Sadistic Claus

As a kid, I couldn't figure out if Santa had a hearing problem or was just some sadistic old man that liked to disappoint kids.  Every Christmas, I would ask for one thing and then Christmas morning would come and I would receive a slightly different version of what I asked for.  By slightly different, I mean, slightly cheaper. 

For example, if I asked Santa for a G.I. Joe, I would get a Salvation Army Steve.  If I asked for a football, I would get a frisbee.  If I asked for a puppy, there would be new Hush Puppies underwear under our Christmas tree.

It was like Santa wanted to fulfill my Christmas wishes but also wanted to satisfy his own sick twisted need to disappoint kids.  But I got older and a little smarter.  So, I would aim higher.  I would tell Santa I want a motorcycle.  Then Christmas would come and instead, I got a bike.  The very thing I really wanted.  The older I got, I learned how to win the battle of wits against that old sadistic man from the North Pole.

Toys back then were 10% plastic and 90% imagination.  There really was no difference between a GI Joe or a Salvation Army Steve except price.  It all came down to the child and how he used his imagination with that toy.  That is something I never realized until I became much older.


This Christmas, I really only wanted one thing; maybe two:  A phone call and a three word sentence.  Instead, I got the Salvation Army Steve of phone calls:  Text messages.  Sure, I was disappointed.  Text messages are so impersonal especially on such a personal holiday like Christmas. 

So, for a few hours, I quietly wallowed in my own disappointment and reflected on why Santa, once again, has resorted to low balling my Christmas requests.  It dawned on me, that here we are in the age of technology and information and today's toys not only cause a disconnect between people but they suck all the creativity out of us. 

I used to love going to the mailbox on Christmas and getting physical Christmas cards.  Now, it's all about e-cards and Christmas wishes on our Facebook pages.  Or just some impersonal text message.  When I was a kid and I couldn't afford buying presents, I would either steal something from my mom, wrap it up and give it back to her Christmas morning.  Or I would just make her something like a drawing that said "I love you" or some ridiculous painted rock.  I would get creative because I wanted her to know how much I care.  Now, it's all about gift cards.  Nothing is more lazy and less creative than handing cash to a store and in return, they give you a prepaid plastic card for the recipient to turn around and do their own Christmas shopping.  Hell, you can buy gift cards for someone without even leaving your house. 

We have become so disconnected with each other and I don't even think people realize it.  We are either so fat and lazy in our love for another or simply so self-absorbed, we don't even recognize who we've become.

I think the best Christmases, the ones that are always remembered, are not the ones where we get the GI Joes we asked for or the fancy new iphone we begged Santa for.  The best Christmases are always the thoughtful ones; the ones where we are treated as someone important and significant, where gifts are simple but heartfelt, where people put pride and laziness to the side and either pick up the telephone or make something creative instead of relying on the easy way out that technology has afforded us. 

But I also believe the best Christmases are the ones where disappointment is realized to be nothing but one man's selfish wants triumphing over just simply being thankful.  The best Christmases are being content when you are given a Salvation Army Steve and thanking that person simply for making an effort.

I had a shitty Christmas.  But it was my fault.  Christmas isn't about focusing on ourselves.  It's about other people.  It's what we give not what we get. 

As far as Santa goes, I suppose he has his reasons for not meeting my humble demands.  Next Christmas, I will ask for something bigger like a knock on my door.   And like always, Santa will low ball me and I just may get that phone call instead. 

And if I don't, I'll be happy with whatever that sadistic old man finds me worthy of.

Roger

Roger is a nimble man.  As nimble as any 93 year old man can be. 

His refusal to ever see a doctor is understood.  His wife, twenty years before, went to her doctor with a back ache.  A diagnosis of cancer and a week later, Roger buried her.  On the mantle above his favorite resting chair, her face illuminates his living room.  You can't walk anywhere in his humble home without seeing her smile. 

Roger does everything with a smile.  I suppose photographed smiles can be contagious.

Roger has lived a remarkable life.  Still does.  He sticks to this routine.  A shopping trip to Whole Foods on Monday, church on Sunday and the rest of the week, he reads.  His television is only turned on for specific sporting events.  Roger has his favorite teams. 

Recently, Roger received a letter from the IRS to inform him he was being audited.  During World War II, as he fought for our country, the department of defense overpaid him $30 a month for about 18 months.  Seventy years later, our government now wants $3000 from him.  Roger thinks it's funny. 

That's how Roger is... he smiles in the face of everything.

Roger is a simple man.  His favorite food is jello. If you sit down to have a conservation with him, his favorite subject will be YOU.  Roger has lived a remarkable life yet considers his life, his stories, his lessons, and his values to be ordinary.  

Roger has this rare ability to make one feel important.  If you are fortunate enough to speak with him, he will stare you straight into your eyes and ask you many questions.  Roger is a caring man.  As genuine as one can be.

"What would you like to do today, Sir?" 

"Let's go to the mall". he gleefully replied.

"But, its Christmas time.  The mall will be crowded.  There will be traffic.  People aren't as jolly as you'd think this time of year at the mall."

"Let's go to the mall", he repeated.

So, we went.

Roger is a nimble man.  As nimble as any 93 year old man can be.

Upon entering this overcrowded retail structure, Roger led the way.

"Where would you like to go first?"

"Sears", he gleefully replied.

Roger is a nimble man except when it comes to escalators.  Who hasn't almost missed a step on one of those moving staircases?  Roger fell to one knee, picked himself up gracefully and he smiled.  It's Christmas at the mall so nobody even noticed.  I doubt that thought even crossed his mind.

Roger lives alone.  His kids, half a country away and years removed from conversation.  Roger still speaks of them with love.

Upon entering this archaic establishment commonly known as Sears, Roger walked at his own pace towards the men's clothing section.   Fumbling through the tie rack, he settled on one particular tie that seemed to suit his taste. 

As he handed the cashier the tie and $30, he demanded that this young woman keep the change.  Smiling, she replied, "Sir, would you like me to wrap this for you?"  Roger smiled back and nodded no.

The ride back to his home was nothing but the peaceful sound of an older man humming along with Christmas carols that played so slightly in the background.

Who would dare break out into idle chatter when a nimble man like Roger is lost in Christmas song?

Upon arrival to his humble home, Roger smiled and he handed me the tie.  "Merry Christmas, Son".  Then like an old cowboy from a western, he faded off into the distance.

This Christmas, Roger will be getting the best gift I can think of: 

Jello.

Roger is a good man.  As good as any man can be. 

Cliched Sympathy

It's just a dog.

Tell that to the friend who won't vacuum her house for fear of erasing every last remnant of her best friend.    Say it to those who come home to nothing but a wag of a tail.  Tell those kids, those elderly patients; anyone stuck in a sick ward. that a lick to the face is merely instinct.  Convince them that a kiss from a dog means absolutely nothing. 

She doesn't deserve you.

