Is it possible to break your own heart?...

Remember back (i'd ask you to close your eyes and remember back, but then you couldn't actually read what i'm writing here), back to a time when innocence ruled our personality, and a new pair of sneakers meant we could run faster than the day before. Remember back to that time when you'd run a race in the playground to try and win, but ultimately you were just happy you were competing. I think this is where it begins...that feeling....that rush...of acceptance...of dominance....of an ego. When you're younger than that, you do things because it makes YOU happy. Playing with your toys. Eating a cheerio you found on the floor. Hugging your Mom.
Innocence.
Then comes the acknowledgment of dominance. If you win that race, all the kids think you're cool. Notably because you're faster, but you become known as the 'fast kid' and you feel cool. Sometime, someplace, another kid will challenge you, and beat you. So, it begins. You run harder, practice longer, and break your back trying to get that title back. Not because you're curing cancer, but you want your title back....you want to be cool again.

From the time we get our first "Ego Stroke", it begins. With me, I see it everyday, being that I live in L.A. and am an actor myself. In the bars, at the clubs, even at BBQ's...the first question is 'What do you do?' ultimately with the follow up question 'What have you been in? Anything I'd know?' To the lower level actor, each and every time that question is asked it's like a kick to a bruised nut...it hurts...you've worked...but nothing huge...nothing...'known'. You could bust out a movie and say "There I go......!!!", but then you'd feel dumber than before for being in it so briefly. No, it's best to say you're a fucking janitor or something.....but, all of that is off subject....my true ramblings are about Lost Souls today.

Sometimes, with all the pissing contests existing in this town, you get caught up in the bullshit. You go through times of feeling inadequate, and miniscule. Once an actor has caught the bug, (be it in highschool, college or otherwise), it usually meant that you did some kind of stage performance and had the satisfaction of having that immediate gratification of applause. You felt 'cool' again. It's addicting. You want more, and more, and more....you feel...to use a word for a lack of a better one....accepted. Isn't that ultimately all we all want? That's why we buy the 'cool' clothes. That's why we buy a 'cool' car...beause we want SOMEONE to say, "Cool shirt!! Where'd you get that?" or "Damn that car is cool as hell, I'm still driving last years model."
To me, I see it everywhere. It's just more evident here in L.A. There have been times I have looked in the mirror, and a flash would go off in my head and I'd think "Who the hell is that?"

Seriously.

Growing up poor sucked. Growing up poor in Missouri sucked worse. When one kid would ask me what I got for Christmas, I'd always make up something I'd seen in a commercial on Saturday Morning Cartoons. I knew I didn't get anything, but it was so much easier than explaining why I had nothing.
I remember this one time...prepare for a tear jerker....I was roughly 6 or 7...and my school year was about to start, and I had worn out my old sneakers beyond all repair. (duct tape can only go so far) So, my Mom had to get me a new pair. We couldn't get any, so we went to this place where people would donate things to the poor, and if you were poor, they'd give it to you. Well, we got this pair of sneakers....and I use that word loosely.....because, they were made out of something I would assume was a mix between beef jerky and plywood. I 'think' it was a type of leather, but I can't be sure. To top it all off, they were blue...something of a smurf color (pre-smurfs)...but a bit brighter, and the outside was a little fuzzy, like a velvet painting. The next couple of days I tried my best to break them in, but they were so damned hard that they bruised my ankles on the bottom side from them not giving in. This was bad, because school was starting, and not only did I have neon blue shoes, but I was walking funny because of my bruises.
First day of school comes, and I head out to the school bus in the rain....I am kind of happy because I found a pair of my Dad's socks that were fuzzier than mine, but were quite a bit bigger than I should have had, but the fuzziness let me walk fairly normal with my bruised ankles.
I arrive to school, and walk off the bus and a girl says to me, "Excuse me, but your shoes have dyed your socks." and to my horror, I look down and in the pouring rain notice that my shoes are bleeding....I guess the hard material didn't absorb the neon ink they dipped them in. So, the ink is running down my shoe...soaking into my sock....and creating a kind of blue/brown puddle where I'm standing.....this is right off the bus, so I have every kid staring at me on the way passed. Some laugh, some whisper....most just look at what I'm staring at.
That day, that very day, I didn't stare at my shoes.....but stared at everyone elses. No one else had shoes that bled. No one else suffered that embarrassment.

