Zen and the art of automoblog repair...

Something tells me that Henry Ford did the same thing that most inventors do. First, design the machine to work. Then leave the rest to the engineers. Things like making parts accessible for replacement or repair. Cars seem to have been designed that way all along. They make them pretty and they make them strong but they refuse to make them easy to work on. That has never been a marketing trait since the first model A rolled off the assembly line in the beginning of the twentieth century.

Cut to modern day. Wide, establishing shot on an apartment complex carport. A tall, long-haired man is bent over the open engine compartment of a crappy early nineties white economy sedan. We hear the unmistakable sound of a tool drop followed by a string of unintelligible mumbling littered, liberally, with curses. Like a twisted prairie dog his head pops up to see if there is anyone around to be offended by the swearing. He then utters a few more choice epithets at the vehicle he's working on and lowers his grime streaked arms back into the engine compartment to retrieve the tool. All the while we hear the patter of rain and the rumbling of distant peals of thunder.

Yep, that was how I've spent most of the day. I'll be the first to admit that I know next to nothing about automotive repair. However, fate and my current lack of finances have rendered me desperate enough to try my hand. And try, and try. Our car has been making a horrible rattling sound for months that we've avoided repairing because of fiscal concerns. No money, no repairs. Well, the problem has now become a disaster. The kids were driving the car, to Starbucks no less, and it immediately lost all power steering and began to overheat. Not knowing what the actual problem was we had it towed home. The last time we had the car tuned up the repair place quoted us a couple of hundred dollars to replace the "tensioner" and water pump. Neither of which, I've now divined through trial, error, injury, insult, swearing, tantrums and many phone calls to the local Ford dealership, were the problem.

The engineer of the modern marvel known as the '92 Mercury Topaz, of which I own exactly one poor example, in his infinite wisdom designed with a serpentine belt driven by a crank shift extending from the bottom of the engine. This crank shaft has a pulley attached to it by a small rubber "gasket" called a crank pulley compression assembly that is notorious for failing and causing an unmistakable rattling sound before coming apart completely. Now, with all his education and wisdom his technical drawings didn't seem to reflect the obvious fact that when this part eventually failed to work it would have to be replaced leaving the unsuspecting victim, namely me, the owner, with only one option. Have the entire engine removed so that they can actually GET to said part. What kind of demented design monkey would come up with that? I've read about Nazi engineers that had more compassion!

Don't get me wrong, I love a challenge, when there's a reasonable solution but this seems unforgivably sadistic. Now were looking at several hundred dollars in labor alone. I hope that engineer has changed his name, address and appearance. Otherwise, I may need to find the little rat and gently ask him to do the repairs himself in order to avoid receiving a corn starch enema.

Enough on that rant, let's switch to this week's top ten. One I'm sure all of you will empathize with.

The Top Ten Reasons Engineers Don't Date:

10. They know the exact tensile strength of the latex used in condoms.

9. Hate mail is no longer being delivered by the USPS but by the original senders.

8. Still working on telling a "knock-knock" joke without having vegetables thrown at them.

7. They didn't design the car broken down in their own driveway.

6. Still all pruny from being stuck in "lather, rinse, repeat."

5. Too ashamed to admit a serious Tylenol addiction after that horrible paperclip incident.

4. Constantly being bitch-slapped by virtual dates is tough enough as it is.

3. General hygeine wasn't covered in Spacial Mechanics class.

2. They haven't left the house since being physically ejected from the last D&D gathering.

and the number one reason engineers don't date:

1. Human hardware still can't be fixed with software... yet.

Recently Rezoned Little House On The Blog...

Mmmm... Cup of coffee, mystery curry mixture for breakfast, a quick cigarette because the mystery mixture upset my fragile stomach, a few dollars in my pocket and a list of errands that need to be run. That's my morning and plans for the day, so far. This weekend will be spent frantically trying to get something done with my SmartTShirts.com website so that we can start selling some of the clever T-Shirts that we've been able to come up with. Truthfully, I'm actually excited about that one. Jackie wants me to try writing an article based on some amazing facts we've discovered about the after-effects of weight loss surgery that we can "pitch" to a magazine to generate some temporary income. And we're going to make a big batch of Jackie's perfectly wonderful Enchilada Casserole and take it to her parent's place to feed the family after moving her brother into his new apartment. Sound like a lot? Yeah, well, it is.

