Tuesday, December 30, 2014

A Major Breakthrough

Last night's post was written on the laptop in my lap. In my recliner.

I have rocketed into the 21st century with a piece of five year old technology. Maybe even older than that.

Courtesy of my son Craig. He had a laptop he doesn't use anymore because he has all the up to date technology. So he gave the magic machine to me.

This could prove quite dangerous. I may become impossible to shut up.

Carol has an unstoppable relationship with computer games. Once she starts she can't stop. She goes upstairs to the computer saying "I'll be down shortly."

Two hours later, after numerous, quite loud exclamations of "I can't beat this goddamn game", she drags her ass downstairs and deigns to feed me.

Up until Sunday night, if I had something burning I just had to get off of my mind......................it had to wait. And when the opportunity finally presented itself, inspiration and energy had often waned.

Not anymore.

The world is at my mercy.

I feel smugly in control and quite hip.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Same Old Same Old (except Sadly Completely Different)

Back to work today for a semi-extended period.

Three days. That's about all I can handle.

12/29. 12/30. 12/31.

Then........................I'm off for four days. Gonna be with Carol for those days. In comfort and peace. Gonna celebrate my birthday on 01/01 with whoever shows up.

Looking forward to it.

I was in a daze today. Barely functioning. Too much sorrow. Too much pain. Especially in contrast to the enormous superficiality of my totally meaningless job.

I really didn't give a shit. I never will again.

I work with a couple of insignificant people. Selfish. Delusional. Back stabbing, agenda driven scum.

Other than that they are perfectly OK.

Given the shock and loss of the past week, I have been driven deep within myself. Thinking about the 61 years I have spent on this earth and wondering how I can make what's left count.

As lost as I was today, as disillusioned and sad and broken as I felt.........................I thought over and over again about Eddie and Kathy and Cori and Carol and.....................

You have to fight to make your life meaningful. The more loss you experience the more driven you become to make a statement, to actually do something with your life.

What the hell is the point of living life on your knees? It is meant to be lived with fist extended drawing blood from any face that gets in the way.

I hurt a lot today and I don't give a shit whether I did a good job or not because the people I work for are exploitive, manipulative, condescending and COLD HEARTED.

They do not deserve my loyalty or my concern.

My family does.

Recently I told you that I only evolve when I am broken.

The past week has broken me significantly.

Ultimately I care only about the healing of those who I love. The people who were hurt the most by untimely death.

Two more days before I can withdraw once again. What will be the benefit of that withdrawal?

I can't say. This is uncharted territory.

Will time soothe the pain of the ones I love?


Even time is not that powerful.

Saturday, December 27, 2014


My nephew, Jonathan Testa, passed away on Wednesday, December 17.

He was 27.

He was my brother's only son.

His death was drug related and is a testament to the hideous power of heroin and the immense inability of our society to deal with it.

As I walk around my house and live my life and get distracted by the little things that have to be done, suddenly, my mind will jolt me with the fact that Jonathan is gone.

Every time that has happened I have grimaced and shaken my head in disbelief.

My mind will not accept it, and will not for a long time to come.

My brother's grief is ten fold. I cannot imagine the enormity of his pain, the helpless sense of loss, the emptiness he is experiencing.

My heart aches to know how deeply Eddie is suffering. My mind recoils at my inability to truly comfort him.

I am ashamed to admit that I did not know Jonathan as well as I should have. Did not see him enough. Did not spend nearly enough time with him.

I do know he was exceptional. He was intelligent with a wicked sense of humor, he was talented in sports and very talented musically, he painted and he probably did ten other things well that I am not even aware of.

He was that kind of man.

 When I was lucky enough to be around him I was aware of his confident sense of self. You couldn't miss it.

I vividly remember the phone call I got from my brother eight or nine years ago telling me that Jonathan had been busted.

I was completely off balance. Had no idea, no clue at all.

He was in college, playing in a band and appeared to be kicking ass. I would never have associated Jonathan with hard drugs.

That is how insidious drugs are, how evil and all consuming. That they could be introduced into a life with so much promise and just ruin it.

Since then it had all been about ups and downs. Sometimes Jonathan was doing well, sometimes he was not. Eddie and Kathy, Jonathan's mom, did everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - to help him out, to support him, to protect him and to let him know he was loved.

So much so that it negatively impacted their own lives.

Didn't matter. They were trying to protect their son.

I don't understand what happened. I don't know if Jonathan got into heroin for kicks or if he was trying to deal with a pain that I knew nothing about.

One small insight into the nature of Jonathan's personality was that when he was doing well he could always land a job. After losing a job, falling back into the clutches of heroin, entering rehab and cleaning up, he could walk into a restaurant and get hired. It happened over and over again.

He even got hired back to a place where he had been previously fired.

I know people who have been unemployed for years and cannot land a job.

That tells you a lot about the kind of man Jonathan was. That people could see his true nature through the confusion and that they would trust him with a job.

Jonathan cooked. He did it well. Another creative aspect of his personality.

He brought a lot to this world and should have brought a lot more.

His wake was a steady stream of family and friends for three solid hours. I was overwhelmed by the number of people who came through that funeral home.

Imagine how many more lives he would have touched had he lived another sixty years.

But I'll tell you something. I have memories of Jonathan as a baby, as a little boy, as a young man. Memories that cannot be taken away from me. I have pictures of him in my house that I will look upon with pride.


At some point my grief will fade into a fierce pride and happiness at having been Jonathan's uncle. I was lucky to have him in my life, lucky to have experienced his amazing essence.

Until then I will ache for Kathy.

I will ache for my brother Ed in a way I have never hurt before. My heart is broken at Jonathan's loss and in the knowledge of the pain Eddie is going through.

Eddie and Kathy raised an exceptional son who became an exceptional man. He brought a lot of love, a lot of happiness, a lot of caring, and a lot of laughs to a lot of lives.

You cannot ask for more from a human being.

We who knew and loved him are grateful.


I read this at the get together after Sarge's memorial service. I was going to write something else today but there is nothing more to say.
There are a lot of people in this room today, a lot of life, and yet there is a huge void. A distinct feeling of emptiness. Feels like something’s missing.

That’s Sarge.

The people in this room know they are lucky to have known Sarge. Those of us who were related to him were even luckier.

 That says a lot about the kind of man Sarge was.

But there are a hell of a lot more people outside this room who also consider themselves lucky to have known Sarge.

And that tells you everything you need to know about the man.

He brought magic to your life, he made you laugh, he made you feel important and you knew he cared.

The phrase “celebration of life” has become a clichĂ© over the years because it is all about people trying to find a positive way to deal with death. Trying to make sense of something that hurts so much.

In Sarge’s case, the words “celebration of life” mean exactly what they were originally intended to mean.

Because he lived his life full throttle, he did it his way and he made so many other peoples’ lives better.

Everybody wants to live life on their own terms, but for most of us, it is much easier said than done.

Sarge was true to his spirit, always.

He was tough, gentle, loving and considerate, funny, insane, free spirited, sensitive and self-less.

The thing that made him so cool was that he did it all so effortlessly. He didn’t have to get in your face to be who he was.

His personality was just there for all to enjoy. He projected strength, quietly.

Unless you pissed him off. Then you were on your own. Sarge didn’t take shit from anybody.

And that is another personality trait we all we wish we had.

I could tell you a hundred stories of insanity I enjoyed with Sarge in various states of altered consciousness. Stories about crimes we committed in the vicinity of the Pocono International Raceway, and much more.

And for every story I could tell there is somebody inside this room or somewhere else who could match it.

Sarge made insanity fun and fear non-existent.

I could also turn around and tell you about a hundred conversations I had with Sarge. Sensitive, thoughtful, meaningful, quiet conversations about life and experiences and hopes and disappointments.

Those were special because I knew I was talking to a man who meant everything he said, who felt everything he said.

No bullshit. Just real life.

I know I am not the only one he spoke to in that way. He touched a lot of people with his openness and his honesty.

Sarge loved to give gifts. I could fill a room with the gifts Sarge gave me. Collectibles and T-shirts and hats and mirrors and lights and memorabilia.

And every time he gave me a gift he made me feel special. Like he had given it a lot of thought.

I loved it when he would take me down to the basement at the Grille and paw through a bunch of racing stuff he had stashed there until he got to whatever it was he had in mind.

He had other stuff stashed down there too, and that made the treasure hunt even better.

On one of his last visits to our house he gave Carol a bright red VW bug. A metal car.

Carol drives a VW bug and it is the love of her life.

She also created a garden in front of our house that is her passion.

Sarge told her to put the bug in the garden and leave it there. Leave it there in the rain and the snow and all the seasons. He told her to let it rust there because that’s what it was meant to do.

