Just Taking A Stroll

I was thinking, how come people, in general, like to think about their past? I’m down in the Detroit area waiting for my buddy to get back to his house cuz we’re going to the Tiger game. While waiting for him I decided to drive around and visit the old “haunts” if you will.

I went to breakfast at your basic coffee shop that we used to go to quite a bit in my stoner days. I don’t even know the name of it now but back then it was called “The Clock”. It was a 24-hour joint about a ½ step down from a “Denny’s”. Decent breakfast. I remember one of the reasons we would go there was because I could smoke, and, I think we can all remember how cool it was to be able to smoke in public places and not have to worry about your parents finding out.
I then took the drive into Oak Park, where I lived from the age of 11 until I moved to San Diego. I drove down 10-mile road and saw this old radio tower off one of the side streets. I had to make the turn onto the street and parked just outside the gate that wasn’t there when I was a kid. Boy that tower struck a chord.

I remember climbing that tower so many times and seeing how high we could get. I was always the lowest but back then I didn’t even care. I don’t think any of us ever got caught. This had to be while I was in sixth or seventh grade and before I started smoking pot so drugs could in no way be blamed for our craziness.

I started the car again and drove a few blocks past a house where a girl used to live that would always have people over and we would all just hang out in their basement. I’m not sure if you could say we partied down there because their was never any drugs or alcohol involved but we really had fun down there. A few years ago I heard she died. I’ve tried looking her name up on the web but never seem to get a hit on her name. I feel sort of bad about that because she tried to get in contact with me a few times out in California and I ignored the calls. I think we all have those types of regrets. I think the goal is to not let the regret pile get too big. Something, I know, I will always work on.

I then went by Pepper Elementary School. I spent the last two weeks of fifth and all of sixth grade there. I think those were my glory days in school. There were three of us in sixth grade that were the big guns of the place. The best athletes and the most popular with consistent girlfriends throughout the year. Well, as much as you could have a girlfriend while in sixth grade. You know, big fish in the proverbial small pond.

When I got into junior high the pond was just way too big. I started getting real fat and was pretty much embarrassed about myself from that point until I got sick and lost all that weight during my senior year of high school. I think back on those days and the people that tried to reach inside my head and I remember ignoring their attempts at reaching out to me. I stuck to my own little circle of friends and never quite grew out of that. Anyway, back to the tour.

I then drove towards my junior high and on the way I went by my old house. It looks great. The neighborhood looks so much better than I remember. I drove around the area and went by the houses that my friends in the neighborhood lived in. it brought back a number of fond and not so fond memories. I ended up getting by the school and saw that it is no longer a school but more like the district headquarters. It looked fine, and the local stores around it were mostly different than I remember. What used to be a predominantly Jewish area is now mostly Arab and Black. The stores have different names except for the Coney Island place that was a regular feature of my youth. Next door to the restaurant is the place where the gas station was that I burned my eyes out at. It’s now a Tim Horton’s donut shop. I probably would have had a hard time frying the pupils there but knowing me, anything’s possible.

I then went over by the high school. On the way there I drove by what once was the bowling alley. Good thing it’s now a strip mall because I probably would have tried to roll a few lines and gotten injured again. My finger is still sore from my latest athletic pursuit up here. The high school looks just as it used to be. I then drove by another old friends old house and, since I’m still in touch with her, I gave her a call. I got her voice mail and left a message telling her that I was by her old house and mentioned that I was just taking a trip down memory lane before I went to the ball game. She called and left me a message while I was at the game and said she was in the old neighborhood just yesterday. Pretty cool.

I could do this kind of thing every day. Seeing the old haunts did me some good. It made me think of so many people and places that I haven’t thought about in years. It’s kind of cool because I recently got a message through classmates.com saying that my 30’Th high school reunion was just starting to get into the planning stages. 30 years, wow. I feel like I just left the area.

I ended the tour and went to the game. The Tigers lost. Didn’t matter, god I love baseball. I think I’ll come down again in a couple weeks and drive down to Trenton. I lived there from birth up until we moved to Oak Park. I’m sure there will be a number of things going through my head doing that too and I’m sure I’ll tell you all about that too.

Can You Feel It?

It’s here… this has got to be the most wonderful weekend of the year. We’ve got the “elite 8” starting Saturday evening and Opening day, at least in this hemisphere, on Sunday night. The Tigers open at home on Monday and with a televised day game on Wednesday when I’m off I’m sitting rather comfortably right about now. The only thing that could be better would be if the final four were this weekend instead of next.

This is easily my favorite time to be a sports fan. I’ve mentioned my dream of attending an N.C.A.A. final four in a few other posts and if you don’t yet know my adoration for the game of baseball, well, you just plain haven’t been paying attention. Just to clarify: Baseball and “The Beatles” are the only two things in this world that allow me to remotely believe there may be a living God.

