I had to go down to the down river area of Detroit yesterday afternoon to fill out some forms and do some assessment testing for some recruiting company that says they can help me get a job. Before I went I got an email from some folks that were going to the State Fair in Detroit. They mentioned that “Alice Cooper” was playing in concert and that it would cost 10.00 to get into the fair. I figured even on my budget I could pull that off so I replied that I’d get in touch when I was through with the recruiter.
We all ended up meeting at the fair and I was given a voucher by one of our group to get into the event for free. Being in the position I currently am I was more than grateful. We ended up getting seats in the bleachers and chatted and screwed around until the show began.
I’ve seen “Alice Cooper” a number of times in my life. The last time I saw him was while I was living in Las Vegas in the mid eighties. He has always been known for his theatrical shows and I’ve always enjoyed that side of going to concerts. The music is actually a little harder than I like but, again, it’s the show that’s always done it for me.
I guess “Alice” is considered some kind of god to the heavy metal crowd. I’m not a fan of metal and I’ve never really considered “Alice” to be a part of that scene. I remember when I was a kid, and he was in Detroit for a concert, a local news station interviewed him. The take was the typical hometown boy done good. I remember when he was asked how much longer he could do what he was doing he replied that he could do it until he was 80. He went on to explain that what he was doing was more along the Broadway line of theater than anything else. I agree. “Alice” puts on a show, not a concert. There’s a theme and although it consists of death, a trial and an execution, it’s still a theme.
I’ve not listened to any of the newer albums the band has put out but there isn’t one among us in the 45 to 60 range that doesn’t remember the bands greatest hits. The thing about “Alice Cooper” is that he didn’t hit it big with just plain songs. He had anthems.
“Lines form on my face and hands.
Lines form from the ups and downs.
I’m in the middle without any plans
I’m a boy and I’m a man.”
I’m Eighteen was the first of a number of songs that struck quite a chord with the youth of the day. Think about this, that song was released 38 years ago. I remember it being played at sixth grade parties I used to attend in Oak Park. Listening to the lyrics they still have meaning to me today. The bigger point though is that this was an anthem for eighteen year olds.
Now, it’s quite a thing when an artist has a song that resonates so well with the youth of the day, but “Alice” wasn’t done.
“No more pencils, no more books.
No more teachers’ dirty looks.
Out for summer, out till fall.
We might not come back at all.”
Except for our parents is there anyone out there that doesn’t know what song that is? I doubt it. “School’s Out” is still played every year at the end of the school year. Again, this is an anthem, not a hit single.
He followed this with another anthem. “Elected” was a smash hit and was on the first album I ever bought. When the group sang the song last night with all the theatrics that went with it, I’m sure he would have gotten the vote of most folks there. At the end of the song, which was the last song of the night, “Alice” was shouting above the music saying things like “Why not me” and “Vote for me”. There were some dancing girls on stage holding up placards with campaign slogans on them. One of the signs said “These are troubled times”. Alice walked up to the girl holding the sign and said, “Vote for me, a troubled man for troubled times”. This from a 60-year-old man dressed up in leather. How do you not get the joke?
In the mid 70’s “Alice” became quite the household name. He had his own television special and had Vincent Price do a voice over on his “Welcome To My Nightmare” album and appear in the television special that went along with it. How unusual it was that this leather clad man named Alice would be so accepted by the masses just a couple years after being banned in numerous cities across the nation. He would appear on all the talk shows and I think he was a guest host on the Dinah Shore show.
He’s had quite the career and by extension quite a life. The show last night was very entertaining and it made me hope that “Alice” was right when he said he could do this till he was 80. I’ll be 67 at that time and I’d like to be there.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
I'm About To Blow!!!
Anyone who knows me can tell you I’m probably the most patient person you’ll ever meet. I don’t mind standing in line for things, I can wait to be seated at a restaurant, you know, all the things that probably piss you off. I can go to crowded shopping malls on Christmas Eve and have no problem at all with the crowds. Over the years I’ve become a rather spectacular crowd walker. I can zip in and out of people at airports, baseball games and any other crowd that happens to gather in my presence.
Anyway, way off topic, sorry. Patience is what we were discussing, right? So I leave Naples last night at 1:00 in the morning and drive up to Orlando, which is a little over three hours if you don’t run into a police block because of a car flipped over in Fort Myers like I did. My flight left Orlando at 6:00 am and I pulled into the rental car return at 5:00. I’m quite exhausted and can’t find anyone from Avis to check the car in. two more cars pull in behind me and still no guy. I’m starting to do my little toe tap thing cuz I’m getting nervous about missing my flight.
Finally the guy comes out and goes to one of the folks that pulled in after me. What’s up with that? I stroll over to where he is and mention that I happen to be the first car in line and he tells me he’ll be with me in a minute. Suffice it to say that I’m not really becoming a fan of this guy. I pull myself into myself, if you know what I mean, and ask him if I can just leave the car cuz I gotta do my OJ thing to get to the terminal. He says fine with a little huff and off I go, leaving my sunglasses in the car as I leave.
When I get to the United terminal to get my boarding pass there’s quite a line. I went up to the desk, interrupted two women who were chatting and asked if I needed to be in the line because my flight was scheduled to leave in less than 45 minutes. One of the women says, no problem, get in line and if the flight time gets too close they’ll pull those on the flight out of line and take care of us. Works for me, so I get in line.
By the way, I’m at O’Hare in Chicago waiting for my connecting flight and I’m sitting in the terminal. Across from me is a row of chairs facing me. Two HUGE guys just sat down with McDonald’s bags and are literally pigging out. No kidding, ones on the phone with catsup on his cheek and a couple fries hanging out of his grill while talking and the other just inhaled a Big Mac. I’m not kidding, it’s gone and there's no proof it ever existed. I think the box is gone too.
Again, way off topic. I finally get up to the do it yourself kiosk to get my boarding pass. God, I wish that guy would wipe the catsup off his face. I put my credit card into the machine and it tells me it’s too late to get a seat on this flight and I could pay 75.00 to go standby. What? So I say, in my normal intimidating voice, I think we have a problem here. So the very same lady that told me it wouldn’t be a problem waiting in line comes over to say I was seven minutes late to get a seat. I smile my most diplomatic grin and say, but you just told me 20 minutes ago that they would pull me out of line it got to be time. She said she’d made numerous announcements and there was nothing she could do.
Two things here. No she didn’t and even if she did the attitude simply wasn’t working for me. There was a Chinese couple that had been in front of me in the line and I had helped them to somewhat communicate to the people they had questions of during the wait for the kiosks. They happened to be using the kiosk next to mine and I asked them if they heard any announcements. All they did was shake their heads no. I nodded to the lady in a type of “see?” thing and she said she’d see what she could do. Now, the beauty of this is that the lady from United had no idea that the Chinese couple didn’t understand a word I said but, no harm no foul, I needed to get on the plane.
She comes back from wherever she had to go and says that she’ll do it this time but she really shouldn’t and blah, blah, blah. As she’s talking she’s getting louder and more snide with each word. I asked if she thought it was right that she was yelling at me for following her instructions and she said that I should have gotten there earlier.
I said something like, well we should be past that now because we’re both standing here and she’s yelling at me. She said that I’ve just wasted five minutes and she could have gotten me the ticket already. I wanted to tell her that multitasking was obviously not one of her strengths but I didn’t want to push my luck. What the hell is going on here? I started doing the toe tap thing again and her way of getting back at me was to hand me my two boarding passes and luggage check ticket without an envelope. I wanted to tell her that I was a United Airlines Employee Shopper that was testing the staff but I had a plane to catch. Bitch.
Awe jeez. Catsup face is sleeping and he’s still got a French fry hanging out of his mouth. Don’t they have skycaps or someone who can come and wipe that crap off his face?
So after being yelled at because I was probably going to miss my plane I finally get to my seat and it’s 10 minutes before we’re supposed to take off and I’m on the verge of boiling over. I’m tired, I’m grumpy and I’ve got a million things in my head that I wanted to tell that lady but I couldn’t because there was no time. It was at this point that the Captain came on the intercom and said there was a problem with one of the computers and we’d be taking off in about an hour. So we sat on the plane for just over an hour before things were fixed and we finally took off. I think my adversary probably knew and was just making me do this dance to piss me off. Bitch.
Anyway, way off topic, sorry. Patience is what we were discussing, right? So I leave Naples last night at 1:00 in the morning and drive up to Orlando, which is a little over three hours if you don’t run into a police block because of a car flipped over in Fort Myers like I did. My flight left Orlando at 6:00 am and I pulled into the rental car return at 5:00. I’m quite exhausted and can’t find anyone from Avis to check the car in. two more cars pull in behind me and still no guy. I’m starting to do my little toe tap thing cuz I’m getting nervous about missing my flight.
Finally the guy comes out and goes to one of the folks that pulled in after me. What’s up with that? I stroll over to where he is and mention that I happen to be the first car in line and he tells me he’ll be with me in a minute. Suffice it to say that I’m not really becoming a fan of this guy. I pull myself into myself, if you know what I mean, and ask him if I can just leave the car cuz I gotta do my OJ thing to get to the terminal. He says fine with a little huff and off I go, leaving my sunglasses in the car as I leave.
When I get to the United terminal to get my boarding pass there’s quite a line. I went up to the desk, interrupted two women who were chatting and asked if I needed to be in the line because my flight was scheduled to leave in less than 45 minutes. One of the women says, no problem, get in line and if the flight time gets too close they’ll pull those on the flight out of line and take care of us. Works for me, so I get in line.
By the way, I’m at O’Hare in Chicago waiting for my connecting flight and I’m sitting in the terminal. Across from me is a row of chairs facing me. Two HUGE guys just sat down with McDonald’s bags and are literally pigging out. No kidding, ones on the phone with catsup on his cheek and a couple fries hanging out of his grill while talking and the other just inhaled a Big Mac. I’m not kidding, it’s gone and there's no proof it ever existed. I think the box is gone too.
Again, way off topic. I finally get up to the do it yourself kiosk to get my boarding pass. God, I wish that guy would wipe the catsup off his face. I put my credit card into the machine and it tells me it’s too late to get a seat on this flight and I could pay 75.00 to go standby. What? So I say, in my normal intimidating voice, I think we have a problem here. So the very same lady that told me it wouldn’t be a problem waiting in line comes over to say I was seven minutes late to get a seat. I smile my most diplomatic grin and say, but you just told me 20 minutes ago that they would pull me out of line it got to be time. She said she’d made numerous announcements and there was nothing she could do.
Two things here. No she didn’t and even if she did the attitude simply wasn’t working for me. There was a Chinese couple that had been in front of me in the line and I had helped them to somewhat communicate to the people they had questions of during the wait for the kiosks. They happened to be using the kiosk next to mine and I asked them if they heard any announcements. All they did was shake their heads no. I nodded to the lady in a type of “see?” thing and she said she’d see what she could do. Now, the beauty of this is that the lady from United had no idea that the Chinese couple didn’t understand a word I said but, no harm no foul, I needed to get on the plane.
She comes back from wherever she had to go and says that she’ll do it this time but she really shouldn’t and blah, blah, blah. As she’s talking she’s getting louder and more snide with each word. I asked if she thought it was right that she was yelling at me for following her instructions and she said that I should have gotten there earlier.
I said something like, well we should be past that now because we’re both standing here and she’s yelling at me. She said that I’ve just wasted five minutes and she could have gotten me the ticket already. I wanted to tell her that multitasking was obviously not one of her strengths but I didn’t want to push my luck. What the hell is going on here? I started doing the toe tap thing again and her way of getting back at me was to hand me my two boarding passes and luggage check ticket without an envelope. I wanted to tell her that I was a United Airlines Employee Shopper that was testing the staff but I had a plane to catch. Bitch.
Awe jeez. Catsup face is sleeping and he’s still got a French fry hanging out of his mouth. Don’t they have skycaps or someone who can come and wipe that crap off his face?
So after being yelled at because I was probably going to miss my plane I finally get to my seat and it’s 10 minutes before we’re supposed to take off and I’m on the verge of boiling over. I’m tired, I’m grumpy and I’ve got a million things in my head that I wanted to tell that lady but I couldn’t because there was no time. It was at this point that the Captain came on the intercom and said there was a problem with one of the computers and we’d be taking off in about an hour. So we sat on the plane for just over an hour before things were fixed and we finally took off. I think my adversary probably knew and was just making me do this dance to piss me off. Bitch.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Heading Home Again
Well, the trips over. I’m not sure how well it went but one can only hope I guess. I have to drive up to Orlando late tonight to catch a 6:00 am plane. I’ll be pretty wiped by the time I get home but I’m sort of looking forward to sleeping in my own bed.
I gotta say I’m really surprised by how much I miss Lucky, that’s my dog for those that don’t know. I know that come Monday I’ll be looking all over the Lansing and Detroit area again searching for work. It’s a tough gig, trying to find a job in a state that has one of the highest unemployment rates in the country. I found that since I’ve only been there a year I’m not eligible for unemployment.
I’m starting to feel real down about things and I’ve really tried to avoid that. Tell you what, I meet some girl this time next week and I’ll accept any invitation to get a free meal. Hope I meet someone that has some extra dog food. No, it’s not really that bad yet. I’ve got a few free meals I can scam in Lansing. Mom and Karen had better be prepared. Don’t worry, I promise not to eat much. Looking at myself in the mirror I can say that I could use some smaller portions anyway.
So, that’s where we stand. Just wanted to throw out a little update. Anybody down in the Detroit area that’s looking to pay for some meals just let me know. I’ve got enough for a few tanks of gas so I can get down there.
Talk soon…
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Are There Other Fools Out There?
I went to a bar last night out on Marco Island. I figured it was 10:00 at night, I wasn’t tired and I just wanted to get out of the hotel and maybe get a little buzz on. I’m not one that drinks much but a few rum and Cokes might do me some good.
The place was a little more crowded than I expected it to be, what with the storm and all, but it was easy enough to find a table/stool that would make me visible enough to any waitress that was serving that section. It took about 10 minutes or so until a girl came up and asked what I’d like. When she arrived with my drink I asked her to bring another before she even set it down. As she walked away I downed what was in front of me and waited another few minutes before the second one appeared.
During my second drink I was able to relax and just do my normal thing of just watching people. I noticed a number of groups of folks scattered throughout the place and I noticed a table of three women that were somewhat near my age or a bit younger. I smiled when caught staring as we all raised our glass to each other.
I sat sipping my second glass when the waitress came up with a third and told me that the women at the table I mentioned had sent it over. I was lost. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before and seeing what I look like it’s quite understandable. I again looked over at the women and we all raised our glasses as I mouthed thank you to them.
Now here’s where we all get to see what a complete and utter idiot I am. Any other guy in the world would have gotten up and walked over to the table where these women were and joined them. Me? I sat and freaked out. Here I have the opportunity to go hang out with some very good-looking women and my head gets so jumbled that all I can do is sit and do nothing.
Turns out I was fortunate enough that they decided to come join me. I can’t believe how nervous I was. They asked if they could sit down and I must have said sure because they did. I learned their names and we talked for a while and then, my biggest fear, they wanted to dance. I tried to play it off by saying how I suffered from “white guys” disease and had no rhythm but the excuse wasn’t going to be accepted.
So I made a fool of myself for some song I don’t even remember and as we all sat back down we started talking some more. One of the women lived here on the island and the other two were visiting from some city in Missouri. We chatted some more and I felt some connection with the local and we stayed at the table talking while her friends went to the bar to order more drinks. She told me a little about herself and I did the same. I left out the part about being totally lost at this point in my life and not having any idea what it was I was going to do.
She invited me over to her place tomorrow night, which was actually tonight, and said she would fire up the grill and make us both dinner. She told me she got off work at 8:00 so I should come over around 8:30. She gave me her business card and wrote her home number on it. I told her I had an interview in Miami the next day but would call her when I got back in town. What we had here folks was every guys dream. I was getting picked up at a bar. Never happened before and I had no idea what to do with, what many would call, this gift. I came back to the hotel, put her card on the table and went to bed.
I woke up today and went to the beach for a bit then came back and got ready for the trip to the other coast. The interview went well I guess. I never know how they go, I mean, they didn’t offer me a job but they also didn’t tell me to get the hell out of their office. They’ll let me know.
The whole ride back was a nightmare. I spent the whole time trying to think of a reason not to call her. When I got back to the hotel I grabbed something to drink and ran down to Bonita Springs to see what turned out to be the most incredible sunset I’ve ever seen. I had my ipod on and played a few songs in particular that I knew would bring a tear or two to my eyes and watched the fire extinguish itself by the gulf. I’m never not amazed at this sight.
