Random, sleep deprived thoughts:

‘Just 36 hours young…I have 37 years on him.

This morning I was holding the novel, pure version of myself.  OK, correction, the novel, blended Asian persuasion variant of myself.

The writer Carl Sandburg was correct when saying,”A baby is God’s opinion that life should go on.”

Have a drink on me.

Stella is a warrior, true and true.  A five volume collection of deep thinking, polysyllabic word using essays could not encapsulate the admiration and awe I have for her durability and physical prowess.

A 48 hour polyphonic overture could not capture the passion of Dalton’s first cry, signaling to the collective I have arrived, point me in the direction of humanity.

Perspective, and levels of measurement have irrevocably changed.  There is no going back, and I’m fine with that.

Tomorrow: If You Want Blood, You Got It

Resist. Multiply. Even more so now.

Dalton Charles joined this circus of ours on August 18th, 2008 at 7:49 in the evening.

Fighting Stats:

6.36 lbs.

21 inches

All is well with everyone!

More details to follow, wow, that was a ride, and I wasn’t even driving.

Details to come, all of them, but for now, know that Stella and I are at the hospital.  She is 8 cm dialted.  Wow!  It actually seems like I know what I’m talking about.  ‘Wish us luck!

Owen here, writing, presenting before the good communal people of Tribe.  Honestly, by this time of August, the 15th, I thought, or I eagerly hoped I would be posting pictures of little Verde, and reporting on the recovery of Stella, and the chaotic adulation I felt for both her and the very, very new baby of ours, but, nope, we patiently wait, some of us exercising more patience than others.  I’m done with this; Stella has the patience, emotional durability of a monk, but I tend to lean towards the mental, spiritual proclivities of a poet.  Hence, the drinking and irritability that have filled my recent August days.  The weight of waiting is beginning to get a bit heavy.  Stella, friends and family tell me
“We’re almost there.”.  Never have I lingered in the “almosts”, “maybe’s”, and “sometimes” of life.  My palette really doesn’t host the shade of grey, so lately, it’s been a haul and a half.

In my mind I’ve walked to Jerusalem and back, looking for the circling falcon, hoping, and praying not to see it.  Literary allusion - check it. I want my child to live with the potential for a peaceful, grounded, sentient existence that has a long, far reaching future, setting precedence for perhaps an immoral spiritual, bodiless journey that will eventually run out of energy and settle in another incarnation of Stella and myself, decades, generations to come.  Lately, In my mind I’ve sailed the seven seas with my soon to be son or daughter, pointing out the diverse creatures that weave the fabric of maritime existence; I’ve pointed to the setting sun, peacefully exploding something beautiful, descending brilliantly off the bow of our metaphysical craft leaving a white, subtle wake in the dark blue imagined waters behind us.

Lately, I’ve been contemplating all of those people who have passed, who meant so much to Stella and I.  Where did their energy go?  I’ve been in the rooms of dying people, and there is a tangible, feel it in the marrow of your bones, shift of power when they pass.   That energy had to go somewhere.  Perpetual motion is a law, a basic principle of science, and a cornerstone of physics.  Physics son, physics.  Perhaps, some of that energy transferred into loved ones.  Maybe, just maybe it reconfigured itself in Stella and I, therefore, eventually, transcending time and place and settling into the molecular ladder that is the heart and soul of our unborn child.  If this Friday morning theory of mine proves to be correct, well, then our baby boy or girl will be in good standing then.  Stella and I have known some great people who offered a lot to those who breathed the same air as them, shared meals, and late night laughs that lingered into early morning cups of coffee with steam rising, allowing vapors to shape the congenial mood of the love shared.  These fine friends and family members had tremendous attributes that now burn immortal in the novel eyes of the child growing in Stella.

Over the past nine months a lot of energy has been allotted, taken, and transferred between Stella, myself, and the life in her womb.  A lot of fuel was burned by my overactive imagination and sage in progress soul.  If the body is just a mere vessel transporting precious cargo, the soul, throughout life experiences then I’m ready to harbor, stock up on essentials, and welcome aboard the newest crewmen to the decks, Stella’s nine month passenger.  Boy or girl? Place your bets.

Speak to you Monday, or maybe not, take no offense, hopefully not.  I hope to be in the hospital with Stella and the baby, basking in the glow and the responsibility of it all.

Que tenga un buen el fin de semana.

After an hour of sun and two Miami Vice drinks, we were ready to take a dip in the pool.  We first went in the regular lagoon sized one close to where our chairs were.  It was calm and tranquil.  Bridget and I had time to talk without interruption.  It felt like we were on our honeymoon again.

The pool was warm because of the blistering sun.  It was over 105 degrees outside and we were both feeling it.  Bridget wanted to try the “lazy river” and I was all for it.  We got out of the lagoon and went for a short foot-burning walk across the way to the “lazy river” area. All around us were young couples – enjoying their time with each other on a blissful day.

