It's Just The Way It Is

I got into a rather long argument with an out of town friend last night. This is a friend that considers herself, "spiritual" and has a deep seeded belief in God. I, on the other hand, have never believed in anything other than what I can see, feel or touch. Anyway, what really set her off was when I told her that I wasn't into the idea that life is this amazing gift we've all been given. I told her that in all honesty, I'd like to return it and not get a refund. Well, if you know me at all, you know that once I find something that really bothers someone, I'm all over it. So, I did my thing of making her upset, just because I could, and we finished the conversation with her in a rather foul mood.

 Here's the thing though: I believe those things I stated above. I don't believe that life is some gift to be cherished. This isn't something new, I've been telling shrinks and friends I didn't want to be alive since I was 12 years old. That isn't to say that I'm going to commit suicide, not gonna happen. As I've stated several times, I'm way to big a wimp to ever do anything to hurt myself. I do, however, go to bed each night with the hope that I won't wake up. When I talk to anyone about this I always get this sad look or, if on the phone, words of comfort about how loved I am and things of that nature.

This is where folks have a hard time understanding me. I appreciate each and every one of you and the feelings are more than mutual. I do love you all and you're one of the many reasons I have never attempted to hurt myself. That being said, If given a choice at birth, I would have chosen not to be born. I have always believed that there are certain people that "life" just isn't for. I've also always believed I'm one of those people. I don't believe it's sad to feel this way. I've spent my entire, and I do mean entire, life not wanting to be alive.I've also spent my whole life being sad and depressed. I look at it as just the way it is. I truly believe that this is nothing to feel sorry for me about. It's just the way it is, the way I am.

 I was talking to Shrink about the issue I've had with passing out lately. I told her that I felt I blew my chance to be done with life. We talked about how there is no pain or knowledge of my passing out and, therefore, no pain or knowledge involved if I never woke up. She understands that I'm not walking on a cliff looking for a place to jump so it puts her in the category of those that really understand what it is I'm trying to say here.

 I've written before about those folks I know that have recently died or are ill with things that could very well cause their death. These situations truly break my heart. I also believe that I feel a twinge of jealousy simply because they want to live and if I were the one that got sick, I'd be alright with it. Please don't write or call telling me about this journey I'm on or tell me how God loves me. As much as most of you believe in this higher power, I'm just as convinced it doesn't exist. I don't look at this as something to be sad about, I just see it as the way it is.

I'm No King Of The Forest

I have fallen so far in the last couple of months; I’m truly at a loss. All the thoughts in my head are strictly “anti-me”. Getting to despise, once again, who and what I am is so draining. I constantly just want to plow under the covers and sleep forever.

I know, we all have these down times and, as readers already know, I’ve had my share. Lately though, it’s gotten really bad. I look at the things I do, or don’t do, and can’t help but feel that I’m just a shit. My son and I haven’t spoken in almost four years. Why? Oh, a million reasons. Any of them valid? Of course not.

So, the question becomes, why don’t I just call him? It’s a very simple reason. I’m a coward. I can’t stand the thought of any type of confrontation. The fear that he, or any of the numerous people I’ve lost over the years, would say the things to me that I feel I deserve truly encompasses me.

 I’ve lost touch with someone that was very important to me for, pretty much, the same reasons. We had a wonderful email/ chat relationship for a couple years and I stopped writing for a bit. When that happened, I started to fear the repercussions of what she would say when I did write. Once again, there is no logical reason why I just wouldn’t send her a note and just apologize. I simply couldn’t find the strength or courage to do just that.

 I can look back on so many instances of my profound cowardice throughout my life. It started as a kid and only became more and more defined, as I’ve gotten older. I guess it also plays into my famous anxiety issues. I mean, it seems to me they’re one and the same.

 I’ve been on meds to help with the anxiety and, against orders, I’ve stopped taking them. I just wanted to try to feel normal. Be a regular person. All it’s done is allow me to see who I am once again. That same person that’s afraid of my own shadow and is more than willing to run and hide, rather than face the folks that care about me most.

 I’m really not liking me very much right now.

The Power Of The Pen

Throwing the blog out into public domain, as I have, has brought some interesting things into my little world. As far as the Internet reaches, it’s not uncommon for me to get comments, complaints and letters from people all over the world. I’ve written about some of the letters and people I’ve been in contact with. There are, not surprisingly, notes that I haven’t shared for privacy reasons. I’ve always made it clear that anyone’s secrets are safe with me when it comes to the blog and, I’m proud to say, that’s a promise I’ve held sacred.

