Carol Says I Steal Her Cats

 I do.

But not intentionally.

Lakota was her cat, Lakota became my cat. Maka was her cat, Maka is now my cat.

The difference is in how we express our love.

My love is wide open, obvious, unmistakable and intense. I kiss my cats on the head, I pat them, I hold their head in my hands and touch my forehead to the top of their head in my highest form of reverence, I talk to them in my natural speaking voice. A lot. I give them constant attention because I don't see them as animals - I see them as the perfect expression of love.

Carol's love is more reserved. She is not as comfortable as I am in just putting it out there.

So the cats come to me. 

Animals respond to pure love, uninhibited love, because they are just like us - all they really want is to be loved. They want love that flows directly to their soul; they are more hesitant about love they have to interpret.

I just want to set the record straight. I am not a monster; I am a beacon of love (humbly said).

And love is the only thing that makes life worthwhile, whether you are an animal or a human.

The Suckness of Now

 "I see a woman in the night

  with a baby in her hand

  under an old street light

  near a garbage can

 Now she puts the kid away,

  and she's gone to get a hit

  She hates her life,

  and what she's done to it

  There's one more kid

  that will never go to school

  Never get to fall in love,

  never get to be cool".

"Rockin' in the Free World",  Neil Young

Neil Young spits out those last four lines; testimony to the awesome responsibility of being a parent.

You can fuck up your kids and possibly destroy their lives before they even start, or you can love them and give them a chance to define themselves and their own lives.

It's not that black and white. If you are a crack addict you are bad parent. Period. But you can be a seemingly responsible human with a job, a decent income, a fucking white picket fence and a Volvo, and still be a bad parent. A very bad parent.

If you transfer your failures and bitterness to your kids, you have failed. If you rise above your own problems and recognize that you are dealing with a miniature, pliable human being - you got a chance at delivering happiness. A pretty big gift.

I think about this a lot. I think about a lot of things a lot recently.

I was an unhappy, bitter man doing my accountant impersonation when my kids were young. But I am pretty sure I didn't dump that on them. I'm sure at night they wondered "Why is Dad reaching for another beer?" but at least I didn't beat them with a baseball bat.

Carol and I did not sit down and discuss how to take care of Keith and Craig. We didn't say "We are parents, this is an awesome responsibility, we better not fuck this up". We knew intuitively what to do. It was not an academic consideration.

Carol carried on in her parents' footsteps, I rebelled against my parents' road map. It worked pretty well.

I bring this up because I am thinking about my sons a lot lately. A LOT. Because we haven't seen them much during this fucking pandemic, which is defensible. But painful.

I have put out a desperate text trying to orchestrate a few outdoor get togethers between now and cold weather. It feels pathetic but necessary. We do not even know Krista. I want to know Krista. She is a member of my family.

I am convinced we will not see them on Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

Let me be clear. If that is the case Carol and I will be destroyed. Devastated. Crushed. It will fucking kill us. I am not exaggerating this and fuck you if you think I am. I will not accept a fucking zoom Thanksgiving, a fucking zoom Christmas. I would rather sit in the recliner with a bottle of Crown next to me all day and shed a few tears from time to time.

I will have to find a way to be strong for Carol. She lives for these holidays. Even more so than me, and that is saying a lot. You should see her in the morning as she gets ready for the day. Pure happiness. She exudes it openly and powerfully. 

It will be the first time in our life that we do not celebrate these holidays as a family. First time since 1980. You think that is insignificant?

So yeah, I am thinking about my sons a lot. Comfortable in knowing they can take care of themselves. They will not get sick. They will get through this. I am proud of those facts.

I don't worry about them. But I miss them. I miss hugging them, for Christ sake. I am an openly, physically loving man. Deny me the ability to hug my sons and you deny me a healthy chunk of joy.

Can't get them out of my mind.

But you know what?

Keith and Craig got to go to school, got to fall in love and got to be cool.

Intriguing

 "A drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts".

Variously credited as a Russian proverb and an Italian proverb. Also credited to the Greek essayist Plutarch.

Whatever. Sounds like a universal truth to me.

Kill The College Kids (Just Kidding, Big Brother)

 Henniker has had 11 cases of Covid-19 since all this bullshit began. ELEVEN. In 6 months.

