Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

If you are a regular reader of this blog, first, thank you!  Second, perhaps you’ll remember the post from several days ago I Could Hide Out Under There… I Just Made You Say Underwear!  This is a follow up to that post, and may not entirely make sense unless you’ve read the prior.

Today, I got brave.  I searched deep within me to muster up all the available courage in my body.  That, to be quite frank, didn’t take long!  Once I was feeling up to it, I journeyed to Walmart to do that which I thought I was incapable of doing… I went to buy underwear.

As you learned in the previous post, my biggest fear in doing this was facing the girl at the checkout line.  I couldn’t handle the thought of her, or anyone for that matter, seeing what kind of underwear I was purchasing.  The embarrassment was simply more than I could bear.  However, now moving forward in my life as a bachelor, it was inevitable that sooner, rather than later, I would have to get some new undies.  Today was that day.

Everything was going great until I actually got to the underwear isle.  Do you know what awaits a man in the underwear isle?  The obvious answer, of course, is underwear.  You are correct.  The deeper rooted answer is underwear packaging!  Have you ever looked at the packaging on mens underwear?  Good grief!!!  What the crap is up with that stuff???

As I stood in the isle, my innocent eyes were bombarded with images of men, whom, for the sake of self confidence, I will believe have been photoshopped beyond recognition of their original forms.  Men with chiseled abs and “packages” the size of, well, baseballs!  I’d love to know the marketing genius that came up with these packages, speaking of the external package now.  What would ever posses them to think that I, a man, would want to be subjected to this???  I mean, in all honesty, I was embarrassed to even stand in the isle, and was forever looking over my shoulder to be sure nobody was watching me!

Shopping for underwear should not feel like a trip to an Adult Novelty store, unless of course you’re shopping for underwear at an Adult Novelty store!!!  It’s disturbing!  And I’m sorry, but the men on those packages, with who knows what stuffed you know where is simply wrong! 

Perhaps there is an opportunity in this experience.  An opportunity to design a new form of packaging for mens underwear.  Perhaps nice hand drawn pictures depicting nothing more than the boxers or briefs.  Maybe cartoons would make it less humiliating?  I don’t know if these would work, but there has got to be a better solution than me standing in an isle filled with pictures of practically naked men, enhanced beyond ridiculousness, smiling back at me!  Oh, did I fail to mention that on some of the packing the models are smiling?  

The way I see it, I now have three options for the future.  Option 1: I never buy underwear ever again – perhaps a less than ideal solution, I’ll give you that.  Option 2: I learn to make my own underwear.  How hard can it be?  Option 3: I need to find a wife before this round of boxers wear out!!!

I am so glad we’re finally to Hollywood week. I can’t handle anymore auditions and the bad TV that has come along with them!!!

Seriously though, is it just me or has this years audition episodes been mostly awful? I mean, even the ones that were intended to be funny weren’t funny. They were just annoying.

I will say this though, Ashley Hollister sounded a lot like Norah Jones, and I loved it! Norah Jones has an exceptionally cool voice, so anybody that sounds like her is good!

Finally, and most importantly, I am so relieved that Kara didn’t get hurt when the set fell down! That would’ve ruined the show for me.

When I was in high school, I weighed 120lbs.  Of course, that’s 120lbs soaking wet with 6 complete layers of clothing on!  Now, a few years later, OK, so 13 to be exact, I remove every last article of clothing from me, right down to my watch, before I even consider standing on the scale.  When I get on the scale do you know what it says?  It says, most recently, 180lbs!

STOP THE PRESSES!!!  CALL OPRAH!!!  HACK INTO THE CNN NEWS TICKER!!!  ALERT THE MEDIA!!!  NOTFIY THE PRESIDENT, PRIME MINSTER AND GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!!!  Marc is getting older, and Marc is getting beefier.

Do you care?  I thought not!  Do I care?  No as much as one might think.  So then please explain something to me… my above statements were utterly ridiculous correct?  Nobody is calling Oprah to tell her I’m fat, after all, she’s got weight issues of her own!  As much as I’d love a call from CNN’s Kiran Chetry (whom I’ve had a crush on since her days at WICU) I suspect my weight gain is not newsworthy.