         About a year ago I got a note from someone that, until now, I couldn’t imagine talking about to anyone except those with the need to know. The letter was from a young man, 17 years old, that was going through some major issues in his life and thought writing to this anonymous “Blogger”, as he called me, was a way to not only explain himself and what his plans were, but to also be hidden enough that hurting himself, if it came to that, couldn’t be interfered with.

         When the notes first started, I really didn’t think much of it. I get these kinds of notes all the time from people I don’t know. What started as simple notes of teenage angst however, soon became much more serious. The more I read from him, the more concerned I became. I had no idea who he was or where he lived and I didn’t even know where to begin to find out.

         His notes, which were now coming on an almost daily basis, were becoming more and more disconcerting. Though I kept replying with letters of support I was always trying to find out where he lived, as I wanted to get ahold of the authorities in his town to get this kid the help he so needed. It finally came to the point of either I get this kid some help or, I’m afraid, he would truly hurt himself.

         I ended up contacting “Google” because they host the blog and voiced my concerns. Some folks contacted me and I shared what info I had. At the time, I could only assume that they had found him as I stopped receiving notes and, as hard as I tried, couldn’t get any info from the people I had been in contact with. I sent him notes asking of he was ok, but he wouldn’t reply. I could only assume what might have happened and I decided to just wait and see if I heard anything again.

         Around three months later I started getting emails from him again with a much harsher tone. He said I had violated our trust and friendship, that I was nothing short of an absolute ass because I had contacted the authorities. He called me a fraud, among other things and said he was sorry he’d ever written me. He was sending me about three notes a week, each harsher than the previous. To say I had mixed feelings would be a major understatement. On the one hand I was happy to find that he hadn’t killed himself yet, on the other, I was crushed.

         Was he right? Did I violate our trust? Didn’t I have a duty here to alert the powers that be? It really threw me. I couldn’t write about it, wasn’t that the only part of the bargain that should be concerned about? I had such mixed feelings. I really had to question what my responsibilities were, in regard to the Blog. Did I owe anything to anyone simply because they connected to something I had written? I finally decided that this was much deeper than I ever planned. My only intention with the Blog was to allow myself to blow off steam. I decided I should no longer write in the same manner I always had. Granted, I couldn’t be held responsible for some messed up kid but I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I was the catalyst for someone ending his or her life.

         Without the ability to share my feelings on the Blog, I found that I began losing a major part of myself. A part that, over the years, I had actually become proud of. Missing this piece of the puzzle that is me, became something that really weighed on me. I felt muzzled. Something had been taken away from me that had helped me in so many ways and it wasn’t fair. I started getting angry and I sent this kid a note, not even sure if he’d receive it, letting him know how I felt. This was in February of this year and that, until last week, was the last I heard of the entire thing.

         Trent (he said I could now use his name) sent me a note and actually apologized to me. He lives in a small town near Ottawa in Canada and had, indeed, attempted suicide. He had sent the angry notes from the hospital and had been in rehab now for a number of months. He said a number of very nice things and told me that, for a while, he felt I was the only friend he had. When the Authorities found who he was he felt betrayed. I can understand that. He was now feeling much better and was disappointed to see that I haven’t written in a while.

         It was very special to find that note in my in box. We’ve written each other, back and forth, a few times in the last week and Trent, now 18, is looking forward to starting college soon. That’s way cool and I’m so pleased to get the news. I hope to stay in contact with him for years to come.

         I don’t pretend to think that I had some major life changing words that was helping him over the time of our correspondence, nor that those words somehow pushed him closer to his attempted suicide. What I do know is that I did my best in a situation that was totally unfamiliar to me. I made changes to my life because of this situation and I don’t think I’d do anything differently. I’m very happy that Trent’s doing well. I’m also feeling like I got a little relief in my head because of all this. 

Way Overdue

I was 15 years old the first time I heard the band Rush’s first live album, “All The World’s A Stage”. I didn’t know much about the band at the time, I knew of their song, “Fly By Night”, but apart from that, I truly knew nothing about them. Anyway, A guy I worked with at a Gas Station was crazy about the band and while giving me a ride home he played a tape of the live album. I remember thinking how clean the guitars sounded and how odd the lead singers voice was.

