Tomorrow

I want to love you until you hate me, I said.

Self-fulfilled prophecies drip from the tips of bloody fingers. 

I wrote her a letter.  And I mean, wrote it with my bare hands.  Pen, paper and a stamp.  And I questioned my own sanity.

I found her sitting on the curb in front of a convenience store.  Head, between her legs.  Softly, I asked her what she needed. 

Change, she replied. 
And you, she added.

She used to talk about her father in Jesus like terms.  I could not relate.

Well, honey, let's do it.  Let's talk about tomorrow.  And we debated over its existence. 

I walked two miles to the post office.  Just to mail her that letter.  I believed it would get there much faster as opposed to leaving it in my own mailbox.

I questioned my logic.

Tomorrow is an awkward subject.  On one hand, it does not exist.  On another, it's an illusion when it gets here.  We are always chasing tomorrow even when it's today. 

She thinks I think too much.

I wish you would hate me, I said.  So, I sought uncommon ground.  Like God.  Politics.  Babies.  Anything we disagreed on.

And it worked.

Sure, I came to regret my own act of sabotage.  Who wouldn't?  Look at her.  She's right there.  She's everywhere. 

My fingers are bleeding.  And there's a lump in my throat. 

And I couldn't be more happy.

She got my letter.  Just in time.

The next day, in fact.

Let's call it tomorrow.


And when they say, she's in a better place, I sure as hell believe it. And when I blame myself, I pray to God for a distraction.  And when someone dares to say angels, heaven, God; that none of them exist, I know better. 

And when tomorrow comes up, I always smile.

Never Mind

Uphill, downhill, driving on fumes.  No thrill behind this wheel, I'd hate to be you.  Someday, in the rear view mirror, we'll both say the other should steer.  What I mean is there's always more than one way; just to make myself clear.  Passive aggression is a detour from love and affection.  I hope someday, our road will reappear.  My trepidation, your frustration, what are we to do?  If it's any consolation, I'd hate to be you.

Hot, cold, watch my self-deprecation unfold as it's mistaken for manipulation but I'm sold on any proclamation of emancipation you decide to uphold.   Last thing you need is a spoonful of rhetoric and let truth be told that my words are nothing but esoteric.  I think, you read between the lines even when those lines are half-truths.  And what I mean is never mind, I'd hate to be you.

Where has the conviction gone?  Mumbled whispers like I love you should be loud not burdensome.  This road is bumpy and rarely traveled on.  Someday soon, we'll be counting days and there won't be none.  Breathing isn't living.  Sometimes when we're seething, we're unforgiving and I begin to think that we are done.  But those fumes keep us carrying on.

When our pride happens to cross paths, what are we to do?  I don't mean to be ambiguous nor my words inconspicuous.  Never mind, I''d hate to be you.

Sorry, Folks. Park's closed. Internet shoulda told Ya.

Last week, I watched Vacation for probably the 100th time in my life and it dawned on me just how stupid the movie is.  Now, the movie itself is a classic and there are a lot of funny moments BUT the ending is just ridiculous.  Who drives cross country to a theme park without knowing if their destination will be closed for maintenance?  I am certain there isn't a family alive that has driven across the country to Disneyland without making sure they would be open when they arrive.

But I thought about it and maybe my initial (after seeing the movie 100 times) reaction was a little harsh.  If the internet existed in the early 80's, I suppose Clark probably would have gone online to Wally World's website to make sure they would be open. 

We've become spoiled awfully quickly considering today's conveniences didn't exist back in the 80s or even twenty years ago.  Personally, I am thankful that the internet wasn't around when I was a kid or in high school.

Movies, TV shouws, really anything pop culture related would have been significantly different if the internet existed in the 80s.  War Games would have made more sense to me.  Matthew Broderick hacking NORAD's computers from his Commodore 64 seemed implausible at the time.  Now, we all know what hackers are. 

In the Breakfast Club, those kids could have been texting or playing Candy Crush on their phones during detention instead of getting stoned and causing trouble.  Also, I suppose, as a kid that wasn't aware of how pot works, I could have gone online to learn that pot does not make people dance or give them that much energy.  I would have learned quickly how illogical that dancing scene really was. 

In Sixteen Candles, Farmer Ted simply could have sold Samantha's panties on Ebay instead of charging kids $1 in the bathroom just to look at them.  Hell, those kids who spent a $1 to LOOK AT panties, could have simply gone online to see panties for free or if so inclined, they could have just gone straight to porn to see what lies underneath panties.