The car is covered by snow right now.

That is a perfect example of the thought that Sarge put into giving gifts.

Lots of people have gifts from Sarge that they can hang on to as a reminder of the kind hearted, generous man that he was. But none of us need those reminders.

If he was in your life he was in your heart.

I knew Sarge for something like 38 or 39 years. More than half my life. Many in here knew him longer than that.

I’m standing up here trying to explain what he meant to me, the good things he brought to my life but, ultimately, I can’t do it.

What I am really doing is representing everyone who knew and loved Sarge.  Because he gave all of us something to remember. Something special.

He was a rare individual who made you feel good about yourself. He was always there to listen to you, to give you advice and to help you out.

And he made you laugh. Above all else he made you laugh.

Sarge was larger than life.

His shoes will never be filled.



Friday, December 26, 2014


Not sure what is going to come out of me today. I have never been in this situation before.

And hope never to be again.

Today is December 26. The day after Christmas, 2014.

Sarge is gone. Jonathan is gone.

My family has been through a lot of pain, a lot of tears in the past week and it will not stop for some time to come.

When I say my family I include Carol's family and Cori's family and Kathy's family.

And all the friends.

These deaths have touched so many people it is overwhelming.

Sarge's wake and Jonathan's wake were an endless stream of people mourning for hours.

Any death sucks. But it was strikingly obvious to any outsider that these two lives were special. The number of people whose lives they affected was overwhelming.

We, the family and close friends, already knew this. We were lucky enough to live it.

Two wakes, two days in a row, that communicated the message loud and clear that these two men didn't just live, they intertwined their life with yours and made your life better.

That is a rare and meaningful situation.

My brother Ed came up on Christmas Eve and spent the night. We had a magnificent meal, courtesy of Ed. We talked, we watched a movie and laughed.

My sons and their women came up on Christmas day. Despite the circumstances, we had a very good day. Lots of conversation, lots of laughter, lots of emotion.

It was deeply meaningful in a way it had never been before. It is the worst crime to take life and relatives and friends for granted. It is a shame that it takes death to jolt you out of complacency.

I will never again take anyone I love for granted.


I kept looking around, I fought back tears over and over again. I looked at my brother, who I have looked up to forever and marveled at his strength.

He made everybody laugh over and over again with his typical laser-like wit.

Cori worked on Christmas day. I'm sure she did it in part to keep her mind off Sarge, as much as that is possible. I also have a sneaking suspicion she also did it to allow someone else to spend the day with family.

She is that loving and considerate.

I thought about Eddie and Kathy and Cori all day long. I have no idea what they are going through. But I know they were strong and gave strength to those who mourned their pain.

These are amazing people.

I watched my strong wife Carol, who I love so much, put on a magnificent Christmas feast. Even though I know she is in a great deal of pain, mourning the loss of her baby brother.

She is an amazing woman.

I was lucky yesterday. I was surrounded by family on Christmas day. Close to my brother who is mourning the loss of his son. Close to my wife who is mourning the loss of her brother. I got to talk to Kathy, Jonathan's mom, and Cori, Sarge's wife.

I was with my sons and their women, four people who I worship and love so deeply it consumes me.

I am lucky to have these people in my life. I have always known that.

From now on I will hold them tighter than ever before. I will keep them closer than ever before.

They are my magic.

They are my life.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

To Cori

Cori and Sarge. Sarge and Cori.

You might as well get rid of the "and" and create a new name.

CoriSarge. Or SargeCori.

Because that is what they were. They were one.

Man, they were amazing.

No other woman on this planet could have been married to Sarge. Nobody. She was perfect for him.

She knew when to let Sarge be Sarge; she knew when to stand up to him. She did it naturally because she knew exactly who her husband was and she knows exactly who she is.

Sarge could never have been married to a wimp, nor could he ever have been married to a piranha. He needed a woman he could love. He needed a woman who would love him as he was. He needed a woman he could respect.

Cori is all that and more.

She did not make him better, he did not make her better. He was and she is perfect exactly as themselves.

But there was a magic there between them, something special, a vibe that everyone could feel. When you stepped into their aura you knew good things, fun things, were about to happen.

Cori did not exist in Sarge's shadow, as a weaker woman would have. She casts her own shadow and it is formidable.

Let me tell you something. I never would have messed with Sarge. He would have kicked my ass. And I will never mess with Cori either. She can kick my ass too.

Together they created an atmosphere at Sarges' Tailgate Grille that was perfect. I have never been in any other bar or restaurant where I felt more comfortable.

And believe me I have done my homework. I have been in a lot of bars.

The comfort Carol and I felt there was not just because we are family. If we weren't family it would not have mattered. The Grille was an extension of who Cori and Sarge were. When you walked in there you were among friends.

You felt it. You knew it. It was in the air, it was in the contentment of the people sitting at the bar, the happiness of the people dining in the restaurant.

The Grille would not have been the Grille without Sarge. The Grille would not have been the Grille without Cori.


Cori is her own woman, she is sharp, a no bullshit kind of woman. She also has a direct, wicked sense of humor, a streak of insanity, a compassionate and caring and loving nature, and a quiet cool.

We visited Cori and Sarge a lot when he was at Seal Rock. I looked a round a lot. I took it all in.

Because it broke my heart to see Sarge in that setting because I know he hated being in that situation.

The thing I noticed most powerfully was the way Cori looked into Sarge's eyes. I saw it time and time again as she tended to his needs, worked so hard to make him physically comfortable and tried so hard to comfort him emotionally.

She look directly into his eyes as they talked. And he looked up into her eyes with complete trust and pure love. Words could never have expressed what their eye to eye contact did.

The intensity of that emotion blew me away and broke me down every time. It was the ultimate expression of the ultimate love.

No one could have comforted Sarge the way Cori did. No one would have been strong enough to do it.

None of this surprised me. I have been around Cori and Sarge for almost 40 years. I have seen the love she gave him, the laughter she inspired in him, the strength she drew from him and the strength she gave to him.

 Cori told us she was looking into Sarge's eyes as he was looking into her hers at the end. Holding him and talking to him.

He was a very lucky man. He took that look and that love with him into his new existence. That's all the ammunition he will need to deal with his new situation.

Cori is loved and appreciated and respected deeply. Always has been. Always will be.

Sarge was an amazing man.

Cori is an amazing woman.

Carol and I love you deeply, Cori.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Cancer And Drugs

I'm a little pissed off at death today.

Actually I am a LOT pissed off at death.

On Wednesday morning at 3:45 a.m. Carol and I got a call that her brother Sarge had passed away.

He was 59.

He had been battling cancer for years and doing it with courage and style. He kept his sense of humor, he maintained his fiercely individualistic personality.

We could all see it coming but it doesn't matter.

It hurts.

This morning we got a call at 6:00 a.m. from my brother telling us that his son Jonathan died from an overdose.

He was 27.

He had been dealing with addiction for years. Had his good periods, had his tough periods. Put his parents through hell. Obviously he was living his own personal hell.

We were all aware of the possibility but it doesn't matter.

It hurts.

Sarge lost his life to cancer; Jonathan lost his life to drugs.

59 and 27.

If you add their ages together you get a sum that should represent one life. And even that is too short.

What the hell ever happened to natural causes? What the hell ever happened to living a life and dying naturally in old age?

Life is tough enough. Death is tough enough.

Why do we need disease? Why do we need torment and twisted ways to deal with it?

Sarge's obituary should have read: "Kenneth "Sarge" Sargent died today of natural causes at the age of 93. He lived a robust, independent life, staying true to his soul always. He touched so many lives they cannot be counted. He made his mark on the world and leaves a void that can never be filled."

Jonathan's obituary should have read: "Jonathan Testa died today at the age of 93. He was an accomplished musician and credited his father Ed as his inspiration. He was naturally gifted at sports, which he always said he inherited from his father's genes. He leaves behind three children and five grandchildren. He lived a successful life and gave back as much love as he received."

That is how it should have been.

But life does not play fair. Death does not play fair.

Sarge lived his own life and brought so much happiness to so many people. His life was cut way too short. He had a lot more to give. There will be people whose lives will be smaller for not having come in contact with Sarge.

Jonathan's life got cut short before he had a chance to live it. He never had a chance to redeem himself, to overcome his demons and to see what the world had to offer. To see what he could bring to this world to make it a little more enjoyable.

These two deaths are overwhelming.

Enough already.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Cycles Of Emotion

Got a different perspective on Christmas.

Specifically Christmas carols.

I have been examining my reaction to these songs. I get a gut feeling, an immediate reaction to the real Christmas carols.

Not the Rudolphs, not the Jingle Bells, not the Frostys.

The real songs. The soaring, majestic ones that inspire reflection.

