What’s up with me being so down?
By now we know about the bad joke that my moods and emotions are. Hell, I even joke about it most of the time. But over the past few weeks, it’s gotten a lot worse. I’ve been feeling very down and I can’t seem to get any of the bad thoughts that I have in my head to go away. This has caused me to feel weird and to not really want to go out. I stay at home with my wife and my dogs and just kind of exist. I don’t really live. I just sit there and stare vacantly at a computer screen. Sometimes I read. Other times I don’t.
This all came to a head for me a few days ago (Monday, to be precise). I was having a particularly bad day both at work and in my own head when on the way to Franklin everything came crashing down around me.
The Photogenic Pup
Here’s Samson. He is now about 14 weeks old. He’s a handsome man. He is starting to learn little things like how to ask to go outside, fetching a stick and (as the picture above might tell you) doing a bit more swimming.
He’s turning into a good dog. Not as good as Chili, but he’s learning.
Jason Bugg: Bad Ass
I’m not a tough guy. I’ve done things in past that might make people think that I’m some sort of tough dude, like getting in fights, working as a bouncer at a bar or two in Asheville and even talking smack to strangers, but I never considered myself the tough guy. I was the little yappy puppy that ran along with the gigantic and tough dog.
That is until Friday night.
Lord I’m Discouraged.
Lord[1] I’m discouraged. I’m depressed. I’m down in the dumps, gloomy, under the weather and over it already. I’m all of these things. The problem is that things are going great for me.
Don’t get me wrong- life is pretty darn swell, which makes me being depressed all the more strange. I have a beautiful wife, a pretty sweet job, and great friends. But I still can’t shake this almost existential dread that I’m feeling. There’s nothing tangible to it. I have no bank loan breathing down my next, no friends who are suffering and I don’t have to watch a close relative suffer the indignity of slowly dying in a nursing home. Instead I’m feeling this rock in my stomach and lump in my throat over something else- over the way things are.
That’s pretty heady stuff, huh? The way things are.
I’m almost thirty-three and that means that I’m chronically in danger of what idealism I have being torn away from me like it’s a baby being ripped from my teen-mother hands by the Tennessee Children’s Home Society (look it up, I’m to lazy to provide a link for my obscure and overly obtuse reference). I see the world and this country that I live in and share with other people and I feel like nothing good can come from me being locked on this mortal plane with such disgusting people. I see the most horrible and vile racism, greed and ignorance being passed off as the norm and it just makes me sick. I see people and institutions that I placed so much faith in giving up and selling out their principles and ideals for the sake of maintaining a status quo that seeks to destroy everyone but the ruling class. It used to make me sick, but instead now it just makes me sad.
Not sad enough to do anything about it, mind you. Not yet- and that’s when I get even more depressed.
I realize for a moment that there is a chance that I could come across as a raving lunatic, writing his manifesto before committing some woefully sad and anticlimactic act of revenge against the outside world that is such poison, but I doubt that I would ever do that. I’m too much of a pacifist to actually hurt someone. So if this long rambling starts to feel like the words of a borderline psychopath readying himself to climb a clock tower and starting to pick off pregnant women, fear not. I find that I wield a keyboard and Microsoft Word far better than I could a high-powered sniper rifle, and my home office is far more comfortable than a clock tower.
But just because I’m not filled with homicidal rage doesn’t mean that I can’t write a long-winded screed about how these unknown forces are troubling me, so here goes.
What’s better: soccer or the in-laws?
I’ve been holding in a gigantic soccer rant since the World Cup started (in what seems like) a lifetime ago. I loathe soccer. Actually, I guess that’s not true. I don’t mind the actual sport; I just treat it as I treat any sort of children’s organized sport/women’s basketball- it’s really fun to watch the participants try to be athletic and the game to be engaging, but it’s even more fun to watch how red-faced and idiotic the people who defend said sports tend to sound.
Look, I get it- you either have a hard on for all things Europe or you hated the people who played real sports growing up. I know it was hard for you to use your hands to dribble, pass, throw or hit the ball, but don’t take baseball off of ESPN for a month because of it.
But anyways, in the name of fairness and in the spirit of sport I tried to watch the final game today between Spain and the Netherlands. What I saw was an endless ping pong match between the teams: the soccer ball flew in the air back and forth and each time it hit the ground, a player would fall down (whether or not he’d been touched) and the referee guy would give a yellow playing card to the other team. It was like Magic: the Gathering, only a tad more effeminate.
Seriously, there were more greasy-haired dudes diving than at a Greg Louganis look-alike contest. The only time I saw a guy actually get tripped up, the guy who did the tripping helped him up and gave him a hug once it was done. What the fuck was that?
