We laughed a lot. In fact, it felt like two people excited to be dating. And all of this got me thinking about the changes of our last few months and the strangeness of marriage.

This summer marks a new chapter in our life together. Chapter one was Los Angeles, and it’s all we’ve known. Chapter two begins in Park City and we are starting over in nearly every way possible.

A strange side effect of this change is we’ve both felt a release of secret tensions which built up over our last year in Los Angeles. No matter how well we tried to cope with my lack of income and our dwindling options, the situation created tension. And fear. And unhappiness. But we were head-down and hanging on so I don’t think either one of us realized the pressure building.

Then we moved, and I started making an income again, and life took on a bit more security. This brought down the walls we’d built for survival. And brutal honesty flared up. Pent up frustration bloomed. Displeasure was no longer weighed down by more important concerns and we found ourselves in a martial free-for-all.

Two weekends ago we had a huge fight, complete with yelling at each other in public – which we simply don’t do. Tears. Screaming. Both of us feeling hurt, unheard, and unloved.

It could be said we cleared the air. Said things that needed to be said. But the result created an uneasy truce, like animals in a circling standoff.

Darkness invades. You pull away, only to suffer horrific tearing as you realize the years of letting this person in has allowed their roots deep into every part of your being. Wonton destruction ensues.

You can’t trace how you got to this place from that happy day at the altar. You look at young infatuated couples with equal parts jealousy and cynical distain.

Then the really toxic idea enters your mind. The thought that this is your new normal. This person you are bound to for life will always hurt you this much, and you will always hurt them. And being married will never feel good again.

In those moments, I try to remember something one of my best friends said:

“NewsFlash: Marriage is Hard!”

In the last year, three of my friends got divorced. A lawyer would describe each of them as completely “amicable” separations, but the human toll has been complete and total carnage. Severe pain and lingering questions like smoke clearing from a battlefield.

I can do nothing but love these friends. I can’t judge them, or second guess them, or even think I know what hard decisions ended each of these marriages. I’ve seen that path in our marriage – like standing at a crossroads in a dark wood and believing that the more frightening path actually leads to a brighter dawn. For some, it does.

But this past weekend reminded me that marriage is one of the most extreme and elastic of relationships. The great lows are matched by great highs, and marriage can not be judged from the outside. Our time together may have looked like a couple in the early stage of infatuation, but the laughter and shared experience was backed by more than a decade of digging into each other. Only time and openness can create this kind of connection. The trust to leave nerves exposed results in a person knowing you in ways you didn’t think possible.

I’ve come to think of marriage like a hike through spectacular jagged mountains. You’re taken by the beauty and experience of the journey and you reach a high ridge to see the spectacular world before you. But this leads to complacency as you descend the peak into the next valley below. And the valley air stagnates and bakes out your will to continue. You think you can’t possibly go on. If the valley is long enough and low enough you begin to wonder why you came on this journey at all.

Should you choose to fight onward, then a climb awaits you. Up out of the valley with exhaustion, sweat, and pain. And always the peak seems distant.

Yet when you get there, you look again at the break-taking world around you. The worst moments seem far behind. The deeper the valley, the more amazing the peak. I wish we could camp out at the peak. Build a marriage on the shoulder of the mountain. But I know it can’t last and life is not lived in a world of sameness.

The hardest thing for me is to remember the truths I’ve seen in these dozen years.
- No conversation or fight is ever as bad as I imagined it would be. So I need to speak up before I talk myself into believing in WWIII.
- Valley’s are hot and terrible, but like a forest fire of destruction – new and stronger life can form in its fertile wake.
- A quick, true laugh with my wife can wipe out our longest fight.
- I have no idea what a good marriage looks like. Because every marriage has days on the mountain in celebration, and days in the valley in bloody warfare.

After twelve years I can’t define our marriage. I couldn’t say what others see in it or believe to be true. I just know I’m always surprised when we reach a mountain top. The views get better. The memories of our struggles fade faster. And I do everything I can to take it in and cherish every second.

We passed the milestone of a dozen years with the joyful infatuation of teenagers with a driver’s license and a savings account. Lost in laughter, fun, and celebration. My favorite anniversary since the day itself. As little as two weeks ago I would have never dreamt it possible.

