Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
The Way I See It
The way I see it, the Boston Red Sox won the World Series for Carol.
When she had the mastectomy last year on the Friday of Labor Day weekend she drove the people at Concord Hospital crazy before the operation. "Do you people get the Red Sox channel? What number is it? Will I be able to get it in my room? I want to watch the game after the operation."
She is a devoted and knowledgeable Red Sox fan.
5 and 1/2 hours of surgery, 1 hour in recovery (the first time in my life I ever saw Carol high), finally up to her room. I immediately turned on the TV and found the game.
She was in and out of it, but she knew the Sox were on and she was happy.
By November 2, when she had the brain tumor removed, the season was over and the Sox had been bounced out of the playoffs.
It has been a long, hard road since November 2nd. Almost a year now. And the Red Sox gave Carol an absolutely mind blowing year. Gave her so much happiness, so much excitement. Capping it off with a World Championship.
We celebrated Craig's birthday on Sunday. With Keith, Eddie, Carolina, Craig and Amanda. Such a perfect day. We welcomed Amanda into the family and she jumped right in like she has been with us for years.
Fantastic day. Everybody left just before the game started. And the Red Sox went on to win the game and another championship.
It absolutely could not have been a better day for Carol.
I shed a few tears in happiness after the final out. Not for the Red Sox. For Carol.
The Red Sox mean so much to her and they delivered. They helped her forget about what she is dealing with and they did it game after game this year. They won a championship for her.
Sunday was just an amazing day all around.
I am hoping Carol can coast on that good feeling for a little while.
She deserves it.
When she had the mastectomy last year on the Friday of Labor Day weekend she drove the people at Concord Hospital crazy before the operation. "Do you people get the Red Sox channel? What number is it? Will I be able to get it in my room? I want to watch the game after the operation."
She is a devoted and knowledgeable Red Sox fan.
5 and 1/2 hours of surgery, 1 hour in recovery (the first time in my life I ever saw Carol high), finally up to her room. I immediately turned on the TV and found the game.
She was in and out of it, but she knew the Sox were on and she was happy.
By November 2, when she had the brain tumor removed, the season was over and the Sox had been bounced out of the playoffs.
It has been a long, hard road since November 2nd. Almost a year now. And the Red Sox gave Carol an absolutely mind blowing year. Gave her so much happiness, so much excitement. Capping it off with a World Championship.
We celebrated Craig's birthday on Sunday. With Keith, Eddie, Carolina, Craig and Amanda. Such a perfect day. We welcomed Amanda into the family and she jumped right in like she has been with us for years.
Fantastic day. Everybody left just before the game started. And the Red Sox went on to win the game and another championship.
It absolutely could not have been a better day for Carol.
I shed a few tears in happiness after the final out. Not for the Red Sox. For Carol.
The Red Sox mean so much to her and they delivered. They helped her forget about what she is dealing with and they did it game after game this year. They won a championship for her.
Sunday was just an amazing day all around.
I am hoping Carol can coast on that good feeling for a little while.
She deserves it.
Carol Down The Stairs
On weekends, Carol sleeps later than me.
I am usually up by 8, she sleeps until 9. Which is fine. She deserves anything that gives her comfort and makes her happy.
I am always sitting in my recliner, 1 or 2 cats in my lap, cup of dark roast coffee by my right hand, reading a book. I watch her come down the stairs.
The right side of her face is facing me as she comes down. That is the side with the weakened muscles; it droops a bit. When I tell you her situation breaks my heart every single day, that's where it starts on weekends. That exact moment.
But...............I watch her come down the stairs to another day, another day of disappointment and not enough progress in her recovery, and there is no give in her. No hunched shoulders, no sense of defeat, even though I know she is enormously frustrated.
I know she will get to the bottom of the stairs. I know I will say "Hey, baby." I know she will say "Good morning." I know she will brew herself up a cup of coffee, walk over to the couch and say something positive. I know she will talk excitedly to me about something in the newspaper or about a blouse she wants to buy or about the Red Sox or about Keith and Craig.
Her mind is always working and always thinks positive thoughts. She continues to look for solutions to the weak facial muscles. She's gonna do a dry needling thing this week. She tried Reiki last week.
I had no idea who I married almost 41 years ago. Not really. I just thought she had nice legs. I'm a leg man. That, and the fact that she was her own person. She knew who she was and was not afraid to show the world.
I now know that she is the toughest person on planet earth. Toughest and most positive. Inspirational.
I now know that she deserves all the love and respect and sensitivity that any one could possibly give her.
There are times when I feel like my heart will burst with love for her.
I came to this much later than I should have and under the wrong circumstances. But I am glad I finally fucking woke up.
I know that the first Saturday that she comes down those stairs after her facial muscles have bounced back, I will most likely saturate my face with tears. Won't be able to hide it, like I do now.
And I won't feel a speck of embarrassment.
I am usually up by 8, she sleeps until 9. Which is fine. She deserves anything that gives her comfort and makes her happy.
I am always sitting in my recliner, 1 or 2 cats in my lap, cup of dark roast coffee by my right hand, reading a book. I watch her come down the stairs.
The right side of her face is facing me as she comes down. That is the side with the weakened muscles; it droops a bit. When I tell you her situation breaks my heart every single day, that's where it starts on weekends. That exact moment.
But...............I watch her come down the stairs to another day, another day of disappointment and not enough progress in her recovery, and there is no give in her. No hunched shoulders, no sense of defeat, even though I know she is enormously frustrated.
I know she will get to the bottom of the stairs. I know I will say "Hey, baby." I know she will say "Good morning." I know she will brew herself up a cup of coffee, walk over to the couch and say something positive. I know she will talk excitedly to me about something in the newspaper or about a blouse she wants to buy or about the Red Sox or about Keith and Craig.
Her mind is always working and always thinks positive thoughts. She continues to look for solutions to the weak facial muscles. She's gonna do a dry needling thing this week. She tried Reiki last week.