Here’s where the story gets interesting.  Guys pull your seats closer and get ready.  This kind of thing doesn’t happen often – except in the movies or TV.  I was positioned behind Bridget (watch it) and she was entering the river a few steps in front of me.  As she got into the water, I approached the steps.  That’s when it happened.  Right at eye level – so that I would not miss it – there was a bare, exposed breast!  This was not the typical thing I am used to seeing in the middle of the day, out in public.

Seriously, this melon was right there in front of my face.  I kept walking down the stairs into the water – shocked, surprised, and a bit confused.  As I entered the river I told Bridget what I had just seen.  She laughed and we both looked back to see the girl – the owner of this breast – just beginning to realize that her internet moment was being enjoyed by all the men, women, and children around her.  I saw a few mothers cover their kids’ eyes, and one old guy looked pretty pleased – if you know what I mean.

I guess that “lazy river” had truly numbed her senses to the point (no pun intended) that she did not notice her left friend had tried to escape her bikini.  I can’t make this sh&% up.  It was unexpected and hilarious.

At any rate, the rest of the day was perfect.  Bridget and I enjoyed the Jacuzzi at our room, a great dinner at a fine Italian restaurant, some slot machine gambling, and a restful sleep that did not involve waking up at 7 a.m.  (We slept late – 8:30 a.m.!)

Bridget’s aunt picked us up and we later treated the whole Las Vegas crew to Mexican food at another area resort.  The food was delicious and Jacob enjoyed his first taste of guacamole.

In the end, we got to spend some time with Bridget’s family and my family this summer.  It was great for Jacob – even if he probably won’t remember it - and it was great for the families to meet him now that he is more and more a little person.

We continue to be thankful that plane rides pose no real threat to the sanity we cling to so dearly.  We continue to value these trips for what they are.  There is nothing better than family.  Jacob is learning that lesson early on.

I do look forward to when he will be able to remember family vacations, but right now I am enjoying his innocence and wonder with new places.  I imagine future vacations that will hopefully not appear like National Lampoon’s.

Soon Jacob will get another first:  time alone with both his grandmas as Bridget and I travel to Maine for some serious “couple time”.  We are looking forward to it – even though we will really miss our boy, too.

Tomorrow: ?????
Resist. Multiply.

Bridget, Jacob, Bridget’s mother, and I all returned from Las Vegas last week to a warm, but beautiful New Jersey night at Newark Airport.  Beautiful is an understatement when you consider we spent several days in Midwest splendor.  Nevertheless, our journey had been a good one.  The main goal was not to win huge amounts of money at the casinos, but rather to visit Bridget’s 81-year-old grandmother (who recently has been through two serious surgeries to correct fractures in her spine) and her aunt who also lives with her grandmother.  Thankfully both are doing well.  Jacob had a great time as he got to spend some quality time with two more people who just adore him.  His great aunt really spoils him rotten, but we are grateful that she loves him so much.  There are pictures of our family all over their home.  In fact, there are quite possibly more pictures of our wedding than we have up ourselves.

I was not able to make the whole trip.  I had to paint the first three days of their visit, but I was glad to give Bridget some alone time with her family.  So this time Bridget and her mother traveled out a few days before I did.  Their airplane experience was positive – from what I was told.  The boy slept for 3 hours during the 4-hour flight.  Luckily they were also given an extra seat for Jacob to sprawl out on, as well.  Bridget and her mother entertained the little warrior while they were delayed in the airport for an hour before they left.  That may have been the toughest challenge for them.  The flight attendants paid close attention to him, and even gave Bridget whole milk when Jacob woke up.  She was thankful for that – considering our last issues with whole milk on our Florida trip.

Without me around, the three of them had a blast going swimming in the pool at the house and giving him baths in great grandma’s huge tub.  Bridget also relayed to me on the phone that Jacob had discovered the two puppies (both about seven year old bichons that are hardly puppies) and he was chasing them all over the house.  He was also mimicking their pants and their cries.  It was pretty amusing for them all.

I arrived on Friday night.  The time change never really affected Jacob or me for that matter.  Bridget was lucky for that, and I was happy to see her after three days on my own.  She looked rested and pleased that I was finally there, too.

I enjoyed spending time doing nothing, swimming, or watching TV.  There were no steps at their home, so Jacob had free range to explore and I got to chase after him and play without thinking about painting back home.  Bridget’s grandma and her aunt were so kind and generous.  They even got us a night at the Mandalay Bay so we could have some “couple time”, and they could take care of Jacob.

We left for the hotel on Saturday afternoon.  It was an oppressively hot day already at noon and we were excited to have our first stay-over trip in 23 months.  Jacob was asleep, taking a nap, when we left him with his grandmother, his great-grandmother, and his great aunt.  The kid was lucky and so were we.