I stopped at a store and bought a bottle of rum and some coke and came back to the hotel. When I got to the room I mixed myself a drink and started to change. I went over to the table and grabbed the card with her number on it. I stared and stared but couldn’t get myself to the phone. I put the card back on the table and looked at it some more. I made myself another drink, grabbed the card and walked over to where the phone was. I picked up my lighter and lit the card and set it in the ashtray while I watched it along with so many other things burn into the air.
The place was a little more crowded than I expected it to be, what with the storm and all, but it was easy enough to find a table/stool that would make me visible enough to any waitress that was serving that section. It took about 10 minutes or so until a girl came up and asked what I’d like. When she arrived with my drink I asked her to bring another before she even set it down. As she walked away I downed what was in front of me and waited another few minutes before the second one appeared.
During my second drink I was able to relax and just do my normal thing of just watching people. I noticed a number of groups of folks scattered throughout the place and I noticed a table of three women that were somewhat near my age or a bit younger. I smiled when caught staring as we all raised our glass to each other.
I sat sipping my second glass when the waitress came up with a third and told me that the women at the table I mentioned had sent it over. I was lost. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before and seeing what I look like it’s quite understandable. I again looked over at the women and we all raised our glasses as I mouthed thank you to them.
Now here’s where we all get to see what a complete and utter idiot I am. Any other guy in the world would have gotten up and walked over to the table where these women were and joined them. Me? I sat and freaked out. Here I have the opportunity to go hang out with some very good-looking women and my head gets so jumbled that all I can do is sit and do nothing.
Turns out I was fortunate enough that they decided to come join me. I can’t believe how nervous I was. They asked if they could sit down and I must have said sure because they did. I learned their names and we talked for a while and then, my biggest fear, they wanted to dance. I tried to play it off by saying how I suffered from “white guys” disease and had no rhythm but the excuse wasn’t going to be accepted.
So I made a fool of myself for some song I don’t even remember and as we all sat back down we started talking some more. One of the women lived here on the island and the other two were visiting from some city in Missouri. We chatted some more and I felt some connection with the local and we stayed at the table talking while her friends went to the bar to order more drinks. She told me a little about herself and I did the same. I left out the part about being totally lost at this point in my life and not having any idea what it was I was going to do.
She invited me over to her place tomorrow night, which was actually tonight, and said she would fire up the grill and make us both dinner. She told me she got off work at 8:00 so I should come over around 8:30. She gave me her business card and wrote her home number on it. I told her I had an interview in Miami the next day but would call her when I got back in town. What we had here folks was every guys dream. I was getting picked up at a bar. Never happened before and I had no idea what to do with, what many would call, this gift. I came back to the hotel, put her card on the table and went to bed.
I woke up today and went to the beach for a bit then came back and got ready for the trip to the other coast. The interview went well I guess. I never know how they go, I mean, they didn’t offer me a job but they also didn’t tell me to get the hell out of their office. They’ll let me know.
The whole ride back was a nightmare. I spent the whole time trying to think of a reason not to call her. When I got back to the hotel I grabbed something to drink and ran down to Bonita Springs to see what turned out to be the most incredible sunset I’ve ever seen. I had my ipod on and played a few songs in particular that I knew would bring a tear or two to my eyes and watched the fire extinguish itself by the gulf. I’m never not amazed at this sight.
I stopped at a store and bought a bottle of rum and some coke and came back to the hotel. When I got to the room I mixed myself a drink and started to change. I went over to the table and grabbed the card with her number on it. I stared and stared but couldn’t get myself to the phone. I put the card back on the table and looked at it some more. I made myself another drink, grabbed the card and walked over to where the phone was. I picked up my lighter and lit the card and set it in the ashtray while I watched it along with so many other things burn into the air.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Make Me Feel!
Kind of disappointed about the storm. I’m happy that no one was hurt and all but I wanted the place to shake. You know, a little action. Of course I wouldn’t know even if it did. I took a sleeping pill and it actually worked. I know the power went out here at the hotel at around 2:30 for about two hours. The generator came on but some of the outlets didn’t seem to get any power from it.
I got out of the room at around seven and ran down to the lobby with my camera and tried to get a couple movies of what was happening. I’m not sure if the pics will do it justice. It’s raining. I mean really raining a lot. Looking outside you see nothing like it would normally look at 8:00 in the morning. It’s dark and it’s RAINING.
The trees are all doing their late 60’s type dance. You know the one where the head goes one way and the body the other. It’s pretty entertaining. It’s much louder outside than it looks too. That’s from the wind, jealous because it’s not getting the attention it thought it should have.
I’ve already had to change clothes because I ran out to feel the warmth of the rain and wind combination. It actually felt really nice. If I thought I would be more secure I’d go sit out at the pool. You just don’t know what could be flying around out there.
I think I’ll start the coffee pot and take a walk outside for a bit. I won’t go far, I just want to feel. Nothing like 50 mile per hour winds, and heavy rain to help make someone feel.
Take this post to know that I’m fine and lived through the worst of it. A little wetter, but I survived. Faye, you let me down. I really wanted to feel you.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Rain O're Me
“Fend for yourself till you win, win the race. Then you can laugh in their face”.
I keep hearing that line in my head over and over again. It’s an old Peter Frampton lyric form a song I’ve known forever and I’ve never even given it a second thought. Today, for some reason, it’s playing like an AM radio top 40 hit. I’ve always enjoyed the laughing part it’s just the fending for myself that I always seem to have a problem with.
I wrote that previous paragraph yesterday afternoon at the airport on my way down here to Naples. I woke this morning and it was still buzzing around in my head. What’s up with that?
Well, I’m here. I went to the store and bought some food to last for a few days. The weather channel says things could get really windy and wet and the local channels are reporting all the school closings for tomorrow. They’re also saying it could come by here as a category one storm. Could get pretty hairy.
I went to the beach as soon as I woke up and just stood in the water. All kinds of birds and really small fish being real active. It’s pretty cool how they know what’s coming. I have my camera and binoculars with me and got pretty lost in my head while looking through the binoculars. A couple months ago I bought a really nice pair and I must have stood with them up to my eyes for a good 45 minutes or so. I would see what looked like a firefly through the glasses and follow it for a good while and not realize that it was hundreds of feet away. Strange thing to get exited about but this is me we’re talking about here.
It started raining while I was down there so I ran back to the car and put my stuff away. For reasons I don’t understand I ran back down to the water and stood in it, fully clothed, and let the rain kind of wash me off. My shorts and shirt were drenched and I couldn’t see because my glasses had all those drops on them. Any normal person would have gone back to the car but, again, this is me we’re discussing. I stood there for about 10 minutes until the rain stopped. It didn’t last long enough.
I was supposed to go out towards Miami for an interview but right when I was heading out the hotel door the guy called and rescheduled for Wednesday, weather permitting. It was just starting to rain again when he called so I ran up to the room, lost the suit threw on some shorts and headed down to the water again. This time I went out to Marco Island. Not surprisingly I was alone on the sand as the rain was kind of pelting me across my face. The wind wasn’t that bad as it’s just the beginning of the storm.
I stayed out until a police jeep came out and told me what an idiot I was and that they were closing the beaches. It’s really weird but I just want to be out there in the rain. Don’t misunderstand me here; I’m not planning on running out in the middle of the storm or anything like that. I just kind of want someone or something to yell at and the rain and gulf seem like something I can hold some kind of control over.
“Here by the sea and sand, nothin' ever goes as planned”. Another song playing on the ipod that just seems to fit
I keep hearing that line in my head over and over again. It’s an old Peter Frampton lyric form a song I’ve known forever and I’ve never even given it a second thought. Today, for some reason, it’s playing like an AM radio top 40 hit. I’ve always enjoyed the laughing part it’s just the fending for myself that I always seem to have a problem with.
I wrote that previous paragraph yesterday afternoon at the airport on my way down here to Naples. I woke this morning and it was still buzzing around in my head. What’s up with that?
Well, I’m here. I went to the store and bought some food to last for a few days. The weather channel says things could get really windy and wet and the local channels are reporting all the school closings for tomorrow. They’re also saying it could come by here as a category one storm. Could get pretty hairy.
I went to the beach as soon as I woke up and just stood in the water. All kinds of birds and really small fish being real active. It’s pretty cool how they know what’s coming. I have my camera and binoculars with me and got pretty lost in my head while looking through the binoculars. A couple months ago I bought a really nice pair and I must have stood with them up to my eyes for a good 45 minutes or so. I would see what looked like a firefly through the glasses and follow it for a good while and not realize that it was hundreds of feet away. Strange thing to get exited about but this is me we’re talking about here.
It started raining while I was down there so I ran back to the car and put my stuff away. For reasons I don’t understand I ran back down to the water and stood in it, fully clothed, and let the rain kind of wash me off. My shorts and shirt were drenched and I couldn’t see because my glasses had all those drops on them. Any normal person would have gone back to the car but, again, this is me we’re discussing. I stood there for about 10 minutes until the rain stopped. It didn’t last long enough.
I was supposed to go out towards Miami for an interview but right when I was heading out the hotel door the guy called and rescheduled for Wednesday, weather permitting. It was just starting to rain again when he called so I ran up to the room, lost the suit threw on some shorts and headed down to the water again. This time I went out to Marco Island. Not surprisingly I was alone on the sand as the rain was kind of pelting me across my face. The wind wasn’t that bad as it’s just the beginning of the storm.
I stayed out until a police jeep came out and told me what an idiot I was and that they were closing the beaches. It’s really weird but I just want to be out there in the rain. Don’t misunderstand me here; I’m not planning on running out in the middle of the storm or anything like that. I just kind of want someone or something to yell at and the rain and gulf seem like something I can hold some kind of control over.
“Here by the sea and sand, nothin' ever goes as planned”. Another song playing on the ipod that just seems to fit
Saturday, August 16, 2008
At Least I'll Have My Flip Flops!
So the adventure begins today. Well, actually it started Thursday. I went down to the Detroit area and had a little panel interview with six others vying for the same gig. We took a battery of tests that I’ve not only taken before but also given and graded. I did real well on them and got the proverbial, “we’ll go through the applications and be calling soon” thing.
I’ve been unemployed for less than 16 hours and I’m not digging it. I fly to Florida tomorrow for a few interviews. I’ll be there till Saturday and hope to get my rather large ass a little sand time too. Though the way it’s been going these last couple weeks we just might see “Kevin VS the Hurricane”. Under normal conditions, I’d kick it’s ass. That’s under normal conditions. I’m obviously not up to full strength, being without a job. But, bring it on Cha Cha or whatever your name's going to be.
I just checked the hurricane center and “Fay” is stirring up near the Dominican Republic and there is a watch for southern Florida. You want a piece of me? You’ll have to do a lot better than that. I got your watch right here. I’ll have my camera so maybe I can get some cool pics.
I feel pretty good considering my circumstances. I’ve got a friend down in Naples that got me a room at the “Comfort Inn’ that his wife works in down there. She got me the room for 25.00 a night and it’s got a kitchen in it so I won’t have to eat all my meals out. Gotta look to save wherever I can so that helps.
It’s too early for the title of the blog to take effect but if nothing happens relatively soon, you can bet on more whining than any of you ever want to have to deal with. That doesn’t mean you won’t here it, just giving a little warning.
I’ll be just off Marco Island and there’s a comedy club I used to go to by myself. I certainly think it’s in the cards for this coming week. That and the water are the two things that will keep me going for the interviews I’ll be going to. Now, if the interviews don’t work out, the comedy is bad and the water isn’t warm, well, let the incessant whining begin.
I’ve been unemployed for less than 16 hours and I’m not digging it. I fly to Florida tomorrow for a few interviews. I’ll be there till Saturday and hope to get my rather large ass a little sand time too. Though the way it’s been going these last couple weeks we just might see “Kevin VS the Hurricane”. Under normal conditions, I’d kick it’s ass. That’s under normal conditions. I’m obviously not up to full strength, being without a job. But, bring it on Cha Cha or whatever your name's going to be.
I just checked the hurricane center and “Fay” is stirring up near the Dominican Republic and there is a watch for southern Florida. You want a piece of me? You’ll have to do a lot better than that. I got your watch right here. I’ll have my camera so maybe I can get some cool pics.
I feel pretty good considering my circumstances. I’ve got a friend down in Naples that got me a room at the “Comfort Inn’ that his wife works in down there. She got me the room for 25.00 a night and it’s got a kitchen in it so I won’t have to eat all my meals out. Gotta look to save wherever I can so that helps.
It’s too early for the title of the blog to take effect but if nothing happens relatively soon, you can bet on more whining than any of you ever want to have to deal with. That doesn’t mean you won’t here it, just giving a little warning.
I’ll be just off Marco Island and there’s a comedy club I used to go to by myself. I certainly think it’s in the cards for this coming week. That and the water are the two things that will keep me going for the interviews I’ll be going to. Now, if the interviews don’t work out, the comedy is bad and the water isn’t warm, well, let the incessant whining begin.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
No More Steps Back!
There comes a time in everyone’s life where you need to either stand up and show what you’re made of or meekly crawl into a hole. We’ve all seen the movies and read the books of those among us who have faced such adversity. It’s all very touching to see someone like Will Smith pick himself up and make a success of himself. That may be a little dramatic and far-fetched but it happens. There are also the real life stories of folks who just plain haven’t made one decent decision in their lives when it comes to living those lives. I, unfortunately, seem to fall in the latter category and the time has come, once again, for me to either show what I’m made of or crawl into a hole.
I have become a statistic. I’ve become one of the numerous people in this country that has been laid off. Come Friday, I will be unemployed. Friends and relatives that know me are wondering how that could happen. Aren’t you working for your sister? They’ll say. Yes I was I’ll tell them. I’ll also tell them that the last thing Karen wants to do is lay off her brother. What needs to be understood here is that I was working in the home building industry and we’ve all seen the news about how bad that’s been nation wide. Take a look at what that means in the state of Michigan and you’ll see how this became a problem. Suffice it to say that it’s ludicrous to think Karen and Bob did this without looking at every possible way to keep me on. If you know of my relationship with my sister you know of what I speak.
So now, what do I do? I’m 47 years old, I have no college degree and the only “marketable” skill I have is that I have the ability to talk to anyone about anything. I say these things not to put myself down or look for you guys to write and tell me how wonderful I am. I appreciate it and understand it. I also understand the reality of the situation. I’ve got to be honest here, I’m scared.
I’ve got applications out all over the country. The only ones that are even getting a bite are a couple grocery stores in Florida. The one that looks most promising is for the same company I worked for before I moved up here last year. That’s not a horrible thing but they’ve told me they can’t put me back into a management position until just after the first of the year. It looks like I’ll be flying down there next week to talk about what’s available and to take the assessment tests that I took when I was originally hired two years ago. I’ve set up meetings with three different District Managers and we’ll see what happens.
I’m also trying to set up a meeting with Whole Foods, another grocery chain. I’ve spoken to a Store Manager up in Destin and they’re looking for Management so we’ll see what happens. I’ve also got resumes at stores throughout Michigan and the Chicago area but I can’t get anyone to talk to me. I’ve also got resumes sent to stores in California and Colorado. Anyplace where I happen to know people.
Right now the thing that really is getting me down is that I was trying to set up a trip out west to meet my new granddaughter. That now has to wait. I have to get a job. 47 years old. I never thought I’d be in this position, but then, who does?
I do have the belief that I’ll be fine. I know I have friends and family all over the place that will help as much as they can. I’m doing that one step up and two steps back thing I’ve spoken of before and it doesn’t seem to be working. Time to get some spikes and dig in.
I have become a statistic. I’ve become one of the numerous people in this country that has been laid off. Come Friday, I will be unemployed. Friends and relatives that know me are wondering how that could happen. Aren’t you working for your sister? They’ll say. Yes I was I’ll tell them. I’ll also tell them that the last thing Karen wants to do is lay off her brother. What needs to be understood here is that I was working in the home building industry and we’ve all seen the news about how bad that’s been nation wide. Take a look at what that means in the state of Michigan and you’ll see how this became a problem. Suffice it to say that it’s ludicrous to think Karen and Bob did this without looking at every possible way to keep me on. If you know of my relationship with my sister you know of what I speak.
So now, what do I do? I’m 47 years old, I have no college degree and the only “marketable” skill I have is that I have the ability to talk to anyone about anything. I say these things not to put myself down or look for you guys to write and tell me how wonderful I am. I appreciate it and understand it. I also understand the reality of the situation. I’ve got to be honest here, I’m scared.
I’ve got applications out all over the country. The only ones that are even getting a bite are a couple grocery stores in Florida. The one that looks most promising is for the same company I worked for before I moved up here last year. That’s not a horrible thing but they’ve told me they can’t put me back into a management position until just after the first of the year. It looks like I’ll be flying down there next week to talk about what’s available and to take the assessment tests that I took when I was originally hired two years ago. I’ve set up meetings with three different District Managers and we’ll see what happens.