I had no idea who I married almost 41 years ago. Not really. I just thought she had nice legs. I'm a leg man. That, and the fact that she was her own person. She knew who she was and was not afraid to show the world.
I now know that she is the toughest person on planet earth. Toughest and most positive. Inspirational.
I now know that she deserves all the love and respect and sensitivity that any one could possibly give her.
There are times when I feel like my heart will burst with love for her.
I came to this much later than I should have and under the wrong circumstances. But I am glad I finally fucking woke up.
I know that the first Saturday that she comes down those stairs after her facial muscles have bounced back, I will most likely saturate my face with tears. Won't be able to hide it, like I do now.
And I won't feel a speck of embarrassment.
The Heaviest Thing
According to the Guinness Book of World Records, the heaviest object ever directly weighed was the Revolving Service Structure of launch pad 39B at NASA's Kennedy Space Center in Florida.
It weighed 5,342,000 pounds.
I believe Guinness is trying too hard.
The heaviest thing known to man is guilt.
It weighed 5,342,000 pounds.
I believe Guinness is trying too hard.
The heaviest thing known to man is guilt.
Wednesday, October 24, 2018
They Just Keep Coming
"He had called himself a coward and a puppet and Bosch could think of nothing much harsher that a man could put on his own tombstone."
"The Last Coyote", Michael Connelly
"The Last Coyote", Michael Connelly
Saturday, October 20, 2018
Something To Think About
When you begin to judge your own failures through the prism of the successes of the people you worship, no matter how unrealistic that may be, you know you have fallen into a deep and very dark place.
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Chilling Reminder
We have a magnet on the side of the refrigerator that says:
"ServiceLink - Aging and Disability Resource Center"
This disturbs me greatly
"ServiceLink - Aging and Disability Resource Center"
This disturbs me greatly
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
Pushing The Product
Taking it's cue from the Florida Orange Juice Growers, the National Funeral Directors Association is test marketing a new ad at their NFDA International Convention & Expo in Boston this year:
"Death. It's not just for breakfast anymore."
(Editor's note: Funeral directors apparently are as subtle and creative as accountants.)
"Death. It's not just for breakfast anymore."
(Editor's note: Funeral directors apparently are as subtle and creative as accountants.)
A Startling Realization
"He reminded himself more of the dead than the living."
"The Last Coyote", Michael Connelly
"The Last Coyote", Michael Connelly
Bluebirds Got All The Answers
Johnny Fuckubot was talking to his friend.
Johnny F: I got real problems, man. I mean serious shit. Shit I gotta figure out. Right now. Right the fuck now.
Whoa, slow down friend. Can't nuthin' be that fucking urgent. What's goin' on?
Johnny F: I don't understand life. Never have. Probably never will. I mean, life has rules and those fucking rules are iron clad, my friend. No bend. No give.
Well, that's just the way it is. Those rules apply to everybody. Well, almost everybody. Except the ones who lie and cheat their way to money.
Johnny F: Here's what you don't understand. I am confused. And life feeds on confusion like cancer on the body. Know what I mean? I mean, as soon as you reveal confusion life says "Oh, boy - I got another one." And then it commences to eating your life away slowly and painfully until your path is narrow, it becomes the only path, and it leads in one inevitable direction.
Jesus, man - I've been trying to practice positivity, but you are making it a real challenge.
Johnny F: I need bags of money. All those fucking fools who say, mindlessly, money is the root of all evil are full of shit. It's the lack of money that is the root of all evil. I need money. So I can buy my way to dignity.
I can float you a fiver for now, man, if that helps.
Johnny F: Jesus Christ you don't understand. I need hundreds of thousands. Millions, even. What if I live 30 more years? Thirty years of rapidly escalating medical bills, thirty years of decreasing mobility, thirty years of wholesale deterioration. Money is the only thing that will grease me through all that shit. I don't have any. Don't know how to get what I need.
How old are you?
Johnny F: 64.
You won't make another thirty years.
Johnny F: Probably right. I feel that. I feel it every day when I crawl out of bed. Nothing specific but I definitely do not feel healthy. I am the kind of guy who will get that "You only got 6 months to live" diagnosis. Know what I mean? When it comes, it's coming all at once. But it will give me time to fucking think about it. Time to wallow in regret. Time to stew in the poisonous knowledge that I did not do anything with my life. Just let it fucking slip by.
That's dark, man.
Johnny F: Well you fucking brought it up. And speaking of time, I got no relationship with it except in connection to death. Every day is the same. The same boring, humiliating shit. Same worries, same sense of loss, same conviction that I have pissed it all away. Every day trickles by unnoticed. I feel like a cowboy who has lassoed my own tombstone and is dragging it closer day by day. That is the only way I see time.
You gotta lighten up, man. Have yourself a drink. Shit, have yourself a party.
Johnny F: The lottery presents a pretty realistic retirement option but I keep forgetting to buy tickets. I say to my wife, "How come we never win the lottery?" She says "Because you never buy tickets, dear." I say "Oh, yeah. Good point." Apparently I got some sort of fatal flaw in my ability to think logically. Might explain how I ended up this way. Painful realization.
I'm speechless.
Johnny F: I feel life eating away at me. Shit, I can hear it. Smell my life, my hopes, my dreams rotting away and dropping off.
What can I do to help?
Johnny F: Nothin'. Not unless you got a couple hundred thousand bucks laying around to give me.
I don't.
Johnny F: Forget about it, man. Don't worry about me. I am alone with my life. Been a loner all along. Didn't make the right moves, the right connections, the right decisions. Lost in a perpetual fog of confusion about how I fit in and what to do about it. Fuck it.
All right, JF - I gotta run. Gotta attend a meeting of The Bluebirds of Positivity Club. We're a happy bunch. Wanna come along?
Johnny F: Fuck that. I'd rather eat my own shit.
