In the grand scheme of all that is our life, is only a fraction of an interception what we will consider a relationship?

I’ve recently traveled to other countries. Made many friends… friends? For what they’re worth, I don’t know. Do we just share that time for what it is worth, then let time fade the memories that were held so close, to what I would say would be my heart, my life, my dream, I am really living the dream that is to be so worldly…. Different, I know, we all are, but here is where I get confused, when I meet someone and bond with them, I don’t want that to die. I don’t want anything to die.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Bull shit (If the Devil was/is real, its marketing).

What happens on travel, stays in travel? Bull shit.

My memories are my legacy. I don’t want them to die or be cast away into a forgotten realm of my brain. I want to hold them close and remember them daily. Just because the sun sets, doesn’t mean our memories do too.

It has to reoccur.

I want this life — these people to reoccur. Am I the only one that see’s or desires this?

These moments, times, mistakes, flaws, perfections, lies, truths, honors, disgraces… they make us. I want to share all of mine with the people I meet all over the world and not for just a night, not just for a week… not for a brief moment in time. I want to hold these moments close, then make them part of our life.

I’ve been blessed by some power that obviously wants to see me throw it all away with the small mistakes that I make, but losing the people I meet, these memories, these… life changing moments aren’t ones I’m willing to give up without a fight. But the burning question is this:

Why won’t anyone fight with me?

Is not more to our interaction to the rest that I find? Is it just going to be a FaceBook blog or blurb, or a spot on Twitter about this guy at this pub where he made me laugh, cry or cheer? Is that the end? Is that what this digital age has brought us?  Is this what life is now?

Why?

A relationship can start in so many ways. I start with a smile and a greeting. Usually something goofy. Something unexpected. Because that is what I want to be remembered by… something unexpected! Something refreshing. Something, new. Take it or leave it, this is what I sell.

Tonight we might be the closest… but tomorrow, when you wash your face, will you remember mine?

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads This blog is doing awesome!.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 1,800 times in 2010. That’s about 4 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 10 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 60 posts. There were 2 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 870kb.

The busiest day of the year was December 12th with 116 views. The most popular post that day was What do you do on a day like today?.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were Google Reader, mycrazyreader.info, en.wordpress.com, moredietplan.com, and blogsurfer.us.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for smacky the frog england, smacky the frog, smacky the frog blog, smacky the frog wordpress, and smackie the frog england.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

What do you do on a day like today? November 2007

Who is behind the frog? November 2007

For Love or War August 2010
2 comments

It’s ALIVE July 2010
2 comments and 1 Like on WordPress.com,

It will get better. January 2010
1 comment

So the topic here today is what to do when you’re caught between two passions. I’m presented with a very unusual situation, and that is whether or not to leave something I have falling in love with for something I’ve always dreamed of doing.

Nestled in between the beautiful rolling green mountains I have found a revived passion for the outdoors. Hiking, climbing, spelunking, swimming, running, and so much more. The days can be bastard hot, but the heat doesn’t take away from the beauty that falls under the suns ever pounding rays. I enjoy a daily run at lunch, sweat my ass off, but have received in return a nice tan and great stamina. In the evenings I’ve gone on beautiful sunset and moon lit hikes with my outdoor club. All people excited about the same thing: being outdoors and enjoying the gifts that surround this moderately sized, but quaint town.

Of all the places that I’ve moved to, I’ve adapted. This is the first place that I haven’t adapted, but have been adopted. I’ve been adopted by the people, the culture and the land. All of which have held out their hands, shone the bright light of the sun and nurtured me back to a healthy and happy man.

So much has changed since almost a year ago when I first arrived. I’ve been reborn in the bosom of the land a new man, but now I’m being tempted to leave the soft supple area that has enchanted me with such delight.

A dream job, as it were, presents its self. I’d being doing what I was trained in college to do and so much more… I’d be doing the work that turned my doubt into satisfaction with the career path that I had chosen. It would send me all around the globe setting up facilities that would help make everyone’s lives better. Its my calling. My passion. But located in the last place I would ever want to live… Again.

So now what do I do? I’m presented with a choice: Live the dream in a hell of a town. Or live in a dream? True, living the dream would provide financial security, benefits, the ability to have weekends off, (ENTIRE WEEKENDS!)… but what would I do on these weekends? There are no mountains to climb there. No quaint shops to visit. No neat breweries to tour and then have a unique lunch…

I’ve accomplished so much here, and am definitively happy, and between you and me with a few other people I’ve just met… its even getting better. I don’t have to make a decision yet. But I have a lot to weigh. Pound for pound, this might be the hardest decision of my life so far.

But all these people are like ‘Frog, you gotta get one! Or you could die!’