I know that somewhere on the journey there will be another valley. And the quickest way back to the peak is straight though the middle.

And right about now I’m thinking how blessed I am to have such an amazing hiking partner.

For the first time I’m in a place where the majority of people have a strong faith, but it’s a faith different than my own. Texas was a bubble of Christian insulation. Los Angeles believed in everything and nothing simultaneously. But Utah, as everyone knows, is predominately LDS/Mormon. So I’m in the minority.

And I think I like being in the minority. It causes me to examine my own faith. To challenge what I believe with big questions. I’ve always grown in those times, even when it hurt.

So here I am learning from the Mormon believers around me. And while there’s a lot of misconceptions about the LDS church, there are also plenty of things which have given them a strange reputation. Yet no matter what you think of Mormons there’s one thing you’re never going to hear…

“Those Mormons are Assholes.”

Never gonna happen. In fact, I may be the first person in history to put that sentence together. Because Mormons have a reputation for being nice.  And I’ve felt welcomed, helped, and even surprised by the selflessness of many people around us in Utah.

But that’s just not true of Christians. We are the Assholes. Here we have a belief system based on one core principle – Love – and yet we can’t even maintain a reputation of being nice. God loved us. That resulted in Grace, which by definition is something undeserved, and we’re charged to love others. Which means we’re going to have to share some grace.

Yet, we aren’t. We’re too busy circling our wagons and hurling out arrows of intolerance, anger, fear and hatred at anyone of who doesn’t share our beliefs and dares come within a hundred yards. We’re consumed with categorizing everyone that isn’t in our little club and concluding that we know their motives and purposes all without even having a conversation.

And in the club it’s just as cutthroat. Christians in Hollywood do everything they can to not help each other and would be perfectly happy to stab you in the back and step over you in the process. Churches push people out during their lowest moments, condemning them for whatever sin or failing they’ve committed. Anyone is expendable – only one public screwup away from being shunned. And the more highly regarded they are the more intolerable their failings. Because we all know those in leadership never have struggles or problems.

When I look at the life of Christ I see a guy who loved even when it made no sense. The people who enraged him were always the folks with spiritual access and thought to be in the “in” crowd. The farther you get from Him, the softer he got. He called the religious leaders a brood of vipers but cried out to his father to forgive the very people killing Him. He lived something which rarely gets mentioned – He knew that those who didn’t know God needed love an acceptance first and foremost. And love can lead a person to grace.

I don’t see love coming out of the Christian world. Some individual Christians, yes, but the group a whole is a frightened cornered animal clawing out at the world. Everyone is out to get us. Every belief different from our own is trying to systematically unravel our world. There’s a prideful belief that we are on everyone else’s mind all the time and are being targeted with forethought.

So there’s no room for discussion. There’s no chance to sit down with people different from ourselves and have a conversation. Because who knows what would happen if we discovered that the person we so fear, or judge, or ostracize is actually just a flawed human like we are – trying desperately to make sense of their life.

Peter was a poor hot-headed fisherman with a tendency to act before he thought.

Paul was a self-righteous murderer who believed he had all the answers.

I’m not sure they’d be welcomed in most Christian churches today. Certainly not in positions of leadership.

But look at Paul in Athens in Acts 17, talking with people of every belief other than his own. What’s he doing there? He’s discussing. He’s having a dialog.
Meanwhile our Religious Right is building barricades, pointing fingers, and making sure to label everyone as evil, bad, dangerous, and unwelcome in our little group.

It chills me as I realize something really sad. If I weren’t a Christian already I doubt I would become one. We’re not a group displaying anything worth joining. We aren’t present in the lives of those around us – we’re just pointing out all the things we don’t like about their existence.

We stand in a world drowning in despair, hatred and failure, while keeping the hope, love, and grace to ourselves. Instead of reaching out in love and acceptance to those who need it – which is every single person, by the way – we are focused on things we can’t control and don’t need to worry about.