Movies back then captured our imagination.  We were being exposed to things we believed were impossibilities or even illogical.  They made us more curious about life and the future.  Simple things like paying to see panties was remarkable evidence of our innocense.  Today, with one click of a mouse, kids can see sex for free.  Because of the internet, curiosity ceases to exist quickly.  The reality of war or violence once created a shocking world view whereas today, dead bodies seem like characters in a video game.  The internet has densensitized us to everything from sex to death.  Nothing is sacred anymore.

Growing up, heroes were men like John Wayne or Clint Eastwood.  We considered them men of bravery.  There was a time when mothers were angry at Rambo and considered that character to be detrimental to children.  Then along came the internet.  Suddenly, movies shifted into effeminancy where heroes are now glittery vampires or little wizards in glasses.  I'm not sure the internet is to blame for Twilight or Harry Potter but certainly, the acceptance and fandom of such characters has been greatly enhanced by it.  And I don't necessarily believe anything is wrong with that but it does point to a societal shift in what makes a hero.

When I was 12 years old, my idea of a bully came in the form of Johnny Lawrence from the Cobra Kai dojo in the Karate Kid.  Who wasn't rooting for Daniel to finally defeat him?  Now, the internet has turned a lot of us former Karate Kid supporters into virtual versions of Johnny Lawrence.  Bravery is now defined by our keyboards instead of with our fists.  I suppose if the internet was around in the 80s, Daniel could have gone online and enacted his revenge on those bullies and averted those months of painting fences and waxing cars in order to learn karate.


I enjoyed growing up with curious and innocent eyes.  I liked the idea that learning involved books and real encylopedias.  I loved going to movies and not being so analytical where I start wondering why Clark Griswold was stupid enough to drive from Chicago to California in a rusty old station wagon without even looking online to make sure his destination will be open. 

Don't get me wrong.  The internet is fantastic and has changed the world more for the better than the alternative.  I am just glad my first 30 years on earth didn't include it. 

Small Favors

For the last two weeks of his life, it was a challenge to get him to eat.  I tried everything. I fried up some cheeseburgers in my trusty old George Foreman grill, I added macaroni 'n cheese to his regular food, I even cooked an extra steak just for him.  It didn't matter; Buddy had no appetite. 

I suppose having a soft ball sized tumor extruding from your neck is quite uncomfortable.  I am also certain that cancer as it flows through your body drains an entity of all cravings, a will to live and moreso, a desire to just quit fighting.  Eventually, all beings say enough is enough.

He lived a full life despite how short those 9 years seemed. 

From the moment I met him at the pound until his final second on earth in my arms, I loved that dog.   Being greeted at the door each day after a long exhausting day of work was a joy I took for granted.  His passion for riding in my car, playing with me at the park and sleeping on my bed next to me was a conviviality I did not recognize at the time.  It wasn't until that second after he fell into eternal slumber did I realize how different my life would be without him.

I suppose it would be easy to trivialize the loss of a pet.  Who cries for the antelope as it is mercilessly torn to shreds by the predatory lion during some National Geographic documentary?  It certainly never is the same people who cry for the predatory lion as he is celebratorily slaughtered by the predacious hunter.   But dogs are not like other animals... they just aren't. 

During those final two weeks of Buddy's life, I tried to force him to eat.  I tried to breathe new life into him.  I attempted to resuscitate his will to live.  I suppose, on some level, either through denial or willful arrogance, I believed I deserved more years with him and that I, alone, could cleanse his blood of his cancer.

It was probably a little awkward the final night we spent together when I kneeled at his side and prayed to God to spare my best friend's life.  I suppose God was busy that night; ignoring the pleas of distraught parents who were praying for a similar outcome for their own children.  Or just maybe, God was off at some dog park way up in the sky, throwing a tennis ball around to his own dog or a dog that once belonged to a guy like me. 

In a time of grief or loss, it's probably okay to misdirect some anger or cynically blame the being who gave us life and bestowed certain blessings upon us.  And I did just that.  Just as I had in previous circumstances of great loss.

It's probably not an easy job being God.  You're thanked when someone scores a touchdown, blamed when cancer robs a person of life or love, ignored during moments of feast, chastised during periods of famine, mocked by arrogant people who are certain they know all truths... I suppose God probably gets a little tired of us.