I did, and I knew I had to do whatever it took to make my life better. The older I got, the more I realized that everyone else had nice things, and I had nothing. Older than that I realized that family means more than material things, but people don't look at you at first glance and say..."My, but that guy seems like he has a good relationship with his mother."

No, they look at your shoes, they look at your job, they look at your shirt, your haircut, your everything....they look at everything but your soul...because, that doesn't matter in this town.

If you're nice, you're weak...if you're a liar, a cheat, and a thief, then you're exactly the person that's going to fit right in.

We all have to play the game. We have to...to an extent....I'm trying my best to not lose myself....trying hard. But, in a town where everyone talks to the guy that just did a piece on CSI, and you're left to get the drinks....it's hard to be true.

Listen, a man once said..."Fake it till you make it.", but that only holds so much weight with me. I love who I am....I love the fact I open doors for everyone...I love the fact I say "Thank you." instead of "Thanks.". I love the fact that I call women 'ladies' and men 'gentlemen'.

There's gotta be something said for a boy that has a country accent and knows more about the New York Yankees than half the city of New York.

I love what I love, and it's because it makes me feel good. But, to be accepted, to be truly loved by all.....that's where we start losing focus.....Plato said: An opinion is the medium between knowledge and ignorance.
This holds true for all those that think I need to be 'cooler' to do this, or to have as many jobs as he's had to be cool. That's your opinion.....

I'm now in my 30's...and I think my sneakers are fine as-is. I think I can run fast enough....and I think I'll be just fine standing here in the rain alone.

So, be proud of who you are...not for who you are to others...but, who you are to yourself. Judge yourself by what you see in the mirror inside your soul...take a good hard look at yourself and determine whether you're doing what you're doing for the right reasons. Do you love yourself, 'as-is'? Go to the gym because you want to be healthy....not because Joe's body is better than yours....read a book, not because it's on the Oprah List, but because it's the genre of book you like to read.

You can truly see how much I give a damn about making others happy right now, or I would've stopped writing ages ago...but, this sets my soul at ease.

I have a mother that I love dearly. She's a hippie that truly loves the earth. I have a father that is like Hank Hill and Boomhower rolled into one. I have a sister that is a know-it-all, and a brother that's a pothead....but you know what?....I love them for who they are...they each love me for who I am. No frills...no bullshit.....just a skinny boy with bruised ankles and blue socks....

It doesn't matter what you wear...it doesn't matter how cool your car is....what matters in the end is happiness. Do what makes you happy. Live with respect in your heart, and a sense of decency to you....and people will remember you for the right things....don't let the world rule you.....

Goodnight all....my heart is heavy....very heavy....but, word by word....blog by blog....I'm freeing it of all of its rubbish.

Love me,
Johnny

Our Glass....

I had a wise person a long time ago tell me that we all have a glass, and this glass is full of water. For each friend we have, for each task at hand, or each complication in life...we have to pour a little water. For friends, you usually pour a little into their glass when theirs is running low, just so that they don't let it get too low. But, the problem with that, is if you have too many friends with low running glasses, then you have to pour into each of their cups, which in turn, leaves you with an almost empty cup. Here's where that poses the issue...

In a world that is becoming more and more self absorbed, we tend to enjoy 'receiving' more than 'giving'. So, say you're feeling down in the dumps, and you ask someone to "Just hang out for an afternoon.", and that person says "Okay, I'll bring over a bottle of booze, and we'll laugh, play games and have fun." The next day you feel amazing, and you thank the stars for that friend that poured your glass full. It makes you feel cared for, and loved, and most of all...important to someone other than yourself. BUT!!...then months down the road you forget about your funk. You're doing well, and that same friend calls and says "Man, I'm lower than whale shit. You wanna hang out or something?", and you hesitate. "Can I get out of this in some way? I don't want to make the effort to cheer someone else up. I don't want them to drag me down too if I can't make them happy."