Call it melancholia, call it mild despair, call it insanity. It is not a happy feeling. It is a deeply emotional feeling. A thoughtful emotion. A longing.

By the way, and you have heard me rage about this before, I must also dismiss "Wonderful Christmastime" by Paul McCartney.

Here you have two creative geniuses. John Lennon and Paul McCartney. McCartney writes "Wonderful Christmastime." Lennon writes "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)."

Paul's song is sappy and simplistic. Unworthy of his creative powers.

John's song is reflective and challenging. I don't like the political correctness of the title, though. Although knowing John personally as I do, he was probably attempting to make the message all inclusive.

Anyway, his song encourages you to take a look at the past year of your life. What have you done? His good wishes go out to all people and all races. He has the balls to suggest that war could end, if you want it. He wishes you a happy new year and hopes it's a good one without any fear.

Listening to an all Christmas song station on the radio in the Big Ride the other day. They played "Wonderful Christmastime" and followed that immediately with "The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late)."

I found that quite appropriate.

But I digress.

Visiting Sarge last Sunday and Christmas carolers stalked the halls. At first I thought "Oh, Christ, here we go."

Until they got close to us. Remember the elderly lady who kept us company? The one who rooted for the team in the yellow pants?

Her eyes lit up as the carolers approached. I was watching her. Her eyes lit up in pure joy. It meant something to her. It meant a lot to her.

It was so good to see happiness spread across her face.

The carolers handed out homemade Christmas cards to the residents. Cards created by the children in the group.

She was thrilled to get hers. She thanked the kid from her heart. She was so excited to show it to us.

Sarge even sang a bit, along with the carolers.

It meant something to him too.

As I continue to dissect my relationship with Christmas carols, it is comforting to know the magical effect they can have.

Carol erected our Christmas tree last Saturday as I worked. I don't know how she did it alone. She wrestled its massiveness into Christmas solace.

I was meditating on the lights the other night. Wondering if my reaction to them is as a child with no previous experience. An infant mesmerized by the lights.

I don't think so, though. Because they inspire the same reaction in me as do real Christmas songs.

And the wheel goes 'round and 'round.

Can We Change

Watching Morning Joe this morning.

They were discussing the subject of torture vis a vis (always wanted to use that phrase) national security.

Need to have a national discussion.

Been absorbing all the horror of race killings and the refusal to indict.

Need to have a national discussion on race.

That's what I keep hearing from the talking heads. We need to have a national discussion. A frank, open and honest debate. With the noble goal of achieving a meeting of the minds.

That is the problem, folks. All we do is talk.

These problems are huge. They are of a moral nature.

The only true way to address them is to look into the souls of men. The only true way to change them is to change what is evil in the soul of mankind.

Call me pessimistic (and many do) but I don't think we have that capability.

The mutation that has warped the soul of humanity has created permanent damage.

I am not even sure a mutation has occurred. Maybe this is just the way we are. However, I don't want to believe that. I think we started out on a higher moral ground and were corrupted along the way.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. A well worn phrase.

I think moral evil is an all consuming evil.

We need to look into the soul of mankind. Can you imagine how horrifying that would be?

What would it be like to look into the soul of a person who despises another because of the color of their skin. How poisonous, how offensive, how bile-coated, how cold and lifeless must that soul be?

Access to a soul like that would probably result in death. Death of the observer, unfortunately.

Evil lives on.

Can we change?

The Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964. The law forbade discrimination on the basis of sex as well as race in hiring, promoting, and firing. The Equal Employment Opportunity Commission was created to implement that law. The EEOC's role has been expanded to enforce laws that prohibit discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, national origin, disability or age in hiring, promoting, firing, testing, setting wages, apprenticeship and all other terms and conditions of employment.

Blood was shed to bring about the creation of this law.

It changed the legal environment.

It did not change minds.

Racial prejudice bubbled below the surface since then, although there is no shortage of instances when that prejudice has erupted like a volcano.

In actions, in discussions, in arguments.

Racial prejudice blew right back into the open in 2008 when Barack Obama was elected President of the United States. It has gone even more public in the last few years with endless instances of racial killings gone unpunished.

It has been 50 years since the passing of the Civil Rights Act in 1964.

Can we change?

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

A Little Humor To Help You Digest What Follows

"Frisbeetarianism is the belief that when you die, your soul goes up on the roof and gets stuck."

George Carlin

Bleak Verse

"He thought, the most indecent sight on earth, a pawnshop window. The things which had been sacred to men, and the things which had been precious, surrendered to the sight of all, to the pawing and the bargaining, trash to the indifferent eyes of strangers, the equality of a junk heap, typewriters and violins - the tools of dreams, old photographs and wedding rings - the tags of love, together with soiled trousers, coffee pots, ash trays, pornographic plaster figures; the refuse of despair, pledged, not sold, not cut off in clean finality, but hocked to a stillborn hope, never to be redeemed."

From "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand

The goddamn sentence builds from a dark perspective, grows and takes on a life of its own.

And hammers you with "the refuse of despair"


"a stillborn hope".

Stillborn hope?

Nothing could be darker.

Mighty Big Car (Thanks Skip)

My friend Skip turned me on yesterday to the perfect song to celebrate my love affair with The Big Ride.

"Mighty Big Car" by Fred Eaglesmith.

"Down on the corner, up on the avenue,
people are pointin', calling out after you.
Hands on their hips, their eyes getting wider,
They can't believe the thing that yer drivin'.

28 feet from bumper to bumper
The last of the sweet old time gas guzzlers
Hard to drive harder to park but
when you do somebody remarks
That's a mighty big car

Elvis had one and so did Hank
It don't look like money
It looks like the bank
Makes a scene every time you stop it
Rides like a dream
Goes like a rocket
That's a mighty big car

Headlights thick as mason jars
Everybody says it looks like Mars
Shinier than a country star
And nothing ever looked as good in your front yard
Brighter than an aluminum trailer
Curvy windshields and tinted mirrors
Grill looks like a café sign
And the whitewalls drive ya out of yer mind
That's a mighty big car"

Heavy Duty Lyrics

From "Kiss The Children" by Gram Parsons.

The song is about his woman who is leaving him. Leaving him and the kids.

One line that breaks your heart is "and kiss the children for me, please, before you go."

And then there is this:

"so don't play this crazy game with me no longer
'cause I won't be able to resist my rage
And the gun that's hangin' on the kitchen wall, dear
Is like the road sign pointing straight to satan's cage"

Something Broke - Redux

In a nutshell, what I was trying to say is this.

I create a lot of my own pain. The dark hallways of my diseased mind twist reality into a personalized suffering that suffocates my soul.

That does not matter.

The pain that did me in on Sunday, the pain that broke me, was the pain of others.

People that I love.

The pain of watching Sarge struggle. The pain of knowing how hard Cori is suffering. The pain of knowing how much Sarge's struggle hurts Carol. The pain that Keith and Emily experienced that night over an out of the blue and frightening emergency with a beloved pet.

It was too much pain in one day for me to comprehend.

I complain about my own life. What I realized that night is that what I really care about is the happiness and the health of the people I love.

What I realized that night is that I allow petty things to consume me. To distract me and waste my life and waste my happiness.

What I realized is that I allow petty people to steal my time.

Something broke in me that night.

There will be consequences.

Monday, December 8, 2014

Something Broke (As NASCAR Drivers Always Say)

Grab a drink. This is a long one.

My brain is tiny so it's easily overwhelmed.

But for one solid year now it has been receiving input designed to foment change. Change of a deep and personal nature.

Life saving change.

You know the early chapters. Last year around this time I got the pinched nerve in the neck thing. Lots of pain for quite a while.

Then I went from reading glasses to bi-focals. The bi-focals sucked so I progressed merrily to tri-focals.

Then I was diagnosed with high blood pressure for the first time in my life.

The blood pressure saga continues a year later. Initially Dr. Feelgood started me out on 5 mg of a drug. It did not produce the desired results so she upped it to 10 mg. Had a physical last Thursday, she was still not happy so she switched me to a higher dosage of a different drug.

While I was there she also felt impelled to hand me and discuss with me the "Advance Care Planning Guide." A pamphlet that reviews decisions you should make and documents you should sign before you become incapacitated and cannot do it.

So everyone knows whether or not to shut down your life support systems, or just inject whiskey into your intravenous tubes as you lay helpless close to death. (Editor's note to family: Please choose the latter, and it better be Crown Royal. I can identify cheap whiskey even in a coma).

That was a cheery discussion to have weeks before Christmas.

And of course my job continues to be ice picks in my eyeballs.

All of this is background noise for where my head is at right now.

Carol and I have been motoring up to Maine a lot recently to visit Sarge as he continues to spit in the face of cancer.