The next day at school, I found I couldn’t get the sounds I’d heard the night before out of my head. It wasn’t anything like the music I normally listened to. This was loud, noisy and heavy rock. Still, there was something in it that just, I don’t know, gave me energy. It made me feel like I wanted to scream, jump up and down, anything to release this new feeling of sound from my insides. Over the next three years I became a fanatic. I saw them in concert a number of times and simply couldn’t get enough of this sound. I, along with thousands of guys my age just loved this band. There really were not very many girls who “got” them but the boys; well we just couldn’t get enough.

I eventually grew tired of them as my taste in music changed. That didn’t stop the band at all. They started releasing records that brought them great popularity, not only in the Midwest, where they were already rock n roll kings, but worldwide. I would hear the familiar sound of Alex Lifeson’s guitar, Geddy Lee’s distinctive voice or Neil Peart’s drumming and remember the madness I once held for them.

The band has been together now for almost 40 years. They’ve sold millions upon millions of records. They are an automatic sellout wherever they play. Somehow, after all these years, the critics have never given them their due. I find it amazing that this band is not in the Rock n Roll Hall Of Fame. I don’t listen to any of their stuff anymore except for the couple CD’s that I have of the albums I had when I was a kid. That doesn’t stop me from appreciating what they have done. This is three guys that, in concert, sound like a thirty piece band. Drummer Neil Peart is widely known as one of the great drummers of the rock era.

I think the time is long overdue for these guys to get the critical recognition they so well deserve. The Rock Hall has certainly missed the boat on this one. Rush is so deserving of the honor, it’s actually kind of shocking when I think about them not being in. C’mon, Hall, do the right thing. Make us proud and put these guys where they belong. Right alongside all the greats of Rock n Roll.

Tell Everybody You Know

Those of you that grew up with me, probably remember my house as one that always had people in it. It really didn’t matter if Mom was home or not. Our friends had the run of the place and, all in all, things went pretty well. David and I each had numerous people that might be over at any given time and whether either of us was home, it was no big deal. I’d come home after work and the only folks there would be a couple friends of either David or I. One of David’s friends that was there more than most was Steve Liebow. He was a couple years older than me and, up until he started hanging around the house, I’d never heard of him.

Steve was one of David’s friends that I truly didn’t mind being around. It wasn’t like we would be great friends but he understood my humor and always “got the joke” without taking offense. We could go off on some abstract subject and he’d get just as crude and disgusting as I would and, odd as it sounds, we kind of formed a bond doing stuff like that.

One night, for reasons neither of us would ever remember, we started talking about gross words. I mentioned that the way the letter g was printed made the word egg the most disgusting looking word in the English language. We used the word egg in every possible way; laughing like fools the entire time. We must have stayed at that Kitchen table until three in the morning laughing ourselves to tears with the stuff we came up with.

I had a room in the Basement at the time and eventually went to bed. Steve decided to go to the store, buy a few dozen eggs and proceeded to put large Paper towels around my room all held up with all these eggs. He had written, on the paper towel, in large letters of Magic Marker, “ TOP OF THE MORNING TO YOU EGG”. We both laughed for days and have called each other by the name “Egg” ever since.

Steve died this morning and, as usual, these kinds of things make us all remember. I wasn’t that close to Steve. I never even set foot in the famous Van. He was one of the guys at the house. I think those that remember being there throughout the years will agree when I say we were all like a big family. Not a very close family but we all cared for each other, never had fights there and just plain felt a comfort being there. Well, I guess that makes Steve kinda like a Brother. The more I think of it, I think we all felt that way. We had a certain comfort there, all of us. It was a place where friends came by and just relaxed. You couldn’t really do that at too many of our houses back then.

Steve used to walk around the house in his unmentionables, playing his bass guitar and making up lyrics as he went. Those that knew him will surely smile thinking of him singing the song “Rock n Roll Soul, playing the bass line to the "Tell everybody you know" part" and substituting the words "Tell everybody you know, you know STEVE LIEBOW".


Go ahead, tell everybody you know, I know I will.

The Funkiest Band In The Land Part 2

Went to a concert a few weeks ago, J. Geils at Pine Knob. A couple years ago I saw them at a theater in Detroit and wrote a piece about the show. This is not your typical rock n roll band. I can honestly say there are no other groups that do what they do, play the type of music they play and have a relationship with Detroit like they have.

This is, what can be described as, a White, Funk, Rock Band. The music is, how can I describe it, funky, energetic and most of all, just plain fun. They first started something like 40 years ago and, with a few breaks in between, have been together ever since.