That is nothing. Makes us all feel relatively safe.

College students and staff began returning to the New England College campus on August 14. Since then there have been four positive test results for students (and one more on the Manchester campus).

A total of five motherfucking cases in 1 and 1/2 weeks.

I am not willing to become a sacrificial lamb because some people feel that students HAVE to have in person learning. This is a goddamn pandemic. A highly transmissible virus which can easily be deadly.

Students do not have the right to their college experience at the expense of the safety of the residents of the town.

Fascinates me the extent to which the powers that be in government and in business are willing to risk the lives of innocent people in the naked pursuit of money. I mean, I have always known this about America, greedy, cold-hearted country that it is - but since March no one is even trying to hide it anymore.

College students are stupid and selfish. I know. I was one once. And I spent all my time drinking and playing pinball. Which partially explains why I am where I am in life right now.

They cannot be trusted to do the right thing. So don't expect them to. We have these things called laptops, and we have this thing called the internet. Fucking use them.

Carol and I went to dinner Saturday night with Jason and Karen. Outdoors at Country Spirit. The restaurant has the following notice posted on their website (and I assume somewhere at the restaurant):

" ATTN NEC STUDENTS!! In order to protect our staff, customers and the community we respectfully request that you do not dine in with us until after Sept 15th. We will be happy to provide you with curbside take-out service until then. Thank you for your cooperation".

That is the way it should be. Take charge. Don't be wimpy and hope nobody gets sick or dies. This is too goddamn dangerous to fool around with. 

Amusing note: At the end of dinner the waitress came to our table, put her hand on my shoulder and asked "Are you paying, POP?"

She was obviously making reference to my age, and possibly to the possibility that Jason and Karen are my kids.

Strange days indeed.

Lou Reed

 "Lou Reed died on October 27, 2013.................."

That is the first sentence of the last chapter of the Lou Reed biography I recently read. That sentence hit me hard - as if I was experiencing his death in real time. Unnerved me.

I read lots and lots and lots of biographies and autobiographies. They are heavily skewed towards the music industry, but they run the gamut from Jackie Gleason to Dean Martin to Katherine Hepburn to Neil Young to Lenny Bruce to George Jones to John Cleese to Waylon Jennings to Paul Simon............you get the point.

Once in a while I come across a book that affects me as if the subject was a friend of mine. I become emotionally involved in their life story.

Lou Reed caught me off guard. I own one Velvet Underground CD (the infamous banana album) and one Lou Reed cassette (Magic & Loss). I was aware of him, he interested me because he walked on the dark side and was ferociously independent, but I did not take a deep dive into his music.

My loss.

Obviously the book led up to his death and I could feel it coming, but at that point I had developed a deep admiration for who he was. He essentially died a second time for me.

His wife, Laurie Anderson, was in the room with him when he died. She described the scene - it was so peaceful, so spiritual - he knew he was dying, he accepted it, his wife was by his side.

George Harrison's death was similar - his wife was in the room with him. Again, a peaceful, spiritual scene.

Bowie's death was like that too.

Most of us, most likely, will show fear at a time like that - you will see it in our eyes. Nobody wants to die. But if you can get to that place where you accept it, it must be a beautiful thing. No kicking and screaming, no raging against the dying of the light, no fear. Looking into the eyes of your loved one.

I recently read about a woman in Australia who spent 12 years counseling dying people. She recorded their top regrets. #1 was:

"I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me".

Lou Reed, George Harrison, David Bowie - they lived extraordinary lives. They lived life the way they wanted to live it; they made a living doing what they loved. They were fiercely unique.

I think that's the key. I don't know how I will go, but if I was in that position right now, aware of my impending death, you would see fear in my eyes. Because my life in many ways has been a foreign thing to me.

That's why I am scrambling so hard right now to find a new path. Even if I only get a few years, but those years make sense to me, that will go a long way to exploding a mountain of regrets.

Truth is most of us do not live the lives we want. Our lives are too small; restricted, structured, inflexible. I guess if you live true to your personality - no compromise - that is a small victory.

I'm just not sure that's enough to erase the fear from your eyes.

Don't Waste My Time

 "Most topics are not worth having an opinion about".

That quote is directed to what I call GOP's. Grotesquely Opinionated People.

People who have an opinion about every motherfucking thing under the son.