Good luck with that, brother.
Johnny F: I got real problems, man. I mean serious shit. Shit I gotta figure out. Right now. Right the fuck now.
Whoa, slow down friend. Can't nuthin' be that fucking urgent. What's goin' on?
Johnny F: I don't understand life. Never have. Probably never will. I mean, life has rules and those fucking rules are iron clad, my friend. No bend. No give.
Well, that's just the way it is. Those rules apply to everybody. Well, almost everybody. Except the ones who lie and cheat their way to money.
Johnny F: Here's what you don't understand. I am confused. And life feeds on confusion like cancer on the body. Know what I mean? I mean, as soon as you reveal confusion life says "Oh, boy - I got another one." And then it commences to eating your life away slowly and painfully until your path is narrow, it becomes the only path, and it leads in one inevitable direction.
Jesus, man - I've been trying to practice positivity, but you are making it a real challenge.
Johnny F: I need bags of money. All those fucking fools who say, mindlessly, money is the root of all evil are full of shit. It's the lack of money that is the root of all evil. I need money. So I can buy my way to dignity.
I can float you a fiver for now, man, if that helps.
Johnny F: Jesus Christ you don't understand. I need hundreds of thousands. Millions, even. What if I live 30 more years? Thirty years of rapidly escalating medical bills, thirty years of decreasing mobility, thirty years of wholesale deterioration. Money is the only thing that will grease me through all that shit. I don't have any. Don't know how to get what I need.
How old are you?
Johnny F: 64.
You won't make another thirty years.
Johnny F: Probably right. I feel that. I feel it every day when I crawl out of bed. Nothing specific but I definitely do not feel healthy. I am the kind of guy who will get that "You only got 6 months to live" diagnosis. Know what I mean? When it comes, it's coming all at once. But it will give me time to fucking think about it. Time to wallow in regret. Time to stew in the poisonous knowledge that I did not do anything with my life. Just let it fucking slip by.
That's dark, man.
Johnny F: Well you fucking brought it up. And speaking of time, I got no relationship with it except in connection to death. Every day is the same. The same boring, humiliating shit. Same worries, same sense of loss, same conviction that I have pissed it all away. Every day trickles by unnoticed. I feel like a cowboy who has lassoed my own tombstone and is dragging it closer day by day. That is the only way I see time.
You gotta lighten up, man. Have yourself a drink. Shit, have yourself a party.
Johnny F: The lottery presents a pretty realistic retirement option but I keep forgetting to buy tickets. I say to my wife, "How come we never win the lottery?" She says "Because you never buy tickets, dear." I say "Oh, yeah. Good point." Apparently I got some sort of fatal flaw in my ability to think logically. Might explain how I ended up this way. Painful realization.
I'm speechless.
Johnny F: I feel life eating away at me. Shit, I can hear it. Smell my life, my hopes, my dreams rotting away and dropping off.
What can I do to help?
Johnny F: Nothin'. Not unless you got a couple hundred thousand bucks laying around to give me.
I don't.
Johnny F: Forget about it, man. Don't worry about me. I am alone with my life. Been a loner all along. Didn't make the right moves, the right connections, the right decisions. Lost in a perpetual fog of confusion about how I fit in and what to do about it. Fuck it.
All right, JF - I gotta run. Gotta attend a meeting of The Bluebirds of Positivity Club. We're a happy bunch. Wanna come along?
Johnny F: Fuck that. I'd rather eat my own shit.
Good luck with that, brother.
Thursday, October 11, 2018
The Latest Defibrillator
Football just might save my life.
I am consuming football at an alarming rate this year. Watching all the live football I can squeeze in, watching "Inside The NFL" every week, watching "Good Morning Football" 2 or 3 mornings a week, watching "A Football Life" every fucking week.
Yesterday morning I worked from 8-12 (I hate that fucking shift), did some responsible home owner stuff when I got home, then settled in to watch "Inside The NFL".
Had an epiphany. That is just the way shit hits me sometimes.
The Allman Brothers Band kept me alive for a very long time. They broke up a few times but their last transformation was the one that breathed life into my soul. Got back together in 1989 and ran that mutha all the way to 2014.
During that span of time I saw them almost every summer. At least once, many times twice and one memorable year three times. That year they played Manchester NH - I couldn't get anyone to join me so I went alone..............and had a fucking blast with the young people who sat near me. They saw me as the wise Allman Brothers elder and asked me a whole hell of a lot of questions. And we talked and laughed and smoked. Fuckin' eh.
Those trips could consist of four people, could consist of 15 people. Every concert was different but every concert was mind blowing.
And I lived for them. No matter how much my life sucked and my job sucked and my financial situation sucked and my dying dreams sucked - when I went to those concerts I forgot everything - I dug the band and I dug my friend Phil, who was my reliable partner in crime.
The band split up with finality in 2014. Me and Phil caught their second to last concert ever, at The Beacon Theatre in NYC thanks to Keith and Craig - who bought me two tickets to the show. I am forever grateful to my sons and will never forget what they did for me.
Me and Phil were OK. We figured we could catch Butch Trucks in concert, Gregg Allman in concert - we would get our fix.
In the summer of 2016 me and Phil caught Butch Trucks and his band in concert at a small venue that we love. Mind blowing. In January of 2017 Butch Trucks committed suicide. He fucking committed suicide.
In May of 2017 Gregg Allman died. We never even got to see him after 2014.
In 2017 the hole in my heart became bigger than my fucking heart itself. I have no idea how I am even still alive.
I have latched on to football this year like I never have before. And that is saying a lot because I have loved this game for 54 years. The only thing that comes close is my love for The Allman Brothers - 49 years.
When I watch the highlights on "Inside The NFL" and "Good Morning Football" - I focus my attention like a laser beam. I am watching a ton of football this year and I am excited.
Patrick Mahomes is lighting up the league, Jesus Christ I have watched a lot of Chiefs football this year and I shake my head and smile. I say holy shit a lot.