It's a sad thing really. I, myself, am that person that everyone calls. I'm happy by default, and have an amazing ability to blow off the annoyances of life, and focus on the positive. My only downfall with that, is I have a tendency to shove the things that DO bother me, deep down inside so that I 'feel' like I have nothing bothering me.

Now, here we have our analogy...my glass is full, and I run to friends in need of a pick-me-up and I put on a little song and dance and fill their glass to the brim. We laugh, we joke, we have fun. Then as time rolls around, and all that repression of negativity (usually twice a year) creeps up on me, there is no one to be found to fill my glass. They're busy. It's just not a good time. I've heard them all.

My glass is empty. No matter how much I hold it in the air, wave it in peoples face, no one seems to notice. So, it is up to me to find a well. No longer am I looking for other people to pour their water into my glass. I want my own private tap that I can run back to get water from whenever I want....so I can pour, pour, pour until I can pour-no-more.

We as a society continue to separate ourselves more and more from a 'pack mentality'. Rarely do I find people with a friend they've had more than 5 years. I've had my bestfriend for 17...and counting. My glass is never bone dry nowadays thanks to him, and maybe one or two other people. But, the old saying of "It takes a village to raise a child." is no longer a way of thinking in our society. No longer are people looking to 'be there' for others. It saddens me really. The death of love. The death of friendship. The death of family.

Because, with the invent of Social Networking, you ask a friend "Why haven't I heard from you lately?" and they reply..."Whatever! I commented on a post on Facebook the other day!"

Sad.....

Oh, and as a last point....I hate how this town makes you try and be someone you're not. Everyone is in a pissing contest, and if you get caught up in it...you feel like you don't piss far enough....I've come to the conclusion that I'm not going to join in....my piss goes as far as it goes....and it can go no further. Like it, or lump it.

Okay, I'm off to IKEA to get a bigger glass, and I'm going to keep a shot glass beside it. Not for water.....for booze. Because, when my glass gets low....I'm gonna need it.

One love,
Knuckles

Big Dicks, Small Brains, and Tits....

Welcome everyone!!! Welcome to the wonderment I like to call...The Hater.
Let me give you a glimpse at my inspiration for this rant:

Okay, here's my main problem with this picture. The chick is beat ass ugly. She's got nothing going for her. Extreme Makeover looked at her and said..."Are you fucking serious?". The sandals, the hair, the cartoon owl glasses....she is...in all forms...the hater.

Now, on with the rant....

It really pisses me off when people do this kind of shit. "Women are not for DECORATION!!". No bitch, YOU are not for decoration. Listen, if you've got a big brain, you work for NASA and you solve huge problems. You don't see fucktards standing outside with signs saying "People with intelligence are not for thinking!!" They'd be laughed into exile. Here's my thoughts; If you've got a huge schlong...you do porn...not EVERYONE with a huge schlong does porn, but it opens that door for you. If you CHOOSE to do porn, then you're probably going to have a pretty lucrative career in it. If you're a hot chick, you can be a waitress/bartender/stripper or whatever gets you crazy tips from lonely losers thinking that if they give you a huge tip....somehow...it will lead to you wanting to bang his brains out.
Now, take this picture for example, these girls work at Hooters, and obviously do not have huge HOOTERS, but are willing to show a little leg or stomach for a tip. This toad of a woman has never been hit-on in her life, and therefore, probably has a huge grudge against these girls and their mediocre beauty. Now, don't get me wrong, she may be fighting her own fight and TRULY believe that she is standing up for women. But, what women? Uggos? Beautiful women ARE decoration...they're in magazines as models. They're on calendars, billboards, and commercials. Beautiful people attract attention. Simple as that, and without beautiful people we wouldn't be half as interested in a beer commercial, or whatever is thrown at us. If you put this donkey in a beer commercial....I'd stop drinking beer cold turkey.
Look, if you're blessed with something, use it. Smart..be a scientist, a doctor, or a teacher...(please stop with the morons for teachers)...if you're hung...be a porn star or a professional tire swing....if you're a hot chick...flaunt it...in whatever shape-form-or fashion you want. Fuck that ugly bitch and her Sharpie drawn sign.

Life is too short to listen to the idiots, or the ugly, or the mediocre...if you excel at something....utilize it to your best effort.