Tell me again about this plentiful sea of other fish.  Go ahead use cliches if it makes YOU feel better.  If comfort is found in shitty little phrases, let us hurt.  Sometimes, saying nothing is okay.  But look, I suppose this plentiful sea of other fish sounds pretty good during those moments of lonely introspection.  But if you've ever seen a school of fish, they all look the same.  They all move the same.  They all swim the same.  They are all the same.  So, forgive me, for not being willing to settle for the ordinary.  But I don't listen to cliches and I don't speak in cliches because I have other fish to fry.

You only live once.

Quite clever, my friend.  Balls to the walls, is that what you're saying?  Because it seems to me, if we only live once, then reckless abandon seems really unwise.  But hey, that's me, Mr. Calculated and Cautious.  I suppose time is winding down.  And I suppose, a wasted minute is a minute never recovered.  But I don't believe we only live once.  I believe how we conduct our lives now is accounted for in the next life.  And in the next life, there are no do-overs.

Life isn't fair.

Says who?  Where do these entitlement issues come from?  Who's to say we don't deserve suffering? 

How beautiful that rainbow is, I heard you say as minutes before you complained about the rain and dark skies.  How can we recognize beauty if we've never seen the ugly?  Life provides balance and nothing says fairness more than balance.  So, I ask you, Is life really unfair or are our expectations unfair?

She's in a better place.

This isn't about her.  This is about me.  The one left behind.  How does her destination make a difference that I and them have to wake up each day knowing we won't see or speak to her again?  Tell me, what comfort there is in the knowledge that someone else is now bathing in her warmth and her love.  Explain to me how that better place makes this place more bearable without her.  She may be in a better place but please, tell me something relevant or tell me nothing at all.

I am sorry.

Thank you.

Just like Everyone Else

I don't blame her or he
for wanting to be
like everyone else
our wants, the same
her, he and even myself

I asked the boy who he wanted to be
he looked around then pointed at me

"Why, my son?  Who do you see?"

He coyly smiled, "you are so happy".

"but son, sometimes
smiles are just a disguise"

Quick to agree, he replied
"they are beautiful lies."



I asked my father in a dream of some sort
"if you could could go back, would you choose to abort?"

"LOOK, MY SON, I AM TO BLAME", was his angry retort.

So, I wandered in sleep wondering who I've become
Am I his father or am I his my son?
It was one of those moments where I wish I was them
those people with fathers; not forgotten by one



I asked the queen who sits on my throne
"why did you choose me over being alone?"

"LOOK, MY LOVE, IT MAY NOT BE PRACTICAL
BUT WHEN I AM WITH YOU, IT'S ALL SO MAGICAL"

I considered her words as carefully as could be
and thought to myself, "somewhere, someone wishes they were me."



I asked my God to explain free will
the silence was deafening
as the world stood still.

"LOOK MY SON, NOT EVERYONE WILL BELIEVE
IT'S UP TO YOU, TO DENY OR RECEIVE"

I considered His words knowing I had nothing to lose
and needlessly wondering if He knew what I was going to choose.

And I made my choice with nary a pause
forgetting for a moment all of my flaws



Sometimes when I'm down
and down on myself
I recognize this cloak in self-covered lies
burying the truth in a brilliant disguise
as we are busy wishing we were just like everyone else.

Dead Letter Post Office

Dear Writers Block, where are you when I need you most?  Shut me up before I am shut out.  And if I should shut down, don't shut the door on my dreams.  Oh Writer's Block, where are you when I need you most?  Stop whispering indifference into my ear.

Should I come to terms that those words will never again be said?  Like I did at ten.  Are they being withheld for a king's ransom?  Say something before I say too much.


Here's a pen.  A piece of paper.  A cup of  coffee.  A cigarette.
Dear Diary, are we over yet?


Should I come to terms that the best of us has come and gone?  Dear Temporary Insanity, please plead the fifth.  It was just a sip from the devil's cup.  Dear Conscience, I'm not giving up.  Say something before I say too much.


Here's a mirror.  A hair brush.  Makeup.  And your drug of choice.
Say hello to the one you love.  Dear Writer's Block, where are you when I need you most?  Stop me before I start.


Remember what I put you through?  Remember that I remember, too.  Dear Rewritten Past, I no longer believe in your version of you.  Say something remotely true.  Then, rewritten past, we can start anew.

Should I come to terms that it was all a momentary lapse of reasoning?  Dear Unanswered Questions, silence is neither friend nor foe.  Dear Apathy, you're a better friend than indifference.  Say something before I say too much.


Here's a telephone and a gentle nudge.
Dear Priorities, how did you lose my number?  Your insignificant other taps his toes.  And he waits.  And he waits.  Dear Writer's Block, where are you when I need you most?   

Dear Conscience, I've packed your bags so you can take a vacation.  Dear Ambition, please come home.  Should I come to terms that empathetic whispers are only heard by a few?  Dear Empathetic Screams, tell me this isn't true. 

Dear Unrequited Love, you aren't as bad as I once believed.  Those days were much safer.  Much calmer.  Less anxiety.  Dear Unused Medication, when did you become temptation proof?  Dear Masochistic Me, take one pill.  Comfortably numb or uncomfortably alive, Dear Masochistic Me, never change.


Here's a scalpel.  A band aid.  And a napkin for you.
Dear Beautiful You, how does my heart taste? 


Dear Writer's Black, where are you when I need you most?  Say something before I say too much.  And if I say too much, stop me before I am too late.  Dear Writers Block, never censor me. 

Should I come to terms that this is me?  Dear Abandonment Issues, don't leave me now.  We've come so far together.  Dear Neurosis, stop chewing your nails.  Should you come to terms that this is me, Dear Writers Block, you will no longer be needed.

Dear Writers Block, where are you when I need you most?  Say something if I should say too much.

What Christmas is about

No matter where I go in this city, I pass by those places that have a significant meaning in my life.  There's the library where I had my first real kiss.  The apartment where I first got laid.  The park where we all got drunk together for the very first time.  The house I grew up in.  The school where I met the greatest friends a man could have.  The neighborhood where best friends die.

Late last night, as a means to deal with my difficult time of falling asleep, I decided to take a light jog through my neighborhood.   I always know Christmas is around the corner by the chill in the air.  More so, the obvious signs of Christmas are everywhere; the Christmas lights hanging on the exterior of my neighbor's houses, the plastic Baby Jesus' and manger scenes neatly arranged in front yards and of course, the mere commercialism that inundates every aspect of our lives.

On my street, there is only one house that bares no reminders of Christmas.  At 2:00 a.m., with the surrounding homes all flickering in Christmas glory, this one house could be easily missed.  The darkness, maybe the personified loneliness, in an undecorated home this time of year should lend itself to some provocative questions. 

Back in the neighborhood where best friends die, I knew what Christmas was all about.  There's something to be said about another family that considers you one of their own.  There's a certain ambiance and perspective celebrating Christmas with a real family.  There isn't a greater feeling in the world than seeing your name written on a stocking as it hangs over the fireplace when your name was written by someone unrelated to you.  Christmas is about belonging.  Forget the presents, the materialism, the commercialism.  Forget everything about Christmas except that simple basic human need of belonging.

