Fight Scene from Chapter Five of "Burning Couches"

I couldn’t believe it. Chris was serious. There would be no way to worm my way out of the mess I was in. “Okay, friend,” I said as sarcastically as possible. “Let’s do this.” But before we were turned loose on one another, our “corner men” had to pat us down for weapons. Apparently Dave and Rosie had discussed the ground rules on their way home from the Dunes the night before. It became obvious that they had actually been looking forward to our little “battle-royale” since I threw down the challenge at the party. They took their jobs seriously as they each diligently searched Chris and I for hidden weapons. It was all so surreal that I just stood there and tried to force myself to believe that it was all really happening. Suddenly reality, and Chris’s left fist, hit me square in the jaw. Game on. I shook off the initial blow and circled around Chris while he searched for another opening. As he came back in close, I ducked a left hook that would have surely killed me had it connected, and threw my right arm around Chris’s neck. I squeezed with all my might and found myself controlling my flailing opponent in a deep headlock. With my left, I fired uppercut after uppercut into Chris’s face. I landed at least six or seven shots before he finally managed to wrestle himself free. “Wrestle” being the key word, because Chris was a member of the school’s wrestling squad, and he knew exactly how to end the fight at any time. We danced around for a few more minutes and then he made his move. He lunged at my legs for a textbook takedown and had me laid flat on my back before I had any chance to react. His fists started raining down on me while I lay pinned under his weight. We would have never met in an official wrestling match because he outweighed me by a good forty pounds. But there were no such safeguards in place on the golf course that day, and Chris proceeded to pummel me relentlessly. I finally managed to roll onto my belly, which did nothing to stop the pounding Chris was giving me. It only slowed his attack down when his fists started to ache from hammering them repeatedly into the back of my skull. After a few minutes, he at last rolled off of me, utterly exhausted. I lay there for a while, half expecting him to resume, but thankfully, he did not. Our corner men helped us to our feet, dusted us off, and inspected our wounds. I was bleeding from my nose and from a split and swollen lip. Blood trickled down Chris’s face from a nasty gash above his left eye. While catching our breath, we both took a second to look at each other and admire our handiwork.

Dave broke the silence. “Are we all done?” We both nodded. “Good. We still have a case and a half of beer left over from last night.”

“Love Shack?” I asked.

“Love Shack,” Chris agreed.

I vowed to never fight again. As the wise Dave Richards once said, “Fightin’ just gets in the way of drinkin’ beer.” Who could argue with that?

Book Excerpt

The following is just a little teaser pulled from one of the first four chapters of the novel I'm writing. Enjoy.

One of our favorite road trips led us along a winding, dusty road terminating near the Mississippi River at a place just south of town that we called “The Dunes.” Flooding on the river had created several sizeable mounds of sand along this area and it made for a perfect place to convene gatherings of drunken teenagers to play beach volleyball, pitch horseshoes, and do keg-stands. It was far enough from town that we could be as loud and obnoxious as we wanted with no worries about being hassled by cranky neighbors or law enforcement, yet close enough that we could be home in our beds within twenty minutes after the party broke-up. As the sun cast the Big Muddy into shadow, a bonfire would be built and couples would climb around the backside of the dunes to make out. Invariably, someone would blare some Skynrd or Zepplin from their car stereo and as the night wore on and the piles of empties got bigger and bigger, our discussions ranged from “who’s screwing who” and “what does it all mean” to “it doesn’t get any better than this.” To a group of teenaged guys, life couldn’t get any sweeter. Rather than face the reality of our lives at home, we could make our own reality whenever we wanted.

Is facebook killing Blogger?

With the facebook insurgency upon us, I wonder: Does anyone read my blog anymore? If not directly, then do you read the version that is posted on my facebook page from my blog? I hope so. Anyway, I want you to know that I will continue to blog and write for your entertainment despite the temptation to simply update my facebook status. Jack Kerouac did not "Twitter" his way to literary greatness. Nor will I. Look forward to future blog posts and a forthcoming book from yours truly. I will not let you down. And for $19.95, what do you have to lose?

Bicycle! Bicycle!

Bethany thinks I need to start working out. She is right of course. It is hard to find the time to do so when you are at home with two kids and one of them is only 2 years old. When Bethany comes home in the evening, she leaves again to ride her bike or go for a run since she is always training for her triathlons. When she gets back from exercising it is dinner time, after which we enjoy an hour or so of family time before the boys' bedtime routine kicks in. That leaves me pretty much no time to leave the house to do anything, ever.

So it was decided last evening that I will be allowed time to ride my bike a few days per week. Apparently, Bethany is willing to give up a couple of her days of training so that she doesn't have to be seen with a flabby husband. (We all have to make sacrifices.) Frankly, I've heard enough comments about my physique and or health lately. But I look forward to riding more often. I used to ride a lot when I was a young buck, and I loved it.

So the plan is to ride at least twice a week and hit the punching bag a couple times a week. I will track my progress and keep you posted as I become the lean, mean love machine that my wife married 13 years ago. Wish me luck.

"Merle's Door", book review

You are probably familiar with "Marley and Me," a wonderful book about the world's worst dog. As great as that story was, I finished reading a book yesterday called "Merle's Door," written by Ted Kerasote, that blew me away. This is the story of the best dog in the world (in contrast to the ornerey Marley.) The book paints a most vivid portrait of Merle and the Teton Range in Wyoming where he lived with his owner Ted. By the end of the book, thanks to Kerasote's detailed and intimate accounts of life with his dog, I felt like Merle belonged to me. I couldn't help feel like I had known him all my life. Which made the story very emotional for me as well.

Kerasote appreciated every small detail about his dog's life. He allowed Merle to be himself which allowed the dog to blossom into a magnificent animal and companion. His accounts of their life together has caused me to re-examine the relationship I have with my own dogs. Am I too controlling? Do I micro-manage every aspect of their lives? Do I allow them the freedom to be themselves? Are they happy? I hope that I can be a better dog owner from now on and give my dogs the opportunity to live their lives to the fullest. It's what Merle would have wanted for them.

Thanks go out to Kim McCullough, my good friend and fellow dog lover, for recommending this book to me. Although this story caused me to cry for the first time since my mom died, (and for only the second time since my beloved dog Jake died a year and a half ago,) I feel that my manhood is still in tact. In fact, I think I'll be a better man (at least in my dogs' eyes) now that I've read this book.