Our first destination after the check-in was the pool areas for some sun and relaxation.  Little did I know there was a surprise waiting for us in those Mandalay waters…

Tomorrow: Vegas Vacation Part Dos

Resist. Multiply.

In a previous post I wrote about, or used the strength of Silverback Gorillas to make a literary point symbolizing the ferocity of mental depression.  Also, I mentioned the affinity and respect I have for these amazing animals.  Recently, there has been an exciting discovery regarding the reemergence of endangered Western Lowland Gorillas in the war torn Republic Of Congo. Often good news goes unmentioned.  Mass media covers the doom and gloom of our complicated world with such zest and precision, feeding the machine of fear and depravity.  This ray of light should be acknowledged, and hell, applauded.  Read the following link and let one spark ignite into a fire of positivity and restore the innate brilliance of life, humanity and the tangible environment we all exist in, even if it’s in a distant lowland forest in central Africa.

Positive News Piece

If there was a news station, a sole network that covered positive news, did exposes on people impacting their community in a profound, humane way would you watch it?  I would.  It is needed.

Wrapping It Up - Before my heart comes to an infinite halt I will visit the Virunga National Park to come face to face, well a couple of hundred yards away from my opposable thumbed genetic brothers.  Stella will be there, and so will our child.  It will be one hell of a family trek.

Tomorrow: Vegas Vacation – Part Uno

Resist. Multiply.

Sorry

Lo siento.  I would like to extend my apologies to the good people of Tribe of Dad for being remiss when it comes to my daily posting duties.  You see, at the tail end of last week I became sick, wicked, super sucker sick. Fever, aches, and pains, headache, and a rash to boot, invaded my system in a hostile, pervasive fashion.  Can you say “bad timing?”  Stella can pop anytime now.  Thank goodness little Verde decided not to make an appearance last weekend while Papa Verde, me, Owen, was down and out for the count.  Ginger Ale and crackers were all that I subsisted on for three and half days.

Also, some of you may know through your reading that I was playing email tag with a prospective employer in Costa Rica.  It certainly has been a turbulent couple of days.   Presently, I walk among the living, unemployed in Costa Rica.  My appetite has returned.  The rash has disappeared.  It was a strong strain of some stomach virus; it’s a place I really don’t want to revisit, unlike the CR.

Stella Pregnancy News

She is due the 19th.  Besides that, well, that’s all there is.  The wait ensues ☹

As Promised – Karaoke Mike Does Costa Rica – Segundo

Rewind – Karaoke Mike a.k.a. Don Peligroso and I are in Costa Rica, drinking Imperial, and cleaning the house.  Pause/Remind(er) – He was in his boxer shorts, and a fully dressed gentleman was making his way up our front lawn.

Play - A beautiful friendship started with, yep, you guessed it, you’re good, “Hola. Como Esta? How do you say?”.

Before I knew it Eduardo, our soon to be friend, confidant and resident gardening expert was in our empty, freshly cleaned house.  Our masculine voices echoed throughout the house, bouncing off of one wall and onto another, easily rising and falling, the waves of sound being so strong because there was not one article of furniture or decoration to act as a buffer, or absorb some of the audible energy.

From the get go we really liked Eduardo, and he really liked us.  The man love relationship continues to this day.  From the get go he tolerated, embraced, and patiently corrected the butchering of his mother tongue Don Peligroso and I did to his beloved idioma de Espanoel.  Every morning, Eduardo was at our house enjoying coffee and conversation.  Eventually, always, the conversation turned into a teaching session.  Eduardo was the professor and Peligroso and I were the pupils.  Class was held outside as he educated us about all of the beautiful horticulture that surrounded our new home.  Watering times, seasonal plantings, weeding, and observations of humming birds were some of the invaluable lessons Eduardo instilled in us.

I believe one characteristic of a fine teacher is to have a strong sense of cultural sensitivity.  The world is changing, some times it is for the good, and cultural barriers, ethnic lines are beginning to blend, spilling over into one another, painting the walls of our turbulent global village with a shade of Roy G. Biv. This is an encouraging grain of sand on the present beaches of hardship. Eduardo did just that, he never judged, he never asked Peligroso why he wore his underwear out in public at all different, not so discriminate times of the day.

This can’t be confirmed, but I’m pretty sure he went home to his family and friends telling them about his new friends, this Americano named Owen, and this Filipino man named Mike who wore his underwear proudly like that of a young boy on Christmas day just after ripping open a fresh batch of Batman underoos, insisting that he wear them all day around the house, and at the feast like dinner table later that night.   At times I thought he was going to show up in his underwear to show respect and cultural solidarity, supporting the Filipinos of the world in their apparent quest to spread the care free, protest of fashion by rocking underwear in foreign countries campaign.  Perhaps he told his good people that this is how the Filipinos conduct business and socialize.  Eduardo never did knock on our door in his tight whities though.  Perhaps he thought I was being disrespectful to my father in law by wearing shorts and a bathing suit.  It has gone unsaid to this very day.  I vow to the Tribe that I will bring this up with Eduardo.  My Spanish has improved.  We are very friendly with one another, so such a topic will not be all that uncomfortable to converse about.