It seems like everywhere I go Christians are talking about the news in concerned whispers. Shaking their heads in dismay and checking off boxes toward Armageddon. We’re supposed to be loving our neighbor. Being in the world, not of the world. Yet were too busy with intolerance and exclusion. All while looking skyward with a stopwatch as we brace for the world to burn.

I can think of no more hypocritical waste of time.

Why? Because if the world really is going to march through a one-night-only performance of Revelation then that means 1) there’s no stopping it, and 2) there’s nothing we can do about it. So worrying and preparing for it is a complete waste of time and energy. And… if God really is going to win in the end then there’s absolutely no reason for fear.

I believe that Jesus Christ was like no one else to ever live. And He died. And He rose. And there is nothing I can do to get to God… because by the sheer fact of calling Him God it means I am less than Him. So Christ is something vital.

I am nothing without Love. I am lost without Grace.

And so is every person I will come across in every day of my short life.

I know what I need to be worried about: I don’t love my wife enough. I don’t love my son enough. I don’t offer them a fraction of the grace I’ve been shown. Or the amount they show me. And the friends who fill my life. They build me up with love and grace over and over and I don’t return the favor… not nearly enough.

I want people to be surprised that I’m a Christian. I want to surpass what they expect of Christians. I want to be more accepting. More loving. More willing to help. I want to supplant that bad experience they had with a cold-shoulder church, or a legalistic friend, or the parent who modeled God as abusive and unreliable.

Of course… I’m going to fail at it… But it’s something to shoot for. Because I am no better than they are. In fact, I might be worse.

Jesus was a revolutionary because he defied expectations.

How amazing it would be to not associate Christians with “the end is near” talk show hosts or waving hateful banners at groups we don’t like.

What if people said “Christians are awesome. Christians are the most loving people I know…”

That would be a new revolution.

So amidst the packing, I’ve found another way I’m a lot like my dog.

Everything in the world she’s known is being uprooted. Items pulled out of their places. Boxes being filled. All her normal places to nap or hang out are being disrupted or removed systematically.

And each day she gets a bit more unsettled. This is a dog who truly hates suitcases, so I imagine our packing 100 boxes must seem like Chinese water torture. Her tail dips a bit more, creeping down between her legs. She follows closer, scared that things will turn for the worse. Then, she finds herself even more in the way, and more concerned.

This is the same dog who hates the heat. Loves the snow. Revels in the mountains. Finds wildlife of all sizes to be her obvious playmate and long-lost friend. Essentially, this short haired dog thinks she’s a forest raised husky. She’s up for a good adventure in the outdoors and she’d really like to be let off leash to go explore.

But in her mind this situation is all bad. She has no comprehension of what Park City, Utah has to offer a pup like her. In her mind, she’s being forced into a change. And any decision she didn’t make for herself is bound to be something she will hate.

And just before I really shake my head at her… I stop.

Cause I do that with God. Every time change comes I brace for the worst. If I didn’t choose it for myself, then I know I’ll hate whatever’s next. I never really believe that God would push me reluctantly into something I would actually enjoy.

Yet my dog doesn’t want to risk or step out of her comfort zone. She wants us to stay in Los Angeles. Never leave this rented condo. Never alter her schedule. Stay unchanged because change is bad.

While on the other side of the change is a world she can’t understand, but one her master knows will be so much better.

Ouch. I’m doubting God a lot. I don’t trust my Master’s plan any more than my dog trusts me to move somewhere she’ll like even better.

So my first thought is I should be back on leash. No more of this running around.

Then I have a better thought. Quieter. Stranger. Which means it probably didn’t come from me at all.

Maybe God has had a bunch of things to teach me: about my pride, my cynicism, my trust issues. But he couldn’t tell me directly because I wouldn’t listen. He needed to show me.

What I needed, was a dog. A needy, hyper, intelligent, suspicious furball to fear change so that I can learn that things beyond me can be better, and change can be good.

Makes me wonder what He has in store for me. For us. And what other lessons I’ll learn through my dog.

Read Part 1.       Read Part 2.

Then, as I step back out the door I always say the same thing: “Really leaving now…”

And today those three words struck me differently.

We’re a week away from leaving Los Angeles. A surreal truth, and one I haven’t even grasped yet. Because this week will be the first time it feels real.