You know who else is lighting up the league? Drew Brees. So cool to see. Drew is 39 years old. Patrick Mahomes is 23. One of the many reasons I love this game. Talent is talent, baby and the cream will rise to the top.
I fell in love with The Browns in the pre-season thanks to "Hard Knocks". Not only because they lost every game last season - every fucking game - but because they are determined to turn things around, and because their coach - Hue Jackson - had his mother and his brother die on him in a two week period just as the pre-season was heating up. He's a human being with a broken heart and the weight of an entire city on his shoulders. I was ecstatic when they won their first game.
I have watched a lot of Browns football - they are 2-2-1 and I love it.
I need football to feel alive. I need football to be alive.
When I watch the highlights I thrill. At full speed they blow your mind because you are seeing camera angles you don't see during a game. Fucking unbelievable.
When they back it down to slo-mo, the sport becomes an art. Beautiful. Exquisite. Mesmerizing.
To me the highlights are bonus football - I watch them like I am watching a game and it feeds me.
I have lost a lot in the last four years. Jonathan, Sarge, Kevin, The Allman Brothers. My sons have been through difficult emotional times. I have watched my wife go through fucking hell and continue to be enormously frustrated, which is so unlike her. Her battle is unrelenting and even her enormous strength gets tested. It breaks my heart every single day. Every single fucking day.
The Allman Brothers were my go to good time. They allowed me to crazy go nuts, to express my passion, to indulge my insanity, to just feel alive. Alive, alive, alive.
They are no more.
Subconsciously I have grabbed on to football with both fists. I did not make a conscious decision to embrace the sport harder than ever before as my savior. It just happened.
Deep down I think I knew I needed something - something, anything, to revive me, to excite me, to feed me and keep me going. I am passionate to the core and I have a desperate need to express that passion.
Or I shrivel up and die.
I honestly do not know how the hell I am here at 64. Don't know how the hell I keep on going. Most of that answer is a mystery.
Except for The Allman Brothers and football. Those are facts.
Fuckin' football, man. Can't live without it. The fucking hot sauce on boring, reheated leftovers.
Bring it on, baby.
I am consuming football at an alarming rate this year. Watching all the live football I can squeeze in, watching "Inside The NFL" every week, watching "Good Morning Football" 2 or 3 mornings a week, watching "A Football Life" every fucking week.
Yesterday morning I worked from 8-12 (I hate that fucking shift), did some responsible home owner stuff when I got home, then settled in to watch "Inside The NFL".
Had an epiphany. That is just the way shit hits me sometimes.
The Allman Brothers Band kept me alive for a very long time. They broke up a few times but their last transformation was the one that breathed life into my soul. Got back together in 1989 and ran that mutha all the way to 2014.
During that span of time I saw them almost every summer. At least once, many times twice and one memorable year three times. That year they played Manchester NH - I couldn't get anyone to join me so I went alone..............and had a fucking blast with the young people who sat near me. They saw me as the wise Allman Brothers elder and asked me a whole hell of a lot of questions. And we talked and laughed and smoked. Fuckin' eh.
Those trips could consist of four people, could consist of 15 people. Every concert was different but every concert was mind blowing.
And I lived for them. No matter how much my life sucked and my job sucked and my financial situation sucked and my dying dreams sucked - when I went to those concerts I forgot everything - I dug the band and I dug my friend Phil, who was my reliable partner in crime.
The band split up with finality in 2014. Me and Phil caught their second to last concert ever, at The Beacon Theatre in NYC thanks to Keith and Craig - who bought me two tickets to the show. I am forever grateful to my sons and will never forget what they did for me.
Me and Phil were OK. We figured we could catch Butch Trucks in concert, Gregg Allman in concert - we would get our fix.
In the summer of 2016 me and Phil caught Butch Trucks and his band in concert at a small venue that we love. Mind blowing. In January of 2017 Butch Trucks committed suicide. He fucking committed suicide.
In May of 2017 Gregg Allman died. We never even got to see him after 2014.
In 2017 the hole in my heart became bigger than my fucking heart itself. I have no idea how I am even still alive.
I have latched on to football this year like I never have before. And that is saying a lot because I have loved this game for 54 years. The only thing that comes close is my love for The Allman Brothers - 49 years.
When I watch the highlights on "Inside The NFL" and "Good Morning Football" - I focus my attention like a laser beam. I am watching a ton of football this year and I am excited.
Patrick Mahomes is lighting up the league, Jesus Christ I have watched a lot of Chiefs football this year and I shake my head and smile. I say holy shit a lot.
You know who else is lighting up the league? Drew Brees. So cool to see. Drew is 39 years old. Patrick Mahomes is 23. One of the many reasons I love this game. Talent is talent, baby and the cream will rise to the top.
I fell in love with The Browns in the pre-season thanks to "Hard Knocks". Not only because they lost every game last season - every fucking game - but because they are determined to turn things around, and because their coach - Hue Jackson - had his mother and his brother die on him in a two week period just as the pre-season was heating up. He's a human being with a broken heart and the weight of an entire city on his shoulders. I was ecstatic when they won their first game.
I have watched a lot of Browns football - they are 2-2-1 and I love it.
I need football to feel alive. I need football to be alive.
When I watch the highlights I thrill. At full speed they blow your mind because you are seeing camera angles you don't see during a game. Fucking unbelievable.
When they back it down to slo-mo, the sport becomes an art. Beautiful. Exquisite. Mesmerizing.
To me the highlights are bonus football - I watch them like I am watching a game and it feeds me.
I have lost a lot in the last four years. Jonathan, Sarge, Kevin, The Allman Brothers. My sons have been through difficult emotional times. I have watched my wife go through fucking hell and continue to be enormously frustrated, which is so unlike her. Her battle is unrelenting and even her enormous strength gets tested. It breaks my heart every single day. Every single fucking day.