Eduardo is a pensinado, a retiree who draws a well-deserved pension.  Also, Eduardo is an “overseer”.   Our home in Costa Rica is secluded, but among a lot of recent building.  With progress, if you want to call it that, there is responsibility.  Eduardo is responsible for the development we have a house in.  He is the right hand man of Don Guillermo.  Eduardo oversees the construction sites, making sure all is well in Don Guillermo’s kingdom.  Don Guillermo is five different posts/stories unto himself, but I’ll tell you this, he is a very powerful, much revered man in that quaint, beautiful area of the world.  He doesn’t know everyone, but everyone knows him.  Don Guillermo is now a friend as well.  As a matter of fact, he too, being so gracious, and considerate never asked Mike about his underwear, or lack of shorts and bathing suits.

Actually, Don Guillermo has the honor of bringing about Mike’s Spanish title, Don Peligroso.  Graciously, the Don invited us over for dinner one evening.  To show respect, thanks, gratitude towards Eduardo and Don Guillermo, Mike made a fruit salad, and traditional Filipino food to bring to the paryt.   By this time Stella and friends joined us.  Stella, too, is some what of a celebrity in our neighborhood.  There are not many tourists, residents of Costa Rica that are of the Asian persuasion. Stand out number one. There are not many tourists, residents of Costa Rica that are of the Asian persuasion who speak Spanish fluently.  Stand out number two. There are not many tourists, residents of Costa Rica that are of the Asian persuasion who speak Spanish fluently and are incredibly nice and accommodating.  Stand out number three, a star is born.

Stella, Mike, myself and friend JFL (Johniee Fair Lawn) started to make our way over to Don Guillermo’s 50 acre farm.   As stated before Costa Rica is a beautiful country, but the roads are terrible, the infrastructure is non-existent, well barely.  For me this is part of the charm, an important factor of it’s divine simplicity.  The roads, most of them dirt trails, are plagued with enormous holes, jagged, bumpy grooves that go on for hundreds of yards.  Periodically, you drive on smooth, effortless roads, but that’s rare, very.

It was going to be a long bumpy ride to Don Guillermo’s farm, and it was going to be under the cover of darkness, and no there are no street signs, no street lamps, nada.  We set out with much excitement.  This was an honor to be invited to Don Guillermo’s house.  As we slowly motored along like a bomber plane being violently jostled from incoming anti aircraft fire, Mike began to become very quiet and to himself while all of us recapped our wonderful time in Costa Rica.

JFL – “Mike, what’s up?”
Mike – “Nothing.”

More time passes, laughs warm the car, bringing much needed light to the dark road.  Mike remains quiet; As I drive there is a solemn vacuum forming in the backseat right behind me.

Stella – “Dad, are you O.K.?”
Mike – “Yes, O.K. I’m doing.”

Even more time passes, laughs continue to carry the car closer to the party.  Collectively, no one, well JFL, Stella and myself express how we have no desire to return back to los Estados Unidos.  Mike remains quiet; The vacuum is beginning to suck up all of the positive energy generated by the three soon to be ex-pats.  I must intervene.  I have to know what is going on.  I have been on far too many adventures with Mike to know that once I pry I can get at the truth.  I’m the narrating miner and Mike is the ore of comedic gold waiting to be found, farmed, and formed into comical tales.

Owen – “Karaoke, are you O.K.?”
Mike – “Yes.”
Owen – “No you’re not.”
Mike – “You’re being right.  I’m not doing good.”

There is a long pause. I almost laughed because I know something is coming. JFL senses it too, and places a kind hand on Karaoke’s worrisome shoulder.  All three of us are grinning; here it comes…)

Mike – “We’re having to turn around.  I’m forgetting all of the food and salads for Guillermo’s party.  So, turn around.”

The roads are terrible.  All of us have a bit of air sickness like nausea from the bumps, dumps, and road grinds.  There are no street signs. It’ dark, I mean dark, not even the car’s headlights are shedding reasonable light on the tropical dimness.  Guillermo is a man of honor, tardiness, well I don’t think there is a word for that in Spanish.

Owen – “Mike, there is no f@%@in’ way we’re heading home.”

Mike – “I drive then.”

That’s when all three of laughed, out loud, very loud.  Mike hasn’t driven in the states since 1989.

JFL/Stella/Owen, like a chorus of symbiotic mockingbirds– “No. You’re not driving.”

Silencio.