My wife has been prepping already. Getting rid of things. Going through closets. Cleaning out and organizing as she goes. She may not have packed any boxes yet, but the pieces are all aligned.

Meanwhile, I’ve been in the same routine I’ve been in for months. I spend my days editing or writing, sometimes both, with brief breaks to help with our son, walk the dog, or go to a lunch meeting.

So even though our departure date has been concrete for some time, my schedule has continued unaffected. It’s not real to me yet… until this week.
Now it’s time to put the editing projects on hold. Pack the computers. Turn our still–livable home into a fort of cardboard boxes. That will make it very real.

And then today, as I was taking what will be one of my last LA hikes with our dog, I came to the awareness that this week will be full of “lasts”. Final times to do many ordinary things which have been part of our routine during our time in Los Angeles.

My wife and son will leave and fly out while I’m loading the truck with our belongings. I expect that to gut me. And seeing our home bare will hurt as well.

Yet, they won’t be the hardest moment.

When I pull our huge rented Penske onto the 134 freeway, I will turn east. And a few moments later I will pass by the exit where my great friend and co-host Paul has lived since long before we started Everyday Driver.

In that moment, all my closest friends in the world will live West of me. And I expect the emotions which have stayed hidden so far will burst forth.
Though there are great things to come in our story, a long and monumental chapter in our lives will close. Of course, I will return to LA, and will often…

But there won’t be a home in the valley where I can forget something and quickly return.

“Really Leaving Now.”

And now, just this week, I know for sure that I’m leaving Los Angeles and I’m moving to Park City, Utah.

I’ve never lived anywhere as long as I’ve lived in LA. My life before California was somewhat transient: Kingsville – 3 months, Houston – 3 years, England – 6.5 years, Houston – 4 more years, Norway -1 year, Houston – 3 more years, Waco – 5 years. And then LA with big plans, big dreams, and a lifetime ahead of me.

Now this city is more my hometown than Houston ever was. This state feels more inviting than Texas ever did. I have so many memories and milestones here that I’ve begun to forget them all and cling to the big ones –

My engagement. My first real job. My marriage. My favorite outdoor adventures. My most exotic travels. My screenplays. My Car Show. My dog. My son. My best friends… All linked to Los Angeles. All growing from roots planted here.

I’ve fought to stay in LA this long. My wife has fought alongside me. And while somewhere inside I knew I wouldn’t stay here indefinitely, I always imagined I’d have done “more” by the time I packed up and moved on.

But those feelings lead me to the other side of this equation. LA has taught me anger. LA has made me cynical. LA has taken a boy who was naïve and easygoing and tried to make him bored with life and mad at the world. Hopes and dreams have been soured into fantasies and impossibilities.

So, I live in the city of dreams, but I no longer dream. Not of a big screenplay sale. Or directing a studio feature film. I’ve seen those things for what they are: glass houses full of smoke and mirrors. Now instead of dreaming, I doubt.

There are things I would have done differently. Moments I would have capitalized on, or opportunities I didn’t see until later. But taken as a whole, I’ve done a lot. And I’m learning that my background and life experience are more impressive than they feel to me – like listening to your voice on tape for the first time only to discover that everyone else thinks it’s normal and even impressive while you alone believe it’s odd and disappointing.

So with all I’ve done. All we’ve built. All that still feels left to accomplish. The time has come. And the catalyst is quite simple – money.

I’m only just now realizing that those outside the film industry have no idea how bad it is right now throughout Hollywood. On top of the fact that California is bankrupt and trying to tax people right out of the state, Los Angeles is offering fewer jobs while paying even less.

If you want to work for free, then Hollywood wants you right now. But if you want to get paid something worth a decade of experience then go sit down… With the 300 other people who have your same experience and are desperate for this same job!

In the past year, the only people I know who’ve been hired by the film industry have all been right out of college and getting their first job. Luckily for them, they will advance from their entry-level over-worked and under-paid opportunities to better hours, better titles, and better pay. But what does this new Hollywood hiring plan mean to someone like me?

It means I have no work. And I’m moving.

