Shyzer.com

Thank God that’s over with…

As you can see, I’ve made some changes here at Shyzer Industries. During my final few days in Australia, I decided that when I got home, I wanted to give Shyzer a new layout. A few weeks later, I decided that I wanted to switch from MovableType over to WordPress. Then last week, I decided I wanted to switch hosts. So, I figured why not do it all at once and kill three birds with forty-eight stones, because in all honesty the number of problems I ran into trying to do three major things like that at once made it such a bloody hassle.

But now it’s done and frankly, I enjoyed the challenge. Along the way, I learned quite a bit about MySQL databases, I picked up some php coding skills, and I became dangerously competent in Photoshop. I know, it’s frightening. And to think, it only took me staying up until 0900 every morning for the better part of a week to accomplish everything!

First off, this theme is centered around the images about. I use the plural version of image, because if you haven’t discovered this yet, it changes. Every time you reload or go to a new page on Shyzer, the image above will randomly change to any of the ones I have in a certain folder. At last count, there were 46 of them, but I’ll be adding to it as I come across more images that I find reflect the mood I’m looking for. And of course, I’m sure I’ll grow tiresome of some and delete them.

Basically, the inspiration came from this photo, which I fell in love with the moment I laid my bleary eyes upon it. The green on white struck me as beautiful at first, but then I began to love the idea of what was happening in the photo. In my mind, the guy in that picture up and decided to just pack a bag and take off. Hop on a train, let it carry you to an unexplored land, get off in the middle of the night, and just go where your feet carry you. I had that feeling when I was on the plane going to Australia almost eight months ago and it’s such a wonderful rush. It’s where I see myself right now too; poised to take yet another leap into the unknown and knowing absolutely nothing in the future is certain. I just can’t wait until I get to experience that new domain just over the horizon.

All of the photos I’ve used convey that feeling to me in one way or another. Some are of people actually traveling into the unknown. Others are of people dreaming about it. Or at least that’s what I like to fool myself into believing.

Not everything is fully functional on the site right now and Lord knows I have plenty of tweaking to do, but all the interactive stuff should be running. The search function should work, the tag board should work, the comments should work, all the link in the right column should work other than “Sub Pages.” But with that said, if you find anything screwy with the new layout, by all means let me know so that I can fix it. I’m 99% sure this layout works in Internet Explorer too, but dear God was that a battle. Seriously folks, you’d be doing me and yourself a huge favor if you’d just switch over to Firefox. But I digress.

[edit] I just found two things that don’t show up in IE, the horizontal bars separating the sections in the right column and . Damn you Microsoft, I hate your shitty products! [/edit]

Anyways, hope you enjoy the new look. Now I’m off to go catch some z’s before the rest of my family wakes up.

Why is it that every time I wake up, I’m disappointed I’m no longer in my dreams.

I would literally give anything to be able to bring the dream I had last night into reality.

Tomorrow, I will finally be moving my permanent address to a location outside South Carolina borders. I say finally because this has been a desire of mine ever since I was a wee little Goobling in middle school. Sure, I could have left when I was going to college and there’s still a part of me that wishes I had gone and become a Wolverine or Gator like I wanted to, but as we all know, I became a Gamecock. So I figure there’s no time better than now to pack up, head a few states over, and see what it’s like there. I guarantee you come 2006 I’ll be tired of Virginia, but the key to that phrase is that I’ll finally be growing tired of a new place instead of South Carolina.

Like the title says, I never really was a Southern Boy. It’s just not my cup of tea. South Carolina will always be my home, there’s no masking or escaping that, but it will be a home that I visit only during holidays and then leave behind again for a while. If anything, Australia finally gave me the courage to get the hell out of this state and go do my own thing, which is exactly what I’m doing.

This is the first step to bigger and better things. I’ve already made plans that will almost triple the number of countries I’ve been to in my life in only a year’s time, the first of which occurs next month. And as we all know, moving back to Australia is actually not that far off in the horizon =)

But to begin any journey, you’ve got to make that first step. Well here’s mine. It only took me 10 years to get the hell out of this place!

There are three constants in life that I’ve grown to realized are always present. Politics, I never have any money, and my mom being pregnant.