Mike –“I. Am. A. Dangerous. Man.”

JFL/Stella/Owen, like a chorus of symbiotic mockingbirds– “Yes. You. Are.”

By the time we arrived at Don Guillermo’s farm all of us including Karaoke now Peligroso were exhausted from laughing.  Our faces were streaked with warm emotion and tears of laughter.  Being the gracious host and gentlemen he is, Don Guillermo asked us what happened on the journey over.  In Spanish, Stella recapped the whole story.  Don Guillermo laughed, it came from his gut, his pocket for the evasive soul.  It was sincere, and contagious.  He leaned into Mike, extended his hand, and said in impeccable English,”You, my friend, are dangerous.  You are Don Peligroso.”  Eduardo was in the background, smiling.  He said nothing, but he agreed.

The legend continues.  Many men live, but very few are alive.  Alive and dangerous.

Tomorrow: Great News For Us and Our Opposable Thumbed Genetic Brothers

Resist. Multiply.

Here is the most recent communique between Mr.XXXX and myself.  It really all is in the timing.

Owen,
Thanks for getting back to me. The offer is for this year.
We had a teacher lined up for 4th / 5th, but they backed out.  I saw your resume and said “There’s my man!!!” So, we have the job for you!

I will keep you in mind for next year. Please keep in touch. Thanks for considering us. I wish you and your wife all the best with your new baby!

Congratulations Dad and Mom!!!

Best regards,
Mr. XXXX

Tomorrow: No News, Enfermo, As Promised-Karaoke/The Movie

Resist. Multiply.

No, Stella didn’t give birth.  No, we are not at the hospital while I type away.  Make no mistake, I wish Stella and I were battling away in the birthing room, but nope, we march on slowly, lethargically towards August 19th.

The second part of “Karaoke Mike Does Costa Rica” will be aired Friday instead of Thursday.  Tribe is temporarily putting the yellow light on the famous/infamous Karaoke Mike epic to bring you some breaking, exciting, but cosmically comedic fresh off the Owen press news.

In the first part of this post I mentioned to you good people, in poetic, prose like fashion the subconscious connection, eerie, life is whispering in your meditative ear sort of magnetic pull Stella and I have with Costa Rica.  Proof - I present this email I received earlier today.

Dear Owen,
We have a 4th grade position available in Costa Rica beginning August 18th.
I am checking to see your availability to be considered for this position.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Mr. XXXXX
Country Day School
Costa Rica

It’s drink whiskey, straight no chaser, on a school night, ironic times like these when “timing” issues rear their ugly heads with a “gotcha’ again you son of a bitch” smirk that forces me to believe in a higher power.  It’s incidences of this nature that make me think God, Allah, Jesus Cristo, Mohammad, Buddha, Sheila, Fritz, whatever title you want to assign to an assignable, intangible force, moonlights as a tongue and cheek, working blue stand up comic.  Often the punchline to his/her didactic monologue are highly ironic moments in our lives.

It’s simple mathematics.  Stella is due August 19th.  The teaching position in Costa Rica, the place Stella and I have been patiently planning and saving to get to starts August 18th.  We already have a house there, all that is needed to start over, live life from a different perspective and alternative stance, a way to force oneself to reevaluate life and it’s evasive meaning is just one job, one form of employment away.  August 18th and August 19th just don’t add up.  Not even Einstein, or chaos mathematicians could swing those numbers, and come up with a sum equaling Owen taking the teaching position.  How do you say horrible timing in Spanish?  Funny, eh?

No.

Not.

Really.

When little Verde comes into this mad, mad, mad, mad, mad world I’m going to pull a fast one on the funny man holding the mic.; I’m going to do a little heckling by naming the little one Country Day Verde.  I’m going to throw a curve ball of my own into the infinite wilderness that is human existence.  The omniscient comic will ask me in a thundering voice,”Why would you name a child that?”

I’ll retort, in my quaking, shaking, crackling moral voice,”I didn’t. You did.  Now write a joke that lands us in the CR.  Make me laugh funny man, I drank my two drink minimum a long time ago, entertain me.”

My response to Mr. XXXXX

Mr. XXXXX,

Thank you very much for considering me for the 4th grade teaching position.  Is the position open for this August of 2008, or 2009? If it’s 2008, then regretfully I must decline your generous offer.  It’s a very bittersweet decline.  My wife is pregnant, very pregnant, and she is due the 19th of this month, so traveling and relocating at this given time is not an option. Presently, we’re residing in the states, but have every intention of relocating to Costa Rica during the summer of 2009.  Already, we have a home there, now, just employment is needed to complete the move.  If the position is for August 2009 then I’m your man!

Once again I would like to thank you for the exciting offer, but I truly hope it can be extended to the summer of 2009. I look forward to hearing back from you.