Yesterday was cool because Paula and Bill joined us; Kevin and Wayne were there as well. Sarge was sleeping when we arrived so we all congregated in a waiting area along with Cori.

It was good to sit and talk.

An elderly lady walkered her way into the room. We had football on the TV. She asked me who was playing. I told her it was the Steelers and the Bengals. She asked which ones were wearing the yellow pants. I told her the Steelers and she said she would root for them.

Very cool.

She settled down and began working on a puzzle. I think she was just happy to be around other people.

The rehab place is exceptionally nice as long as you don't look around.

If you look around you see the future.

People in walkers and wheelchairs shuffling and creeping along with nothing to do. Trying to kill time, which is pretty ironic when you consider the situation.

Last time we were there I saw a guy in a bed in the hall, asleep with his head tilted back and his mouth open. He looked like the living personalization of "The Scream" by Edvard Munch.

That image has stuck with me.

Eventually Sarge woke up and was wheeled out to the room we were in. It is so tough to see him in this condition. It is tough for me because of all the laughs and insanity we have shared together. Laughs and insanity we will never share again, at least not in that way.

It is exceptionally tough for Carol. Sarge is her baby brother. It breaks my heart to know how much her heart aches. But she is tough and she handles it well.


Sarge is Sarge. We talked, he made us laugh. In fact when we first got there I was alone in the room with him and Cori. Cori gently woke him up and told him I was there. He said hi, I said hi, Cori told him everybody was there and asked if he wanted to wake up. He said "I don't want to be forced to wake up."

He maintains his sense of humor and his independence.

Paula brought some fudgy, peanut-buttery goodness. She offered one to Sarge which he enjoyed. He also asked "You didn't smuggle in a joint, did you?"

He also tried to tell a joke about five nurses which Cori immediately put an end to because the elderly lady was still in the room.

Carol and I cannot wait to hear that joke on our next visit.

Once again I  was overwhelmed by the love between Cori and Sarge. She stood over his wheelchair looking down into his eyes, he sat looking up into hers. You could feel the love, the tenderness and the care. You could feel Sarge wishing he was not in this situation, you could feel Cori vibing that she would take care of him.

You could sense as Sarge looked up at her that she is the one person in this world that he trusts without exception.

We got home and there was a message on the machine from Keith talking about a bad experience with his dog, Cooper. We called him immediately.

Keith and Emily had a frightening experience with Cooper the night before, which resulted in a 2 hour drive in the middle of the night to a pet care facility for emergency evaluation and surgery.

It was heartbreaking to listen to Keith talk about it. Cooper is still at the facility and will be there for a week or so. Keith and Emily plan to drive up during the week to visit and comfort him.

Then there will be rehab; the emergency involved his back and his ability to walk.

My nerves were raw from the visit to Maine. Carol's were too. Then to listen to Keith's story and to know what my son and his wife went through just overwhelmed me.

Apparently I am not much of a thinker. I don't seem able to absorb bad things and to learn from them.

I need to break.

A few weeks ago we visited Paula and Bill and watched THE PATS. I got very drunk. Afterwards I was disgusted with myself. I did not enjoy the game, I did not enjoy Paula and Bill's company, I ruined my wife's day.

I broke that day. Since that day I am drinking much less.

I felt like something broke in me last night, listening to Keith.

I started thinking about all the petty shit I allow to waste my life.  I thought about all the warnings I have received in the past year.

Sarge didn't get any warnings. He went from larger than life to a wheelchair in a relatively short time.

My friend Alan didn't get any warnings. He had a stroke many years ago that ruined his life. He hasn't been able to work since and one of his arms is extremely limited in mobility.

He hates it.

My friend Chip didn't get any warnings. He died of a heart attack in his driveway after a day at work.

At the age of 45.

When I was looking at Sarge yesterday, I thought I should be the one in that wheelchair. He should be visiting me.

Sarge has lived his life with gusto. He has always been his own man, fiercely independent and true to his soul.

That is how life is meant to be lived.

I have wasted a large chunk of my life walking in someone else's shoes.

When I got off the phone with Keith I realized that I am not the one in the wheelchair. That it would not solve anything for me to exchange places with Sarge.

I realized that what I want is for Sarge to get healthy and for me to start living.

What I want is happiness for my sons and their women. Contentment and happiness for my wife, who I love so much. Peace and happiness for my brother.

Felt like something broke in me last night.

Feels like maybe I am learning a thing or two about life.

Friday, December 5, 2014

When Will I Learn?

It pisses me off that every single time I type the word judgment, I spell it j-u-d-g-e-m-e-n-t.

Pain So Deep

Just read a scene in "The Fountainhead" that scorched my soul.

The kind of scene that left me numb, sitting quietly with the book in my hands, for a few seconds until I could snap my mind back  to my own reality.

Or back from my own reality.

A broken character sits in the office of a man he respects. A man of muscled individuality. The man is broken because his entire life has been a fraud. He achieved great monetary and professional success as an architect. But he never had an original thought. He succeeded by stealing other men's ideas, and by schmoozing and politicking his way to the top.

His career is fading; he has taken up painting for solace. He rented a shack in the woods and disappears there from the business world for days. Painting. Alone. It gives him peace.

He shows the paintings to this man that he respects. No one else has ever seen them. He waits quietly for an opinion without coming out and asking for one.

"He handed to Roark six of his canvasses. Roark looked at them, one after another. He took a longer time than he needed. When he could trust himself to lift his eyes, he shook his head in silent answer to the word Keating had not pronounced.

'It's too late, Peter', he said gently.

Keating nodded. 'Guess I.....knew that.'

When Keating had gone, Roark leaned against the door, closing his eyes. He was sick with pity. He had never felt this before - not when Henry Cameron collapsed in his office at his feet, not when he saw Steven Mallory sobbing on a bed before him. Those moments had been clean. But this was pity - this complete awareness of a man without worth or hope, this sense of finality, of the not to be redeemed. There was shame in this feeling - his own shame that he should have to pronounce such judgment on  man, that he should know an emotion which contained no shred of respect.

This is pity, he thought, and then he lifted his head in wonder. He thought that there must be something terribly wrong with a world in which this monstrous feeling is called a virtue."


"That's the sort of thing I want you to understand. To sell your soul is the easiest thing in the world. That's what everybody does, every hour of his life. If I asked you to keep your soul - would you understand why that's much harder?"

From "The Fountainhead"

Don't Read This - It Might Become Your Mirror

"I often think that he's the only one of us who has achieved immortality. I don't mean in the sense of fame and I don't mean that he won't die some day. But he's living it. I think he is what the conception really means. You know how people long to be eternal. But they die with every day that passes. When you meet them, they're not what you met last. In any given hour, they kill some part of themselves. They change, they deny, they contradict - and they call it growth. At the end, there's nothing left, nothing unreversed or unbetrayed; as if there had never been an entity, only a succession of adjectives fading in and out on an unformed mass. How do they expect a permanence which they have never held for a single moment? But Howard - one can imagine him existing forever."

Two characters from "The Fountainhead" discussing another character - Howard - who remains fiercely committed to his own soul, his own unique identity, no matter the consequence, no matter the situation, no matter the social recrimination.

A Trillion?

I have read a trillion books, so it always delights me when a book intrigues me.

There is a certain predictability to stories. As different as each is, there are threads that run through them that unite them.

Subtle for the most part because the books I typically choose are more demanding than every day tripe.

Still that commonality exists, however thin, however non-transparent.

"The Fountainhead" intrigues the hell out of me.

On one level, it feels like subliminal advertising. Ayn Rand's theory of Objectivism twists throughout the plot. But since I am not yet well versed on exactly what that philosophy is, I feel it gently nudging up against my mind instead of bashing its way through my skull.

On another level, from the standpoint of just digging on the characters and the plot, nothing is predictable. Relationships between characters surprise me, things that they do amaze me, the things they say challenge me, twists and turns abound.

And the story keeps manipulating my emotions.

I have no idea where this book is headed. And I am 583 pages in.

What a delightful experience.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Nothing Is Ever Clean and Green

Went to see Bob Seeger and J. Geils Saturday night.

Fucking amazing show. I will tell you all about it further on down the line.

Monday I'm driving to Hell at The Asylum, listening to sports talk radio on WEEI. I have been doing that lately to shake things up. Who the hell needs music?

They are having a debate about who's legacy is greater - Bob Seeger's or Meatloaf's. Because one of the hosts was at the concert.

I'm driving to Hell at The Asylum on Tuesday morning and these same guys are having a discussion about Mark Parenteau. He was a DJ on WBCN back in the day. Back in my day.