But despite this crap, I gave it an honest go for the sake of my friend Miguel, who hates football and yet watches the Super Bowl every year. His father’s side of the family is from Spain and he had a horse in the race. I figured muscling through the game just because I knew it’d make him happy to have someone to talk about it later with would be the friendly thing to do. Dear lord I was miserable because of it. The next time I think about taking one for the team and doing something nice for someone, remind me instead to just run my arm over with a car instead. I hate soccer and I’m glad I don’t have to hear from the bottom feeding loser culture of soccer gimps for another four years about how I should try to enjoy a “match”.
On a brighter note, last night and today Jessie’s parents were in town. Last night, they came over to our house, ate dinner and stayed until nearly 11 talking and laughing with us. This morning, we all got up and left the house early to head up on the Blue Ridge Parkway to eat lunch at the Pisgah Inn together.
My normal joke about the Parkway is that I never went up on the road because I don’t like the outdoors, I had no girlfriend in my twenties, and I didn’t do drugs that often, thus negating any reason that I would have to travel on that road. But this morning it was beautiful up there. We stopped at a view overlooks and I just took it all in. I tried to count the layers of ridges and got dizzy, and had my breath taken away by some of the huge rocks just jutting up out of those green green mountains.
It was a lovely time and I’m so thankful I did it. Hopefully that was just the start of more mountain adventure. Sue and Dale (Jessie’s parents, whom I’m still not sure what to call them to their faces), were really fun. We traded stories and Dale and I even got confused when Jessie was speaking to her mother about the differences between the Rocky Mountains and the Appalachians (we thought that the ladies were talking about woodchucks for some odd reason). I know the common comedy cliché is to bitch about the in-laws, but I’m not going to- and that’s not because Dale occasionally reads this blog- it’s because I like them.
Now I’m sweaty from my nightly walk with my wife and the dogs, and settling in for a nice long work week. Life is pretty sweet.
Until later, be good.
The Great Outdoors and a Little Country Music
Like most people (I hope), I’m pretty influenced by the things I choose to read, listen to and watch on television or DVD. Recently, Jessie and I have been on a Ken Burns kick, watching all of his films via our Netflix subscription (we’re married; those things come with the license now). As of right now we are headlong into watching The National Parks: America’s Best Idea and I’m utterly inspired to experience the great outdoors as a result.
Wait, what was that?
That’s right, I’m starting to get into the idea of being outside (something I have hated my entire life). I want to go on hikes, long walks, camping trips and even to a few of the National Parks that I’ve seen in the first two discs of the documentary.
I don’t know if this is a passing interest or something that will sustain itself inside of me, but for the last two nights Jessie and I have taken our dogs on the three mile Occanalufte River Trail at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and I’ve loved every minute of it. I’ve watched the river cut thought the mountains and seen trees form a canopy over our heads. I’ve seen giant mountains that create their own weather, and stood for just a moment with my mouth agape, as if I were some flatlander who has never seen these things that actually were around me for all of these times. There’s something about all of this wonderfulness around me that is startling and makes me regret never noticing it before.
Tonight was a normal walk on the trail. Jessie and I were walking a bit fast because we were losing daylight, but just off the trail in the river a solitary old man stood fly fishing. He was new at the sport, according to Jessie who pointed out his neon orange fishing line skimming the water, but it looked so tranquil. I can’t imagine ever doing something that seemed so calming. I decided then and there that I needed to attempt this one day. I could imagine the water surrounding me, alone out there in the midst of the river, flicking my wrist and flinging the line. Just me and the water, first the line goes to the bank of the river and then rides the current down to the front of me. I hold the fly in the water, and then I repeat. It’s freaking zen watching it, and I am dying to attempt it.
But the real highlight of the walk was just as we came off the trail- there was a giant elk standing a little over 15 feet away from us. Our older dog Chili stood in front of Jessie, the new puppy and I and watched the elk quietly eating grass. He posed no threat, but my dog wasn’t taking chances because he’s a good boy. I couldn’t believe that it was standing that close to me. The closest I’ve been to an elk previously was watching Chevy Chase punch the Wally World mascot in National Lampoon’s Vacation. Needless to say, it was amazing.
I think (and hope) the great outdoors and I are like country music for me. When I was a kid, my grandpa always listened to WWNC (long before it was a bastion for right wing morons like Matt Mittan) and sang along with the country music that was played on the station. I remember making fun of him about how hokey the songs were. I vowed to never listen to country music. But now I play the stuff every day (along with a lot of other things). I have a soft spot for most country music that happened between 1950 and 1987. It’s never amazing music, but it is always fun.
Maybe mountaintops, waterfalls and vistas could be Randy Travis for me. I certainly hope so.
Until tomorrow,
Be good.
Big Fat Fatty Bugg versus Husky Bugg
I almost didn’t make it.
A day after my bold self-proclamation that I would update this blog every day until my thirty-third birthday, I almost was scared away from opening up a Microsoft word document and creating this entry that I’m writing (I hope you like it when you read it, by the way. I have no way of knowing if this entry is going to be a good one because as of the time I am writing this-which is in the past to you, the reader- I am unaware of where my ramblings will take me. Also since you are reading this entry in the future, I hope it is a good future devoid of mutants and aliens killing humans, but just in case this is being read in a future full of aliens and mutants killing humans I’d just like to salute my mutant/alien overlords) right now (well, it’s the past to you, but I digress).