After my light jog last night, I stood in front of that undecorated house and thought about whomever may live inside.  Was it just an elderly person that is now alone in the world because he or she has survived the hands of time while his or her loved ones did not?  Or was it a forgotten son or daughter?  Maybe, it was just a family that simply chooses not to adorn their home in Christmas lights.  Really, I was probably thinking too much into the reasons behind this one naked house on a street where every house was flickering in Christmas glory. 

Like that neighborhood where best friends die and in that house where I was welcomed as one of their own, this Christmas will be a first for many without someone else; someone else that celebrated this holiday with them the year before.  For them, I imagine they will go through the same routine of hanging a Christmas stocking over the fireplace with that person's name thoughtfully written despite that person's absence. 

It's Christmas.  The time of year we reminisce with loved ones.  The time of year we remember those we once spent this holiday with and more importantly, the one time of year, we make certain those we love know they belong. 

As I stood outside that lonely unlit house last night, I remembered those past Christmases that felt like Christmas.  Those years as a child where mom did her best to make sure there were no empty spaces under our little humble Christmas tree.  Those years in that neighborhood where best friends die, another family treated me as their own.  And all those Christmases in between.

Then, I walked into my house and promised this would be the year, I hang up some Christmas lights.  Because sometimes, even unlit lonely houses want to flicker in Christmas glory so they feel like they belong.

Wake Me

Wake me up when the audition is over.  Are we more than friends or friends no more?  Say it's a role of a lifetime yet seems to be a lifetime away.  Wake me up when your mind is made.

It was an easy transition from nothing to you.  There was no audition to put me through.  Say it was my smile or my boyish charm.  I replay those days in my head and still can't recall how I got you. 

Wake me up when the war is over.   Tell her, I am coming home.  It's raining bullets and so much hate.  They, like me and me, like them.  Wake me up so I can escape.

Why God must I believe in You?  It would be much easier to deny all this.  But somewhere, someone speaks the truth.  It was an easy transition from nothing to You.  I'm in no condition to deny what is true.

Back at home, it's raining fear; a manifestation of sorts.  She counts the days for my arrival.  Wake me up when she's finally in my arms.

Do you love me or just the man you thought I could be?  Was it just an idea or something tangible?  Pull out my heart, I will feed it to anyone.  I'm just a man and you're a cannibal.  Wake me up when dinner is served.

I can have my way with you.  Anytime, anywhere.  If it was yesterday. 

You hang onto my every word.  Every missed call, each and every lie.  Say what you are thinking now.  If I could read minds, I'd hear what I don't want to hear.  Wake me up yesterday.

Where did I go wrong?  Was I just an experiment?  Certain words should never be hard to say.  Pride should never get in the way.  It was an easy transition from alone to lonely; easier than it should be.   Every martyr has his crucifixion and I've been hanging past day three.  Wake me up on a more joyous holiday.

Wake me up when this movie is over.  Preferably, at happily every after.  Nothing ever makes sense until the credits roll.  Why God am I the leading actor of a silent film?  It would be much easier to speak what's on my mind.  Say that there will be a happy ending and I'll admit I'm not so good at pretending. Because that is all that acting is.

Wake me up when the audition is done.  I'll pull out my heart and feed it to anyone. 

But it's you and only you...

Don't wake me up if we are through.

Black Saturday in Rome

There I was sitting in my office.  Just outside my slightly open door, I could hear the whimper of a co-worker.  She was one of three women that worked in our predominantly male office.

Curiously, I walked past her cubicle to get a glimpse of where these mournful cries were coming from.  Because it seemed appropriate and I tend to be a little awkward when someone I casually know is in tears, I didn't say anything.  I just gave a half smile and waited for the office gossip to trickle down to me.

It didn't take long.  Soon, the whole office was abuzz with grief.  The three office women were shaking their collective heads and asking God why.  The men, well, each of them had a story to tell. 

Everyone, each of a varying degree, was in shock.  Some, inconsolable.  Others, simply a little sad.

This was six years ago:  the day Heath Ledger died.

It seemed odd at the time.  It was the first time I can remember watching people mourn over the death of someone they did not know.  I have no memory of Elvis dying or Marilyn Monroe.  Sure, I remember the day Princess Diana was killed but she was English and those Brits seem to hero worship everyone. 

In 1981, I was nine years old laying in a hospital bed after a major surgery; a surgery that guaranteed I would live past puberty.  Those three weeks in the hospital were spent reading my first book, Where the Red Fern Grows and watching TV,   I only remember one thing on that TV during those weeks in that hospital bed; it was the Princess Diana/Prince Charles wedding.

This was before the internet.  This was before we had 300 channels to choose from. This was before Facebook. We were spoon fed our entertainment from three channels.  Nine year olds don't like weddings and certainly, cartoons are the only acceptable programming on TV at that age.  So, imagine, there I was; a little boy, stuck in bed watching an all day wedding of two people I had never heard of. 

It made no sense to me.

Thirty something years later, I get it.

So, tonight, word spread like wildfire across the internet and social networks that another good looking celebrity died.  The reactions were predictable.  The same reactions I witnessed six years ago when Heath Ledger passed on.  Tears, shock; women, gay men lamenting the loss of a famous good looking guy.  Straight men feeling like one of us just lost his life. 

That's the thing about humans; we personalize everything.  We empathize with those we relate to and we mourn over the loss of those we either want to be with or those we see ourselves being similar to.  It's about us; not them.

Talent is an aphrodisiac but I think hero worship goes much deeper than that.  I believe we are all born with an innate desire to find God.  Some of us fill that void with money or materialism.  Some of us chase God in human form and we call them celebrities.  All you have to do is rewind to the 1960's when women would faint at the mere presence of the Beatles.  All you have to do is post an opinion on any celebrity, movie or TV show on Facebook and a conversation or a heated debate will ensue.

The Romans knew how to distract the public from their wars and corruption.  It was Bread and Circus.  The gladiators were the celebrities.  If we the people have food on our table and entertainment to distract us, everything else will pale in comparison.

When word spread that Paul Walker died today, I headed over to MSN to verify the news.  Not surprisingly, it was the first news story listed.  In small print, there was a blurb about the one sided Iranian Nuke Deal we caved in on.  The rest of the articles were either celebrity related or accounts of Black Friday. 

So, here I was, a little affected by the death of someone I only know because of the job he had.  By all accounts, he was a good guy; charitable and down to earth.  That said, it only mattered to me because, as a man with a healthy ego, I saw myself in him.  For some reason, we believe we know these people and it's all based on characters they play in movies.

As I scrolled the stream of Facebook, in between the boastful claims of good deals from yesterday, were countless people discussing the death of someone who quite frankly, acted in a lot of terrible movies.  If I was nine years old again, I would probably believe Paul Walker was someone important like the President or Bugs Bunny or Prince Charles.

Here is one of my friends claiming to be "devastated". 

I get it but if the death of a celebrity can devastate someone, what happens to that person when a family member dies?  I can't even think of a word more extreme than "devastated". 

It was just a few weeks ago, I read an article about some hurricane "devastating" the Phillippines.  I'm not picking on this friend but either we have lost all perspective in this world or we have limited vocabularies.  I tend to believe it's the first option.

