I've seen the needle and the damage done...

In the past week, two people I knew slipped the surly bonds of earth, and life.

Heroin.

I'm not going to pretend that it's a huge loss for me. I wasn't close to them. I knew them well enough to say hi and catch up for a few over a beer, if I was to run into one of them at the bar.

They were close to other people that I care about deeply, however. And it's for them that I am heartbroken.

These two had demons. Everybody does, to a certain extent, but for some they're so strong it takes self-harm to escape them, if only for a moment.

Food.
Alcohol.
Sex.
Drugs.

People cope the way they know best.
Sometimes that way will create so many more demons, and cause so much more damage than what they're trying to escape... but they don't understand.

They want the pain to go away.

They believe they're a burden to everyone and that the world will be better off without them, should their methods make it so.

But it's not true.

Those left behind to deal with the loss are in pain. They wonder if they could have helped. They would have given anything to try. A demon is born for them, now, too.

Help is out there. It's in the most obvious places, and it's where you'd least expect it.
It's there for the taking.
It comes at no cost.
All it takes is to reach out your hand.
Never forget that.

Dave and Joey, I hope you've found peace. I just wish you could have found it here with the people who cared about you.

All the Stars in the Night Shine in Your Name

I am stressed the fuck out.

On a number of fronts, I've just got a lot of shit going on.

Today, on top of everything else, I got to try to follow the manhunt for a cop killer in my hometown from the safety of my new job 25 miles away.

And I fought back tears all day long.

Maybe it was because of the stress that was already there, making things worse.

Maybe it was because for the first time in my life, and the only, I was glad that my kids don't live with me and attend the schools that were on lockdown.

Maybe it was because my mother felt the need to lock herself in the house until my dad got home.

Maybe it was because the little burg that I grew up in, tried so hard to get away from, and ultimately ended up in was no longer just a little resort town known for its number of taverns per square mile.

It was now a national spectacle.

Even “People” magazine was reporting about it on their website.

Three men, still at large as I write this, killed a police officer, stole his gun and radio, and disappeared.

Every police department in the surrounding area is assisting, state police are assisting, federal departments and S.W.A.T. teams are assisting, and helicopters circle overhead.

For most of my life, the main tasks of the Fox Lake Police Department were breaking up bar fights and busting high school parties in the area for alcohol or music that's too loud. Maybe an accident here and there, shoplifting, neighbor complaints... there are only 7 officers on the force.

Well, 6.

This isn't the town I grew up in; not this murderous, ugly face that's on every news show in the country today.

My grandfather was a police officer.

He was respected. He was proud to serve the community. He was honored to do right and help keep the peace. But that was a different time.

There are still officers like him out there. Sometimes it seems like they are getting fewer and farther between, but they are there. There are also officers out there that don't deserve to be in blue in the least. Unfortunately, these are the ones who give the police the publicity they seem to have today as thugs and crooked, tazing or killing for no good reason.

Because of them, incidents like today are becoming more and more frequent. More and more people disrespect law enforcement and don't trust those sworn to uphold law and order.

The thing is, though... they're still police officers.

They're still in a position that deserves, and demands respect.

You don't talk back to a cop.

You don't run from a cop.

You don't fucking shoot a cop.

Maybe it was because I drove home through my little burg today, and saw streets and bridges lined with officers and tactical units with assault rifles drawn and at the ready, like something out of Red Dawn.

This needs to change.

RIP LT. Joe.

Hear them calling, you and me, every son of liberty.

My grandfather was a WWII veteran. He was a machine gunner in the United States Army. He was a prisoner of war, captured by the Germans. I remember him telling stories of the war, when I was growing up, and being fascinated by his adventures. "Every man should experience fighting in a war," he would often say. It wasn't until I had grown up that I realized what he actually meant. It wasn't because it was fun. It wasn't because of the chance to visit far-far-off lands that you would probably never get to see otherwise. It wasn't because it was an honor to do your duty for God and country. Those were things that were partly true in his mind, and for others in his generation, but they weren't the main truth. The real reason everyone should have to experience fighting in a war is so that nobody ever has to experience it in the future. If everyone knew the horrors of war, the losses experienced by any soldier gone through it, the complete devastation of humanity that continues long after the treaties are signed, surely another means to the end would be implemented. 

 

Obviously, as I am able to sit and write today, my grandfather made it home. The stories he told, that I sort of glamorized in my youth, are treasured memories now. But their true meaning didn't become clear until he was long gone. For a long time, the movies made about WWII were watchable by the family. They weren't true-to-life depictions. They didn't give you any sense of the reality of it all. Movies about Vietnam, those were vivid and made you realize what the boys over there went through; why they had such a hard time adjusting upon returning home. But WWII? That was still all "follow me boys," and "last one to Hitler is a rotten egg." Then came "Saving Private Ryan."