Okay, maybe that last one is a bit of a stretch, but growing up, it sure seemed like she was always pregnant. It felt as if every few years she was breaking the news to me that I was about to receive a new brother or sister. The first time it occurred, she sat me down and carefully tried to explain that she didn’t love me any less and that I would grow to appreciate my new baby brother as much as I did her and my dad. By the time Colton was baking in the oven, it had gotten to the point where she just turned around to me while driving to home and mentioned, “Oh yeah, I’m pregnant again!”

When Tommy, Clay, and Colton were all on their way, I resented them all. Tommy was about to cramp my style of being an only child, we had to move to a new house and new school district because of Clay, and I felt Colton was going to do nothing but make our family more hectic and chaotic. The only one I was ever excited about was Julianne, because she was the first baby sister I was going to receive. Of course, the day each of them transformed from some weird blob inside my mom’s stomach to an actual, breathing human baby, my thoughts and emotions shifted to, “Sweet…I’ve now got another sibling! I’m never going to let anything happen to this little creature.”

And I never did. I’ve always been amazingly protective over each of them, standing up for them whenever the situation arose and feeling no shame in kicking the crap out of a kid half my size who had been picking on one of them. I’ve always tried to pass along any knowledge or tricks of the trade that I’ve picked up along the way and like I’ve said on here a million times, one of my greatest joys in life is watching them each grow up and blossom into their own individual.

But there was one inherent flaw in this grand scheme. No matter how many kids my mom decided to have, none of them could be older than I already was. I know, quite shocking, but it’s true. I was destined forever to be the oldest child, the one kid in the entire family who would never have an older sibling.

To some people that might sound like a great idea, being the oldest child, and I’ll be honest, there are times where I love being the oldest. I can pull rank whenever I need to and delegate duties and chores that otherwise I’d have had no choice but to do. But even despite that, there were quite a few times where I wished I’d had an older brother. Somebody who would have looked out for me, taken me under their wings, and protected me. Somebody who could have been the one teaching me the tricks of the trade and showing me how to get away with things behind mom and dad’s back. In essences, somebody who would have done for me everything I did for my siblings.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t until I was in high school that I realized I’d already had an older brother for the last seven years.

Like I said earlier this month in my post about Jeremy, my family moved right after Year 3. It was summertime and of course normally I would have been out running around the neighborhood with my friends, getting into trouble and causing mayhem. The only problem was that I didn’t know anybody in the new neighborhood and I wasn’t too keen about going out and making new friends. I moped around the house for a few weeks until my mom finally grew tired of my whining and threw me out. She had noticed another little boy across the street, playing basketball in his driveway all alone, and therefore thought he would make a good friend. I remember looking up at her and rolling my eyes when she said this, because, honestly, how would she know that he would made a good friend? She’d never met him or actually talked to him. How did she know he wasn’t weird? How did she know I’d like him? This was my mom telling me he’d be a cool friend, so obviously since she thought he’d be cool, there was no way he could be cool. But of course, despite my screams of protest, I was pushed out the front door one afternoon and told I couldn’t come back inside until I’d gone and talked to him.

So there I was, sent out into foreign territory, scared of this kid across the street who was different than me. I remember looking at him from my front steps and thinking he must be Chinese or something and that he probably didn’t even speak English. It must have taken me ten minutes just to walk across the street over to his house. I kept my head down, looking at the ground as I shuffled my feet on the pavement, and prayed that by some miracle I wouldn’t have to go through with this torturous mission.

Finally I was within talking distance and he had stopped shooting his basketball and was staring at me, sizing me up just like I had been doing him for the past few minutes. After a few awkward moments, I lifted my head, held out my trembling hand, and somehow managed to squeak out a “hi.” He responded with a quick “hi” as well. I was instantly surprised that he even spoke English and before I knew it, I had sat down next to him and we just started to talk. I learned that he was two years older than I was and that he was Malaysian and from there, we just sat around talking. We must have sat outside on that cool, crisp April evening for at least three hours and from then on, we just clicked.