The Allman Brothers were my go to good time. They allowed me to crazy go nuts, to express my passion, to indulge my insanity, to just feel alive. Alive, alive, alive.
They are no more.
Subconsciously I have grabbed on to football with both fists. I did not make a conscious decision to embrace the sport harder than ever before as my savior. It just happened.
Deep down I think I knew I needed something - something, anything, to revive me, to excite me, to feed me and keep me going. I am passionate to the core and I have a desperate need to express that passion.
Or I shrivel up and die.
I honestly do not know how the hell I am here at 64. Don't know how the hell I keep on going. Most of that answer is a mystery.
Except for The Allman Brothers and football. Those are facts.
Fuckin' football, man. Can't live without it. The fucking hot sauce on boring, reheated leftovers.
Bring it on, baby.
No Breakfast For Jo Jo
This guy (a friend) comes up to me and says: "Holy shit, man - people are trying to break my face off and crush me down to tiny Jo Jo pieces. Trying to kill me until I am dead. Completely fucking dead."
What? What the fuck are you talking about?
He says: "No, man it's true - they are trying to crunch me down into a little ball so they can kick me around. Fuck me up so my brain don't work no more. That way I won't be able to out think them like I usually do."
What kind of drug are you on this time? Be honest with me - I can help you.
He says: "I ain't on no fucking drug, man. You gotta believe me. These people are scumwad fuckbags - I mean real dirtbags - they want my money, they want my cats, they want me dead."
You don't have any fucking money. What the hell are you talking about?
He says: "You gotta listen to me, man. The other day I was on my way to work, walking down my driveway to my car, when these dudes pulled in right up next to me. They started beating at my head with wiffle ball bats. Don't kid yourself - wiffle ball bats fucking hurt, man. They beat on me for about ten minutes and then they tell me next time it will be real bats."
What did you do?
He says: "I got up and went to work. Some blood on my face, a broken tooth, one missing tooth. Don't matter with my job, me being just a warehouse grunt and all. My boss looks at me for about ten seconds and tells me to get to work. Tells me I am half an hour late and he ain't gonna pay me for it. Didn't even ask what the hell happened to me. Didn't offer me no band aids or nothing. Motherfucka."
Why do these people want you dead?
He says: "Because I am the coolest of the cool, man. They don't understand me. Nobody does. Everybody thinks I am stupid but that ain't it. I am just different. I am smarter than most people so I can't talk to them. I don't make no friends. All I can make is enemies."
Brother, I gotta tell you. Your story is kind of fantastical, you know what I am saying? And don't take this the wrong way, I mean, I love you and all, but all you are is a low level grunt crawling your way through the world. You got nothing and you got nothing to offer. Doesn't matter if you live or die. Nobody notices one way or the other. Nobody is out to get you.
He says: "You're wrong, man. I got a lot to offer. People just can't see it. People are just too fucking selfish. They are just too, what's the word, judgmental. Yeah, that's it - too fucking judgmental. And they are jealous too. Fuck them. I don't need nobody."
I'm outta here, my friend. Gonna grab me some breakfast.
He says: "Can I come?"
No.
What? What the fuck are you talking about?
He says: "No, man it's true - they are trying to crunch me down into a little ball so they can kick me around. Fuck me up so my brain don't work no more. That way I won't be able to out think them like I usually do."
What kind of drug are you on this time? Be honest with me - I can help you.
He says: "I ain't on no fucking drug, man. You gotta believe me. These people are scumwad fuckbags - I mean real dirtbags - they want my money, they want my cats, they want me dead."
You don't have any fucking money. What the hell are you talking about?
He says: "You gotta listen to me, man. The other day I was on my way to work, walking down my driveway to my car, when these dudes pulled in right up next to me. They started beating at my head with wiffle ball bats. Don't kid yourself - wiffle ball bats fucking hurt, man. They beat on me for about ten minutes and then they tell me next time it will be real bats."
What did you do?
He says: "I got up and went to work. Some blood on my face, a broken tooth, one missing tooth. Don't matter with my job, me being just a warehouse grunt and all. My boss looks at me for about ten seconds and tells me to get to work. Tells me I am half an hour late and he ain't gonna pay me for it. Didn't even ask what the hell happened to me. Didn't offer me no band aids or nothing. Motherfucka."
Why do these people want you dead?
He says: "Because I am the coolest of the cool, man. They don't understand me. Nobody does. Everybody thinks I am stupid but that ain't it. I am just different. I am smarter than most people so I can't talk to them. I don't make no friends. All I can make is enemies."
Brother, I gotta tell you. Your story is kind of fantastical, you know what I am saying? And don't take this the wrong way, I mean, I love you and all, but all you are is a low level grunt crawling your way through the world. You got nothing and you got nothing to offer. Doesn't matter if you live or die. Nobody notices one way or the other. Nobody is out to get you.
He says: "You're wrong, man. I got a lot to offer. People just can't see it. People are just too fucking selfish. They are just too, what's the word, judgmental. Yeah, that's it - too fucking judgmental. And they are jealous too. Fuck them. I don't need nobody."
I'm outta here, my friend. Gonna grab me some breakfast.
He says: "Can I come?"
No.
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Dug In
So Zeke says: We're dug in, man - the wife and me - we're dug in.
Pete: I always dug Kevin Kline's line in The Big Chill. The one where he is describing his life. He says "We're dug in". Possibly one of the greatest movie lines ever.
Zeke: I'm not talking about that kind of dug in. I'm talking about me and the wife, the life we are stuck in, we're dug in and it ain't gonna end pretty.
Pete: Why not?
Zeke: We got nothing. A little social security. Enough to buy beer, cigarettes and cat food, but that's about it. And it's gonna get worse. Gonna get sick. Gonna have hospital bills. Shit, it's already happening, man.
Pete: That's a shame. Life's a bitch.
