#j oliver

[johnoliverstshirtcannon]

I neeeeed to get back into John Oliver’s work

[renatofilomena]

Dave Weckl and Jay Oliver > Higher Ground

[corpse-grl]

The sweetest face in all of time and space, my little Whovian.

[digitaldopefr]

Meek Mill feat Boosie Bad Azz - Fuck You Mean ?

New Post relayed from http://www.thatshitisdope.fr/meek-mill-feat-boosie-bad-azz-fuck-you-mean/

Alors que Meek Mill est en prison depuis Aout rien ne l’empeche de sortir un nouveau son avec l’ancien détenu Lil Boosie « Fuck You Mean » produit par J Oliver.

Meek Mill is still locked up since August but he still drop some new material here’s his last leak « Fuck You Mean » feat Lil Boosie produced by J Oliver.

[towardfatherhood]

Keeping Promises

But one day, I told myself, I would care for a son of my own.

I would keep my promises to him. I would love him and teach him and shower him with affection and kindness. I would teach him to fish.

And I would take him camping.

Twenty-five years later - to the season, if not the day - having accomplished all but one of those self-promised tasks, I am at last taking my firstborn son camping in the mountains.

It is a pearl obtained at great cost, but I present it to him freely. It is my joy and an honor to do so.

Fatherhood is life.

[towardfatherhood]

Building Your Own Story

Today I read this very sincere post, and this very lovely one about our culture's attitude toward families with two or more children. I feel it, too. I get a lot of friendly guff when I mention we might someday add a fourth ring to our three-ring circus. I grin and bear it, because I expect it. And really, here's the thing:

People aren't trying to be mean.

It's clear enough that we live in a consumer society. We've all heard the astounding totals: hours of TV per child, number of ads seen per day, tons of candy purchased each year. It's all become very commonplace. It's the new normal. "Whew!" we say. "That's a lot!" And then we go back to whatever three things we were doing at once.

We're all working so hard, though, and so accepting of this "new reality" of dual incomes and soccer weekends, that we gape, exhausted and confused, at anyone who dares exit this crazy ride. "You're doing what??" someone blurts. "Well you'll never get to my ideal retirement that way!"

It's not that they want to control your life. It's that they're so deep in their own story, it's become their only truth. Dual incomes are what it takes, because larger houses must be bought. Cars must be updated and maintained. Cable bills must be paid. Extracurriculars must be supported. And that retirement account isn't gonna fund itself! The frantic, driving demands of the mainstream American "life" leaves little room for the healing practices of self-reflection, contemplation, re-evaluation, and rest. All we have space to do is what we were taught and encouraged and nearly forced to do - react and move on.

That is the story I see repeated in these blog posts: strangers approach, react, and quickly move on. It's the most common way to live now. It's the social media way. The Internet way. It's the Individualist, blurb-driven, angry/tolerant, garage-door, new American way.

So when you get looks of pity, confusion or annoyance for living your own story, try to realize (once you've collected your wits) that these people are stuck in a different, darker story. To them it's a fine story - frustrated and exhausted is what humans were meant to be - and they find your story weird by comparison. And maybe it is weird. Much weirder, though, is the human who lives a story that drains and darkens the soul, ignoring the light that calls them, fearful of ridicule.

[towardfatherhood]

Satisfied With Long Life

But God seemed to have a real appreciation for working men who supported widows and the poor and fatherless, and I wanted him to appreciate me. While my mother was no widow, she was alone and poor, and her life decisions had left all of us kids essentially fatherless. So I stayed.

"I'll stay," I declared, "Until I hear otherwise from the Lord."

Clearly I could have left at any time. I had a job. I had friends. It would have been an easy thing to cry Sayanara! and leave my wounded and wounding family to fend for themselves. My mother was a survivor above all else; I knew she'd find a way to keep on.

But my commitment was not to my family - it was to my Papa (back then I called him "The Lord"). My conscience was troubled by the idea of just taking off. I wanted very badly to leave...but I wanted to leave clean. I wanted to finish well.

That day finally came when my mother, long suffering from some undiagnosed dementia, worked herself into a frenzy over my "worldly" church friends and "devilish" Christian rock music. Oh, and my drug use. And secret child abuse. And constant fornication. In her agitated state, she accused me of every imaginable evil. And there was no room for argument. "GET OUT!" she screamed. And this was the word of The Lord to me. This was my release.

The sting of her stunning rejection, though scarring, was assuaged by a deep satisfaction that I had finished a difficult course, and finished it strong. I had not quit. I'd done what I believed I should. My conscience was clear, and I felt the giant hand of God himself scooting me into the next chapter.

This is how I want to feel at the end of every long, difficult course: strong. Undeterred. Unmoved by despair. Unaffected by opinion. My commitment cannot be to home or job or writing or even parenting per se, but ultimately to my Papa. He will teach and provide and sustain. He will bring life and joy. Disengaging or checking out feels like short-circuiting Papa's process. Not that he would condemn me - he is superbly gracious - but that I would miss out on some part of the Great Story he's written.

So I carry on through difficult days, commuting, working, waiting, growing. Until he says "Excellent job, son! Let's move on!" In this way I will finish each chapter of my life with a light heart and a clear conscience.

And when this Great Story concludes, I'll look back on every word of it with satisfaction, never once wondering whether I made the right call.

[towardfatherhood]

On Loving A Wife As A Woman

My friend Alex and I give each other crap all the time. Our every encounter begins and ends with verbal jousting, wisecracks, dry humor. "What's up sucka?" "You're looking awfully lumberjack today." "Well not everyone can wear your bow ties..." "Get out." It's a good time.

Alex used to be my boss. We sat at neighboring desks and our repartee went on all day. The problem was that I often took my sarcastic work voice home with me. I'd get home and deadpan something stupid like, "Hey. You got some crime-fighting to do? You look like a superhero."

One day my wife shot back, "Hey - I am NOT Alex! You can't just talk to me like that!"

And she was right. I hadn't meant any harm, but I was talking to her like a dude. Discussing like a guy. Arguing like she was my boiye.

But my wife and I are not boiyes.

My wife is sensitive. I am analytical. She feels the world, while I just observe it. In parenthood, this divide has grown even more marked. I am a very task-oriented father, but my wife must slog through emotional forests and fields I've never imagined, loving, providing, protecting, engaging, fearing, loving from her very soul, in tune and resonating every emotional signal from our three babies.

So I'm learning to create space for her. Space to rest. Space to emote. Permission to experience ups and downs that I can't fully understand. Freedom to escape when she reaches her limit.

I love her as a woman.

Because that is who she is.