I’m also trying to set up a meeting with Whole Foods, another grocery chain. I’ve spoken to a Store Manager up in Destin and they’re looking for Management so we’ll see what happens. I’ve also got resumes at stores throughout Michigan and the Chicago area but I can’t get anyone to talk to me. I’ve also got resumes sent to stores in California and Colorado. Anyplace where I happen to know people.
Right now the thing that really is getting me down is that I was trying to set up a trip out west to meet my new granddaughter. That now has to wait. I have to get a job. 47 years old. I never thought I’d be in this position, but then, who does?
I do have the belief that I’ll be fine. I know I have friends and family all over the place that will help as much as they can. I’m doing that one step up and two steps back thing I’ve spoken of before and it doesn’t seem to be working. Time to get some spikes and dig in.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
One's Not The Loneliest Number
I’d been planning for about three weeks now to go see the comedian Chelsea Handler down in the Detroit area. She was performing at the “Meadow Brook Music Festival". It’s an outdoor theater down near Oakland University. On my way down to meet with the folks I was meeting with I got a call from one of the guys who said he wasn’t going to be able to make it. Actually he said he had just gotten home from work and really wasn’t feeling well.
Undeterred, I kept heading over to the Detroit area, figuring at the least, I’d go to a deli for dinner and then if I decided not to go the show I’d head home. I got directions to the “Stage” deli and headed there for a corned beef sandwich. As I was getting back into my car I got another call from the other guy I was supposed to meet telling me that since the forecast called for rain he didn’t feel like going either. Now I had to decide whether to turn around and head back home or go to the show anyway.
Well, my friend wasn’t kidding about the rain. I’m sitting in the parking lot of the theater about an hour and a half before the show and it’s pouring. I ran up to the ticket booth in the rain, (I hate what it does to my hair) and instead of getting the planned for lawn ticket for 10.00 I decided to spend an extra 15.00 and bought a pavilion seat. I didn’t want to sit in the rain, again, the hair thing. I put a Joe Jackson cd in and I’m just watching all the other folks arriving and scurrying to the gate to get their tickets too.
I just got off the phone with a friend who expressed sympathy at the idea of me having to go to the show alone. I explained that this certainly wasn’t the first time I’ve gone to see live comedy by myself. I’ve probably been to more shows alone than with others.
I think comedy sort of lends itself to being able to enjoy it without having other you know with you. It’s quite easy to laugh at something funny whether with friends or without. In a situation like this you have the entire crowd to join in with. I’m sure it looks kind of strange when people walk by you and see you’re all alone but, in the pavilion, all you need is someone to have the seat next to you and the person next to you is the only one that knows. At comedy clubs you just sit up at the stage and there will always be people that get seated next to you so, again, problem solved. Funny, but I’ve been to tons of these types of shows by myself and this is the first time I’ve ever thought about it. Must be age.
Anyway, it’s getting to be time to head inside. Of course the rain has stopped. I kind of hope that once I get inside it really starts to rain like crazy. It’ll give me something else to laugh at.
Undeterred, I kept heading over to the Detroit area, figuring at the least, I’d go to a deli for dinner and then if I decided not to go the show I’d head home. I got directions to the “Stage” deli and headed there for a corned beef sandwich. As I was getting back into my car I got another call from the other guy I was supposed to meet telling me that since the forecast called for rain he didn’t feel like going either. Now I had to decide whether to turn around and head back home or go to the show anyway.
Well, my friend wasn’t kidding about the rain. I’m sitting in the parking lot of the theater about an hour and a half before the show and it’s pouring. I ran up to the ticket booth in the rain, (I hate what it does to my hair) and instead of getting the planned for lawn ticket for 10.00 I decided to spend an extra 15.00 and bought a pavilion seat. I didn’t want to sit in the rain, again, the hair thing. I put a Joe Jackson cd in and I’m just watching all the other folks arriving and scurrying to the gate to get their tickets too.
I just got off the phone with a friend who expressed sympathy at the idea of me having to go to the show alone. I explained that this certainly wasn’t the first time I’ve gone to see live comedy by myself. I’ve probably been to more shows alone than with others.
I think comedy sort of lends itself to being able to enjoy it without having other you know with you. It’s quite easy to laugh at something funny whether with friends or without. In a situation like this you have the entire crowd to join in with. I’m sure it looks kind of strange when people walk by you and see you’re all alone but, in the pavilion, all you need is someone to have the seat next to you and the person next to you is the only one that knows. At comedy clubs you just sit up at the stage and there will always be people that get seated next to you so, again, problem solved. Funny, but I’ve been to tons of these types of shows by myself and this is the first time I’ve ever thought about it. Must be age.
Anyway, it’s getting to be time to head inside. Of course the rain has stopped. I kind of hope that once I get inside it really starts to rain like crazy. It’ll give me something else to laugh at.
Friday, August 8, 2008
How Do You Not Love The Web?
Being the self-serving, egomaniacal narcissistic guy that I am you would think I’d know everything there is to know about me. You’d think I’d be familiar with anything out there on the web and anything you’d find on a Google search and things like that. Well color me surprised.
I went to Google search, as I do every 15 minutes, I mean c’mon, doesn’t everybody? Anyway, I went to Google search and punched in my favorite name, mine. What I found were eight different sites that are about your favorite subject and mine, me.
There’s one about the blog. There are two from Lulu.com with each one featuring each book I’ve written. (On sale now!!!) There’s one that goes straight to my classmates.com page and yet another that does the same for my face book account. There’s also one for Linkedin.com, which is a business-networking site that a couple friends invited me to join. And there’s another one from Lulu.com that’s kind of a store for my books. (They make great gifts)
Then I saw something that just fascinates me. There’s a site with a bunch of numbers then the title of my second book followed by my name. it then says, “Buy online”. Ok, I like that. Anything that swings some cash this way can’t be all bad right?
Wanting to see who else besides all of you want to help support me I clicked on the site to see if maybe there was something I could do to help these folks do gods work. What it turned out to be was an Internet bookstore in Australia. Wow, that’s cool, long overdue, but cool nonetheless. Then this real mellow music started. I thought I was in one of those spa massage rooms I’ve written about. So I looked a little closer and it turns out that this is not only an Internet bookstore but also a holistic Internet bookstore.
You’d think I would be taken aback. Well, I was, for just a second. But then it occurred to me how incredibly overdue this was. Not only does my writing help all us poor souls in this part of the web but now I’ve joined the holistic set. God bless the Internet. I, Kevin E. Mittleman am now not only a published author, I’m helping those poor souls that are into the holistic scene. Could I be any more giving?
I went to Google search, as I do every 15 minutes, I mean c’mon, doesn’t everybody? Anyway, I went to Google search and punched in my favorite name, mine. What I found were eight different sites that are about your favorite subject and mine, me.
There’s one about the blog. There are two from Lulu.com with each one featuring each book I’ve written. (On sale now!!!) There’s one that goes straight to my classmates.com page and yet another that does the same for my face book account. There’s also one for Linkedin.com, which is a business-networking site that a couple friends invited me to join. And there’s another one from Lulu.com that’s kind of a store for my books. (They make great gifts)
Then I saw something that just fascinates me. There’s a site with a bunch of numbers then the title of my second book followed by my name. it then says, “Buy online”. Ok, I like that. Anything that swings some cash this way can’t be all bad right?
Wanting to see who else besides all of you want to help support me I clicked on the site to see if maybe there was something I could do to help these folks do gods work. What it turned out to be was an Internet bookstore in Australia. Wow, that’s cool, long overdue, but cool nonetheless. Then this real mellow music started. I thought I was in one of those spa massage rooms I’ve written about. So I looked a little closer and it turns out that this is not only an Internet bookstore but also a holistic Internet bookstore.
You’d think I would be taken aback. Well, I was, for just a second. But then it occurred to me how incredibly overdue this was. Not only does my writing help all us poor souls in this part of the web but now I’ve joined the holistic set. God bless the Internet. I, Kevin E. Mittleman am now not only a published author, I’m helping those poor souls that are into the holistic scene. Could I be any more giving?
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Lesson Learned
I wrote the piece about my friends’ funeral last week and have received a number of comments and emails regarding it. I sent an email via classmates.com to Randee, one of David’s sisters, letting her know about the essay and asked her if she’d like to read it. She replied that she would and I sent it to her.
I received the following email from her after she read it and I have since asked her if it would be ok if I pasted it here. Obviously she said yes or I wouldn’t be doing it. For those of you out there that have suffered such losses I’m sure you’ll find your feelings were the same as Randee’s after your loss. For those that haven’t I hope you heed the lesson that permeates the entire email and do what you need to do so as not to regret it later.
Here’s the email:
The tears flowed from the moment I began to read your feelings about the funeral. I cried from the beginning to the end. Thanks for sharing your inner thoughts and for helping me to feel the need to reach out to those who shared in my life while they are still alive and able to know how much they meant to me, just to have been in my life. That is the lesson that I have learned from you and those who remembered David from their childhood.
I have to be honest, in many ways it was the warmest condolences of all, and in other ways it was the saddest. If only David knew, if only everyone’s lives weren't so busy that they took the time to let people know before they died that this person had touched their lives in some way or form. A lesson to be learned? Yes, for me it took this tragic time to know the importance of just saying hi to old friends and to let them know I was just thinking of them. I want them to know now! So, when all is more settled and my family can move on more independently, I plan to join classmates.com just so I can email old friends to say hi. So many old friends and acquaintances touched my life in so many different ways and I want them to know. I have been guilty of this "caught up in the life" frenzy that stops me from doing the little things that can mean a difference in a person's life, if only for a minute, an hour or maybe not at all, but at least they knew I thought of them.
Every corner we have turned, everyone has said what a kind, polite and caring brother, and as I said before it doesn't come as a surprise, my mother raised us all in the same mannerism as she has lived her life. It’s no wonder why we have a warm and most loving family, and it's no wonder why our kids are learning the same.
Thanks again Kevin,
love, randee
How do you not feel that? Go on, look up someone and say hi. It’ll mean a ton to you and you’d be surprised how much it means to them
I received the following email from her after she read it and I have since asked her if it would be ok if I pasted it here. Obviously she said yes or I wouldn’t be doing it. For those of you out there that have suffered such losses I’m sure you’ll find your feelings were the same as Randee’s after your loss. For those that haven’t I hope you heed the lesson that permeates the entire email and do what you need to do so as not to regret it later.
Here’s the email:
The tears flowed from the moment I began to read your feelings about the funeral. I cried from the beginning to the end. Thanks for sharing your inner thoughts and for helping me to feel the need to reach out to those who shared in my life while they are still alive and able to know how much they meant to me, just to have been in my life. That is the lesson that I have learned from you and those who remembered David from their childhood.
I have to be honest, in many ways it was the warmest condolences of all, and in other ways it was the saddest. If only David knew, if only everyone’s lives weren't so busy that they took the time to let people know before they died that this person had touched their lives in some way or form. A lesson to be learned? Yes, for me it took this tragic time to know the importance of just saying hi to old friends and to let them know I was just thinking of them. I want them to know now! So, when all is more settled and my family can move on more independently, I plan to join classmates.com just so I can email old friends to say hi. So many old friends and acquaintances touched my life in so many different ways and I want them to know. I have been guilty of this "caught up in the life" frenzy that stops me from doing the little things that can mean a difference in a person's life, if only for a minute, an hour or maybe not at all, but at least they knew I thought of them.
Every corner we have turned, everyone has said what a kind, polite and caring brother, and as I said before it doesn't come as a surprise, my mother raised us all in the same mannerism as she has lived her life. It’s no wonder why we have a warm and most loving family, and it's no wonder why our kids are learning the same.
Thanks again Kevin,
love, randee
How do you not feel that? Go on, look up someone and say hi. It’ll mean a ton to you and you’d be surprised how much it means to them
Monday, August 4, 2008
Extra!! Extra!! Read All About It!!!!!
As most of you know by now, I’m not what one would consider a rah, rah type of guy. Depression is something that I’m quite familiar with. I’m always looking for that ever elusive permanent happiness and always seem to fall just one step shy of the mark.
Well kids, something happened today that simply won’t allow me to be sad. Ladies and gentlemen, I am so incredibly proud to announce the four and ½ week early birth of Jenivieve Amber Einsohn. She arrived today at 5:00 AM pacific time and both Mom, (Amanda) and Jena are doing fine. She came in at a svelte 5 lbs 14 oz. and seems to take after me in the hair department though I can’t really tell because of the stylin hat.
Easily one of my proudest moments and I just want the whole world to know how much I love Jena, Amanda and dear old “new” dad Adam. Congrats to you all. Now we just have to wait and see what Jena will call the old guy. That’s Me!!!!
Sunday, August 3, 2008
The Carter Family
“I didn’t cry when granny died.
She made me so depressed;
And now I find I miss her
More than I’d ever have guessed”.
When I was a kid we lived in a small city in Michigan called Trenton. There were six of us living in this tiny house that probably had around the same square footage as the two bedroom duplex I live in now. Typical suburban city that was part of the spread of suburbia in the late fifties and early sixties.
I always try to think of the earliest time in my life I can remember and I think my first memory is of sitting on my Grandfathers lap and pretending to shave him with his set of keys as the razor. He had a little can opener that seemed to do the trick. I don’t know if anyone that was around could describe the relationship between Grampa and me without giving the bond its true justice. To say we were close would be downplaying the relationship in every sense imaginable. I remember as a very small child whenever we would visit with Grampa I would be stuck to his lap like glue. I have a slight memory of calling him Papa for a short while when everyone else was calling him Grampa. I recall one time, after calling him papa while on his lap, my sister Karen looked at me and said “His name is Grampa” and that’s what I called him from that day on.
He had seven Grandchildren and I was the youngest and I belonged to him. I remember my Grandmother telling me when I was a bit older that he told her after I was born that she had this great relationship with all the other kids and that I was his. He loved me more than one should be allowed. I can safely say that I was truly the light of his life. The really strange part was that this was accepted by all. It was known by everyone that at any function where we all got together I would be with Grampa and that was that.
We, as a family, were not what one would consider wealthy. When I was very young I think you could say we were struggling to be lower middle class. Don’t get me wrong, we never went hungry, but we were never the ones on the block to be the first to get any new product or have fancy things like some other kids. Mom would always make sure we had enough to eat and clothes on our back. One thing she could always count on without even asking was that Grampa would always take care of my needs. I remember getting winter jackets and my first new bike while with him. I also had some sort of problem with my feet and needed orthopedic shoes that were always more expensive than my brothers shoes. Again, Grampa would take me to get them. I still see him bending down and feeling the fit to make sure they weren’t too tight. There was not a single day up to about the age of 11 that I did not talk to him on the phone unless they were out of town. I have distinct memories of sitting in school on certain days and just wishing he would show up to take me out to eat or shopping and the absolute joy of seeing his car pull up from my classroom window.
As I grew older I became less and less enchanted with the attention he would shower me with. Looking back on it I know that this is a normal growing process. I started to actually feel annoyed when he would call and put out when forced to go see him. I was becoming a typical teenager and didn’t have time for him. I feel sad today knowing that he never really understood that.
When I was thirteen, like most Jewish boys, I was Bar-Mitzva. During the ceremony, as I was on the stage holding the torah, he stood up while the rabbi was leading the congregation in prayer and walked onto the stage, kissed me on the forehead and walked back down to his seat. I felt so embarrassed. Looking back now I feel ashamed to have felt that way. This occasion was his dream come true and I was too young and stupid to recognize it. Those that knew him never thought anything about the incident. They knew what it meant to him. My grandmother later told me that he always said he wanted to live long enough to see this day. Again, in my youth, I couldn’t appreciate the moment. It’s true when they say that youth is wasted on the young.
Grampa died when I was fifteen. I didn’t grieve for him at the time as I was too wrapped up in my own life as a teen that only cared about himself. I miss him dearly and often long for the days of my youth when we would always know that I was his and he was mine. Looking back I see how easy it would have been to let him know how important he was to me. I know how proud he would have been of Shelly and the kids and how he would have just lost himself in Maegan. I know he thought I could do anything and would someday rule the world and I often wonder what he would think of where I’ve ended up in life. Knowing the way he felt about me he’d probably think that this was the world I was meant to rule.
At the top of this post are lyrics from a Carly Simon song called “The Carter Family”. Whenever I hear this part of the song I always change the words in my head to Grampa and get all teary eyed. I don’t know why I do this to myself but I have it on my ipod and listen to it almost daily. Yes it brings tears but it also reminds me of a day when I felt totally secure in the love of another and even if I did wrong I would get a little tap on my head and know that all was well. I also know that he’d still tap me on the head today.
She made me so depressed;
And now I find I miss her
More than I’d ever have guessed”.
When I was a kid we lived in a small city in Michigan called Trenton. There were six of us living in this tiny house that probably had around the same square footage as the two bedroom duplex I live in now. Typical suburban city that was part of the spread of suburbia in the late fifties and early sixties.
