It's A Dogs Life

I’m right around 70 years old, give or take a year or two. It’s really hard to say actually. When my human tells others my age he always says, around 10 or so. That’s 10 in people years. I never quite understand what they mean by that. You know, why is there a difference between how old I say I am and how old my human says. I can’t let stuff like that bother me though, hell, I’m still trying to figure out why I’m eating out of a bowl on the floor and he gets to use all kinds of weird utensils.

I grew up in southern California and spent some time in the northern part of the state too. A few years ago my human and I got in the car and drove for what seemed like forever and ended up in Florida. I don’t quite get what happened but I think I was in a nice size family before he and I left. I don’t remember who was there but I seem to remember a few other folks that would feed me and rub my belly and stuff like that.

Living with this guy hasn’t been bad. I’m well taken care of and he understands all my little quirks. That’s important in a relationship like ours. He takes care of me and I don’t bark, bite, tear through the trash or mess up the house.

I tell you what’s weird, this snow stuff. I don’t know about you but I’ve never seen such a thing. I have spent the better part of the last six months getting the backyard the way I like it, you know, go to the bathroom in this part, lay around and do nothing in that part. Well that’s all blown to hell. I can’t see or smell anything back there. It’s tough on an old girl like me. I can’t just get up and go anywhere; I need some familiarity in my restroom habits.

He does take good care of me though. He’s always talking to me and petting me. I really love to lay behind the lounge chair when he’s in it watching television. Once in a while I forget how long my body is and when he puts the chair back it’ll hurt my stomach. I don’t always say something, it’s nice just to be there with him and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

When we first left California, we lived in Florida for the first year alone. I liked it, he would make sure he came home from work to get me outside and I enjoyed the apartment we were living in. we had nice neighbors and there was a little boy right next door who would play with me when he was gone too long. I used to see all kinds of different animals down there. I remember once, when we were out in the morning, we saw a really weird looking thing come out of the bushes. He called it an armadillo. He was as surprised as I was at seeing it. I wanted to go talk to it but he wouldn’t let me. Something about our safety. I know he wouldn’t do anything that would allow me to get hurt. I kinda like that. I’m sure he knows that if I had the ability I’d protect him in any way possible too.

We had his daughter live with us for a while but she just moved back to her Mother’s house in California a couple days ago. She was nice and I’ll miss her. I’m not real keen on why she left but he was pretty upset about whatever her reason was. They’ve been really close for as long as I can remember. They even kind of look alike.

Things aren’t always so wonderful around here. He usually leaves in the morning and comes home in the late afternoon leaving me alone for hours on end. He leaves the television on for me and that’s nice. For some reason he thinks I like the Weather Channel. I don’t know where he got that. Like I can do anything about it let alone that it in no way effects my life in any way. Well, at least he tries.

There is one thing in this life that totally baffles me and maybe you can help me understand it. In the room where he gets his food there’s this big white box with two doors. Sometimes when he opens it he brings me this treat that’s so cold and creamy, it’s just to die for. He calls it dog ice cream; I call it heaven on earth. I totally understand about the box keeping things cold and all. My question is, how can I get me some more of this wonderful treat that I only get, at most, once a day. Let me know if you can help.

Anyway, I guess I’m at the older end of the age range when it comes to dogs and I know that I have, at best, three to five more years and that’s if I don’t get sick. When I go I know I’ll miss him and he will miss me. I hope he gets another dog after I’m gone; he really likes having me around. It gives him someone to talk too. I’m kinda afraid that he would talk out loud even if I wasn’t here and I’d hate to see him look as nuts as that.

One More Day

Karen called me the other day to tell me that Mitch Albom was on Oprah, and knowing I liked reading his stuff, thought I would like to see the show. I switched the channel and caught him. He was on because his book “One More Day” was turned into a television movie and they had a show about the concept. Of course it got me thinking.

I think if I could have one more day with someone that is no longer living it would have to be my Grandfather. I’ve written of him before in the essay entitled, “The Carter Family”, and if you’ve read it you know how close the two of us were.

I think I would want to see him before he had his stroke, he was obviously much more vibrant at that time. I’d like to wake up at his house and let him make coffee and toast like he used to and after putting the unsalted whipped butter on the toast, he’d take the salt shaker and salt it anyway. Of course the coffee, for me, would be one part coffee and about 15 parts milk. We’d then put two saccharine tablets in it and breakfast would be served.

We’d then get into, at that time, his yellow Impala and drive the few miles to “the building”. It was pretty much a city block he owned that had stores on the ground floor and apartments on the top. We’d go to the basement to, as he would say, “check the pipes” and he’d have something to feed all the alley cats that hung around. We’d then go upstairs to one of the apartments to visit Mrs. Evans, an older woman who rented from him, and we’d sit and talk for a while.

When we were done there he’d take me down to “Vince’s”. It was a barbershop down the block from the building. I’d get in the chair and get a “regular boys haircut” while Vince and Grampa would talk about nothing in particular. He’d always let me get a soda out of the machine Vince had and I always liked that.

Grampa and I would then head down to Carters Hamburgers to get, as he would say, “a hamburger sandwich and fried potatoes. I’d get mine plain with ketchup and his always had a big slice of white onion on his. We’d eat and talk about nothing and we were both in hog heaven.
After lunch we would usually go shopping, maybe new shoes or a winter coat and I’d just take all this for granted because it was all I’d know. You never realize what you had until it’s gone. Well, my youth and Grampa are both gone now but if I could have just one more day I’d do just as I stated above.

The only difference would be that I would be the age I am now. The scenario above was a typical day for he and I before I had started going to school. I would want Grampa to see who and what I’ve become and I think I would understand him a lot better too. I’d want to tell him how much he meant to me as a child and still means to me to this very day. Of course I would tell him I love him and miss him.
It’s quite a concept, this one more day thing. I think everyone can come up with an answer to the question of whom you’d want to see again. It’s kind of bittersweet isn’t it?