The really challenging thing for me has been the things this move has stirred up. The classic mid-life-crisis style questions of “what am I doing?” and “what do I want my life to be?” are unavoidable in a time like this. Yet, unlike my move to LA I’m now married with a young son, a dog, and things I could never imagine at the age of 23.

So my wife and I are going through our life, really deciding what’s important. What really matters. Both physically, in the hordes of furniture and gatherings that are part of a life, and figuratively, in those intangibles that bring about contentment.

And we settle on one recurring thing: We want a high quality of life, not quantity of life. We both know too many people who work too much, make a fortune, and only enjoy their lives for the two weeks of vacation they take each year. I can think of few things more heartbreaking.

My goal is the same as it’s been since leaving New Line: Grow and Contribute, and get paid to use the skills I have honed over this time. Now with the Canon 7D and the Red in every company’s closet there are places all over in need of high quality production and post.

As a result, we went in search of what we want our life to look like and then tried to find a job to back it up. Of course, it’s never as easy as it sounds in your head, and my job search has been anything but straightforward. But we’ve always wanted to live in the mountains, close to skiing, hiking, climbing, and the scenery that speaks to our souls.

Which brings us to Utah, and Park City. Most people expected us to leave LA and move right back to Texas. But we’ve done Texas, and the things in life we really want aren’t there. I know plenty of blessed, happy, thriving people in Texas. Yet I can’t imagine myself among them. It feels like putting Pocahontas in Victorian England.

So as He often has, God provides in ways we didn’t suspect and lets us drift frighteningly close to the edge before grabbing our collars. A place to live, a lower cost of living, and work opportunity have all materialized around Park City. All while promising a quality of life we always reserved for “someday”.

There are plenty of risks in this new life we are starting toward. No guarantees it will turn out as we hope. But we’re talking about what we want our life to be, and what’s possible, and what might be in our reach if we stretch. In the midst of this planning, striving, mourning, and risking … something new has arisen.

Suddenly, out of a dusty corner of my mind… I’m dreaming again.

And it feels good.

I just never expected to feel hopeful while leaving.

And the phenomenon has turned the corner from people famous for doing something we love, to people who are famous for just being famous.

Which leads me to my recent irksome line of questioning:

What is Ashton Kutcher known for? Why is this guy famous?

His Nikon commercials seem like the only thing on TV right now. But he’s not a famous photographer. And I don’t want to see another scenario of him as the handsome rule-breaking rouge who snaps amazing pictures with lingere models while using a camera the size of gum.

The role that made him famous was playing an attractive idiot on “that 70s Show”, a painful comedy about a decade which was better left in history. How is this a license to a career?

And now he’s in a new movie “Killers” where he plays a husband who forgot to tell his wife he’s actually a spy. I swear I’ve seen this movie a dozen times with different actors plus read it another ten or more as the first script from some newbie screenwriter. Personally, I liked this film best when it was called “True Lies”.

Arnold Schwarzenegger’s celebrity is the topic of a different post…

Somewhere along the way he starts the show, “Punk’d” which is essentially him getting paid to bully and embarrass others. Cause after high school what you really want to watch is the attractive guy still picking on everyone else… right?

Then he marries Demi Moore, creating the first account of two strange phenomenons: 1) He marries the only woman in Hollywood who somehow becomes more attractive with age. 2) He married a woman whose daughter’s dreamed of dating him until mom stole him away.

Oh… and he decides his life is interesting enough to should challenge CNN to a duel. Who can get the first 1million followers on Twitter? Let me restate that… He essentially said “Hey massive news provider – I bet you more people will want to know what I’m doing than hear what’s going on in the entire world.”

And he won.