Jackie and I spent most of the day, yesterday, with my twin brother helping him to pick up his new vehicle. He and his wife are in the process of moving to a small Minnesota town that was the literary home of Laura Ingalls-Wilder when she was a little girl. That's right, their moving to the prairie. Of course, it's not a prairie any more. Somebody knocked over the old schoolhouse and put up a strip mall. It just went downhill from there. It sounds like a big deal now but I'm sure that it seemed like a great idea at the time.

The grinding wheels of progress get more and more ludicrous looking when viewed through history. The ancient Romans thought it would be a good idea to convert the majestic Coliseum from a grand sports arena, hosting everything from slaves fighting other slaves and Christians being thrown to rabid lions to huge reproductions of ocean battles with the arena filled with enough water to hold the small ships, into a combination flea market and house of prostitution. Even the Chinese, whose structures have been around longer than recorded history in the western world, commonly use places like The Forbidden City and Tianenmen Square alternately for religious and political purposes but rarely for the original purposes they were built. Looking back, now, it seems wrong but someone, when pressed with the need for space and a shipment of ruffled leg warmers already on the way, realized that the old church they used to drive by might be just the right size to stack moldy boxes in.

That's right, house of worship, rat infested warehouse, den of iniquity... it's all the same to a clever real estate agent and a contracter with no conscience.

Next thing you know they'll be doing things like moving gravestones without exhuming the bodies to make way for a perfectly planned suburban tract home. I'm glad they haven't yet because that kind of thing could destroy the lives of one or two innocent families, lead to a host of psychic tourists sticking their noses in where they don't belong, open up a freak wormhole to the afterlife and seriously lower the value of said real estate. Eventually Steven Spielberg would probably run with the whole thing and make a movie out of it, hire some knucklehead like Craig T. Nelson to play the pot-smoking father and then get Industrial Lights and Magic (George Lucas' special effects dream team) to whip up a bunch of expensive effects to suck the audience into believing that all ghosts really want is to kidnap some cute little blond girl that watches too much television. Who's crazy enough to go see that?

Enough gibberish. It's time for a really silly top ten.

The Top Ten Movies That Never Got Made:

10. Lassie Came Home: A heart warming picture about a dog that just got out of rehab and now wants to settle the score with the top-secret military police organization who taught her how to kill but not how to live.

9. Blood, Sweat And Sheers: Richard Simmons stars in this gay, romantic comedy about a successful fitness expert that falls madly in love with his edgy, heavy metal hair-stylist.

8. Where's The Remote?: A satirical look at the life of a permanent bachelor who's only desire is to stay up late, naked, in bed, watching adult movies and eating Cheetos.

7. I've Got A Coupon For That: Finally, an epic for the rest of us about a single father who goes on a quest to buy a single-wide mobile home from a company who won't approve his loan.

6. Enter Your P.I.N.: An instant Sci-Fi classic about a cyborg that terrorizes shopping malls by grabbing hard working people waiting at the checkout stands with their debit cards and shouting, "Insufficient Funds!!"

5. Burn, Baby, Burn: Hard core documentary cum cult classic about a growing number of kids becoming obsessed with illegally downloading songs over the internet from obscure music albums like "John Denver Sings The Hymns" and "I Wanna Make Boom-Boom In My Pants".

4. Screw The Short Form: A new hero emerges from the pile of receipts and itemized deductions to take on the IRS and prove to them that they are going to need to write off a strong laxative and an enema.

3. Our Lady Of Perpetual Motion: Science, religion and mental illness all collide in this brilliant new musical about a young woman who wants to start an industrial convent that provides inexpensive power to people that don't own any electronics.

2. Get My Agent On The Phone: Movies about movie making show the excitement and glamour but this gem shows the rest of it... the boredom, the attitudes and the lack of napkins at the catering table.