I imagine the last days of Rome were quite similar to where we are today.  People shortening a family holiday like Thanksgiving in order to set up camp outside some Walmart.  Then when those doors open the following morning, pushing and shoving everyone who dares get in their way just to save a few dollars on some possession that may or may not be given on Christmas to one of those family members that was just abandoned the night before.   Blood thirsty crowds chanting ME ME ME as they reach towards the shelves for some tangible item.   And then the next day, grieving the death of some celebrity while not thinking twice about their fellow men and women they shoved to the ground the day before inside that Walmart. 

I imagine Rome wasn't this bad.

I understand why we react the way we do when pretty people die.  I get why we seem to care more about materialism and celebrity than those things that truly matter.

I was nine years old in a hospital bed recovering from a major surgery that guaranteed me life past puberty when I first realized this world has lost all perspective. 

Thank you

Coming down from all those highs; those lies I used to tell myself.  Thank you addiction for the best friend any man can have.  I'll state the obvious when I can catch my breath; catch my fall if you catch my drift.  Thank you addiction says these idle hands.

Two billion heartbeats if I live to seventy.  Through all the punches and all the kicks, all the light and all the dark;  from the bottom of my soul, thank you, heart.

Little old lady who gave birth to me; well, we barely speak.  She throws words at me and then I duck.  When the I love yous stop and you're still a kid, detachment becomes your defense.  Maybe, deep down inside, those words still exist.  I'll state the obvious when I catch my breath; catch my fall if you catch my drift.  Thank you mom, I know you mean well.

Thank you for being pro-life.  Sure, you could have taken the easy road.  This accident was no mistake.  Little old lady who gave birth to me, you chose well.

Waking up from a deep sleep; back from a world where familiar faces still greet me, I am reminded that nothing is ever done in vain.  Thank you dreams for the best friend any restless man can have. 

Once upon a time, we were all stronger than this.  I am sorry you lost your step.  If I knew peace was out of reach, I would have crushed your bubble and dragged you out.  Thank you temptation for all this wisdom.  Someday, I will reconcile the two.  I am sorry temptation killed a man like you.  I'll state the obvious when I catch my breath; catch my fall if you catch my drift.  Thank you wisdom for proving no one dies in vain.

Old man in an unmarked grave, I don't know your face.  Sure, I wonder if I ever crossed your mind.  But old man in that unmarked grave, there are no hard feelings.  Someday, I may even visit you.  Thank you dad for dying before we meet.  Sincerely, your son, Clarity.  I'll state the obvious when I catch my breath; catch my fall if you catch my drift.  Thank you dad for everything.

You, yes you, the one I used to know; the one I can't let go.  Thank you for the recipes.  I'll be sure to make the perfect feast.  Next time, there's always a next time, I'll thank you perfectly.  And maybe, you'll notice me. 

Again.

Thank you fear for the cement in my shoes.
Thank you failure when there's nothing left to lose.
Thank you negativity.  The half empty glass is always right to choose.

Coming down from all these highs; all the lies I used to tell myself.  Thank you clarity for being the best friend a man can have.  I'll state the obvious when I catch my breath; catch my fall if you catch my drift.  Thank you clarity says this grateful man.

All Cats go to Hell

For a brief period in my life, I had a cat in a dog's body.  It was a gift given to me after my black lab, a real dog, died.

This new dog I received already had a name.  It was Tessa.

Tessa was a yellow lab.  She was anything like the dogs I had been accustomed to.  It was aloof.  Indifferent.  Frankly, it was an arrogant dick.

Tessa was a dick.

Like a cat.

She hated to be touched.  She never greeted me at the door.  I don't even think she knew her name but if she did, she obviously hated it because she never responded when I called her.

Now, in Tessa's defense, she was already 6 years old when I was given her.  So, I suppose her former owners were partly to blame for this undoglike behavior.

My last dog, prior to Tessa, Buddy, was a needy fucker.  It needed constant attention.  I was his god.  I was Buddy's Lord and Savior.  Man, did I love that dog.

Tessa was the antithesis of Buddy.

When Josh Billings once stated that "dogs are the only thing on earth that love you more than itself", he was referring to Buddy.

It's an amazing feeling to feel needed, wanted and loved.  That is the gift that Buddy left me in his short lived life of ten years.

I've heard many theories on why some people are cat people and others are dog people.  For me, there's no contest.

I'm a needy fucker.  I need to be needed, wanted and loved... maybe, in a small degree, worshiped.  That's me in a nutshell.

When I love someone, I am no different than Buddy.  I can be frustrating and even unbearable, at times.  But I never leave a doubt of how I feel for that person.

Buddy always suffered from separation anxiety when I wasn't around.  He would chew up any of my belongings he could find.  I suppose he believed he was teaching me a lesson.  That dog had mastered the art of the silent treatment.  He pouted if I went somewhere in my car without him.  That dog gave the best guilt trips around.  They say dogs are just mirror images of their masters and oddly, he was as good at manipulation as I am.

I always wondered why he was so upset when I left him to go somewhere.  Did he think I was going to meet a better dog and replace him?  Did he have these images of me petting another dog while I was away? 

Because I tend to be egocentric, I assume everyone and all creatures think like I do.  I know that if I was a dog and my master had left me alone, my first thoughts would be that he must be out petting another dog and looking to replace me.


My last roommate was this crazy cat lady.  Not only did she feed all the neighborhood stray cats daily, she owned a cat.  She named it Ginger. 

For the first few weeks I lived with her, I completely ignored Ginger.  Sure, she tried to get my attention on a few occasions by staring at me for hours on end or by meowing for no damned reason before I would wake up in the morning.  But I simply decided not to give her eye contact or acknowledge her annoying cat sounds.


Then one day, I was in a particularly good mood and decided to give Ginger one chance to impress me.  As I was sitting in my internet chair playing on my laptop, Ginger decided to rub itself all over my leg.  I thought to myself, "well, well, well, I guess this cat likes me.  I guess cats are friendly, after all."  My thought process went even a little deeper, "I can really get into cats now.  Ginger is giving me affection so maybe I was wrong about these useless pets". 


So, after carefully considering my next move, I bent down to pet that cat.  Before my hand had even touched it, it fucking bit me.


That was the moment I realized why cats and dogs don't get along.  It was also the moment I decided to never give another cat a chance with me.

Cats were never intended to be domesticated.  They are independent animals that prefer solitude.  Cats are really nothing more than smaller versions of tigers.  Regardless of what cat lovers believe, cats don't care about you.  That is not affection they are giving when they rub up against you or even jump in your lap.  They are using you. 


In a sense, cats are a lot like politicians.  They know what to say and do to get you to meet their needs but they are quietly laughing at you when you aren't paying attention.


Dogs genuinely want our affection.  They are social animals.  Kick a dog and he still won't leave you.  Dogs aim to please.  Cats aim to please... themselves.


Recently on facebook, somebody posted a status about the death of their cat.  Like usual, the death groupies and pretend prayer givers showed up to offer their sympathy.  Now, I am not heartless.  I do understand the grief caused when a pet dies.  I certainly understand the attachment we humans have with our pets.