It's That Time Again

So here we are again. It’s Holiday season. I wrote last year about how I dislike this time of year for numerous reasons and I still feel that I would not miss it a bit if these special days were somehow cancelled or I was placed into a coma for the entire month of December.

I know that this time of year also means a whole lot to most people and I can appreciate that. I actually have a great deal of empathy for those whose holidays are somehow not what they would want. I think we all feel that way about the obvious cases, the poor, the hungry, the ill and those who may have lost someone close to them. My ex-wife lost her brother to cancer in early December a number of years ago and I can assure you that Christmas time is a much more bittersweet time for her and her family than they ever thought it would be all those years ago.

I think it’s real important that now, more than ever, we think of those who can’t be here during this time even though they would like to be. I’m speaking of the soldiers stationed around the world. Whether you agree with the war effort or not you have to feel for these people’s families.

Yes, I know, this is an all volunteer military. That fact, however, doesn’t take away from the idea that there are many children involved who may have a real hard time believing in Santa Claus when Mommy or Daddy can’t be home on Christmas morning because they’re overseas participating in the war effort. Yes, I know I’ve stated it before, but isn’t this whole thing really all about the kids?

My suggestion. If by chance you know anyone who has a family member in the military, check and see if there may be something you can do to help make this a special time for the children. If you don’t know of any military families, check the local fire station and see if they are collecting toys for kids. I mentioned in a previous post about a family my store adopted for the Holidays a few years ago. Check with your church or other local charities and see if you might be interested in that.

When I was younger my Mother belonged to a Jewish woman’s group that gathered toys for local Jewish families and at one time I was asked to deliver them. She gave me the addresses that each bag would go to and off I went. One of the addresses she gave me was obviously wrong as I found myself in an area of Detroit that, I was pretty sure, wasn’t part of the charity drive. As I went up to the house to see if by chance I was wrong I decided the only way was to knock on the door and ask.

The man who answered the door was about 30 years old, African American, and had a cross around his neck. He had three little ones with him who couldn’t have been older than five and, by the look on his face; they were really getting on his nerves. Being the overly intelligent guy that I am, I quickly deduced that this man was not on the list of poor Jewish families. I asked him if he had ever heard of B’nai Brith, the group my mother belonged to, and he said he’d never heard of them.

So there I was, standing on some stranger’s porch in the inner city of Detroit with a bag full of toys and some stranger staring at me like I was some kind of idiot. I looked down at one of the kids, a little girl, holding on to her father’s leg staring at me.

Obviously there was only one thing I could do. I looked at the man and asked if he could use some extra presents to put under the tree. He replied with something like “who wouldn’t”. I then explained what my actual mission was for the day and that I couldn’t see how this could, in any way, not be thought of as part of said mission. I handed him the bag, shook his hand and bid him a Merry Christmas.

I got back in my car, lit up a joint, sorry mom, and started the drive home. The whole way home all I could think of was how cool what I had just done was. I knew in my heart that I had just done something that would help those kids have a good Holiday and the idea that I gave the toys to the wrong family didn’t bother me a bit. I gave it to a family that could use it, and to me, it was the right family. Not to pat myself on the back or anything but, not bad for a 17-year-old stoner.

I’m no longer 17 and far from being considered a stoner but I went to one of the local toy stores last Tuesday and bought a couple toys. I took them to one of the local churches by the house and asked if they might find use for them. Even us grinch type folks can get a bit of the season into our cold hearts. Enjoy your Holidays everybody, be nice to each other.

Who'd Ever Believe It

I’ve been posting to this blog for about a year and a half. A few months ago I took down the original blog and started a new one. The reason I took the old one down was because I wanted to publish what I had written up to that point.

Well, I did it. I took everything I wrote in 2006 and uploaded it to a site called lulu.com and it’s now a book. It’s 268 pages and has a real cover with binding and everything. The cover and back photos are pictures that I took. I’m actually pretty proud of myself. I’ve never been one to complete much of anything and this, like most things in my life, is a project that I kept putting off and avoiding.

There are a couple different feelings that go along with doing
something like this. The first is pride. As stated above, I’ve never been good at finishing anything and it’s nice to see something like this come to fruition.

I also feel kind of strange about it. This book is all about me, things I’ve done, my feelings, my thoughts, hopes and yes, a ton of whining. I sent a copy to a friend and said it was like a little Christmas gift. Saying that, to me, sounds rather egotistical and that’s the last thing I want you guys to think.

I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback on my writing from so many people. Not just family, they’re supposed to support me, but from friends and other folks I don’t even know and without that feedback I would have never had the confidence to even consider putting it together like this.

I guess they call doing this “vanity publishing” and that’s exactly what this is. I got myself a copy and the feeling of opening the package, when it came, and seeing a picture that I took on the cover of a book that I wrote with my title and name on it was an incredibly powerful moment.

The beauty of doing it the way I did is that I can make revisions at any time. The first copy was formatted all wrong so I went in and reformatted it to my liking. I’m also finding spelling and grammar errors that I can correct with the touch of a key.

I have no illusions about striking it rich as a writer. Don’t get me wrong; if Oprah wanted to put this in her book club, I certainly wouldn’t stop her. There is, however, something really cool about the idea of having something on my bookshelf with my name on it. I’ve gotten a copy for each of my children. I hope it makes them proud and it’s something they want to pass onto their kids and all that but it won’t kill me if they don’t.

I’m not asking any of you to buy it. Most of you have read everything in it already. I will post the link to it though. I think it’s neat just to see it there. I do want to thank you all for giving me the fortitude to do this. I am so proud to know all of you and I always hope you feel the same.
I’m not sure if the link will work but if you’re interested you can copy the link into your browser.

http://www.lulu.com/content/1408214

Who Are These People?