And the number one movie that never got made:

1. Tibetan Ninja Chronicles: The Dalai Lama kicks some serious ass while trying to deal with conflicting feelings about being a pacifist.

"You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it." ~ Robin Williams

I sing the blog electric...

I heard a song the other day while I was out just running some errands. The words touched me so I thought I'd post them here and dedicate them to the woman that I love.

Jackie, you've given me life, meaning and provided me with a home for my heart. That means more than I could ever say.

Taking You Home
(Don Henley/Stan Lynch/Stuart Brawley)

I had a good life
Before you came
I had my friends and my freedom
I had my name
Still there was sorrow and emptiness
'Til you made me glad
Oh, in this love I found strength I never knew I had

And this love
Is like nothing I have ever known
Take my hand, love
I'm taking you home
I'm taking you home

There were days, lonely days
When the world wouldn't throw me a crumb
But I kept on believing
That this day would come

And this love
Is like nothing I have ever known
Take my hand, love
I'm taking you home
I'm taking you home

Where we can be with the ones who really care
Home, where we can grow together
Keep you in my heart forever

And this loveIs like nothing I have ever known
Take my hand, love
I'm taking you home
Taking you home

And this love
Is like nothing I have ever known
Take my hand, love
I'm taking you home
I'm taking you home

Love is a funny thing when you're trying to explain it to people. The nineteen year old has been with her boyfriend for ten months and was talking about their future together. The thirteen year old has a friend that's now eighteen and keeps saying that she needs a boyfriend. Even the nine year old asks her Mom and me about our relationship, sometimes. I've tried to explain to all of them about how I feel about love.

Love is something that is NOT a feeling. Love is much more than that. It's hard work, no matter how you look at it. It calls for action. It means doing things you don't want to do. Especially when you feel just the opposite. Giving of yourself when you feel like there's nothing left to give. But, fortunately, it also means finding joy in little things. An encouraging smile, a thoughtful concern when things are tough, a cold glass of something when you're thirsty or something to eat when you were too busy to realize you're hungry. Love can be painful but the deep contentment and self worth you can get from knowing you've done what's right, not what's easiest, can be the most rewarding thing of all.

It's true what the Bible says about love in I Corinthians 13: 4-8

"Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails."

It's not just Jackie that makes me think about love. It's the children. Maybe them especially because everything I do for them and every time I realize they're growing up and will, eventually, leave the nest. Parenting is the most rewarding and, simultaneously, the most excruciatingly painful endeavour in the whole of human history.

I agree with what Kahlil Gibran said in The Prophet:

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."

I want to see the children grow up and learn to live their own lives. To face the wide world, unafraid and prepared. The cruel irony is that I'll never truly be able to watch them do that without me feeling the pain and fear for them. I'll never be ready. But. I still plan on being the crazy, annoying guy screaming the loudest and telling everyone around me, "That's my daughter. Isn't she wonderful?"

I'll finish off this flowery, gushy blog with a flowery, gushy poem for my girls.

I'm a father
And I do the best I can
It's because of you
That I want to be a better man

I'll take on the world
And shake my fists at the sky
I'll teach you to run
And proudly watch as you learn to fly

Stuck here on the ground
With a broken wing that will never mend
My heart is flying because of you
I'll hold you up while you ascend

"Perhaps I know best why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter." ~Friedrich Nietzsche

A long walk off a short blog...

I was supposed to log in and update with a holiday top ten. Yeah, that was the plan. Every time I've hunkered down in front of this silly computer (that I'm trying to earn a living with) there is always something that prevents me from finishing the entry. I've got several drafts saved but now the holidays are over they'll be getting deleted. So much for good intentions. The new top ten is about the aftermath of the holidays.

The holidays were bittersweet for us. We had fun but mixed in were the trials and tribulations of family turmoil both in our little apartment and the extended family we saw during those obligatory get togethers. It's amazing how fast things can go from bad to worse when family members jump in and try to fix things. You know, I was going to sit and bitch about all the things that I went through over the holidays but I've changed my mind. I'll get it out but keep it short and sweet with an a-typically (NOT!) tongue-in-cheek top ten.