What does that Twitter feed read like:

Nikon brought the dump truck of cash today. Told them to put it next to last weeks pile. – 1 day ago

Played practical jokes on three more people. Made one of them cry on camera. It was awesome. – 12 hrs ago

Shot another Nikon commercial. Laughing and joking with beautiful women is so tiring. At least they pay with dump trucks. – 4 hrs ago

Had sex with Demi Moore. Took a picture with my Nikon camera. No, you can’t see it. – 1 hr ago

I just got paid to mention Nikon in my last tweet. Oh look, I mentioned them again. – 58 mins ago

Nikon. – 47 mins ago

Considering challenging Jesus to a Twitter duel. I bet I’ve got more followers than him. – 2 min ago

Now I know you’re probably shaking your head and saying “You’re just jealous”. You’re damn right I’m jealous. I can’t get a job and this guy seems to get paid for… well… I’m not even sure exactly. But every time the Nikon commercial sears my eyeballs I know I’ve been punk’d.

He’s probably a nice guy too. And a hard worker.

But he’s everywhere, for no good reason. So, that settles it, I gotta stop watching TV. Go out and do something so I don’t see his face.

Maybe I’ll buy a Nikon.

Damn you Ashton.

I struggle with Faith. “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen”.

That stuff.

My time in Los Angeles has made this even harder. This is a town built on faith, not facts. Any coffee shop, apartment, or random line of people contains conversations about how things are “about to happen”, or something which will explode into to reality “in a few weeks”. And the unspoken truth is this – it’s bullshit. The vast majority of it will never happen or get close to meeting expectations. But we carry on this way, big plans, big meetings, big talk.

Cause every once in a while it does “happen”. Every now and then a project or idea does explode from nothing into reality like a creative big-bang. And you hear about it, or it makes news because… well… it’s as rare as a lottery win.

Yet we play along. All of us. Smiling and pumping each other up like high school kids before a football game. Some people take this too literally and quickly leap headlong with full faith that it will all happen. They often wind up face down on the concrete. While people like me start digging for facts.

This leaves me with a two-fold problem. You see I know that breakthrough takes risk. In the parable of the talents, the guy that was cautious and buried things was the only one who lost. And I have things to show for charging out without a net… Everyday Driver for example.

Yet, I’ve really only taken two huge leaps of faith in my adult life:

1 – I asked my wife to marry me. There was no question I loved her and wanted to be with her. My struggle was not knowing if I could be a decent husband. And wondering if we would grow old and grow apart. I had no evidence to shore up my hope it would work out. Now, after 12 years of experience, I believe. Even when it’s hard.

2 – I left New Line. I had nowhere to go. No other job waiting. But I was miserable and angry. And getting worse. There was no evidence that our lives would be better if I quit the job. But we knew it would be awful if I stayed. A year later, the company closed, dragging the employees through more stress and heartbreak and leaving them without work. My time since then has been tough, but I’m much happier and healthier. And looking back on that situation… I believe.

My wife has faith. She balances me, which is a big factor in #1. And she hears from God and gets a strange peace about things, which contributed to #2.

Now here we are at a new enormous crossroads. Our time in LA draws quickly to a close and we’re looking out at the next chapter. With no clear direction. And it’s terrifying.

I believe I have talent. I believe it’s possible to live somewhere interesting and inspiring. But moving there with no solid job, no savings, and no safety net requires faith.

So you see the problem.

I’ve been talking to God about it. My wife has as well. And we’ve raised it together. But even she isn’t feeling a definitive peace. Our search for direction goes unanswered.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. I do feel like I’ve gotten an answer, but it is unlike any before. I feel like God is looking down and saying “You’re a big boy. You’ve done this before. I equipped you. So you make the call.”

It’s the parable of the talents in 2010. Bury. Or gamble.

I want to believe, but evidence is lacking. I’m forced to rely on faith.

Here’s the short version: A 20 year old girl in Detroit has been put on probation at her job. Why? Well, she’s a waitress at Hooter’s and she’s getting a bit fat for her shiny orange shorts.

And this made the news. Redefining the “fluff piece”. Ah-hem.

As I fight back an onslaught of ever dirtier jokes I suggest you watch the CNN video for yourself. Then, I suspect you’ll see what I did:

First off, I agree with Hooter’s on this one. Their entire business and perception is based on a physical standard. The Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleaders are a good example to cite, even though the average Hooter’s girl is as likely to make the Cheerleaders as I am to become the first long haired man on the moon.

