Not Yet - Part 3 of 3 (Fiction)

Allison had completely lost control of the whole "translator" role by now. With the astonished look on her face she asks; "You were in a plane crash"? She quickly relayed the message to the doctor who just laughed and shook it off. It was clear that he didn't believe.
     The laptop that had Allison on it was on a set of wheels, I removed it. I brought up google.com and typed "Plane crash US Air to Germany". A number of articles appeared immediately, the words; "no survivors" and "268 dead" jumped out at me. It also stated that the crash occurred 23 days ago, apparently the aircraft had landed in the ocean and they were still recovering items and searching for the black box. I showed the article to the doctor but he didn't understand.
     I told Allison, "Listen, I was on a red eye from the US to Germany exactly 23 days ago. The plane was going down and I jumped out with a parachute. Can you please contact like the US embassy or somebody like that? I just got out of a coma, and I would like to let people know I am alive".
She looked at me in complete and utter astonishment; "Listen, if you're fucking with me I'm going to get in a lot of trouble for this. There are HIPPA and privacy laws against this shit." I have to admit, she looked even more cute when she was serious.
    I looked at her with a very serious face and said; "Please help me. I don't know where I am."



The next few months were absolutely crazy. I worked with Universal to create an accurate film about my experience. There are a few good things and a few bad things that happened as a result of this escapade.

1 - I did get to appear on Letterman (It was during his final week of shows too, so it was very special)

2 - I tried to sue the airline for almost killing me. However, there is a funny thing about major airlines, they have a lot of $. Therefore, they attacked my cheap attorney with the best attorneys money could buy. Then, they countersued me on grounds that I caused the aircraft to lose cabin pressure and that all the deaths could have been my fault. What a joke. But then they proposed to drop their lawsuit if I dropped mine. (Of course they never recovered the black box. How convenient)

3 - I have never experienced anxiety since that day, I live only for today now. It is amazing to think that I was so terrified of death, and that the cure would lie in almost dying. I would recommend it to everybody. There is not a breath I take for granted.

4 - Allison and I hung out a few times. We actually met in person for the first time on the David letterman show. She was even more beautiful in person. A few weeks later, I confessed my love for her. I told her how I will always associate her face with survival and joy. She said that she needs time to let things blow over, (Prolly just an excuse, women never just say "no".) but Im holding onto hope.

5 - I never ended up getting that procedure done in Germany. How ironic that I make the trip to improve my health coupled with the series of events that would follow.

The moral of the story: We waste out entire lives daydreaming about future happiness. "One day my life will be, (Fill in the blank) and I will be happy then. No.......no you wont. Appreciate today for what it is, tomorrow may not even exist. There is so much to be thankful for. If you cannot find joy in today, what makes you think it will exist tomorrow?

Not Yet - Part 2 of 3 (Fiction)

We had run into heavy turbulence and were being shaken around violently. As I looked around, everybody already had concerned looks on their faces, everybody that is, except the stewardess. She was wearing a giant (fake) smile. Im sure that her very first lesson in; "How to be a stewardess", they teach you to always remain calm. Her facial expression only added to my anxiety. I quickly shuffled through my pockets for my xanax, I popped them and chewed them violently without anything to drink. I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest, I could feel the blood flushing through me so quickly that I tingled.
   
     Immediately another loud bang was followed by seeing carry-on luggage falling from above and a ringing noise in my ears. People were standing up and making hand movements towards the stewardess but I couldn't hear anything, I think I might have hit my head. An Asian woman was on her cell phone in front of me, she looked like she was screaming, a tear was falling down her cheek.
    My hearing came back suddenly and I felt a pain in the side of my head, coupled with a warm liquid on my ear. I touched it and seen blood. The sight of blood made the screaming reverberate somehow. Finally the captain came over the speaker and everybody got stone cold silent. He spoke in a calm yet shaky voice; "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Im sure you have noticed some turbulence. We have been experiencing some difficulties but everything will be fine. We may have to land a bit early and change planes, but you are not in danger".
    This announcement actually calmed me down a bit, it calmed everybody. However, moments later a man stood up and said; "Do you really think he would tell us if we were going to crash"?! Fuck, he had a good point. The shouting resumed. A man hollered back at him; "The captian said everything is fine idiot. Why are you trying to scare people"? They kept arguing but I just thought of my parachute. Despite having very shaky hands and limited space, I put the parachute on in less than a minute. The guy sitting next to me said; "What the fuck dude"? He had a very confused look on his face but I didn't care. The plane felt like it was just coasting and then it flipped completely to one side. People flopped around, the ones who were standing fell against the windows on the other side. Moments later the plane leveled back out and I decided that this was the moment of truth.
    I was just about to hit the levers on the door and jump into the night, taking my chances when the captain came over the loud speaker again. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have some bad news.....", that was all I heard. I immediately thrust both of the levers on the emergency exit and smashed into it as hard as I possibly could. That is the last thing I remember.


     When I woke up I felt an immense pain in my right leg and arm. I could not see anything and I couldn't move very much. It was hard to breath and it felt like I was stuck in a tree. Suddenly I passed out again. When I awoke this time the sun had begun to peak out and I could see. I was lodged inside a large bush, I could see a body of water about 300 yards away. It was still really hard to move, my right arm was in so much pain and it was stuck in the branches. I used my left arm to free my right arm from the brush, I was afraid to look at it. Luckily it looked fine, but it killed. Eventually I had made my way out of the bush but my right leg was definitely broken. I crawled for about an hour towards the beach before I passed out again from exhaustion.
    When I awoke I remember seeing a woman with wet hair and wearing a 2 piece suit. She was a thin brunette and she was holding a towel and screaming in what I thought was French. I could not understand what she was saying and I passed out again.
    The next time I awoke I was in a hospital bed with my entire body locked in place. I began hollering but nobody came. I closed my eyes and heard a noise about 10 minutes later, I opened my eyes and seen a cleaning lady. I hollered at her and she looked at me. She looked very shocked and then she ran out of the room. A doctor came into the room shortly there after with a nurse, but they didn't speak English. They were trying to find out what language I spoke or that they could get an interpreter. I remember the very first thing the doctor said to me was "Ca Va"? And I just looked at him in a sarcastic manner. "Look at me man"! The truth was, that I was so fucking ecstatic to be alive that I could have kissed them all. I told them; "I am American, and I speak English", I told them very slowly and sternly. The doctor nodded and left the room.


     I had a dream the previous night that I had landed in Atlantis, and that I had found the lost city. Everybody was trying to book me appearances on David Letterman, Conan, etc. Apparently, I was now the most famous man in the world. It has aloways been my dream to be on Letterman, so I was really pumped up. When I awoke I wondered what type of drugs they had been feeding me to make me have such an awesome dream.

     When the doctor came back into the room, he had a laptop computer and a video chat feed on it. There was a very pretty blonde woman who said to me; "Hi there, I am an interpreter from www.medicalinterpretor.com, how are you"?
"I am not very good, as you can imagine", I replied. As soon as I replied, she translated to the doctor.
He then asked her a question and she asked me; "How did you get to  Morgat if you are an American?"
"On an airplane of course", I responded. Just then it hit me that I had cut myself from the parachute, so they probably had no idea that I was an emergency skydiver. I chucked to myself. Never, ever, lose your sense of humor, it can provide a cure above all else. I was so grateful to be alive, that to my astonishment I wasn't even anxious. Anxiety had ruled my life for so long, but I felt none. Given the extreme circumstances, I should be drowning in it right now. How was I ok? Wait, was I ok? I hadn't even checked, was I missing ligaments?
I quickly asked for a mirror. The translator relayed the request to the doctor who was at first apprehernsive. His apprehension made me very uncomfortable slightly. Why were they hesitant? What wuld I see?
   When they handed me the mirror I was absolutely shocked. I never kept any facial hair whatsoever, and it looked like I hadn't shaved in a month. "Wait a minute, how long have I been here?! Where am I anyways? Morgat? Is that France? Where am I?" My mind began to race and the doctor ordered some type of sedative nto my I.V., it hit me instantly. I don't know what they gave me, but it made me feel really good.
   That translator was becoming more and more cute by the second. "Hey baby, did you know Im a celebrity?" She chuckled, I think she could tell the drugs were making me loopy. I began to ignore the doctor and just talk to her. "What's your name gorgeous"?
"Allison", she had such a sweet and genuine smile.
She continued; "I would really like to chat with you sir, but I need to do my job right now. What is your name even"? The face she made when she asked that question was very cute. I loved the way she spoke French, it was such a turn on. She was long, blonde, curly hair with bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks. She looked at me through the computer screen, but it felt like she looked straight into my heart.
    She asked the question again; "What is your name sir"? I was lost in those beautiful eyes, I didn't even know my name. I responded, "If I tell you my name will you marry me"? She smiled again and looked away from the screen. I could tell that she was trying to be professional.
"Hey, Im sorry baby. I know you are trying to do your job, its just hard for me. You are really pretty and I almost died. I jumped out of a plane that was crashing and I survived. I have no idea how long I've been in this hospital. Whats todays date? Can you tell them this please"?
     Her face look like she was a mixture of confusion and disbelief. I could tell that she thought I was either lying, crazy, or both. Regardless, the look on her face assured me that she was going to help me, and that everything was going to be ok.