There’s a story in the paper about a guy who got really drunk in a bar. He was kicked out of the place and refused to go. The owners called the police and when they arrived they surrounded the guy to try to get him to leave. The guy becomes frightened and grabs his cell phone to call 911 to complain that he is surrounded by the police. True story.

There’s another one about the guy in Germany who was going to try to kill himself. It seems he planned to do it by turning on the gas stove and sucking in enough gas to end it all. Well, midway through he changed his mind and decided he wanted to live. He turned the stove off and was so stressed out over the whole thing he lit a cigarette. The lighting of the cig caused an explosion that, you guessed it, killed him. True story.

What is it about people that make them do the strangest things and what is it that makes me so interested in it? I have always found that when reading the newspaper I look for the strange but true stories. I used to buy magazines that would only have articles like that. I'm not talking about spooky stuff, I've never gotten into that, it's always the stuff that shows how incredibly stupid people can be.

There was a book called "The Worlds Dumbest Criminals" out a number of years ago and it just fascinated me to read about how incredibly inept these people were. One of the saddest things about it is the idea that some of these idiots had guns. Not to get too serious in this but how is that even remotely possible?

I know that if in a mall or anywhere else a large amount of people are, I’m constantly looking for someone to walk into someone else or trip on their own feet. That may sound terrible but it makes me laugh. But those things are nothing like, for instance, the guy who went to rob a bank. He went to the table where the deposit slips were and wrote his hold up note on one. He then went to stand in line and wait his turn. While waiting he started thinking that someone may have seen him write the note so he probably should leave.

He then saw that there was a bank across the street and decided to rob that one. When he got up to the window the teller, wisely or not, told the man that he was using the wrong deposit slip. That the one he had was from across the street and he would have to go there. Well this guy bought it and walked back across the street to the original bank and got in line. Meanwhile, the teller who sent him there, called the police and the man was arrested.

Who are these people and how do they walk among us? I mean, they have parents, friends, spouses etc… I’ve done an incredible amount of stupid things in my life but nothing compares to these folks. These are people we see and meet everyday. I don’t think you’d even know it if you ran into one of these folks.

I wonder if after they do the little flip out thing, after they finally get home after it all, do they sit back and realize what morons they were for that moment in time. That is of course if they haven’t killed themselves.

The First Snow

Thanksgiving 2007 and I just woke up. I’d had a feeling we might get snow as the weather had said it was a possibility. I got out of bed and walked to the window and took a peek through the blinds and there it was. It’s only about an inch or so but it’s there.

I thought I’d be down about seeing it and I’d start grumping about everything but this is OK. I took Lucky out back and, of course, she was completely baffled. She had lost all the familiar smells she had laid down throughout the entire back yard and she seemed kind of lost. She walked around a bit and started to come back on the deck to get back inside but I made her go back
down so she just walked around in it a little.

I grabbed my camera and took a few pictures of her out there. They aren’t that good, she kept her nose in the snow looking for something she’d left there before. I then went to the front yard and walked across the street and took one of the house and a couple of the neighborhood with its first white blanket of the year. It looks pretty nice but that’s before the business of the day has done its damage.

The area I live in has a lot of open space with a great many Pine trees and it’s really nice to drive around and see it. It’s like the post cards that you see with winter scenes in them. The trees are all shapes and sizes and it’s left pretty much untouched.

Tonight the temperature is supposed to get into the high teens. While that’s not an experience I’m looking forward to I guess it goes with the territory. I’m certainly not used to the idea of getting all bundled up to go outside. My sister had me try on a really nice jacket that someone had left at the office at a Christmas party a couple years ago and it fit like a glove. It keeps me pretty warm but I still need a hat to cover my head. No hair really does make a difference.

He Got Me Too!

So I went and saw Bruce Springsteen last night down in Auburn Hills. I think I’ve written a few things about Bruce in the past but, sorry to say, here we go again. I wrote to a friend of mine just last week about how I’m not really a huge fan of his but if I had to name my top 100 songs, odds are, eight to ten of them are Springsteen’s.

A few of them are the usual suspects, “Born To Run”, “Rosalita” “Blinded By The Light” and “Fire”. Manfred Man and The Pointer Sisters made the last two famous but, to me, Bruce’s original versions have so much more passion. Anyway, four more of his songs in my top 100 all come from the album, “Tunnel Of Love”. Three of which pretty much talk about the impending end of his marriage at the time.

Anyway, once again, way off track. Stay focused. The concert. The tickets said the show started at 7:30 and we got there about ten minutes early. The show didn’t start till 8:15. Sort of a drag but I can live with it. He opened with his latest single as most bands do and then went right into “Night” from the “Born To Run” album. He pretty much did that all night. One or two new ones then something you recognized.

One thing you really see at a Springsteen concert is the complete and utter devotion of his fans. If you are a real Springsteen fan, your loyalty is unconditional. I consider myself pretty knowledgeable when it comes to Bruce’s music but there were a number of songs that I had never heard. Most, I’m sure, from the new album. The thing that got me though was the rest of the crowd. I was something like a mile and change away from the stage so I used my binoculars throughout the show. I spent a great deal of time looking at people in the crowd. I saw a number of folks literally doing dance routines to these new songs while singing along. Pretty impressive, at least to me.

“Badlands, you gotta live it every day.
Let the broken hearts stand as the price you've gotta pay. We’ll keep pushin' till it's understood.
And these badlands start treating us good.”

It’s really something to see a crowd react so strongly to certain songs. I’ve seen Springsteen twice and both times the song “Badlands” was a sight to behold. The crowd knows the whole song and it obviously means a whole lot to them as they are up and shouting the words throughout. I know this happens at most concerts but the fervor with which these fans do it is really quite different than any crowd reaction I’ve ever seen.