The Top Ten Things Heard During Family Holiday Parties:

10. You know, you've been moody since you started potty training.

9. (From the one holding the electric knife) Do you want to fight or can I just carve the *&#!@* turkey?

8. Screw the food... where's the egg nog? (Yes, that one was me.)

7. If you people don't shut up long enough to let me bless the food I'm going to hurt someone.

6. I think Dad's either watching the football game or yelling at your brother again.

5. Fine, I'm taking my triple chocolate fudge nutty chewy goodness bars and going home.

4. Buying gifts for three year olds is tough. I can't tell if she's more excited about the wrapping, the box or the Barbie that she just threw in the fireplace.

3. Hey! Tree trimmings do NOT include pets, silverware, underwear or anything that is supposed to be on the table for dinner!

2. I asked you to put on some Christmas music. To date, I'm not sure that Snoop Dogg has actually released a holiday CD.

and the number one thing heard during holiday family parties:

1. Naked, dancing on tables, flirting with every guy in the room... yep, grandpa's had too much to drink.

I hope your New Year is turning out to be all that you hoped for... and then some.

"Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out."
~Anton Chekhov

Roasting chestnuts and a cup of blog.

Lately my days have been filled with recipes and nutrition research working on my gastric bypass cookbook. I've also been printing and hanging some of my latest photography here at home. It's an interesting process that requires several key elements I don't, personally, possess. Things like concentration, time and a degree in nutrition.

Dictionary.com says that concentration is "The act or process of concentrating, especially the fixing of close, undivided attention." Uh, close, undivided attention??? I have three kids! Who do these people think I am? Within the span of fifteen minutes I can look up the nutrition information for a recipe for stuffed cabbage rolls, listen to one daughter expound on the latest music video by Eminem, get a phone call from Jackie's father about how to work the remote for their new DVD player, explain to another daughter that she needs to figure out for herself how to beat the dragon tunnel on her video game and then try to write comments on the recipe program I use while the oldest daughter complains that her hair color doesn't match the one on the box.

Yeah, it's a little slice of organized bedlam. Now it's punctuated with the sound of angels singing next to the nine year old, the nineteen year old's kitten knocking over our little fiber-optic Christmas tree and the thirteen year old giggling with her best friend while they cut pictures out of magazines to make holiday collages. I look around and feel the miracles of the season in everything and I'm so grateful. It reminds me of seasons past and some of the life lessons that I learned.

Let me tell you about one holiday season that I'll never forget. Grab a tissue and pull up a chair.

It was just before thanksgiving and I was about sixteen. My family had changed, dramatically, over the previous couple of years. We lived in a house in Santa Ana, CA and we were in the worst financial position that we'd ever been in. A few years before my father had an accident, following hip surgery, that paralyzed him from the waist down. He was let go from his job and hadn't been able to find work since. We'd already used up the money from the disability settlement that he'd received and my twin brother and I found full-time jobs at the age of thirteen to try and help supplement our income. My mother was working nights in the cafeteria of a local hospital for minimum wage. We didn't know where the money to buy our next meal was coming from, let alone what was needed to buy the obligatory Thanksgiving feast and, later, Christmas presents. We didn't talk about it but all of us felt the sadness and went about our daily routines like robots.

My brother and I had gone to school early one morning, as usual, because we had band practice. Normally, we worked after school but that day neither one of us was scheduled so we drove straight home. What we came home to was a picture that I'll never forget. Parked in our driveway at the end of the cul-de-sac that we lived on was a large flatbed truck. Three men were busy unloading boxes from the back and shouting orders to one another. At first, my brother and I were sure that they were there there because we were being evicted from our home. We both knew that we were behind on the mortgage payments and were expecting to get, at least, a notice in the mail like we'd received before. We quickly parked the car on the street and rushed inside.

Sitting in the midst of a mountain of boxes was my mother crying... almost hysterical.

"What's going on?!?!" I demanded of my mother and the gentleman kneeling on the ground next to where she sat. My mother motioned that it was all right and waved us to the chairs on the other side of our dining room table. It was then that I realized that the boxes they were bringing in weren't empty but completely full. One of the gentlemen dropped another box on the pile, smiled, clapped me on the back and headed back out to the truck. All I could do was stand there with my jaw hanging.

