Say! Have you jumped into your Beast Mode for the Super Bowl yet? Seahawks’ running back Marshawn Lynch is getting ready to run amok with his Beast Mode over those Denver Broncos.
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But hey, if football doesn’t send you into Beast Mode, what does? A lady friend of mine wondered (facetiously, I hope) on Facebook recently, why people, especially guys, go into Beast Mode waiting for a woman to pull out of a parking spot. Is the woman texting all her friends, writing her memoirs, studying a map on how to get out of the parking lot, looking for her lipstick and keys . . . WHAT!? How many times have I waited on a woman to vacate a parking spot after she came out of a store and got into her car? There I am, blocking traffic with my turn signal on to indicate I’m going to take the woman’s parking spot if she ever backs out of it. And how many times have I just given up waiting and gone to another spot? I feel a HULK episode coming on just thinking about it. Beast Mode!
Seahawks’ fans say Marshawn Lynch is in his Beast Mode when he runs through the opposing team’s offense like an unstoppable freight train. Guys try to tackle him and all they can do is hold on for a ride and hope eventually enough of their teammates will join them to gang-tackle Lynch and bring him down.
Beast Mode is a pretty good metaphor for how we react to certain situations in our lives, isn’t it? Surprising how certain things like your dog pooping on your rug (Sam would never do that!), or some bozo cutting you off on the freeway, or the ATM machine telling you there’s no money in your checking account, can set you off.
Somebody dinging my truck in a parking lot sure sends me into Beast Mode. Someone not replacing the empty toilet paper roll in the bathroom (no names); not being able to assemble something easily or not being able to figure out how to do somethin g on my computer also can send me into Beast Mode. But those things are all small potatoes.
What really sends me into Beast Mode is someone telling me I can’t do something I really want to do and - in my own mind at least - believe I have the ability to do. I will just by golly show you I can, which, I suppose, may be kind of a good thing. I have accomplished many things in life because I wanted to prove other people wrong. Know what I mean? If the term “Golden Years” has any special meaning for me, it’s that I’ve reached a point in my life where I don’t really give a rip what other people think of me or what they think I’m not capable of doing. Like the Viagra commercial says, I’ve reached an age where I’ve learned how to get some things done in spite of obstacles - like writing and publishing books. If nobody ever reads my books, at least I’ve produced a few - and the agents and publishers who won’t help me? Look out people I’m in Beast Mode and coming through!
Anyway, come Sunday, Sam and I will be joining the rest of the Seahawks’ 12th man fans and cheering our team on. Say, don’t you wonder when women are going to insist that the 12th man be referred to as the 12th person? Just asking.
But hey, if football doesn’t send you into Beast Mode, what does? A lady friend of mine wondered (facetiously, I hope) on Facebook recently, why people, especially guys, go into Beast Mode waiting for a woman to pull out of a parking spot. Is the woman texting all her friends, writing her memoirs, studying a map on how to get out of the parking lot, looking for her lipstick and keys . . . WHAT!? How many times have I waited on a woman to vacate a parking spot after she came out of a store and got into her car? There I am, blocking traffic with my turn signal on to indicate I’m going to take the woman’s parking spot if she ever backs out of it. And how many times have I just given up waiting and gone to another spot? I feel a HULK episode coming on just thinking about it. Beast Mode!
Seahawks’ fans say Marshawn Lynch is in his Beast Mode when he runs through the opposing team’s offense like an unstoppable freight train. Guys try to tackle him and all they can do is hold on for a ride and hope eventually enough of their teammates will join them to gang-tackle Lynch and bring him down.
Beast Mode is a pretty good metaphor for how we react to certain situations in our lives, isn’t it? Surprising how certain things like your dog pooping on your rug (Sam would never do that!), or some bozo cutting you off on the freeway, or the ATM machine telling you there’s no money in your checking account, can set you off.
Somebody dinging my truck in a parking lot sure sends me into Beast Mode. Someone not replacing the empty toilet paper roll in the bathroom (no names); not being able to assemble something easily or not being able to figure out how to do somethin g on my computer also can send me into Beast Mode. But those things are all small potatoes.
What really sends me into Beast Mode is someone telling me I can’t do something I really want to do and - in my own mind at least - believe I have the ability to do. I will just by golly show you I can, which, I suppose, may be kind of a good thing. I have accomplished many things in life because I wanted to prove other people wrong. Know what I mean? If the term “Golden Years” has any special meaning for me, it’s that I’ve reached a point in my life where I don’t really give a rip what other people think of me or what they think I’m not capable of doing. Like the Viagra commercial says, I’ve reached an age where I’ve learned how to get some things done in spite of obstacles - like writing and publishing books. If nobody ever reads my books, at least I’ve produced a few - and the agents and publishers who won’t help me? Look out people I’m in Beast Mode and coming through!
Anyway, come Sunday, Sam and I will be joining the rest of the Seahawks’ 12th man fans and cheering our team on. Say, don’t you wonder when women are going to insist that the 12th man be referred to as the 12th person? Just asking.
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