Also.....men....stop picking your nose in public.

And people in general....stop spitting your gum on the sidewalk....you're stupid.

-Johnny

The Tiger that wants to be a Lion: Chapter One

Living here in Los Angeles, I see it more than I used to back in the Midwest, or even back in New York. It's not really a trend as much as it is, a culture, or a way of being to the women (and even some men). It's the saddest thing you'll ever lay your eyes on really...ready for the reveal?...The Fake Female.

For years it has boggled my mind, and so I started asking questions (the only way to get answers really), and came up with a diverse array of reasoning behind this trend. Let me give you some examples of the types of females I'm talking about.

There's Female Group - Fake Boobs. They are the ones that are roughly in their early to mid twenties and they have cantaloupes sewn under their skin. "I didn't have any boobs before, they're so my shirts fit better." I will now steal a line from Daniel Tosh - "You say you did it because you wanted your shirts to fit better, but you did it because you're a whore! And you forgot because you're stupid."

Now, I'm not saying that all women with fake boobs are whores, but I am saying that they have self esteem problems. A man may say he has a preference to big/small/medium boobs, but in the end, we just want the slippery clam between your legs, so we'll take whatever you have up top. Rough...I know...but true.

Female Group - Clothes/Shoes Whores. These are a special bunch. Pretentious at heart, and try to cover it by being cute, and classy. This is where I step in...now listen closely women...(lean in if you have to) MEN DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT SHOES!!! There, now walk around with that rattling in your head for a bit. Why? Because, then you'll know that shoes and clothes are just a pissing contest between women. Never, NEVER, have I ever been shooting the shit with a guy and him tell me: "So, I was at the bar last night, and this chick walked up to me and she was wearing the nicest Christian Louboutin shoes!! I had to fuck her after that!" Same goes with clothes. As long as you're dressed well, and not over the top, because then you look like a bitch that puts too much time into yourself, which means you'll A: Never throw the football with us. B: Never go hiking/biking/rock climbing with us C: You'll spend 2 hours getting ready to go to IKEA to get an ice tray.

Same goes for you fellas. If I see one more fucking AFFLICTION shirt, or men that are bedazzled from head to foot in fucking Ed "I'm a tool" Hardy....I may very well start swinging an axe around this town. "Look at the pretty colors of red." Johnny calmly said as he cleaved another trucker hat in twain.

Finally, before I wrap this up, I want to touch on what I previously knew it as..."Guido"...but now, it's its own being between men and women altogether.

The Female/Male Ethnic Self Hater. I was lucky enough to be born with black hair, olive skin, and blue eyes. And, for years, people...mostly women...would ask, "Why do you wear contacts?" "I don't you twat. I'm proud of who I am."

I'm tired of seeing Black or Indian women with grey contacts, Latin women with green or blue contacts and White women with all the colors of the rainbow.

Yeah, sometimes it's fun to be someone different. Sometimes it's fun to dress up as someone that you don't see in the mirror every morning. It's fucking called HALLOWEEN!!!

We're born how we're born. We are who we are. Latin women see white women and think "If I could just look a little more like her, the men would like me." White women look at Latin women and think the same...and the criss cross continues throughout. When, ultimately, men don't give a damn about your eyes. We, (believe it or not..especially at my age), want conversation. We want confidence and self esteem. But, not to the point of arrogance. Leave that for the celebrities. That, for some damn reason, everyone is striving to be nowadays.

It pains me to see a world, that is divided, and yet doesn't grasp those divisions as being individuality. Come together with your thoughts, and your ideas...not by our look. What would happen if we all started looking just like the person standing next to us? We'd be like penguins. Yeah, they're monogamous, but my theory is they are so...because they all look the same, and so what's the difference?

Be proud of what you were given at birth. Someone will love you just as you are, and let's face it...fake boobs, coloured contacts, liposuction, dyed hair, and over the top clothing is just falsifying what's underneath it all. Show me the real you. Bare your soul, and expose your inner self, and I may fall in love with that...walk up to me with the aforementioned mess, and I'll spin on my heel and run as far from your ass as possible.

Because, really, what fun would a puzzle be, if all the pieces were square?