Every time I go to a concert I like to see how people react to songs. A couple that hears something that is “their song” or some 10 or 11 year old with his parents just going nuts with each song and you wonder how he even knows this music. It’s a complete range of emotions that lets one understand even more how powerful this art form is. There was a little kid being held up by his dad and just rocking on beat to each song. I kept watching him throughout the show and pointed him out to the friend I was with. It was really cute. After the band came out for the encore and did the first song of the final set, Bruce saw that the kid was holding a sign. The kid was being held up right in the front of the stage. Anyway, Bruce came up to the kid, bent down, and talked to him for a second or two and took the sign and held it up for all to see. On it was a request for the song “Ramrod”, it just said, “Ramrod please”. Bruce turned to the band and said, “Let’s do it” and told us all he hadn’t done the song in five years. Now, it’s easy to say that it was a setup and he had planned to play it but when I got home I went on line and found the set list, you can do that with concerts. Turns out that he dropped a planned song and put this in just for the kid. Imagine how that kid felt. Bruce kept coming down to the spot where the kid was and let the kid touch and slap the strings of the guitar throughout the song. A true rock n roll moment that that little boy will never forget. He connected with that kid in such a way that nobody there will ever forget, I even read about it in the morning paper.

“It ought to be easy, ought to be simple enough.
Man meets woman and they fall in love.
But this house is haunted and the ride gets rough,
And you’ve got to learn to live with what you can’t rise above if you want to ride on down in through this tunnel of love”

I also had one of those connecting moments with Bruce that night and I was as far back as one could be. I wrote earlier about the songs on the album “Tunnel Of Love” that are in my top songs list. Well there are two in particular that, every time I hear them, just shake my entire being. Well, he started playing title song from that album. As soon as it started I felt my eyes well up, as you all know I’m just a chick inside, and as I stood there I kept trying to wipe the tear that kept forming in my eye while not letting anyone see. Thank goodness it was dark. I was more moved in this moment than at any concert or movie I’ve ever encountered.

There is only one other song he could have played that could have possibly meant more and that’s “One Step Up” off the same album. I don’t think I could have kept my balance if he’d started that one. I mean it. My kids can attest to how many times in the car throughout their lives they’ve had to bear with me while I skip the rest of the cd to hear this song.

“When I look at myself
I don’t see.
The man I want to be.
Somewhere along the line
I slipped off track.
Moving one step up
And two steps back.”

No, I don’t think I could have handled that at all.

A Death In The Family

My uncle died the other day. I wasn’t very close with him, really didn’t know him at all. He was my Father’s brother in law, his sister’s husband. It wasn’t unexpected as he had been ill for quite a while.

The funeral is today. It’s very strange to wait so long because in the Jewish faith the funeral is always held the day after death, unless it’s the Sabbath, then it’s held the following day. The stated reason for the delay is to let the out of town family time to get there. It turns out that my Mother and I are the ones traveling the furthest and we’re only an hour and a half away.

I think what they’ve done here is try to make it more of a convenience for everyone instead of the opposite. I guess I can understand that but this is a family that, at one time, had at least one of their kids Bar Mitzvah at an orthodox synagogue. Seems strange to me.

Along with that is the idea that they have asked me to be a pallbearer. Of course I said yes but this too is very strange. See, in the Jewish faith there are a number of tribes. I don’t understand the whole thing but the tribe my male bloodline belongs to is called Cohanim (sp). Again, excuse my lack of thorough knowledge on the subject, but the Cohan’s are like major big guys in the faith. We are supposedly direct descendants of Aaron, the brother of Moses. I have no idea how they figured that out but some of the things that go along with this is the idea that we are never allowed to be in the same room as the dead, that we are not allowed to be pall bearers and are not allowed to set foot into a cemetery. I guess it’s the walking among the dead thing. I don’t get it but it’s something you learn as a kid. I’ve been in cemeteries before but always felt a bit weird about it.

Like I said earlier, I really didn’t know him that well. When we were young we would see their family on a regular basis, they lived in Detroit and we were in the suburbs. One year David and I spent the summer with them when Mom had surgery. Even during those times I can honestly say I probably never said more than three or four words to the guy the whole summer. There were no bad feelings or any kind of fear of him or anything like that; we just never got to know each other. I knew my aunt and their three kids real well but not him.

I feel sad for my aunt; they had to have been married for well over 50 years. And my cousins, of course, have lost their father and that can never be easy.

My Dad won’t be there, he thought it more important to fly to the Virgin Islands with his girlfriend I don’t know much about what’s left of that side of the family but I’m sure they’ll be there in good numbers. I just find it strange that they would want me to be a pallbearer.

That side of the family has always felt that we were much closer with them than we are and I think that’s what’s dictating what’s happening here. I feel no need to let them know how close our side feels we are to them. It’s not that important. I’ll be there to provide whatever it is they think I can and nod at the appropriate times when we discuss how close the family is and how much we all miss each other.

So I’ll spend today with my Mother and take a few hours out of my normal football Sunday to be with people, that without today’s event, I would probably never see again. It’s one of the things you do when you are part of a family and I think, more importantly, it’s the right thing to do.

Across The Universe

I have always said that I pay way too much attention to the music I listen too. It goes without saying that music is truly the soundtrack to life. I’ve also been a Beatles fan for as long as I can remember and I’ve written on numerous occasions about what great writers I feel that Lennon and McCartney were. I think the biggest difference between these two and other songwriters is that in most cases music is defined by life, in the case of Lennon and McCartney I think life was defined by the music. In other words, what came first the chicken or the egg? In the Beatles case I think the music came first. Their music defined an entire generation.