Feeding Seagulls

    I was in a crumby mood today, so I got an idea to go walk on the beach and feed some birds. I stopped at the store and bought a large loaf of white bread and strolled onto the beach. When I first arrived I noticed 2 seagulls standing by the water, a large one and a smaller one. I opened my bag of bread, tore off a section and made it into a small snowball-like piece and tossed it towards them. The larger bird quickly flew over to it and devoured it. I broke off another piece and tossed it towards the smaller one, but again the larger one swooped in and took it. This happened about 4-5 times in a row, and so I decided to throw a piece far away so he would have to chase it and leave the smaller bird a window of time to get some for himself.
    As soon as I threw it, I heard some loud "shreeks" in the distance and seen a few other seagulls in the distance begin flying towards us. I again tossed a piece to the smaller bird. He was making his way over to it but he was again, he was afraid of the larger bird. The larger bird again swooped back over and gobbled it up. I began to get a bit agitated at this point.
     Suddenly, 3-4 other seagulls landed in front of the smaller bird and made a barricade. I could see dozens of seagulls now in the distance beginning their own pursuit. I quickly threw 3-4 large pieces of wadded up bread and they began to fly over towards it. Within seconds there were 20-30 birds flocking, some of them were flying directly over my head. More and more birds appeared seemingly out of no where, I began to get nervous. I quickly took out 3 slices at once and threw them all Frisbee style in the direction of the herd. It was an absolute frenzy.
     I could see dozens more still on their way to the feeding grounds. Again, I grabbed a handful of bread and threw it in their direction. They were attacking each other to get the bread, and were still surrounding me making me feel uncomfortable. I grabbed another handful of full slices and threw them until my bag was empty. I walked away from the beach towards the path and looked back. There were about 50 birds eating and I have to admit, I felt pretty accomplished. I felt like I had done something good.

     This good feeling brought me back to the store to buy another loaf. The friendly store clerk who had just sold me the previous loaf asked me; "What are you guys making"? I proudly and heroically told him; "I'm feeding the birds at the beach". He responded; "Hey, that's really nice of you Daniel, somebody has to feed those guys". Being that this is the south and everybody is friendly here, I am on a first name basis with the fella at the gas station, even though I just moved here. It was about to become very evident that I just moved here.
    
     When I arrived back on the beach, there was still a very large flocking of seagulls in the vicinity of the prior bread. As soon as they seen me they began stalking me. 30-40 seagulls were flying very close to my head and making me uncomfortable. I quickly realized that this was a very bad idea. As soon as I threw one piece of bread, about 60-70 birds were screeching and following me. All I wanted to do was to help these guys out, and now I was petrified. I was completely surrounded, and it was impossible to throw anymore bread. I began to run for a set of stairs and they swooped at me.
    I began thinking to myself; "You idiots, there is enough for all of you, let me help you! I know you are hungry, let me feed you". More and more birds were appearing by the second. I began running and the sand was filling up in my shoes. I realized that I was going to have to throw the bread and make a run for it. The bag of bread was inside the bag from the store. So I just took it out and threw the bag on the ground and ran. It was complete pandemonium. I felt bad that I had just littered on the beach, but I was honestly fearing for my own safety. I can laugh at myself now, but I was honestly nervous!
     When I got back onto the street I seen one seagull flying with a large piece of bread in his mouth and another one was hot on his trail and "screeching". The aggressor was taking shots at him until he dropped the bread and the other bird caught it in the air. Suddenly, I didn't feel like I had done a good thing anymore. All I was trying to do was to help them. But, instead, I got attacked and they were all trying to kill each other. It sort of reminded me of those crazy black Friday videos. It was at that very moment that I realized something, humans are not so different from the seagulls.

     It seems like whenever somebody tries to do something good, or charitable, the scavengers appear. It never takes long before the charitable deed turns into a free-for-all. Government assistance for example exists to assist the people who cannot afford to live. However, every year thousands of people are arrested for abusing it. Can you only imagine how many get away with it? How can you help people who abuse the help? It is very similar to, how can you feed the birds if they are attacking you?

     Our society is much like the flock of seagulls. The larger ones take all of the bread because they can. They might leave some scraps for the others, but that is only because their bellies are already full. Our culture exploits the "smaller birds" in order to fill their own pockets. When seagulls are hungry, they will cannibalize their own young. Today I suppose I learned a few things:

1 - Exploitation takes place along all levels of the food chain
2 - Sometimes you cannot help those who need help, because of the greed of others.
3 - Seagulls can be scary as a mother---ker.

Nate

     I lived in a crumby one-bedroom apartment by myself for 4 years. It was in a bad neighborhood and on the wrong side of town. Almost all of my neighbors were crazy, scummy, or both. Needless to say, I didn't associate with them, at all. I wasn't from the area so the only friends I had were people I knew from work.
     Anyways, one spring day I was sitting at my computer when my chair broke. It had been slowly falling apart for months and now it was simply trash. I didn't have any spares laying around so I decided to ask a neighbor if he wanted to sell one. I wasn't looking for anything fancy obviously, just something that would provide the necessary function. The neighbors were always sitting on their porch drinking beer, literally everyday. From what I had noticed in passing, they were certainly a motley crew. They were obviously all unemployed, alcoholics who lived off "the system".
     As I walked outside and approached them, they got quite. There were 3 of them who lived there. Nate was in his late 30's, really scruffy looking. His facial hair was always a disaster and he always had a 24oz Milwaukee Best Ice in his hand. I suppose you could call him "the leader". The second was an African American woman in her late 40's, her name is Lynette. She was slightly overweight with dark rings around her eyes. The final "character" was a tall, slender man named Larry. He is in his early 50's with glasses and large "day-laborer" looking hands. They were certainly a "motely" looking crew. I had walked by them a hundred times with my head down, trying not to make eye-contact. I had written them off in my head as "drunks" and/or drug-users the first day I seen them.

     Anyways, I walked next door to ask them if they had a chair for sale, when I looked at them and changed my mind. However, Nate said; "Hey man, you know, you can stop by and have a beer sometime". I told him I couldn't, I was on my way to the store, but I was glad me had broken the ice. I said; "Do any of you have a chair for sale by any chance? Like, a desk chair? Mine just broke". Larry quickly chimed in; "Yea, I live 2 houses down, come with me."
     He walked off the porch with his beer still in his hand and began to walk down the sidewalk. He extended his free hand and introduced himself. He said that he had just gotten evicted next door because he had been behind on rent. When we walked onto the porch, I quickly noticed a bunch of old furniture scattered all over. He said that this was all his stuff, and that the landlord had literally emptied his apartment onto the porch while he was at work painting a house earlier. I was sort of skeptical, how did I know this was really his stuff? However, he did have painters pants on and the furniture was really crumby for the most part. We were making a little more small talk when I seen a metal frame chair with white, leather padding. I remember thinking, "that one wont break". I said; "How much for this chair"? He looked at it; "I dunno, $3"? I said ok, and gave him a $10 bill because it was all I had. He said he could get me change and I told him to keep it. He asked me if I was interested in anything else because he had to get rid of everything since he had no home to put it in. I didn't need anything else, so I told him; "Thanks anyways".
     As I carried the chair back up to my house, Nate again invited me over for a beer. I told him I would drop off the chair, go to the store, and stop by. I mean, what could it hurt right? I didn't have any friends in town, and I didn't even know anybody in town except for my brother. Also, I was nosy, and I wanted to know about my neighbors....if they were as crazy as I had imagined I suppose.

     Over the next few weeks, I hung out with Nate 3-4 times, we actually had a lot of common interests. He was a basketball player and he liked to write music also. His house was pretty filthy, but that didn't seem to bother me, and it definitely didn't bother him. All he really cared about was drinking beer. He would sometimes text me and invite me over for a beer as early as 8am. I don't understand how people can physically drink beer all day, everyday.
    As the months passed, I learned more and more about Nate. And as I did, he seemed really normal and educated. He actually came from a really good family. His brother owned a few affluent businesses in town, and he often talked about how he used to own a successful painting business. I would usually stop by after work for 2 beers and then go home, make dinner, go to sleep, and then get up for work. I didn't understand how a person who seemed so normal could be literally drinking himself to death.
    Unfortunately, I have been around a lot of drunks in my life, and if Ive learned one time about them: they lie. As the months turned to years, my life changed from time-to-time, but his never did. He had told me a bunch of impossible stories over the years, but one had resonated with me. He told me how he had this successful painting business in Virginia making over $200k per year. He has also told me that he had a girlfriend for 12 years and that they were engaged to be married. It seemed like all of his stories would not equate to the drunk guy I seen everyday. So, one day I asked him how he got here. I knew how I had gotten to the crumby job and neighborhood, but this guy allegedly had it all. He was a great athlete (which he proved with a scrap book), he comes from a rich family (whom I had met), and he said he had this great business and that his fiancé was the love of his life. I looked him in his eyes one day and I asked him; "How did you get here then"?
     He went on to tell he a crazy story. Apparently, one night while living in a sky-rise apartment with his fiancé, a burglar broke in through the fire escape. The guy had a butchers knife to his girls neck and was punching her. He said that he had a gun in his bedroom but there was no time to go for it. He picked up a chair and smashed the guy over the head with it. Then, he went for the door and got in a fight with the guy who was trying to stop him from opening it. Luckily, the chair has caused the guy (who was much larger than him) to drop the knife. He had gotten the door open and the man began screaming for help. Some neighbors had come into the hallway to help. They were wrestling and ended up falling down some stairs and the police came. (This is of course the short version)

     Anyways, the guy used to work for Nate but he had to fire him because he was harassing women on the job. The police has arrested the man and found startling evidence back at his home. He had two giant coolers, and all the tools to dismantle their bodies. This disgruntled employee had planned on killing Nate and his girl, and then getting rid of the evidence.
     He said that the guy had gotten like 15 years in prison and something like 20 years supervision upon parole. However, his fiancé could never get over the incident. She couldn't sleep at night, she would wake up in sweats, and she was in constant fear. She went and seen countless specialists and was on medication but it didn't help. He said that over the next few years it had eventually ruined their relationship. Apparently, it had become too much for him to handle. He said that she ended up moving back in with her parents, and he was heart-broken. Nate was originally from the Jamestown area, so over time he had eventually gravitated back to where he knew.