I always try to think of the earliest time in my life I can remember and I think my first memory is of sitting on my Grandfathers lap and pretending to shave him with his set of keys as the razor. He had a little can opener that seemed to do the trick. I don’t know if anyone that was around could describe the relationship between Grampa and me without giving the bond its true justice. To say we were close would be downplaying the relationship in every sense imaginable. I remember as a very small child whenever we would visit with Grampa I would be stuck to his lap like glue. I have a slight memory of calling him Papa for a short while when everyone else was calling him Grampa. I recall one time, after calling him papa while on his lap, my sister Karen looked at me and said “His name is Grampa” and that’s what I called him from that day on.
He had seven Grandchildren and I was the youngest and I belonged to him. I remember my Grandmother telling me when I was a bit older that he told her after I was born that she had this great relationship with all the other kids and that I was his. He loved me more than one should be allowed. I can safely say that I was truly the light of his life. The really strange part was that this was accepted by all. It was known by everyone that at any function where we all got together I would be with Grampa and that was that.
We, as a family, were not what one would consider wealthy. When I was very young I think you could say we were struggling to be lower middle class. Don’t get me wrong, we never went hungry, but we were never the ones on the block to be the first to get any new product or have fancy things like some other kids. Mom would always make sure we had enough to eat and clothes on our back. One thing she could always count on without even asking was that Grampa would always take care of my needs. I remember getting winter jackets and my first new bike while with him. I also had some sort of problem with my feet and needed orthopedic shoes that were always more expensive than my brothers shoes. Again, Grampa would take me to get them. I still see him bending down and feeling the fit to make sure they weren’t too tight. There was not a single day up to about the age of 11 that I did not talk to him on the phone unless they were out of town. I have distinct memories of sitting in school on certain days and just wishing he would show up to take me out to eat or shopping and the absolute joy of seeing his car pull up from my classroom window.
As I grew older I became less and less enchanted with the attention he would shower me with. Looking back on it I know that this is a normal growing process. I started to actually feel annoyed when he would call and put out when forced to go see him. I was becoming a typical teenager and didn’t have time for him. I feel sad today knowing that he never really understood that.
When I was thirteen, like most Jewish boys, I was Bar-Mitzva. During the ceremony, as I was on the stage holding the torah, he stood up while the rabbi was leading the congregation in prayer and walked onto the stage, kissed me on the forehead and walked back down to his seat. I felt so embarrassed. Looking back now I feel ashamed to have felt that way. This occasion was his dream come true and I was too young and stupid to recognize it. Those that knew him never thought anything about the incident. They knew what it meant to him. My grandmother later told me that he always said he wanted to live long enough to see this day. Again, in my youth, I couldn’t appreciate the moment. It’s true when they say that youth is wasted on the young.
Grampa died when I was fifteen. I didn’t grieve for him at the time as I was too wrapped up in my own life as a teen that only cared about himself. I miss him dearly and often long for the days of my youth when we would always know that I was his and he was mine. Looking back I see how easy it would have been to let him know how important he was to me. I know how proud he would have been of Shelly and the kids and how he would have just lost himself in Maegan. I know he thought I could do anything and would someday rule the world and I often wonder what he would think of where I’ve ended up in life. Knowing the way he felt about me he’d probably think that this was the world I was meant to rule.
At the top of this post are lyrics from a Carly Simon song called “The Carter Family”. Whenever I hear this part of the song I always change the words in my head to Grampa and get all teary eyed. I don’t know why I do this to myself but I have it on my ipod and listen to it almost daily. Yes it brings tears but it also reminds me of a day when I felt totally secure in the love of another and even if I did wrong I would get a little tap on my head and know that all was well. I also know that he’d still tap me on the head today.
Some Of The Old Stuff
I started my original blog in June of 2006. I stupidly deleted everything from that blog in Sept. of 2007. I've recently received an email asking for some of the posts that are no longer on the web. Well, here they are. There's a bunch but I couldn't figure out another way to put them up without doing a whole new Blog.
What A Day
Well, I got stung again. This time I was getting carts from the parking lot at the store and saw a bee buzzing around so I walked away as quickly as possible to no avail. It got me right behind the ear and it hurt like hell. I walked into the store and got my epipen from the Managers’ office, I keep one in his desk, and gave myself the shot.
I let someone know about what happened and went back into the office to sit down. As soon as I hit the chair I started shaking uncontrollably. This has never happened before and, as I was also sweating so much ,I started to hyperventilate. I couldn’t catch my breath for my life. I asked someone for some water and as they brought me the bottle I put it to my mouth and was shaking so much I think I chipped my tooth on the top of it. Our pharmacist brought me 50 mg. of Benedryl syrup and I drank that but couldn’t stop shaking. She told someone to call 911, as we weren’t sure if the shaking and loss of breath was from the Epinephrine or a reaction to the sting. You never want to take the chance so I can’t complain.
When EMS got there they asked me to get on the stretcher, and as I got up I remember asking Paul, our Grocery Manager, where I put my glasses. I kept feeling around the desk for them until I realized that I was wearing them. They helped me to the stretcher and as I was laying down on it I noticed that I was starting to cry. I don’t know why but the tears were rolling down my cheeks. I truly knew I was going to be all right but I was a bit more concerned than usual because like I said before, I’ve never had the shaking and sweating like this before.
Once in the ambulance, they hooked me up to a couple different drips. I have no idea what they were and started taking my vitals. I can’t explain the feeling of embarrassment I felt. I just felt so foolish about the whole thing. I know it’s not my fault but I couldn’t help but feel I could have avoided this whole thing somehow. I know the Benedryl was kicking in and my breathing started to get back to normal. And again, I knew I was going to be all right. They took me to the hospital and put me in a room. Let me say this about the EMS guys. Absolute professionals, they did a great job and made sure I was as comfortable as possible.
The concern in the hospital seemed to be why I was sweating so much. I was freezing but my shirt was drenched. They put some monitors on me and kept the drips going until they were sure I was ok. I got home and pretty much slept the day away.
It’s now the following morning and I still feel a little dizzy. I’m alright and I’m hoping the down feeling goes away soon. I’m working today and it’s Christmas Eve. Even though I’m Jewish it’s still one of my favorite days to work on. My next mission is to find a way to stay away from the bees. I’ll have to study up on getting my immunity system a little stronger against the venom. We’ll have to see what happens
I let someone know about what happened and went back into the office to sit down. As soon as I hit the chair I started shaking uncontrollably. This has never happened before and, as I was also sweating so much ,I started to hyperventilate. I couldn’t catch my breath for my life. I asked someone for some water and as they brought me the bottle I put it to my mouth and was shaking so much I think I chipped my tooth on the top of it. Our pharmacist brought me 50 mg. of Benedryl syrup and I drank that but couldn’t stop shaking. She told someone to call 911, as we weren’t sure if the shaking and loss of breath was from the Epinephrine or a reaction to the sting. You never want to take the chance so I can’t complain.
When EMS got there they asked me to get on the stretcher, and as I got up I remember asking Paul, our Grocery Manager, where I put my glasses. I kept feeling around the desk for them until I realized that I was wearing them. They helped me to the stretcher and as I was laying down on it I noticed that I was starting to cry. I don’t know why but the tears were rolling down my cheeks. I truly knew I was going to be all right but I was a bit more concerned than usual because like I said before, I’ve never had the shaking and sweating like this before.
Once in the ambulance, they hooked me up to a couple different drips. I have no idea what they were and started taking my vitals. I can’t explain the feeling of embarrassment I felt. I just felt so foolish about the whole thing. I know it’s not my fault but I couldn’t help but feel I could have avoided this whole thing somehow. I know the Benedryl was kicking in and my breathing started to get back to normal. And again, I knew I was going to be all right. They took me to the hospital and put me in a room. Let me say this about the EMS guys. Absolute professionals, they did a great job and made sure I was as comfortable as possible.
The concern in the hospital seemed to be why I was sweating so much. I was freezing but my shirt was drenched. They put some monitors on me and kept the drips going until they were sure I was ok. I got home and pretty much slept the day away.
It’s now the following morning and I still feel a little dizzy. I’m alright and I’m hoping the down feeling goes away soon. I’m working today and it’s Christmas Eve. Even though I’m Jewish it’s still one of my favorite days to work on. My next mission is to find a way to stay away from the bees. I’ll have to study up on getting my immunity system a little stronger against the venom. We’ll have to see what happens
Doctor My Eyes
When I was a kid I used to work at a full service gas station. If there are any of you out there who don’t know what a real full service station was, ask an old guy like me. I bring up the gas station job because I received an injury there that has had an effect on my entire life. My eyesight was damaged to a point that to this day causes me problems.
One day in September of 1978, it was the first day of my senior year of high school, gasoline kicked back from the car I was filling and splashed into my eyes. Actually, more splashed onto my shirt, but all I felt was the burning in my eyes. I remember grabbing my shirt and using it to wipe my eyes. This, in hindsight, was not the most intelligent thing I’ve ever done. I can almost still feel the emotion of realizing what I had done by wiping my eyes with the shirt. I distinctly remember that split second before the pain, and it was intense, asking myself why I had done it. It’s always the weird things in any of my life’s crisis that I seem to recall better than the actual incident.
Once the pain set in I remember yelling for help because it hurt so much. I could see but I could actually feel the heat in my eyes. There was a guy at the station working with me named Keith Miles, who was just a moose of a guy, that came out and lifted me on to his back and took me inside the station to the sink. This was not very difficult as this was after I got sick and lost 120 lbs. I was a strapping 123 lbs. He put my head under the water and kept yelling at me to open my eyes. Keith was a real intimidating guy; I did as I was told. To this day I feel I owe him my eyesight. I have no idea where he is or how to get in touch with him but if I could I would let him know how I feel about it.
Once the dousing was over I felt well enough to go on about my business. Again, this was not a day of my smartest decisions. After working for a few minutes my eyes felt like I was under a sunlamp. I called home and told my mother what had happened and that I would be all right. I told her I was well enough to drive myself home, that intelligence of mine kicking in again, but I would appreciate it if she would just have a bag of ice waiting for me to put on my eyes when I got there. I can’t imagine what she thought, obvious concern, but trusting me enough to know my capabilities.
Once I got myself home I went into the den and was watching television with my brother David. I had the bag of ice that I kept putting over my eyes and convinced myself and Mom that everything was going to be ok. Then the phone rang and I yelled out the typical, “I’ll get it”. I stood up, took about three steps, and every light in the world went out. I was standing just inside the kitchen and couldn’t move. I yelled for help and David asked what was wrong. I told him I couldn’t see and he went and got mom. They got me in the car and mom took me to the emergency room.
There’s a little contention about what happened next, but this is my story, and I’m telling it from my point of view. Mom stopped the car and told me to get out and she would go park the car. I stood outside the car thinking about how odd it must look for me to be standing in what I thought was the middle of the parking lot, with my arms outstretched trying to get a feel of where I was.
Someone asked what was wrong and I said I had gas in my eyes. I was then pulled and pushed for what seemed like a couple hundred yards to a chair. I had no idea where mom was but these people obviously meant business. All kinds of chatter and movement and I started to get the feeling that I might have a bigger problem than I thought. I was mistakenly under the impression that I would have some sort of say on what was about to happen to me. I still couldn’t see anything and someone was pushing my head back. I started to get upset because they weren’t telling me what was going on. I remember shouting, “What are you doing to me”? And being told they needed to rinse my eyes with some solution and that it would probably hurt. I said I would need a second to prepare myself for it and was told in a rather forceful voice that there was no time for that and my head and face were pushed under a stream of some liquid that made my eyes burn worse than the original pain.
After cleaning out my eyes they placed patches on them and gave my mom instructions to put drops in them every four hours. I stayed like that for a number of weeks. For the first week or so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see again. After that first week I was able to see light from dark and I knew I’d be all right. I’ve got a great many stories about things that happened during my blindness, furniture being moved and things of that ilk, but that can wait for another posting. I will say that I did have a wonderful network of friends who I placed a great deal of trust in and they helped me an enormous amount.
There are a number of things you learn about yourself when something like this happens. I know I became a much deeper thinker and observer of all that surrounds me. I also know that the experience helped shape the person I am today, as all of life’s experiences do. I sometimes wonder how, if any, different I would be if it had never happened? I’m not sure. I know it has somehow made me more guarded around people. More in the need to feel in control of myself at all times. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. I think of the time I spent without sight often and always think of the things that event has shaped in my life. It was pretty traumatic after all and I can say there are not many of you out there that have gone through the same type of thing.
To this day, my eyes burn on a regular basis. I have a major issue trying to get drops into them to soothe the burning sensation. It’s quite a joke when an Optometrist tries to put drops in my eyes. I end up taking a Visine bath. My ex wife used to sit on my chest and have her legs on my shoulders trying to hold my face still enough to put drops in. It just got to be too much of a production so we just decided to go without. I buy these really expensive drops now that an eye Doctor said I needed and use much more of them than I should. I still end up getting more on my face than in my eyes. I still try though. It helps ease the burn a bit. I don’t really have a nice clean ending to this story, just something I wanted to talk about. Thanks for listening.
One day in September of 1978, it was the first day of my senior year of high school, gasoline kicked back from the car I was filling and splashed into my eyes. Actually, more splashed onto my shirt, but all I felt was the burning in my eyes. I remember grabbing my shirt and using it to wipe my eyes. This, in hindsight, was not the most intelligent thing I’ve ever done. I can almost still feel the emotion of realizing what I had done by wiping my eyes with the shirt. I distinctly remember that split second before the pain, and it was intense, asking myself why I had done it. It’s always the weird things in any of my life’s crisis that I seem to recall better than the actual incident.
Once the pain set in I remember yelling for help because it hurt so much. I could see but I could actually feel the heat in my eyes. There was a guy at the station working with me named Keith Miles, who was just a moose of a guy, that came out and lifted me on to his back and took me inside the station to the sink. This was not very difficult as this was after I got sick and lost 120 lbs. I was a strapping 123 lbs. He put my head under the water and kept yelling at me to open my eyes. Keith was a real intimidating guy; I did as I was told. To this day I feel I owe him my eyesight. I have no idea where he is or how to get in touch with him but if I could I would let him know how I feel about it.
Once the dousing was over I felt well enough to go on about my business. Again, this was not a day of my smartest decisions. After working for a few minutes my eyes felt like I was under a sunlamp. I called home and told my mother what had happened and that I would be all right. I told her I was well enough to drive myself home, that intelligence of mine kicking in again, but I would appreciate it if she would just have a bag of ice waiting for me to put on my eyes when I got there. I can’t imagine what she thought, obvious concern, but trusting me enough to know my capabilities.
Once I got myself home I went into the den and was watching television with my brother David. I had the bag of ice that I kept putting over my eyes and convinced myself and Mom that everything was going to be ok. Then the phone rang and I yelled out the typical, “I’ll get it”. I stood up, took about three steps, and every light in the world went out. I was standing just inside the kitchen and couldn’t move. I yelled for help and David asked what was wrong. I told him I couldn’t see and he went and got mom. They got me in the car and mom took me to the emergency room.
There’s a little contention about what happened next, but this is my story, and I’m telling it from my point of view. Mom stopped the car and told me to get out and she would go park the car. I stood outside the car thinking about how odd it must look for me to be standing in what I thought was the middle of the parking lot, with my arms outstretched trying to get a feel of where I was.
Someone asked what was wrong and I said I had gas in my eyes. I was then pulled and pushed for what seemed like a couple hundred yards to a chair. I had no idea where mom was but these people obviously meant business. All kinds of chatter and movement and I started to get the feeling that I might have a bigger problem than I thought. I was mistakenly under the impression that I would have some sort of say on what was about to happen to me. I still couldn’t see anything and someone was pushing my head back. I started to get upset because they weren’t telling me what was going on. I remember shouting, “What are you doing to me”? And being told they needed to rinse my eyes with some solution and that it would probably hurt. I said I would need a second to prepare myself for it and was told in a rather forceful voice that there was no time for that and my head and face were pushed under a stream of some liquid that made my eyes burn worse than the original pain.
After cleaning out my eyes they placed patches on them and gave my mom instructions to put drops in them every four hours. I stayed like that for a number of weeks. For the first week or so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see again. After that first week I was able to see light from dark and I knew I’d be all right. I’ve got a great many stories about things that happened during my blindness, furniture being moved and things of that ilk, but that can wait for another posting. I will say that I did have a wonderful network of friends who I placed a great deal of trust in and they helped me an enormous amount.