Sincerely,
Owen Scott Verde a.k.a. Dad To Be

While we’re on the topic of comedians, let Tribe present to you a mortal stand up comedian that sometimes bordered on the immortal.  His brutal honesty, and ability to take his pain and morph it into our laughter is now legendary.  Through his approach he was able to transcend racial and political barriers only using a microphone and the jokes the universe played on him.  In his day there was no one like him; there was no one prior to Richard Pryor.  I wonder if the Ticos ever heard his routines?

Tomorrow: Karaoke Mike Does Costa Rica - Segundo
Resist. Multiply.

The myth, the legend continues to grow across the American frontier.  There will come a time when the name Karaoke Mike will become common place, mentioned at bustling bars amongst friends sharing a well deserved Friday cocktail, discussed at Sunday morning breakfast tables while orange juice cartons and cereal boxes are passed around.  Of course there will be laughs, disbelieving shrugs, and amazed facial expressions during the communal tales of Karaoke Mike.  There will be an universal, and American collective buzzing in the fifty jigsaw shaped states that make up the puzzle of modern America.

In time Karaoke Mike, Chronic, Don Peligroso, however you want to refer to him as, will cut a track with the Wu Tang Clan.  It will be released internationally, entitled “How Do You Say?”.  Instantly, over night, Karaoke will become hip-hop royalty without the “bling”, and legal rap sheet of priors and misdemeanors giving credence to street credentials and what the thugs/gangstas’ call respect.  BET, MTV will scramble to assemble biopic pieces about this enigmatic MC (mic controller) who rolls deep with the celebrated Wu Tang Clan.  While flicking through countless generic, mind numbing television channels Americans will come to a halt when they see Karaoke on popular late night talk shows.  The hosts will be gracious, and amused while Karaoke spins the yarn of his amazing, darkly comedic life.

It’s only a matter of time.  Trust me.  One brief episode of Karaoke’s life will add to the wildfire of his unavoidable fame.  It takes place south of the border, way south, as a matter of fact it’s more like south, south, central of the Mexico, Estados Unidos border.  From here on in throughout this piece Karaoke Mike will be referred to as his Central American alias Don Peligroso.  Refresher, it has been mentioned in the past, Peligroso translates to danger/dangerous.

Like here in the states, the name Don Peligroso is beginning to roll off the Spanish speaking tongues of the fine folks residing in the Guanacaste province of Costa Rica.  The Ticos, the indigenous people of Costa Rica, are very familiar with el Don.  They are familiar with his underwear, specifically boxers.  Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Costa Rica is a place that Stella and I have an affinity for.  Numerous cosmic coincidences have drawn us there time and time again.  We were married on a breathtaking beach known as Playa Langosta.  An Easter egg sunset canvassed the backdrop of our wedding photos.  Current long lasting friendships were formed in the towns of Tamarindo, Villa Real, Langosta, Conchal and Mal Pais.  All are small habitats of sand, shells, blazing sun, and dense, moist jungle reaching onto the beach, caressing the surf break like finger paintings of children embracing, uniting together on white paper.  It’s as if the agriculture branch or battalion of Mother Nature flows back into the salty oceanic battalion of herself.  Folding onto oneself in tropical, alpha, omega fashion.  The Ouroboros of nature.  As you can see Costa Rica adds a Latin beat to my North American heart.  Sorry, back to Mike/Peligroso and his internationally famous underwear.

Peligroso is near retirement, and he is excitedly looking to the tranquil future of all play and no business.  While in Costa Rica for our wedding, Don Peligroso purchased a house in a small town named Villa Real.  Now, that’s one hell of a wedding gift, retirement get away.  He’s certifiable, but I love him, a lot.  Thanks to him I’m a partial owner of a nice, nice home in an even nicer Costa Rica.  The house is ten minutes from Tamarindo, and 15 minutes from Avellanas, both beautiful beaches known for their surf.

Last August, Stella, myself, Don Peligroso, and different, rotating shifts of friends spent three weeks at the house of Peligroso.  Old friends visited, new ones were made, and Peligroso modeled various boxer shorts while building our Costa Rican social web.  Peligroso was always the amusing, pseudo bi-lingual host of numerous get togethers, and big business pow-wows in the dusty streets of our quiet, quaint neighborhood.  Always, Peligroso was sporting his briefs.  Todos las dias.

Peligroso and myself were the vanguards of the August journey.  We paved the way for Stella and visting friends from the states and South America. When we finally arrived to the house, a one-hour, bumpy, volatile ride from Liberia International airport, cleaning, major cleaning was in order.  The house had no been resided in for five months, since Peligroso and Stella lived there for a  very busy week in May to close on the house, and take care of some international legalities.  Immediately, while drinking Imperials, the fine, national brew of Costa Rica, we started the dusting, mopping, scrubbing, and setting up of our little private piece of paradise, and tropical refuge.