Parenteau was at the concert too. He is 64 and suffering with spinal stenosis. He felt this could be the last concert he ever attends. He made the effort because he claims he is the guy who introduced Bob Seeger to Peter Wolf in 1967. Wolf is the singer for the Geils band.

Neither Seeger nor Wolf made the effort to say hello to Parenteau.

Could be a story there or not. I was more interested in the fact that I heard  references to the concert two days in a row.

I say that because the concert was huge. Much bigger, much more amazing than I expected. Ripples afterward made sense to me.

I loved Parenteau. He was the afternoon drive time guy. He lit the smoking lamp every afternoon at 5:00. We all knew what the smoking lamp signified.

He had a canned prelude to the official lighting of the smoking lamp with spoken snippets of this and snippets of that. Same thing every day and I loved it.

Part of the shtick was the "what we have hear is a failure to communicate" quote. Somehow he worked in a reference to "morons, psychopaths and mental defectives." I stole that phrase, I love it and I have used it all my life.

A horn went off after the prelude and it was officially smoking lamp time.

I dug the guy, I loved the station and I wish that kind of radio freedom and innovation still existed. BCN was considered one of the most progressive stations in the country for decades and many of their DJ's and other  "on air" talent are famous.

I got nostalgic for Parenteau after hearing the pseudo jocks talk about him so I looked him up this morning.

And found this.

Mark Parenteau served three years in federal prison for sexually abusing a child. He had been indicted for sexual abuse of minors, prostitution and conspiracy. He pled guilty to a single charge of child sexual abuse.

Now he has spinal stenosis. Punishment? Karma?

That is not what I am focusing on.

I went digging with a warm feeling of nostalgia. With a sense of awe and contentment that I experienced the WBCN era and that I was smart enough to know what it was all about and to appreciate it.

And I end up stumbling over child sexual abuse and a debilitating disease.

Pure joy does not exist except in the relationship between parent and child. If you do it right.

I suppose it has always been this way. Humans are frail, weak and spiteful. We are an insult to the promise that we hold as "higher" life forms.

It's just that the way it is now, you can't get away from ugly reality. It is in your face every second of every day.

I am not saying I want to ignore Parenteau's failings as a human. I am saying that I wish just for once a dream, a memory, a feeling could be untainted.

Too much to ask.

For those who dug BCN, here is a list of names and references to spark you and bring some life back into your dullness:

Charles Laquidara
The Cosmic Muffin
Duane Ingalls Glasscock
Tami Heide
The Big Matrress
Carter Alan
J.J. Jackson
Danny Schechter The News Dissector
Ken Shelton
Billy West
Peter Wolf (yeah, he DJ'ed)

Tuesday, December 2, 2014


Please be exceedingly careful.

2014 is about to end. Went by pretty damn quick didn't it?

Don't trip over the line, don't fall into 2015.

Above all - don't stumble around in 2015 the way you stumbled all across 2014.

Take a different perspective. Manufacture change.

Change your life in some small way just so you can prove to yourself that you are actually alive.

Feeling dead inside is not a good precedent to carry forward from year to year.

A Most Romantic Line

"I don't want no damage, but how'm I gonna manage with you?"

From "Hold Me" - Fleetwood Mac

Christmas Oozing

Christmas is leaking all over me.

It's inevitable. Christmas oozes.

I noticed it today at The Asylum. Got the Christmas music cranking and it got to me.

I'm not sure how it gets to me, or if it gets to me the way it is meant to get to me, but get to me it does.

In a melancholy way.

First of all I hate the happy time songs. The kiddie songs. Frosty the Snowman. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Holly Jolly Goddamn Christmas.

They don't make me happy. They don't make me smile. They make me shudder.

I like the heavy duty songs. White Christmas. Silent Night. Oh Come All Ye Faithful. These are the songs that summon what passes for Christmas spirit in me.

I think my Christmas emotion is one of wishing. I wish it was truly a season to bring joy. A season that could make people happy in a transformative way. I wish Christmas magic actually existed.

This cross references against my despair at the phoniness of the season. The hype. The pressure people feel to shop and buy and wrap and give against all logic.

My despair at how quickly the season evaporates.

I like the novelty of it. This sudden explosion of trees and wreaths and decorations and quality baked goods and lights in windows.

The whole world suddenly looks different. It is change. It snaps you out of life-lethargy, makes you sit up and notice.

I heard my first "Merry Christmas" tonight. I was in Rite-Aid checking my blood pressure. On my way out a woman wished a friend a Merry Christmas. She sounded sincere.

How's that for contrast? Here I am measuring my mortality against a backdrop of manufactured merry.

I don't want anyone to say "Merry Christmas" unless they mean it. You can hear it in their voice either way. If they are saying it because it is between Thanksgiving and Christmas and that's just what you do, I want them executed.

If they say it with sincerity, if they are truly wishing you good things, I want to kiss them.

I am nowhere man again this year. I feel nothing. Winter snuck up on me and I am furious at it, Thanksgiving snuck up on me, and now Christmas is lurking in the cold right around the corner.

(Editor's note - Thanksgiving was magnificent. It always is with my family. I will probably talk about it at some point).

Christmas is stirring in me. I felt it today with the Christmas music. A melancholy twinge.

I don't know where it is heading though. I don't know how much I will feel or whether or not I will enjoy what I feel.

I want magic. I want special. I want joy.

I'm pretty dead inside but I can probably squeeze some happiness out of the blackness.

It is an odd sensation. To hear a Christmas song that I like, for my emotions to be stirred in a hopeful "I wish Christmas could actually do good" kind of way. To have that feeling surface against the complete lack of hope I am experiencing right now of ever twisting my life around to be something I could look at proudly in retrospect.

Something is better than nothing.

Carol and I will erect our massive Christmas tree and I will meditate on it in the surrounding darkness.

Could be cool.

One never knows.

Thursday, November 27, 2014


"When you have limited brain power, the phrase - I have a lot on my mind - doesn't pack much of a punch."


Monday, November 24, 2014


"My future is about as bright as that of Cary Agos."


Cowardly Commercialism

Many of the ads for "Black Friday" have a common theme.

They say "Black Friday starts on Thursday at 6 p.m." Or some variation.

They don't have the guts to say Black Friday begins on Thanksgiving.

If you are going to exploit your employees' desperation for a fatter paycheck, corporate greed, and the public's indifference to the quality of life of fellow humans, be honest about it.

One aspect of this is the sad truth that many Americans are barely surviving and feel that overtime earned by working a holiday is worth the sacrifice of family. I am hoping that all employers are required to pay OT on that day. I am praying that is true.

I also know that any corporation that can get away with it will pay straight time. And there are desperate Americans who will feel that is worth the family sacrifice too.

Another aspect is that many employees are not given the choice of whether or not to work on Thanksgiving.

K-Mart. I did some reading up on these people and it appears that employees will be scheduled whether they like it or not. Work or be fired.

They open at 6:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving and remain open for 42 hours.

The company spins the situation by saying they try to fill the shifts with volunteers or seasonal hires. However the following signs, posted in K-Mart locations in employee break areas say: "Attention associates - No time off requests will be honored from November 23rd through January 1st due to holiday shopping." And

"Attention All Team Members - Please be advised that on Thanksgiving, Black Friday and Saturday, all team members will be scheduled for the needs of the business. Availabilities will not be accommodated. Thank You. Management."

The thank you is a nice touch.

In addition, many employees are not told until the last minute whether or not they are required to work the holiday. It is as if the company is trying to upset the lives of these people as much as possible. One employee claims in the past her schedule was not made available until the day before Thanksgiving.

She had to work the holiday.

How the hell do you plan for Thanksgiving given that type of uncertainty and disrespect?

Bear in mind that corporations who decide not to open on Thanksgiving may not be entirely altruistic.

It is considered good PR considering the backlash associated with opening on Thanksgiving. And consumer research indicates that 70% of holiday shopping takes place after Thanksgiving.

In the interest of open mindedness I happily admit that there are stores who close on Thanksgiving for the right reason. I applaud them. I love them.

Insight into the poisoned psyches of Americans: A survey by consulting firm Accenture shows that 45% of Americans plan to shop on Thanksgiving. 45%. That is an increase from last year's 38%.

A lot of cold hearted, selfish, insensitive individuals out there.

Dig this half assed stupidity from Radio Shack. They initially announced they would open from 8:00 a.m.to midnight on Thanksgiving. They changed their tune and decided to close from noon to 5:00 p.m. to "give workers a break."

A corporate memo from chief executive Joe Magnacca,references "issues with personal scheduling" and says the break would "eliminate that concern and still capture the opportunity in the marketplace."

What an idiot.

There can be no argument that stores opening on Thanksgiving and forcing employees to work on that day is disgusting. It is a soul suffocating, life nullifying and horrible thing. When corporations decide for their employees that sales trump family in every situation, family life is dead.