There are a number of things you learn about yourself when something like this happens. I know I became a much deeper thinker and observer of all that surrounds me. I also know that the experience helped shape the person I am today, as all of life’s experiences do. I sometimes wonder how, if any, different I would be if it had never happened? I’m not sure. I know it has somehow made me more guarded around people. More in the need to feel in control of myself at all times. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. I think of the time I spent without sight often and always think of the things that event has shaped in my life. It was pretty traumatic after all and I can say there are not many of you out there that have gone through the same type of thing.
To this day, my eyes burn on a regular basis. I have a major issue trying to get drops into them to soothe the burning sensation. It’s quite a joke when an Optometrist tries to put drops in my eyes. I end up taking a Visine bath. My ex wife used to sit on my chest and have her legs on my shoulders trying to hold my face still enough to put drops in. It just got to be too much of a production so we just decided to go without. I buy these really expensive drops now that an eye Doctor said I needed and use much more of them than I should. I still end up getting more on my face than in my eyes. I still try though. It helps ease the burn a bit. I don’t really have a nice clean ending to this story, just something I wanted to talk about. Thanks for listening.
That Good Old Time Religion
I saw this children’s toy for Christmas the other day. It was called “What Would God Want For Christmas”. I wanted to open it and see what it had to say but it was wrapped in plastic and I’m not the kind of guy that opens things up to see them just to put them back on the shelves. It did get me thinking though. I started thinking about all the different religions in the world, about how different each one is let alone how different those of the same faith see the “word of God”.
In the Christian faith alone there are so many different off shoots of the basic tenants of the faith that it’s impossible to identify them all. We are so quick to condemn people like David Koresh and Jim Jones, as any right minded individual should, but what about the Oral Roberts’ and Jim Bakers of the world?
I think the first two mentioned actually believed what they were doing, though there were obviously mental issues with both, I think they both truly believed they were doing God's work. In the cases of the televangelists mentioned, I am of the firm belief that they both belong in prison for the rest of their lives. To knowingly steal the dreams, let alone life savings, of those that you have somehow convinced to believe that you have that special pipeline to heaven if only they keep sending checks is unconscionable.
I remember watching television when I was a kid and on Sunday mornings all you would find were religious shows. I would see these people in the crowd that, looking at it now, I realize were getting something they felt they needed. Back then what they were getting was a spiritual uplifting and a moral lesson. With the advent of cable television that audience grew into anyone with cable and allowed these preachers to reach the easiest audience yet.
To go after the lowest common denominator makes great business sense but the idea that religion is a business is something we all should get angry about. The thought that these people were told by Oral Roberts that he would be “called home” if he didn’t raise eight million dollars is so anti any religion it should sicken us all. I find it amazing that it’s not criminal.
It’s not the belief in God itself that bothers me; it’s the organization of that belief that ruins it. How can something with such pure intent be not only destroyed by man but also bought into by others. My question is how is this extreme form of Christianity tolerated by us while we are so quick to judge extremists of other religions?
Yes, these other extremists are physically killing innocent people but is that as bad as destroying people both emotionally and financially. I know that sounds ridiculous to compare the two but I’m serious. If you’ve stolen the dreams of a man what’s left? And that’s what these thieves of the mind do, they steal dreams.
In the Christian faith alone there are so many different off shoots of the basic tenants of the faith that it’s impossible to identify them all. We are so quick to condemn people like David Koresh and Jim Jones, as any right minded individual should, but what about the Oral Roberts’ and Jim Bakers of the world?
I think the first two mentioned actually believed what they were doing, though there were obviously mental issues with both, I think they both truly believed they were doing God's work. In the cases of the televangelists mentioned, I am of the firm belief that they both belong in prison for the rest of their lives. To knowingly steal the dreams, let alone life savings, of those that you have somehow convinced to believe that you have that special pipeline to heaven if only they keep sending checks is unconscionable.
I remember watching television when I was a kid and on Sunday mornings all you would find were religious shows. I would see these people in the crowd that, looking at it now, I realize were getting something they felt they needed. Back then what they were getting was a spiritual uplifting and a moral lesson. With the advent of cable television that audience grew into anyone with cable and allowed these preachers to reach the easiest audience yet.
To go after the lowest common denominator makes great business sense but the idea that religion is a business is something we all should get angry about. The thought that these people were told by Oral Roberts that he would be “called home” if he didn’t raise eight million dollars is so anti any religion it should sicken us all. I find it amazing that it’s not criminal.
It’s not the belief in God itself that bothers me; it’s the organization of that belief that ruins it. How can something with such pure intent be not only destroyed by man but also bought into by others. My question is how is this extreme form of Christianity tolerated by us while we are so quick to judge extremists of other religions?
Yes, these other extremists are physically killing innocent people but is that as bad as destroying people both emotionally and financially. I know that sounds ridiculous to compare the two but I’m serious. If you’ve stolen the dreams of a man what’s left? And that’s what these thieves of the mind do, they steal dreams.
It’s A Loss For Us All
I got an email from a very dear friend of mine last night to notify me that her mother had died the previous Saturday evening. I met Mary in October of 1981 and have somehow stayed in touch with her through all the garbage I’ve gone through in the last 25 years. From the moment we met it was like we were family. We’d hang out after work with other coworkers and developed a very close friendship.
I remember the very first time I met Mary’s mother. Funny, now that I think of it, I don’t even remember her first name. I always called her Mrs. Campbell. I was invited over to Mary’s parent’s house and while there was introduced to both parents. When introduced to Mrs. Campbell I was informed that she had just had oral surgery and as she greeted me I noticed that she had no teeth. Actually, I’m not sure if she had none at all, but she was missing quite a few. She was so uninhibited about it that we all started laughing. It was the beginning of a feeling of family and friendship with an entire family that, even though I haven’t seen a number of them in over a decade, I know I’d still be as welcome as if I lived next door. Every time I would see either of Mary’s parents they would treat me as if we’d known each other forever. The warmth generated by these people should be the standard by which love for others is measured.
Once, when I was meeting either Mary or her brother Tom at their parent’s condo, as I was walking through the parking lot I saw Mr. Campbell. Again, I do not remember his first name; we always called him the Colonel. I yelled out a greeting to him and as he turned around he asked who it was. I said my name and his response was “My Kevin?” Like I was one of his children. I had to be about 26 at the time and I’ll tell you, I felt like one of his. Bottom line, these were good people and raised good kids.
I worked with Mary’s brother Tom for a number of years and we always had a good time and would go out after work. We would often go to Tijuana to bet on sports and horses. My roommate at the time was their cousin Brian and any type of family event for the Campbell’s would include an invitation to both of us. Out of the other siblings I also had a friendship with two of her sisters, Jane and Stacey. Again, though I haven’t seen some of these people in over ten years, I still think of them often and always hope to be in touch with them again.
I, thankfully, have not had to deal with the loss of a parent. I’ve had a few friends that have, along with my ex wife, and I always wonder how they deal with it. I think when things like this happen to us we all feel a little older. It’s like we’re not the kids anymore. It’s one more thing that chips away at that child inside I’ve written about before. Though I haven’t seen Mrs. Campbell in a number of years I know I feel a little older after getting the news of her passing. I also know that she would hope that we do everything we can to relight that fire that is that kid and never lose sight of the fact the she loved us all. So I say to all the Campbell children, and especially the Colonel, My thoughts are with you. I love you all and may this pain pass quickly. Trust me on this, I know I’m not the only one that has had similar experiences with your family and those that were fortunate enough to know her and all of you feel the same.
I remember the very first time I met Mary’s mother. Funny, now that I think of it, I don’t even remember her first name. I always called her Mrs. Campbell. I was invited over to Mary’s parent’s house and while there was introduced to both parents. When introduced to Mrs. Campbell I was informed that she had just had oral surgery and as she greeted me I noticed that she had no teeth. Actually, I’m not sure if she had none at all, but she was missing quite a few. She was so uninhibited about it that we all started laughing. It was the beginning of a feeling of family and friendship with an entire family that, even though I haven’t seen a number of them in over a decade, I know I’d still be as welcome as if I lived next door. Every time I would see either of Mary’s parents they would treat me as if we’d known each other forever. The warmth generated by these people should be the standard by which love for others is measured.
Once, when I was meeting either Mary or her brother Tom at their parent’s condo, as I was walking through the parking lot I saw Mr. Campbell. Again, I do not remember his first name; we always called him the Colonel. I yelled out a greeting to him and as he turned around he asked who it was. I said my name and his response was “My Kevin?” Like I was one of his children. I had to be about 26 at the time and I’ll tell you, I felt like one of his. Bottom line, these were good people and raised good kids.
I worked with Mary’s brother Tom for a number of years and we always had a good time and would go out after work. We would often go to Tijuana to bet on sports and horses. My roommate at the time was their cousin Brian and any type of family event for the Campbell’s would include an invitation to both of us. Out of the other siblings I also had a friendship with two of her sisters, Jane and Stacey. Again, though I haven’t seen some of these people in over ten years, I still think of them often and always hope to be in touch with them again.
I, thankfully, have not had to deal with the loss of a parent. I’ve had a few friends that have, along with my ex wife, and I always wonder how they deal with it. I think when things like this happen to us we all feel a little older. It’s like we’re not the kids anymore. It’s one more thing that chips away at that child inside I’ve written about before. Though I haven’t seen Mrs. Campbell in a number of years I know I feel a little older after getting the news of her passing. I also know that she would hope that we do everything we can to relight that fire that is that kid and never lose sight of the fact the she loved us all. So I say to all the Campbell children, and especially the Colonel, My thoughts are with you. I love you all and may this pain pass quickly. Trust me on this, I know I’m not the only one that has had similar experiences with your family and those that were fortunate enough to know her and all of you feel the same.
When Smokey Sings
"Debonair lullabies in melodies revealed
In deep despair on lonely nights
He knows just how you feel
The slyest rhymes - the sharpest suits
In miracles made real"
I grew up in the Detroit area in the sixties and remember very well the music of the day. I was eight years old when Dianna Ross and The Supremes appeared for the last time together on “The Ed Sullivan Show”. It was a Sunday night and my mother made me take a bath before the show started or I wouldn’t be able to watch. The whole family sat there together, sans my dad, and watched them sing “Someday, We’ll Be Together”. I vividly remember thinking that maybe they were singing about themselves and that they would be together again. I remember feeling so sad to think that they were through. Looking back on it now I can’t help but think how strange it was for an eight year old to be so concerned about the happenings of the music industry.
Growing older I would go through stages of the different types of music I would listen to. Scanning the fm dial I would stop and listen to a number of different songs one day and not want to hear it the next. I would always stop, however, when it would land on an old Motown song. After looking into a number of these songs I found that the ones I enjoyed the most were songs by Smokey Robinson and The Miracles.
Smokey was the man. He wrote like no one else of his time. From party songs, “Going To A Go Go” and “Money” to the sweetest love songs imaginable. “My Girl”, “La La Means I Love You” and “Ooh Baby Baby”. He described our feelings, not only with the pen, but with a voice that brought tears to angels. Smokey was so smooth on songs like, “The Tracks Of My Tears” and “You Really Got A Hold On Me” that when he sang “The Tears Of A Clown”, an incredibly sad song, he makes it sound like he was the happiest guy on earth. He really was amazing. I think I can safely say that without him, Motown would have never been anything like the monster it became.
The first five lines of this essay are from a song by the eighties band ABC called “When Smokey Sings”. In the song the band praises Smokey for all the feelings he’s brought to them. During the tenure of the band there would be critics who would compare Martin Frye’s voice to the young Smokey Robinson. Frye addresses the critics in the song with the lyric “Should I say yes, I match his best, then I would be a liar”. Because as he says later on in the song, “Nothing can compare, nothing can compare when Smokey sings.
In deep despair on lonely nights
He knows just how you feel
The slyest rhymes - the sharpest suits
In miracles made real"
I grew up in the Detroit area in the sixties and remember very well the music of the day. I was eight years old when Dianna Ross and The Supremes appeared for the last time together on “The Ed Sullivan Show”. It was a Sunday night and my mother made me take a bath before the show started or I wouldn’t be able to watch. The whole family sat there together, sans my dad, and watched them sing “Someday, We’ll Be Together”. I vividly remember thinking that maybe they were singing about themselves and that they would be together again. I remember feeling so sad to think that they were through. Looking back on it now I can’t help but think how strange it was for an eight year old to be so concerned about the happenings of the music industry.
Growing older I would go through stages of the different types of music I would listen to. Scanning the fm dial I would stop and listen to a number of different songs one day and not want to hear it the next. I would always stop, however, when it would land on an old Motown song. After looking into a number of these songs I found that the ones I enjoyed the most were songs by Smokey Robinson and The Miracles.
Smokey was the man. He wrote like no one else of his time. From party songs, “Going To A Go Go” and “Money” to the sweetest love songs imaginable. “My Girl”, “La La Means I Love You” and “Ooh Baby Baby”. He described our feelings, not only with the pen, but with a voice that brought tears to angels. Smokey was so smooth on songs like, “The Tracks Of My Tears” and “You Really Got A Hold On Me” that when he sang “The Tears Of A Clown”, an incredibly sad song, he makes it sound like he was the happiest guy on earth. He really was amazing. I think I can safely say that without him, Motown would have never been anything like the monster it became.
The first five lines of this essay are from a song by the eighties band ABC called “When Smokey Sings”. In the song the band praises Smokey for all the feelings he’s brought to them. During the tenure of the band there would be critics who would compare Martin Frye’s voice to the young Smokey Robinson. Frye addresses the critics in the song with the lyric “Should I say yes, I match his best, then I would be a liar”. Because as he says later on in the song, “Nothing can compare, nothing can compare when Smokey sings.
Lets Go Crazy
“Don't arrange to have me sent to no asylum
I'm just as sane as anyone
It's a just a game I play for fun –
for fun.”
It’s a weird thing, mental illness. I’m sure I suffer from it in some ways. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying here. I’m fine. Sure I get down and I think too much but that’s all right. I probably do more thinking out of boredom than anything else. I’m not going anywhere and I’m certainly not going to ever do anything to hurt myself. I’m way past that kind of thinking. It was many years ago that I came to an understanding with myself to just deal with whatever happens. I may hide and not talk about whatever it is that bothers me but that’s just how I deal with it.
I think the worst thing about dealing with any kind of mental issue is if you’re only suffering from it part of the time. When I get down and start thinking about the strange things one thinks about in these times, there’s always that voice in the back of my head saying, “all right idiot, get over it and move along”. It must be horrible for those that still have that voice of logic in their heads but it’s not strong enough to pull them back. To know that you’re not right and to not have the strength to bring it back must be so painful to that person.
I’ve been in retail for what seems like a million years and I’ve seen my share of strange individuals. I always would wonder about the ones that were way out there. Do they have any idea that they’re lost? Do they remember what it was like to see things in a normal fashion? There used to be a woman that shopped in Rancho Bernardo, where I worked, that would come into the store, buy some liquor and head to the bathroom and proceed to drink the entire bottle of whatever she had bought. She would invariably pass out on the restroom floor and we would have to wake her to get her to go home when closing time came. There was a time that she was blocking the door after she passed out and when someone opened the door they cracked her head open with it. We had to call an ambulance and understandably, there was a huge scene.
I bring this story up because this woman would still shop at the store even after scenes like this. She would act as if nothing happened and would just go along her way. I would wonder if she remembered what had happened or it was just a blank. She’d shop in the store with her husband and the two would act as if nothing ever happened. That always amazed me. Was she just nuts or was this something the two of them would just choose to ignore.
I was talking to a guy at work today and he was telling me about his mother. She suffers from dementia and does not remember anything. What she does know is that she has dementia. That’s just got to be so painful for her. I know that if I were that bad off I would hope that I didn’t even realize that I had a problem. Sure it must be horrible for the loved ones but aren’t we more concerned about the victim? I don’t know why but I really find this to be a fascinating subject. I always wonder if the ill know they’re ill.
I'm just as sane as anyone
It's a just a game I play for fun –
for fun.”
It’s a weird thing, mental illness. I’m sure I suffer from it in some ways. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying here. I’m fine. Sure I get down and I think too much but that’s all right. I probably do more thinking out of boredom than anything else. I’m not going anywhere and I’m certainly not going to ever do anything to hurt myself. I’m way past that kind of thinking. It was many years ago that I came to an understanding with myself to just deal with whatever happens. I may hide and not talk about whatever it is that bothers me but that’s just how I deal with it.
I think the worst thing about dealing with any kind of mental issue is if you’re only suffering from it part of the time. When I get down and start thinking about the strange things one thinks about in these times, there’s always that voice in the back of my head saying, “all right idiot, get over it and move along”. It must be horrible for those that still have that voice of logic in their heads but it’s not strong enough to pull them back. To know that you’re not right and to not have the strength to bring it back must be so painful to that person.