"I'm Assistant Pastor Dave from Calvary Chapel." I snapped my head around and stared into the face of the man who had been kneeling next to my mother. Finally, recognition dawned. I'd seen this man lead prayers and services when our head pastor at the church we attended was travelling. He smiled and extended his hand. I pumped it and tried to smile.

"We got word that your family was having some trouble and needed a little help. We're here to help."

My mother stopped crying and came over with her arms spread wide. She wrapped them around my brother and me and sniffled while she hugged us. When she pulled back her eyes, still glistening and red, were beaming like the midday sun. She smiled and wiped her nose.

"It's so wonderful." She said, "These men just showed up here ten minutes ago and started unloading boxes full of food and presents for Christmas. They've even given us a check to catch up our house payments. It's a miracle."

Tears started streaming down her face again as she showed my brother and me the contents of the mountain of boxes now lining our little dining room. There were three huge, frozen turkeys, cans of vegetables and fruits, boxes of stuffing, packages of pasta, soup and sauces a plenty. There were also dozens of brightly wrapped packages trimmed in ribbons and bows ready to be put under the Christmas tree and trimmings that we had decided several days before wouldn't be put up that year.

The men from our church all smiled and hugged us wishing us all a happy holidays and God's blessing as they left. The rest of the day was spent trying to find places to put all of the wonderful gifts they'd left behind. My father came home that evening from a day of looking for work to a house full of food, teary smiles and laughter.

That holiday season we dressed the house up with all the trimmings a little early and ate like royalty for a month. I was grateful for every turkey sandwich I took to school and work. I spent many of my meals, away from home, smiling quietly and saying a lot of thankful prayers. Every year, starting with Thanksgiving and on through Christmas, I am reminded of that year when we thought we would have nothing and ended up with far more than our share.

This year, as I look around at the beautiful faces of my new family and remember that time, I'm even more grateful. We're struggling but still blessed beyond measure. We have food in our kitchen, gifts waiting to be opened (even though they've already been inspected) and enough to share with family and friends. It's one of the reasons that I torture everyone with Christmas music starting the day after Thanksgiving and all the way through New Year's Day. The holiday season hasn't always been so filled with blessings but through every trial and tribulation I've remembered those days when I was sixteen and it gives me the courage to have faith and keep going.

This year I encourage all of you to give generously to those you meet, every day, that may just need a smile and a kind word. If you can do more, great. If not, terrific. Gifts from the heart make the biggest difference in the lives we come in contact with.

I'll be writing a holiday top ten next time. For now, God bless you all and Happy Holidays!!!

A blog for the kids.

This is a confession and an apology. You see, I'm now the father figure in a family that fits me like a glove. We're meant to be together. The biggest problem is that I tend to see the things in those closest to me that I despise in myself. I'm guilty of poking fun at things that happen around me and laughing at the negatives without taking the time to point out the good things. I'm ashamed to admit it, but Jackie reminded me of that tonight. This is my small attempt to set that right.

J~ You'll be nineteen soon and you're being expected to act like an adult when you haven't properly been taught what that means. You've got enough heart to bring everyone around you to their knees. You smile and laugh when most people I've known would be running away as fast as they could. You love with reckless abandon even though you have every reason to be more jaded, cynical and paranoid than I am... on a daily basis, it seems. Don't ever lose your ability to care for your friends and family and you'll be a better person for it. I lose my patience because I have faith in who you are and I want you to be happy. I love you. Please forgive me.

M~ One of the first things your mother told me about you is that you've always seemed to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. I think she's right. The amazing thing is that you find goodness and joy everywhere you look. Even though you're so angry you still forgive and learn from the pain you feel. You have strength and determination that will make your wildest dreams possible. Reach for the stars... because if anyone I know can, you can. I love you. Please forgive me.