That's all for today, I'm off to see some strippers slide up and down on a pole, because they're SEXY!!!!

One life,
Johnny

P.S. Just so you all know, getting all dressed up, and looking nice started off as a way of 'courting' a man, and trying to find a husband. Basically, the bird doing a mating dance. Now, women have forgotten why they dress up. I know women that spend hours getting ready to go out to clubs, and bars, and have no intention of finding a man to marry/fuck/date. It's sad really. All that effort, for nothing.

The Libido Lambada...

I may be no expert in relationships and how to make them last (you may even want to come to me to ask how to do the opposite), but there is one thing I know quite well: The Male Libido.

I read a statistic that stated: Males between the age of 12 and 19 think about sex once every 5 seconds.

Lump my 30 something ass into there with them.

Which brings me to my topic for the day.

Necessary Nookie for the Male Libido.

I believe that nuns and monks are very admirable for their vow of celibacy, but completely unnecessary and they're missing out on a key ingredient to human happiness.

I know two types of women (and a few gray area women) that fall on both sides of this topic. Women are more across the board, because...let's face it...testosterone is the 'horny juice' of the human body, and we have an abundance and you have varied levels.

The first type is the type of woman that can't hold a relationship down, because she likes sex, or uses it to try and find a man. She dresses a little provactively and makes efforts to flirt with Joe Six Pack at the bar. She is up for giving morning head, has the Lunch-hour-Lust and is up for a roll in the hay after getting out of the gym. Yet, she thinks that sex IS love, and therefore can't make a relationship work past a couple to a few years, mostly because she's in a relationship with a guy that mostly liked her because she likes to fuck.

On the flip side of the coin:

The second type is more confusing. The girl that goes out of her way to NOT have sex. Okay, so maybe not go out of her way, but makes no efforts to give it any sort of importance. She'll busy herself to keep her mind off of it, or it just slips her mind altogether on a daily basis, because let's face it, it's not the first thought that crossed her mind before running to the mall to meet up with her girlfriends. She's a fun date, intelligent, and easy to get along with, but finds herself wondering what's "missing" in her relationships and when confronted with "It's because you never want to have sex." She always evades that idea to believe "It can't be that." Yet, if a man thinks about sex once out of 5 seconds, and he's not getting it...it's 'that'.

We as a species (as previously stated in former blogs), may have evolved ourselves into a corner. The woman that knows her man is an animal, but doesn't use sex as either a weapon or as a foundation, is a woman that will keep a happy man for many, many years.

Sex is a key to life. And, as dolphins and humans are the only two mammals that have sex for enjoyment, it's almost a necessity to find a balance of Sex and Life.

The endorphins released cause a euphoric feeling, a bond, and releases anxiety, stress, and a multitude of other bodily displeasures.

As I said, I'm no relationship expert, but I'm observant, and I know that I have lost relationships for making sex the ONLY bond I had with a girl, and also the lack of sex in other relationships.

Here's how it works ladies. Say you get married, and your man is about to head out to Pub Night with the boys. All the men are single that your new husband is going out with, and it's the same 'fellas' that he used to go out prowling for chicks with. You get nervous, and don't know what to think about the situation.

Well, Dr. Johnny has the cure for cancer for this one. Fuck his brains out.

Diffuse the bomb, before the bomb has a chance to blow up. Here's what happens:
You give him a thick riding before he leaves, and when he's with his buddies, he's not only relaxed and NOT thinking about sex (because he just got some), he's thinking about how great the sex was with you, and you've just bought yourself a ticket to happiness.

It's the same principle of when we go on dates. If we really like the lady, we'll rub one out before we go on this date. Why? So that we're not trying to 'score' with you, and we focus more on your wonderful assets, as opposed to your ass-n-tits.

We, as men, know that our beast within is a vile one. He has to be fed in order to 'think' properly and with a clear mind.

This is why we are willing to fuck up a "wife and kids" scenario for one thing, and one thing alone....sex. Whether it be with someone younger, darker, fatter, thinner, redhead, or blonde....we like variety, and hate routine. So, keep it spicy, and keep it wild, and we'll never stray. It's not a "what if" situation...it's a "WILL" situation.