Chong (as I grew to call him) and I spent all summer long together, exploring the forest behind our houses or playing with the scrap wood pieces from construction sites. I remember one particular incident that stands out in my mind as the moment I realized he was a true friend. One afternoon, we got caught red-handed by a neighbor burning some grass clippings. The fire couldn’t even be called a real fire, due to its miniscule size, but we ran like bats out of hell. We must have ran a record time as we flew back to his house and got our “story” worked out. But the main point to this story is that Chong got caught; I didn’t. And Chong never mentioned my name to his parents, not a peep about me being in the incident at all. He had my back the whole way and never once thought about bringing me down with him.

Whenever I had a question about what classes to sign up for, I turned to Chong. The first time I ever sipped a beer or smoked a cigarette (I swear I can still taste the nicotine on my tongue from that damn cig!), Chong was right there by my side watching over me. Chong even seemed to have the answers to any “mature” or “sensitive” questions I had growing up, if you know what I mean. In fact, almost every time I ever had any trouble or qualms, Chong was there for me. The few words he had to offer as pieces of advice invariably turned out to be more helpful than all the speeches I was forced to listen to by my parents. I seriously have no idea what I would have done without him.

As I grew up and moved into high school, I noticed that many “best friends” began to break apart. Guys changed, girls sometimes got between them, and in time they stopped being close friends. But Chong and I had a bond that was far too strong for that. It’s not to say that we weren’t tested though. In Year 10, we both liked the same girl. The only problem was that she kinda liked us both as well. One day while changing for track, I looked over to him and said, “Dude, I don’t want this to turn out bad. I don’t want to end up like some of these guys we hang out with who stab each other in the back just for a girl. We’re better than that.” He turned and looked at me, nodding, and said, “Me too bro. Tell ya what, we’ll let her decide. Whoever she likes more can date her and the other guy will have no hard feelings. Fair enough?” I stuck out my hand to shake his, smiled, and knew that we’d be just fine. It’s not every day that you realize you have a friend of that caliber. And in the end, we proved to the world that we were right. She made her choice, both of us were fine with it, and we moved on like nothing had happened.

But like I said, Chong was and still is two years older than me. Therefore, when I hit Year 11, he was off to uni and that’s when it hit me. Chong had been the older brother I’d so desperately seaked for all these years. And better yet, I had gotten all the perks of having an older brother without having to suffer through the beatings and torturing and general crap that I subjected my brothers to on an almost daily basis. I couldn’t have been more blessed while growing up.

We managed to stay good friends despite going to uni in different states, always talking on-line and meeting up whenever possible. After graduating, he got a job that ultimately shipping him across the country to Seattle. Some might have let that become the beginning of the end of their friendship. Us? Well, tomorrow morning I head out to Seattle for a 5 day spree of drinking, Mariners baseball, and general mayhem with none other than the one and only Chong.

Don’t be alarmed nor surprised if you read in the news that Washington State has called out the National Guard. It’s just their response to a few days of Goob n’ Chong.

Honest to God, could 2005 be any more perfect?

As I stated earlier, I traveled down to Charleston this past week to spend my days and nights with Fellner and his family. They so graciously accepted me into their vacation for the second year in a row and as I’ve always said, a week of fun and sun never hurt anybody. So sorry for the complete lack of posts, but there was no Internet connection and seeing as I have yet to get that chip installed into my brain that will provide me with 24 / 7 web access, I had to wait.

While I was in Charleston, I managed to see some of my best friends from back in the day as well as those I run with more often in the present. It was fantastic seeing each and every one of them. In fact, it’s been amazing seeing all my friends since I’ve arrived back here in the states. It boggles my mind when I think I’ve only been back for three and a half weeks. With all the stuff I’ve done and people I’ve seen, it almost feels as if I never left. But whenever I start to feel like this, I invariably run into somebody I haven’t seen since my pre-Australia days and naturally, one of the first thing each and every one of them does is ask if I enjoyed my trip. I, of course, tell them how much fun I had and how I’m going back this February, which of course leads to a follow up question that I’ve been asked at least 100 times.

“But what’s so amazing about it? Is it the land? Or the people? I don’t see what they could possibly have that America doesn’t that would make you want to move there.”

This question is to be expected. It’s no surprise whatsoever I’m being asked it and so, you would think, I’d be able to formulate a response ahead of time. But ever since I’ve arrived back in the states, I’ve had trouble answering it and it wasn’t until recently that it finally dawned on me. Anybody who would ask that question automatically doesn’t and won’t understand it’s answer.

