I Can't Think of a Title.

Thanksgiving is hands down my favorite day of the year. It's like Christmas, only better, because one does not have to worry about buying gifts, or acting surprised when you get the gift you wanted or acting content when you did not get the gift you wanted. But this Thursday I was a little reluctant. This is because scribed in my newly received day planner was a memo; Wisdom Teeth.

I awoke Friday and promptly began my directions. I downed two Valium, and swished with mouthwash. In the shower I went, feeling fine, out of the shower I came, feeling indifferent. At this point I was starting to worry. Do I have some unknown tolerance to these drugs?

I put on loose fitting clothes as instructed, and pulled out a book. After a couple minutes I became bored and closed my eyes, welcoming another short rest. I sat for what seemed like an eternity until my mother beckoned for me. And was I conscious? Heck yes, I was. I sat on my butt, and slid down the stairs like when I was a boy. On the way to the car I made a point to ram into every inanimate object possible.

I opened my eyes in the oral surgeon's office and the he said his famous last words, "I'm going to pinch your arm a bit." The medicine flowed coolly through my left arm as the nurse placed some device over my nose. I laughed and told her she was being rude.

I awoke, roughly an hour later, exactly four teeth lighter, and was out the door faster than I expected. I got in the car once again, and just quickly as we had came, we had left. For a brief moment I told my mother to go back and get me my teeth. She obliged, but upon returning to the office we learned that she had thrown them away. Home, sweet, home I was, and the remainder of the day I spent on the couch, sleeping and waking. Likewise Saturday and Sunday passed without any significance.

I read on my directions that it would be worst between the third and fifth day, but by 12:00 o'clock on Monday I was still feeling nothing. Then Oh my God, Oh my God I was dying. After eating Egg-Drop Soup I was in the shower; and I was puking. I got out and the whole world turned against me. My mother refused to acknowledge the fact that I existed while she chatted about family matters on the phone, and with my dad's face burrowed into the computer screen I could sense his reaction would have been the same.

It was the first day of school, I was in the fifth grade. I was riding my bike and came flying down the a hill at mach three as would any ten year old. SMASH! The top of my head connected with the rear end of a construction van, inches from the tail light, which sent me at least five feet into the air. I landed on the ground and immediately stood up, my bike in a heap as proof of the accident. I made my way over to the grass and sat down. The driver of the car came over to me in a rage and immediately called the police, convinced that I was at fault. Time passed and I was in the hospital, preformed on me was a cat scan, and after a few hours I was released, free to go home to my first night of homework. I'm telling you with all honesty, I would've much rather been hit by a truck again then have my Wisdom teeth taken out.

It wasn't until then that the idea of Wisdom Teeth Extraction seemed sketchy to me. It wasn't until then that I realized that I had not even seen my wisdom teeth. Who's to say that my parents didn't fork over 20 thousand dollars just to have them cut up my cheeks a little? Beware masters of oral surgery, or shall I say, con artists, I am on your case.

You don't know me.

Hey, just a tid-bit for everyone out there. The hater has struck again.

"The fact that what you got out of my comment was that I didn't want "deeper meaning" is ridiculous. My point was that what you write is some of the most pretentious and trite stuff I have ever read. You're attempts at being "deep" are what ought to be stopped immediately.

To quote you:
"So, I've decided to come up with an enumeration (that is, for all of you whose repertoire is not as large as mine, list) of things for you to do that would be more deserving of 35 dollars patronage."

The fact that this sentence is real disgusts me. I'm sure you're much better than everyone else: you shop at VDO, you cut your own hair, you so don't care what anyone thinks about you.

I have nothing against you blogging; please, blog away, blog all you want. But really, if you're going to blog, you ought to write about something worth reading. There are plenty of hip 16 year olds who think they're outlook on life is mature and wise, when the fact is this stuff pouring out of your mouth (or rather being written on your blog) is a bunch of useless garbage.

Oh, and before I click 'publish', I can feel a point about to be made about this comment. The fact that I came back even though I loathe your blog. I wanted to see if you had taken note of my previous comment and indeed you have: and, to my delight, you've even written an entry dedicated to it!"

Every time I read this I just get this awesome feeling deep inside of me.

Number 1. I was writing about my birthday. Hardly deep, once again.
Number 2. You are wrong. I own clothes from Hollister, I get my hair cut by a gay man which are often valued at upwards to 50 dollars, and I do care what everyone thinks about me, (See previous statements.)
Number 3. My blog was not dedicated to you, you were simply a by-product.
Number 4. The only person seems to have the impression that I have the impression that I'm wise is you Miss, and you are one of one person I have met opposition with in my writing.
Number 5. To support my egotistical personailty: I rock, you suck.