B~ Everyone jokes that you look and act like me. We laugh about it but secretly it's the most incredible complement I've ever been paid. You smile and it wipes all the tears away. Because you're the youngest you get teased the most but you never seem to let that get you down. That's more amazing than you'll ever know. You have a passionate, wide-eyed innocence that doesn't seem like it will ever go away. And I don't think it will because I think deep inside you're smarter, wiser and stronger than anyone realizes. Think for yourself, love for no reason and experience life for everything it promises. Out of all of us, you constantly teach us more than we teach you and help us find our way when we get lost. I love you. Please forgive me.

Well, the most poignant apology is for Jackie. It's also the most simple. Please don't ever stop expecting me to be a better person. If you ever did I'd know that I had lost you forever. I love you. Please forgive me.

Who died and left me blogging?

I'm a dad... father, parent, paternal role-model, masculine guardian. Ah, heck, who am I kidding? I'm in over my head. Jackie's had almost nineteen years practice being a parent. I've been here for eight months and I think my sanity is somewhere between the soda stains in the carpet and the unexplainable holes in the kids' bedroom door. How do single parents manage this madness without drooling into emesis basins for the rest of their lives? Honestly. How do you explain to a nine year old that it's not okay to hold the kitten while she eats breakfast? Or explain to a thirteen year old why she shouldn't be watching scary movies at midnight and keeping her little sister awake? Or, better still, try and tell the eighteen year old that her boyfriend needs, at least, four or five hours of sleep before he goes to work for twelve hours?

I'm not looking for sympathy, here, I'm looking for answers. I know that being a parent is a daily effort to deal with even the most obvious tasks. I'm fully aware that no one is an expert at being a parent. How can anyone be an expert when kids are individuals that are unpredictable, irrational and subject to change without notice? Every day I am challenged in so many ways. I need to have a PhD in every major science. For example...

Psychology: The thirteen year old goes to see The Grudge with her best friend, who's seventeen, and now can't sleep without the light on. It wouldn't be so much of a problem if the nine year old, who sleeps in the same room, didn't have a problem with the light. Now we have to find a way to explain to the thirteen year old that it's just a movie and that the moewing she hears outside her bedroom door is just the kitten feeling lonely and not the disembodied spirit of a murder victim trying to get in and suck out her soul.

Sociology: I live in a house full of women. I never understood, before, how important it is to establish the absolute ownership and subsequent rights to an article of clothing. I have been witness to the fury that borrowing a pair of shoes or a t-shirt without asking can cause. It's like watching Israel and Palestine fight over the Gaza Strip. The item was originally owned by one but given to the other because it, apparently, didn't fit. Now the original owner claims that it was merely a loan and wants it returned. However, there's a dispute because the borrower loaned another article to the original owner that was damaged during the rental period. This starts a "tit for tat" exchange that escalates into one trying to intentionally prevent the other from getting their item back by causing damage to something else they own. Eventually, all items involved become unusable by anyone and the real bloodshed begins with shouts of "I hate you" and "That's not fair!" About that time the UM (United Mom) shows up to mediate and put both parties on notice.

Mathematics: We have three computers but only two seem to be fast enough and powerful enough to satisfy the advanced users living here. This one is entirely my fault, I'll admit. I'm an übergeek and brought with me the knowledge and resources to set up a wireless network on the DSL, resurrect an old 400 Mhz laptop and keep everything working. However, the mathematical problem is this. We have two computers that all five users want access to. Jackie and I both need to work on our computers during the day while the kids do their school work. Except that we have them using an online math system that cuts into that time. Now, the actual time that the other three users demand is limited to the evening hours. However, one computer doesn't currently have speakers so can't be used for the games that they want to run. We also have to add the eighteen year old's boyfriend who doesn't have a working monitor at home, at the moment, and needs to check his e-mail. That means that 2x - 1x * 6h = 2p + 3y + 1b. So, if you want to solve for h the solution is, uh, eliminating the unknown variable, er, power outage, um, 1y is grounded this week, eh, bedtime, oh hell... I think I have some sticks and rocks to play with.