When I was down in Charleston, I met up with Jessica (my ex-girlfriend) and Elton (the one person I’ve ever been closest friends with). It was fantastic to see them both, since I had not really seen or talked to either one of them in over a year. As the night was winding down, Elton and I decided to go grab some food at a diner and before I knew it, four hours had passed and time was making fools of us yet again. But somewhere in the middle of those four hours, a thought passed through my head. Of all the people I’d seen since I got home, Elton was the only one not to ask that question.

It shouldn’t have really surprised me though. It was Elton who convinced me to follow my heart and get out of South Carolina in the first place. It was Elton who had gone to Chile, and since Brazil, and soon Cuba. It was Elton who I had grown up with, shared my deepest thoughts and desires with, who always knew me better than I seemed to know myself. He had no need to ask such a silly question when he already could see it in my eyes. I was no longer the Goob he had counseled just a short year ago. Sitting across from Elton was the Old Goob, the True Goob, and he could put two and two together.

Somewhere around the third week of my stay in Australia, Sez and I were talking in my room one night and she asked me, “so, is Australia everything you thought it’d be?” During the delayed seconds it took me formulate a response, all the uncertainty and nervousness I felt on my way over there came rushing back. To be honest, I had no idea what to expect and I was only hoping for the best. All I knew was why I was going over there and what I was hoping to gain from the experience, personally. So I responded with, “I don’t know if it’s everything I thought it’d be, but I can certainly tell you it is everything I needed it to be.”

She probably had no idea what in the hell I was talking about, but I knew even as early as week 3 that the five months I was about to spend in Australia was exactly what I needed to finally give re-birth to the Old Goob. And that, my friends, was exactly what I went there to do.

About a week before I left, Emma came to my room with a small piece of poster board. She was leaving the next day to go home, so this was the last night we were going to get to spend together before I left. The poster board in her hand, though, was an ingenious idea she had come up with earlier. There are quite a few International students at Newcastle – some stay for a semester, others for a year. But in the end, we all have to go back home. Well, Emma came up with an idea to get every International friend she had leaving to sign the poster before they took off and that night it was my turn. I came back to my room to sit and think for a minute and eventually the previous conversation I had with Sez came floating through my mind and I thought about how right I’d been, even early on.

Back in middle and high school, I was a happy go lucky guy. Sure, I was serious when the situation called for it, but on any average day, I could be found with a smile on my face and a sarcastic remark on the tip of my tongue. And most importantly, I was happy. Truly happy. But somewhere along the line, and trust me, I’ve thought long and hard about where, I began to change. There were forces in my life, both ones I knew about and ones I never even recognized until many years later, that ultimately seemed to sap the positive energy out of me. By my first year of Uni, I was exhausted and far too serious. Gone were the days of constant sarcastic remarks and random periods of uncontrollable laughter. Instead I was much too moody, judgmental, and serious. Sure, I laughed and joked and had fun, but that spark that I used to have was gone. I no longer would randomly shout out some weird phrase and giggle just for the hell of it. I no longer would act goofy and stupid and completely out of normal just for the hell of it. I no longer was Goob, I was just some average Joe.

But luckily, this only lasted for two years. By my third year at Uni, I knew something was gone, something was missing. I began to search for it and slowly, Goob began to regain his old form. I would send random IMs containing nothing but my favorite recipes. I would call my friends and leave voice messages in my made up language (which only I can speak). I even started creating new alter-egos to entertain people for hours on end.

But the kicker didn’t come until I went to Australia. I needed a fresh new slate, a group of people who had never met or heard of me before. I needed to find them, introduce them to Goob, and see how they reacted. I hoped a few would accept me. Maybe I’d even make a few friends. But I never dreamed I’d fall in love with as many people as I did in such a short amount of time or better yet, that I’d have people actually wanting me to stay instead of come back to the states. And the best part of it all was that I was able to make friends with each and every one of them all while being my true self. Australia proved to me that I could go out and be myself and people would still like me. Australia helped me to remember what it felt like to be the Old Goob and for that, I will forever be grateful.