Zeke: I wish I planned ahead, know what I mean? Wish I had put a little somethin' away. But shit, man, there never was a little somethin' to put away. I don't know where the hell it went.
Pete: That's just the way life works. Sucks, but it's true. We're all in the same boat.
Zeke: Then what the hell's the point? Ain't no dignity to it. Shit, the only dignity I get is when I get in someone's face. Ain't gonna let someone shit all over me.
Pete: I know what you mean. Feels like some people are laughing at you. Lookin' down. Talking about their high dollar vacations. Fuckin' SUV's. Fuck them.
Zeke: Yeah, me and the wife are dug in. We're dug in good. And somebody took the fuckin' shovel away too, man. No way out. Doesn't really matter, my fuckin' back hurts all the time anyway.
Pete: I hear ya.
Zeke: You think dyin's a good deal? Seems like it makes more sense to skip right to the end instead of dealin' with the bullshit.
Pete: What the hell you talkin' about, man?
Zeke: Saw a Jack Lemmon movie once. He was pretty down so he hopped on an exercise bike and tried to ride himself into a heart attack. It was pretty funny.
Pete: You're crazy, man.
Zeke: Am I? Really?
Pete: You gotta stick around - see how the movie ends. You might hit the lottery.
Zeke: Ain't gonna hit no lottery, man. My life is not about luck. Trust me, it is fucking not about luck.
Pete: Well, I'm here for you, man. If you're gonna have any fun at all, it's gonna be with me.
Zeke: I dig that about you. Always have. What the fuck, why don't we run out and grab a 30 rack of Natty Lights, see how many we can put down in one day?
Pete: Now you're talking. Shit, if you're gonna die man, you might as well die drunk. Skip the fucking hangover. Now that's a plan.
Zeke: You're a fucking philosopher, man. I dig that about you.
Pete: I always dug Kevin Kline's line in The Big Chill. The one where he is describing his life. He says "We're dug in". Possibly one of the greatest movie lines ever.
Zeke: I'm not talking about that kind of dug in. I'm talking about me and the wife, the life we are stuck in, we're dug in and it ain't gonna end pretty.
Pete: Why not?
Zeke: We got nothing. A little social security. Enough to buy beer, cigarettes and cat food, but that's about it. And it's gonna get worse. Gonna get sick. Gonna have hospital bills. Shit, it's already happening, man.
Pete: That's a shame. Life's a bitch.
Zeke: I wish I planned ahead, know what I mean? Wish I had put a little somethin' away. But shit, man, there never was a little somethin' to put away. I don't know where the hell it went.
Pete: That's just the way life works. Sucks, but it's true. We're all in the same boat.
Zeke: Then what the hell's the point? Ain't no dignity to it. Shit, the only dignity I get is when I get in someone's face. Ain't gonna let someone shit all over me.
Pete: I know what you mean. Feels like some people are laughing at you. Lookin' down. Talking about their high dollar vacations. Fuckin' SUV's. Fuck them.
Zeke: Yeah, me and the wife are dug in. We're dug in good. And somebody took the fuckin' shovel away too, man. No way out. Doesn't really matter, my fuckin' back hurts all the time anyway.
Pete: I hear ya.
Zeke: You think dyin's a good deal? Seems like it makes more sense to skip right to the end instead of dealin' with the bullshit.
Pete: What the hell you talkin' about, man?
Zeke: Saw a Jack Lemmon movie once. He was pretty down so he hopped on an exercise bike and tried to ride himself into a heart attack. It was pretty funny.
Pete: You're crazy, man.
Zeke: Am I? Really?
Pete: You gotta stick around - see how the movie ends. You might hit the lottery.
Zeke: Ain't gonna hit no lottery, man. My life is not about luck. Trust me, it is fucking not about luck.
Pete: Well, I'm here for you, man. If you're gonna have any fun at all, it's gonna be with me.
Zeke: I dig that about you. Always have. What the fuck, why don't we run out and grab a 30 rack of Natty Lights, see how many we can put down in one day?
Pete: Now you're talking. Shit, if you're gonna die man, you might as well die drunk. Skip the fucking hangover. Now that's a plan.
Zeke: You're a fucking philosopher, man. I dig that about you.
Thursday, October 4, 2018
A Flaming Fucking Injustice
So, yeah - I got called into work this afternoon.
Doesn't that suck? Do you know what that means? I planned on working 2 days this week. Now I have to work 2 and 3/4. Because there is a fucking show tonight. I gotta work a show.
That means dealing face to face with customers. Jesus Fucking Christ.
You have any idea how stressful this is for me?
How many days a week do you work?................. Six? Really? Holy Shit.
But you make good money right?.................... $7.25/hour? Oh my God.
But you like your job right?........................ No? You fucking hate it? Jesus.
You dig your co-workers though, right? .....................You'd rather see them dead? Wow.
I am an ungrateful, selfish prick.
(At this point the author raised a gun to his head and blew his brains all over the fucking living room. Which the cats feasted on with great delight.)
Doesn't that suck? Do you know what that means? I planned on working 2 days this week. Now I have to work 2 and 3/4. Because there is a fucking show tonight. I gotta work a show.
That means dealing face to face with customers. Jesus Fucking Christ.
You have any idea how stressful this is for me?
How many days a week do you work?................. Six? Really? Holy Shit.
But you make good money right?.................... $7.25/hour? Oh my God.
But you like your job right?........................ No? You fucking hate it? Jesus.
You dig your co-workers though, right? .....................You'd rather see them dead? Wow.
I am an ungrateful, selfish prick.
(At this point the author raised a gun to his head and blew his brains all over the fucking living room. Which the cats feasted on with great delight.)
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
Did I Tell You?
Everyone who hates me must die.
Isn't that how you operate?
I can't have people walking around with hatred in their hearts directed at me. It is impractical. And dangerous.
However, in my situation, the solution is problematic. Because everybody hates me.
How did I get here?