Now before I finish my thought, I should clarify what death groupies and pretend prayer givers are:

Death groupies are those people who always glop onto every tragedy on social networks.  Somebody dies and it's the death groupies who suddenly claim to have been best friends with the now dead person.  Death groupies, under the guise of being big-hearted, are the ones who make the death of someone else all about themselves and their pain and how they feel.

Pretend prayer givers are the people who show up in statuses when there is a tragedy or misfortune in ones' life and comment with some knee jerk reaction of "you are in my prayers" or "I will pray for you".  Of course, three seconds after the pretend prayer offering is given, they are off onto someone elses status offering sympathy or some other trite piece of information. 

Let's be honest, how many people actually stop and pray for those they tell are in their prayers?  Not many. 

"I will pray for you" usually is just a calculated phrase used during an awkward moment.  It's almost as genuine as a cliche.  And don't get me started on people who try to make the "if life hands you a lemon, make lemonade" cliche something comforting. 

And come to think of it, if cats could type and were on facebook, they would be pretend prayer givers.  They would say what we think we want to hear just for their own selfish means.

Okay, now back to the facebook status regarding the death of one's cat:  This woman was obviously upset about the loss of her cat.  And rightfully, so.  As I am reading the usual comments from people, one particular comment made me laugh.  Maybe, it shouldn't have but it did.

The comment said, "I am sorry for your loss but be assured Mittens is in heaven waiting for you."

WTF?  I so desperately wanted to type that acronym under her comment. 

What makes this pretend prayer giver so sure Mittens is in heaven?  Where is it written that animals even go to heaven?   Did this woman just make up her own belief system and decide to convert people to her new animal heaven religion? 

Maybe, I am being harsh.  I just thought it was ridiculous but moreso, awkward. 

But let's say this woman is right.  Let's pretend there is an afterlife for our pets. 

If the notion that all dogs go to heaven is true, then I am certain Mittens and all other cats go to hell.  The same place Tessa went when she died. 
 

Few and Far Between

I unplugged every clock in my house and the sun still came up. 

Where did the time go? 

When we were talking, your brave face was growing too tight.  How could you breathe?  Man, what I wouldn't give for five more minutes.  Remember the clock flashed midnight for three weeks straight?  Reason enough to believe day light was just an illusion.

Shed your thick skin, my friend.  Wear my sorry excuse for a heart on your sleeve.  I want to know where our time went.  I want to believe.

The gratitude was few and far between as were the apologies.  Tomorrow, I said. 

Life embarrassing is a lonely town just outside the city limits of Guilt.  Here in Guilt, we welcome all women and children.  Please leave your clocks at home.  If you're asked what time it is, tell them I said, "tomorrow".

Moonlight swims, who wears clothes?  Shame doesn't exist in the dark.  Foreplay, then I'm an afterthought.  Are you angry because I wasted your time? 

Honey, drown your pride.  I'll keep the lights off.  I'll show you where the time has gone. 

Guilt is a violent city surrounded by empty fields.  The farmers all pray for rain.  They believe you reap what you sow and faith is their only crop. 

The blessings are few and far between.  Tomorrow, they say.

My hands shake.  My eyes twitch.  Where did our time go? 

Your beautiful wings, your crooked horns.  They say good comes from God and evil from the devil.  But you're both.  I feel like an ant while you hold up a magnifying glass and you're using the sunlight to burn me alive.  And I feel like a butterfly whose wings you ripped off just to kill time. 

But only because of the love you took back.  Tomorrow, I say.

Hello cancer, my only friend.  I've come to talk to you again.  You don't just show up over night.  It takes years and years of damaged cells.  And then your ugly face appears.  Can you tell me where our time went while you were swimming in the blood of the unexpected? 

Mercy me, few and far between.  Rip off the halo, change my shoes.  Unplug the clocks.  Head out of town.  Take no baggage.  Start over again.  Tomorrow, I say.

They say, the other side does not keep time.  Then tell me where the time goes. 

I thought we would be around forever.

I miss your face.  And I miss your love.  Although, it's few and far between, I can't let go.

Tomorrow, I say. 

Stereotyping Future Government Leaders

So, I've been doing a lot of thinking regarding politics:  Why we are in this mess and who is to blame for this mess.

In one corner, we have liberals blaming conservatives claiming their support of rich people, the job creators, is to blame.  In the other corner, we have conservatives blaming liberals claiming their bleeding heart policies have enlarged our government to such an enormous size that it ends up stifling private sector growth.

Now, personally, I have no doubts that the larger the government gets, the less effective it becomes.  I also know that the more you tax people, the less money we have in our pockets.  But I am also aware that the solutions aren't so black and white.

So, I was thinking... who would be best to run this country?  Men?  Women?  Blacks?  Gays?  Midgets?  Jews?  Those people here on the internet who believe they have the answers for everything?  Which group or demographic could run an effective government?

Obviously, the white male seems to be the only constant we've had in government and obviously, that isn't working.  We tried a black man in the white house and obviously, that isn't working either.  Then again, this black man is half-white so maybe only half of him is not working well.

Men:  What we do know about men is that they like toys and like to fight.  This explains why most of our GDP goes to the military; shiny new toys used to beat someone else up.  Men are solely responsible for every war we have engaged in.  Men are also guided by their egos so we know that this is the gender more likely to be corrupt when given power.

White Men:  See above.  One difference is that white men tend to only like to fight yellow or brown skin men.  They negotiate and will not go to war with other white men.  Also, white men can't dance which means dance offs are never an option if our country wants to fight with another. 

Liberal Women:  Assuming we had a congress and president of just women, excluding corrupt women like Nancy Pelosi or a megalomaniac like Hillary Clinton, war would never be an option.  However, women are ruled by emotion and love to shop.  This means our government would be even larger, our deficit would be deeper and there would be government programs for everything.

I knew a girl in junior high that believed the government should spend more money saving puppies and kittens by enacting some type of government cabinet... the Dept. of Puppy Rescue.   Compassionate, yes.  Reasonable, no.

Put women into power and we'd end up with more needless programs.  Saving puppies and buying shoes do not fall under the government's responsibilities.

Conservative Women:  Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann, et al.  In theory, they could not do much harm to our country.  Then again, if you hand the keys over to retards in a nuclear plant, one of them is bound to accidentally push the wrong button.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am conservative by nature.  In theory, conservative women would be great in politics, but until we get people other than Sarah "I can see Russia from my house" Palin or Michellle "pray the gay away" Bachmann or Nancy "just say no" Reagan, I don't believe they could run an effective government.  They speak in sound bites, cliches and tend to speak impulsively without thinking. 

Jews:  The stereotype that Jews are cheap, if true, would be good for our country.  When is the last time you heard about Israel having a huge deficit or economic crisis?  You haven't.  Despite being smaller than Rhode Island, Israel has nuclear weapons and a large military yet are not dangling on the string of economic collapse.  They even have lower tax rates on their citizens than the U.S. 

A population of about 7 million in a country smaller than Rhode Island with a large military and highly advanced weapons with every country surrounding them wanting to eliminate them should be more difficult to maintain economic stability than our country.