A partial list of stores that will be open on Thanksgiving Day, November 27, 2014: K-Mart, Wal-Mart, J.C.Penny, Best Buy, Toys 'R' Us, Kohl's, Macy's, Sears and Target.

A partial list of stores that will be closed on Thanksgiving Day, November 27, 2014: Barnes and Noble, Bed, Bath and Beyond, B.J's, Burlington Coat Factory, Costco, Home Depot, Joann Fabrics, Sam's Club and T.J. Maxx.

You make the choice.

Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

Previous to this time but not this place I warned you about a corporation called BDO.

At the time I was seeing ads with some frequency touting the supremacy of this organization. The ads abated somewhat in frequency but.................

for some strange reason with the advent of the holiday season I am seeing ads with frightening frequency.

From their website: "BDO is the brand name for BDO USA, LLP, a U.S. Professional services firm providing assurance, tax, financial advisory and consulting services to a wide range of publicly traded and privately held companies."

First of all, any company with that many initials in its name is more frightening than the best Stephen King novel.

In the U.S. the firm has 52 offices and more than 400 alliance firm locations nationwide. In addition, "as an independent Member firm of BDO International Limited, BDO serves multi-national clients through a global network of 1,264 offices in 144 countries."

BDO stands for Binder Dijker Otte. These were the original names of their UK, Dutch and German member firms.

They are the fifth largest accountancy network in the world. They reported Global Fee Income of all BDO member firms for the fiscal year ending 9/30/13 totaling $6.45 billion.

In their website they brag about their flexible approach to the work environment, beginning with the following sentence: "Technology and globalization have transformed "work" into a 24/7 reality by eliminating the traditional boundaries around work and our everyday lives."


This is the company featured in those adds where you see and hear high powered professionals discussing  an overwhelming work situation. Typically a situation with corporate global financial implications.

The Dufus in the commercial says "But we don't have the resources to handle that."

The Hero says: "I know. That's why I called in BDO."

The only thing that would perfect each commercial would be if the Hero made the sign of the cross as he/she spoke BDO's name.

You know the world is rapidly heading to a place where there is only one employer. All working stiffs will work for this one company.

Or perish.

I have identified BDO as that company. As that future.

Polish up your resume. Perfect your ass kissing skills.


"Men are brothers, you know, and they have a great instinct for brotherhood - except in boards, unions, corporations and other chain gangs."

From "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand


"He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal."

John 12:25 King James Version

Oh nooooooooooooooooooooooo.................................

Saturday, November 22, 2014

My God - What Have I Done?

As you know, I picked up a copy of "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand.

I have heard her name for years, heard about her books for years. Her name and philosophy were bandied about quite prominently in recent political elections.

Mostly by republicans, who of course are not intelligent enough to understand in purity anything falling under the category of philosophy.

I love the book. I am digging it quite deeply. It is an interesting read because I don't know who to expect to be the hero, the winner, of the story, and who to expect to be the villain, the loser.

Scenarios are turned on their head because of Ayn Rand's philosophy of Objectivism.

I love the story so much I dashed right out and bought a copy of "Alas Shrugged", her follow up book which is widely acclaimed to be her crowning achievement.

I have rediscovered book stores.

Used to be, back in the day, back when I was more in touch with who I am, I would regularly visit a used bookstore named "The Book Depot."

Magnificent place. Everything you want a used book store to be.

Old building, creaky, uneven floors, a wood burning stove giving off not quite enough heat in the winter, owners and employees who worship the written word. People who would engage you in half hour conversations about authors, books, poetry, music and life.

It was my church.

I have gotten away from it as I have gotten away from myself.


The Toadstool Bookstore exists near to where I work. I have taken to escaping there at lunch. Browsing peacefully through the used book section rather than punching my boss in the face.

That is where I bought "The Fountainhead." That is where I bought "Atlas Shrugged."

My dilemma is as follows:

"The Fountainhead" is 700 pages of fine print. "Atlas Shrugged" is 1100 pages long. The book is so big, so heavy, my biceps no doubt will swell with the exertion of holding it.

That represents a sum total of 1800 pages of Ayn Rand.

I am 250 pages into "The Fountainhead."

Have I taken on too much?

My appetite says no.


It was the darkest place he had ever been.


There was a strange feeling of finality to where he was. Or doom. Or acquiescence. Hope stretched to the thinnest definition. Almost broken. Almost gone.

The thing he loved most, his one inspiration, the thing that came from his soul; lay dormant. No sense of urgency. An urgency that used to give him life and release.

Now there was only a quiet. Foreboding quiet. A sensation that appeared to be the end result of a lifetime of emotional beatings.

There had been dark times before. Many. Darkness defined him; darkness expressed him.

In naked honesty.

These were accompanied by an atmosphere of frenzy. Desperation. A twisted definition of hope.

These were fueled, exaggerated and eventually numbed by brown fluids.

This new place was markedly and dramatically different.

There was only his mind.

Bruised in numb surprise.

The body and the mind were in perfect unison. Fatigue, limpness, a floating sensation suggestive of no existence.


A sense of being in the same place everywhere he went.


The mind functioned dully; the body felt as if it had aged ten years in a month.

There is a strange sensation of peace in all this.

A disturbing, ominous, peace that would not, could not, nourish any soul.

A peace that offered no salvation.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Two Days

Blew out of work early on Friday afternoon. Drove down to my brother Ed's place to see Buddy Guy.

Buddy Guy is a venerable, 78 year old blues dude who rocks like a kid.

Sat around Ed's apartment for a bit, then took off to meet two of his buddies at a restaurant in Lynn.

I have always said that quality attracts quality. Ed is quality, so I know that I will be comfortable hanging out with anyone he calls friend.

I was.

We had a couple of drinks and scarfed down some apps because we were running late and did not have time for big, juicy T-Bone steaks.

Motored over to the concert and proceeded to lose our minds. Buddy had a fifteen year old kid opening for him - Quinn Sullivan - who played like he was on fire. Jaw dropping, unbelievable riffs and solos. His fingers flew and that guitar screamed.

And he could sing. He sang the blues like he had the blues. Absolutely amazing.

As soon as I'm done torturing you with my words I am going over to Amazon to buy one of his CD's.

Then there was Buddy Guy.

Buddy is blues royalty. As a session guitarist for Chess Records he played with Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, and Little Walter. He recorded many times with Junior Wells.

He has a truly rockin' blues style and is generally believed to be the bridge between the blues and rock 'n roll. Between the old blues masters and people like Clapton, Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page, Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn.

He was magnificent. Towards the end of the show he brought Quinn Sullivan back onstage with him. I'm surprised the building is still standing.

The night was magic.

Spent the night at Ed's. We had breakfast together and talked. I cherish these talks. Brother to brother, pure honesty, respect and love. Now that we are becoming old warriors we talk about life a lot.

The conversations are made meaningful by our combined 120 years on this planet. Ed has a way of calming my spirit with his perspective, his never give up attitude, his sensitivity and intelligence, his wicked sense of humor. I bask in the respect others show him, as his two friends did Friday night.

The morning existed in deep, quiet contrast to the amazing, crazy night that preceded it. As I drove home I felt at peace. I suddenly realized that I always feel this way when I get to spend one on one time with my brother.

That means a lot to me.

I drove home to Carol and immediately felt the love and comfort she gives to me. I was gone one night and I missed her.

Half an hour later we were on the road to Maine to visit Sarge and Cori. Sarge is fighting cancer hard, but it is a difficult struggle. He was having a bad day yesterday.

He's been dealing with constant headaches for a few days now. He was very uncomfortable. Kept running his hand over his head trying to find some relief. He was distant and out of it. Sometimes we would say something to him and he would stare at us blankly and say nothing.

Still, as bad as he felt, every once in a while the Sarge spirit would surface and he would say something to make us laugh.

Cori is so attentive to him. Sarge was restless and in pain and she sat by his side and talked to him soothingly, and asked him leading questions trying to find ways to comfort him.

I stood overwhelmed by this definition of love that was being expressed right in front of my eyes. Cori keeps a cot in his room and sleeps there at night. She gets up at 4:30, goes home to shower etc and is back to work at 5:30. She works in the rehab place where Sarge is staying.

Her work day is often interrupted by calls for her to help Sarge out or calm him down. When her work day is over she stays by his side.

I watched them look into each other's eyes. I felt a love so strong, and two spirits so strong, it felt like I had no right to be there.

Recently, Cori brought Sarge's cat, Newman, to visit him. Newman is a holy terror but he and Sarge share nothing but love. The visit did him good.

When Cori reminded him of the visit, Sarge got confused and started calling Newman's name, thinking he was there then.