But that’s just part of the reason why I’m going back. Like I said, if you have to ask the question, you’ll probably never understand. =)

When I was in the middle of Year 3, my parents told me we were moving. I remember not really understanding what that meant at the time, only that the girl I had liked the year before told me that she was moving and then WHOOSH, I never saw her again. When I saw my parents packing up the house in moving boxes, I finally put two and two together and realized that we were leaving the house I’d grown up in (or partially grown up in at least) to go some place else. My dad and I would drive the 20 minutes or so across the county to start working on the house before we moved in, building shelves in the garage and doing some minor yard work and such. My parents told me it was for my own good and for the good of the family. The school district we had lived in before was quite pitiful to put it lightly. Some teachers had suggested we move to another district since they felt I would benefit from a Horizons program and more challenging classes. Plus I think the move had something to do with the fact that Clay was on the verge of shooting out of my mom and we needed a bigger house.

So, right as Year 3 ended, we trekked all of our belongings to the next town over and began our new life in a new house in a new neighborhood in a new town. I was quite angry with the move, promising that I would run away the first at the first chance I got, but every time I only made it down to the road before giving up and trying to set camp under the mailbox. I didn’t want to leave my old friends behind and as much as my parents promised that I’d see them all often, I regrettably had the last laugh by proving them right that I would rarely, if ever, see them again. Later this month I’ll be writing something eerily similar to this about the events that led up to my friendship with Chong, but that was a more after-school, get into trouble in the neighborhood type friendship that we had. This post is about my first friend I made at school. This post is about Jeremy.

To this day, I remember more about Year 4 than I do about Year 5 and 6 combined. Year 4 was a roller coaster of emotions for me. The first few weeks I was in way over my head. At my previous school, division and cursive wasn’t taught until Year 4, but at the new school I was attending, both had been taught already in Year 3. I had no friends whatsoever, I was struggling in all my subjects, and for as nice as my teacher was, I just didn’t really like her that much for some reason that I still can’t explain. So, you can understand why I was thrilled to have found a guy that was nice to me when I finally did around the third week of classes. His name was Josh and he was one of the roughest and stupidest kids in the class. He found more pleasure in skipping class or causing trouble than he did in learning, but I didn’t care because I had finally made a friend. Sort of.

But within a few days of meeting Josh, a kid came up to me on the playground during recess. He very quietly asked if I wanted to come play foursquare with him and being the new kid, I was happy to accept any friendly invitations. He introduced himself as Jeremy and I followed him over to the blacktop and quickly learned the rules to this foreign game I’d never played before. The bell rang only a few minutes later and as we filed back into the classroom, I ran up to talk to Jeremy and thank him for letting me play with him. He said no problem and that I should come play with them again the next day instead of playing with Josh since he was nothing but trouble. 15 years later, I’m still friends with the group of guys Jeremy introduced me to that fateful afternoon.

In 5th grade, Jeremy and I were placed in the same class again. We somehow conned our teacher into thinking we were the most trustworthy kids in the class, so she selected us to run the candy business. Basically, what it meant was that Jeremy and I were allowed to leave class 10 minutes early to take candy out to recess to sell for a few minutes each day. Then, after recess, we were allowed to sit in the back closet and “restock” the candy. Of course, we just sat back there and took as much time as humanly possible to move a Snickers bar from one box to the next just so we could skip math every day. But I’ll never forget one day in particular because it was the make or break point in our friendship. We were outside setting up and I decided that I wanted a Reeses’ Cup. But of course, I didn’t want to actually have to PAY for it, so I just grabbed one from the box and started chowing down. Jeremy’s head snapped over towards me and quickly asked me, “Hey, you didn’t pay for that!!” I didn’t really know what to do, so I just reached down into the money jar, picked up a handful of change, and then just dropped it straight back down into the jar. Jeremy’s eyes narrowed for a few seconds, then slowly a grin spread over his face and said, “That’s more like it.” From that day on, every time one of us would take a candy bar, we would make sure we grabbed some money out of the jar and “pay for it.” But more importantly, it was from that day on that I knew I’d always have a partner in crime if I ever needed one.