Yeah, well, only in about 11% of the cases does someone die. I’m not that lucky. Or I’m just unlucky enough. I can’t believe all these people care about my not dying. Its so lame. But fuck it. At least I get out of work for a extra bit of time.

Lame…

I know how this goes. I’ve been there before. The hunt, chase/attack, recoil. It took me to actual talk to someone, out loud, to figure out I’ve been here before. I don’t know if it will be worth it… Or the same result as the last time will occur. I know how it ended last time, and how great the in between time can be, and was. So I have to ask myself a question: Do I put myself out there and let what happens happen, or do I learn from my past and assume everything will be the same? Or, except for the ending, is that a good thing?

These questions twist my stomach. That nervous feeling that you want to hold onto in the height of anticipation. Should I jump in with both feet, throw caution to the wind and hold my cheat sheet from the last time close? Checking that I don’t slip in the same places as I did before? Or are my actions only being led by holding on to the wish of losing another feeling that has plagued me for almost a year?

Nervous, anxious, strong, weak, hopeful and happy. A hurricane of emotions that make me feel more alive than I have felt in a while. The last time, which was the first time, was the best time. I can start to see that feeling come back… and I love it.

Here goes nothing, I’m going full hog. No regrets.

So the topic of this blog is obviously about music, unlike the topics of the last two that (seemed) to have nothing to do with the actual entries. I’m sure I could spin off something that would make them relevant, but right now I want to talk music.

We all (should) know that its beyond a passion for me. I submerse myself in music on a daily basis. We all do. From the car ride to work, to the radio or Pandora stations that we have play in the background at our desks, to the car ride home, music is a part of our life. We all want to have theme music and might even hum the Mission: Impossible theme as we stealthily steal a co-workers stapler; darting our heads back and forth, checking for the ‘enemy’ being anyone aware of your crafty behavior. You are in the moment, you are a super spy.

You. Are. Bond. James Bond.

Yeah, I know I crossed references in movies, but what guy doesn’t want to be James Bond?

But I digress.

I’m tired of the teenie booper, autotuning, lip syncing, suedo crap/rap music that is plaguing our air waves! Bieber, you’re going down, bitch!

Lets hear tone not technology. Lets hear range not Range Rover. Lets hear duets not douches! Recently I’ve been in love with the trend a few musicians are bringing back to our trash filled ears: vocals. Who’s got them? Michael Bublé, James Morrison, Duffy (not Hilary Duff… never Hilary Duff…) and I could go on… In my ears I want to hear the range of a voice and the passion of the song. Tell me a story of love, hate, despair. Put me in the frame of mind that inspired your talents. I believe that all forms of art are the most pure way of showing emotion; sharing the human condition.

I grew up with Motown, Soul, and Funk. There was a burning passion in their songs. Dug up raw emotion that bled from their souls. Not bragging rights about how much money they have, or meaningless whiny teenagers complaining about something trivial in adolescence. Boo hoo, she doesn’t like you. Neither do I! You’re in 7th grade! Life is far from over!

I know when a song is good because my world stops. I close my eyes and I’m right there. In the moment. Crying, loving, laughing, screaming. Music can mend a broken heart or be a lasting memory of a first kiss. When’s the last time you heard a song in the car and smiled as you thought about that one amazing summer, or that special someone that got away? A tune can be tied to any emotion and there in its self becomes the epitome of the moment.

Honestly, nothing is scarier than the thought of being with out music. Fortunately, modern medicine has observed that even if you have a stroke and forget everything else, that you will still remember music.

And that is the most comforting thing I have ever heard.

The last thing I remember. The only thing I see now.

Nothing could jog my mind of the activities that occurred before the darkness, and nothing could shed a single beam of light on where it had lead me now. All I could feel is the shiver of my skin as a the cold gently washed over me in slow, laminar flow, raising the hairs on my restrained arms and legs. The cool touch of the restraints didn’t feel like the typical shackles from old pirate movies. These felt different. Stiff, thin bars, possibly metal, by the three’s caged each arm. At the wrist, elbow and shoulder it seemed to be anchored. Of course without seeing anything, it was mere speculation. The legs weren’t the same vein, however. They felt more free to the ambient air around them, but still unable to be moved an inch left or right. The tightest point of contact was around the ankles, wrists, shoulders and the waist. The pressure was so great at these points of contact I couldn’t tell how my orientation reflected with gravity. But I wasn’t struggling for breath either.

The breezes kept me cool, despite my struggles to free myself. I had mostly given up when I had first been born into the darkness and was confronted with the dire hope of escape. As time went on I grew more curious than anything else. I was coming to terms that I was trapped and at the mercy of my captors. I began to only want at least some answers before I was no longer aware of the darkness and entered eternal rest. Where I was? Where had I came from? Who had captured me? Or… what, had captured me.

