Archive for December, 2009


The Large Man Chronicles


Believing…Part II   Merry Christmas

Well I think we made it…for the most part. Thanks to PNP.com, and a wife that is committed to the cause; Santa lives in the Large Man home for at least one more year. It’s an amazing website if you have young children like mine, or even if you are an old child…like me. Santa speaks to you on this website, and it’s real, it’s believable, and quite touching. You should give it a try. I still believe in Santa, and I always will. 

The Large Man Chronicle you are about to read has “been sung many times, and many ways”, so please don’t expect much. I really just really wanted to take a minute to say Merry Christmas to all of you and to say “Thank You” for the gift you have given me this year. I get consumed with love and faith and warmth this time of year anyway, sharing this spirit with 300 readers makes it 300 times more special.

 My blessings are greater than my ability to express in this format; I’m more of a physical guy when it comes to showing gratitude. So all I can really do is hug my wife and kids, give some of my buddies a shoulder scrunch, and trust that all the rest of you just know. If I could hug every one of you I would. 

I have a warm home, happy and healthy children, a loving and VERY understanding wife, a great job, and all of you. All of you have given this tortured soul a safe place to emote, to express, and to hopefully entertain. If I have any concern at all, it’s that I am at such a peaceful place in my life, I wonder if the angst that has been a part of my being for so long will remain. Angst is the inspiration well that I draw from. My firm belief is that my creative moments are born from the pain of my past, and the constant yearning of my present. 

The past is gone, and what more could I yearn for? This could be a problem. 

I am at such peace; I find myself listening to Celine Dion songs about “winter snow, and mistletoe”, and not even bitching about it. In fact, I’m listening to Martina McBride singing White Christmas right f**king now and I’m almost enjoying it. I won’t even say anything to my wife about forcing me to listen to this happy holiday shit because I’m just so ass-slapping joyful, and at such peace in my heart, that I refuse to think about what sell outs these popular artist have become – especially some of these country radio “artists”. Hey girls, I have an idea…write something new! I’m all for interpretation of a classic, but when you sing White Christmas exactly the way Bing did it, that’s not really interpretation is it? NEWS FLASH Martina….we already have that version!

I’m just sayin. 

But I don’t want to let my personal feelings about today’s music industry, and the soulless money first machine that it has become get in the way of my heartfelt holiday message. 

My message…The Large Man message is simply a message of peace, love, and belief that the spirit of this season should last all year. It’s also a message of appreciation for the support that you have all shown me this year. You have brought me a sense of peace that I have never known: The peace that comes to you when you feel a sense of accomplishment… The peace that comes to you when you think your dreams actually could come true… The peace that comes when you know you’ve heard Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas for the last f#%!ing time this blessed season. 


God Bless you all. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year! 

The Large Man

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The Large Man Chronicles 



My 10 year old daughter has asked the Santa question to my wife already, and she prefaced the question by reminding my bride “the worst thing you can do is to tell a lie”.

We have had that agreement since she was about 5 years old. 

I felt that the agreement was necessary because, as a young person I was such a pathological liar – George Costanza had nothing on me. I once told my mom that my biology teacher entered my terrarium in the state high-school science fair, and that I would be away all day and night on a Saturday, and that it would cost $50. I then went to the local drive in movie with my buddies, drank Malt Duck until I puked, and missed being hit by a car by mere inches. One of many sad and shameful things about this recollection is that I more than likely could have just told my mom what I was doing, (less the Malt Duck) and she would have been fine with the activity. But with the story I used, I had to create more lies to cover the original. What place did I come in? What was the winning entry? Etc. etc. I then had to deal with the guilt of all the lies, and a $50.00 embezzlement from my poor sweet mother. 

That’s just one mildly disturbing tale of many. The BS that I conjured as a teenager and as a young adult was my full-time job. I have since learned why I did those things, and I won’t bore anyone with the psychology behind it all now. I will say that today, trust is fairly sacred to me. For my children to have the kind of teenage years I want them to have, I will have to be able to trust them completely. SO…they should expect the same in return. Right? 

So… what to do? What to do? Santa? Tooth Fairy? Easter Bunny? Wikipedia? Hooters girls are Santa’s elves in their summer job?  Believing in these things is monumentally important in our home – as they are in many homes. I’ve read so many different strategies on how to handle this, and I have listened to many more ideas from well-meaning parents, friends, and co-workers.  This is an issue that nobody can help with, mostly because I don’t want any help. My heartfelt belief is that a daughter’s relationship with her father – when it comes to trust is unique to the individuals involved. What works in some families, would not in others.


