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Forty one years ago, a 19 year old girl and her 21 year old high school sweetheart husband walked into Piedmont Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. She was scared, hurting, and sick of being pregnant because she was two weeks past her due date. Several hours later, an 8lb 8oz boy was born. She picked the first name, Thomas, after her father, and her husband picked the middle name Lance, after his favorite football player at the time, Lance Alworth. They put bottles of anxiety pills, several notebooks, a box of sharpened number 2 pencils, and a laptop in the bassinet and walked away.

The last sentence of that story is untrue. The rest happened. So like Joe Perry of Aerosmith, former major league pitcher Randy Johnson, Cameron aka @MoveOverMaryP’s husband, and the late Roger Maris, today is my birthday, September 10th.I don’t take my birthday as seriously as others. Last year I turned 40 and had a mid life crises for about 3 weeks, and got over it. Now, it’s just a day two days before my youngest daughter’s birthday. She’s 7 on the 12th.  I do believe everyone should at least be treated with kindness on their special day. Maybe give them a break, let them eat what they want, watch their favorite television shows and allow them control of the car radio. Last week, because we have plans for my little Carly aka The Goose today for her birthday, my wife and I “celebrated” mine. We ate chicken marsala, drank til we were silly, and had fun. I am in love with my wife, she knows how to make me happy. Since today is techinically mine, and of course Cameron’s husband’s, I’m going to write what I want. Helene, the robot human hybrids, The Lightning and The Mightning Bug and 100 words can take the day off. Here’s what I want you to know.

1) I have to write. It means more to me than you can imagine. My wife and children are the only things greater than my writing. I think I’m good at it. I know this flys in the face of what others’ believe, but I do it well. One day, there will be a book published with my name on the cover and inside will be a page where I list my wife, kids and all of you who read my crap. Twelve people will buy it, I’ll give you all copies to use as paperweights and doorstops, and my life will be complete.

2) I’m a crazy stupid New York Jets fan. I follow other sports and other teams but inexplicably I am so into that NFL football team, it’s pathetic. I used to be that way about the Atlanta Braves but they broke my heart too many times. My alma mater is the University of Alabama but they have so many championships, I feel like I should apologize when they win. I love the Jets.

3) I am struggling with my Christianity. I want to talk about it, but I don’t know how. I’m not going to church right now. I think it’s because I’m too angry at where I used to go. I read my Bible every other day. I pray a lot. I try to be good person but somedays it’s too hard. My life has been a textbook on sin and redemption. I believe Jesus died for me and least I can do is get over myself and try to live by his teachings. Like I said, it’s hard.

4) I think my second best friend, after my wife, is twitter. I really dig it. It’s perfect for my sense of humor. It’s the right place for my lack of patience and attention span. I speak in 140 characters. I rarely LOL, and I don’t use smileys. I kinda sorta have a problem.

5) I have been beating myself up over my blog. Again, I love to write. I write every day. Ninety percent of what I pencil on paper never makes it to My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. The blog title is ironic, I hope you all have figured that out. Sometimes I post something to see if you all are paying attention and it will get 20 some odd comments. Other times I will take a knife, gut myself and bleed onto the screen and get a handful of remarks. Now you know why I take pills. My blog can beat up some blogs, because you know, there’s some awfulness out there. Mostly my blog beats me up. I appreciate each and every one of you who read and comment.

This is a video of my kids saying Happy Birthday.

We had red velvet cake, my favorite, for my 8 year old daughter’s birthday two weeks ago. Rumor has it The Goose requested oreo ice cream cake for her birthday party this weekend. That sounds straight awesome. We’re taking The Goose and Bug, the 8 year old girl, to the flea market with their birthday money. I can’t wait to see the unnecessary crap they purchase. Wish me luck talking Bug into buying me a CD.

Today’s song is what I want to play. It’s not thematic. It’s not overtly meaningful or metaphorical. It’s just my favorite song at this moment. Here’s The Arctic Monkeys’ Don’t Sit Down Because I Moved Your Chair…it’s ironic too….play it really loud…Happy Birthday to me

The True Story Of Chad T. Hines

I don’t like my name. I never have. When I was 13 I told my parents I wanted to change it to something “cool”. There were no other Lances in my life. I was tired of hearing Lance Crackers, Lance has ants in his pants (accurate but annoying to withstand), Lance Romance (at 13 it couldn’t have been further from the truth), and Lancey schmancey (popular with girls who didn’t find Lance Romance to be remotely possible). I played sports and occassionally hung out with a kid named Bo. The weird thing was, his actual name was Howard Leroy but his nickname that his parents gave him was Bo. So my indignation was two-fold. This kid had a great nickname his parents dropped on him! My last name is also unusual but considerably plain. Don’t take this as an insult to my family or their name. I’m proud of my heritage but our name(s) just don’t zing, boom, pow, or pizazz anyone’s tongue or marquee.