I don't know how it happened, I don't know why. But I can see it. I can feel it. Every time I leave the house. And sometimes when I don't.
People staring at me, glaring at me really, with malicious intent. Some people stop me on the street - complete strangers - look me in the eye - and tell me they hate me. Just like that. And then walk on.
I am a nice guy. At least I used to be. I mean, I treat people well - give them full on empathy, listen to them intently while I am thinking "What a fucking moron you are - your life is insignificant and expendable." But apparently I am giving off some kind of negative vibe, an invisible but detectable signal that my heart is filled with poison, my brain with hatred.
When I was younger everybody loved me. Probably because I was not yet fully formed, not yet twisted by life's bizarre sense of justice and vengeance. I was pristine, as pure as the driven snow, my heart was open, my mind was free and laughter came easily.
Now I am somewhat guarded. There are those who claim I am bitter.
It is not bitterness - it is maturity. At some point you understand life within the framework of the mistakes that you have made, and the lights go out. I mean, you keep moving, keep on working, producing, paying the bills, smiling an Oscar worthy smile, but your truth exists deep within and it ain't pretty.
I used to distribute intense love beams of empathy and be greeted in return by the kisses of women and genuflection of men. Now I shoot out what feel to me like those same beams and I am greeted with punches, kicks, derision and projectile saliva.
I don't get it.
An intelligent man told me that internal death cannot be hidden, that it colors every form of communication - verbal, emotional, body language, silent connection. He said once you die inside that fact cannot be hidden. People sense it in the same way cadaver dogs locate decomposing human flesh.
But everybody is dead inside, no? So aren't we all doing the same thing, putting on the same play? Well, except for you pretentious pricks who drive Porsches and gloat over well stocked retirement funds.
Even though most of us are on the same page, still, we viciously attack when we can. Punches, kicks, derision and projectile saliva. The delicious irony of being human.
Anyway, these people gotta go. They must be eliminated with extreme prejudice. Must be removed from my life, diverted from the path I walk so I can march undeterred to Hell.
I am excited for the challenge. It will give me something to do.
Did I tell you I am "semi" retired?
Isn't that how you operate?
I can't have people walking around with hatred in their hearts directed at me. It is impractical. And dangerous.
However, in my situation, the solution is problematic. Because everybody hates me.
How did I get here?
I don't know how it happened, I don't know why. But I can see it. I can feel it. Every time I leave the house. And sometimes when I don't.
People staring at me, glaring at me really, with malicious intent. Some people stop me on the street - complete strangers - look me in the eye - and tell me they hate me. Just like that. And then walk on.
I am a nice guy. At least I used to be. I mean, I treat people well - give them full on empathy, listen to them intently while I am thinking "What a fucking moron you are - your life is insignificant and expendable." But apparently I am giving off some kind of negative vibe, an invisible but detectable signal that my heart is filled with poison, my brain with hatred.
When I was younger everybody loved me. Probably because I was not yet fully formed, not yet twisted by life's bizarre sense of justice and vengeance. I was pristine, as pure as the driven snow, my heart was open, my mind was free and laughter came easily.
Now I am somewhat guarded. There are those who claim I am bitter.
It is not bitterness - it is maturity. At some point you understand life within the framework of the mistakes that you have made, and the lights go out. I mean, you keep moving, keep on working, producing, paying the bills, smiling an Oscar worthy smile, but your truth exists deep within and it ain't pretty.
I used to distribute intense love beams of empathy and be greeted in return by the kisses of women and genuflection of men. Now I shoot out what feel to me like those same beams and I am greeted with punches, kicks, derision and projectile saliva.
I don't get it.
An intelligent man told me that internal death cannot be hidden, that it colors every form of communication - verbal, emotional, body language, silent connection. He said once you die inside that fact cannot be hidden. People sense it in the same way cadaver dogs locate decomposing human flesh.
But everybody is dead inside, no? So aren't we all doing the same thing, putting on the same play? Well, except for you pretentious pricks who drive Porsches and gloat over well stocked retirement funds.
Even though most of us are on the same page, still, we viciously attack when we can. Punches, kicks, derision and projectile saliva. The delicious irony of being human.
Anyway, these people gotta go. They must be eliminated with extreme prejudice. Must be removed from my life, diverted from the path I walk so I can march undeterred to Hell.
I am excited for the challenge. It will give me something to do.
Did I tell you I am "semi" retired?
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
Holy Shit, Can You Believe It?
I have Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday off this week.
Or to put it another way, I am only working two days this week. Two.
So here I go, here I am again. Feel like I got five days to rearrange my life. To find solutions. To change directions, attitudes and create possibilities.
Five days to overcome and redirect the deranged momentum of the past forty years.
Five days to put in place a dignified retirement plan. To make myself happy. To make Carol happy. To make our cats happy.
Five days to derail the M.C. Escher-like reality that my life has become.
Five days to lose thirty pounds.
Five days to establish a profitable writing career.
Five days to expel all the demons from my head.
Five days to overcome bad habits.
Five days to develop good habits.
Five days to re-wire my brain to think differently.
Yeah, baby. I got all the time in the world.
Or not.
Wistful Thinking
I see a fair amount of people walking by the side of the road and on to a new life.
They are sporting back packs. Not the book bag type, but the kind you strap to your back when you are traveling. Shit, I saw a guy the other day with the whole fucking rig. You know, on an aluminum frame where the bottom is down to his ass and the top is over his head. Looked like it weighed 105 pounds.
It happens with some regularity. I have to believe these people are off on some sort of adventure. Chucking aside the life they are living and moving on towards the unknown.
How very fucking attractive.
Is it NH? That would make sense to me. NH is a nothing state. Nothing romantic or heroic about it.
Some states project excitement. Personality. Uniqueness. Romance. It is immediately evoked in their name.
Texas. California. Hawaii. Alaska.