Birthday: In Review

It all began on Sunday, two days before my date of birth. It's customary in our family to invite our relatives over for feast and for presents. Now, usually I have a hard time with this event. Between my grand father's state of perfection I feel that I am at best mediocre. This, I thoroughly believe is a threat to us all, and is liable to rip a hole in the space-time continuum. I do not care if I am great or horrible, as long as I don't land in the middle of the spectrum.

But this time was different. I give credit to my 2 years of teaching karate, for giving me the skills to be able to communicate with someone other than just making stupid jokes. Everyone arrived at 5:00 and I sensed a haste within them as we began eating my delicious tacos promptly at 5:05. We sat around a table for close to an hour discussing Track-a sport I do not play- and The Golden Compass- A book I have not read.

My mother then made the executive decision that I was to open presents. So I sat on the floor in our family room, ten people staring at me, as I began surgically removing the tissue paper from bags. I received Pulp Fiction, Guitar Hero III, A day planner, socks, and an electronic turn table wherein I can convert my records to MP3s. The only problem with the latter is that I do not have a computer to use it with.

We ate cake. Within an hour we were saying our goodbyes, and for some reason I have not yet discovered, I was begging them not to go. It seemed like there was some unfinished business we had to discuss.

Monday passed without any problems, and I awoke Tuesday feeling the same. Every year I do this to myself. On November 19th I promise myself that when I wake up the next morning I will feel somehow different, somehow older, but then I realized that I'm just a day older than I was yesterday. I did the same routine as always got in the shower, got dressed, and was off to school. I had conflict with the administrators, I knew that they put us in school that Tuesday just in spite of me.

I walked up the stairs of our JHS and as I did I obligated myself to step on the rubber part of the steps because I needed to hear the sound. When I got to the top I stood there and laughed at my stupidity. How into myself was I that I had mandated that my body make certain sounds?

In years past it has been my personal experience that birthdays and school don't mix. As teachers force their minions to sing Happy Birthday to a person they would probably not know otherwise. This was especially painful in Spanish when I had to stand in front of class while I was serenaded by maybe 5 of 20 kids singing me feliz cumpleanos.

At four o'clock I made haste to the residents of Rachel James. There I was promised a present. I found wrapped neatly in a bag a copy of the book "The Fuck Up," a necklace which I need to find a charm for, a box of fruit snacks, and last but certainly not least, a Kirkspuhler.blogspot.com T-shirt that I am wearing right now. Yes, it was a good day.

Just Let a Boy Have His Blog

"Anonymous said...
I don't like that you write so many words in this blog and yet you manage to not say anything.

As much as I can appreciate you voicing your opinion, I feel like while you're telling us to be ourselves and be unique, you're trying to be something you're not with big words and "existential" thoughts.

I feel like, after having read three of your blogs, nothing but little quips and "deep thoughts" have been presented.

Quit trying so hard."

This, to me is very disappointing. Beyond disappointing. After reading this comment I think that I suffered a brain hemorrhage or two. What you said Anonymous was probably the most bombastic remark that anyone has ever come up with in their life. Trying to search for a theme, however, I've decided that you would like to see a blog with out any "deeper meaning" stuff. Maybe I am just naive, but I don't think anyone can get 'less deep,' if you will, than the fact that I did not find any peas in a microwave dinner I was eating. It cannot be proven, but I think that the only reason you found a problem with my blog was because of some bigotry that you have with me.

Alas, my good friend Elze, whom I have quoted numerous times in the blog before says that I need stop being so arrogant, and try to accept other people's criticisms. I highly doubt the first part will ever happen, but this is me attempting the latter:

My brother plays division III college football in Illinois (and before you ask, no he does not play for Illinois, the team that beat Ohio State this weekend). He is 21 and a senior. Saturday was to be his last game, and since I have not seen him for a year plus, I thought it would be a good idea to go and visit. I awoke, after two hours of sleep, at 2:30 in the morning. Took a shower, brushed my teeth, and after, waited another half hour for my mother to return from the depths of her closet. Our journey began shortly after 3:30.

My mother and father have recently decided that it was in our financial capability to purchase a new car. Or rather, SUV. The Mercury Mariner.

This made the journey all the more fun. Equipped standard is the Sirius satellite radio. I do not think there has been an invention more beneficial to Human Kind. Sorry Thomas Edision. This meant that I was able to listen to the likes of Ryan Adams and his folk-rock cronies, and when that got boring I just switched to the Comedy station to laugh out loud-literally- to the comedic genius of hundreds. It gets even better.

Because of our early departure time, I was blessed with the unique experience of being able to watch the world wake up.(Matt just said to me,
"Nevermind42592 (9:52:01 AM): somewhere in that post, just throw my name in it.") What made it better was the fact that around six or seven, when the majority of people are getting up, ready for work, we were driving through Columbus...or maybe Cincinnati, I do not remember. Now, I am not a master of drugs, so I do not know how this will rival their experiences, but the feeling of watching the lights flicker on in a big city was very euphoric. In fact, I encourage you to some day take a drive on a highway overlooking a city. I promise you, you will not be disappointed.