There will be no media coverage of this non-phenomenon.  It will not garner national attention.  In fact, had I not just posted it this blog right now, nobody would ever be the wiser!

With this in mind, can somebody PLEASE explain to me why North American media has suddenly made Jessica Simpson a front page, headline, breaking news story?  Do we really care if Jessica is putting on a few pounds?  I mean really, God bless the poor girl!  If you or I had to deal with such insanity, with constantly being under the ever watchful eye of the media, we’d probably pack on a few too!

Parents are outraged, shocked, saddened, and even heart broken when their young girls stop eating and start dieting.  The perils and torment of anorexia and bulimia are unimaginable to one who has experienced either.  Yet, to my disbelief, we still question how such things can happen.  Well hello world!  Turn on the TV, if Jessica Simpson gaining a couple of pounds becomes an international incident, what kind of message do you suppose that is sending to our wives, sisters, daughters?

I will never grasp this.  What’s worse is, it will likely never stop.  It’s sickening to me.  I mean, it quite literally turns my stomach.  This obsession with weight and size and figure.  I actually love what Jessica’s sister, Ashlee, had to say.

“All women come in different shapes, sizes, and forms and just because you’re a celebrity, there shouldn’t be a different standard. Is this something you would say to your wife, daughter, mother, grandmother, or even a friend? I seriously doubt it.  How can we expect teenage girls to love and respect themselves in an environment where we criticize a size 2 figure?”

Well done Ashlee!  Celebrity or no celebrity, this fascination, this fantasy image that doesn’t even truly exist, it’s become an unstoppable force.

I’ve packed on 60lbs over the years.  Are you kidding me?  That’s a toddler!  Oh but wait, am I fat?  Actually… no!  In fact, I’m in better shape than I’ve been in a long time.  If I drop 10lbs next month, gravity will remain in tact, and sun and earth and moon will continue on their respective rotations and trajectories!  If I gain 10lbs next month, guess what, the same still holds true!

When does it end?  When do we finally look past the reflection?  When do we look deeper?  We do we see inside?  When I’m 60 I won’t look like I did when I’m 20.  Does that make me less human?  Does it make me less worthy of love?  Of respect?  Of dignity?  Does it give you the right to mock me?  Point fingers?  Cast stones?  I hope you said no!

I’ve gained 60lbs… does that make me an open target?  Guess what… it doesn’t make Jessica Simpson one either!

Show me a boy that didn’t think he was Evil Knievel, or some incarnation of him, and I’ll show you a girl!  Now, before you go getting all outraged, give me a moment to complete the thought.  I am not making a sexist statement, nor am I calling your boy a girl.  I am simply saying that in the heart of every young boy, there is a daredevil.

As I child I was a total kamikaze.  In fact, by the time my age entered the realm of double digits, I suspect my hospital file was larger than that of my fathers, mothers, and sisters combined.  In retrospect, it’s no small wonder that Children Services never paid us a visit!

When I was a kid, I had an unexplainable fascination with jumping things, and jumping off things.  Perhaps it was all an experiment in testing the laws of gravity.  Perhaps it was a Superman complex – be honest, at some point we’ve all dawned red underwear and a cape and believed we could fly!  Maybe it can be attributed to little more than, “boys will be boys.”

Name it, I jumped off it.  I used to do flying elbows off the top bunk onto my sisters stuffed animals, and, perhaps, my sister – but only once or twice.  One of my first bone breaks came after a flying leap off the bleachers at the local ball diamond.  As a war wound – a nasty dislocated elbow with bone nearly protruding through the skin!  I, of course, thought it cool.  My mother, well, lets just say she felt differently.

When I was on my bike, I jumped things.  When I was on my skateboard, I jumped things.  In fact, a couple of my friends and I built ramps for both, specifically for the purpose of jumping things!  On my dirt bike, I jumped things – one time unsuccessfully, leading to my first concussion and yet another broken bone.  On my grandpa’s 3 wheeler, yes, you guessed it, I jumped things!