You go to Hooter’s to have your waitress bend over the table and show you things that aren’t on the menu. And for those of you giving the classic line “But, wait… the food’s awesome. My wife loves to go for their Hot Wings.” Sit down and shut up. I’m not buying it for a second. And if your wife does like to go, she’s enjoying making catty remarks at the same waitress you keep asking for a refill.

Hooter’s is not about the food. It’s more like a soft-core stripclub with an extensive menu. And if you’re going to come in for a bucket of hotwings and a cooler of beer the last thing you want to do is have a tubby waitress waddle over and cause lunch to come back up.

And the company gave her the tools to address the problem. A free gym membership. That’s a perk. It’s on the job training. Literally. Think of it this way, if you suddenly forgot how to do something vital to your job would you accept a free opportunity to relearn and keep your job? Of course you would.
I’m sure she was thinner when she was hired. If you don’t want to stay slim to keep your job… here’s a hint… don’t work at a place where the shorts double as napkins.

But this is not even the strangest part of this “news” story.

Everyone is quick to mention her height and weight. But, it’s not about the numbers, it’s about how the body carries it. And one quick look at this girl and I’m instantly thinking… please find bigger shorts.

Yet, I feel for her when she talks about losing her role “in the Hooter’s family”. Forget the fact that it must be a family petri-dish of dysfunction for a moment and ponder this: She was told all this in her two year review. That means she’s had this job since she was 18. And she’s teary-eyed at the thought of no longer sliding beer across tables while sporting polyester daisy-dukes? May I suggest you aim higher… reach for, well… reach for the sidewalk I guess cause this is a road to nowhere.

Speaking of NoWhere… how sad is your day if a Hooter’s on the outskirts of Detroit, Michigan sounds like fun?

But all of this pales in comparison to my favorite moment: If the company wants to impose a standard for its employees, fine. However, may I suggest that the manager of the restaurant not look like a planet. It’s impossible for me to take you seriously as a critic of other people’s appearance when you’ve got your own gravitational pull.

Terribly insensitive of me? Yes. Absolutely. But if we’re gonna talk standards, it should apply across the board. I don’t care how good the wings are.

I say take the gym membership, and turn yourself into a chiseled specimen. Then take your new look and boosted confidence out and find a new job.

Two Southern California Teenagers are in the news. One, a sixteen-year-old girl currently solo-sailing around the world… non-stop. The other, a thirteen-year-old boy trying to scale Mt. Everest.

They get press because their endeavors bring outrage. Shock. Calls to child protective services because their parents are clearly unfit. People whisper about how these kids are going to die and any proper parent would never support such aspirations.

Maybe that’s true. Or maybe… Just maybe…

We’re all scared alarmist chickens and these parents are doing it exactly right.

What about the fact that this 13 year old climber has already done 5 of the world’s 7 summits? (The Seven Summits refers to the highest peak on every continent…) Most climbers in the world will never do the seven summits. Nearly all the folks who’ve done Everest, including the sherpas, haven’t done all 7. And he’s climbing with his parents who happen to be hard-core adventure racers. The result is a 13 year old with goals and enough dedication to train harder than most adults. This is hardly a kid going from PS3 to Crampon boot.

Or how about the fact that the 16 year old sailor comes from a family of sailors and her brother did the trip a year ago? I’ve met this family. I worked with this boy who did the trip. I don’t agree with everything they’re doing, but I know that their daughter wanted to do this long before her older brother decided to pull up anchor.

Truth be told, I’m pondering all of this for one simple reason: I have dangerous pastimes. I was jumping my bike as soon as I could balance, and when I was a kid we weren’t wearing helmets and kneepads! I’m obsessed with performance driving. I love rock climbing. I enjoy solo trips deep into the backcountry. And my favorite kind of skiing is cutting fresh tracks through tight trees. Yet I still feel like I never really pushed the envelope enough. I’m not half as daring as I’d like to be, and yet my interests scare the hell out of a lot of people.

I know I’ll definitely introduce my son to these pastimes. And there’s a good chance he’ll like one or two of them and want to push the envelope himself. Which means… he’s going to get hurt. And it’s going to be on my watch.