Nothing significant in the car happened after that, so I will skip ahead to the game: My brother's team lost.

After every game my mother always meets my brother to have a quick talk before his return to the locker room. I stood coolly, like the idiot I am, waiting for him to come over. Adorned with my two-month-high-school-beard, corduroy jacket, and grey scarf, I was egar for him to see how much I had grown up in the past 15 odd months. He immediately gave my mother a hug. I diagnosed this as an isolated incident. My brother has this need to feel tough, bravado is his middle name. He turned to me, I shook his hand and smoothly asked, "How's it going?"

Fast froward 45 minutes and the three of us are walking into Vic's Family Restaurant. I found this ironic, because I've come to realize that we are not much of a family anymore. We sat down, and my brother's face was immediately hidden behind his new cell phone. My dad used to pay his cell phone bill, but he decided that that wasn't sufficient-for reasons undisclosed-and bought his own plan. In fact the only time he broke away from his electronics was to talk to a good friend of his who coincidentally had found himself at the same restaurant at the same time. This young man, Aaron, had just been engaged that day. I believe then that it was our duty to try and defeat whoever holds the record for "fastest time three people have eaten three different meals." I have not verified with Guiness World Records, but I believe we have accomplished our goal.

The night ended as we took my brother to the liquor store to which he is employed. He bought some alcohol and we set off for his dorm. With another handshake, and a kiss from my mother he was gone. It has recently occurred to me that this may very well be the last time I see him in the college town of Jacksonville, Illinois.

It was not until I was driving home, my mother asleep in the passenger seat that this feeling of nostalgia overtook me. Where had the days of old gone to? Where had the boy gone that used to throw me against the wall for pleasure? For nine hours, I bit my cheeks to keep myself from crying.

Has anyone else experienced this? Leave a comment explaining, please.

Kirk Spuhler is not unlike Bono

The Blog has been a huge success. I've been receiving many complements. I've had over 250 hits in the few short weeks that it's been up. I have even had IP's from that have come from South America. Chile, even, where the majority of the people do not even speak English. Para mí amigos latino, tú tienes mi amor. In fact, there is only one man, Maddox, who rivals me in wit and power of the pen. His website can be found here.

But let's all be honest. I have not updated in quite some time. If I had a quarter for how many times people have begged me for a new blog I would have exactly $8.50. Let it be known: your futile tempts are to no avail. I do what I want, whenever I want. Since it is after Memorial Day, I, not unlike the corporate executives', have Christmas on the Brain. Now whenever someone promises me wealth beyond my wildest dreams or sexual fantasies no one has yet imagined in return for a new blog I can think of only one thing. When Oliver Twist goes up to get more soup and the man (forgive me, I do not know his name) says "More?! I'll give you some more!"

What I am trying to say is that don't fight the hand that feeds. I am the patriarch god damnit and you, ladies and gentleman, need to respect that fact. My grandmother has told me often that patience is a virtue. Just sit tight and wait for the right time. You wouldn't call up Jim Tressel in the middle of July and say "Hey, get your boys out on the field!"

That being said, let's get to it. My better half Rachel James said to me that I need to make my blog "More Personal." So here it goes.

I have a yellow lab. Her name is Bitty. She is getting almost seven years old and has lived in our house since she was a puppy. She is the cutest thing in the world, but her one fault is that she digs in the trash and pulls out the garbage. So often times I throw things (ie. paper towels, napkins and tissues) in the toilet instead of putting them in the waste basket. One such occurrence happened a few days ago. I had a runny nose, and so I blew into a tissue, and thew it in the toilet and away she went. About ten minutes later I was reading once more and I felt the rumbling that my bladder does to say "Hey, I gotta go." So I went back to the bathroom to relieve myself. While I was standing there, it occurred to me just how much water I had wasted. I just flushed the toilet when I didn't even need to. I am not one hundred percent certain, but I believe that my house was built in 1993. This means that I wasted almost four gallons of water in this instance alone.

It's strange writing it down, but then my mind jumped to the children in Africa. I just stood there in all my indecency thinking of all the people who had not even seen that much clean water in their lives, and here I was in Jackson, Ohio just throwing it away.

My main goal for this blog is for people to enjoy it. There is no greater pleasure for me than to have people laugh at my jokes. I think, however, that there comes a time for everyone to be serious. It is my firm belief that we live in the greatest place in the world. Because of this, I think it is also our duty to try to raise the standard. So I'd like to challenge you. What have you done today to make the place we live better? I cannot answer for you, but I have a feeling that an honest response would be "nothing."

This is not me joking. This is me not being funny. In all honesty, let's do something to help someone else.