There was New Years at the Holiday Inn when we were all about 16 or so. That to this day is still the best New Years I’ve ever had, but I can’t go too much into detail because certain people have threatened me with bodily harm if I reveal too much. Apparently I remember far too much incriminating evidence against people that occurred that night! But there was Dave getting drunk off root beer, us stealing the pool sticks, and Jeremy’s ingenious idea to clear our throats so that we wouldn’t make too much noise when we broke the balls. And of course, I don’t think any of us from that night will be able to forget Mary Poppins and her sidekicks, but I think I’ll just leave it there.

And let me just thank whoever bought the Pimp Mobile off him, because that was the biggest heap of rubbish ever to have four wheels stuck on it. Of course, Jeremy just took a little Hawaiian hula doll and stuck it in the dashboard and called it his pimp ride. I think I saw a grand total of one female in that car. Ever. And that was only because the walk back to her house would have taken her three days. Poor girl.

But Jeremy, this is for you bro. Thank you for always being there by my side and I can only hope I’ve been as good a friend to you as you have been to me. I hope you have many, many, many happy and successful years down the road with Katie by your side. You deserve it mate.

Well, I totally scraped the first version of this post because I was so emotionally wrecked when I wrote it that the final product was just a collection of garbled thoughts that made absolutely no sense. At least now I only have misty eyes and can actually see what I’m writing. But before I start this, I have to get one thing out of the way. A lady in a wheelchair just rolled by as she went towards her flights. She was wearing an eye patch. The moment I saw it, I let out a fairly loud “ARRRRG!” Thanks heaps Australia – You now have me making fun of the disabled. Kudos.

See that paragraph above? It was written over 36 hours ago. I just couldn’t go on at the time. It’s funny how that gap represents over 36 hours of emotions and thoughts for me, yet all you see is a few pixels of blank space. It’s been almost 48 hours since my tearful departure from Sydney. I’m now in Minnesota, sitting exhausted in bed, but I can’t sleep. It’s sometime after midnight or 0100…hell if I know. My watch is still set on Newcastle time and I don’t have the heart to change it. I wonder how long it’ll take to do that. I can tell you from looking at my watch, however, that it’s 1400 in the afternoon back home…well, I should say back in Australia. I keep looking at my watch and trying to picture what I’d be doing back there at whatever time it is. Right now I’d probably be standing in the Riddle Tunnel, wracking my brain to solve who killed Mr. Tidy (I still haven’t figured it out!), or I’d be in Hannah/Keeley’s room singing some random song, or looking to see where a certain someone was…And now, that’s all gone. I know I’ll go back, even soon if possible, but will it be the same? We all won’t be living in TEDS anymore, at least I know I won’t be able to. I’ll have to work, people will be spread out across Newcastle if not the rest of Australia, and others won’t be friends with each other anymore and some will be in relationships that take up all their time. I just afraid I’ll be like that guy who refuses to “grow up” and keeps trying to hold onto things, although that’s nothing like who I really am.

I hugged my brother today for the first time in four and a half months and it felt amazing. I hadn’t realized how much I’d actually missed him and the rest of my family. But you know what? I’d get back on a plane tomorrow and head back to Australia for another year or two or even for an indefinite period of time if I had the opportunity. And I wouldn’t even take more than 10 seconds to think and then agree to go back. Does that make me a bad person? Why am I having trouble letting go to friends I’ve only known for a few months than family I’ve known all my life?

I think part of it has to do with the fact that I don’t truly like any place here in America. Before I left, I was pretty sure I disliked South Carolina, but now I wholeheartedly hate South Carolina with a passion. In fact, I’m dreading returning there even for just a few weeks. If there was some way I could see all my friends and family without actually having to go to that fucking state, I’d do it. I just can’t go back to living in SC. I can’t. Virginia isn’t that much better, but it’s better than SC. Plus, my family is there and it’s my only option for free rent so that I can work 50 hours a week and save money non-stop for a few months in hopes that I can somehow make my way back to Australia.

And here we go, round and round this vicious circle again. I only want to be in America long enough to save money for six or eight months to go back to Australia. But I don’t want to go back to Australia and expect things to be the way they were, because I know they won’t be. But I want to go back to Australia so badly, it’s not even funny.