The downside to having Jews run our country would be Streisand, Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker.  If you think the women of the Democratic party are unattractive....

Midgets:  Short people always want to fight and are always overcompensating.  See George W. Bush for more details.

Gays:  More emotionally guided people with an obsession with shoes. Moving on...

Liberal Blacks:  Oprah's choice, Obama, had his chance.  And don't get me started on Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton.  Moving on. 

Conservative Blacks:  Add Alan West or J.C. Watts and either would have my vote immediately.  However, conservative blacks probably will never have the full support of the black community due to decades of conditioning.  Also, lets be honest, when someone says "conservative blacks" this is the first image that will enter your mind

Yes, conservative blacks tend to be nerdy.  Which leads me to this:

Nerds:  On paper, nerds sound like a great choice.  They are smart.  They don't care about sex so they will always be focused on working and getting things done and fixed.  But the problem with nerds is they are socially awkward and usually carry around an asthma inhaler.  In case of a crisis, the last thing our country needs is some stuttering wheezing nerd standing at the pulpit during a press conference telling us everything will be okay. 

Which leads to the only logical choice left:

Internet Know it Alls:  YES!  People like me would be great presidents. 

Life Embarrassing

Standing in the corner of life embarrassing, nobody remembers your name. 

Age six, prom queen wore baby doll dresses and a tiara at the dinner table.  I'm going to be a princess someday.

Anchored by some guilt and the hands of time, prom king sure let himself go.  I'm going to be the proud father of two after I make some money and a name for myself.

Punch bowl conversations are casual at best.  Norman Rockwell portraits hang in our dreams.  Life embarrassing is a lonely town where all the people smile if they dare step outside.  And if they dare step outside, they hurry back home where nobody asks what you've been up to.

We used to have conversations with ourselves.  I spoke at them and they spoke at me.  It seems so strange to brag about things you have yet done.  Looking back now, I would probably shut up. 

I learned how to drive at the age of eighteen said the man who lost his virginity at twelve.  Some things are quite backwards in this little town.  Life embarrassing is a friendly place despite the empty streets and pristine landscape. 

There was a girl building a stairway to heaven and when she was done, she turned back around.  Solitude may be a hell in itself but if it's all you know, you'll choose the comfort of those flames.  We used to talk for hours late into the night.  She spoke about her wedding and all the dreams soon to follow.  Well, some things are better left to dreams but she wouldn't change a thing.  Life embarrassing is filled with dreamers.

Once upon a time about an hour ago, my phone rang for what seemed to be minutes.  A reunion of sorts awaited the other line.  How could I answer when I would have nothing to say?  Life embarrassing keeps the dreamers silent.

I can imagine he has a few stories to share while sitting in a room with dust covered trophies.  Back in the day, I predicted his glory.  Rumor has it, he is now wearing my shoes.  The emperor of life embarrassing is never wearing clothes. 

Fell in a love with this girl who is better than me.  The knowledge of this truth breeds some resentment.  There are some things we never talk about.  For example, everything.

Standing in the corner of life embarrassing, everybody knows your name. 

Like a River

I'll tell you exactly how it feels.  It happens instantaneously.  It fills you up and empties you at the same time.  Like a river after a rain storm. 

You feel it in your brain, in your hands, in your feet... your stomach isn't just tied in knots, it's a mess, a complete glorious mess.  You feel it in your skin, your bones... even your eyes.  Your eyes will fill up at the most unexpected moments; be it, at the sight of a child on a swing set or an elderly couple simply walking hand in hand on a sidewalk.  The most unremarkable of scenes on your television will cause you to break down and weep and laugh and weep some more only to be replaced with a slight twitch because something suddenly reminds you that someday it could be you...again. 

You feel it all throughout your body.  Your blood boils so hot it rushes down to the center part of your body and you are left wanting and needing and wanting some more but that wanting is not for you.   It's for them.  

And you feel it in your sleep; your dreams aren't filled with monsters or ghosts from your past.  You can't wait to fall asleep because you know tomorrow will be even better.  You can feel it in your heart without a single word from your brain.  It's like your head and your heart finally agree on something. 

And you suddenly believe in God and miracles and angels.  Gravity becomes your friend as all those things you could never grasp because they seemingly kept floating further and further away now suddenly just stop and stare you straight into your face.  Faith becomes that feather frozen in time hovering mid-air; ready to captured. 

And that smile you always faked is now a permanent natural fixture.  And everyone, your friends, your family, strangers, those you once hated, all of them; everybody... they all know something is quite different. 

And all that bitterness and envy becomes a relic of your past; only to be observed in the Museum of broken hearts.  And that hate for your fellow man and that self-loathing that became routine; all of it just evaporates.  Like a river after a drought.  And it rains.  And it rains.  And it feels so good on your face.

And you feel it on your tongue.  Food and sex never tasted better.  What was once obscene is now beautiful and delicious.  The tiniest of morsels become a feast in and of itself.

And that cross you used to carry becomes as light as the air you breathe.  And that crown of thorns you placed upon your own head ceases to exist.  And the martyr you believed you were is now recognized as just a fool.  And the death you so quietly hoped for is a prayer you hope to not repeat. 

And those songs you once cried to becomes music you can dance to.  And the prince of the air suddenly lets you be and breathing is no longer a chore.  And the black cloud above your head suddenly is just a halo.  And the scars look less ugly as you realize you are not standing in this moment if you weren't falling when they were made.

And you feel it in every thought.  Doubt expired instantaneously. What you know now is exactly what you knew then.  And life is always good even when it's bad.  And hope is not around the corner.  Its standing in your shadow.  And everything that was once a rumor is simply just the truth. 

And there is nothing sweeter than those three words.  And when those words are given; they can never be retaken. 

Like a river after a rain storm,  it fills you up and empties you at the same time.
 

Happy Dog

I'm gonna buy me a happy dog.  Like the one I used to have. 

Happy dog will have a home.  In her home, she will be fed.  When she's not fed, she will be loved.  As she's loved, she will wag her tail for me.  When she wags her tail for me, I will know happy dog loves me.

Happy dog will go on walks.  Sometimes, let loose to run free.  Happy dog will meet other dogs but won't let them too close to me.  Happy dog will be a selfish dog; the kind of dog they all should be.  If I dare touch another dog, happy dog will snap at me. 

I'm gonna buy me a happy dog.  And give her a special name.  Like the one I used to have.

She won't be my daughter or I, her surrogate dad.  Happy dog will be my best friend.  We will share our secrets late at night when no one is around to care.  Happy dog will be a thoughtful dog; the kind of dog that worries when I'm not there.

When I'm gone, happy dog will sleep and dream of me coming home.  She will never give up on me because happy dog knows no one should be left alone.  Maybe, happy dog will be an anxious dog; the kind of dog they all should be.  If I dare say anothers name, happy dog will snap at me.

I'm gonna buy me a happy dog; a dog that understands my moods.  Like the one I used to have.

Happy dog will be by my side even if I don't ask her to.  She will know what this man needs; the kind of man who is hard to read.  Happy dog won't be complex.  She will be a simple breed. 