I’m of German and Irish descent.  Peligroso is Filipino.  Beer is well, s@^t, an important component of my blood, and genetic make up.  For thousands of years it has been flowing in my ancestor’s veins and pumping through their ancient hearts.  It works for me, plain and simple.  I’m a beer smith, well versed in the swallowing of it.  Also, I’m 6’1 and depending on my current eating habits, weighing in at 190 – 200 pounds.  Peligroso never drinks, well until now, and through the remainder of this story.  He stands at a powerful 5’2 and weighs in at maybe 130 pounds.  I never voiced a challenge, or an idea for an Imperial drinking competition, but Peligroso must have heard one.  Peligroso matched every beer I thoroughly enjoyed.

Several cleaning hours later, well, he was wasted, barracho.  And, yes, you mumbled it to yourself, in his boxers, sweeping the front patio area for all of our new neighbors to see.  As I was chuckling at the window watching him giggle and sweep in his stylish, plaid boxer shorts and sandals, a large, dust ridden pick up truck pulled up in front of the house.  A well dressed older gentlemen, donning khakis, a long sleeve dress shirt, and straw hat made his way up our front lawn.  I was amazed that he was not sweating, not one sole bead of perspiration.  Costa Rica es muy calor.  Also, what was stunning was Peligroso did not feel out dressed or out classed in the presence of this stranger.
A beautiful friendship started with, yep, you guessed it, you’re good, “Hola. Como Esta? How do you say?”.

Before I knew it …

Tomorrow: Karaoke Mike Does Costa Rica – Segundo

Resist. Multiply.

Tribe - Outside of the ring, in civilian life, do people approach you in an aggressive way and challenge you to fights, sort of like the gunslinger, I’m a faster gun than you situation? If so, how do you deal with that situation so as not to compromise your growing career.

Jamie - Not at all. I’m pretty low key and no one recognizes me, so its not really and issue for me. Maybe if I got to Chuck Lidell’s status then maybe, but I’m a little smaller and less intimidating.

Tribe - We know you have been on UFC fight cards in the past, do you want to once again fight in the UFC?

Jamie -I love where I’m at right now. I’m under the same ownership as UFC, and the WEC is the best for light weight fighters.

Tribe - Why do you think MMA fighting, the WEC, the UFC are growing in popularity? Do you think the fans truly understand the dedication, and sacrifice that goes into just one fight?

Jamie - I think the sport is just so exciting, anybody can win on any given night and fans love to see a good scrap.

Tribe - Tough question, what is going through your head before a fight? What do you feel like? What about after? As a matter of fact when fighting do you even hear the crowd, or are you so focused that you hear nothing?

Jamie - I get super nervous every single time I fight and especially now since I have something to lose. When I’m out there I zone out. I only can really hear my corner men. I don’t pay much attention to anything else besides what is directly in front of me.

Tribe - Last question, when and if you have children, what martial art would you want them to take up? Owen’s wife is due in mid August, and if they have a daughter she will definitely be taking up Brazilian Jujitsu.

Jamie - I will try to get my kids involved in whatever they like more. Whether it is wrestling, boxing or Jujitsu. But I hope my kids don’t want to fight. I’m fighting now so hopefully they wont have too.

Thank you Jamie.  We wish you much luck and further success in the future.  Respect.

jamievarner.com

Tomorrow: Karaoke Mike Does Costa Rica - Primero

Dean and myself would like to congratulate Jamie Varner for successfully defending his WEC Lightweight Championship title against Marcus Hicks.  Last night, with drinks in hand, Dean and I watched the exciting fights featured on the Versus HD Network. It was an exciting victory for Jamie.  After the fight he showed his true colors by being a gracious victor, and having nothing but kind, respectful words for his worthy competitor.

Rewind - Two weeks ago Dean had the pleasure of speaking with Jamie Varner on the telephone.  Dean and Jamie have some mutual friends that they both have wrestled with in the past.  This brief interview took place in late July, just before Jamie’s big August 3rd title defense fight.  “One hell of a nice guy.”, is how Dean summed up his talk with Jamie.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Varner-

Tribe - Like yourself, why is it accomplished wrestlers easily make the transition into MMA? Is it the skill set? The work ethic? The personality? Why are wrestlers such good MMA fighters?

Jamie - Not all make good fighters especially now a days with how well rounded everyone
is getting. I’d say the work ethic has a lot to do with it and the ability to control and dictate where the fight goes gives an immediate advantage!

Tribe - You’re a collegiate boxing champion as well, is it true you only boxed for one year before becoming national champ?

Jamie - Well, I grew up boxing even before wrestling.  In college I only boxed for one year and yes I did win the national title in one year. I had a lot of training and fight experience before then though.

Tribe -  With a boxing and wrestling background was it a natural progression right into Muay Thai? Do you think Muay Thai kicks are dangerous tools in a fight?