When I went to college I was approached by my friends to get a fake ID. I was 18 but looked 14. I had issues getting booze and entry into bars. When my buddies told me that if all five of us went in together, the criminal mastermind would reduce to price from 20 dollars per card to 15 dollars, I said yes.  I was saving money and I could be someone else. It was the first time in my life I used the ridiculous phrase “win-win”.  I punched myself in the face immediately after.

I attended the University of Alabama. Behind a dormitory was a printing shop, the name of which escapes me, 23 years later. We counted out our cash and realized we were short by a few dollars. I volunteered to go fifth, which meant I had a few minutes to run down the street to write  a check for extra money. The entire time I thought about what I was going to pick as my name. I was an aspiring writer. I imagined bylines and book jackets with my name on them and none  looked good with the name my parents bestowed. As the woman behind the counter cashed my check, I decided on my new name; Silas Bane. Yeah, I know, sounds masculine and unforgettable, right? I was 18, work with me.

I walked into the back of the seedy set up. My four friends had their new IDs. All of them possessed awesome pseudonyms. One of my friends’ ID showed Richard Razor. I punched him too. I stood in front of the camera, the jerk took my picture. Before I had a chance to say anything, the card was in hand, it read Chad T. Hines. Are you kidding me? I threw the card down and demanded he make another one. Then I realized this guy was a borderline gangster and my friends toted me out of the place with my crappy fake identification in the back pocket of my stone washed jeans.

A few weeks later I sat in my English class and started tearing out the pages of my notebook where I had written Silas Bane and other names I daydreamed. Once, an instructor had us write something using a pen name. I scribbled Chad T. Hines at the top of the page and took my B+ with pride. Chad bought beer. Chad talked to a few pretty girls in bars. Chad had his own college radio show. Finally, in 1992, after being 21 for a full year and not needing the use of Chad’s name, I quit using Chad T. Hines.

Have you ever used a pen name? If you could change your name, what would it be? Silas Bane and Chad T. Hines are taken. Try again, chumps.

******blogger’s note******* This is my response to the writing challenge offered by Studio Thirty Plus aka http://www.studiothirtyplus.com/ . The prompt was “Write About Something You Quit”.

Today’s song is dumb but fun. I liked The Tings Tings first record. Yet this song is kind of silly. It fits the story. Plus, some of you will get happy to it. Here’s the Ting Tings’ That’s Not My Name:

Fake Plastic Trees

Conversation is sexy. As a word it’s impressive. Four syllables, twelve letters, stretched over one’s tongue and teeth like warm pants. As an idea, conversation is gorgeous. I fell in love through conversation. Bobina and I talked for hours and I didn’t feel like I wasted a second with her. A few nights ago, we put the kids to down early, laid in bed, and talked. It was amazing. My life is so hectic,  sometimes Bobina and I go weeks in between discussions that have gravity.

The reason I blog and tweet is the pseudo to actual intellectualism that happens between my aquaintances of social media. I’ve “met” some terrifically interesting people over the past two years. Some have ideas identical to mine. It’s awesome to have internet pow wows about music, movies, politics, baseball, and pop culture with like minds from places ranging from California to Texas to Michigan to Florida to England and back to my home area, Georgia. I also enjoy the good natured debate with people because of what I learn.

My social anxiety disorder used to be something I never discussed. Reading the gut wrenching blogs and twitter accounts of people who are just as mixed up about their places in their own mind has allowed me to be more open with my family. I am a better husband, father, and friend as a result.

What conversation reveals is reality. You can small talk with someone and not discover their flaws or their beauty or their demons. But if you take time to conversate, you see it all.

Yesterday, while at the pool, I put the notebook and pencil down, and talked to my sister in law. We don’t see each other often because of how different our lives are, so  spending two hours with her was needed. I learned a lot. We went over our craziness, our similar tastes in music, and how we missed talking. She has a a 9 year old girl, my niece, who keeps her busy. I realized she and I hadn’t had a decent conversation since Christmas. That’s seven months ago.

It’s Monday morning. You’re perusing blogs looking for wild weekend stories or some magic performed by wicked wordsmiths. I chose to write about talking. Do me a favor. Hunt someone you care about or find interesting. Make time to have a conversation. It may start being about baseball or Harry Potter or the new guy or the weather. But if you take a few minutes to ask questions, give information and listen; you’ll have something hotter than the weather, you’ll be waved in conversation.

In the spirit of today’s blog, I want to share something with you from my life. I’ve been struggling to connect on a deeper level with two of my daughters, 15 year old Tay, and 6 year old Goose. We get along great. I’m their father. But we can always be better. On Saturday, I went on a date with the Goose. It was raining so we had to skip the pool, and we talked, played, and then saw Rio The Movie at the discount theater. We had a blast. I learned a lot about what makes her tick. We laughed. Friday of this week, I’m supposed to hang with Tay, going to play mini golf and then have dinner. Hopefully I’ll report some similar conversation and connection.

Today’s song is one of my fondest from my second favorite band, Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead. The song is deep. It’s about being surrounded by phoniness and finding a reality, a meaning, that transforms the person into well rounded emotional individual. I think it’s perfect for this blog. This song will beat up your song.