As a child I knew nothing of responsibility.  Consequence was an after thought that usually involved a trip to the ER, ice cream and signatures on a cast.  Sure there was pain, but to a young child, it was the stuff legends were made of!  I had great stories of grand adventures to tell my schoolmates, and the broken bones, casts, bandages, and scars to back them up!

Jumping was about the thrill.  About the freedom.  It was about a sensation rooted in your belly that tingled all the way through you to the ends of your fingers and toes.  It wasn’t about the landing.  It was about the moment between the leap and the landing!  That is where the fun was found, and as a child you didn’t know any better to think about the rest.

Oh how I long to be a child!  Adults don’t jump.  Why?  Simply put, we think too much.  We over analyze.  How far is the jump?  What is at the bottom of the jump?  What will I land on?  Will it hurt?  Will it break something?  Will I break something!?  Will I get sued?  Will I miss time at work?  What are the hidden consequences?  What will it ultimately cost me?

How many opportunities have you watched slip through your fingers because you were afraid to jump?  How many times have you watched a door close before your very eyes because you spent too much time thinking and not enough time jumping?  How many “do-overs” have you have asked for?  How many regrets do you have?

Over the past couple of days I’ve thought about this a lot, and what I’ve decided is this… as a child, I was fearless.  I was fearless because I didn’t know any better.  As an adult, I’m fearful.  I’m fearful because I think I know better.  Take note of the most important word in that sentence… think!  I’m not fearful because I know better, I’m fearful because I think I know better!

My fearless childhood gave me a truckload of memories and great stories to tell.  My fearful adulthood, thus far, has given me a truckload of missed opportunities because I’ve been too busy playing it safe.

Sometimes you’ve just gotta jump.  Leap of faith.  It makes sense to me now.  Going for it without having all the answers.  Taking a chance, not knowing for sure what the outcome will be.  Jesus told us to have a childlike faith.  I get it.  As a child I jumped because I could.  As an adult, I want the same.  

Jumping out of an airplane without a parachute is simply never a good idea.  But sometimes we do need to take chances we might not have otherwise took.  A leap of faith.  Faith to leap, and let God take care of the rest.  Are you willing to jump, without knowing where you’ll land?  From now on, with a childlike faith, `I want to be willing to try!

Another forgettable episode of Idol tonight. I will say this for Salt Lake City Utah though, they are some friendly people there! I also liked the spiritual undertone to the show through some of the song selections.

Even though the judges were less than impressed with David Osmond’s song choice, I will say this, Take 6 is such a great band and I thought he did the song proud!

I was also impressed with Taylor Vaifanua, who sang Joyful Joyful, which was a cover of the Sister Act 2 rendition… great movie by the way! To be 16 and have such a great tone to her voice, if she doesn’t get there this year, I think she has some potential that will be uncovered in the years to come!

Outside of Mr Osmond, who definitely has some potential, and Ms Vaifanua, nobody really jumped out at me tonight. Then again, I watched half the episode on fast forward because of all the horrible auditions that were simply bad, without any element of funny!

Hollywood week can’t come fast enough in my opinion! The audition episodes just don’t seem to be as good this year.

It can really be wrapped up with this…

Simon to George Ramirez: “Where do you see yourself in 11 years?”

George Ramirez to Simon: “I’d probably have a simple house with nice floors, I want marble.”

That was probably the most memorable thing from Jacksonville!

On a side note, I’ve got a crush on Kara DioGuardi, but not a creepy stalker crush.  I just think she is pretty much adorable and the best part of Season 8 thus far!

I went away for a couple of days.  Partly for the sake of being somewhere other than my apartment, and partly to go some place where I could think without all of the distractions of home.  At home there is fire calls to respond to, phones to answer, voice over jobs to record, emails to check, Jon & Kate Plus 8 episodes to watch, and a hundred other things that eat away precious minutes of the day.

Some of these time consumers are certainly more important than others, but all of them suddenly disappear, albeit briefly, when I go away from home.  I don’t care who you are, or what you do – or don’t do – for a living, we can all use a little time away every now and then.