     Lynette, I found out was Nates girlfriend. She was 45 and she reminded me of a lot of drug-addicts I had known from back home. Sure enough, I found out that she had a crack problem. Her and Nate would often fight because she would leave and be gone for days, weeks, or even months at a time. But eventually, she would end up back at the apartment. They all lived on government assistance, but they needed each other to pay rent still. Lynn was actually really book-smart and educated, she just drank everyday. She would have long spells where she would not use drugs and they would keep a ledger on a calendar....how any days she has not used.
     Lynn had been abused physically and sexually as a child. She would start a job, hold it down for a few months, and then disappear to use drugs. Their relationship was always a roller coaster because of this. Well, this and the fact that they drank every day. And, despite the fact that she had this issue, she was a homemaker still at heart. She did all the cooking and cleaning in the house. She did all the laundry, and she would always make the "beer-runs".

     Eventually, Larry had moved in with them. His grandmother always sent him money for rent each month. Apparently he had abused the government assistance at some point and been cut-off. He had also come from a good family, and he often talked about his 3 sons. They are all in college now or else just finishing up. Larry had been married for 20 years until his wife had left him for whatever reason. It might have been because of his drinking problem, or maybe because he had gotten into drugs, Im not sure. I know that she has since remarried.
     Larry used to be a family man, but now he lived a few hundred miles away and never sees his kids. He talked about them all the time when he was drinking, and he would brag about their accomplishments. I know that he had done like a year in jail for drugs a while back. He is actually a really, really, nice guy. Whenever he would talk to his kids on the phone he would be really sad after.

     So this was their "crew". They fought and argued with each other everyday. A lot of it was because of the fact that they drank beer all day every day, but they also didn't especially care for eachother. I have long wondered why they lived together, and I had always believed that it was just because of financial reasons.....it made sense. Lynn and Nate got government assistance to pay for the rent, utilities, and food. Then, Larry got cash each month to provide the beer and cigarettes. There wasn't any love in the household, but they made it work. And I always thought they made it work just because of financial reasons. Like I said, they didn't care for eachother, and they argued and called eachother names constantly. However, one day I realized.........

They were each social outcasts from their families. They didn't have any family to go home to, and so they were forced to live wherever. The common aspect that they shared was pain. They all were fighting their internal demons, the demons of the past, the demons that plagued their first thought every single morning. Their demons that they had no long term solution for, a solution that did not exist. Demons that they had learned to control only by drowning them in alcohol. An entire household, 3 lives filled with incurable pain. There will always be drugs and alcohol because there will always be pain. They are the leftovers from lives that once were and have been long forgotten. However, life goes on long after the heart loses its love. And what often remains is the shell of the person who is trying to get that monkey off their back.

I finally understood them, and I no longer looked down on them for being drunks. Nobody is, will be, or ever could be any better than anybody else. What we can do is decide to look at them as drunks or addicts, or we can find out why. And it is ONLY once we empathize and understand what an issue is before we can attempt to attack or cope with the problem. For some problems, there is no cure. I once heard a comedian say; "Alcoholism is the only disease you can get yelled at for having".



    

   

All in a moment

And as they reminisced

trying to recapture that feeling

they realized.

They understood gods purpose,

his purpose for them.

It wasn't the people

It wasn't the time

and it wasn't the place

nor the song.

It was the culmination of them all

that created that perfect moment,

a feeling of togetherness,

in a world carved out of loneliness

Not Yet - Part 1 of 3 (Fiction)

      I first learned about death when I was 7 years old. My grandmother had fallen ill and passed away quite suddenly. I didn't understand what was happening. It wasn't long after that when I learned that I too would die. To this day it remains the most frightening moment of my life. It is truly remarkable that this is still the most frightened I have ever been. I say this because some of the events that would transpire later in my life, but I ill get to that.
     When I consulted my mother about what had happened to my grandmother she had sat me down and explained to me; "That's what old people do, you see. They die".

I replied; "And when I get old, ill I die too?!"

"If you're lucky you will be as old as grama when you die", she said.

"But I don't want to die ever mommy, please don't let me die"!

She patted me on the head and smiled gently, "You wont die for a long time".
The reassurance didnt help matters any.

     Now, to say that I was panic stricken would be an enormous understatement. Especially when I learned that people can die at any age. When I was in the 3rd grade, a girl in my class had been in an automobile accident that had killed her and her entire family. I remember going into shock when I realized that I could die at any moment. I began to suffer from severe panic attacks and felt like I couldnt breath. My mother had taken me to the hospital for this on a weekly basis. We finally ended up going to a specalist who had diagnosed me with "severe onset anxiety", to which I still suffer.

     From that day forward I have been completely afraid of death at all times. The medication they prescribed me had only made me sleepy. When I would awaken, it wouldnt be long before I would revert back to panic mode. The thought of no longer breathing, and being placed into the ground for eternity to rot, it plagued me constantly. By the time I was in middle school, I had become obsessed with the fear of death, it consumed me. There wasn't any particular method of dying that scared me, it was just death in general. I began to feel as though death was like that pesky rain cloud that just hovered over me at all times. And ultimately, we become our thoughts. The things that we think about and obsess over, they manifest themselves into our lives. I read in the newspaper that a serial killer was on the loose 2 states over, and that he was targeting little boys. It was during this time that I stopped leaving the house. Even after he was captured, my fears only escalated. I did not want to die, ever.

   
     I began to study nutrition, and read all of those articles concerning food and drink that was "bad for you". I became a health nut, and I would exercise 3 times a day. But I would never, ever leave the house. I took countless dietary supplements, whatever vitamins or super foods my health research had led me to.
     My mother grew more and more concerned. She would bring countless shrinks and psychiatrists to the house to talk with me. There was one occasion when I had gotten into a heated dispute with one of the counselors. I had proposed to him the question; "How is it that you can possibly go on in your every day life, going through the motions, knowing you are going to die"? To this, he had first stumbled his words, searched for a response, and found none. He picked up his things and walked into the other room. I could hear him speaking with my mother; "I'm sorry, but I dont believe that I can help your boy. I will not charge you for my visit".

      As I got older, I only grew more and more interested in nutrition, and keeping a healthy body. It was during my research that I discovered a stem cell procedure that is only performed in Germany. They basically take your blood, they incubate it, they spin it, and add nutrients to it manually. This procedure is supposed to be the best treatment available to improve a persons overall health, and thus live a longer, healthier life. I was sold immediately. However, my hypochondriac nature would never allow me to step foot on an airplane, especially to travel overseas.
     Shortly after, I began to be treated by a new, world-renowned psychiatrist. We would communicate 3-5 days a week by telephone. I had sought him out to try to help me get over my fear of flying so that I culd go to Germany to get the procedure. During one of our conversations, he had produced data that conveyed just how improbable it is for an airplane to crash. I had to admit, it lightened my anxiety a bit. Then, he made a joke that would change my life forever. He said; "Hey, I think that every airline allows you to bring a carry-on item. You could bring a parachute if it would make you feel more comfortable"! He chuckled.... Needless to say, I didnt laugh. But, the more and more I read into this stem cell procedure, the more I told myself that I need to have it done. I read testimonials from several credible celebrities who had taken the trip to Germany to have the procedure done, and they were all remarkable experiences.
     On my 40th birthday, I had called one of these clinics and I made an appointment to have the procedure. At the end of the call they made me put a significant down-payment by credit card to secure the appointment, there was no backing out now. I had exactly one month until the procedure, and so I booked the flight the very next day. Needless to say, I booked my seat closest to an emergency exit. While I was booking the flight, I noticed that I as alloed to bring one suitcase and one carry-on item free of charge. When I seen this, I immediately thought of the psychiatrist and began looking at parachutes online. I wasnt seriously going to purchase one, I was just curious to see how much they costed.
     About a week before my trip, my anxiety towards the plane ride had grown significantly. I was freaking out. I called my psychiatrist and was given a prescription for xanax, the strong ones. It would help me sleep at night when my mind was racing, but once I would wake up I would immediately become nervous about the flight again. I had also had several nightmares about being involved in a devastating plane crash. My psychiatrist explained to me that this was completely normal for somebody with my condition. He said to pop one xanax on the way to the airport, and to take 2 of them about 10 minutes prior to boarding the plane. He said that I would sleep like a baby and the trip would be over before I knew it. However, the thought of sleeping on the plane only increased my anxiety. If I were asleep and the plane were to crash, I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Then I realized, even if I were awake, I wouldnt be able to do anything about it.
     It was because of this that I quickly opened my laptop and again began browsing parachutes. The last time I was only looking, but this time I was shopping. I purchased the most expensive and "reliable" parachute I could find and had shipped to me in over night mail. In the item description online it said, "So simple to use, that even a blind monkey could operate it without any training".
     When it arrived, it came in a giant cardboard box and was covered it packaging peanuts. This thing was legit, apparently it was the same brand used by the US Air Force. When I removed it from the plastic it looked like an industrial backpack because it had 4 separate straps on it to hold each extremity in place. There was an accompanying DVD that I quickly popped into my blu ray player. It was an instructional video, I watched it 9 about times in a row. Each time, I was practicing getting strapped into it and ready to use it in case of an emergency. I have to admit, I got pretty good at putting it on quickly. It was right then that it occurred to me, I had never spent so much money on something before that I had hoped to never use. It had also just occurred to me that if I carry this thing onto an airplane, it will probably terrify the other passengers. I could already see their faces as they were thinking to themselves; "What the hell is this guy doing with a parachute on a red eye"? I found a large backpack and I stuffed it in, it just barely fit. It would be one extra step to assemble it and get it ready to be used, but I had no choice. I also made up a contingency plan about sky diving with a friend in Berlin, in case airport security had discovered the item during check-in and questioned me.