I’m looking at E.S.P.N’s schedule for tonight and tomorrow along with the television schedule for the “Tigers” and starting at 7:00 tonight, there is more than 18 hours of baseball scheduled in the next 27 or so hours. I’m shaking just thinking about it. How can I be this depressed person I am when the greatest gift I could possibly receive is being handed to me on a proverbial silver platter called cable television.

Do you realize that for the next six months or so I will have, at minimum, three hours, each and every day, of pure bliss? Who can possibly match that in their own lives?

Oh of course there will be down days. What am I to do on an off day, or the all-star break? Dammit, now I’m starting to get bummed about that. I’m gonna need to check the schedule and see if I can find things to do on those almost criminal days when there is no game on to watch. Geez, I might even have to make friends and make plans to go out and crap like that. Ewww.

Surprise, Surprise

It’s not like I expected anything else. My dad called me on my way home from work and told me he didn’t think he could make it. Something about his health not allowing him to be in the car that long. Odds are there is some validity to his excuse, he’s 75 and not in the best of health, but, in all honesty, at this point it really doesn’t matter.

They divorced when I was 11 and there’s been a different excuse ever since. Whenever stuff like this comes up I wonder if he knows that I’m pretty much the only one who has any kind of faith left in him. When he says he going to do something I still buy into it. I can’t think of anyone else who does.

I’ve got two siblings that have pretty much written him off and the third, who if he didn’t live near him, would have done the same years ago. I‘m always the one making excuses for him and yeah, though I’m pretty pissed right now, will probably continue to do so until he’s gone.

It’s not out of any loyalty or nobility on my part. I think what it really boils down to is that I’ve been making excuses for myself my whole life too. It sort of puts him into perspective for me. He doesn’t mean to be a jerk, he just doesn’t know better. Me? I still can be quite an ass sometimes but the difference is I think I know better. That doesn’t mean I’m any better by any stretch. I think it just means that I don’t show it as much.

It might be why I’m not nearly as social as him. Maybe I’m just trying to hide my faults in front of others so much that I choose to not see people as much as most. See, that’s what I mean, making another excuse for me. I’m full of them. I can look at any part of my life and find what I consider a valid excuse for whatever behavior I exhibited that has made me this person I am that consistently wishes he were someone else.

I think I may be on to something here. Maybe I keep trying to see the good in him because I see a lot of me in him. I’ve harbored that fear inside for years and, as is par, excused myself away from the concept for the same amount of time. It would be so easy for me to say I hate him and I don’t want to talk to him again and it wouldn’t be just because of this weekend. He’s been the same forever and the final straw has come and gone for 47 years. But wouldn’t that, in a way, be saying that I hate me and I don’t want to talk to me again? Does that make sense? I can’t think of another way to explain it so it is what it is.
Anyway, I’ll get over it and believe what he says the next time I talk to him. I’ll feel that little glimmer of hope when he says he’ll do something and know deep inside that he’s just blowing smoke. I’ll call my sister or brother and they’ll give the standard, “yeah, right” and I’ll talk about how, this time, I think he’ll show up. What am I, 12?

It Could Happen!

I think I’m setting myself up for another disappointment with my Father this week. We’ve been talking over the last couple weeks and he brought up the idea that he may drive in this coming weekend and actually stay at my house. See, he sent his quasi family to Orlando for the week and he’s home alone. We both thought it would be cool if he took the four hour drive and saw a couple of his real kids and two of his grandchildren.

The problem lies in knowing my Father as well as I, along with anyone else here, does. Mention the possibility to anyone and they all say the same thing. “Right”. “Don’t plan on it”. How sad is that?

Though I know in my heart of hearts that the odds are greatly against him showing up for whatever reason he can find I can’t help but have that little glimmer of hope and know that I’ll feel let down if he doesn’t show. I can’t help it, I actually believe he’s coming. All I can do is wait and see.

I Think I'm In Love

To say I’m a fan of Barack Obama would be the understatement of the year. I think I might have a kind of man crush on him. There’s something about the guy that’s electric. He can work a room like no one this country has seen since J.F.K. Apart from that I like what he seems to stand for. I say seems to because, let’s be honest, you never really know what politicians truly believe because of all the debts and political favors one has to repay throughout their public lives.

But here’s the thing. This guy brings something to the table that’s hard to describe. It’s a kind of excitement that makes one want to almost get up and do something. What? I don’t know. Yet, you can almost see it in the air. He’s got IT. Yes he sounds like a preacher when he talks but I find it kind of hypnotizing. Yes, he says the same things many politicians say but he says it in a manner that makes me want to believe him more than any of the others out there. Do you remember the Keynote speech at the 2004 Democratic Convention? If not, I’m sure you can find it on youtube. Look it up and give it a listen, it’s there. Reading it doesn’t do it justice.

I just watched his speech of 03/18/08. How do you not love this guy? I think I want to marry him. I have been moved inside. Listen close kids. We are in the presence of greatness. This is a man who very well may go down in history with the likes of Martin Luther King, Franklin Delano Roosevelt and John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Get ready to include the Senator from the great state of Illinois, Barack Hussein Obama.