My other sense  seemed to be heightened with the loss of my sight. I could only speculate how long I have been in this situation, let alone conscious. I never seemed to get hungry or tired… Only the coming and going of consciousness would pass, and dark held me close. Whats this? My ears seemed to perk with excitement, but I heard no noise–wait, now! Echoing I could hear… a low hum, it turns into a melody… almost angelic. With my eyes closed tightly I absorb the tune hungrily like a beggar thrown scraps of food. I finally didn’t feel alone! The melody switched between pitches and chords, enchanting and ever more beautiful. I started to wonder if I had died.

A burst of light, rained across my shackled body, burning my still shut eyes, I squinted hearing the angelic song shattered by the slamming of a metal object on another, rusted hinges squealing and creaking.

My eyes daring to open, in the white void that replaced the darkness I was caged, I started to see the shape of an object form in front of me, humming again as it approached me. Swaying softly back and forth, almost gently dancing in the light, the features became more clear, soft, warm…

…Beautiful.

Her golden hair was gently lapping at her shoulders, they being shroud in a periwinkle blue tee shirt with a busy pattern of yellow covering across her chest. I start to notice her mouth widening. This seemed to correspond with her eyes. Her facial expressions started to take on another emotion, almost like panic. Her arms at her sides starting to raise, her left leg, muscles softly defined, but remained lady like was raising in motion. Her body jutted forwards, as she had started to run. I still was stationed perfectly still, the rest of the world a void of noise or color.

Why had I stopped in the first place… All I remember is staring now. Transfixed on a single object. One that as it was further studied became more excitable and frantic. Was she ever looking at me, or was she always looking past me? Maybe someone was in trouble.

Snapping out of my daze by a sound of terror, I let the world flood back over me. A million colors and sounds resonated through my mind bringing me back to the real world. At that very moment I felt I was back with the rest of the populous walking the same earth beneath my feet, waking from that sharp shriek.

The woman was screaming! What was the matter? What had turned such a beautiful site in a fit of raw terror and anxiety?

I turned quickly and blinked. Before me I saw–

…and all was dark again.

That’s actually the entire reason I started today’s post. I just wanted to write that first line. Because its always the first thing on my mind. Its as if this page, this virgin sheet of white, with all its options of tagging, categories, etc, is the most intimidating thing in the world. But. But. Butt. Heh, given any other situation I would just let my fingers do the talking.

Addicted, inflicted, otherwise restricted. Those without hope, are the ones who resume smoking the dope. I know not, there for I am, I am, I am, I have come to bring the master plan. Stop before I evict you, others want to predict news, new and wonderous things, I suppose it depends on what the weather brings. Hope, doubt let it all rain out. From the top of the sky til the moment we die, I can’t say why. I just live, and live you must, before the whole thing turns to dust. Ashes to ashes, trees of green, we can’t help the fact that our future is still unseen.

…sometimes I try to free style. I figure if I can rap, then I can justify the eye patch I want to get. Wouldn’t that be something? A frog wearing an eye patch? I wouldn’t try and act like a pirate either. That would be ridiculous. Not quite the forefront of, but, just plain out ridiculous.

I think I’d have to lose an eye if I wanted to wear an eye patch. Seriously. Because if someone saw you with one and you pulled the “I wouldn’t look under there, unless you want to see what the devil has done to me.” phrase to scare off kids from discovering your sham of a lie, and *bam* there is a fully functional eye, I’d be pissed. I might even poke out your eye, just to justify the patch.

Wait, why was I writing this again today? Ridiculous.

That was the theory behind watching Black Dynamite last night at 2am after being at a few bars for a going away party. I figured, hell, my friend is going back to Florida for good tomorrow, so I gotta be spontaneous. I gotta be reckless and careless with my sleep schedule. Work at 8am? psch. Make that 8:33am!

Where my liver and my brain could probably use a break once in a while from my guerrilla tactics towards life, the nights where I put my self in a ‘have fun no matter what’ situation, I always wake up feeling a lot better than I thought I would.  Most of my 20′s, oh hell, most of my life after high school has been lived with a ‘devil may care’ sort of attitude. But recently, I’ve decided that maybe growing up isn’t a bad thing. That having a bed time before midnight and waking up before eight would mature me. However, who the hell wants to be mature?

Sure there is respect. Like not belching in someones face after you smoke a Camel Light and chug a 20 ounce Pepsi (thanks Mike, you always knew how to invent new smells… kinda like the people at Crayola keep making new colors…), or even clearing the plates of your guests after having a dinner party. Which, apparently, when you’re young, is called a BBQ, even if nothing is covered in brown sugar rich sauce.

Maybe its aging with grace, or just not getting shit faced drunk at your sisters wedding and telling everyone that your name is I.P Freely. Either way, I know that the mornings I wake up after being a little devious the night before, I always have a smirk that I can’t ignore.