     The night before my fight I had the worst nightmare in which I was in a burning airplane. It was the most vivid night terror of my life. I remember waking up, covered in perspiration, and so thankful that it was just a nightmare. There was no way in the world that I was getting on that aircraft.
     About an hour later, my psychiatrist called. I was just about to let it go to voice mail, but I answered it. He asked me if I was all ready for a "nice, safe flight to Germany". He told me that he had checked the weather and that it would be "smooth sailing the whole way there". I quickly manufactured a tale of how I had come down with the flu, and had to reschedule for the following week. (However, the nightmare had me so startled that I had no immediate plans to reschedule, that was for damn sure!)
     He quickly seen right through my lie, I should have known better than to attempt to fib somebody with 2 doctorate degrees in psychotherapy and psychology. To this day I can not tell you ho this man manipulated me to get on that airplane, but he was good. He was like Michael Jordan in the playoffs, or Michaelangelo painting that ceiling of his. There was absolutely no way I was getting on that airplane, but this man convinced me. It was a combination of; "This could cure all of your fears", "think of all the money your have spent", and "think how good you will feel from the stem cells and how much it will improve your health".
     Anyways, I took one xanax on the way to the airport and it made me drowsy. I didnt have any problems getting the parachute past customs, they didnt even open the bag. I had considered taking the other 2 xanax 10 minutes before boarding, but I knew that if I was in a zombie-like state I would not be able to operate the parachute, if necessary.
    After I boarded the plane, and took my seat beside the emergency exit door in the center of the aircraft, the stewardess began giving her speech about "in the event of an emergency". I looked around and it seemed like nobody else was paying her any attention, but I was on the edge of my seat. The pilots voice came over the intercom and said that our flight should take about 8 and a half hours. He explained that it would usually take a bit less, but that he was expecting a bit of turbulence but that it was only on account of some severe weather. (I should have known that my psychiatrist wasnt an expert on weather conditions between continents. How could I have fallen for that false sense of security? I pondered an excuse to get off the plane, but then we started moving)
     They had an in-flight movie that had began playing as soon as we were in the air; "Forrest Gump". I had seen that movie about 100 times, it was one of my favorites. The last thing I remember was Forrest breaking free from his leg braces and running when I dozed off.
     I have no idea how long I had been asleep when I had been awoken suddenly by a loud "Smash" sound!

Registering the Driver

     When I was 16 years old I dislocated the top of my ring finger playing basketball. It looked really grotesque and so I ended up going to the emergency room. The first person I seen when I entered the hospital was the registrar. This is the person who gathers your patient information, verifies insurance information, and asks you what is your chief complaint. I remember showing her my finger and seeing her "ick" face when she looked at it. The whole top segment of the digit was facing straight up rather than flat. Then I said; "I bet you must see disgusting things all day long, huh"? She looked at me and said; "You have no idea".
   
     Who would have thought that I would be doing the same ork as her some 10 years later, in a hospital  200 miles away? It was just a job that I had stumbled into while looking for any office work I could find. I had recently moved in with my brother in a new city to sort of "start over". When I first moved there I found out that the hospital employed the most people in the area, and I was desperate for a job. During my interview the manager had asked me; "Do you have a problem with gruesome sights, like blood"? To which I quickly answered, "No, not at all", without hesitation. (I told you, I was desperate) The hours for the position were simply horrible, but I didn't care. I was new to the area and so I didn't have a "life" or any friends around anyways. I would be working 2nd and 3rd shift. This meant that I would work either 3-11pm or 11pm-7am. It wasn't long before I had lost track of time. There were no windows because of privacy concerns, and so when I would leave work I would forget if it was day or night time. I can recall several instances when I would step outside and think to myself; "Oh yeah, its dark out", or vice versa. Also, the job would occasionally call for what they referred to as a "quick change". This meant that I would work 11pm-7am and then have to be back to work at 3pm. It wasn't long before I realized that the term "quick change" was ultimately synonymous with the term "suck". It is really depressing to relieve the same person who just relieved you 8 hours before. That first summer working there is just a giant blur in my memory bank. But, the way life goes we learn to adapt to our circumstances and our environment. I have learned that human beings can be extremely resilient to change, especially when they have no other choice.

     This emergency room was extremely busy. It is the only hospital for at least 30 miles in any direction, and it served a large city as ell as countless other small, surrounding towns. The patient flow was constant during the 3-11pm shift. I would typically have a list of 5-6 names written down, waiting to be registered. And the size of the list would only grow when an ambulance arrived, or if a critical patient walked in, since they took priority.

     I had been working there for about 8 months and I had seen my fair share of stomach-turning injuries, they didn't bother me so much anymore. I had settled into the job and I was able to keep up with the fast pace environment and cope with the rudeness of some of the nurses and patients. The one good thing about being constantly busy is that your work day feels like it flys by.
   
     Anyways, it was about 5pm on a typical weekday afternoon when I was at my desk registering a patient and the phone rang. I answered it and heard; "New one in T-3" on the other end. The ER clerk would always call out to my office to let me know when an ambulance had arrived, and the location the patient was being placed in so I could locate them quickly. The "T" stood for trauma, and the "3" was for the room number. I quickly strolled into the emergency room, unplugged the COW (computer of wheels) and rolled it into the trauma section. The EMT's are usually very helpful in having primary patient information available for me, as they have been with the patient for a period of time already. The are also normally in good moods and friendly, which is rather surprising given the fact that they work long hours, deal with sick people, and are ridiculously under-paid.
     However, on this occasion they all had somber looks on their faces. I could see the stretcher but I couldn't see who was on it. As I got closer I realized that it was a young boy, his face was covered in blood and he was unresponsive. Half of his face had been caved in to the point that it looked like he didnt have an eye-ball on one side. Typically the EMT's would be performing CPR on a patient like this, but it would have been useless. I asked an EMT if they had a name and he shook his head "no". He said it was a truck vs pedestrian and that there was no family around. The doctor took one look at the patient and it was obvious that he had already passed away. He said not to bother registering the patient and then he began asking the EMT's where the parents were at. I left and went back to my desk.

         I finished registering the patient who was still at my desk when my phone rang again; "New one in the back". "The back" is the term for the area located in the rear of the ER designated for patients who are being treated for psychiatric issues. These patients are all given the same registration complaint: "Crisis Evaluation". Most of the time these patients are brought in by the police against their will. They are typically drunk, on drugs, suicidal, or just "off their meds". These patients are not typically happy to be there and are often not in touch with reality. If someone is arrested and they make a suicidal threat, they will certainly become an inpatient at the psych ward based on liability issues alone. These patients are typically dirty and grungy looking, strung out, smelly, and just in rough shape all around. I usually get my registration information from the police officer who brought them in, I only go talk to them to verify things if they are not acting erratically.
   
     The reason I mention all of the typical attributes of these patients is because this guy was the exception. The gentleman looked to be about the same age as me, really clean cut and didnt look like a drug addict. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands on his face, and crying hysterically. He also had what appeared to be his mother and father on each side of him. They were probably in their early 50's, very nicely dressed, and consoling him. I had attempted to ask the gentleman his name but he couldn't talk through the hysteria. He was trying to say his name but his voice was really shaky and his face was beat red. The father told he his sons name and I told them that I would "give them a minute". When I walked out of the room and seen the police officer, he motioned me over to him. He explained to me that this was the guy who killed the kid who had just came in. He as driving his truck down the street when the boy ran between 2 parked cars and he ran him over. The driver was very distraught accordingly, having just killed a child. I later found out that there were several witnesses who corroborated that the accident was unavoidable. The driver had not been drinking, on drugs, or speeding. He was simply coming home from work and now his entire life had been changed in an instant. As fate would have it, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. This could have happened to anybody. But now, this guy has to live with the memory of killing a child in horrific fashion for the rest of his life. Can you imagine?
     When I registered him I noticed that he was a month older than me. I began to empathize and envision if I had been the driver and what I would be going through if I was in his position. The memory of this would haunt me daily. I think about that guy from time-to-time and I wonder how he has been coping over the years. Just because he could not have avoided causing the death of the child does not eliminate any feelings of guilt. Time is the only tool that could possibly lessen the burden of such an ordeal, but I wonder to what extent.
     About 20 minutes later I seen the driver and his parents exiting the hospital. Normally patients "in the back" remain there for hours and hours. I assume that the counselor just gave him a quick "Its not your fault" lecture and sent him on his way. However, technically speaking, it is his fault. And that is a monkey that will probably cause him immense grief and night terrors forever.
   