When I walked out of that vet's office holding a limp leash, an indescribable void immediately took hold of me.  That drive home all alone in my car was the longest 10 minutes of my life.  The passenger seat, which only an hour previously was occupied by my black lab whom I had spent every day and night with for nine years, now was just a cold reminder that he was gone forever. 

The following month I learned the true meaning of the old idiom thank God for small favors.  Buddy's scent lingered in my car and house for quite awhile.  A stray black hair being found became more of a godsend than a nuisance.  In fact, I reveled in each.  Little things, I once loathed, became big miracles.  My perspective had shifted from anger to delight. 

I learned a lot from that dog during his life but I learned more once his time was up.  I'm not sure I believe in that cynical phrase that all good things must come to an end because to dwell on the ending is nothing but a dismissal of every moment that leads up to that moment. 

I don't know as much as I think I do but there are certain truths I cling to... like, I have an amazing life.  I have and had friends that have remarkably made an impression on me.  I have a woman that loves me and always will no matter our outcome.  I have a mother that tries really hard despite never having been shown how to love or be loved. 

And I once had a dog that looked at me with awe inspiring eyes, mercifully forgave me for everything and wanted nothing more but to please me.

Dead Horse

The dead horse is twitching, grab me a stick.  The famous last words of a heretic. 

Lovely honey bee, let that pride drip. Salty, bitter sweet, still perfect.  I'll take the blame, no one else will.  Dead horse is twitching, going in for the kill.  Lovely genocide, broken heart graves.  Ugly, terrified, always yours still. 

The dead horse is twitching, grab me a stick.  Famous last words of a derelict.

Why must you be so cold and merciless?  No one prepared me for this metamorphosis.  Lovely butterfly stings like a bee.  How can something so fragile be so perilous? 

She leads me to water but I refuse to take a drink.  Dead horse walking, let's call it instinct.  Lovely weather, all around me.  Maybe, I'm wounded.  Maybe, I'm sick.  Like a bandaid, rip me off quick.

Dead horse is twitching, I'll hand you a stick.

Lovely dilemma, this must be.  To listen to your instinct or to trust me.  Maybe, someday, we can go back to the start.  Crazy and lovely, those beginning days are. Admit it, I'm reaching and you're just settling.

Here's a stick, the dead horse is trembling.

Once upon a time in a world far away, dead horses were left alone; left alone to decay.  Lovely wide berth is unfairly in the air tonight.

Put down that stick and bring the dead horse back to life. 

See you at the Movies

Jerry Maguire is right there on my TV set and I can't look away.  I have a flood of emotions even now upon my 500th time watching this movie.  I feel the same way when I watch Top Gun or Stand By Me and of course, Forrest Gump. 

Really, like certain songs; specific movies stay with us forever. 

I was just a little kid when I saw E.T. I believed every damn thing about that movie.  That heartbreaking moment when Elliot tells his alien friend to "stay" and ET counters him with "come"; at the time, I couldn't understand why their two worded argument was necessary.  Just fucking go with him, Elliot, I thought to myself at the tender age of ten.  What's so great about earth?  True friends are worth a little long distance trip in a space ship.  I walked out of that movie theatre bawling like a ten year old and I was a little angry. 

Life isn't that complicated when you're a kid and solutions to every damn problem can be found in miliseconds.  In other words, we don't have self-debates and we aren't overanalytical until puberty.

I saw that Nicholas Cage movie, Leaving Las Vegas with an old best friend many years ago.  Ironically not coincidentally, it was one of the last movies I ever saw with him before he left us.  It is a surreal feeling to be sitting next to someone in a movie theatre whose life at that moment resembles the life of the main character in the movie you are watching.  When Nicholas dies at the end of the movie, it literally dawned on me that the man sitting next to me would realize the same fate.  And I was right.

And I deliberate.  Still do.  Because yes, life imitates art. 

Funny thing about that old saying is Redd Foxx who famously faked heart attacks on Sanford and Son died from a heart attack in real life.  Coincidentally, not ironically.

Right now is that scene in Jerry Maguire where that meloncholy Bruce Springsteen song is playing as Dorothy is deliberating whether or not, she should have married Jerry.  I love that scene and that song is perfect for that moment.  On the rare occasions, I hear that song on the radio, the same emotions I get from that scene in the movie flood straight through me.  It's amazing how a song and a movie are forever married and become a parasite that clings to its host.... us.