During my time away there were two things I enjoyed more than anything else.  Use of a hot tub, and a king size bed.  These are two luxuries that I don’t often get to enjoy, and yet, two luxuries I think we should all be able to enjoy!

Should I ever find myself elected Prime Minister of this fine country, one of my first acts in office would be to institute tax incentives and rebates for the purchase of both hot tubs and king sized beds.  Allow me to explain a logic that may be difficult for some to grasp.

In my, far from expert, opinion, happy citizens are better citizens.  They contribute more positively to society, they have better personal lives and better professional lives.  I further believe that two things that can contribute to such a happiness are hot tubs and king sized beds.

My journey away from home for the past couple of days, was not merely a journey of physical distance.  It was also a journey in thought.  The pathway I found myself on was one that ended in a decision.  Whenever I find myself facing a great decision, I always like to separate myself from the world for a time so I can focus entirely on making a right choice.  

On the way to my destination I make numerous stops.  Stops to pray.  Stops to read.  Stops to question.  Stops to make lists.  Each one of these stops is crucial in making it successfully to my destination.  It’s not unlike a long car ride that involves stops for bathroom breaks and breaks to stretch your legs, stops to refuel you and stops to refuel the car.  All of these stops are necessary to get where you’re going.

I can get lost in a king size bed.  I can swim in it’s vastness.  I can sleep sideways, lengthways, crossways, it really doesn’t matter. because I can never run out of room.  It has untapped potential.  If I were to select but a single word to describe such a luxury, it would be abundance.

Life is like a king size bed.  How we decide to use it is the key!  We can choose to live life comfortably, finding contentment in a small, non-threatening, simplistic, challenge free existence.  In essence, we can climb into the king size bed and sleep in an area of if no larger than ourself.  We play it safe, using no more than we need to just get by.

Then are those who grab life by the horns, if you’ll pardon the cliche.  Life is an adventure to these people.  Behind every turn is a new challenge waiting to be met.  There is success, there is failure.  This is joy, there is sorrow.  There is living!  

Abundance is available to those who are willing to seek it.  It does not come easily.  It does not come without challenge.  There will be sacrifice, there will be hard work, there will be great reward!  To these people, life is a king size bed, and they are ready to enjoy every last bit of it.

In the last two days I have slept in a king size bed, and have used every inch of it.  Now, I pray, that I will find the courage to approach the opportunities life brings my way with the same resolve.  Sometimes, we find the answers we seek in the most unusual places.  I found mine sleeping in a king size bed.

Look it up – John 10:10

No blogs for the next couple of days. I’m on vacation, or something like that, and have no internet access.

My random thoughts will return in full force on January 28. Try not to cry ok! :-)

When you turn 16 there is one thing, and one thing only, on your mind.  Your drivers license – who said sex?  Good grief!!!  What’s wrong with you???  (Please understand that I am based in Southern Ontario and thus am writing from the perspective of a person from Southern Ontario, where we have to wait until age 16 to drive).

There is great freedom, and great responsibility to be found this chapter of life.  The freedom of escape.  The freedom of that random trip to McDonald’s simply because you can.  The freedom of a drive along the lake to just get away from it all and clear your head.  Then there is the responsibility!  That is not nearly as much fun.

When I got my license I had to pay for my own fuel.  I had to pay for my own insurance (don’t even get me started on the insurance industry).  I also paid for my first car (and my second, third, fourth, fifth… more money than brains as a youth, what can I say).

One thing my parents did pay for was Drivers Education.  This experience, though it taught me little about driving, did ultimately save me money on my insurance, and for that I was grateful.  But there is something about Driver’s Ed that has always bothered me.

As someone who has now been on the road for 14 years, whenever I see a Driver’s Ed vehicle I cringe.  They can’t turn, they can’t signal, they drive to slow, they stop to soon… be honest with yourself.  When you see a student driver I dare you to say you’ve never suddenly become an expert of all things driving and they’ve become everything wrong with licensed drivers!

As I question how such an individual could possibly be allowed to share in this freedom giving privilege of driving, I have to stop and remind myself that once upon a time, not so long ago, I was that individual.  Then I smile, renew my patience, and carry on my way.

