame.

Much to the surprise of Frank and the heavy air that came with him, his twenty-five year old friend rushed at him greeting him with a very familiar handshake and the sort of side hug males give one another. This friendly gesture lightened the air and Frank’s mood. In fact, Frank had all but forgotten his fear.

In a voice that would find a much better home at a party Frank said, “You haven’t changed a bit Bruce, not a bit.”

Bruce in a much calmer tone replied, “Can’t help what the good Lord gave ya, but what in the world happened to you? You look like a wrinkled old man.”

“Two kids and a wife will do that to you.”

“A WHAT?!? You got married?”

“Yeah, I guess I was gone for a long time, huh?”

The men shared a few long overdue laughs and started slowly down a long gravel path. As Frank began to fill Bruce in on all that happened in the many years he was gone, a field slowly came into view on the horizon. As they drew nearer to the field two silhouettes became faintly visible. Frank finally became aware of the two small figures that were now not so far away from the two men. It brought him back to the real reason he was there. The heavy air of his guilt was contending with its lighter counterpart brought by their friendship. In the end Frank knew that he had to do what he came for.

As the men got closer they clearly saw two boys hitting golf balls out into a field. The field’s driving range potential was not nearly met because the young boys could only manage to hit the balls about ten yards out, with well over a mile at their disposal. Bruce looked at the two seven or eight year olds and smiled at the memory.

“You remember this?” Bruce said smiling at the two boys.

“Of course I do, but apparently you forgot what happens next,” Frank replied letting out a deep sigh, in an attempt to let his shame escape with his breath.

“Come on now, we had fun that whole da…”

Before Bruce could finish he was cut off by the sharp crack of a golf club striking one of the boys in the head. The two grown men winced at the impact. The boy that was struck fell to the ground crying, while the boy who struck him quickly ran away scared by the other boy’s screaming. At this sight Frank turned around and headed quickly back down the path. Bruce followed, jogging a little to catch up.

“What’s wrong Frank?”

“What do you mean what’s wrong? I can’t believe I did that to you,” Frank said obviously frustrated with his own cowardice.

“Come on, we were kids, I would’ve run too, it isn’t like you tried to hit me.”

“Yeah, but I just left you there because I was scared, and I never even apologized for it.”

“You didn’t need to. It wasn’t a big deal then and it surely isn’t now. Lighten up a little bit.”

Frank’s eyes started to tear up because of the shame he felt. To stop this very non-masculine display of emotion in front of his friend, he drove his fist forcefully into his thigh, successfully quelling his sadness.

“It’s not like that was a one time thing though, do you remember when I blamed that church window I broke on you?” Frank said with a hint of frustration in his slightly raised voice.

“Well it was technically my foot that broke the window,” Bruce replied looking up into the baby blue sky in an attempt to recall with clarity what transpired.

“Because I pushed you into it,” Frank replied.

In the distance a large gloomy brick building became visible. The men seemed to be getting closer to it much faster than physics should allow.

“That wasn’t a big deal either. We were what? Twelve? I would’ve done the same if my parents were as crazy as yours were, Frank.”

As the two men reached the outside of the building Frank hesitantly opened the large steel door, and the two entered into the old high school.

“I know you could not have forgiven me for this.” Frank said, his voice filled with shame and regret.

Bruce and Frank saw a shaggy-haired freshmen rummaging through his far too messy locker as another clean cut strong young man approached, holding the hand of a beautiful black haired young woman. At the very sight of this Frank cringed and sank back away from Bruce slightly. The girl relinquished her grip on the clean cut young man to stop and talk with the bushy-haired boy. The clean cut young man stopped for a moment, then looked at the clock to remind himself and the others that he would be late for class. The bushy-haired boy and the beautiful young girl obviously had this period off and started walking towards the two older men. Paying them no attention they rounded the corner and after some giggling, as high school girls often engage in, the two began fervently kissing one another.

Not too long into this little make-out session the clean cut boy, realizing he left his notebook with his girlfriend, rounded the corner catching his friend in the act. The boy did not explode with anger, as freshmen boys often do, rather he looked at the two with disappointment, and wondered how they could betray him. The sight of the young man nearly allowed the sadness in Frank to get the better of him, but two tightly clenched fists and a slightly bruised thigh made sure he kept his manly composure. Almost whispering Frank said, “How could I do that to you?”

 “You were my best friend and I just constantly hurt you,” Frank pleaded slightly louder. Now Frank’s voice was just below a yell and he became angry, “I hurt you, tried to take everything you worked for and I never even apologized! I know you hate me, and I don’t deserve to be forgi..”

Bruce cut in with a stern voice, “ENOUGH! Honestly, I never hated you, I don’t hate you, and I always forgave you.” Regaining composure and calming his voice Bruce continued, “We were freshmen in high school, more hormones than people. Yeah I was mad then, but I got over it. I never held it against you. So for the LOVE OF GOD stop holding it against yourself.”

At this Frank sunk away feeling a mix of relief and a bit of shame for not trusting in his friend’s kindness. “Thank you.”

The two men walked towards a door at the opposite end of the hallway.

“You don’t need to thank me Frank, I’m your friend. Besides it seems to me that you have a very selective memory. What about all the fun stuff? Like when we found out a station wagon can do more than one consecutive donut? Or that the sight of a snake really does make your sister throw up?” Bruce opened the door and the two men started slowly down an unfinished wooden staircase with no railings. “I know you couldn’t have forgotten about this.”

As the two friends got to the bottom of the staircase they saw that the whole basement was covered in a combination of orange Hot Wheels tracks and black and white domino tiles.

Frank laughed slightly and cracked a half-hearted smile for the first time saying, “How could I forget, one hundred and seventy-fou…”

Bruce cut in and said, “Seventy-five.”

“Oh sorry, one hundred and seventy-five pieces of track, four hundred and thirty-three dominos, and two die cast Ford mustangs.”

Two young boys rushed down the stairs behind the men and got ready to set off the combination Hot Wheels domino contraption they spent the better part of three days creating. Frank kneeled down and picked up the mustang with the candy apple red finish and black racing stripes.

He let his eyes stay shut for a moment and said to himself, “This one always was your favorite.”

When Frank opened his eyes again he found himself back outside, with the warm sun beating down on his back and a cool air brushing up against his face. He took the tiny car and set it on a headstone that read “Bruce Davis: Son, Brother, and Friend 1976-2001.”

Frank then stood up and wiped the last of those not so masculine tears out of his eyes, and whispered a soft “thank you” to his friend and walked back to his car.