A One Page Play

 I'll have an absentee ballot please.

No, problem. You a NH resident?

Yes. Here's my ID.

Thanks. So where are you going to be. Out of the country? Another state?

Right here in NH.

Sorry, I'm confused. An absentee ballot is for when you cannot physically vote in the state in which you reside.

I'm stretching the definition to fit my life circumstance.

Which is?

I am absent from my own life. 

How so?

I am not living the life I was supposed to live. I am living someone else's life. I am absent from my own existence.

That's quite esoteric but it does not conform to the letter of the law.

Please indulge me. I am broken. Actually more invisible than broken. I am Pacino on the stage when all I really want is to be me. An absentee ballot will allow me to vote rather than the impostor moving around in this body.

This is heavy and I'm sure it makes sense to you but I do not have time for this. Find yourself a shrink.

I need to find a shrink that can differentiate Pacino from the real me. Almost impossible. I know. I have tried. I have been honing this performance for a lifetime. Even I can't tell the difference.

Please step out of line sir.

Please don't make me go home as him. I don't t trust him anymore. It feels like he is taking over, feels like I am disappearing. 

Pick up a bottle of nice whiskey on the way home and have a little party with your friend.

He is NOT my friend!!!!!!!!!!

Security!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

All right, all right. I'm leaving. The next time you see me I will have disappeared. But you won't care. Nobody will fucking care. Nobody even knows who I am.

The American Dream

 Got me a haircut on Tuesday.

It was painful but had to be done. Haven't had one since before I got furloughed. Over four months.

Now you need to understand - I have no great desire to cut my hair. I like my hair long, flowing and unruly. Even if it looks ridiculous these days. I mean, I have a bald spot in the back, which sabotages the whole deal. But I really don't care how I look - I like the way it feels.

I am a child of the sixties. That's all you need to know. Go listen to "Almost Cut My Hair" by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and you will understand. Go ahead. I'll still be here when you get back.

Here's the deal. I went to a woman who has been cutting my hair for a long time. Used to be here in Henniker, now she's in Concord.

She got fucked by this coronavirus bullshit. She is the perfect example of how innocent people get destroyed by a corrupt, inefficient, cold-hearted government.

Had to close her shop for two months. She had zero income for two months. Zero. I have no idea how she survived that.

She applied for financial assistance from the government and was told she didn't qualify. Are you fucking kidding me?

She called all her creditors up front - mortgage, insurance, electric, cable etc -  and explained her situation and they all said they would cut her some slack. Not to worry.

Now they are coming after her. Mortgage company says she owes $4500 on her home and they need it ASAP. Cold-hearted pricks.

She applied for unemployment compensation from NH and was told her situation was difficult because she owns her own business. She continues to work with them and has still received no money from them. None. 

Since she re-opened her shop she has had to deal with a lot of assholes who complain about having to wear a mask. Actually having heated arguments with these pricks.

She is doing what the law requires her to do. Barbershops are required to demand that all customers wear masks and to make appointments. No walk-ins, no more than one person in the shop at a time.

She was always a walk-in business. No appointments. Now she has arguments with people who feel they shouldn't have to make an appointment. How fucking selfish and pig-headed do you have to be?

She told me there was a fistfight in her parking lot one day between two guys who were waiting their turn - one mask guy and one anti-mask guy.

She had a guy walk in without a mask - she gave him one and made him wear it - and then had to listen to the jerk shit on mask wearers for the entire haircut. Including the following intelligent comment - "When I see a guy wearing a mask I want to call him a pussy and punch him in the face".

Her stress level is through the roof.

On top of that she used to have a solid business. Now she has days with no customers, days with only one or two customers. She is behind on her rent payments for the shop.

She kept saying "I did everything I was told to do and this is my reward?" I felt so bad.

She spent most of my haircut venting and I don't blame her. Then she asked me how I am doing.

I felt like a shit. What was I supposed to say? I fattened up my savings account substantially and enjoyed a four month paid vacation? I downplayed it as much as I could, but compared to what she has endured and what she is still going through, I felt pretty bad.

She is a snapshot of what many Americans are going through. Especially small business owners. And it's not their fucking fault. They are being victimized by a deadly virus, and by an inept, unfeeling bureaucracy that does not give a damn about the lives of small people.