I’m serious; I think he’s the real thing. I’m punching up the speech on Google and looking up reaction and the only bad one I’ve seen so far is from Rush Limbaugh and what would you expect from him. The Christian Broadcasting Group even spoke highly of it. The general consensus is that he hit a home run on this one and needless to say, I agree. I’m going to ask you to go to youtube again and this time look up today’s speech. I’ve checked and it’s already there. It’s truly one of the great political speeches you’ll find anywhere.

Ahh, my hearts fluttering…

It Just Seems So Simple

So I’m messing around on this old internet thing and I decide to punch up that most amazing of documents, The Constitution Of The United States Of America. There’s one part in particular that has always bothered me and that would be amendment number two, The Right To Bear Arms.

”A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.”

I’ve looked and looked at the above sentence and I just can’t figure out how it has come to mean that you and I, as private citizens, have the right to own a gun unless we are part of a “well regulated militia”. That’s what it says. Since a well regulated militia is necessary for a free state, the right of the people to bear arms for the purpose of said militia shall not be infringed. How else can that be interpreted? The words have not changed since 1791. It does not now nor has it ever said that private citizens have the right to own guns. Sorry, but that’s what’s written. “A well regulated militia”, which for those that don’t know the meaning of militia, means an army composed of ordinary citizens. In the case of the amendment mentioned said militia must be well regulated.

I know I’m repeating a lot of words here but it just seems so simple to me. Since we do allow our private citizens the privilege, and it is a privilege, of owning guns then there simply can be no argument when it comes to regulations governing that ownership. The only right to ownership stated in the Constitution is if you are part of that well regulated militia I’ve spoken so much about. Read the amendment, it just seems so simple…

The Case Against Exercise and Health Care or Why I'm Not A Doctor

Remember the scene in the movie “Stripes” when Bill Murray does like five pushups and collapses and says, “I gotta get in shape”? I have been saying that for years and have never done anything about it. Well, I think it may be too late for me.
A typical Friday night at home, 9:30, I’m in bed trying to fall asleep. My niece calls and asks if I want to go bowling with her and her Fiancé. I figure, what the hell, I never get out, and agree to meet them at the local bowlorama. I haven’t bowled in a number of years and I’ve always liked it. Of course the mandatory beer that goes with it doesn’t hurt.

I always have a hard time getting a ball that works for me when I go. I’m a relatively wimpy guy and need a ball on the lighter side. The problem with that is that the lighter balls are for smaller people and the finger holes are always too small. I usually end up with a ball that’s too heavy with finger holes that are too big and I usually get a blister or callus on my thumb or finger. In no sense can I be considered a good bowler, probably around a 120 average or so and, like I said before, I don’t bowl very often. Anyway, I went up and met them and Mike and I started bowling while Jodie was playing some trivia game.

Anyway, we’re drinking beer and having a good time and all is going well. The callus is starting to form on my thumb but I’m ok with it as I was getting pretty drunk and I just figured if it got too bad I’d just put a bandage on it in when I got home. Before our second game a number of Mike’s friends had joined us and we were all laughing and having a good time while we were all making fun of each other’s styles. It was fun.

So it’s around this time that you may be asking yourself why I am telling this little story. Well if you know me at all you know that something more must have happened. It did. Around the eighth frame of the second game I was up and went to throw my first ball of the frame. As the ball left my hand I could hear the cracking of bones and a pain in my finger that, if I hadn’t been drunk, would have literally made me scream. I thought that there was little doubt that I had broken it. Again, thanks to the beer, I continued to bowl, though I couldn’t put my fingers in the holes and just had to roll it down and hope for the best. I put my finger in ice for the rest of the night and taped it up and took some Advil when I got home.

Now, let’s review. I broke my finger while bowling. What the hell is that all about? I broke my finger while bowling? Hell, there’s a debate about whether it’s even a sport or not. I broke my finger while bowling! Who does this kind of crap happen to? Me, of course. To me this just seems like the perfect reason to never get off the couch. It always happens when I do any kind of physical activity, I get hurt. This one seems worse than normal though. I mean c’mon. I was bowling for Pete’s sake.

The above was the original end to the story. I went to a comedy show in Detroit last night and on the way home my finger was just throbbing so I went to urgent care. When I saw the Doctor he said he didn’t think my finger was broken but that there was a good possibility that I had torn the tendons near the knuckle. He said to continue the Advil and was getting ready to put one of those finger splints on when I asked him a question. I asked him how much one of those splints costs? He told me not to worry about it as it was probably covered under my insurance. I said I understood that but I could get the same thing at the local supermarket. He told me the splint probably ran around $45.00. I told him I would get it myself and said thanks.

I ended up getting the splint for under $5.00 and I guess that says something about why we need major reform in the way health insurance is run. Now, here’s the scary part. When I got in the car from buying the splint I opened it up and put it on. I started driving over to my sister’s house to drop off a few things I got for her and couldn’t understand how the pain had not subsided at all. I looked down and noticed that I had put the splint on the wrong finger. Maybe I should have let the insurance pay for it.