Liz the G.O.A.T.*
Dear readers of The Bugg Blog, what you are about to witness in the coming weeks is a torrent of sophomoric humor, witty insights, daily bullshit, odes to obscure music and even a few paragraphs about my wife every now and then all because of the pretty girl in the picture (the one on the right). Her name is Liz, and she’s started something very big. What has she started? I hear you asking through the tubes that make up the internet, and the answer can be found in this entry, just after the mucky muck about the last few days of my life. So read on!
Actual Conversations: Traffic Court Dickery
Today I had traffic court in lovely Jackson County, NC. Without getting too far into what happened, I’d just like to say that I am innocent and will be cleared off all the charges. Also, I should be allowed near schools within the next three years. With that being said, let’s get on with the humorous anecdote that stands and my reason for finally updating my blog.
I stood in line along with every other person with minor traffic offences waiting for my chance to speak with whatever Assistant D.A. that had been assigned to handle today’s round of ticket griping, proof of registration showing, and prayer for judgment requesters. I was thirty people back in line and decided to make conversation with someone.
To my left was a guy taller than me who had at least three visable tattoos that were various company and sports team logos. He had a UNC Tar Heels logo on his neck, a BMW logo on his forearm and a Nike swoosh on his bicep. I thought for a moment that he’d been paid to place those logos upon his body, but I decided that would just be too logical. To my right was a short, rather petite pretty girl names Cassie who was a bit more wholesome than should be allowed. She had no visible tattoos and was wearing a creamsicle-colored dress with a white button up sweater over her top. She smiled and said hello, and I decided to make small talk with her.
For a few minutes, it was a dream- I was in court making small talk with someone who was delightful and witty. I imagined that if I had played by the rules and joined the square community after high school I’d have gone off to college and had tons of boring friends like Cassie. We’d sit in our yards and drink iced tea and talked about quick ways to get to work. We’d both agree that something had to be done about the way things are significantly worse than when we were children and remark about how Dave Matthews was awesome but his new stuff just has no soul. We’d laugh and then I’d tell her husband my lawn care secrets. But then, just as I was thinking about how Cassie and her husband probably made the best strawberry shortcake in the world reality (in the form of my big mouth) ruined the moment.
We both noticed at the same time the court reporter heading over to an open window in the wall of the court room. She opened the glass door that was in the window and removed a hard plastic cylinder that contained those telltale tri-folded court documents. Within moments she had removed the papers and then placed other papers in the tube, closed the glass door and pressed a button to send the cylinder off in a vacuum-swirl of air.
“Oh neat, they have those pneumatic tubes in the courthouse” she said.
“Yeah, those are neat,” I replied, “did you know that in Buncombe County and most other places they have computers that will send those files electronically?”
Cassie let out a light laugh and stared at me nervously. I continued.
“In fact, while I’m sure that it’s impressive to you that Jackson County is using 1950s-inspired technology, the year is 2010.”
Cassie turned away from me. I stood there for a minute before it dawned upon me that I am a dick. It’s like I can’t control it. I see an opportunity to point out something in the rudest way possible, and I do it. At times I don’t even realize it until the moment is long passed. I have no idea how or why this happens, but it does. I was having a pleasant conversation, learning about the admissions process of WCU from a non-student’s perspective while dreaming of garden parties with Cassie and her as-of-yet-unnamed husband and I ruined it by calling her a hick. I might be the biggest dick in Jackson County.
But on the bright side I think I can get out of the ticket.
More to come later.
Be good.
Weekend Affirmation!
Sometimes I think that I’m crazy. Sometimes I think that I’m down and out and that I’ll never really truly be happy. Sometimes I think that my life is a big weekday crawl of work, toil and file notes and weekends where I sleep in too much and spend too much time driving. Sometimes I drink so much that I ruin the next day and sometimes I spend the next day wishing that I had had a few more drinks the night before. But then I have weekends like this past one and everything is fine.
Without going into even more detail about my personal and family life, I talked to Jessie in the spring and made a vow that I would do more with my nephews and niece this summer to help them have a great time. I want to find that perfect balance between letting them experience the things that I never had the opportunity to try when I was their ages (13, 9, and 7) and making sure that they are entitled little brats because of these experiences. I don’t know how I’ll know if I’ve done the right thing, but Friday night I think that I was definitely one of the good guys.
My nephews are at a peculiar age. They aren’t little kids, but they aren’t teens. Sometimes they turn into these rather complicated older kids in front of me, and other times they are just silly little boys. It’s hard to tell what they like and what they don’t from week to week. But when I heard that the WWE was coming to town, I had to take them. I mean, I knew I’d have a good time there, so why wouldn’t they?