I hope the preceding paragraph makes sense and if you’re still with me I need to tell you about a movie Maegan and I saw last night. The name of the flick is “Across The Universe” and it’s a musical about life in the 1960’s. It starts in the early part of the decade and goes through the draft, the war and social unrest that was probably the closest this country came to all out revolution since the Civil War.

It’s a typical love story, boy meets girl, boy gets separated from girl and boy reunites with girl. Basic chick flick and being the chick I usually am I liked the story. There is, however, much more to it than that. There is the music.

“Is there anybody going to listen
to my story,
all about the girl who came to stay?
She’s the kind of girl you want so much
It makes you sorry,
still you don’t regret a single day.”

From the opening scene with a guy on the beach singing the opening verse to “Girl” to the end of the movie with Bono singing “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds” it’s a journey through the music of my youth and I’m sure many of yours too. The music does not go through any chronological order, instead it, more importantly, goes in the order of the story.

“I've just seen a face,
I can't forget the time or place
where we'd just met, she's just the girl for me
And I want all the world to see we've met
Na na na na na na”

One thing I’ve always admired about the music of “The Beatles” is how the songs range from the most simplistic to the most complex. The lyrics quoted above are such an obvious choice for when the main characters first meet and start to fall in love. So obvious you’d almost think it would be too easy and some other choice could have been made yet so obvious that there is no way any other choice would work as well.

The whole movie is like that. If you know your Beatles catalog then you can see where each scene is going. If you aren’t overly familiar with the library of songs then it’s a pleasant surprise when a song begins and you say to yourself, yeah, I remember that song. The real beauty of seeing the movie last night is where I saw it. I live in a college town. Michigan State University is basically what is the city. The crowd was all students whose parents probably weren’t even born when The Beatles broke up. During the first 15 or 20 minutes of the show the crowd was talking and laughing at some of the references. After about the 20 minute mark the crowd became much more attentive and really got into it. By the end of the movie many of the kids stayed after to see the credits. Listening to them as they walked out I heard nothing but raves. Maegan loved it too. I know I’ll go see it again and needless to say, I encourage all of you to do the same. No, it’s not one of the great movies of all time but I truly enjoyed it.

Give Me A Break Already

“I’m so tired,
I haven’t slept a wink.
I’m so tired,
My mind is on the blink.”

Another perfect evening last night. I fell asleep around 11:00 with Lucky on her bed in the corner of the room. At precisely 12:03 in the morning my eyes opened and they haven’t shut since. I even took an Ambien and I was never able to fall asleep again.

I can’t tell you how frustrating this is. It’s bad enough getting three or four hours sleep a night but to be completely shut out? Absolutely ridiculous. It’s not like I’ve got a lot on my mind, hell I’m pretty much a blank slate.

Everybody always has a solution to this problem of mine. Try this, try that, etc… It’s really nice that they care but if it’s out there, I’ve tried it. I’ve done the herbal stuff and the Melatonin and it hasn’t worked. I took Ambien last night for Pete’s sake and it didn’t work. I’ve been like this forever, or at least twenty years. Actually it started when I was married, don’t know if there’s some kind of connection, hmmm!

I have one of the stronger Ambien tablets left. I guess there are two different types and one’s supposed to be stronger than the other. I have one of the strong ones and a bunch of the weaker ones. Don’t even ask where I got them; let’s just say there are a few out there trying to help.
There are many nights where I’ll take a couple of PM cold tablets trying to get some sleep and the only time I ever really get a good knock out from them is if I’m truly sick. Even after a bee stings me and I take all that Benedryl, I still end up with just a few hours of shuteye.

I’ve come to the point where I try to make sure I fight myself to stay awake in my lounge chair watching television just to make sure I save any sleep I can get to when I’m supposed to.

It’s now Saturday morning and I took the strong Ambien. I slept for about seven hours and I feel great. I almost felt like crying when I woke up and saw how long I’d slept. My health benefits kick in at the end of the month and I really have to have a serious talk with the Dr. I choose. This can’t go on like it has. I have to be able to sleep. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.

I Think I Need A Shave

I haven’t shaved my head for almost two weeks now. This is the longest it’s been in about three years. I love saying that, the longest it’s been, like I’m back in the 70’s with hair to my shoulders. I think a gerbil has longer hair than I do right now. I think the style is called male pattern baldness. It seems to be pretty popular with guys my age.

I haven’t seen my hair in quite a while. It’s really pretty weird seeing it again. It’s kind of a salt n pepper color and that’s something that will take a while to get used to. To me it feels real thick in back. I know that’s just because I haven’t felt the back of my head with hair on it for quite a while, but still, it feels thicker than it should be.

I’m not sure if I like it. I think it makes me look older but the folks here at work don’t all agree. I look around and see other guys my age with the same crown of hair and I see how they let it grow in the back and have it tied up in a ponytail. I’m really not into that look. I think it just looks like someone trying to fake their age. I used to debate dyeing my beard, which comes in grey, but it just seems so ridiculous. I sort of flip flop on this whole looking younger thing. I don’t like the idea that we have to work so hard to keep our youthful appearance. Hell, the way I act seems to keep people wondering about my age that I sometimes wonder how old I am myself.

What’s really sad is that the only reason my hair has grown at all is because I’m just too lazy to shave it. If I let it go for more than a day or two it just takes so long to shave it that I just don’t want to do it. I think my biggest fear about having it like this is the thought that people would think that I’m one of those guys who are fooling themselves about my hair. Trust me folks, I know I’m bald. I’m the youngest of three brothers and I don’t know of a conversation in our lives that didn’t entail one of them telling me I was bald or in the process of getting there.