When that day comes and goes; the day we must part ways, happy dog will understand.  Maybe, happy dog will beg me to never leave if happy dog is a loving dog like they all should be.  Just one look and happy dog will know that she only belongs with me.

I'm gonna buy me a happy dog.  Like the one I used to have.

Like Me

She was waiting for a man; a man like me.  Not the man I am but the man I should be. 

Some say, she's got the perfect pose.  An illusion like Independence day.  I guess freedom is everyone's dream.  Now, do what you're told or we'll lock you up.  If loneliness is merely a cage, then life is just a zoo.  Don't feed the animals, they'll just end up relying on you.  God forbid, we roam free.  She's waiting to be fed from a man like me.

In a sun dress and flip flops, she is waiting for her knight.  She speaks so bravely about needing no one.  Some say, in a crowded room, you can hear her cry.  If the world's going to burn, she's gonna burn alone. 

Some say, she never sleeps.  Sweet dreams delude the mind.  She's waiting for a ship; a ship that will never come.  Maybe, everyone is lost at sea.  If she's found washed up on shore, chances are she was drowning for a man like me.

There's something beautiful when only hope remains.  Like a flickering candle when the power's out.  She knows her way around the dark.  It's as easy as a broken heart.  She says she doesn't need electricity.  I guess you get used to the black when you spend your time waiting for a man like me.

The woman at the airport with her face buried in her hands has a tale I would love to hear.  Whispered promises and good intentions make an autumn night a little less crisp.  I would guess she's already picked out her wedding dress.  Women like her fail to see that words mean nothing from a man like me.

Some say, that woman is just as guilty.  Maybe, it's easier to just sing along.  If loneliness is merely a one person play, then life is just the stage. Please, no applause until the show is over. 

Mom says dad had a heart of gold; buried beneath layers of scar tissue.  Fool me once, shame on you.  She waited and waited as the years went by.  Some say, she seems so happy.   Dad was not a man, a man like me.

I'll get on my horse and rescue you.  Just tell me again what it is you love about me.  I will be the man; the man I should be. 

With or Without... You

In 1987, U2 opened their Joshua Tree World Tour in Tempe, Arizona.  It was the moment I had anticipated for weeks.

I was 15 years old seeing the band I fell in love with three years prior.

I attended this concert with three girls.

Each girl played a significant role in my life during those early days of high school. 

One was an older girl whom took me under her wings and advised me on how to get the girl.

Another was a troubled girl who took her own life two years later.

And the third girl was the object of my affection; soon to be my first love.

The significance of this concert on my life would not be realized until a year later.

There was something different about this concert.  Something was in the air that night.  It was a religious experience.  The 12,000 people in attendance were fixated on that stage; hanging on every lyric that left Bono's tongue.


There is something to be said about music and how the human condition can be inspired or even crushed when the two intersect at a specific moment.


For me, inspiration came during With or Without You at the very end of this 1987 U2 concert.

As U2 played this song, I was no longer fixated on the stage.  My eyes wandered upon the young blue eyed girl merely standing inches away from me; the girl I would soon call mine. 

Her name.... well, it's inconsequential but a name I hold in such reverence, I don't dare utter it during some casual circumstance like this moment.

With my eyes riveted on her, her eyes were squarely focused on the band.  During the 6 minutes this song played, I just obsessively stared at her every movement.

When the song concluded, I watched a single tear fall down her face as she directed her attention to me.

There's something to be said about an emotionally performed song and a passionate girl when the two intersect at a specific moment.


And there's something to be said about a passionate girl and a boy in longing when the two intersect at that exact moment.  


For the two of us, it was that moment and that song that led to our first kiss.

Within a week, she was my first love.  She was mine.  And I was hers.


One year later, U2 ended their U.S. tour in the exact same city it all began:  Tempe, Arizona.  They played two concerts on two consecutive nights.  It is the footage from these last 2 concerts that are featured in the film "Rattle & Hum". 

I was fortunate to attend both last concerts.  Like one year earlier, I attended both shows with my then girlfriend of one year, the beautiful blue eyed girl with a name I don't dare in such a casual circumstance like this exact moment. 

Both concerts ended with our song:  With or Without You.

There is something to be said about first loves and their first songs when they intersect at every moment they are together.


For the two of us, it was our bond.  It was the glue that kept us together when we fought.  It was that song that reminded each of us how we fell in love with the other.


Three years later, she and I broke up because her family was moving out of state.

There's something to be said about the moment when first loves have to move on without the other.


Two months after arriving in that new place to begin the next phase of her life, the beautiful blue eyed girl whose name I don't utter in such a casual circumstance like this moment, was killed in a car accident.

It's the phone call I will never forget.

The song I played over and over for years from that moment on was "Without or Without You".

It's a song that has many meanings to me now.

It was our song.

It was the song playing when I came to terms with my love for this young blue eyed girl.

It was the song we played as a means to remind ourselves how much we loved the other.

It was the song I played when I heard the somber news that her life was over at eighteen.

There is something to be said about music and how the human condition can be inspired or even crushed when the two intersect at a specific moment.


There is nothing to be said when I hear the lyrics....

I can't live
With or Without You.
  

Twenty eight years later and this song is still beautiful.

And it still haunts me.

Order and Choas

I recently read an interview with Mike Tyson.

He is one of very few athletes that captivated me during his prime.  Friends and I used to order all of his fights on pay-per-view.  We even made plans to go to Vegas and watch him fight at the MGM.  We never made it.

Mike Tyson was unpredictably predictable in his prime.  We knew he would knock his opponent out before the final round.  It was always a matter of when not how.

As his wealth grew, his hunger for dominance seemed to diminish.  As with most people who grow up in poverty and find wealth later in life, he became predictably unpredictable.

When backed in a corner against Evander Holyfield, he chewed a piece of his ear off.  When defeated by Buster Douglas, his personal life seemed to unravel at a faster pace.  His career and personal life had become chaotic.

In the interview I recently read, Mike Tyson admits to have blowing his fortune on drugs, an entourage, hookers, cars, houses, etc.

It's really easy for the rest of us to laugh at these once wealthy and seemingly immortal men.  But Mike Tyson isn't the first person to self-destruct at his newfound wealth and fame.

MC Hammer lost his fortune.  Countless artists and even actors have.  Athletes, too.  There are multitudes of lottery winners who have done the same thing. Many business men and women have the same track record.

It's as if chaos ensues when stability is right in their hands.

It would be really easy to say that greed or stupidity is the reason people self-destruct at the mere taste of success.  But I don't believe it's the case at all.

I used to watch a show on MTV called Cribs.  It was a program that showcased the homes of celebrities.  It never failed; every rapper and musician had 20 cars and a mansion decorated with the finer things in life.

I used to wonder why would anyone need so many cars.  It never made sense to me that a single man or even a married man would need a mansion with 40 bedrooms.

At some point, it dawned on me that people raised in poverty simply don't think beyond tomorrow.  I supposed that most of these people grew up in survival mode and having food on their plate at dinner was the only thing on their mind.

Maybe.  Maybe not.  It's a theory.