Sarge got restless and decided he wanted to bop about in his wheelchair. He is not mobile right now and has to be lifted out of bed by motorized harness. We left the room to stay out of the way.

Eventually the attendant wheeled him down the hall and I took over from there. Cori and Carol walked as I wheeled Sarge around the joint.

That was tough for me. This guy who I have partied with countless times, this guy I have laughed and cried with, this guy who I have shared so many intimate conversations with, this guy who is my loving wife's brother; this guy was in a wheelchair and I was moving him around.

We left shortly after that. It was a tough visit. Especially for Carol.

Carol decided she wanted to drive down the road to Old Orchard Beach, a place that means a lot to us. Everything was closed, it was cold, it was dark.

We walked onto the beach and immediately reminisced and laughed about a visit years ago when we walked the same spot with Cori and Sarge on a cold winter's night. Complete with howling wind and pounding surf.

I kissed Carol as we stood on the stand. Told her I love her. It wasn't planned, it just came up out of my soul and my heart. This woman who was standing by my side, this woman who has always stood by my side, this woman who will always be by my side.

This woman I cannot live without.

We drove home to a peaceful night in front of the TV.

Lakota woke me up this morning at 6:30. Jumped up next to me and gently pawed my face. Tears started streaming down my face as I tried like hell not to wake Carol up. My first thought was how much Sarge would love Newman to wake him up like this every morning. How much Sarge deserves a simple pleasure like that.

So much emotion experienced in two short days.

The high of amazing music, the contentment of spending time with my brother, missing my wife and feeling soul deep love coming home to her, a tough visit with Sarge spiced with glimpses of his relentless spirit, the love and tenderness between Cori and Sarge, a kiss on a Maine beach in November, a peaceful night at home, the magic morning of a pet.

That was an electric jolt of life in its purest form. Highs, lows, happiness, tears, love, and respect.

Depth and meaning and perspective.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

A Radical Left Turn (and then........)

Finished a book titled "Twilight of The Elites - America After Meritocracy." By Christopher Hayes.

Meritocracy is a philosophy that says the cream will rise to the top. The smartest, the most aggressive, the most talented will naturally achieve success and will rule - either in business or in government - fairly. Fairly because they are intelligent, empathetic and know what is best.

They will achieve their success fairly because it is the natural order of things. It just makes sense.

The book lays out quite nicely how this philosophy has been perverted by the uber rich and the uber powerful. Essentially saying the successful climb the ladder and then pull the ladder up after themselves so no one else can follow.

That is an over simplification but what the hell do you expect from me? I ain't no scholar.

Excellent book.

I then read "Fifty Shades of Grey."

Wait, what?

The book has been sitting under my end table for a very long time. I have picked it up a number of times and put it back down. Because it is written in a juvenile manner and I just couldn't get past the writing.

This time I decided to make the commitment. I read far enough into it to raise some curiosity. The sex did not fascinate me - it became boring after the 76th encounter. What interested me was Christian Grey's obsessions. His kink.

That kept me reading, although it was a challenge towards the end. I wanted to see just how unique and interesting this man was.

I'm sorry. Did I say unique? I guess I was supposed to say sick.

I got through it. I will not be reading the sequels.

Now, just this very morning, I began reading "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand.

Ayn Rand established a philosophy called "Objectivism."

Objectivism defined: Follow reason, not whims or faith. Work hard to achieve a life of purpose and productiveness. Earn genuine self-esteem. Pursue your own happiness as your highest moral aim. Prosper by treating others as individuals, trading value for value.

I just started digging into this so I have little to say.

However I read some stuff that blew me away already.

From the author's intro to the 25th anniversary issue: "It is not in the nature of man - nor of any living entity - to start out by giving up, by spitting in one's own face and damning existence; that requires a process of corruption whose rapidity differs from man to man. Some give up at the first touch of pressure; some sell out; some run down by imperceptible degrees and lose their fire, never knowing when or how they lost it. Then all of these vanish in the vast swamp of their elders who tell them persistently that maturity consists of abandoning one's mind; security, of abandoning one's values; practicality, of losing one's self-esteem.

.......................It does not matter that only a few in each generation will grasp and achieve the full reality of man's proper stature - and that the rest will betray it. It is those few that move the world and give life its meaning - and it is those few that I have always sought to address. The rest are no concern of mine; it is not me or The Fountainhead that they will betray: it is their own souls."

Gonna be a good read.

Tough Commute

I was driving home last night.

On the last leg of the journey the line of cars in front of me started swerving radically to the left. I did as well when I drew up next to the source.

A deer. Lying in the middle of the road. Vertically, north and south so to speak, as opposed to across the road.

Took my breath away.

Every time I see that I have the same illogical thought. We invaded their world with roads and cars. They are eternally bewildered by that rape and die because of it.

We need roads. We need cars. I don't want to walk to work. It would take hours and might prove to be the ultimate factor in dissuading me from continuing the sheer stupidity of what I am doing to myself for money. Money from which I derive no benefit. Money that passes through my hands into the hands of those who own me.

But I digress.

Deer are innocence. Beauty. Grace. They are nature. We are the antithesis of nature.

And we kill them? They should be killing us.

But they are too highly evolved for that.

My thoughts stray to hunting. I despise it.

You can forward all the arguments in the book as defense of hunting. I understand them all. They make sense on the surface of things.

But for me it always comes down to that moment. That moment just before the trigger is pulled or the arrow flies.

I don't understand what it is in a human's brain that allows them to sight a deer - standing peacefully in the woods - contemplate it for seconds - and then kill it.

There is a disconnect there that I will never understand.

Dead squirrels in the road don't bother me. They live in my attic and do not pay rent.

Chipmunks bother me. I hate that moment when a chipmunk runs under my car and I look in the rearview mirror to see if I have killed it.

Did not feel a thunk - did not hear one - but I see no trace of the chipmunk.

Drives me crazy.

Cats, dogs - dead in the road - brings tears.

But there's something about a deer. The magic. The majesty.

Their death at our hands points an accurate and accusing finger at our worthlessness.


"There is a great deal of sadness in the world. It must be eradicated immediately."


Monday, November 10, 2014

Now I Know

My sense of time has become distorted.

Somehow it is November.

It snuck up on me. I didn't see it coming. Suddenly it is cold. The threat of life sucking snow and ice hang in the air. We are talking about Thanksgiving. We are talking about Christmas.

I don't know how this happened. Typically as soon as September 1 rolls around I become hyper vigilant. Keeping a sharp watch for Evil Winter and all the suffering and inconvenience it inevitably delivers.

I kind of hunker down in my soul and wonder how I will survive another 10 months of discomfort in an even darker place than I normally exist.

I am somewhat ambivalent this year. I am beginning to think that I have given up.

I am beginning to think that I have given up, even in my soul.

Strangely enough this does not frighten me. Physical exhaustion combined with soul-deep weariness result in an odd numbness.

A numbness that murders caring.

Now I know how everyone else makes it through.

Class Distinctions Run Deep

The difference between the poor and the very poor is openly exposed when you go shopping.

Saturday Carol and I bopped about buying stuff.

First stop was Ocean State Job Lots.

I feel dirty in that store. I feel like I have to keep my hand on my wallet to fend off fellow shoppers. I don't like the way the store smells. I don't like the way it looks. I HATE the fucking jingle.

I used to feel that way in Wal-Mart. Still do actually. I just haven't been there in a while.

But somehow I think Ocean State is worse.

The people look downtrodden. They look uneducated. They look frustrated and angry. They look dirty.

Guaranteed, if I grabbed a shirt simultaneously with another shopper I would release it immediately. I believe I would avoid an ass kicking that way.

I bet the ratio of smokers to non-smokers in an Ocean State is 300 to 1.

Later, we shopped at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I felt perfectly comfortable there. Fellow customers appeared brighter; both in expression and intelligence.

The atmosphere was lighter. It did not wreak of poverty and broken dreams.

Bear in mind, it is still not an upscale place. How upscale could a place named Bed, Bath and Beyond be?

Still you get entirely different clientele in these two stores and never the twain shall meet.

Except when Carol and I shop.

There is a huge gap between the uber rich and the rest of us exploited majority. It sucks, its there and it is getting worse. They float on luxury air mattresses while the rest of us drown.

But even within our ranks there are divisions and understandings and class distinctions and separations.

I have also noticed that at Christmas time the most frenzied shoppers are the ones who appear to have the least amount of money and education.

What does Christmas mean to them?

A chance to pretend to be successful?

I don't know. Perhaps I am over thinking this whole deal a tad too much.

Today's Dream

I had the luxury of sleeping late today because Carol took the day off and I don't have to report to HELL until 11:00.

I was up at 6:20. Who knows why.

