Archive for February, 2005

Life isn’t the car you drive, the suit you wear, the size of your wallet… it’s the amount of lives you’ve touched, people you’ve affected, and what you mean to those individuals. I could be a millionaire but be the ugliest SOB who ever lived and ultimately be meaningless. Or, on the other hand, I could have little more than a big red truck and the clothes on my back but have the knowing, the absolute truth that at least one person in the world thinks something of me, worries about me, appreciates what I do and understands it. Love is a wonderful thing, but by itself is hopeless and without purpose—a love shared, now that can change the world with every growing beat, every strengthening moment. I want nothing for myself but to be needed by others; to be remembered for being something good, or even great: I want to be a good guy.

And if that is what life is, then this is how I would measure it: memories. Your history is what makes you, what defines who you are and the choices you’re going to make. Our entire lives we’re making choices. Life’s measurement can be summarized as the chore of making one decision after another, from first breath to last. Waking up in the morning, putting your clothes on, and eating breakfast are all choices, whether you’re conscious of them or not. You didn’t have to crawl out of bed; you didn’t need to butter that waffle; you don’t have to do anything, but doing something is a choice. The object is then to make more right decisions than bad. At eighty years old, when you ask yourself if you’ve had a good life, the answer will be determined solely by the choices you have made, the memories you carry, the things you’ve done for others…

I’m scared to think how many novels I’ve written to some of my friends, topics ranging from advice, encouragement, reassurance, etc. The affects of the internet, e-mail in particular, on relationships would be an interesting study I think. E-mail and AIM have often become a main form of communication between relatives in other states, friends at different colleges, and even right here on campus.

Time to go watch some more of my brilliant ideas wisp away after hitting the “send” button… I should start charging; hahaha, then we’ll see who my friends really are

“C’mon! That band should say LIVEHUGE!” -Travis

It’s always a new update, the latest upgrade, more functions, features, plugins, themes, all sorts of things that appear innocent but inevitably capture my attention for hours. Tucking myself into bed has been replaced with routine morning crashes, sleeping half the day away and starting all over again that night… or day… what day is it?

I got out today, took a break from web design, blog, school, friends, enemies, everything. Wow, what a wake up call. When you always try and stay ahead of the game, when you plan and prepare for tomorrow so much that you’ve forgotten how to live for today, that’s when something’s gotta change.

I went to a local Gold’s Gym where they were having a power lifting contest. I knew about it from one of the guys I randomly see at our school gym; nice guy, he’s huge too. Not much to say about the event, it’s a room full of no-neck men lifting heavy objects, but somehow the simplicity of it all was beautiful. It was like the classic duel: Man VS Machine. Each lifter would get three chances and would have to either lift the same weight or higher with each round. To see these guys so determined, that crazy look in their eyes, veins bursting, skin taught like plastic wrap on arms bigger than my head; it was awesome. The task was easy to recognize: piles of plates are stacked horizontally on two ends of a bar that rests at your feet and your job, your purpose in life at that particular moment, is to lift those weights off the ground for a bit of time like none other, a short adrenaline-skewed ten seconds that will make you’re entire body sore for the next 3 days. I loved it, I needed to get lost in something other than work and watching a bunch of animals throw around upwards of 755lbs was just the ticket.

Off to bed; the thought of clacking weights and the crowd’s applause will have to due for tonight’s bed time story.

When someone shows up with an old Metallica t-shirt on that he stole from his brother, converse sneakers, faded jeans and a pirate tattoo, you say to yourself now thats what I remember as being cool. A guy who could pull off the trendy look any day of the week but instead chooses to be Detroit Rock City mixed with Iron Maiden cool.

A good friend stopped by this weekend before going to Iraq. We hung out and smoked cigars on my porch…images of Arnold in Predator came to my mind as the fat stub began to burn my finger tips (“Get to the choppaa!). We talked of our plans to conquer the world and all the fools we have run into along the way. Story after story came up which reminded me of our high school days when causing ruckus and looking for chicks were the main motivators. Days of listening to Sabbath while cruising in a two-tone (not by choice) monte carlo with a passenger door that wouldn’t open (requiring great Dukes of Hazzards skills). Those days were cool. Yet, as we were throwing a local gym sign in the back of my truck at 2am in the morning, I realized not much has changed.

As I am now successful and surrounded by Starbucks coffee houses populated by guys wearing flare jeans…I remind myself to remember what cool is. You don’t have to fall into the trap…you can still sport a naked angel tattoo (its not cold in heaven after all) under a new suit as you give presentations to people stuck in the trend.