Now before you start filling the comment section, know that I’m far from reckless. I’ve embraced the use of helmets, and I wouldn’t tree-ski without one. I don’t go out into the backcountry without leaving plenty of info on where I’ll be. And anyone who’s climbed with me will tell you they felt very safe.

But I hope I never embrace the growing fear that permeates our culture and is shouted through megaphones toward all parents. I stand astonished to find that everyone can tell you a horror story about everything from sleeping to vaccinations. Do not go onto the internet to see if something is bad for your child. I’ll save you the google time; yes, it’s terrible. Someone knows someone whose child died from it… Anything you can think of, no matter how innocuous, can kill your child.

Into this stupefying din I accept the fact that there will be blood: From skinned knees, and scraped palms, and probably some random headwound which will bleed like a broken damn but only leave a tiny scab on a big lump. That’s growing up.

Heck, that’s just life.

We could all die doing anything. Hanging a picture or hanging from a cliff-face. But I truly believe that taking risks and pushing yourself is the only way to stay young. And my son IS young… so hopefully I can push myself long enough to at least keep up for a while.

A part of me really hopes he ends up world-class at taking risks. I’ve accepted that I won’t be a cutting edge climber or F1 racing driver. But if that’s in his future then I’ll be on the sidelines grinning so much it hurts.

I’ll like it almost as much as doing it myself. Almost.

The real battle will be everyone else. Because now, suddenly, the tiny percentile chance of something going wrong is the only percentage we’re supposed to care about. It’s like believing you will definitely win the lottery every time… and the prize is pain and suffering. Best to not play at all!

Dream big. Take risks. Do something that scares you.

I say that for me. I need to remember. I need to hear it over the rumble of doom. And if I’m really blessed, I’ll raise a son who’ll hear it too.

The cycle of life continues. Or death, as the case may be.

And I seem to have accidentally discovered a perfect solve. A weapon so unrelenting in its assault, so diabolical in its execution, and so far beyond conventional means that it would clear the world’s battlefields and make us all obsessed with our own survival instead of ending someone else.

Into the hotspots of the world we drop one thing.

Screaming Infants.

Sure, you’re thinking that’s horrific. And cruel. And will probably make the babies shit themselves. But, if you’ve been following along then you know this would only increase their viability as the perfect weapon.

Imagine their little tiny parachutes and their mini-sized fatigues. Women everywhere would suddenly become fascinated with war! The heretofore unused sentence “Look at his cute little combat boots” would ring out in every tongue.

But the men, the hardened soldiers on the world’s war-fronts, would find themselves wholly unequipped to handle this new threat. Because, of course, you don’t want to kill an infant to stop its crying. The bomb squad can’t disarm it. Air support won’t come in and strafe it. And you can’t tie a bomb to some teenagers chest and say anything at all to convince them to get closer to the screaming.

No. The universal response to this unstoppable glass-shattering shriek of unhappiness is to find a place where you can no longer hear it. Leave the trench. Go home. Forget what you were fighting for if you can only find a way to regain peace and quiet.

Infant screaming drowns out all other sounds, so any new orders would never get heard. Enough exposure causes an odd zoned-out state where the brain itself retreats into the far corners of the skull leaving behind only enough motorskills to maintain whatever task it was doing last.

That’s why young parents can stand in a corner shushing in a baby’s ear and rocking back and forth for four hours. That’s not dedication or patience, it’s the human equivalent of autopilot.

Once, as I rocked my son and he bellowed in my ear at one constant volume I forgot where I was. I had enough balance to continue bobbing up and down on an exercise ball but nothing else. My wife came in to relieve me, took one look, and said … “What’s wrong with you, you look like you’ve been through a war…”

Which brings me back to my point.

A rain of infants. Just think of it. Like the Normandy invasion in diapers. Steely veterans of the world’s hotspots would turn and run screaming to get away from the sight. Cause let’s be honest, men join the military to smoke, drink, tease the shit out of each other, play cards, watch porn, and pick up some random girl in a bar. And of course… walk around with a loaded weapon. All things you can’t do when a baby is around.

John Lennon got it wrong. We must imagine an invasion of screaming infants. That’s the way to world peace. Brought to you by Pampers.

Pacification indeed.