Had a dream. One of those morning dreams. Those seem to be the most bizarre.

I had decided to have a go at another shrink. One closer to home.

Found a guy, a local guy. When I walked into his office it was Larry David.

This did not fluster me. I was deeply and darkly honest with him. Told him all the dark stuff I didn't tell the previous guy.

Suddenly he says "Let's take a walk."

So we go out and walk around the neighborhood a bit.

As we are heading back I see a car pulling into LD's driveway. A guy gets out and walks into the office.

Me and Larry settle back in and resume the conversation. The other guy joins in, which I find kind of odd.

Larry says nothing.

Minutes later another guy walks in, plugs his laptop into an outlet in the wall and begins playing a video game.

Loudly. It is distracting; we can hear the music, the explosions, all the typical video game noise.

For a while Larry says nothing. I'm thinking "Are you serious? Are you just going to let this guy disturb us?"

Eventually Larry gets up and unplugs the laptop. The guy gets pissed and leaves.

Whatever my brain is trying to tell me is more secretly coded than orders to arm our nuclear weapons.

Saturday, November 8, 2014


"You can't lead the people if you don't love the people. You can't save the people if you don't serve the people."

"The country is in deep trouble. We've forgotten that a rich life consists fundamentally of serving others, trying to leave the world a little better than you found it. We need the courage to question the powers that be, the courage to be impatient with evil and patient with people, the courage to fight for social justice. In many instances we will be stepping out on nothing, and just hoping to land on something. But that's the struggle. To live is to wrestle with despair, yet never allow despair to have the last word."

Cornell West

Trending Towards Stupidity

I went out to vote on Tuesday night with an image in my head of Don Quixote tilting against windmills.

Actually that is romantic and melodramatic, but not quite true.

I actually hoped to accomplish something.

I failed miserably.

In reality I ended up being Don Quixote.

republicans now control the House and the Senate. They control Congress.

The vote should have taken place on Halloween because there can be nothing more frightening than that.

My deepest wish was for Democratic initiative and commitment to defeat this possibility. Unfortunately mid-term elections don't get much attention of voter participation. We did not try hard enough.

In Presidential election years, approximately 60% of eligible voters vote. In mid term elections the number drops to 40%.

On Tuesday fewer than 37% of eligible voters voted. In yet one more category, this country is a flaming embarrassment compared to the rest of the world. The International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance ranks the United States 120th in the world in voter turnout.

We are outraged - supposedly - at our ineffective political system. We are outraged - supposedly - at the way the rich manipulate everything to their advantage while stripping average Americans of the chance to improve their lives. We are outraged - supposedly - at how the rich buy politicians.

Yet we get a chance to do something about it, to fight back with the only weapon we have - the vote - and we end up with less than 37% participation.

I am vomiting with disgust.

Full disclosure - I didn't give damn about voting until 2008. Then I became fully invested.

George Bush's presidency ripped out my insides and woke me up to how an idiot can ruin lives. The idea of a black president intrigued me in a country so morally bankrupt and racially prejudiced.

BUT, as I have told you before (have you been paying attention?), in 2008 I kept a notebook. I put a lot of effort into it. I compared McCain's policies side by side with Obama's policies. I did research, I wrote it all down, I read and re-read what I had learned.

I gave McCain, and republicans, the benefit of the doubt.

That is the last time I did that. It is no longer necessary because republicans have gone so far over the top in stupidity and immorality and ass-kissing of the rich that their transparency is both an insult to intelligence and an open declaration of their callous indifference to the suffering plight of the average American.

Their incompetency, greed, shallowness, and stupidity is openly on display for all to see.

Scott Brown is a perfect example. This lowlife ran for the Senate in Massachusetts and was defeated. He then magically relocated his "home" address to NH and tried to pollute our state in yet another bid for the Senate.

He was defeated again.

What infuriated me the most was Brown's signs that, along with all the other signs, destroyed the landscape of this beautiful state.

The top line on his signs said "Defeat Obama."

Are you fucking serious? That is how uninformed I am. I had no idea Scott Brown was running against President Obama.

republicans are so weak, so vile, that they cannot run on their own agenda; their entire campaign was tied in to smearing President Obama.

Their entire campaign tied in to the seething rage in this country over the improbable election of a black president.

This is why republicans disgust me. They lie to the public and they use those lies to incite emotions that are dangerous.

Extremely dangerous.

Now we have a republican Congress. A result of an apathetic voting public who do not back up their anger with action.

President Obama has to spend the last two years of his presidency dealing with a republican majority.

A majority of idiots, a majority of racists, a majority of misogynists, a majority with decidedly anti gay hostility. People who will act together to rig our voting system against minorities and the poor. People who will advance the interests of the rich at every opportunity while simultaneously destroying opportunity for everyone else. They will act to regress the lives of the working class. Making our lives harsher and devoid of hope.

This country is regressing towards stupidity. We encourage it. We allow it to flourish. Stupidity dominates every aspect of our lives.

President Obama is a brilliant man who, with cooperation, could have achieved great things. republicans set out from day one to thwart him. Now it will be even worse.

This is the fate we deserve. For not voting. For not even trying to fight back.

Stupid people, greedy people, will always act to pervert any situation, to twist it to their specific advantage at the expense of everyone else's welfare, when allowed to act unchecked.

This is where our government has "evolved" to since 2008. 2015 and 2016 will see the situation worsen.

And God forbid a republican is elected president in 2016.

How is it that other countries flourish in democracy, while we poison and pervert it. What is it about Americans that we actively seek to debase and embarrass ourselves.

Gettin' Along

I am so burned out, beat down, disappointed in and tortured by life that I am eternally exhausted.

When I wake up in the darkest hours of night  horrified by what my life has become, I do not lie wide awake anymore.

That is now impossible.

I lie there in a kind of comatose state that approximates sleep.

Or a coma.

This, I believe, is the definition of progress.

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Nothing Is Ever As It Seems

Kind of went back in history to explore a little bit of Primal Therapy. Also known as Primal Scream Therapy.

What got me there was looking back at John Lennon's first solo album.

Most of what is on there came about as a result of John and Yoko's immersion in Primal Therapy. The album is so raw, so open and emotional that if you have been numbed by life in this world you would not even be able to hear it.

Primal Therapy, originated by Dr. Arthur Janov, is a trauma based psychotherapy that argues that neuroses are the result of the repressed pain of childhood trauma.

It was quite fashionable in the 70's.

Sessions would guide people back to their childhood, sometimes simply by asking them to repeat the words mommy and daddy over and over again until repressed emotions surfaced with a vengeance. Often accompanied by a wail or flat out screaming.

Listen to "Mother" on "John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band." You will understand.

Childhood trauma, by the way, is not strictly defined by physical abuse. It could be as simple as a perception of a lack of love from parent to child, or feelings of inadequacy instilled in the child by the parent.

The theory was that by going back and rediscovering these emotions and expressing them so intensely, the source could be recognized and dealt with.

This always made sense to me. That's why I waited 44 years to reconsider it.

When I was seeing the shrink, I dug him up to a point. But there were small signs that maybe his advice would not suffice.

The most eye opening one was when he tried to tell me that if I adopt some sort of more positive attitude toward work, it will not rip me apart so savagely.

That's like telling someone that if you put the right spin on it, having ice picks jabbed directly into your eyeballs might not be as bad as you would expect.

Part of the problem might have been, as I reflect in hindsight, that I was not completely honest with him about just how dark my life is. I may not have conveyed just how vicious and soul sucking my job is to me. How I cannot manage it under any circumstance or thought process.

I told him I was desperately seeking another job - ANY job - to escape this hated environment. He told me I was avoiding the problem and should just deal with the situation at hand.

His advice would be right - both about the attitude and the escape plans - if I could function in my present situation.

I cannot.

The last two days have been sale change days. Lot of pressure. I flipped out pretty good yesterday.

Haven't seen the dude in months. Not because I don't want to. More because I am being pushed so far over the edge right now that I have to concentrate ferociously just to remember how to wipe my ass efficiently. Never mind making and keeping appointments.

When I do get back to him I am going to lay all the poison right down on the line and ask if he can handle it.

He'll probably recommend electro-shock therapy. Or lobotomy.

Primal Therapy sounds good to me. Screaming sounds like good therapy.

However the theory has been largely discredited. Others in the psychiatric community claim there have not been enough conclusive results to prove the therapy works. Some say that cathartic discharge only provides temporary relief.

Janov believes that neuroses is the result of suppressed pain, which is the result of trauma, usually childhood trauma. He believes that by confronting their trauma, the patient can relive the original incident or situation and can express the emotions that occurred at that time, thereby resolving the trauma.

Who's right?

I don't know.

And therein lies the problem.