But then I realize that not every person who blows their wealth grew up poor.

And I start thinking... why do some people prefer chaos over stability.

Is it human nature to self-destruct?

I look at my own life and I realize that I am really no different than Mike Tyson or some former lottery winner.

Certainly, I didn't grow up in poverty nor have I ever been wealthy.  But if I look closely at the most secure moments of my life, I can admit those were the times I did everything in my power to impede my own success and happiness.

In my last relationship, I did it.  She was perfect; perfect for me and I, for her.  Yet, I found ways to undermine the health of our relationship.  Eventually, she took me back but we wasted two years apart because of my uncanny ability to undermine something good.   It was as if I wanted chaos instead of this newfound joy I was tangled in.

At my last job, I made a lot of money.  Yet, my bank account has nothing to show for the hard work and the success that followed.

It's like I have followed the same blueprint that Mike Tyson did but on a smaller scale.

I will never quite understand why I have always seemed to prefer chaos over stability.  Is it because I had a chaotic childhood?  Is it because I have a Type A personality or is my Type A personality a manifestation of the chaos I knew as a child?

Or maybe some of us live by the cliche, "it's about the journey and not the destination"; meaning some of us prefer climbing Mount Everest instead of actually reaching its' peak.

I simply don't quite know why a lot of us can't handle success or happiness well.

I suppose the first step is recognizing the self-destructive patterns.  Then, at some point, hope that wisdom settles in.

I read the interview with Mike Tyson and I felt pity for him.  I saw a man finally growing up. 

And in a strange and quite possibly enlightening way, I saw myself.

The Cute Theory

I was having a conversation with someone about babies.  We were talking about the future and how we both want kids.    As soon as we were on the baby subject, we both simultaneously said, “I hope our babies are cute.”  We discussed our more favorable facial features and imagined what tiny versions of ourselves would look like.

As we were on this subject, I started thinking… Just about everyone I have ever known that was planning for a baby, pregnant or had a dream of a family all made the same request we were:  They all wanted pretty babies.

I said to this person, “What if the babies aren’t cute?”

She wisely responded, “I don’t believe parents notice.”

Wow.  She is smart.

But really, when I think about it, pretty people sure get more of the attention.  Let me rephrase that:  Pretty people are more humanized than those who aren’t considered attractive.

For example, when a blonde haired, blue eyed, white little suburban girl goes missing or is murdered; she gets a lot more press and sympathy then say, a black child or a less than attractive girl from the trailer park.

Most people recognize these kids:

Most don’t recognize these:

All children who met a similar fate.  But only the first two, Caylee Anthony and Kelsey Briggs, were given the national spotlight. 

Some may say it is simply a race issue but I will take it one step further and say it is a Cute Issue.

Am I saying black kids aren’t as cute as white kids?  No.  But I do think in our collective thinking we tend to humanize attractive white kids more than we do all other kids.


Remember Jon Benet Ramsey, the “pretty” little beauty pageant child?  She has been in the newspapers for almost a decade.  Draw your own conclusions on why.  And before anyone blames the press or the newspapers for giving more attention to the pretty kids, you have to remember that the press only gives us the news, we the consumer, want to read about.  It’s about supply and demand.  We are to blame; not the newspapers.

Now, If I extrapolate my cute theory into other avenues of society, I could lay claim that the reason Haiti and their catastrophe is met with a certain level of indifference is because it’s a poor country with a less than attractive citizenship.  If the same tragedy hit Paris or Melbourne, would telethons be needed to get us to donate or even care?

Once again, I don’t necessarily believe it is just a race issue.  I think it is a cute issue. 

Americans are the most charitable and compassionate people on earth.  I believe that.  However, I also think we are the most arrogant. 

Back to my cute theory…

Take PETA, for example.  They want you eating this:

Dolphin Safe Tuna.  Tuna that was fished without using nets that sometimes kill dolphins.

Why do they want to save the dolphin but not the tuna?

Dolphins are “cute”.

Tuna, on the other hand, are “just” fish.

Ordinary, plain looking fish.  Granted, dolphins are mammals and tuna are not.

However, PETA is supposedly against ALL “murder” of animals or living breathing species (that aren’t human).  It seems to me they are really more specific in which animals are more worthy of being spared… the cute ones.

Anyway, it’s just a theory.

I do notice here online that when adults start fighting with other adults; that personal attacks always center around the other person’s appearance.  I’ve heard terms like “white trash” thrown around.  I’ve seen people refer to each other as “fat” or “ugly”.   I have witnessed people treat another person as if they are less than human because physically they don’t meet that person’s standards of attractive.

Kids do it in elementary school.  Adults do it online.  Less than “cute” people are often ostracized or bullied.

Back during the Salem witch trials, the so-called “witches” were most often women and a few men that had an unseemly appearance.

And we wonder why eating disorders run rampant in schools across the country; why celebrities have become the gods to many; why “attractive” people get more press than the rest of us…  Like I said, it’s a theory.



*wrote this in 2010*

2:00 A.M.

Nothing good happens after 2:00 AM.

Unless you're in Vegas.  Or in love.  Or drunk.  Or in a taxi cab with a beautiful woman.  Or just doing nothing with friends.

There we were, for three months straight, drunk, high; no worries in the world.  In the kitchen, we exchanged hugs; still wet from the hot tub.  Jesus looks the other way when you're young and naive.

Say, I can get used to this late night hour.  The moon is a star illuminated by the sun but on moonless nights, I wonder if the sun is fast asleep.  Say, later on, down the road, we will reminisce about these good old days and we will exchange hugs at the water cooler.

There we were,  for three months straight, drunk, high and under the false impression summer will last forever.  The moon sleeps twelve hours a day but the sun, it never sleeps except on moonless nights.  Those are the nights they aren't on speaking terms.  Those are the nights, darkness wins.

Nothing good happens after 2:00 AM.

Especially for those of us with bee hive brains.  And those of us with idle hands.  Insomnia does not exist.  It's simply the plague of the neurotic few.

There I was, stroking the head of my dog; just watching him sleep.  It dawned on me that dogs sleep twelve hours a day.  Just like the moon.  And that dog, he was always happy without a care in the world. 

Say, you're such a good boy.  I wonder what you think when you look at me.  Say, do I ever fall out of favor with you?  Are there days we aren't on speaking terms?

There I was, smelling her hair as she peacefully slept.  It dawned on me that she never looked more beautiful.  I swear I wanted to sleep like her.   I swear it will never be.

Nothing good happens after 2:00 AM.

Thoughts race; like a dog chasing his tail.  Round and round, I go.  Fear of the unknown is overtaken by fear of what is known.  Not if but when.  When is this world going to end?  When will she finally give up on me?  When will the moon disappear from the sky and when will that sun finally give up on us? 

Say, it's easier said than done.  Say, ignorance is bliss. 

There I was; having one of those dreams.  Those dreams where I am wide awake.   We were standing in the kitchen; drunk and high.  We exchanged hugs when no one was looking.  I swear I thought some things last forever.  I swear it was a moonless night.

Nothing good happens after 2:00 AM.

Until sunrise.