I’ve been in retail for what seems like a million years and I’ve seen my share of strange individuals. I always would wonder about the ones that were way out there. Do they have any idea that they’re lost? Do they remember what it was like to see things in a normal fashion? There used to be a woman that shopped in Rancho Bernardo, where I worked, that would come into the store, buy some liquor and head to the bathroom and proceed to drink the entire bottle of whatever she had bought. She would invariably pass out on the restroom floor and we would have to wake her to get her to go home when closing time came. There was a time that she was blocking the door after she passed out and when someone opened the door they cracked her head open with it. We had to call an ambulance and understandably, there was a huge scene.
I bring this story up because this woman would still shop at the store even after scenes like this. She would act as if nothing happened and would just go along her way. I would wonder if she remembered what had happened or it was just a blank. She’d shop in the store with her husband and the two would act as if nothing ever happened. That always amazed me. Was she just nuts or was this something the two of them would just choose to ignore.
I was talking to a guy at work today and he was telling me about his mother. She suffers from dementia and does not remember anything. What she does know is that she has dementia. That’s just got to be so painful for her. I know that if I were that bad off I would hope that I didn’t even realize that I had a problem. Sure it must be horrible for the loved ones but aren’t we more concerned about the victim? I don’t know why but I really find this to be a fascinating subject. I always wonder if the ill know they’re ill.
The Child Inside
I have always been accused of not taking things seriously when others feel it’s warranted. This has been an issue for others ever since I can remember. I would often get in trouble in school for making a joking comment in the middle of a class or clowning around in the back of the room. I would usually get let off the hook by teachers who knew that I meant no harm and it was just something to help me get through the day
As I was growing up I felt I was on par maturity wise with people my own age. Getting older though, that has most certainly changed. It seems that the older my age group got the bigger the gap became between them and I. I like to refer to it as the “stick in the ass syndrome”. It seems that after a great many of us lost touch with each other I continued along my toys r us ways and many others had a huge pole inserted into their ass. They became our parents. The way they speak and act has me convinced that I missed the boat on this one. So many of my old school mates actually have accents now that have nothing to do with where we grew up. They speak as if their names were Buffy and Thad.
Priorities seem to be the biggest difference between them and I. Many of them do nothing but work and attend dinners and conventions that show them how to work even harder and earn even more. Me? I work in a grocery store and spend my free time looking for things to laugh at. Don’t get me wrong, I take a great deal of life very seriously, I just look for things to soften the blows. It’s like the old saying, “If I wasn’t laughing, I’d be crying”. I am so bothered by the things I see and do in daily life that if I didn’t find things to laugh about I’d probably have to be committed.
I have been accused of being incredibly immature and I’m ok with that. It’s this child inside that lets me get through each and every day. I think that what happens, as we grow older, we lose that child. I, for one, have never been able to shake him. Truth be told, I hope I never do. It’s this child that allows me to have, what I consider, a great sense of humor. It’s this sense of humor that, in part, is what makes most of you want to still be in touch with me. It’s like I’m still a little kid sometimes and it’s always fun to get a youngsters outlook on things.
I hope you all enjoy that outlook enough to never allow that stick to completely impale your lives. I know that I am on one end of the spectrum but my hope is that you all find that mid point. If not, and you’re way over on the other side, go to the local park by yourself and get on the swing. Start swinging and just think. I used to do my best thinking on the swing. There was a time that this was all I needed to be content. Once in awhile it’s good to just be content.
As I was growing up I felt I was on par maturity wise with people my own age. Getting older though, that has most certainly changed. It seems that the older my age group got the bigger the gap became between them and I. I like to refer to it as the “stick in the ass syndrome”. It seems that after a great many of us lost touch with each other I continued along my toys r us ways and many others had a huge pole inserted into their ass. They became our parents. The way they speak and act has me convinced that I missed the boat on this one. So many of my old school mates actually have accents now that have nothing to do with where we grew up. They speak as if their names were Buffy and Thad.
Priorities seem to be the biggest difference between them and I. Many of them do nothing but work and attend dinners and conventions that show them how to work even harder and earn even more. Me? I work in a grocery store and spend my free time looking for things to laugh at. Don’t get me wrong, I take a great deal of life very seriously, I just look for things to soften the blows. It’s like the old saying, “If I wasn’t laughing, I’d be crying”. I am so bothered by the things I see and do in daily life that if I didn’t find things to laugh about I’d probably have to be committed.
I have been accused of being incredibly immature and I’m ok with that. It’s this child inside that lets me get through each and every day. I think that what happens, as we grow older, we lose that child. I, for one, have never been able to shake him. Truth be told, I hope I never do. It’s this child that allows me to have, what I consider, a great sense of humor. It’s this sense of humor that, in part, is what makes most of you want to still be in touch with me. It’s like I’m still a little kid sometimes and it’s always fun to get a youngsters outlook on things.
I hope you all enjoy that outlook enough to never allow that stick to completely impale your lives. I know that I am on one end of the spectrum but my hope is that you all find that mid point. If not, and you’re way over on the other side, go to the local park by yourself and get on the swing. Start swinging and just think. I used to do my best thinking on the swing. There was a time that this was all I needed to be content. Once in awhile it’s good to just be content.
Exercise Schmexercise!
I hurt everywhere. Both physically and mentally. Every part of my body is in pain. From my toes all the way up to the few healthy hair follicles I have on my head. I have had an absolutely brutal day and I only added to it by doing something I have never liked to do.
I hate exercising. Yes, hate is such a strong word, but I really do. The idea of doing something to cause myself to get all sweaty and tired has never appealed to me. The other side of that are the obvious health benefits from exercising. I’m not getting any younger and have never really been in any kind of shape. As some of you may remember I was trying the yoga thing to sad but humorous results.
To begin with I had to work an overnight shift. I always get so down when I have to work overnight, I get no sleep the day before and find myself talking to myself the whole night while I’m working. The work is always very physical and I’ve never done well with heavy labor. So this morning when I got off work after 10 ½ hours I came home and tried to get some sleep. I woke after an hour and decided to take a drive. While driving I had this insane idea of trying to get in shape and maybe start taking care of myself. I, like the idiot I am, stopped and bought myself a bicycle. It’s a nice bike, I guess, like I’d know the difference.
Well I got home and watched a baseball game and then decided to use my new bike to go get the mail. Our mail boxes are a little over two miles from the house so I’d be taking a ride that would net me a little over four miles. Please understand, the weather in south Florida this time of year, is hot and humid. I mean really hot and humid. So I took this ride and after fighting off the urge to quit about half way to the mailboxes I got to my destination. Totally out of breath and sweating like crazy I got my mail and headed home.
Arriving home, feeling like death, my shirt looked like I was lactating. I jumped in the shower and thanked my stars for buying that shower message. I used it on my thighs and neck and felt well enough after the shower to actually talk myself into thinking that I felt good.
Well it’s now four hours later and I’m having a hard time getting off the bed. My legs feel like they’ve been hit by hammers and that feeling, as one might guess, makes it really hard to walk. I took Lucky out for a minute and had to make her wait for me in the lanai as I tried to get feeling back into my limbs. How, I ask, is this good for you? Don’t write to me and tell me my body needs to get used to it. The only thing my body needs to get used to is a message therapist. Preferably blond, with a Swedish accent.
I hate exercising. Yes, hate is such a strong word, but I really do. The idea of doing something to cause myself to get all sweaty and tired has never appealed to me. The other side of that are the obvious health benefits from exercising. I’m not getting any younger and have never really been in any kind of shape. As some of you may remember I was trying the yoga thing to sad but humorous results.
To begin with I had to work an overnight shift. I always get so down when I have to work overnight, I get no sleep the day before and find myself talking to myself the whole night while I’m working. The work is always very physical and I’ve never done well with heavy labor. So this morning when I got off work after 10 ½ hours I came home and tried to get some sleep. I woke after an hour and decided to take a drive. While driving I had this insane idea of trying to get in shape and maybe start taking care of myself. I, like the idiot I am, stopped and bought myself a bicycle. It’s a nice bike, I guess, like I’d know the difference.
Well I got home and watched a baseball game and then decided to use my new bike to go get the mail. Our mail boxes are a little over two miles from the house so I’d be taking a ride that would net me a little over four miles. Please understand, the weather in south Florida this time of year, is hot and humid. I mean really hot and humid. So I took this ride and after fighting off the urge to quit about half way to the mailboxes I got to my destination. Totally out of breath and sweating like crazy I got my mail and headed home.
Arriving home, feeling like death, my shirt looked like I was lactating. I jumped in the shower and thanked my stars for buying that shower message. I used it on my thighs and neck and felt well enough after the shower to actually talk myself into thinking that I felt good.
Well it’s now four hours later and I’m having a hard time getting off the bed. My legs feel like they’ve been hit by hammers and that feeling, as one might guess, makes it really hard to walk. I took Lucky out for a minute and had to make her wait for me in the lanai as I tried to get feeling back into my limbs. How, I ask, is this good for you? Don’t write to me and tell me my body needs to get used to it. The only thing my body needs to get used to is a message therapist. Preferably blond, with a Swedish accent.
“Wherever You Like Sweetie”
There’s this restaurant chain throughout the south called "The Waffle House". These little closet sized units serve, besides waffles, breakfasts of all types. I don’t even know if they serve sandwiches or any type of lunch but if they do they ought to be ashamed of themselves.
Walking into one of these hallways they call a restaurant I get a feeling of pure claustrophobia. Very tightly squeezed. There seem to be three or four employees working there and I’m told to sit “wherever you like sweetie”. Out of the six tables available, five still have dirty dishes on them and the last needs wiping down. I choose the one with no dishes. A look at the menu tells you they pride themselves on the way they make hash browns. You can get them plain, with cheese, with cheese and onions and with cheese onions and peppers. The waitress comes over and asks if I know what I’d like. Mind you the table is still dirty and it seems as if she has no intention of cleaning it.
I order the steak and eggs, the eggs over medium; I like to dip my toast into the yolk. . As I order I also ask for a cup of coffee and a dishtowel to wipe the table down with. As she leaves I start to read the paper and am surprised when she quickly returns with the coffee and towel. The best part of it is that she sets the coffee down, places my utensils wrapped in a napkin next to it and next to that, I kid you not, is the towel I asked for. As she leaves I can’t help but laugh. I’m just wondering if this is really happening. I commence wiping the table down and get it semi clean and set the towel at the edge of the table and continue to read the paper. I realize that most, if not all, people would get up and leave at this point but this is just too comical for me to leave. It’s like I can’t wait to see the end of this movie.
As she returned with my order I made a fascinating discovery. Did you know that you could make hard boiled eggs by frying them? Neither did I, however, these guys seem to have perfected the art. My eggs looked like little white blankets with a rubber ball inside. The steak? I wear insoles that look tastier. I’m not expecting a rib eye or anything like that but something that contains some sort of meat would be nice.
So I ate what I could and sat reading the paper for a while. Had a few refills of coffee and at one point the waitress asked if I was done with the dishrag that was still sitting on the table? Simply amazing. As she took it I couldn’t help but wonder if she found any of this odd or was this just a normal day at the “Waffle House?” Of course, me being who I am, I’ll have to come back and see. I think next time I’ll try the waffles.
Walking into one of these hallways they call a restaurant I get a feeling of pure claustrophobia. Very tightly squeezed. There seem to be three or four employees working there and I’m told to sit “wherever you like sweetie”. Out of the six tables available, five still have dirty dishes on them and the last needs wiping down. I choose the one with no dishes. A look at the menu tells you they pride themselves on the way they make hash browns. You can get them plain, with cheese, with cheese and onions and with cheese onions and peppers. The waitress comes over and asks if I know what I’d like. Mind you the table is still dirty and it seems as if she has no intention of cleaning it.
I order the steak and eggs, the eggs over medium; I like to dip my toast into the yolk. . As I order I also ask for a cup of coffee and a dishtowel to wipe the table down with. As she leaves I start to read the paper and am surprised when she quickly returns with the coffee and towel. The best part of it is that she sets the coffee down, places my utensils wrapped in a napkin next to it and next to that, I kid you not, is the towel I asked for. As she leaves I can’t help but laugh. I’m just wondering if this is really happening. I commence wiping the table down and get it semi clean and set the towel at the edge of the table and continue to read the paper. I realize that most, if not all, people would get up and leave at this point but this is just too comical for me to leave. It’s like I can’t wait to see the end of this movie.
As she returned with my order I made a fascinating discovery. Did you know that you could make hard boiled eggs by frying them? Neither did I, however, these guys seem to have perfected the art. My eggs looked like little white blankets with a rubber ball inside. The steak? I wear insoles that look tastier. I’m not expecting a rib eye or anything like that but something that contains some sort of meat would be nice.
So I ate what I could and sat reading the paper for a while. Had a few refills of coffee and at one point the waitress asked if I was done with the dishrag that was still sitting on the table? Simply amazing. As she took it I couldn’t help but wonder if she found any of this odd or was this just a normal day at the “Waffle House?” Of course, me being who I am, I’ll have to come back and see. I think next time I’ll try the waffles.
All Bow, The King Is Here!
As I sit out here on my lanai, I survey all that is my life. What have I accomplished, how have I treated not only those around me but strangers as well? I do know one thing that I do have that no one can ever take away. Something that I know I will carry with me to my death and never be ashamed of. I am the master of things that mean nothing. The consummate professional of that which has no real meaning. Yes, I am the King of all that is nothing
My Kingdom exists only in my head. It can only be seen in glimpses when a meaningless question comes my way, but don’t expect a good view, for as soon as the answer comes out the Kingdom goes back to its safe place waiting for its next inquirer or bit of useless info that the guards can come out and snatch before it goes away. I know more about nothing than anyone I’ve ever met. Friends and relatives often call or write me with questions about inane things that no one would care about because they know I’ll have the answer. This is my playing field and nobody can play on it better than I.
I don’t know how I developed this knack for knowing all there is to know about nothing, just a gift I guess. I’ve always been interested in current events and odd stories of all kinds but so are millions of others. There's obviously something that makes nothing stick in my head. I hear something major and I’ll remember just the basic gist of it but tell me something trivial and the date, time and every other detail about it sticks like glue. Why? Am I just that smart? I don’t think so. I think like all Monarchies this must be an inherited title. I’m sure there had to have been someone in past generations that bequeathed this Kingdom to me. I don’t recall any family wars or coups or anything like that so it must have been handed down. I’m a kind, benevolent Monarch, willing to share this gift with the world, nothing to fear here. Just don’t ask anything that may have meaning. Because, like I said, I am the King of all that is nothing.
My Kingdom exists only in my head. It can only be seen in glimpses when a meaningless question comes my way, but don’t expect a good view, for as soon as the answer comes out the Kingdom goes back to its safe place waiting for its next inquirer or bit of useless info that the guards can come out and snatch before it goes away. I know more about nothing than anyone I’ve ever met. Friends and relatives often call or write me with questions about inane things that no one would care about because they know I’ll have the answer. This is my playing field and nobody can play on it better than I.
I don’t know how I developed this knack for knowing all there is to know about nothing, just a gift I guess. I’ve always been interested in current events and odd stories of all kinds but so are millions of others. There's obviously something that makes nothing stick in my head. I hear something major and I’ll remember just the basic gist of it but tell me something trivial and the date, time and every other detail about it sticks like glue. Why? Am I just that smart? I don’t think so. I think like all Monarchies this must be an inherited title. I’m sure there had to have been someone in past generations that bequeathed this Kingdom to me. I don’t recall any family wars or coups or anything like that so it must have been handed down. I’m a kind, benevolent Monarch, willing to share this gift with the world, nothing to fear here. Just don’t ask anything that may have meaning. Because, like I said, I am the King of all that is nothing.
What’s It Really About?
So today we remember the most horrific terrorist attack in American history. I’m sure all of us can remember exactly where we were and what we were doing when we first found out about it. I know I will never forget the phone call I got from my wife at the time, very upset, and telling me to turn on the television.
I, of course, have some issues about our response to the attack and questions I think we should all think about. I, along with many others, am still trying to figure out what the war in Iraq has accomplished in finding and punishing the people responsible for the attack. After changing their reasons for going into Iraq more times than even the administration can remember, it seems they have stuck with the concept of the “world is a safer place without Sadam Hussein”. I must agree with them on that point. However, that doesn’t seem to be a reason this country invades another nation. If it were a valid reason why are we not in North Korea or Iran? Libya had, until the last few years, been a thorn in our side for ages. We hadn’t found it necessary to take Kadaffi out of power.
The next item I’d like to throw out there is where the hijackers came from. If 15 of 19 hijackers had come from North Korea, we would have thought we were being attacked by North Korea. The same can be said if these attackers were from Iran, Chile and any number of nations. 15 of the hijackers were from Saudi Arabia. Why are we not at war with them? It couldn’t be the close relationship the Bush family has with the Saudis could it? I’m sure that has absolutely nothing to do with it.