In the Large Man world, a little girl has to believe in her father, and what he teaches.  Believing that the things your parents tell you are true is a critical ingredient to creating a safe haven for a child. Will the weight of the disappointment of Santa Claus being more of a spirit in your heart than a real person that you can touch, confuse the fact that you really do need to do your homework and go to college because you won’t have a chance in life without a good education? I don’t know. 

No tooth fairy! Really? What other bullshit have you been feeding me dad? Are drugs really bad for you? Should I really wait until I’m 35 to kiss a guy? Am I really safe with you? Are there really and truly no monsters in my closet? Was the lady you were hugging at the mall today REALLY your cousin? 

These are tough things to deal with, and frankly, these things are the reason why I told my wife that wanted to raise bullmastiffs – NOT children. But here I am, too late to turn back, and too early to send her off to the college I have found for her. (I chose an all girl college on a remote island off of the Georgia coast surrounded by sharp rocks, and man-eating sharks. The administration and faculty are all heterosexual virgin women, and all the dormitories are guarded by ferocious penis eating pit bulls. She may never learn how to parallel park, and we’re going to have to pay the out-of-state tuition fees, but when it comes to your daughter’s education you should look at safety and quality – NOT the price tag). 

I remember when my mother told me that there was no Santa; I called her a lying whore, then tried to burn down our Christmas tree. “Lies! Lies!” I screamed in despair. I overreacted. I was 16 and had just failed my driver’s test for the second time, so it was a bit of an emotional day. Based on that memory alone, you can see why I’m a little apprehensive about this subject, and how to discuss it with my baby girl. 

I think we’ll be able to get through one more year. She’s still young enough to trust the grown ups without many conditions. And she is fearful enough to the adage that non-believers get no visit to completely dismiss all belief in St. Nick. But you can see it coming. You see her looking over her shoulder to see our reaction to key moments as we watch Elf, The Santa Claus, and Bad Santa. The theme of all these classic family movies revolves around the premise of adults not believing in Santa Claus. 

I blame my wife for most of this. I assumed when she agreed to marry me when she wasn’t even pregnant that she wasn’t very smart. I assumed incorrectly. My wife finished college in only 4 years! Had I married someone a little bit closer to my IQ level we would be worrying about this 5 years from now.  But thanks to my little swimmers taking a dip into the deeper end of the gene pool, we’ve ended up with a fairly smart child. What to do? What to do? 

Thanks for reading, this one actually will be continued… 

Merry Christmas, 

The Large Man

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The Things I Love

The Large Man Chronicles


The Things I Love


I love beer. I can drink Bud Light, but a well crafted micro-brew is my favorite. Right now, today, my favorite is Dogfish Head 90 minute IPA; they are based in Lewes DE. This favorite can and will change. Honorable mentions are Boulevard Pale Ale from KC MO, Fat Tire from Fort Collins CO, and practically speaking, Sam Adams never disappoints. I could go on forever when it comes to beer. 

I love the way a flannel shirt feels against my chest and shoulders, but I hate the way I look in them. I want to call this a paradox, but I’m not sure that would be correct.

I love the way my daughter says “Daddy” when she is getting ready to ask me a question. The single word tails up like a question in itself. The second syllable goes higher…dad-DEE. Hard to explain in writing, but it melts my heart. I think it’s a natural protection thing too, it keeps me from going ballistic with my reply to the unreasonable question that is about to be asked. Because of the way she says “Daddy”, I never reply with “NO! YOU CAN’T HAVE AN F-ING CELL PHONE! YOU’RE 10!

I love iTunes, Pandora radio, automatic garage door openers, a cooler full of ice, guitars, LL Bean, automatic paper towel dispensers , Bill’s Khakis, button down oxfords, my laptop, Merrill shoes, cotton or wool sweaters from Brooks Brothers, cargo shorts, and long sleeve t-shirts. The only thing about my job that I don’t like is wearing long pants. I think it’s a paradox that I like long sleeve shirts, but hate wearing long pants.

I love to laugh. I am so lucky that I been surrounded by funny people most of my life. My wife can crack you up at any moment. I have a childhood friend that may be the funniest person on earth. I work with a guy whose dry and subtle wit is nothing short of genius.  I’m surrounded by neighbors that consistently have beer exploding through my nasal passages. The funny people I know are one of my life’s greatest treasures.