This is what I hate most about this situation. Your government is supposed to protect you when you cannot protect yourself. But trump and his spineless, ass-licking cronies do not care if people die or are financially ruined. They don't fucking care.

There should be a law that automatically kicks in when a president and his ball-lickers are causing Americans financial harm and/or death. A law that allows for forcibly removing them from office and replacing them with competent, empathetic human beings.

Americans are helpless in this situation. HELPLESS.

I gave her $40 for a $17 haircut. Big fucking deal. She really appreciated it but I still felt like I was being condescending.

A Perfect Moment

Last Friday Carol met up with an old friend late in the afternoon, so I came home to a quiet house.

I was aware of her rendezvous, so I was pretty psyched on my ride home. Quiet time is therapeutic.

Kissed Maka on the head a few times, filled her bowl with cold water, gave her a treat, slapped on some shorts, poured myself a short whiskey, hit the recliner, and dialed up a documentary on John Coltrane on Netflix.

I have a long list of stuff saved up on Netflix and a shorter list on Amazon Prime. Stuff that I want to watch. The list is long because if I watched everything I want to watch all the time I would be living upstairs, Carol downstairs.

Carol and I have tastes and interests that are diametrically opposed. Sometimes I'll watch my stuff with her on the couch, but the vibe is weird. She tunes out what I am watching and plays games on her tablet. There is an "I don't give a shit about this stuff" vibe permeating the air, and it takes away from my enjoyment.

Opposite to that, she watches HGTV, and Law and Order endlessly. I tune that out and read my magazines.

That is long term marriage in a nutshell.

When I get home on Friday I am a zombie. Thursday rolls into Friday and there is an extreme lack of sleep going on. I am wiped out.

I got sucked into the documentary. So real, so interesting, so informative. The atmosphere was perfect. Both in the documentary and in my head.

Netflix and Amazon Prime have lots of documentaries, many of which suck. I call them pseudo-documentaries. Apparently the thinking is if you cover a big name, like Jimi Hendrix for instance, people will watch them no matter what. But if you have the wrong people offering commentary, if the approach is superficial, if the point of view is sensationalistic, they fucking suck. I have given up on many like that.

But if you have the right people offering commentary, if the proper reverence is there, if the truth is there - raw or not - you got something.

The Coltrane documentary was superb. I sat there comfortably tired, sipping whiskey slowly, completely tuned into what I was hearing and seeing. And feeling.

I was in a perfect place. I felt it physically and psychologically. I was happy. I was at peace. Completely content.

The perfect way to roll into a four day weekend. I mean seriously, if you kick it off in happiness and peace, you don't have to climb down from the mountain of discontent just to get to ground zero.

Moments like that are rare. I believe they add minutes on to the end of your life.

You Cannot Escape An Enduring Truth

 "Give me your hungry, your tired, your poor, I'll piss on 'em.

  that's what the Statue of Bigotry says.

  Your poor huddled masses, let's club 'em to death

  and get it over with and just dump 'em on the boulevard".

From Dirty Blvd. by Lou Reed.

On an album titled "Street Hustle".

In 1978.

Six Words

"Live every day like it's your last".

Excellent advice. Nobody does it. It's impossible.

You get distracted. Work. Worry. Bills. The ironic truth that life is never what you thought it would be, and the way that reality dulls your mind, slows you down, and suffocates your emotions.

They are good words but they bounce off us like a rubber ball.

Except the other day. I was driving home listening to the radio when someone added six words to the phrase that floored me.

"Live every day like it's your last................because one day it will be".

The additional words shouldn't add any more weight to the sentiment; they don't change the message. But they amplify it by expressing what is implied.

Hearing it said that way knocked me out. Which was dangerous because I was behind the wheel of my brand new hot rod.

So, yeah - try to enjoy your day. Try to make the most of it. 

It's hot today. I exercised but did not achieve the desired cathartic effect because it is too damn hot. I'm a little down but fighting back. Tired.

Maybe I'll wait for tomorrow for fun to come rolling in.

And Four Becomes Two

Some people are lucky enough to have weekends, although I am convinced that does not represent reality for the majority of workers anymore.

Two days.

I am lucky. My weekends are four days. But after only two weeks back to work, four may as well be two.

Isn't that just like a human?