My aunt asked me what it is that I’m so attached to in Australia and I’m still having trouble trying to put it into words. Before I left last February, I always felt out of place here. Sure, I loved my life and I still do, no questions asked. I loved my family more than anything else, I had some of the best friends in the world (as Fellner has shown everybody on Shyzer day in and day out), and I was living life the way I wanted to. Yet, even with all that, I felt out of place. It didn’t feel natural.

Australia felt natural. It felt like home even without any family or lifelong friends being nearby. And yes, I’m talking about the people and the everyday lifestyle, not the partying I did at the end of the semester or the laziness I was able to enjoy. I can do without those anywhere if I have to since I do understand that I have to “grow up” and all…I’d just rather do without them in Australia =) The thought of getting a house with some of my mates in Australia and finding a job sounds amazing and more appealing than any scenario I can come up with that would involve me staying in America.

I don’t think either group is going to understand completely what I’m going through though. All I can say is this. People are different in Australia than they are in America. Life is different. Attitudes are different. Australians see life through a different shade, live life on a different wavelength. I can’t describe it any better and that’s killing me because usually I can at least translate my emotions and thoughts better than “this is how I feel, just trust me about it.” But I can assure you it’s true and as much as I hate to say it, I prefer the Australian way of life over the American any day. And I’d choose that way of life over my family and friends in a heart beat. Does this make me a bad person? Does this make me cold hearted in some way? And I’m not glorifying Australia, am I? I truly don’t think I am, but I worry that I am, which makes me think that I might be. GOD DAMN IT! ALL THIS RATIONALIZING AND ANALYZING IS TEARING ME APART……..

I’m sincerely sorry. I said I deleted the first version of this post because it was just a collection of random thoughts running through my head. Looks like this post was no different in the end. I guess I’m not in any frame of mind right now to be compiling a worthwhile Shyzer post. I’ll be back with something new in a day or two. In the meantime, I’m going to stay busy here with my family and try to give my brain and heart a rest from all this strain. They deserve it. Or maybe I just need it so I don’t suffer a nervous break down. Either way.

But first I’m gonna flip through the Aussie Scrapbook Hannah and Keeley gave me for the 9,000th time…

I am off to take the final exam of my college career. After that, I am picking up my parcel from my mom, enjoying a short nap, finishing all my Shyzer updates, and then PAR-TA-ING.

Hey, big man upstairs, whoever you are. Thanks for such a wonderful life.

Back in high school, I had a good buddy named Klein that lived right down the road from Fellner. We all ran cross country together and if there was one thing in the world that Klein was, it was a hilarious smartass. The quotes that tumbled out of Klein’s mouth were legendary and you always knew that whenever you were in his presence, laughter wouldn’t be far. But it was also Klein that phrased one of the catchiest words my friends and I still use today. Gooblings. You see, the running joke used to be that every time somebody came over to my house, our family would have grown by at least one child and that child would run around the house in the nude. I’ll never forget one afternoon where myself, my siblings, and most of the neighborhood kids were all in our backyard playing baseball. Of course, since it was in the dead of summer, everybody was only wearing the Essential S’s. Shorts, Shoes, and Shades. Somewhere around the 7th inning, Klein and Fellner drove up and as they approached the game, the hoard of little kids on the field ran up and surrounded them, begging each one to be on their team. Klein was only able to grab their attention and hush the crowd long enough to ask a simple question. While staring down at the faces of countless kids, he asked who was actually related to me. Since all the children thought that the answer rested on which team he would pick, well over half the hands shot up. When he rephrased the question to who actually lived in the house behind him, more hands seemed to linger in the air. He finally just looked up at me, shook his head, and stated, “Goob, you’ve got way too many Gooblings under your control.”

And hence, from that day forward, my siblings were officially known amongst my circle of friends as Gooblings.

On my bio page, you can find the following sentence:

We all talk multiple times a week and I can’t wait to see what it’s like when all five of us are adults.

For years, I’ve tried to image where myself and all the Gooblings will turn up along the way on the road of life. It’s easily one of the main things I look forward to in the future and earlier this month, our journey took one more step towards its way of completion. Tonight, I finally edited the cast page to reflect Clay’s correct age. That’s right folks. Clay, the Goobling right smack dab in the middle of all us Gooblings, the kid who for years and years I tormented to no end, the one who I easily would say is the most like me in every little way, turned 13. The big One Three. A teenager.