I wept during the opening scenes of that film. I finally understood that war was war. WWII wasn't any less horrible than Vietnam. It didn't have a different effect on the boys who fought in one or the other. It made sense, finally, why my grandfather was rarely without a drink in his hand. It made sense why he went into law enforcement and chose a life dealing with crime and accident scenes instead of going back to work at a printing press. It was what he knew. It was what he had become. It was because of what the experience of war did to him. 

 

The men of WWII came home changed forever. They came home broken and damaged for good. It was a different time, though, there was a different mindset. They pushed it away and tried to move forward with life, holding the damage hostage behind alcohol or a sense of duty that hasn't been seen since, or both. Those who were lucky enough to return home, like my grandfather, may not have lost their lives for our country, but they did lose some part of them. They left their innocence on the battlefields. They left friends. They left the possibility of a remaining lifetime free from reoccurring nightmares of their experiences. 

 

They did their best, though. They raised families and locked things away as they thought they should, giving only hints of what actually went on behind those loving eyes. 

 

On this Memorial Day, I remember my grandfather as I do every day. I remember everything he taught me, even the lessons I didn't understand until after he was gone. I take to heart what he went through so that I might exist and enjoy the life I have today; so that all of us can. I remember all those who did the same, those who lost their lives doing it, or just pieces of their lives. They gave so that we may gain. Every one of us must always remember this.

Fly Away, Fly Away To Your New Home Across the Bay

I don’t know if it’s everything going on in my own life right now, or if it really is just the fact that he’s gone… maybe a little of both… but it’s been all I can do to keep myself from breaking down in tears since finding out about the passing of Robin Williams. It’s a little embarrassing to feel this distraught over the loss of someone I’ve never met and probably never would have met.

Someone who wasn’t a friend or member of my family, or even remotely connected to anyone that falls into one of those categories.

A celebrity.

I’ve had moments in the past, reading tributes or heartfelt thoughts on other celebrities upon their passing, where the sentiment and the empathy would choke me up a little, but nothing like this. This is affecting me like I lost someone close to me.

And maybe there’s good reason for that.

When I was a kid, our family time was generally gathering in the living room to watch an evening of television. We only had the handful of channels, and I was not only the remote control but the antenna rotor operator. I could find just the right spot to turn a blizzard on the screen to a few flakes of snow going relatively unnoticed. My brother, later plural, and I lying on the living room floor while Dad reclined in his Lazy Boy knockoff and Mom curled up at her end of the couch (sometimes with a book, depending on what was on that night) was a nightly event. Saturdays gave us the Love Boat and Fantasy Island, Saturday Night Live after the news. Sunday night was M*A*S*H* before bed. Tuesdays brought Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley…

I remember the episode of Happy Days that introduced us to Robin Williams. I remember thinking what a goofy, funny, weird dude he was. He was different than anyone I’d seen before. I was five. And I wanted to see more of him.

Thursday nights provided Mork & Mindy.

From that point on, Robin Williams was my comedy hero. He was never not funny. At least not that I can recall. I tuned in whenever he was on. As I was coming of age, still too young to see his stand-up, the first comedy album I ever owned was “Reality… What a Concept.” I listened to it over and over. I had to use headphones, however, as my parents couldn’t know that I owned this recording full of foul language. At one point I had the whole act memorized. I had to look things up that I didn’t understand. Not only did it make me laugh, it made me learn. I tried to be as funny as him. I tried to be as quick witted as him. He was molding me somehow.

When nothing was going right, he was there to make me laugh. I had music, I had Robin Williams… life wasn’t that bad. And then he started making movies.

Holy crap! The man can act, too!

The World According to Garp.

Dead Poets Society.

Awakenings.

What Dreams May Come.

Good Will Hunting.

The motherfucking Fisher King.

These are some of my favorite movies of all time. Movies that weren’t even necessarily funny. He was amazing in them. They made me think. They made me feel. They made my own problems and worries disappear for two hours here and there.

He was brilliant, he was amazing, and he was incapable of not entertaining. He opened my eyes to a world of comedians and comedy. He had me watching dramatic films when everyone else was watching the latest “Coreys” flick. Through him I discovered Carlin. DeNiro. Kinison. Lithgow. A host of mind expanding personalities that shaped my thoughts and changed the way I viewed the world, and no matter who or how many I discovered and took into my stable of entertainment and escape he was always there. Always my favorite. Always the standard bearer.