Student drivers rank somewhere around 90 year old drivers on the list of the most disliked, most frowned upon, most verbally abused drivers on the road.  All student drivers are aware of this as well!  Sadly, this does little to boost their confidence when it comes to developing their driving skills.

Now consider this.  Already knowing, and agreeing, that student drivers have it rough, to make matters worse, they are forced into the most ridiculous cars that the automobile industry has to offer!  Have you ever noticed this?  Around here I am forever seeing these teenagers cruising the streets in hatchback cars little larger than your average Hot Wheels toy.  I’m sorry, but that is humiliating!

If we ever hope to develop better, more confident, more capable drivers, we need to look for ways to build them up.  A Hyundai Accent Hatchback is not going to do this!  It’s bad enough knowing every single driver on the road wants nothing more than to see you off the road and out of there way!  But putting you in car that I could sneeze out of the way, that’s just cruel!

Call me crazy, but if my drivers education lessons took place in a Dodge Charger, I would’ve felt a whole lot better about being on the road, and I dare say I would’ve had more respect from the other drivers out there sharing that road with me!  Rather than being focused on how embarrassing a ride I was in, and hoping nobody I know would see me behind the wheel of it, I’d be focused on actually learning to drive because the cool factor was already under control!

Instead of the government passing legislation to change the legal driving age, or making alterations to the graduated licensing rules, I think they need to pass legislation about what kind of vehicles students are forced to learn to drive in!  Maybe it’s wishful thinking, or perhaps the mindless ramblings of a lunatic - arguments could no doubt be made for both.  I still say it would go a long way to making the learning experience a more valuable and appreciated one!

Oh, and one final thought.  For those thinking, but what if the student driver really can’t drive and they wreck such a nice vehicle?  Well don’t worry… we’re all getting screwed by the insurance industry, so it wouldn’t hurt them to have to pay out from time to time!!!

I am divorced.  Not entirely by choice, or at least, not entirely by my choice.  In the days after my divorce I would often find myself reflecting back on all the different things I loved about married life.

Anything could trigger a memory for me.  A song, a TV show, a sound, a smell, an event, a phrase.  Many of the memories are happy, some are sad.  I will always be sorry that my marriage broke down.  I will also always hold on to hope that one day I’ll have another chance to be married again!

Lately there has been one thing in particular that I’ve been missing.  You see, I have a bit of a problem.  I am an extremely shy individual.  This shyness makes certain things very difficult for me. 

There is a real irony about my shyness considering what I do for a living.  Being a radio personality, one would think that I’m a fun, outgoing, total extravert.  In reality, I’m a quiet, simple, content introvert.  Truth be told, it’s 14 years of sitting in a studio alone that is, at least partially, responsible for making me this way.

My shyness presents a number of challenges for me in life, but perhaps none greater than the purchasing of new underwear.  I am 30 years old, and I am afraid to buy my own underwear!

The thing is, I could quite possibly die from embarrassment if the checkout girl at Walmart saw what kind of underwear I buy.  Not because I buy weird underwear either you pervert!  No, simply because if she sees me buy the underwear, then she knows what kind of underwear I wear!  I can’t handle the thought of somebody being able to picture me in my boxers!!!  Yes, I wear boxers.  Crap… did I just make way for that which I fear most?

So, among a thousand other things, this is one thing I miss about married life.  My wife always saved me from having to go through the exceptionally torturous task of buying my own underwear.  She knew that such an event could potentially scar me for life.

My back up plan was Grandma.  Before you go thinking twisted thoughts, we all know that every Grandma buys their grandkids socks and underwear for Christmas.  Now that Grandma is getting a little older though, this Christmas she gave us all a cheque so we could do our own shopping… so much for the back up plan!

Eventually I am going to have to get some new boxers.  Something tells me I’m going to have to get them before I get married again too! 

One day, perhaps not so long down the road, you’re going to sign into this blog and find it untouched.  No recent posts and no indication why.  I offer to you now, that when that day comes, it’s likely because I finally broke down, went to buy my own underwear, and didn’t survive the experience!