     I think we would be surprised how many people we walk by every day who are responsible for the death of another. This might be in the form of abortion, maybe a war veteran, some horrific accident, contributing to suicide through neglect, healthcare malpractice, etc...the list could go on and on. There are a lot of people who are living with the burden, some of them it effects deeply and some just go on and time allows them to seldom think about it. Just because you killed somebody on "accident" doesn't change anything, they are still dead all the same. I assume that the depth of ones conscious and the amount of compassion they have for others determines just how much it bothers them. I have never seen a grown man cry as hard as that young driver who killed the boy. And when I sat down and empathized, I realized that if I were in his shoes I wouldn't handle it well. Sure, time can help to ease the grief, but it would have a permanent residence in your brain. How do you live for two? How do you say; "I'm sorry"? Does god hand out killer exempt forms in the event of an accident? After all, in reality we all kno that there are no such thing as accidents. "Accident" is just a made up word we use instead of blaming ourselves.


   

A Library's Reflection

     As I sat in a cramped position in front of a computer at the library in Adams Center, NY waiting for the internet to respond, I leaned back and stretched. It would be understandable to feel claustrophobic in such a small building, let alone the tiny nook reserved for computer access. The place seemed like it might have been an old, tiny, one-room school house left over from the 1800's. And although it was located directly at the center of town, I had probably driven past it 100 times without even noticing its existence. To walk through the front door gave you the feeling of walking back in time. I recall once asking the rickety, little librarian lady where they kept the DVD's. (It astonished me that I was unable to find something in such a small paramater) She responded with; "They are over yonder, we haven't got many since they are still so new." Mind you, this was in 2008.
    Anyways, as I stretched out in front of that computer, my elbow made contact with a small wooden plaque that was leaned up against a shelf. I had just clipped it but it had fallen flat on the shelf. So, naturally I had picked it back up and leaned it back against the wall. When I did so, I read it: "Adams Center, NY. Home of Melvil Dewey - Inventor of the Dewey Decimal System".
    I chuckled out of a state of sheer ridiculousness and confusion. I quickly thought to myself; "This library only has 4 shelves, what the hell could have made that guy invent the fucking Dewey Decimal system?" Now, I assumed that he probably didn't invent it on account of this tiny library, but it certainly had irony written all over it.
    Also, this "plaque" was simply an old slab of oak about the size of my hand. There was a thin piece of brass on the face of the wood which contained its etchings. It was very old and warped, what a piece of crap I thought to myself. If old Melvil were around today he would certainly be disgusted by the "tribute". Being that this was his hometown, and in the fricken library at that, this was the only remembrance displayed? And in such a broken down, miniature facility? Poor guy.
    The Dewey decimal system is probably the biggest achievement in the history of library's. It is a stroke of organizational genius that is still used in every library which I am aware. Anyways, when I considered the ridiculous homage, I realized something else. Adams Center is one of the smallest towns I have ever spent any considerable amount of time in. It is an old farming town that is way behind in time. I cant believe it even has an exit off a major highway, if you were to blink you would certainly miss it. And so with that, I began to recognize a towns library with the character of a town in general. I mean, a towns library is generally a direct reflection of the town itself....any town. Because a towns library is and always has been a place for community gatherings, funded by the local government, of course it would provide a microcosm of the town itself, right?
     I began to think of all of the towns and libraries in which I had spent considerable time, and my theory held true every time. My hometown library is in a large, old, colonial style mansion. Im sure that when it was created in the late 1800's or early 1900's that they spared no expense. However, now a days the floors are all creaky and the upstairs has never been open to the public in my lifetime. The town used to be a magnificent giant until its manufacturing tycoon outsourced long ago. The building is a reminder of what once was...if only those walls could talk.
     Libraries in struggling cities and towns are now often occupied by those who cannot afford computers and internet access. There are people who simply loiter with no place else to go. They call themselves "free", but they charge their patrons for anything they can. The attitudes of those who work at these libraries correspond directly with the clientele they deal with most often. They can be rude and hostile, they have little patience for the incompetent. However, libraries in striving communities allow you to still print out pages on their computers for free. They allow you to use their fax machines for free, they are spotless, and the librarians are very kind, helpful, and usually volunteers.
     My point is this: a towns library can very often define its soul. Therefore, I ask you to consider all of the different community libraries you have been to. And I ask that you recognize all of the similarities and adjectives which can be attributed to both the town and its library. And maybe, just maybe, you should visit your local library before you decide to settle down some place. :)

   

Emotional vs Physical pain

The only good thing about pain, whether it be physical or emotional, is that time can heal all.

Bad People

     I have two young nephews whom I love very much. Therefore, it is very important to me that they are sheltered from the spoils of the world. In my opinion, this means trying to keep them away from "bad" people. Of course I am unable to be there always, and so all I can do is to warn them about bad people. Yes, some people are simply, bad.
     Because they are very young right now, they would never be able to grasp the concept. I wish that I would be able to be around them forever, but I need to go live my own life. There is not a lot that I can offer them, but what I can offer them, is knowledge. If I could speak to my younger self I would have countless words to speak. However, because that is impossible, my nephews are the closest option to that. And if I were able to speak to my younger self, the very first thing I would speak about is bad people.
     There is nothing "fair" about this world, and thus nobody is compelled to be good towards one another. I have met a lot of people who even get satisfaction from their nastiness towards others. However, these are not even the type of bad people who concern me. Those people, are for the most part transparent. The "nasty" people can often be identified your first few encounters with them. For, they are evil, are they have no squabbles letting you know about it.
    The truly "bad" people, are the ones whom try to befriend you. The sheep in wolves clothing are the worst of the worst. This is because they wear masks, they tell lies, they trick the friendly people into a false illusion of trust. Then, as soon as they get you vulnerable enough to hurt you, they show their fangs. These are the bad people that I wish I could warn my younger self of. They are the ones that I wish to warn my nephews of. They are like vampires, once you invite them into your home, they are free to strike.
     Unfortunately, these people do not walk around with signs over their heads. Unfortunately, it is oftentimes impossible to spot them until it is simply too late. And Unfortunately, the only method to learn this, is through experience.

Witnessing a Random Act of Kindness

     Yesterday I was on my way to a cook-out when we had to stop at the convenient store next to my moms house to buy ice. As I pulled up I quickly noticed 2 individuals sitting on the ground outside the store. The first was a heavy-set woman with greasy, strawberry blonde hair and no teeth. It was easy to tell that she had no teeth because her lips were mushed in like people who probably own dentures, but they are not wearing them. Seated beside her was a frail man with dark hair and sun glasses. His legs were crossed but they were rapidly twitching. My very first thought was, "drug-addicts, look at them".
     Moments later a Laotian man (Its easy to tell Laotians from other Asians because I know a ton of them.) who was probably about 50 years-old, emerged from the store and passed directly in front of the "dirty" people. I had my window down and as only about 20 feet from them so I heard the woman. "Excuse me sir, do you have any change that you can spare"? He didn't understand her, and so she repeated herself. The man quickly began to shuffle through his shorts pockets and gave her a handful of change. She replied; "Thank you very much", and he nodded and continued walking. I watched him walk over to a large, white, full-size pick-up truck and climb in, leaving the door open. 30 seconds later he emerged from his truck holding a $5 bill and walked back over to the couple sitting on the ground. He didn't say a word, he just handed her the bill and went back to his truck and drove off.
     Now, I immediately thought to myself; "What a nice guy. Too bad they are probably going to spend it on drugs". But as I was driving to the cook-out, I was thinking about the scenario. Sure, he was probably just contributing to an addicts issue, but it doesn't take away from the fact that it was a true act of kindness. One of my favorite quotes is; "The true measure of a man can always be found in the way he treats people who can do him absolutely no good". This guy exemplified the meaning of this quote to a T.
     He could have very easily:
A.) Ignored them completely
B.) Told them he had no $ to spare
C.) Just gave them his pocket change

.......but he didn't do any of those things. He went out of his way to help out a complete stranger in need. And that, right there, is the only "cure" to this world in which we live. I'm not saying that giving bums $ is going to save the world. What I am saying is this.....If everybody in the world treated everybody else in the world with kindness everyday, what a fucking world it could be.
       Instead, we live in a world (for the most part) that values $ over all else. We exploit poor people to drive up stock prices. We drive fancy cars in order to make ourselves feel superior. We subconsciously alienate ourselves from one in other instead of concentrating on the big picture. We are all in this together. We are all human beings, we all make mistakes, we all have our problems. Some people are just better at hiding them.
      I try to learn new things everyday by watching and listening to others. I feel like it gives me a bigger understanding about this world and how complex and ever-changing it it. And from my experience yesterday I learned this.....we might not be able to fix everything, but everybody can make a difference. Every little random act of kindness, as insignificant as it may be, ultimately makes the world a better place.