My Father is also bald. I think he’s one of those guys that kids himself. He wears a toupee, has since I was very young. It’s always been so obvious to anyone seeing him that he’s wearing a rug that I would wonder if he knew that they knew? He’s always made sure that even when home he would keep it on just in case someone would knock on the door. All four of us kids have some great stories of Dad hiding his baldness when the piece wasn’t around. It would always make me laugh when he wasn’t wearing it, how he would put his hand on top of his head. As if that would make it so people would not know he was bald.

I will say this about my follicly challenged scalp. It really doesn’t look bad completely shaved. I don’t have any marks or bumps on my head that make me look like some kind of alien. When I do shave I use baby oil before the shave cream and it gives my skin a nice glow and boy does it tan well. I think I’ll go home and shave.

Man, Can He Write A Song

When flipping through the radio dial nowadays you will undoubtedly come across a few of what they call “classic rock” stations. The normal run of artists have the typical “Beatles”, “Pink Floyd”, “Led Zeppelin” and what I consider the most misunderstood of all, “The Who”.

Whenever most people think about “The Who” they think of this hard rock band that played real loud and had numerous songs that became fm radio staples. Many remember the tragedy in Cincinnati in the late 70’s when 11 kids were crushed to death due to poor crowd management and oh yeah, they did that “Tommy” thing too but few if any think much more of them than that.

I think most fans know that Pete Townshend wrote pretty much all the songs the band ever recorded but I am more and more under the impression that outside of Paul McCartney, he is the greatest songwriter of the era.

“Why don’t you all fade away?
Don’t try to dig what we all say”

The first song that comes to mind is the song, “My Generation”. The song was released in 1965 and said just what the youth of the day was trying so hard to get across to the older generation: Leave us alone, you don’t get us. You never will. Even today when listening to the song you can feel the energy just smashing it’s way out of the speakers.

In 1969, when Townshend was 24 years old, the band released the rock opera “Tommy”. It was, as we all know, the story of a deaf, dumb and blind kid who could “sure play a mean pinball”. That’s the basic explanation, listen to the album and you’ll see it’s so much more. Child abuse plays an amazingly central role in the story. It’s no wonder the album was banned in England and there were a few radio stations in the states that also refused to play any songs from it. Truly the first of it’s kind. The album was made into a movie in 1973 with Ann Margret and Oliver Reed in starring roles as the parents of Tommy and you can still catch it on cable stations on a regular basis.

In 1973, another rock opera, “Quadrophenia” was released. Though not nearly as popular as “Tommy” the album did have some songs of note. “515” “Sea and Sand” and “Love Reign O’re Me” are all wonderfully written songs that tackle issues such as teenage sex, the generation gap and the power of love.


“When I walked in through the door
Thought it was me I was looking for
she was the first song I ever sang
but it stopped as soon as it began”


Between the two albums previously mentioned “The Who” released the album “Who’s Next”? Considered by many to be their greatest collection, it can easily pass as a greatest hits set. The album contains what is probably my favorite song by the band, “The Song Is Over”.

It’s just my personal opinion but I think Townshend’s voice is one of the better ones in rock. Though he wasn’t the lead singer of the band my favorites have always been the ones where his voice was a prominent feature. To me, he just seems to sing with so much more feeling than Roger Daltrey, the official “lead singer” of the band. Maybe it’s because he writes the songs and he feels what they are truly about. The songs obviously have more meaning to the one that writes them than to one that’s asked to interpret them.

“I don't know why I thought I should have some kind of
divine right to the blues,
It's sympathy not tears people need when they're the
front page sad news.”

Throughout the years Townshend has released a number of solo albums and collaborated with other artists. He’s had a few hits outside of “The Who” and still continues to tour and record. There are a number of “Greatest Hits” type records that have been released over the years featuring Townshend on his own and if you are so inclined to look into them I think his album “Gold” will give you a true sampling of the different types of songs he’s recorded over the years.

I think that if one listens to Townshend sing some of the hard rock songs from “The Who” in an acoustical manner you’d get a completely different feeling for the songs many of you banged your heads to in your youth.

I Just Don't Buy It

I went to Yom Kippur services with my Mom last night at the local Synagogue. It’s by far, the biggest holiday of the year, for those of the Jewish faith. I haven’t gone for Yom Kippur since I was a little kid. I don’t know what I expect when I do these things but I’m always feeling let down after it’s over. I feel like such a hypocrite. I used to have the same feeling when I would let Shelly drag me to church every once in a while during our marriage.

Maybe it’s a type of jealously on my part of the people that feel the “spirit” flowing through them, I don’t know. I’ve written on a few occasions about my lack of faith and I don’t want anyone to think that I’m making light of those who do believe but I just can’t seem to buy it. I’m all for the “whatever floats your boat” thing when it comes to ones beliefs yet I find myself so, not angry, but maybe it’s disappointment in myself for not catching on.

I wish more than any of you would ever know that I could buy in to this concept of this almighty being. It just seems that life would be so much easier if I could. Yet, it seems not to be for me. I think it must go back to the concept of thinking too much. Being too logical, or at least thinking that way. The whole concept of a God is so illogical to me that most times I can’t even imagine it.

There are so many things in life that would be so much easier to understand if I had this belief that you would think, being the wimp I am, that I would jump right into it. But I just can’t do it. Plain and simple, it just doesn’t make sense to me.I know so many people of faith and I can totally understand how and why they have this belief. The problem I have is their amazement at the concept of someone not believing. I’ve always wondered how anyone of intelligence can entertain this faith they feel so strongly about, yet I know an incredible amount of very bright people who believe. It’s these same folks, in many instances, that are just as amazed that I don’t share this belief.

I’ve always enjoyed a well thought out discussion on the subject but it invariably turns into an ugly argument that can only be rivaled by a liberal/conservative fight. I get turned off very quickly by that and stop the discussion as soon as that happens. I’m all for anyone believing in anything they want, myself, I just don’t buy it.