As I move through those four days it feels luxurious. Until I get to Tuesday. Staring down the barrel of Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.

Then I wonder what the hell I accomplished in those four days. Anything positive? Moving forward?

Apparently I have not yet learned to think incrementally versus apocalyptically.

Life is...........................

I am in a room upstairs.

Sitting behind my laptop in front of a window.

I see an endless parade of FedEx trucks, UPS trucks, Amazon trucks.

That defines life right now as well as anything else.

Marc Maron (Again?)

I have been listening to Marc Maron a lot more recently.

That is because I figured out I can listen to his podcast in my car. If I was 40 years old I would not have had to figure that out. It would have been intuitive knowledge. It took me about two weeks with the new car to figure out that I needed to connect my phone to access GPS.

In my defense, the 2011 Hyundai I owned had GPS as an option on the menu. Did not need a phone. The 2020 is a rolling computer. There are so many menu options that I assumed I was just looking in the wrong places. Scrolled through every fucking option, touched every icon I could touch on the touch screen, and then scrolled again and touched again - no GPS.

One day, after dropping acid, it came to me in a dream - plug in the phone, motherfucker. I was off and running.

Marc Maron is a smart guy. A sensitive guy. A funny guy. An honest guy. An honest guy to the point of rawness. Self aware and unafraid to express that part of him. 

He is one of the pioneers of podcasts. Been doing it for 11 years.

His girlfriend died unexpectedly in May of this year. It has devastated him. His 16 year old cat is on the verge of death and it freaks Marc out. He is a cat lover on the magnitude of my own cat love. He is dealing with coronavirus on his own - no more girlfriend. He is a recovering alcoholic and drug addict and has not relapsed. I respect him for that.

I love his honesty the most. He doesn't sugarcoat anything. He opens every podcast with about a ten minute talk. Often about coronavirus for the last few months.

He talks about how it freaks him out, how he has no clue how it will end or if it will end, how it depresses him, he talks about how fucking weird and backwards and upside down life is right now. He opens up his heart and soul.

I hate all this "we are all in this together" shit. On one level we are, on a more honest level we are not. There are fuckheads out there trying to kill me by not wearing masks.

I hate all the feelgood commercials trying to make it look like there is a future after covid. Like these corporations are our friends and only want the best for us.

They want to sell us shit. Period. I know. I bought a Hyundai. I want to believe in a future after covid but I think whatever future that is will be broken, and a lot of people will suffer and be unhappy for a long time.

Marc talks like this. But he also manages to make me laugh, somehow, during these reflections. I appreciate this.

That's why I love dark humor. Dark humor is based in honesty.

I want the honesty. Don't blow smoke up my ass. I am 66 years old and have lost a year of my life. I could easily die from one random contact, one small slip-up, one fucking mistake. I am afraid. I am depressed. I am angry.

Marc weaves intelligent thought, informed opinions and humor in with his commentary on just how horrible this situation is. He expresses himself in exactly the way I think.

If you expect me to listen to you, do not give me phony optimism. Admit that you are afraid. Everything is aligned against us, especially the current administration that is responsible for protecting us.

I have come to love and respect Marc Maron. For the person he is and for the way he expresses harsh truths and colors them with a sense of humor. I would love to shoot the shit with him.

Who I Am (in part)

I am sitting at my kitchen table with the laptop in front of me.

There are books scattered around. Two sit side by side. Actually one book and one dust jacket.

"The Jordan Rules". It has a close up of Michael Jordan on the cover. The dust jacket - "Lou Reed - A Life". It has an in your face picture of Lou Reed on the cover.

These two men could not be more different. Could not have lived more different lives.

I recently read "The Jordan Rules". I am currently reading "Lou Reed".

The scope of the people who interest me defies categorization.

What We Have Learned

We now know, per our experiences as American citizens since January 20, 2017, is that under a corrupt administration we the people are helpless. Defenseless.

We can die, we can go bankrupt, we can lose our homes, we can be subjected to state sanctioned violence, and there is nowhere to turn for justice or protection.

That is a sobering thought in a country based on lofty ideals.

Two Thoughts

Eventually you reach a point in life where there are no more excuses.

When your cat curls up in your lap and goes to sleep, in trust and in love, that is one of the most peaceful moments you can experience.