Monumental Day

Today I stopped believing in coincidences, finally. It's odd, the more I stop believing in things, the better off I feel. Maybe there is some correlation, maybe I'll make a line graph someday. Prolly not, I don't really know.

But, I do know that a lot of this is artificial, and that irony and coincidences are just our method of trying to incorporate logic once it is superseded.  

Smitty (Fiction)

               Ronnie had a drinking problem; he would be the first one to admit to it. However, he never addressed the issue or tried to change in any way because he frankly didn’t give a shit. Ronnie Smith, better known by his drinking buddies as; “Smitty”, (How original) was 34 years old on this particular day. In fact, it was his first day being 34, last night he had “celebrated” his birthday by having a few too many. Hangovers didn’t use to hamper his lifestyle too much throughout his 20’s. Smitty is a prime example of what one might refer to as a “functioning alcoholic”. And so to follow suit, his occupation was of course, tending bar. It was the only lifestyle he knew, it was just what he did. And although he drank every single day, he seldom drank himself to the point of blackout. Blackouts occur when a person consumes far too much alcohol than his tolerance can allow. Once this happens, the person enters into a parallel universe of consciousness. It is possible to conduct yourself in any type of manner while in this state, while being completely oblivious to it.

               Anyways, Smitty had entered into that state of mind last night and awoke without much recollection of the events which had occurred. According to his lifestyle, this was a very normal occurrence. Therefore, in most cases he would just call up some of the people whom he remembered being with, and just make casual conversation. He did this in an attempt to possibly extract any peculiar information about what may have happened the night before. You see, Smitty never liked to admit to his friends that he had experienced a night in the blackout realm. He always worried about his friends judging him or worrying that he had a problem. So, he just always kept that part to himself.

               Sometimes after a blackout night, Smitty will remember some really bizarre pieces from the night before. But the worst part about blackout nights, was usually drunk texting an ex-girlfriend, or waking up and realizing he had somehow spent an astronomical amount of money. Therefore, because he was so worried about these two things…he shamefully strolled over to his pants that were strewn across his bedroom floor, inside out. That couldn’t be a good sign. As he picked them up and began to turn them right side out, he could feel his wallet and phone in the pockets…it was a huge relief. At least he hadn’t lost either one of those items. It can be very expensive and quite a chore to lose them.

               Anyways, as he opens his phone and begins to scroll through, he finds no drunken texts. The last person he texted was his brother Donald; “Its my figgin b-day and u cant come have 1 with me”? There was no response. Plus, he didn’t remember seeing his brother out the night before, so he quickly assumed that he must’ve been unable to persuade him. There was only 1 phone call that he had made at 2:17 am to the taxicab company. “Thank god I didn’t drive” It said that the call duration was exactly one minute. Those cab drivers must really hate him, he thought. Every time he calls them he is shitfaced and remembers none of it. He vaguely remembers one night when he had got into a screaming match with one of them because they wouldn’t stop so he could get fast food. All the cab drivers were midde-eastern, just like in any decent-sized city. He remembered the driver saying; “Ev-lee tyme bud-dee, ev-lee tyme you spill and I k-lean. I will stop no more! Or else I charge you double”! The cab driver had apparently had enough of Smitty devouring onion-filled cheeseburgers and getting grease on the seatbelts.

               As he continues through his pockets, rummaging for clues and wanting to check what financial damage he had done, he found something very bizarre. He actually had more money than he had when he left that night, a lot more. In fact, he had exactly ten $100 bills that were perfectly wrapped up and separate from his rent/tips/spending/money. He had absolutely no idea how he had gotten it. But he did know one thing, it was fucking party time!

               In typical Smitty fashion, he called up all his friends and set-up an epic party for later that night at his house. He stopped by the liquor store and spent every last dime of his “findings”. In total he had purchased 20 cases of beer, and 20 bottles of liquor. This party was going to be epic!

               However, Smitty told his friends to show up around 5pm, and when he got home and unpacked everything it was only 1pm. And so in typical Smitty fashion, he began to “test the waters” a little bit. A few shots here, a few there, and about a 6-pack later…people were finally beginning to arrive. But, Smitty doesn’t remember any of it.

               The only thing that Smitty remembers is a few guests showing up at his house, and now he has woken up in a hospital bed. It was at this moment that he realized that something must have got horribly wrong. He was afraid to find out what he was there for, all he knew for sure was that his head hurt real, real bad. He looks at his watch and it is 8am. Suddenly he is startled by a man sitting in the corner asleep. It is one of those middle-eastern cab drivers. Jesus, those guys must seriously never leave until you pay. What a ruthless bunch of scavengers they are, he thought to himself. But anyways, this guy might have an idea what happened to him. Plus, he just wanted to find him pants to see if he had any money in them to get rid of this guy. Or, better yet, to get a ride home and see how bad his friends had destroyed his home.

               “Hey Bin”! He hollered at the cabbie. Ever since 9/11, him and his buddies have always referred to those guys as Ossama Bin Laden. Prior to 9/11, they were all of course named: Saddam. “Yo Bin Laden man. Wake up”! He hollered this time.

His high, screechy tone had startled the man and awoke him. “I tell you one hundred time. My name Serge, not Bin. Why you still insult? I do everything”

“You do everything”? Smitty sneered back.

“Yes. Everyday I see you drunk and trying to die. And I bring you home. You say you will grow up, but no!”

Smitty laughed. “You don’t save anybody bud, trust me. There are 1,000 cabs out there. I’ll just get the next one.”

“You think 1,000 cab will pick-up man who cant walk? So drunk he cant even tell where he live? And with no money”?

“What”? Smitty responded. “I always pay you guys man. Just like when I find my pants. I cant believe you stayed all night for $20. You could have made a lot more money if you stayed out. Is it a pride thing? You don’t want anybody to get one over on you”?

Serge stood up and walked over to Smitty’s bed. “You never pay me one time for ride. No other cab drivers will take you because they know how you are. The police want to take you to jail, I tell them no. You are young guy. You said I give you $1,000 and you grow up. But no. Americans have so much but you don’t care. I stay here to see if you live. You puke all over my car. Its getting cleaned next door, another $1,000. You puked blood everywhere! None of your friends stopped the party even, they probably still drunk. You are still young, stop being so stupid!”

               He turned around, picked up Smittys pants and threw them at him. Then, he left. Smitty’s pants were covered in blood and disgust. When the dr came in the told him he had alcohol poisoning. When he got home, his apt was a pig sty. Every single beer and liquor bottle was either on the floor, or missing. What had he done? He called up all of his “friends”, but got no answer. They were probably all still sleeping.

               That night was the first time that Smitty ever went to an AA meeting. Granted, he went to the bar after. But he only ordered one beer. And then he called a cab. Sure enough, it was Serge who pulled up. Smitty was thankful because he had so many questions for him.

“Why do you give a shit about me? Nobody gives a shit about me. So be honest”.

“The first time you in my cab, you say you will give my wife kidney if you are donor match. But then you never call.”

Apparently his wife was on her death bed, and Smitty had been drunk one night and promised to go to the hospital to get tested to see if he was a match. Smitty had apparently promised to give a kidney away while drunk and had no recollection.

“I didn’t  sell you my kidney…..”

“No, no, no. You just say. I gave you the money and rides because I thought you were my angel. A stranger who promises to save my wife if you can. My wife is all I have”.

               Suddenly Serge bursts out into laughter and says; “Man, you really need to stop the drink. You believed me that you promised a kidney”! He continued to laugh. “You so drunk so much you no know you sold me your car in your driveway. I need it for my son. I gave you the money, I told you I will come back to get the car today and you are passed out drunk. So, I bring you to the hospital.” He continued laughing. “You need help buddy! Now lets go get my car. You are too dangerous to have car anyways”. His laughing died down.

Walter (Fiction)

Walter Sr. died because his health insurance didnt cover an expensive surgical procedure deemed necessary by his physician. At least, according to Jr. his father/idol would still be alive if it weren't for the selfishness of that greedy insurance company. "Real Health Insurance" - "Allowing people to achieve real health." That was their motto. Jr. resented that company with every single fiber of his being. He often fancied walking into the lobby wearing his fathers old army fatigue and medals, while strapped in explosives. All he had sacrificed for his country, and this was his reward? Suffering to death because this insurance company valued money over humanity. What a crock.

As the 'healing process' went on, and the lonely days passed, Junior only grew with fury. He had been to multiple psychotherapists prescribed by his physician, but he only argued with them. The walls in his home, his fathers home, has scattered with punch-holes. It had become an almost daily ritual. Junior would drink away the pain and then destroy things. This is how he "coped" with the situation.

He went to his physician again because his physical and mental health had become very poor. He was told that he has to learn to "let it go". He chuckled at the thought and began to argue with the doctor. "Who do you care about most"?

The doctor seemed flustered; "Listen, I don't think that this type of conversation is going to resolve anything".

"Answer the question", Walter spoke sternly and with his eyes glued into the doctors eyes. 

"My daughter"?