Daddy's Little Girl

I went to my oldest daughters wedding this past weekend. I thought I was doing pretty well, holding it together and all. It was a very emotional couple of days for me and I can only tell you that before coming out I would have given the world to have not gotten on the plane. I’m not sure anyone can understand this but I am just not comfortable seeing Shelly and I think we both feel that this was probably the last time we’ll try to do anything as a “family”.

Apart from that I probably had one of my proudest moments as a father. As you can see by the picture, Amanda looked great. She was so happy and really enjoyed herself. Before I came out I knew that I’d be walking her down the “aisle” as it were but it didn’t really hit me until the time came. She looked so beautiful as she came down the stairs to me and before she got all the way down we were joking about how she wasn’t going to cry and that she wasn’t that kind of bride. When she got to the bottom I told her how wonderful she looked and we hugged. At this point we both started tearing up and I promise you, I can’t think of any other place in the world I’d have rather been than holding my daughter on her wedding day.

Amanda and Blake both knew their biological father and neither has seen him in over 15 years. They both grew up with me as their father figure for better or worst and I’m not putting myself down here but I’ve often felt I could have done a much better job. That being said, neither of them had any choice in the matter.

Adam, Amanda’s new husband, also grew up in a broken home but both his biological and stepfather play an important role in his life. Before going on, I need to say, Adam is a great guy and Amanda couldn’t have done better. They have lived together for a couple years and have bought themselves a condo and done an awful lot of work making it their own. If any of you out there that don’t know them ever have the good fortune to, you’d be very proud.

The thing that really hit me at the wedding was the introductions. Being introduced around to Adam’s family I was presented as Amanda’s father. I didn’t think anything of it until introduced to Tony, Adam’s stepfather. He was introduced as his stepfather. It occurred to me that I have never in Amanda’s life been introduced that way.

Well after that hit me the chick in me came out and my eyes were leaking like a cheap faucet. I was so glad I had my sunglasses on. I don’t know if anyone else noticed. Adam’s mother approached me and told me at that time how things were going to go and where I was to meet Amanda to walk her. She said that Amanda was upstairs saying how she needed to make sure her “Dad” was at the bottom of the stairs to meet her.

Later in the evening when many had gone home we were standing around talking and I wanted to tell Amanda how much the introduction thing I mentioned before meant to me. She then said and did something that I will take to my grave as one of the most loving things anyone has ever said to me. She said that there’s that old thing about how girls always look for someone just like their father to marry and then she pointed at Adam and then me and just nodded her head. Needless to say I lost it again and so did she as we hugged.

At the end of the night as we were saying goodbye we told each other how much this evening meant to each other. As we hugged I told her that no matter how far away I happened to be in miles I would always be “right here” and to not ever forget it. Well Amanda, I’m at the airport right now and heading back to Michigan but take heed of those words. I’m the easiest guy in the world to find. After all, daddy’s right here.

The First Step Is Admitting The Problem

I am a talk radio junkie. I have been for much longer than it’s been popular. I started listening to talk radio around 1984. It started with Larry King. Before he was ever on television he was an overnight talk show host. I know this because I used to hear him while driving across the country during one of my many moves.

Back in the days before satellite radio, the only stations you could get out in the middle of nowhere were A.M. stations. And unless you wanted to listen to country music or religious radio, your only option was Larry King. They didn’t even have sports talk radio then.

Once I started listening I was always looking for more. Here I was in my mid 20’s and when a friend would get in the car with me and the radio would come on, I’d take all kinds of crap because the radio would be on and tuned to an A.M. station.

When I lived in Las Vegas from late ’84 till fall of ’87 I would have Larry talk me to sleep each night. I didn’t even have a bed. There I’d be, laying on the floor of my bedroom listening to “The Larry King Show”. If I happened to still be awake when the show ended there was an F.M. all news station that I could flip to.

I don’t even remember when I would listen to music but it seems I did. I remember getting into bands like REM and The B-52’s during that time but I didn’t have a car while in Vegas so I didn’t listen to music there. I even remember the call letters of the news station there, it was knew fm.
When I moved back to California in ’87 I found the all news station in Los Angeles and would listen to that all the time. I remember at some point they started broadcasting “60 Minutes” every Sunday night. That was pretty cool. I used to love listening to the network news at the top of the hour. The only time I’d find myself leaving the local talk stations was when there was a baseball game on another station.

After I got married in 1990 I still would try to listen to talk radio but it was pretty difficult with Shelly and the kids. Totally understandable how a four and eight year old kid didn’t care about the news or financial info. I would still get to listen when I was alone and after I got a job at the help desk for the company I was working for I could listen to my hearts content. It was 110 miles each way and I’d get in a good four hours round trip each day.

Another thing I started listening to in the 90’s was NPR. I could usually keep myself occupied for hours with the stories I’d hear on it. One of the programs I really like and still listen to is called “This American Life”. It’s kind of like a news magazine and it’s pretty cool.

One thing that’s great about having my IPOD is the Itunes that comes with it. If you go to the Itunes store you can download what they call podcasts for free. One of the free ones available is “This American Life” I’ve joined a gym recently and I love listening to the many talk programs I get from the itunes store. I know, I know, everybody else is listening to music to help pump them up and do their workout but I’m a talk radio freak. I can set myself on the treadmill for upwards of an hour and listen to an entire episode of “This American Life” before I’m done. I then switch to music and hit a few machines.

I find that I get bored with the music and invariably switch back to some talk program I’ve downloaded. I’m such a nerd.

Look At Me Being All Social!