Those are the most notable. I would also add Montana, Colorado, Arizona, Nebraska, New Mexico, Oklahoma. The second list is kind of arbitrary, but overall I think the list I have put together represents states that immediately awaken an image in your mind.
Fucking NH? Massachusetts? Connecticut? Total nothingness. So maybe I see backpackers with frequency because they are fucking bored.
But I am not here to rag on NH. I am here to describe the deep feeling of longing I get in my gut when I see these people. It would be such a relief to walk away from my life. The burdens of it. The obligations. The responsibilities. And start over in an interesting place, even at a very low level. Like a one room apartment and a hot plate.
I am not saying I want to walk away from Carol, Keith and Craig. That is a ludicrous assumption. I am just talking about the feelings we all have that our life is wrong and there is an answer some where else.
Started another Reacher novel this morning. That is what kick started my impressions to life. Reacher does not live anywhere. He travels from town to town and state to state randomly, as situations develop.
He doesn't even pack. Carries nothing. He buys new clothes every couple of days and throws the old ones out. So he doesn't need to do laundry. And when people question him and ask "Isn't that an odd way to live?", he always replies "Isn't it odd to be tied down to a house and mortgage payments and routines and commitments?"
That always slays me.
Shit, man - now that I am semi-retired I spend a lot of time in this house. Alone with the cats. And I look around and think about what an anchor this thing is on our life. Especially since we are paying for it twice. Especially since we are desperate to find a path to full retirement with dignity. I am not even in love with it. It sure as hell isn't the kind of house I would have bought if my life played out intelligently.
Owning things is a drag, man. Weird thing for me to say because I really am a materialistic guy. I would amputate my left leg for the chance to own a Ferrari Testarossa. That's why I drive a Hyundai. The two are so similar.
But making payments on the things you "own" makes you subservient. You have to have a fucking job, you have to have a job that pays enough to pay the bills. Or get two jobs. Or three.
And we delude ourselves. We say we own our cars, we own our houses. Bullshit. If you are making payments on it you don't own shit. The bank owns it. And life owns you.
There is no dignity in working. The only dignity in life is in independence. Of course only 1/1,000 of 1% of us are independent. The rest swallow their pride and sacrifice their dignity.
I despise the fact that I am "semi" retired. I will always be "semi" retired. Because I fucked up. It is on me. I didn't plan ahead, I didn't take life seriously, mostly because the life I was living wasn't my own. It was more like a bad trip on acid.
But, what the fuck, here I am. I make my escape in movies. In sports. In whiskey. In pot. In books, baby.
The only backpack I am ever going to wear is in my mind. Makes sense, ultimately. I am not a backpack kind of guy. I'd rather escape in a limo.
They are sporting back packs. Not the book bag type, but the kind you strap to your back when you are traveling. Shit, I saw a guy the other day with the whole fucking rig. You know, on an aluminum frame where the bottom is down to his ass and the top is over his head. Looked like it weighed 105 pounds.
It happens with some regularity. I have to believe these people are off on some sort of adventure. Chucking aside the life they are living and moving on towards the unknown.
How very fucking attractive.
Is it NH? That would make sense to me. NH is a nothing state. Nothing romantic or heroic about it.
Some states project excitement. Personality. Uniqueness. Romance. It is immediately evoked in their name.
Texas. California. Hawaii. Alaska.
Those are the most notable. I would also add Montana, Colorado, Arizona, Nebraska, New Mexico, Oklahoma. The second list is kind of arbitrary, but overall I think the list I have put together represents states that immediately awaken an image in your mind.
Fucking NH? Massachusetts? Connecticut? Total nothingness. So maybe I see backpackers with frequency because they are fucking bored.
But I am not here to rag on NH. I am here to describe the deep feeling of longing I get in my gut when I see these people. It would be such a relief to walk away from my life. The burdens of it. The obligations. The responsibilities. And start over in an interesting place, even at a very low level. Like a one room apartment and a hot plate.
I am not saying I want to walk away from Carol, Keith and Craig. That is a ludicrous assumption. I am just talking about the feelings we all have that our life is wrong and there is an answer some where else.
Started another Reacher novel this morning. That is what kick started my impressions to life. Reacher does not live anywhere. He travels from town to town and state to state randomly, as situations develop.
He doesn't even pack. Carries nothing. He buys new clothes every couple of days and throws the old ones out. So he doesn't need to do laundry. And when people question him and ask "Isn't that an odd way to live?", he always replies "Isn't it odd to be tied down to a house and mortgage payments and routines and commitments?"
That always slays me.
Shit, man - now that I am semi-retired I spend a lot of time in this house. Alone with the cats. And I look around and think about what an anchor this thing is on our life. Especially since we are paying for it twice. Especially since we are desperate to find a path to full retirement with dignity. I am not even in love with it. It sure as hell isn't the kind of house I would have bought if my life played out intelligently.
Owning things is a drag, man. Weird thing for me to say because I really am a materialistic guy. I would amputate my left leg for the chance to own a Ferrari Testarossa. That's why I drive a Hyundai. The two are so similar.
But making payments on the things you "own" makes you subservient. You have to have a fucking job, you have to have a job that pays enough to pay the bills. Or get two jobs. Or three.
And we delude ourselves. We say we own our cars, we own our houses. Bullshit. If you are making payments on it you don't own shit. The bank owns it. And life owns you.
There is no dignity in working. The only dignity in life is in independence. Of course only 1/1,000 of 1% of us are independent. The rest swallow their pride and sacrifice their dignity.
I despise the fact that I am "semi" retired. I will always be "semi" retired. Because I fucked up. It is on me. I didn't plan ahead, I didn't take life seriously, mostly because the life I was living wasn't my own. It was more like a bad trip on acid.
But, what the fuck, here I am. I make my escape in movies. In sports. In whiskey. In pot. In books, baby.
The only backpack I am ever going to wear is in my mind. Makes sense, ultimately. I am not a backpack kind of guy. I'd rather escape in a limo.
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