"Empathize with me for a moment. What if it was your daughter...."

The doctor cut him off, "Id kill em. Ok? I'd fuckin kill em if anybody hurt my daughter ok? Is that what you wanted to hear"? He let his professionalism go right out the window. He understood the point but there was nothing else left to say. The doctor was tired of Walter.

As Walter left the office, he realized that there was no next step. The dr had not prescribed any plan of action or pawned him off onto the next dr. He was basically prescribed to "just deal with it". He was lost. And so he had absolutely no idea what to do.

After a few more drunken nights, he decided to take the drs advice after all.

After doing some research, he found out who was responsible. The President and CEO of Real Health Insurance was Donald Rosensweig. He decided that he would make him pay. Vengence was the only form of justice that existed. It was only anger that he was concerned with. If justice were impossible, he would create his own.

And so Jr began dedicating his life to shadowing Mr. Rosensweig. It was important to learn his patterns in order to achieve his task. A task that was simple. Rosnsweig represented the face of the company who destroyed his life. Therefore, he would destroy Rosensweig. 

One typical Tuesday morning while on his way into the office, he was met in the parking garage by Jr. There were no words exchanged but Jr shot Rosensweig with an animal tranquilizer right in the chest.

Next, he loaded him into his van and took him back to his fathers home. Next, he duct taped his arms and legs to an ordinary wooden lichen chair and he waited. And and he waited for Rosensweig to awake he stewed with anger. He had so much to say and yell at this man about. After all, he was the cause of all of Jrs problems. 

After about an hour of waiting, Jr filled up a bucket of cold water and dumped it over his head. Still nothing.....that always worked in the movies. He quickly felt for a pulse just to make sure, Roaensweig had to be in his late 60's.

His plus seemed fine, so he started screaming at him and finally he awoke. However, still looking half asleep. It took another 15 minutes for him to realize what was going on.

"You killed me dad u greedy bastard. And now I'm gonna kill u"

"I didnt kill anybody. I just run a business"

Well ur business ethics valued money over my war hero dad. And now ur gonna pay."

"I just did my job, maximize profits. If I don't do everything I can to maximize profits I will get fired. Even worse, the share holders will sue the company. That's how big business works. If a company is not doing everything it can to maximize profits, it gets sued by its shareholders."

Suddenly, Jr realized that it was the greed of the world which was to blame. It wasn't Real health, or Rosensweig...it was the greed of humanity who was to blame.

Suddenly, he apologized and released Risensweig. He walked up to the top of a large bridge and swan dove off, eager to see his father.

Death of a Showboat

One day I was walking through a cemetery when I saw a gruesome yet odd sight. I wish I had a camera because this picture would have been worth certainly been worth more than a thousand words. I will try my best to create the image with words alone, and we will see where it goes.

It was a beautiful autumn morning in New England when I decided to visit my grandmother at her grave site. On my way I was taking in the site of the various different mausoleums and head stones. I noticed an old, rustic looking cherry tree beside a very tall monument. The tree was basically bare aside from my discovery. A dead squirrel hung between the fork in two branches. It was apparent that he had gotten himself in a deadly predicament that had caused his demise. I quickly assumed that he must have mistimed a jump and got lodged I'm the branch and broke his neck. Or, perhaps he had gotten stuck while chasing prey and hung himself when he could not get out. It is impossible to know for sure what had happened, but he had certainly messed up big time.

As I sat and observed this ugly freak accident, I began to reflect. I recalled the countless episodes in my life when I had seen squirrels perform the most death-defying feats without blinking an eye. I have seen these creatures do things that would put any human acrobat to Shame. They run across telephone wires, prance across treetops, and are fast as lightning. Therefore, to see this sight completely baffled me. However, it made me realize something very important.

No matter how amazing someone or something is, we all make mistakes. Everybody can be hurt, we are all mortal. Sometimes people get big heads and they purchase million dollar cars and homes just to show boat. They think that they can hide behind their check books. Or maybe a body builder likes to show boat by wearing a tight shirt. I attribute this correlation to the squirrel who flys through the air like a tiny ninja. So many times I have admired the beauty of their tactics, and the ease in which they can stride. 

But, we must always remain humble. Because the moment, that nanosecond in time when we believe we are larger than life....we get blasted back to reality. We will all die. It is the cost of life. Show boating might make you feel superior to others, but nobody will be any better than anybody else....nor any worse.

Time

I am fascinated by the concept of time. It is in control of almost every single facet of our existence. We mold our lives around our need to be in certain places at certain times. We put almost all of our concern into an intangible and in adamant concept. However, if time cannot be seen, how do we know it truly exists at all? 

We have all reflected on our pasts and wondered about the future. And yet, all we know for sure is this exact moment. Be in the moment and feel it. Every moment

Beauty

Because all people are different, they often define vague terms and concepts differently. In my mind, "Beauty" is a loosely thrown about term, as it should be, there is a lot of beauty to be seen on this planet. For instance, a brand new ferrari, New England in September, or the girl next door. However, the most overlooked form of beauty that exists within our realm cannot be seen at all. It is an intangible form of beauty which is far more electrifying that skin deep. The inner beauty of certain individuals hold far more glimmer and prestige than anything else. The true content of ones character can be the most beautiful or the most disgusting thing in the world. 

When I look at a cute baby or a colorful flower, those are simply works of god. They are simply created as such. But an enhanced soul is incomparable. When a person touches your heart with true and unconditional kindness, it creates something else entirely. Getting to know strangers often reveals dirty secrets. However, it is also the only way to find the most beautiful of things.

The Realview Mirror

Over lives are filled with all of the nonsense around us everyday  only because they set up those “special moments”. Every now and then we face an obstacle that will define our very soul. And it is only those small moments that mean anything and everything at all. Will you be a coward or will you fight? Will you turn a blind eye or will you speak up? Will you face the music or will you run?

Almost every religion ever created has placed a large emphasis on “sacrifice”. That is because actions will and have always spoken much louder than words. Our actions are what define our soul. And once our bodies are no longer able to operate adequately enough to provide our bodies with life, it is all we are left with. Did you do the right thing? Or did you do what was wrong, or just easier?

We will all be one day observing our presence on this earth for eternity through the rearview mirror. In the big scheme of things, our windshield will only protect us from the insects for so long. "The small things are much larger than they appear"

Luka Hocevar

     I spent the majority of my childhood playing basketball at the parks. It had started because there was simply nothing else to do. But over the years, I had become obsessed with perfecting my skills and becoming the best player possible. If I had gone a day without playing, I would feel like I had cheated myself. When I was young I had heard a quote that went something like this; “Always practice and give it 100%, because somebody some place is working harder than you are. And when you face them one-on-one, they will beat you”. I had always taken this quote straight to the heart. So in the snow, I carried a shovel to the park. And after it would rain, I would sweep away the puddles. At night time, I went to a different park that had lights. There were no such things as days off. During high school I also spent a ton of time at the YMCA playing against premier collegiate competition. My game had really developed, so there were days when I would dominate the best players around. These experiences would boost my confidence and push me to work even harder. I began to lift weights on a regular basis and develop my upper-body strength. I had purchased these "jump-soles" to assist in my training. They strapped onto my sneakers and were designed to work the muscles in your legs that make you jump higher. I trained with them and ankle weights together, determined to give myself the ability to jump higher. I had spent years and years perfecting my outside shot. I believed that I had done everything I could have done to become the best basketball player possible. But, as I got older I began to accept the fact that my work ethic alone could only take me so far. I realized that the only way I was going to get recruited by a major college was if I was 7 feet tall or African-American. After all of my years of training and spending nearly all of my childhood playing basketball, I had felt like a failure. I had a decent high school basketball career but I never got recruited by any notable schools. 

     I ended up attending community college and planned on playing for the team there. It was during my time here that I met a basketball player named Luka Hocevar. He was a few inches shorter than me and I believe he was from Slovenia. While spending time around Luka, I learned a very humbling lesson. I had always thought that I had pushed myself to become the best possible player, but boy was I wrong. This guy had the work ethic of some kind of super hero. He basically lived in the gym. If he wasn't playing basketball, he was lifting weights. But it wasn't just the fact that he trained so often, it was the level at which he pushed himself at all times. This was division 3 junior college basketball, but this guy worked like he was training for the fricken Olympics every single day. I have no idea what pushed him or where he got all of his energy to always keep going, but it was absolutely remarkable. Witnessing him always in the gym and watching the way he trained made me realize that I could have done so much more than I ever actually did. I had always felt like I pushed myself to become the best, but Luka showed me that I was completely wrong. He never touted about his work ethic, but as they say; "Actions speak louder than words". Watching him made me realize that the reason I never became a division 1 basketball player was only because I didn't work hard enough. I thought that I wanted it more than anything in the world, but I guess I didn't. I could have done so much more and worked so much harder if I really wanted it bad enough. I realized that I didn't know the true meaning of "hard work" until I met Luka. 

      I couldn't tell you what pushed him, but I assume that it was his hunger to be the best. He didn't take any short cuts, the guy would hit the bench press hours before a game. He wasn't somebody who was blessed with god-given talent, he earned it on his own. He was stronger, faster, and could jump higher than everybody else because of one reason: he wanted it the most.