I, myself, do not fit into this category. As you read in my blogs, I am not your Run of the Mill type man. I can fuck up a relationship in a multitude of ways, but it will never be for cheating. I'll punch the clown twice a day if necessary to kill that insatiable feeling of horny, but I will not destroy Love for Lust. Passion, maybe, but not passion in the sexual mind. I love passion of life, soul, earth, and all inbetween, but never "Just for sex."

In finishing, a nun and a monk are respected by me for the intent (as futile as it is), but in the end, they're missing out on making love, jungle fucking, and quickies. They finish doing the wrong thing (alter boys), because it's human nature to want to spread your seed, or have your eggs fertilized.

Or, to simply, get off.

So, men, do your best to know that you have a monster in your belly, and he's just that...a monster. He'll turn you into something you don't need in your life if you let him.

Ladies. Please, if you take anything away from this, let it be this nugget of wisdom: We are far more horny than you THINK you know. We hide it at all costs, but we need to be satiated, or we will look to the first example of woman for what we need. (and we know from the jump that those relationships are doomed, but for some reason, some men still choose to get laid more often, than have a relationship with substance...if they feel neglected)

As Joe Rogan so bluntly puts it..."It's leftover monkey shit."

Final thought:

I'll break it down into my Man Equation; We lift weights to gain muscle, to look 'protective' to get women, to get laid. We go to college, to get a good job, to make more money, to buy cool shit, to get women, to get laid. We shave, we shower, we run, we learn to cook, we do damn close to everything we do...with the intent...that it'll get us laid. No joke. If sex were not in this equation, men would stink, be hairy, and ultimately we'd all look like Zach Galifianakis. Seriously.


So, that's my insight into our gremlin we call our male libido. Feel free to take away from it what you like, but that's men, cut and dry. We love you women, but we love our little soldier just as much.

Why do you think, after every sexual encounter, we ask whether or not you had an orgasm, or "Was that good for you?", because we want you to jump up and down and cheer our name, and say "That was the best sex EVER!! You're a rockstar!!"

Alright, enough said....


I'm off to a Thai Massage parlor...

The ol' Rub-n-Tug,
I'm out....

-Johnny

The Art of the Drink...

A few weeks ago, I was at a bar with a buddy of mine in Denver, and we went to a bar that was exclusively known for serving scotch. I approach said bar in awe at the multitudes of upside down bottles in their individual dispensaries behind the bartender. I say to the bartender "I'll have a Talisker, neat, 3 fingers." to which she replied. "Ummm...Talisker...?? Let me see if we have that." and she then proceeded to walk around a corner and talk to an elderly man, who pointed to the second row of scotch dispensaries. She nodded, and came back to me, and said.."Okay, now how do you make a...what did you call it?" "A Talisker...neat...3 fingers?" "Yeah, that!" "You...grab a glass...How long have you worked here?" - "2 years." - "Oh, for fucks sake...Do you know what a scotch on the rocks is?" "Yeah." "Give me a scotch on the rocks, with no ice, and 3 squirts from your little mechanism that it's sitting on top of."

This hurt my soul.

Not for the fact that she didn't know any of the jargon I was using, but for the fact that a place that should have invited class, had a person in a hooded sweatshirt working behind the bar, that knew nothing of the peaty, distinct richness of scotch, and how to serve it to a gentleman in the know.

I peruse the liquor aisle in a grocery store now and I see "Infused With...", "Cherry Flavored" "Lemon Craze"...and I have to just look on with a head that shakes from side to side in heartbreak.

No longer can a true gentleman show his expertise with such class and elegance by knowing a vast array of drinks off the cuff when hosting a lady in his place. "What would you like?" he would say as he disappeared behind his bar as he popped the top from his silver bullet shaker. "A Rob Roy." "A Sidecar." "A Tom Collins."

And the man would go to work.

Now, with premade, prefabricated everything, in a world that demands "I want it faster!", the smooth caress of a mans hand upon his martini shaker is slowly becoming a thing of the past.

Liquors now have recipes on a rubberband hanging around their neck that simply read "Mix with 7-Up, and you're ready to go."

They've taken then Class out of Classic.