There's these two 80's movies that might be a little obscure but they were intensely relevant to me back in the days of dollar theatres and renting VHS tapes:  All the Right Moves with Tom Cruise and Some Kind of Wonderful.  I had an opportunity a few months ago to watch them online and I figured they wouldn't hold up well.  Surprisingly, both movies still had a profound effect on me.  I suppose those of us who liked sappy movies when we were younger simply graduate to The Notebook when we are older. 

Speaking of The Notebook, it's movie I liked the first time I saw it.  I despised it the second time and it just might be because it's the cool thing to say... kinda like telling people you hated Friends.  Everyone was at Woodstock and everyone hates Friends.  I think those are two biggest lies people tell.  What is cool to say is that Seinfeld is your favorite show ever.  I admit I love Seinfeld but I will never get over Jerry's fashion choices.  He dressed exactly like Jack Tripper and wore stupid looking sneakers.  Go watch Threes Company and you'll see what I mean. 

My favorite movie of all time is 500 Days of Summer.  It's not something I can sum up in a short paragraph.  Unless you've seen it, it can't be understood.  It's pure unadulterated cinematic story telling of a boy who meets a girl.  And it's as real as a movie can get on this subject. 

Tom is a trained architect but works as a writer for a greeting card company.  In a state of heartbreak, he tells his co-workers, "It's these cards and the movies and the pop songs, they're to blame for all lies and the heartache, everything",

I have deliberated on this quote for a long time.  I've been in Tom's shoes and understand misdirected anger.  But he's wrong.  Movies and music are not only therapeutic but they play an integral part in our lives.  They are bridges that connect our present to our past. 

It's amazing that I can hear Journey's Open Arms on some classic rock radio station today and remember that neurotic phone call I made to KZZP twenty seven years ago and dedicated that song to some doe eyed girl from 7th grade, whom wore skin tight Jordache Jeans, I thought I was going to marry someday. 

It is incredible that I can still watch Some Kind of Wonderful twenty something years later and being able to relive that undeniably most tramatic part of being young called unrequited love then looking back and realizing your friends were right... Someday, you will get the girl.

How beautiful it is to be ripped to shreds on the inside when John Coffey does the dead man's walk to the chair in The Green Mile because we then realize the depth of our own empathy.  And years later watchiing it again, we realize that we haven't lost our heart and we are just as compassionate today as we were 15 years ago when that movie was released.

I can simply just list characters from movies and most people will be able to formulate some significant memory from the moment they first met them.  Take Vada at Thomas Jay's funeral in My Girl or Forrest telling Lt. Dan he's got magic legs.  Man, nothing else builds a bridge to our past like movies do. 

I saw Stand By Me seven times at the local dollar theatre.  The last time I saw it was my first real date alone with a girl.  During the scene at the end when Richard Dreyfuss, as the narrator, tells the fate of each boy, that girl touched my leg.

The first time a girl touches a guy's leg is worthy of being relived over and over again.

Thank you, Stephen King, Rob Reiner and really, all movie makers for that opportunity.

Jerry Mcguire just ended. 

Coincidentally, not ironically. 

No Good Deed

Self absorbed princess, late for the ball.  Are you too ambitious for the fall?  Come a little closer, stick your fangs into me. I'm a little suspicious of your vanity.  When the clock strikes twelve, you know where I'll be.  Back in our castle hoping you notice me.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Magic mirror on the wall.  Who's the fairest one of all?  Superstitious sycophant tends to be obedient.  Here's the apple, take a bite.  Delicious poison mends the appetite.  Taste it, savor it, swallow it down.  Self absorbed princess won't give up her crown.

No good deed goes unpunished.  . 

Oh Captain, my Captain, it was an auspicious start.  You're not to blame for your caprecious heart.  The waves were angry and the gods, they wept.  Captain, my captain, they screamed as he slept.   Stop it, sink it, laugh as they drown.  The relentless captain will never be found.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Nihilistic martyr nailed to a cross, who knew faith would be your albatross?  Pray now, seek now, your redemption draweth nigh.  Fatalistic martyr, time to say goodbye. 

Good Sam was a good man with a slight chip on his shoulder.  He warned you, you scorned him before he grew older.  Now Good Sam is a dead man and nobody mourned him.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Self absorbed princess, late for the ball.  Magic mirror tells lies to us all.

No good deed goes unpunished.