I ran up to grab dinner from this local take-out Mexican place about a half mile from the house a few weeks ago after work. As I walked into the house with my dinner, my cell was ringing; I had left it home when I took off. I answered it and found that it was a woman from work. She said she had seen me as I was leaving the strip mall where I got dinner and that she was there at the bar next door to the restaurant with some friends and asked if I’d like to come and join them.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had the same or similar invitation throughout my life. I, like so many others, have grown into adulthood during a time when happy hour was and is still a very popular after work scene. I have gone to a few, more for the bar food buffet that you find at these things than for the alcohol. In all honesty, since I turned 21, oh those many years ago, I have probably gone to “Happy Hour” less than 20 times. That’s less than once a year.

I’m sure I could go through a long, repetitive list of reasons why I have only been to this everyday social gathering on so few occasions but I’ve said it all before. Suffice it to say, I’ve never felt comfortable in these situations.

My normal reaction to any invitation like this is to come up with some totally made up reason as to why I can’t make it. I’d normally throw in an apology and a profuse thank you for the invite but explain again that whatever it was that I had made up certainly had to take precedence over whatever the invite entailed.



This one was different though; I accepted and said I’d be right down. I have never done that before. I’m the first one to come up with a million reasons as to why I can’t make it, but the truth is, I’m just too self-conscious to join in with the group.

I don’t know why I agreed to meet them and I know that for normal, social people it wouldn’t be any kind of big deal. But, for me, this was huge. Once I got in the car I was actually telling myself to not start thinking about it and just do it. The ride down to the bar takes maybe a minute and a half and the whole way there I was fighting with myself to stay on course, don’t start thinking of the millions of excuses I’ve used over the years to avoid the possibility of enjoying myself.

It’s like the golf outing I wrote about a couple months ago. I knew that I would undoubtedly enjoy myself but I get so freaked about the whole idea of socializing that it makes me feel like I’m having a heart attack. It’s really strange because I know I’ll be able to “flip the switch” and seem like the most social person in the world once I’m there. It’s the getting there thing that wears me out.

Since that night I’ve met them a couple other times and I’m hoping it gets easier as I go more often but so far it’s still a stress filled day once I know I’ve committed to showing up. The people I have met on these nights are much younger than I, late 20’s, but it’s still an attempt.

The worst part about it is the fact that I know what’s happening to my head the whole time. This is one of those times that I wish I were a complete moron (no comments from the peanut gallery) and had no idea what was happening to me. I wish I could just stop thinking so much.

A number of months ago I wrote something about mental illness. I said then that the toughest thing about being mentally ill is if you are still intact enough to know that you are ill. It’s sort of like the same thing I’m talking about now. In the previous post I asked the question, “Do the ill know they’re ill”? In this case I know the answer. I know the problem and I’m trying to work on it. I really am. Yeah, it’s a slow process, 46 years, but I’m trying.

Onward, Through The Fog!

Just in case you haven’t noticed, for reasons I’ll explain, the blog “This And That” has disappeared. I wish to thank you all for reading it when I would let you know I had posted something new. For those that read it purely by chance, thank you too.

I have saved all the things I have written over the last year and am in the process of publishing the blog for posterity. I think it’d be real cool to have something with my name on it printed and bound for me to keep for my children’s children. I think it’s important for future generations to see how incredibly messed up dear old gramps was before they put him in the home.

In the mean time I can’t seem to stop writing so I’ve started this new blog and after reading the posts from the first one I feel the title of the blog is apt. After all, that is pretty much what I do here, and that’s ok. It’s sort of a therapy/strange thoughts kind of thing and admittedly, I throw in a good story once in awhile.

So here goes another chapter and let’s see where it goes. I will continue to let you all know when I post and hopefully you will all still be reading what it is, however trivial to your lives, I have to say.

I will promise you that what I write will be new, exciting, emotionally driven and, oh who am I kidding, at least it’ll be new.

What's A Guy To Do?

I came home from work the other day and took Lucky out back for a few minutes and came upstairs to change. As I was taking my shirt off I felt a little pinch on my cheek and rubbed it a bit. It started to hurt pretty bad, not really hurt, it was like when you get fiberglass foam on you. It was tingling and really started to bother me.

I splashed some cold water on my cheek and started rubbing it while looking in the mirror to see what was going on. I think it was at this point that I started to feel that familiar feeling that’s happened so many times in the last two years. My thoughts were confirmed when I saw the bite on my cheek and noticed the swelling had started.

I went and got my epipen and shot that into my thigh and started going down the stairs to get some ice. I heard Maegan down there and yelled to her that I had been stung. As she tells it, it was more like one long slur instead of words but she eventually got it and hung up the phone. We got the ice and I came back upstairs to take my Benedryl cocktail. I then buttoned down for an evening of groggy bliss.

My left cheek swelled to the point that people thought I had some chew in there. Friday night it felt like my teeth on that side were being pulled out. It was only after a few beers that the pain subsided. I was really surprised how much it hurt. I was out with friends and probably should have just come home but I go out so seldom that I really wanted to stay.

I was taking ibuprofen and that was really effective for the pain during the day and I would do the Benedryl thing at night. The problem with the Benedryl is how groggy it left me during the day. I wonder if the venom has something to do with that?

It’s now Monday morning and I’ve shaved for the first time since Thursday. The bite is still visible and it’s still swollen. It doesn’t hurt like it did and I’ll keep taking ibuprofen until the swelling is gone. I didn’t take any Benedryl last night because I have to work today and I was groggy all day yesterday. I have to think clearly today, as I have to work.

There has got to be something in my chemistry that attracts these things. Being allergic is one thing but ask yourself when the last time you were stung by a bee. I can bet that it is nowhere near the frequency that I do. Maybe it’s my sweat or something that I give off that attracts them but it’s pretty ridiculous. I’ve looked on the web to see if there is anything I can take or do to help but it looks like I’m just flat out of luck.