To go back to the bar, where I'm staring with a forlorn face into the empty gaze of a hoodie wearing bartender...I will finish my pain, and agony by giving you her final retort to our conversation.

"So, you want a triple shot of scotch?"

I almost cried.


Classically yours,
Mangano, Johnny Mangano

Shaken, not Stirred.

Prestige....

pres·tige
Pronunciation: \pre-ˈstēzh, -ˈstēj\

Function: noun

Usage: often attributive

1 : standing or estimation in the eyes of people : weight or credit in general opinion

2 : commanding position in people's minds

By definition, this word means "I want to look cool in other peoples' eyes."

It seems to be a word that our society continues to chase day after day, week after week...and so on.

The actual status is elusive by nature, and we tend to blame others when we are incapable of reaching it. Yet, we want it so badly, that we inadvertently incorporate it into our daily speak.

"I'm going to party like a rock star!"

"I'm king of the world!"

"That's so 'yesterday'."

We have this need to feel superior to our peers, and yet we want to fit in and 'belong' at the same time.

As humans, we are pack animals, and every pack needs a leader, but the problem is...no one these days wants to be a follower. Followers are not respected, admired, or showered with riches.

But, what are riches by definition? Money? Cars? Mansions?

"Once I get to the prestigious position, all will admire me and respect me."

Well, Paris Hilton has a mansion, and a Bentley and all the newest couture...and is in fact an heiress to the Hilton Hotel chain...and yet, cannot command respect from us, nor her peers.

And yet, when we fall short of this, and find that our prestige isn't exactly A) Attainable, or B) What we thought it'd be, we tend to play the Blame Game.

Here's what I'm getting at...we all fight and struggle to get on top of what we always imagined to be the pinnacle of success. Whether it be the CEO of a company, or the star of a movie, but sometimes those things don't happen the way we planned on them to.

Take me for example. Big dreamer. Told everyone from the time I was 15 that I was going to be a huge actor, and fought through doubters, haters, and hecklers to get to where I am today. Yet, where am I today? Where I am is a place that I have decided has done exactly what it set out to do. Teach me lessons. Lessons in love. Lessons in success. Lessons in drive, ambition, and power.

I cannot point my finger at everyone around me and say "YOU'RE THE REASON I'M NOT MORE FAMOUS THAN TOM CRUISE!!!", because they are not the reason. No one can destroy you, but you.

And, sometimes, just sometimes...the lessons learned...are greater than the riches that would have come from said success.

There are two topics I wanted to destroy in this blog: Blaming others for our failings, and the idiotic way we all - ALL - want some sort of prestige nowadays.

Sometimes it's not in our cards to get exactly what we want, and the trees roots grow in a different direction than we thought they were going to, and therefore we have to adjust our plan, because if the roots changed, that means the limbs of the tree will grow in a different direction as well. In other words...things rarely ever go according to plan. So, we change with them. We adjust our strategy, and we figure out an alternate route to attack what we call life.

I myself, want a modest, yet comfortable life. I want things that go inside my house, that no one will ever see, and that make me feel nice. I don't care what others think of me, and I don't care if life keeps handing me lemons...I will continue to make lemonade.

Lastly, I don't care about being admired. I do care about being respected.

Respect is something we forget about all the time. We confuse it for admiration, and that has gone way out of control. There was a man that worked in my highschool as a janitor, and he had been there for over 30 years when I was there. Every teacher, every principal, and most parents respected this man. He got Christmas gifts, candy, birthday gifts...from all the people. For his hard work, his diligent life, and his respect for all those around him. This commanded respect from those that surrounded him.

But, he wasn't famous. He didn't make a lot of money. He didn't even drive a nice car. But, he was admired...through respect.

Be good at what you do. Don't make too many waves, and stay passionate about life. Above all, remember that the reason we used to want nice things...was to share them with someone you love, and not be in a mansion, alone, full of disrespect, empty hearts, and broken promises.

Be true to the true nature of Life, and life will reward you with riches beyond all measure.

Now, I need to go wash my Bentley before I leave, I've got dinner at Katsuya with Kate Hudson to discuss A-Rod's future with the New York Yankees.

King of All,

Knuckles