We’ve all heard the saying “pick your battles” I just think we picked the wrong one here. There are more than 2500 Americans dead in this war. Every day the Arab world is seeing films of Americans killing Arabs. If you think that’s going to help stop terrorism your nuts. It also seems we’ve forgotten all about Afghanistan. Isn’t that where we were told the leaders of the hijackers were? Why does the Taliban even exist anymore? During the last two years the only time Osama Bin Laden’s name has been mentioned seems to be to raise fear before the upcoming elections. I think we may have lost focus on the reasons we went to war in the first place. We were after the people who attacked our country. Can we at least make a cursory effort to accomplish that mission?
I, of course, have some issues about our response to the attack and questions I think we should all think about. I, along with many others, am still trying to figure out what the war in Iraq has accomplished in finding and punishing the people responsible for the attack. After changing their reasons for going into Iraq more times than even the administration can remember, it seems they have stuck with the concept of the “world is a safer place without Sadam Hussein”. I must agree with them on that point. However, that doesn’t seem to be a reason this country invades another nation. If it were a valid reason why are we not in North Korea or Iran? Libya had, until the last few years, been a thorn in our side for ages. We hadn’t found it necessary to take Kadaffi out of power.
The next item I’d like to throw out there is where the hijackers came from. If 15 of 19 hijackers had come from North Korea, we would have thought we were being attacked by North Korea. The same can be said if these attackers were from Iran, Chile and any number of nations. 15 of the hijackers were from Saudi Arabia. Why are we not at war with them? It couldn’t be the close relationship the Bush family has with the Saudis could it? I’m sure that has absolutely nothing to do with it.
We’ve all heard the saying “pick your battles” I just think we picked the wrong one here. There are more than 2500 Americans dead in this war. Every day the Arab world is seeing films of Americans killing Arabs. If you think that’s going to help stop terrorism your nuts. It also seems we’ve forgotten all about Afghanistan. Isn’t that where we were told the leaders of the hijackers were? Why does the Taliban even exist anymore? During the last two years the only time Osama Bin Laden’s name has been mentioned seems to be to raise fear before the upcoming elections. I think we may have lost focus on the reasons we went to war in the first place. We were after the people who attacked our country. Can we at least make a cursory effort to accomplish that mission?
Rob The Poor, Feed The Rich
I was originally going to write about the minimum wage law and how ridiculous it is when people say it’s unnecessary. I’ve had to change my topic a bit because while looking into it I found some of those great contradictions that I love in our two party system.
I find it funny when the right tells the country that government needs to stay out of people’s lives. That raising the minimum wage is just another example of government running those lives. American businesses should be able to decide what to pay their workers and politicians should simply stay out of the argument. The humor comes from the same politicians, at the same time, telling us that this very same government should be involved in creating legislation that prohibits gay marriage. Hmmm. Why be involved in one and not the other? Well in this case it’s easy to answer. The religious right contributes a great deal of money to the right wing and you never want to bite the hand that feeds you.
We can also look at the differing views on taxes. I realize that my opinion on this subject differs from most. I’ve never had a problem paying whatever I’m supposed to pay. However, I do have an issue with the way the right wants taxes to be paid. I don’t care what anyone says, the tax cuts brought on by the Bush administration has only helped the wealthy. It was proven in the eighties and it has proven itself again, trickle down economics simply do not work. It has made the gap between the upper and middle classes wider than ever. Look it up. You can’t even talk about the lower class without wondering how they eat at all.
This idea of not taxing dividends kills me. How does that not help only the rich? I have a decent amount of money in stocks and I receive dividends from some of them. The amount that I make off them doesn’t even put a dent in my tax bill. I say this to illustrate a point. You have to have a real amount of money in stocks to collect dividends large enough to mean something on your tax bill. Is it a surprise that the right is constantly railing about killing the dividend tax? Who would most benefit from this tax cut? Why it’s the same group that tends to donate to the campaigns of those who would most likely vote for the cut. Once again, a case of let’s get the government out of our lives. And once again this is the same party that then says we need to appoint more right-wingers to the Supreme Court in the hopes of someday overturning Roe V Wade, even though 70% of Americans support the right of a woman to choose. Look that up too.
I don’t know it just seems that they want it both ways, and if we’re not very careful, they’ll get it. Yes, I know, the dems are just as hypocritical but this is my soapbox and I decide what gets pointed out.
I find it funny when the right tells the country that government needs to stay out of people’s lives. That raising the minimum wage is just another example of government running those lives. American businesses should be able to decide what to pay their workers and politicians should simply stay out of the argument. The humor comes from the same politicians, at the same time, telling us that this very same government should be involved in creating legislation that prohibits gay marriage. Hmmm. Why be involved in one and not the other? Well in this case it’s easy to answer. The religious right contributes a great deal of money to the right wing and you never want to bite the hand that feeds you.
We can also look at the differing views on taxes. I realize that my opinion on this subject differs from most. I’ve never had a problem paying whatever I’m supposed to pay. However, I do have an issue with the way the right wants taxes to be paid. I don’t care what anyone says, the tax cuts brought on by the Bush administration has only helped the wealthy. It was proven in the eighties and it has proven itself again, trickle down economics simply do not work. It has made the gap between the upper and middle classes wider than ever. Look it up. You can’t even talk about the lower class without wondering how they eat at all.
This idea of not taxing dividends kills me. How does that not help only the rich? I have a decent amount of money in stocks and I receive dividends from some of them. The amount that I make off them doesn’t even put a dent in my tax bill. I say this to illustrate a point. You have to have a real amount of money in stocks to collect dividends large enough to mean something on your tax bill. Is it a surprise that the right is constantly railing about killing the dividend tax? Who would most benefit from this tax cut? Why it’s the same group that tends to donate to the campaigns of those who would most likely vote for the cut. Once again, a case of let’s get the government out of our lives. And once again this is the same party that then says we need to appoint more right-wingers to the Supreme Court in the hopes of someday overturning Roe V Wade, even though 70% of Americans support the right of a woman to choose. Look that up too.
I don’t know it just seems that they want it both ways, and if we’re not very careful, they’ll get it. Yes, I know, the dems are just as hypocritical but this is my soapbox and I decide what gets pointed out.
Batten Down The Hatches
So Ernesto is leaving Cuba and heading our way. It looks like it will stay a Tropical Storm and even if it gains strength, it seems that it will only be a Category one Hurricane and won’t cause too much damage. Of course that’s easy for me to say; I’m in a new house with poured concrete walls and it will take quite a bit to hurt this place.
Working at a Supermarket, I see so many different people, each with a different way of looking at the coming storm. There are those that are of the Chicken Little persuasion; they have their SUV’s filled with gas cans and are buying hundreds of dollars worth of batteries, canned goods and water. They have their generators at home and are ready for the apocalypse.
The complete opposite of that is a woman I met yesterday by the name of Sara. I was in the checkstand helping get these people out of the store with their huge orders and along came Sara. Sara’s probably in her late twenties, early thirties. She only had a few items. She had three six packs of those little containers of chocolate pudding that need no refrigeration, a huge jar of peanut butter, plastic spoons and two cases of beer. She said she’d been through Wilma last year and found that when the power goes out and everything around you seems to be falling apart, nothing soothes better than pure comfort food. She told me she was freezing the beer and had a few coolers to put ice in and that even if the power was out for three days, as it was with Wilma, she could have her cold beer. She even told me her address so I could come by and join her if it got to that point.
With Maegan living with me now, you would think I’d be preparing for the worst. C’mon, if you know me at all you know I’m much better at reacting than being proactive. I know my ex wife knows that I would make sure that our daughter is safe and if I really felt there was something to worry about I would take more action. I think both of us are looking at this as kind of an adventure. My brother lives close by and if he does evacuate I’m sure he’ll take Maegan with him. I can’t leave because of work.
I’m not totally dismissing the storm; we’re all watching the weather channel and are quite confident that it won’t be that bad. If we do get hit, and the power goes out, I did bring home the essentials. I’ll have my chocolate pudding, peanut butter and beer. Thanks Sara for putting this in the proper perspective.
Working at a Supermarket, I see so many different people, each with a different way of looking at the coming storm. There are those that are of the Chicken Little persuasion; they have their SUV’s filled with gas cans and are buying hundreds of dollars worth of batteries, canned goods and water. They have their generators at home and are ready for the apocalypse.
The complete opposite of that is a woman I met yesterday by the name of Sara. I was in the checkstand helping get these people out of the store with their huge orders and along came Sara. Sara’s probably in her late twenties, early thirties. She only had a few items. She had three six packs of those little containers of chocolate pudding that need no refrigeration, a huge jar of peanut butter, plastic spoons and two cases of beer. She said she’d been through Wilma last year and found that when the power goes out and everything around you seems to be falling apart, nothing soothes better than pure comfort food. She told me she was freezing the beer and had a few coolers to put ice in and that even if the power was out for three days, as it was with Wilma, she could have her cold beer. She even told me her address so I could come by and join her if it got to that point.
With Maegan living with me now, you would think I’d be preparing for the worst. C’mon, if you know me at all you know I’m much better at reacting than being proactive. I know my ex wife knows that I would make sure that our daughter is safe and if I really felt there was something to worry about I would take more action. I think both of us are looking at this as kind of an adventure. My brother lives close by and if he does evacuate I’m sure he’ll take Maegan with him. I can’t leave because of work.
I’m not totally dismissing the storm; we’re all watching the weather channel and are quite confident that it won’t be that bad. If we do get hit, and the power goes out, I did bring home the essentials. I’ll have my chocolate pudding, peanut butter and beer. Thanks Sara for putting this in the proper perspective.
Baseball
I love the game of baseball. I have for as long as I can remember. My biggest dream as a child was to be a professional baseball player. I remember as a four year old following my older brothers to Affolter Park on my bike (it still had training wheels) to watch them play tee ball. The coach at the time was a guy named Bob Samms. He asked one day why I wasn’t playing? When I told him that I wasn’t old enough, you had to be five, he told me to just get out there. He even gave me a mitt to use.
I fell in love with the Detroit Tigers in the summer of 67, I was six, the season came down to the last game of the year and Fred Gladding was the losing pitcher as the Boston Red Sox won the pennant. My brothers and I were in the car listening to the game as my mother was shopping in the local fruit market. I’ll never forget my oldest brother crying in the back seat as the final out was made.
My first live game was in the magical season of 1968. My mother along with a friend of hers, Jean Knauss, took all of us to see the Tigers against the Oakland A’s. Denny McLain pitched and won his 17’th game of the year, he went on to win 31 as the Tigers went on to win the World Series. I will always remember the vastness of the field, how green it was, the smell and the sounds. I went down to where the visiting teams’ bullpen was and got autographs from Rollie Fingers and Ken Holtzman, both future stars. 1968 was also the year I started to read the sports section religiously. I would devour the stats and memorize lineups for all the teams that the Tigers would play.
Every year in April when opening day comes around, it’s very much like a religious experience for me. It’s almost laughable, I don’t sleep the night before and I’m so excited it’s almost like a little kid at Christmas. Since the advent of cable television, I can watch games from noon on opening day till past midnight. I have been known to tell people that opening day is the only thing I’ve ever seen that could be proof of a living god. I know it’s been said before but I truly feel that once a new season starts, all is well with the world; things are as they should be. Baseball has given me every emotion known to man. Hell, the anticipation alone of a new season is enough to put me completely at ease with my lot in life.
There is no way I could ever count the amount of games I’ve seen live at Tiger Stadium, and after moving to California, the different stadiums out there. I still get the same feeling when I walk into a stadium to see a live game. The life that emanates from the field almost feels like it was meant for me. I love having my scorecard, keeping track of each pitch and watching the drama unfold. I know most of you don’t understand that but there really is drama unfolding with every pitch. Watching a game, be it live or on the tube, gives me that peaceful easy feeling the Eagles sang about. If I ever feel the need to recharge my batteries all I need to do is watch a game. It really doesn’t matter who’s playing, as long as the field is green and the vendors are hawking, all is well. I think most would agree that there is little in life that can make you feel better than seeing a little kid, five or six, with a glove three times the size of their hand, pounding their little fists into it waiting for that foul ball or homerun to land in it. I think all of us have wanted to be that kid at one point. I know I do everyday.
I fell in love with the Detroit Tigers in the summer of 67, I was six, the season came down to the last game of the year and Fred Gladding was the losing pitcher as the Boston Red Sox won the pennant. My brothers and I were in the car listening to the game as my mother was shopping in the local fruit market. I’ll never forget my oldest brother crying in the back seat as the final out was made.
My first live game was in the magical season of 1968. My mother along with a friend of hers, Jean Knauss, took all of us to see the Tigers against the Oakland A’s. Denny McLain pitched and won his 17’th game of the year, he went on to win 31 as the Tigers went on to win the World Series. I will always remember the vastness of the field, how green it was, the smell and the sounds. I went down to where the visiting teams’ bullpen was and got autographs from Rollie Fingers and Ken Holtzman, both future stars. 1968 was also the year I started to read the sports section religiously. I would devour the stats and memorize lineups for all the teams that the Tigers would play.
Every year in April when opening day comes around, it’s very much like a religious experience for me. It’s almost laughable, I don’t sleep the night before and I’m so excited it’s almost like a little kid at Christmas. Since the advent of cable television, I can watch games from noon on opening day till past midnight. I have been known to tell people that opening day is the only thing I’ve ever seen that could be proof of a living god. I know it’s been said before but I truly feel that once a new season starts, all is well with the world; things are as they should be. Baseball has given me every emotion known to man. Hell, the anticipation alone of a new season is enough to put me completely at ease with my lot in life.
There is no way I could ever count the amount of games I’ve seen live at Tiger Stadium, and after moving to California, the different stadiums out there. I still get the same feeling when I walk into a stadium to see a live game. The life that emanates from the field almost feels like it was meant for me. I love having my scorecard, keeping track of each pitch and watching the drama unfold. I know most of you don’t understand that but there really is drama unfolding with every pitch. Watching a game, be it live or on the tube, gives me that peaceful easy feeling the Eagles sang about. If I ever feel the need to recharge my batteries all I need to do is watch a game. It really doesn’t matter who’s playing, as long as the field is green and the vendors are hawking, all is well. I think most would agree that there is little in life that can make you feel better than seeing a little kid, five or six, with a glove three times the size of their hand, pounding their little fists into it waiting for that foul ball or homerun to land in it. I think all of us have wanted to be that kid at one point. I know I do everyday.
"Dear God"
Dear God,
I really don’t want to bother you but I’m just baffled by the way you work. I’ve never been a follower let alone a true believer and I’ve hit a stage in my life where I’m almost looking for that something that people always talk about. You know, all those unanswered questions about life and things like that.
Of course there are the basics, things like why bad things happen to good people, but those types of questions are too general. In order for me to buy into the whole concept I need specifics. The idea that the Middle East has been at war practically since day one makes no sense to me or anyone else for that matter. How can one allow so many deaths of innocent people in your name? I don’t have to tell you how many children have died in this region over the years. How could you allow this to happen? I’m just asking.
It’s almost two years now since the great tsunami in Indonesia. Once again, the amount of senseless damage and death is astounding. What, did we just need a quick cleansing? 229,866 people lost. Of course you would know how many of those were kids. Was there a point to any of this? I’m just asking.
I think I’ll take this to a more personal level. Being a Jew, I was taught that the Jewish people were your chosen people. I must ask, chosen for what? Ever since the beginning of time the Jewish people have been persecuted for no other reason than the simple fact that they were Jews. It just doesn’t make sense. Again I ask why? If we are the chosen, as all who believe in the Judeao Christian god believe, how could you let your chosen be treated so poorly? No offense, I’m just asking.
I’ve spent my life being looked down upon, pitied and even vilified for not believing in this almighty higher power and I keep wondering what I’m missing. I find myself getting angry sometimes with those that do believe in you and I know I shouldn’t. To each his own and all that. Those that believe in you can be some of the most sincere people I’ve ever met and of course there are those that use your name to further their own cause, financially and for other different types of personal gain. I would like to think that if there is this judgment day that people speak of, that people of such character would get what they deserve. I would also hope that in the case of children things would be like the movie, “Defending Your Life” where kids get an automatic pass to heaven with no judgment whatsoever. I’d like to believe these things but I just haven’t seen anything here to allow myself to.
I don’t know if one could call me an atheist. I guess that this essay alone makes me more of an agnostic. My understanding of the word agnostic is one who questions the belief in a higher power, which is what I’m doing here. Like I said before, I’m just asking.
I really don’t want to bother you but I’m just baffled by the way you work. I’ve never been a follower let alone a true believer and I’ve hit a stage in my life where I’m almost looking for that something that people always talk about. You know, all those unanswered questions about life and things like that.