I’ve seen the band, in concert, a number of times and have always enjoyed the show. Seeing them in Detroit is completely different than when I saw them in San Diego. The last time I wrote about them I spoke of how Detroit is like a second home to them. It’s not just me saying it; the band has made it clear on numerous occasions that Detroit literally fed the band in their salad days. A two or three night sellout was not uncommon while they couldn’t even sell out one day in most parts of the country.

So, I went to the show and, as expected, the place was jammed. Yes, they played all their hits and yes, the crowd loved them. I, on the other hand, felt a little sad. I knew that this would be the last time I would ever see them live. I say that because, and I know this sounds weird, besides the fact that the members of the band are all in there 60’s; I noticed something that night that made me think this way. I couldn’t help but feel, that on many of the songs they played, they were just “mailing it in”.

Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying here, they were fun and everyone was on there feet cheering like mad. It’s just that they didn’t seem to be working as hard as they normally do. On numerous songs, Peter Wolf, the lead singer, basically just spoke the words instead of actually singing them. The music was just as powerful as usual but Wolf, normally the highlight of any of their concerts, seemed tired. The show itself was still good and, like I said earlier, the crowd loved it. It just wasn’t what I expected.
I did notice something that made me happy though. I saw the real power of music and what it can do to someone.

I’ve written about how much Peter Wolf means to the band and what an incredible front man he is. On this night I really saw what he feels. Let me explain. I truly saw the music move the man. There is no way that he could plan some of the moves he does. I could actually see the music running through the man and how his body moved in these strange ways, simply moved by the music coursing through his veins. Even though he wasn’t as dynamic as he normally is, I saw what could be called a love affair happening right before my eyes. It was so obvious how much he loved this music. Just the same can be said about the music loving him. The two seemed to be meant for each other and watching the music and Wolf interact with each other was truly a treat.

So, for me, the concert wasn’t the great show I was hoping for. I did however, once again, appreciate rock n roll for, not only what it is, but also what it does to the soul. Peter Wolf embodies what it does; he is almost its messenger, if you will. That’s something I’ll always remember and hope those that were there remember too.

The Luckster

Just got back from the Vet’s, had to put Lucky down. There is no question that the time had come and I did what was right for her. The Vet said that she’d probably had a stroke and it had paralyzed the back half of her body. I had known for a month or so that she wasn’t going to be around much longer and when I heard her crying while just laying on the floor, well, the decision was made for me. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel any pain. She was my friend and I’d never want to see my friend in pain.

I was fortunate to have her in my life for over 12 years. She was already over a year old when she came to live with us so you have to figure she was near 14 when her time came. 12 years is a long time and memories are many.

I remember when we caught her laying down on her stomach with her entire face in her food dish eating her dinner. It was then that we all knew she was a true member of the family. There was also the time that Shelly put a dog door into the sliding glass door out to the backyard. Lucky was so confused; she didn’t have a clue what it was. Shelly had to crawl through it while calling her name in order for Lucky to understand that through that door was the backyard. There are so many more great memories, as we all have about our furry friends, that it would take another 12 years to repeat them all.

She was such a gentle soul and I think that was her greatest trait. She never barked, never had a problem with any other animal and absolutely adored people. All she ever wanted out of life was to be loved and everyone that knew her would comment on how sweet she was. It was always a pleasure having people meet her. She wasn’t a jumper and would just want to be near anyone new. This was truly a case of, just knowing her was to love her.

I will miss her terribly, as I already do. I’ll miss her crying to me every time I would start to peel myself a Banana and me ending up just giving it to her. I’ll miss telling her to put her “Kepi” (sp) down and her coming from wherever in the house she was to put her face on my lap. I’ll miss the way she would lay down by putting her head on the floor and letting her body just drop behind it. Oh, I’ll miss so many things about her but most of all I just miss her being here.

I used to ask her if we were good friends and she would always give a little yelp to let me know we were. We really were. She was my friend and she was my family. I am so grateful for the years we spent together. I have been talking to friends about her and have said that it seemed everyone knew her. Even if you hadn’t met her, you knew her by how much a part of my life she was. I feel a little odd still carrying on about her after a few days but, honestly, I really don’t care. She was my Dog and, as cliché’ as this sounds, my best friend. I can’t imagine what I would have done after the divorce if she hadn’t been with me.

I keep looking up for her and expecting her to walk into the room to ask for something. I feel a little sad when that happens. On the other hand, I hope I feel her presence for years to come.