Jamie - They are great for a fight, but dangerous for me. It really hurts to learn how to kick properly most people wouldn’t think but its very hard on your body. But in order to be the best you have to be willing to take your lumps!

Tribe - When preparing for fights what’s your training schedule like? Do you have a recovery day throughout the week? Do you lay off the booze and the ladies?

Jamie - Monday, Weds. and Friday, 9-10 is strength and conditioning, 10-12 is ground wrestling or BJJ, 6:30-8:30 sparring.

Tuesday, and Thurs. 10-12 is devoted to BJJ and  6:30-8:30 striking

No booze for 2 months before the fight, but ladies all the way up until I leave for the fight!

Tribe -  Have you been training differently when preparing for your upcoming bout against Marcus Hicks?

Jamie – No, not really, I’ve just been training with more southpaws and working on guillotine defense.

Tribe -   Do you stop riding motorcycles when training for a fight?

Jamie - Yeah I haven’t ridden in a couple of months! I stay away from that just to avoid injury.

Tribe - Is being a MMA fighter in the WEC your full time job now?

Jamie - Oh yes to be the best you most make a full time commitment to training!

Tomorrow: Part 2 with WEC Champion Jamie Varner
Resist. Multiply.

Yet once again, I have to pledge allegiance to the approaching arrival of our child, and nod in agreement with Dean’s “Advice for Owen”.  One piece of advice I wish Dean passed on was how to store all of the baby’s goods.  He or she is not even paying rent, and they are already occupying massive space, interrupting the feng shui of my crib.

It’s a fitting, symbolic changing of the guard.  Our comfortable living room, with very comfortable couches that Stella and I once used to read, and nap on are now decorative shelves, housing large boxes that read “Exersaucer”, “G Diapers” , “Stroller” etc…etc… It now looks like a micro version of Baby’s R Us,  a model version of the national chain. Very soon there will be no more reading, except Infant and Toddler How To books, and there will be no leisurely napping. Nope. No Mas.

You see just two weeks ago, Stella had her baby shower. Friends and family were very generous and I feel as if we have enough items for two little Verdes.  How could someone so small use and need so much?

In any given night, Stella awakes to go to the bathroom 5 to 6 times, passing the Baby’s R’ Us Off Site Warehouse. The baby is now positioned in a way that rests on her bladder, and lower back making for a very uncomfortable night of sleep, but training her body and mind to be up and about throughout the night.  It’s a dress rehearsal for when she has to breastfeed our very hungry little one at all hours of the night, and breaking morning.  It is one of the many miraculous transformations of the female body during pregnancy, preparing for motherhood.

The clock is ticking and it is getting louder with each passing hour.  Stella is due August 19th.  Over the next several days I will unpack the boxes, breaking down the make shift warehouse, and organize the baby’s room.  There is something very peaceful about a baby’s room when it’s just painted, and assembled.  It offers the same calming serenity of an early morning snowfall when everything is clean, quiet, and isolated from the surrounding world and all of its complications.

Enjoy the weekend.  ‘See you Monday.

Resist. Multiply.

Recently, my brother, Wayne, asked me to ref some soccer matches. At first, I was reluctant, but he convinced me that I could do little harm and add my limited expertise – from all my years of playing and watching “the beautiful game”.

I agreed, but I went into the job with my eyes wide open. I knew that the kids I was going to be involved with were high school age and that they had just recently watched Euro 2008 on TV like so many of us. I also knew that most of these players would be emulating the international stars that they eagerly watched for four weeks previous to the four weeks of games they’d be playing.

I state this all for one simple reason – despite a positive Euro 2008 campaign, the tournament points out the fatal flaws of most world elite players. The inability to stay on ones’ feet, the arguing with the officials, the showboating, and the pulling of jerseys are all reasons that I was reluctant to ref high school boys. They watched Euro 2008 and saw all this bad stuff, too. They started in on the first night I took the whistle out of my bag and I made my best efforts to control the action for 50 minutes a game.

If you want to know why soccer gets no respect in the United States go to any soccer field in your local community. Watch the young people and coaches argue each call, complain about being fouled, lose their cool, and make sure they let you know that they think they know more than you. Say what you will about America, but know that this kind of attitude is what makes us weak and it is what is going to be our downfall in years to come. Shut up and play was my attitude when I strapped on my boots, but that attitude has been replaced with the incessant complaining, fake falling down by ghost fouls, and anything else to gain an edge.

One thing is certain, when I start Jacob on soccer, I will be sure to tell him to stay on his feet, keep his mouth shut (unless it is positive), and play fair. To do it anyway else is dishonoring the good name of the soccer gods. Do it right, and do it with respect.

Tomorrow: Our Baby’s R Us Off Site Warehouse

Resist. Multiply.