He was a part of my life.

And it hurts that he’s gone.

Oh Captain, my Captain! 

I'll Reach Out my Hand to You, I'll Have Faith in All You Do...

I froze.

The right words were ready to come out of my mouth.
But they didn't come.
Everything I've been trying to get across to her from the very beginning, the most important thing I've wanted and needed her to know and believe in could have been cemented in her heart at that moment in one or two sentences.
And I froze.

Even though I know if she stopped to think about it for just a moment, she would know the truth.
She shouldn't have to think about it, though.
She shouldn't have to ever wonder.
I should have given her the confirmation she needed...
And I didn't.
And I can't correct that.
And even though she might truly know in her heart what the truth is, what I wanted to say...
I didn't say it in the moment she needed to hear it.
And it broke her heart.
Which breaks my heart.
And it can't be undone.
That moment is forever cemented now as the one in which I didn't live up to what I've always promised.

They Deftly Maneuver and Muscle for Rank, Fuel Burning Fast on an Empty Tank...

If you can't handle driving on the freeway/expressway/tollway, don't. Period. And if you have absolutely no other choice, then you better not be anywhere other than the far right lane. Putz.

If you've been going the same speed for five miles, and when you see me check my rear view mirror you suddenly speed up and pull alongside of me so I can't move over in front of you... I hope you get anally raped by a pine tree.

If you're behind me and you can see that right in front of me is a large truck or other vehicle not travelling the speed limit, and there is not yet an opportunity to pass this vehicle for either of us...when that opportunity does arise, if you immediately move over and speed up so I can't move over myself, I hope your tire explodes sending you careening in front of the big truck so you shit yourself and you cry. Same thing if we're coming off an on-ramp and you decide to sneak over early and block me from getting on myself, goat blower.

If you need to use an exit, and you see a line of cars in the lane leading to said exit, and you stay in another lane in order to hopefully join the lane you need to be in at the last possible moment, exploiting a just-big-enough gap left by someone who hesitated just a moment in keeping up... you are a douche. You have just become the reason for the backup you found not worth the extra 30-60 seconds it might have cost you, and made it that much longer for the people who went where they were supposed to -only to watch douche after douche like you continue to keep the line from moving.
Along these lines, if you see signs or big flashing arrows ahead of you letting you know that you need to get into another lane, as the one you're in will be shortly unavailable, and seeing the line of cars who have heeded that warning, you continue along until the last possible moment before merging into that lane, you are also a douche. If, in this situation, you also swerve around the vehicle taking it upon itself to stay in your lane and keep you from being a douche (the unsung heroes of rush hour), you are a fucking douche, and deserve to be laughed at when someone shoots out your tire, sending you into a fiery collision with the median or oncoming traffic.

If you are approaching an intersection, and you have a green light, but the next light ahead is red and traffic is backed up all the way to your light, leaving you nowhere to go but to park in the middle of the intersection, and you choose to do so instead of remaining at the line until you can actually go somewhere... and then your light turns red and you're now blocking traffic perpendicular to you... you're a dumbass douche who deserves to be T-boned. An aside: if you are guilty of this, and upon commencement of horns from the drivers you've now pissed off completely you throw up your hands and give a look like "what am I supposed to do?" you deserve to be T-boned from both sides at once, because yes, everyone, including yourself, saw this coming and you still proceeded to screw things up for everyone else.
Along these lines, if you are making a left turn, and there are two or three cars ahead of you- yet to make their turn- and the light is yellow, meaning by the time you're even close to being able to start to make your turn the light will be red, and you still make the turn... you're a huge fucking douche. Make that turn and end up sitting in the middle of the intersection... you're the douche of a huge fucking douche.

See, all these things so far mean either you're not paying attention, or you're saying fuck everyone else. Either way, you have no right to be behind the wheel as you're going to cause an accident. And unfortunately, it'll end up killing somebody's grandma or a van full of children or ME... instead of just YOU, which I would be totally OK with.

If I let the car in front of you into traffic in front of me, and you ride their ass to sneak in with them instead of waiting for the car behind me to let you in, as is customary, don't be surprised if I T-bone your douche ass myself you cock smoking, holier-than-thou jizz-whore.