      I didn't go watch any of the games because it was too painful to watch the games when you know you should be playing. However, I did go to one game. Our team was down by 2 points with only 3 seconds remaining. Our team had to go the length of the floor so they passed it in to half court and called a time out. We all knew that the coach was drawing up a play for Luka, he deserved the shot. They passed it in to him as he brushed off a tight screen, caught the pass, and elevated over everybody. And as he let it fly with perfect form from just inside of half court the buzzer sounded while everybody in the gym held their breath. As soon as the ball went through the net, the crowd erupted. Everybody in the gym was completely stunned. Everybody that is, except Luka, 

      

       

The Last Place

"I found exactly what I have been searching for in the last place I thought to look".

As we flutter through our days falling aimless like a maple seed, alive in the breeze. We tediously attempt to plot our ideal landing spot. However, we do not know what it looks like, and we cannot control which direction the wind might choose to blow us. If we do not know what it is we are seeking, how can we ever expect to find it?

I have often heard the phrase; "I found it in the last place I thought to look". A bit of an oxymoron wouldn't you say? Certainly if we had already found it we would have stopped searching long ago. Therefore, we should always find what we are seeking in the last place we look. Otherwise, we will always remain that falling seed, forever spinning our flaps into an abyss. We will live a life with no purpose.

We travel the world trying to find ourselves. We frantically tear apart the sofa cushions trying to find our keys. And we look to others for answers that only exist within ourselves.

But every once in a while, we find exactly what we are looking for, and it is right under our nose.

Perfect Pitch-Fork

     I have been writing, recording, and producing alternative hip-hop music since the end of 1999. My friend Kong was the one who had originally got me interested in it. He has always loved to sing and has a great voice for it. Ever since we were little, we would always rap and sing songs together. I remember in the summers during elementary school he would stay at my house sometimes for 3-4 days at a time. At night we would sometimes write and sing funny songs. We still remember most of them still to this day. As we got older we would usually get together and have a few drinks and sing songs. He has always done an amazing rendition of "Sukiyaki", so people would egg him on to sing it.
     One day he was messing around with Microsoft windows "sound recorder". We recorded ourselves singing and rapping some old songs we had written when we were in elementary school. It was just something we had fooled around with a couple times when we were bored and drinking.
However, as the years passed I began to get really involved in it. Kong had downloaded some professional music recording software on my computer and I had began writing songs. I was not very educated at using the software to produce any professional grade songs, but it didn't stop me from trying. Over the years I became more and more involved in it. The song writing aspect of it has always been my forte, and the more and more I worked at it I eventually became pretty good.
     Anyways, In the summer of 2003 I was living with my brother Ian in the apartment below my mothers house. She hated hearing the music all the time, but she learned to accept it after a while.
This one night I was at home hanging out with Kong, we were having a few beers and working on a song. My brother was out of town working for the weekend so we had the place to ourselves. I remember that the song we were working on was coming along beautifully when a knock came at the door. It was Ian's friend Larry.
     Ian and Larry had been close friends ever since they were very young. I explained to him that Ian was out of town and that Kong and I were busy working on a song. He asked if we would mind if he hung out for a little while. A few years before he had moved out into the boondocks of Pennsylvania with his mother. Occassionally on the weekends he would come into town to hang out with friends and go out to the bars. Larry said that he wouldn't bother us and that he wasn't planning on staying long. He said that he was planning on going out to the bars and just needed a place to "pre-game". I told him it was fine as long as he didn't bother us. We were in the process of recording, so it was very important that we have silence so that any background noises didn't ruin our song. He had kept to his word and everything was going fine.
    About a half hour later, another one of Ian's friends; Ron had showed up. Ron had a tendency of being a jerk. He is one of those guys who is cool, but once he gets drunk he likes to start fights with people. I told him that Ian is not home and that we were busy. He noticed that Larry was there and he started talking to him. They made plans to go out to the bar together in a little while. Somehow, Ron convinced me to let him in too since they would be leaving soon. I told them that they had to hang out in the kitchen because Kong and I were recording in the living room. They ended up drinking a few beers and getting loud. I told them that they have to leave. They finished their beers and left for the bars.
     Kong and I continued to work on our song for another few hours. We were just about finished with the song when Larry and Ron returned. I told them that they "cannot hang out here". But they pleaded with me, and promised that they would just hang out in the kitchen and be quiet. I told them that I didn't care, I didn't want them there. But they just wouldn't leave and they kept pleading with me. So eventually, I again caved in. But I told them, if they are loud at all I am going to kick them out.
     It didn't take long before I could hear Ron and Larry arguing in the kitchen. I didn't know what they were arguing about at first, but it escalated quickly. I went into the kitchen and told them to "get out of my house now". Ron was drunk and very upset at Larry. I found out that apparently, Larry had marijuana and Ron was mad that Larry would not share with him. He called Larry; "A selfish piece if shit" and told him that he would "beat his ass". I told them that I don't care about any of that and that I just want them both to leave now! But Ron wasn't even listening to me, he was just arguing with Larry still and trying to start a fight with him. I started to get very angry and threatened to call the police.
     Finally, Ron exploded verbally. He said; "Fuck you Larry, you're a fucking faggot. You're lucky I don't fuck you up". Then, as he was heading out the door he stopped to address Kong and I. "And fuck you too Dan, and you too Kong! You guys are fucking pussies. I'll fuck you guys up too"! Then he walked out the door and slammed it behind him.
     Now, up to this point I had been calm about the whole situation. I knew they were taking advantage of me by using my house as a place to drink, but I had let it go. However, after Ron had threatened Kong and I for absolutely no reason, my blood began to boil. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I looked at Kong and I said; "Did he just call us pussies and say he would fuck us up"?! Kong looked really worked up and he goes "Yea what the fuck"!?
    I said "Fuck that", and I jumped up absolutely infuriated. I hurried out the door, and for some reason I grabbed a broom that was leaning up against the wall on my way out. When I got out front of the house I seen Ron, he was about half way up the street. Suddenly, I seen one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my entire life. I see Kong go jogging past me holding a pitchfork in his hand, and he hollers; "Hey Ron, come here! I gotta tell you something"!
    
     On the back porch of my apartment, there was a whole bunch of old farming tools for some reason. There was a few old shovels, rakes, hoes, and a pitchfork. Apparently, Kong had seen me grab the broom and so he went and grabbed the first thing he could find. To this day I couldn't tell you why I grabbed the broom. I think it was just because I was so pissed off at the whole situation. First of all, I told them that I didn't want them there numerous times. Secondly, they promised to be quiet and that they wouldn't bother us. But the final straw, was when he threatened my friend and I for absolutely no reason. I was so angry that I was shaking.

     Anyways, Ron stopped and faced us when he seen us coming towards him. He says; "What are you pussies gonna do? Is that broom, Dan? HAHA, you don't have the balls to hit me with that". The moment he said that I cocked it back and blasted him across the face with it as hard as I possibly could. He immediately went down onto one knee holding his face. "Ahhhhhhhh" he yelped. "You're going to fucking jail man! I can't believe you just did that!" he hollered fearfully with tears in his eyes. This seemed to just infuriate me more. I went towards him "You want me to hit you again?!"I said. He screeched; "Nooooo" and then scurried away quickly.
     I turned and started walking back towards my house, I couldn't believe what I had just done. Kong goes; "Fuck Ron man, he totally deserved that shit". As we were walking back towards the house I seen Larry. He had come outside and apparently witnessed the whole thing. He goes; "Dude, that was the greatest thing I ever seen in my life". Needless to say, Larry never really cared for Ron. I said; "All we wanted to do was work on our music, why did you guys have to bother us?"

     Anyways, about a half hour later the cops showed up at my apartment.

Cops: Who hit the guy with the broom

Me: I hit him with the broom

Cops: Why?

Me: Because he threatened me and my friend. I told him I didn't want him here in the first place!

Cops: Well then why was he here?

Me: Because he wouldn't listen.

Cops: Is that why the fight started?

Me: No, the fight started because the two of them showed up uninvited. And then Ron wanted to fight Larry because he wouldn't smoke weed with him.

     The cops immediately attacked Larry and I could hear him hollering, "Why are you searching me? I didn't do anything"! They quickly locate the marijuana on him and place it on the table. Then they turn their attention back to me for the rest of the story.

Cops: So then why did you hit him with the Broom?

Me: Because he threatened my friend and I for no reason.....

Suddenly, we heard a loud commotion coming from the kitchen and the cops went running in. Larry had picked up the marijuana, ran to the bathroom, threw it in the toilet and flushed it. One of the cops grabbed it out of the toilet before it flushed and the other one grabbed Larry in a very tight choke hold. They carried Larry out of my apartment horizontally and took him jail. Kong and I were waiting for the cops to come back in...but for some reason they never did. We were absolutely astonished. After about a half hour had passed, we went back to work and finally finished our song.

It was such a crazy night. However, looking back on the incident I am very lucky and thankful. First of all, I am very lucky that I didn't get an assault charge on my record. But secondly, I am very happy that Kong didn't attack Ron with that pitchfork. He was certainly angry enough to have used it, but we're lucky he didn't. Things could have ended up far worse than they actually did. In the end I think that Kong was pretty shaken up by the incident. The "pitch" in his voice ended up being a little shaky on that song.



D Boone Productions
www.soundclick.com/dboone