Of course there are the basics, things like why bad things happen to good people, but those types of questions are too general. In order for me to buy into the whole concept I need specifics. The idea that the Middle East has been at war practically since day one makes no sense to me or anyone else for that matter. How can one allow so many deaths of innocent people in your name? I don’t have to tell you how many children have died in this region over the years. How could you allow this to happen? I’m just asking.
It’s almost two years now since the great tsunami in Indonesia. Once again, the amount of senseless damage and death is astounding. What, did we just need a quick cleansing? 229,866 people lost. Of course you would know how many of those were kids. Was there a point to any of this? I’m just asking.
I think I’ll take this to a more personal level. Being a Jew, I was taught that the Jewish people were your chosen people. I must ask, chosen for what? Ever since the beginning of time the Jewish people have been persecuted for no other reason than the simple fact that they were Jews. It just doesn’t make sense. Again I ask why? If we are the chosen, as all who believe in the Judeao Christian god believe, how could you let your chosen be treated so poorly? No offense, I’m just asking.
I’ve spent my life being looked down upon, pitied and even vilified for not believing in this almighty higher power and I keep wondering what I’m missing. I find myself getting angry sometimes with those that do believe in you and I know I shouldn’t. To each his own and all that. Those that believe in you can be some of the most sincere people I’ve ever met and of course there are those that use your name to further their own cause, financially and for other different types of personal gain. I would like to think that if there is this judgment day that people speak of, that people of such character would get what they deserve. I would also hope that in the case of children things would be like the movie, “Defending Your Life” where kids get an automatic pass to heaven with no judgment whatsoever. I’d like to believe these things but I just haven’t seen anything here to allow myself to.
I don’t know if one could call me an atheist. I guess that this essay alone makes me more of an agnostic. My understanding of the word agnostic is one who questions the belief in a higher power, which is what I’m doing here. Like I said before, I’m just asking.
"I Don't Like Mondays"
The writings and journals of the Columbine killers were released yesterday. Fascinating? No doubt. Necessary? I’m just not sure. I don’t see what’s to be learned from the ramblings of a couple troubled teens. I can see others looking at this stuff as gospel. I naturally assume that we will soon be hearing of more copycat stuff going on in a few schools around the country.
I don’t have any stats but I think I’m pretty safe to say that ever since Brenda Spencer shot at those kids in San Diego back in 1979, we seem to be hearing this story at least once every school year. As a side note, that shooting spree was the inspiration behind the Boomtown Rats hit, “I Don’t Like Mondays”. I think it fascinating that Brenda got the gun as a present from her father. I know, I know. Guns don’t kill, people do.
I recently saw a documentary about two kids in Arkansas I think, that set off the fire alarm at school and were waiting in the woods for the people to come outside and then opened fire. They killed a few kids and adults. I think the killers’ ages were 11 and 14. They got the guns from one of their Grandfathers’ houses. Once again, guns don’t kill, people do.
From February of 1996 through November 2005 there were 30 school shootings in the U.S. (even more world wide) leaving 57 students and administrators dead and countless others injured. This doesn’t come close to accounting for all that were affected by it. In each of these 30 instances, the perpetrators were either current or former students of the school where the action took place.
Of the 30 school shootings mentioned above, no less than 80% of the weapons used were obtained in some way from a close relative of the shooter. In a couple cases the shooter had killed the relatives before heading to school to finish the job they had set out to do. I find this 80% rather fascinating in that these weapons were there for the taking by “normal, good” kids. Here’s where the guns don’t kill argument fizzles.
If these normal kids had no access to guns there is a high probability that no one would have ever gotten hurt. The use of a gun gives one many more opportunities to kill or maim than any other type of weapon. It’s that simple. These kids would be alive if there were no guns. Yes, I know the argument, proper gun safety and education blah, blah, blah. The only proper gun safety is no gun at all.
I know we can’t get all firearms off the street; the proverbial toothpaste back in the tube, but there has to be something that can be done. Why on earth would anyone logically need a handgun? In today’s society the excuse is for protection. All right. Then let’s say that if you are caught with one outside the home, you go to jail. Extreme? I don’t care. Read the papers, it’s not a liberal fantasy, guns are killing people everyday. Students didn’t come home from school on 30 different occasions and not once was anyone able to explain how without guns we would have been worse off. I know I’m starting to ramble so I’ll close but these numbers have to scare you. If not, you scare me.
I don’t have any stats but I think I’m pretty safe to say that ever since Brenda Spencer shot at those kids in San Diego back in 1979, we seem to be hearing this story at least once every school year. As a side note, that shooting spree was the inspiration behind the Boomtown Rats hit, “I Don’t Like Mondays”. I think it fascinating that Brenda got the gun as a present from her father. I know, I know. Guns don’t kill, people do.
I recently saw a documentary about two kids in Arkansas I think, that set off the fire alarm at school and were waiting in the woods for the people to come outside and then opened fire. They killed a few kids and adults. I think the killers’ ages were 11 and 14. They got the guns from one of their Grandfathers’ houses. Once again, guns don’t kill, people do.
From February of 1996 through November 2005 there were 30 school shootings in the U.S. (even more world wide) leaving 57 students and administrators dead and countless others injured. This doesn’t come close to accounting for all that were affected by it. In each of these 30 instances, the perpetrators were either current or former students of the school where the action took place.
Of the 30 school shootings mentioned above, no less than 80% of the weapons used were obtained in some way from a close relative of the shooter. In a couple cases the shooter had killed the relatives before heading to school to finish the job they had set out to do. I find this 80% rather fascinating in that these weapons were there for the taking by “normal, good” kids. Here’s where the guns don’t kill argument fizzles.
If these normal kids had no access to guns there is a high probability that no one would have ever gotten hurt. The use of a gun gives one many more opportunities to kill or maim than any other type of weapon. It’s that simple. These kids would be alive if there were no guns. Yes, I know the argument, proper gun safety and education blah, blah, blah. The only proper gun safety is no gun at all.
I know we can’t get all firearms off the street; the proverbial toothpaste back in the tube, but there has to be something that can be done. Why on earth would anyone logically need a handgun? In today’s society the excuse is for protection. All right. Then let’s say that if you are caught with one outside the home, you go to jail. Extreme? I don’t care. Read the papers, it’s not a liberal fantasy, guns are killing people everyday. Students didn’t come home from school on 30 different occasions and not once was anyone able to explain how without guns we would have been worse off. I know I’m starting to ramble so I’ll close but these numbers have to scare you. If not, you scare me.
Adventures In Karaoke
Karaoke has always fascinated me. How can people get up in front of total strangers and sing? It’s really something else if you see someone with talent and almost painful if you see someone without it. I do have to give them props though. If you’ve got the guts to do it, and you are really bad at it, well, more power to you.
I went to a bar nearby recently to watch some people sing. It just so happened that they were having some sort of Elton John night. As I was sitting there I decided to order some Malibu on ice. As the night wore on I was feeling pretty good and started thinking more and more that I could sing just as well as they could. Hell, I know a million songs by this guy. Well the mixture of Malibu and the singing must have done something to me because I started looking at the list of songs they offered.
I found a number of songs that I knew well and thought I might actually get up and put my name on the list. I must have taken 20 minutes going back and forth between getting up and staying put. One of the advantages of going out by yourself is that there is no one there to put pressure on you to do something you don’t want to do. You know, no peer pressure. Well I ended up throwing my name onto their list with the song “Blues for Baby and Me”. I’d had four or five drinks and started feeling more and more confident. Hey, I could do this, I really could.
Well then the worst thing possible happened. They called my name. I actually thought I was going to have a heart attack. I sat still as a mouse, hoping they would think I went home or something. It seemed like hours but I’m sure it was more like 30 seconds and they called me again. I felt like sweat was just pouring off me.
I then did something I thought I’d never do. I stood up and started walking to the stage area. I was pretty numb from the Malibu but still nervous as could be. I got to the mike and asked for a barstool. There was no way I was going to be able to stand up much longer as my knees were knocking so loud I thought I could actually hear them. Once I was seated they started the music and all I could think of was what was I going to look at? There’s no way I’m looking into the crowd and the screen that shows the lyrics scared me. I was wondering what would happen if I was looking at it and they put up the wrong words. Oh god, the intro was getting to its end and they’re going to expect me to start singing. I don’t believe I have ever been as nervous in my life. I’m shaking right now writing about it.
The next thing I remember, I’m midway through the second verse. My eyes are shut and I hear nothing from the crowd. It was like I was completely alone. I hear the song but it doesn’t feel like I’m singing. I opened my eyes to peek and there’s maybe 30 or 40 people sitting there watching me. I think I messed up a word and started sweating like crazy. Man, why didn’t I bring my sunglasses? I’ve always been so good at hiding behind them. Now I’m at the last repeat of the chorus and it’s where the song gets a little forceful. I’ve sung this song in my car a million times and know that it’s hard for me to hit all the notes without my voice cracking. Here goes…
I don’t remember feeling anything during the entire song. I didn’t hear myself sing at all. I can only assume that I did an all right job as a few people came to the bar afterwards and said they liked it. I do remember thinking about the semantics of doing what I was doing the entire time. I know that I did do something I thought I’d never do. I’m kind of proud of that. I don’t believe I’ll ever do it again but who knows, enough Malibu and I’d have probably even danced.
I went to a bar nearby recently to watch some people sing. It just so happened that they were having some sort of Elton John night. As I was sitting there I decided to order some Malibu on ice. As the night wore on I was feeling pretty good and started thinking more and more that I could sing just as well as they could. Hell, I know a million songs by this guy. Well the mixture of Malibu and the singing must have done something to me because I started looking at the list of songs they offered.
I found a number of songs that I knew well and thought I might actually get up and put my name on the list. I must have taken 20 minutes going back and forth between getting up and staying put. One of the advantages of going out by yourself is that there is no one there to put pressure on you to do something you don’t want to do. You know, no peer pressure. Well I ended up throwing my name onto their list with the song “Blues for Baby and Me”. I’d had four or five drinks and started feeling more and more confident. Hey, I could do this, I really could.
Well then the worst thing possible happened. They called my name. I actually thought I was going to have a heart attack. I sat still as a mouse, hoping they would think I went home or something. It seemed like hours but I’m sure it was more like 30 seconds and they called me again. I felt like sweat was just pouring off me.
I then did something I thought I’d never do. I stood up and started walking to the stage area. I was pretty numb from the Malibu but still nervous as could be. I got to the mike and asked for a barstool. There was no way I was going to be able to stand up much longer as my knees were knocking so loud I thought I could actually hear them. Once I was seated they started the music and all I could think of was what was I going to look at? There’s no way I’m looking into the crowd and the screen that shows the lyrics scared me. I was wondering what would happen if I was looking at it and they put up the wrong words. Oh god, the intro was getting to its end and they’re going to expect me to start singing. I don’t believe I have ever been as nervous in my life. I’m shaking right now writing about it.
The next thing I remember, I’m midway through the second verse. My eyes are shut and I hear nothing from the crowd. It was like I was completely alone. I hear the song but it doesn’t feel like I’m singing. I opened my eyes to peek and there’s maybe 30 or 40 people sitting there watching me. I think I messed up a word and started sweating like crazy. Man, why didn’t I bring my sunglasses? I’ve always been so good at hiding behind them. Now I’m at the last repeat of the chorus and it’s where the song gets a little forceful. I’ve sung this song in my car a million times and know that it’s hard for me to hit all the notes without my voice cracking. Here goes…
I don’t remember feeling anything during the entire song. I didn’t hear myself sing at all. I can only assume that I did an all right job as a few people came to the bar afterwards and said they liked it. I do remember thinking about the semantics of doing what I was doing the entire time. I know that I did do something I thought I’d never do. I’m kind of proud of that. I don’t believe I’ll ever do it again but who knows, enough Malibu and I’d have probably even danced.
It's All About Me!
When I moved to Florida last August, it was a rather down time in my life. Just getting divorced, new job, new home, etc… To quote Don Henley, “All the things I thought I’d figured out, I have to learn again.” I never felt more alone and unsure of myself in my life. I had Lucky, my television and my laptop. Yes, I have a brother that lives down here and he and his wife have been a tremendous help, but it’s not the same. It was a time of looking back at my life and figuring out what mattered and what didn’t.
I decided to try to find the people that meant something to me and see if I could make a connection again. It wasn’t too difficult and I have found almost everyone I’m looking for. Some have actually visited me down here, which is an amazing story for another time; some I speak to on the phone once in a while and some are strictly email pals.
In most of these new-old relationships I am the one forcing the issue and ensuring contact. I am totally ok with that. I won’t lie. I am talking to you guys for purely selfish reasons. I miss you all and it makes me feel good to hear your voices or see your name on the in box list in my email. I look for them everyday and get a huge thrill when I see or hear from you.
I am just writing this to let you guys know how much I appreciate what you all have meant to me in the past and how fortunate I feel to have you back in my life again. Thanks for humoring me with your time and energy. I only hope I can add to your lives as much as you have added to mine.
Now excuse me while I go put on my dress and bonnet and get ready for my day…
I decided to try to find the people that meant something to me and see if I could make a connection again. It wasn’t too difficult and I have found almost everyone I’m looking for. Some have actually visited me down here, which is an amazing story for another time; some I speak to on the phone once in a while and some are strictly email pals.
In most of these new-old relationships I am the one forcing the issue and ensuring contact. I am totally ok with that. I won’t lie. I am talking to you guys for purely selfish reasons. I miss you all and it makes me feel good to hear your voices or see your name on the in box list in my email. I look for them everyday and get a huge thrill when I see or hear from you.
I am just writing this to let you guys know how much I appreciate what you all have meant to me in the past and how fortunate I feel to have you back in my life again. Thanks for humoring me with your time and energy. I only hope I can add to your lives as much as you have added to mine.
Now excuse me while I go put on my dress and bonnet and get ready for my day…
Mmmmm Scarlet Johansson UHHHhhhhhh
There are only a couple fantasies of mine that don't include Scarlet Johansson. One is to attend a final four, which I've wanted to do forever and the other is to sit in the corner of the room during a writing session of the Simpsons. The Final Four, because of the excitement, the glamour and the competition. The Simpsons gig for some of the most intelligent, thought provoking humor I have ever seen or heard.
I truly believe Homer Simpson's life is one of those that men everywhere dream about. No, it's nothing we want to admit and we certainly want to keep it in the most private places in our mind, but let's just look at the basics. A wife whose love is utterly and completely unconditional. A job that seemingly pays all the bills and allows his wife to stay at home and take care of the house and three kids. The local bar being his home away from home where yes, everybody knows his name and the ability to stay consistently drunk with little or no consequences, and best of all, a conscience that only shows up every three or four months. Homer is never really held accountable for anything he does, whether at home or at work.
Though there is never an episode that in some way doesn't involve the church, for Homer, religion is just a crutch to use in times of absolute crisis. So uninvolved in a belief in a higher power is he, that when he realizes that the plane he is on is taking him to be a missionary he screams "Help me Jebus". No, that's not a typo.
When the Simpsons first went on the air as a series, Bart was the main character and the show was about a 10 year old boy who was every parents nightmare. The Producers and Writers, I believe wisely, saw that there was only so much to be done with those story lines and moved the focus of most of the show to Homer and his imbecilic ways. These episodes started around season four and continue to this day, well into season 18.
The series has just been extended another two seasons, which will make it the longest running series in television history. What this tells me is that I'm not alone in my appreciation of the show. If you're a fan, you know of what I speak. If not, I think you may be missing something. The writing is topical and consistently biting. It also follows my credo of nothing is sacred when it comes to humor.
I truly believe Homer Simpson's life is one of those that men everywhere dream about. No, it's nothing we want to admit and we certainly want to keep it in the most private places in our mind, but let's just look at the basics. A wife whose love is utterly and completely unconditional. A job that seemingly pays all the bills and allows his wife to stay at home and take care of the house and three kids. The local bar being his home away from home where yes, everybody knows his name and the ability to stay consistently drunk with little or no consequences, and best of all, a conscience that only shows up every three or four months. Homer is never really held accountable for anything he does, whether at home or at work.
Though there is never an episode that in some way doesn't involve the church, for Homer, religion is just a crutch to use in times of absolute crisis. So uninvolved in a belief in a higher power is he, that when he realizes that the plane he is on is taking him to be a missionary he screams "Help me Jebus". No, that's not a typo.
When the Simpsons first went on the air as a series, Bart was the main character and the show was about a 10 year old boy who was every parents nightmare. The Producers and Writers, I believe wisely, saw that there was only so much to be done with those story lines and moved the focus of most of the show to Homer and his imbecilic ways. These episodes started around season four and continue to this day, well into season 18.
The series has just been extended another two seasons, which will make it the longest running series in television history. What this tells me is that I'm not alone in my appreciation of the show. If you're a fan, you know of what I speak. If not, I think you may be missing something. The writing is topical and consistently biting. It also follows my credo of nothing is sacred when it comes to humor.
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