These situations are the reason for road rage. They are the reason for traffic jams and accidents. By doing these things, you become the very reason for your urge to do them. You are creating the situation for someone else that you are trying to avoid being in yourself. And for what? To get somewhere a minute earlier? To be "King of the Hill?" Here's a novel fucking idea, leave five minutes earlier and you won't have to rush to get anywhere. Don't be the collossal douche that causes all the situations that back up traffic, and the ten mile commute won't take 45 minutes instead of 10. Use your fucking heads, people. Here's the thing... if everybody drove the speed limit, and actually would heed the rules of the road, there wouldn't be such a thing as road rage. There wouldn't be traffic jams, or at least not so many of them, as there would also be less accidents. Traffic would move smoothly, just as the rules were put in place to ensure. This is basic, everyday common sense. You do something stupid on the road like cut somebody off, that forces the person behind you to react, and the person behind that person, and so on... until before you know it there's a major delay somewhere far away from the initial incident. And that's just a minor repercussion, the result of braking for a squirrel, or a ball rolling into the road, or even just a strong gust of wind. Nothing necessarily intentional or controllable. What causes the REAL issues are the things that people do intentionally, constantly, with no regard for anyone else, and without thinking period. 

And while I'm at it, a question. Did I miss a memo? I've been driving for over 20 years now. Up until a year or two ago, if you came to a four-way stop, and you were turning left, and the car opposite you was coming straight through... that car went first, and you made your left turn behind them. It just makes sense. It flows correctly, and it doesn't hold up traffic any more than if both vehicles were going straight through. All of a sudden it becomes standard for the person turning to go first, adding time for everyone else waiting there at the intersection. I'm guessing that it's because of all the asshole drivers I mentioned earlier being douchebags and deciding their turn was way more important than everyone else there, and with more and more people in the world, there are more and more douchebags doing it, and because it's illegal to shoot them everybody just decided "fuck it I'll do it too," thus eliminating yet another simple, highly effective norm... replacing it with shit. Great job again, America.



People suck. End of story.
Go for a drive and try to disagree.

Fireflies Dance in the Heat of Hound Dogs That Bay at the Moon...

Summer days have come and gone, and I've been remiss in making time to sit down and vent here. So many things have changed in the last few months, including my allotment of free time. I believe a quick review is in order...

I was unemployed, as the season began, with many plans to occupy my free time in a productive manner. I was set on working in the yard at my grandparents' house, doing everything I could to try and bring it back to at least a portion of its former glory. There was a special someone in my life whom I tried to see as much as I could. A little too hard, maybe. That ended as the dog days were just starting to bark. The way it did was, well, to put it bluntly, shitty. Whatever the reason, and I'm sure it was valid and deserved, it could have been gone about very differently. It truly bothers me that at this point, given what's transpired since, and just with the passage of time, that I'm still bitter about it. What bothers me even more, is although in this instance I was leaps and bounds from the scared shitless, unconfident, self-loathing loser I've been with almost every woman previously, there was still enough residually to keep me from ever being one hundred percent comfortable with myself around her, and therefore she never truly got to know the real me. I was getting there, though, and I try not to think about what might be different about today had I just gotten there a little sooner.

Soon after, and still in a bit of a funk, I started working again. Back to the same place, same job, same old same old. There went yardwork plans. There went most all of my plans. Vacation was over. No more closing the bar during the week. No more sleeping in. Leisurely drives wherever I felt like going became hellish commutes that stripped away whatever faith I had left in the decency of people in general (another blog for another day). I had to go through three weeks of training. For a job I had barely been gone from, and having nothing to do with what I would be doing. Any free time I had or planned on having just dissolved into thin air. In bed by 9:00 every night.
Good times.

Then I met someone. The commute became a little easier. Getting through the day wasn't so hard. I was comfortable around her immediately. I was able to be myself around her immediately. It was like something out of a movie. It was easy. It was right. It was like it was just supposed to be. Scary? Yes. Fast? Yes. Wrong? Not a chance in Hell. I haven't been that certain about something in a long, long time. But it turns out maybe I shouldn't have been. Maybe I read it all wrong. Maybe I didn't. At this point it's all kind of in a state of suspended animation. And I don't particularly care for it. Not knowing is bringing back some of the fears and lack of confidence, little by little, possibly determining a much different fate than was originally thought to be definitely in store. I guess time will tell, though. I'm not writing it off just yet. That certainty in my gut is still there.
So far.
Just a little harder to see it.

Lord help me...


In any case, autumn is upon us, one of my favorite times of year. Looking forward to apple picking with the kiddos, being able to sleep without sweating my ass off, maybe a bonfire or two... Things at work are shaping up to look like maybe the third time really is the charm and I'll become a permanent fixture there. Not getting my hopes up, though. That never seems to work out for me.
In any situation.
Life is good... save for the one circumstance of unknowingness. And it's pretty good even still.
Making time now, making changes. Nowhere to go but up...

Right?