He’s made the plunge. Long gone are the days or tormenting and ridicule and replacing them are the days of inclusion and embracing. He’s an official member of the Brotherhood Clan, whose membership before hand only included two. Now we just need some cool handshake or knock or tattoo or something. (Don’t worry Mom and Dad, I won’t let my 13 year old brother get a tattoo. I’ll at least wait until he’s 14.) Although, to be honest, he has been an honorary member for a few years. And I’m not talking about the honorary type member that the PGA did with that black dude Cecil in Augusta before Tiger came around. Oh no. I’m talking about the honorary type member who had full voting privileges and was privy to Top Secret information and everything. The only difference now is that since the honorary member status has been removed, he’s now expected not to fall asleep after a midnight meeting just because he’s tried. That’s no longer an excuse! =)

I still can’t believe that the little guy is already in the full blown adolescence stage. I still remember being shocked the day his biological clock rolled over from single to double digits and yet when I think about it, that was over three years ago. Part of me wants to slow it down, to snap my fingers and freeze the Goobling’s lives right where they are. I don’t want to see them ever lose their inherent innocence. I don’t want the day to come where all three no longer latch onto my legs when I walk in the door. And I certainly don’t want to see the day where they are all dating totally hotter women than me (or men in your case Jules!) because that’s just not cool. I’m already sick of watching Orge woo the ladies. Enough of that! Unless of course they have some hot older sisters. Then by all means, continue!

I don’t ever want to stop receiving pictures in the mail from Jules. As I type this, I am glancing up at the two latest ones she sent me. One contains a picture of a Rhinoceros and says “I (heart) U, Rhino!” The other picture is quite possibly one of the greatest and funniest drawings in the history of little sister drawings. On it, there are two people holding hands with a third, much shorter person standing behind them. The short person is of Jules and she is saying, “Ooooh, Ryan likes her.” The two tall people are me and a hot chick. My face is covered in red dots with an arrow being pointed to my head saying “embarrassed” and the top half of the page is filled with the following caption. “Sooo….Ry. Have you met any girls yet?” These are the things that I never want to loose. I don’t know what I’d do without them.

And even Colton, he who runs around reciting Pokemon and video game phrases. He who comes up with some of the most random sayings and repeats them at the most inopportune times. He who will never talk to you on the phone but who will cuddle and lie with you on the couch for hours on end. He’s already 5 and in two months I will be updating the cast page again to reflect his new age of 6. I don’t want him to grow up. I don’t want him to stop cuddling with me and stop playing Mario Kart Double Dash and stop thinking that the game where I pretend to be a monster and chase him around the house isn’t fun anymore. I don’t want any of this to end.

And yet, I still stand by my belief that I can’t wait to see what we’re all like when we grow up. I can’t wait to see what kind of trouble we all get into when we get together for holidays and celebrations. I can’t wait for the day Colton turns 21 and we all get together to celebrate. Jules will already be and a hot young lady whom will never be allowed to date for no man will ever be good enough for her. Clay will be celebrating his final year of the glorious 20s decade before turning 30 while Waynus will already be 32 with a wife. (yeah, you’re getting married first son!) Myself? I’ll be 38, carefree as ever, roaming the countryside in search of new and exciting adventures, reminiscing on Shyzer about the good ‘ole days, and echoing the thoughts I made here today. I can’t believe how fast these Gooblings are growing up.

But Happy Birthday, Clayster. You have no idea how proud I am to be your older brother. I can’t wait to be lounging on the lake in Minnesota with you and Tom in less than a month, talking about just how great life can get.

I just hope you know how large of a roll you and Tom and Jules and Colt play in making mine spectacular.

ESPN may have pushed this far down on their front page, but I certainly think it’s more important than any draft pick made today. Your memory, and more importantly, the things you did throughout your life still live on today. I just wish I had had the opportunity to meet you in the flesh and blood.

I’ll never forget what you and almost two thousand other Americans have sacrificed for this nation. I think about, with no exaggeration, each and every day I waken. God, if you’re really up there, I hope you’ll allow me to be half the man that Tillman was.

You know, I take that back. I could die happy with just a quarter.

Thank You.