I love the surprise that comes with each rental car experience when I travel. I drive a different car a couple of times a month. They almost always suck, and yet I’m always hopeful that this time I’m going to get something really cool. I got a Jaguar once, and I guess the coolness of that experience has kept me optimistic.

I love the fact that my wife never gets jealous. I’m a flirtatious dude, and I like the company of ladies. In 16 years with this woman she has been upset about that only one time…and it wasn’t when she caught me in the shower with a stripper. She realized that it was a bachelor party situation, and mostly she was just proud of me for winning the contest that got me into the shower. (I think the fact that I was wearing my boxers may have contributed to her liberal position regarding the incident) She never bitches at me either. Never. I should sit and talk to her about how great she is at the important things, like not bitching at me.

I love my job. The worst day at my job is better than most people’s best day at their job. The only thing about my job that I don’t like is wearing long pants (a point worth repeating).

I love the fact that my father has turned into one of the kindest hearted humans I know. He was the hardest hearted human I knew as a child. I’m not seeing him differently either; he has changed. I don’t know what changed him, but it is a nice thing to see.

I love tacos, pizza with pepperoni, Buffalo wings, a well grilled hunk of salmon, a fresh salad with good homemade ranch or bleu cheese dressing, a Coke with crushed ice and no straw, and olives. I will have to teach myself to like oatmeal and carrot sticks.

I love the books of Christopher Moore, Robert Parker, Carl Hiaasen, Tim Dorsey, John Sandford, Larry McMurtry, John Grisham (early stuff) and any story with cool characters. Atticus Finch is my favorite character from any novel; with Serge Storms coming in second…I’m almost positive that’s a paradox.

I love the Gino Vannelli song I Just Wanna Stop. It may be one of the most lame ass tunes of all time, but I danced with Misty Kepano and Karen Stoutamyer to that song (different occasions) and I remember every second for some reason. I smell their perfume, I feel their arms around me, that great memory hits me every time I hear the song.  I have an affinity for lame ass tunes of the seventies and eighties because of shit just like that. I think this admission could cost me some friends and some credibility…Chevy Van, Undercover Angel, This Time I’m in it for Love, Alone Again (Naturally), 65 Love Affair, Karma Chameleon, Crazy (Icehouse, not Patsy Cline)… I could go on about lame ass music longer than I can go on about beer. There is a girl or an event that I can identify with every song. This portion is a little embarrassing, I hope you all appreciate the courage it takes for a guy to admit he loves a Gino Vannelli song. If you knew Karen or Misty…or better still, if you could see them, you would probably give me a pass.

I love to hear my son laugh. The first time he watched the 3 Stooges he laughed so hard and hearty it made me cry. His laughter is the definition of joy. When I was a young man and I thought about what it might be like to have a son, I dreamed about this boy.

I love when underdogs win, in sports, in court, and in life. I love how they make it seem like anything is possible. At the same time, I love to see winners persevere. I have so much respect for teams, individuals, and companies that set a standard for excellence, and then maintain that standard. Paradox?

I love the word paradox, but I fear that I’m confusing it with conflict and/or contradiction.

I love when you can see the white lace of a bra or kami under a white blouse. I love it even more when someone else is wearing it. 

I love inappropriate language. Stupid as it is, I could never go a day without using the f word. I really love it when pretty women do too. However, I can’t stand to hear foul language from young people. How do I justify that?

I love the smell and the sound of rain when it first starts to fall.

I love when something moves me to the point of tears. When a movie, a book, or a moment can take me to that place, I always feel embarrassed at first, but then lucky afterwards. I’m grateful that I’m wired to feel things so deeply. Laughing and crying at the same time is the absolute best, like the climax moment in Steel Magnolias, or in Major League.

I love Clint Eastwood. Actor, writer, director, I don’t care. Everything he does is great.

I love saying that situations are “just like The Gift of the Magi” (the short story by O. Henry) even though they are nothing like The Gift of the Magi. I say it to be humorous, and I have no idea why I think it’s funny.

I love courage. I love honor. I don’t have a whole bunch of either, but that admiration does give me something to reach for. I also love the flaws that come with being human. I think I’m extremely lucky that I love flaws; otherwise you would be reading words from the most self-loathing person you could ever know – I am far from that.

I love the subtle smell of perfume…the subtle smell. However, when it enters the room before the person does, and stays behind after they leave, it just smells cheap – no matter how good it is. It’s odd; too much expensive perfume smells cheap. THAT’S a paradox!

I love the fact that someone would take the time to read this, so thank you.

The Large Man

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