Engineering: You'd think that three kids would be able to organize their wardrobes and possessions into two dressers, two shelving units, one closet, a bathroom and a linen cabinet without too much inter-mingling and the loss of items, wouldn't you? Oh no, every time the forced purging, cleaning and organizing process begins items once thought irrevocably lost are found and fought over. The lines of occupation and possession have to be redrawn, argued about and brought before the zoning commission, otherwise known as Mom and Jodie. We then have to remind them who owns what, where it goes, why it shouldn't be left in the bathtub or the middle of the living room and find out who borrowed it and left it on the floor where one of the cats used it instead of the litter box.

I don't know why these things aren't required study for anyone having kids. We have to be security, social services, financial consultants, educational administrators, medical personnel, fashion police, nutrition experts, behavioral counselors and a host of other roles that not one of us is qualified to get a job doing out in the world at large. But here, in our private domain, we're kings and queens, dictators that have to learn to rule with compassion and constantly admit that we're out of our league, out of our minds and crazy enough to keep doing it, every day.

They're going to read this, eventually, so I just want to say, "I love you, girls, each one of you, and you make my life worthwhile. Now stop sticking your tongue out at your sister and be nice."

Mercy General Blog.

Bless me reader for I have sinned. It's been WAY too long since my last confession. Okay, okay, I know that it's not the confessional but I've been overwhelmed with so much since the last time I blogged that I feel guilty. See, not too long after I wrote that last entry Jackie started having blackouts. Not your normal "I feel light-headed" then faint kind of blackouts. Oh no. She would be fine, one minute, and the next her eyes would start to close, her head would fall forward on her chest and she wouldn't respond to anything or move. The crazy thing is she was able to hear me, just not respond. It scared the hell out of me.

We ended up at the emergency room on Friday, October 29th. That was a fun day. Excuse me while I have my tongue extracted from my cheek. The medical profession freely admits that it's not an exact science and that they don't quite know "everything," yet. However, what they aren't admitting is that the entire profession seems to be populated by some of the most cynical, paranoid and neurotic people on the planet. I mean seriously!!! We met some really cool nurses during our twelve hour stay in the hallway of the emergency ward. Yes, TWELVE HOURS IN THE HALLWAY. Proof that the so-called epidemic they keep talking about is very real and moving towards crisis. It almost makes your heart break when the doctors can't afford to park their BMW in the handicapped space next to the fishing boat the pharmaceutical company bought them.

Let me explain something about Jackie and me. We don't like taking prescription medications unless it's necessary. Not for any overly dramatic reason, and we don't preach abstinence to others, it's just a personal choice. We've both cut out a lot of prescriptions for various health problems we suffer from by educating ourselves about natural supplements. It's working for both of us. However, the doctors don't see it that way. Once they found out that Jackie doesn't take the prescription medications that were recommended they assume that her condition was stress and merely psychosomatic. Jackie spent five days in the hospital and went through a whole battery of tests. Blood work (including an acetylcholine panel), CT scan, X-Rays, EKG, EEG... oh, and several requests to see if she wanted to talk to the hospital psychiatrist. All so the doctors could shrug their shoulders and say they can't find anything wrong with her. Not without scaring the crap out of us, first.

Oh, they suggested everything from cancer to AIDS. They tested her for fibromyalgia, negative, myasthenia gravis, negative, transient ischaemic attacks (TIAs) also called mini-strokes, negative, Lupus, negative... now we're still waiting for the results of the EEG to find out if she's got some form of epilepsy or some other seizure disorder. We also need to find out if she's got multiple sclerosis (MS). And the ride continues.

Not one answer, nothing. They don't have a clue. So that means that Jackie's insurance company is going to be charged thousands of dollars so that a bunch of people can say, "We think she's faking it." Does that seem right to you? You either get an answer, and possibly a cure, or zilch. I know somewhere else where that happens. It's called Las Vegas. Really, if you think about it they're a lot alike, but in a lot of ways Vegas is much better.. In fact, this episode's top ten is all about it.

The Top Ten Reasons Las Vegas Is Better Than The Hospital:

10. In Vegas if you spend enough money they'll give you extra stuff for free. At the hospital they charge you for every inch of toilet paper and bandage.

9. In Las Vegas you can catch a show, a lucky break or maybe a new romance that will make you want to stay. The stuff you can catch in the hospital will get you a an extended stay whether you like it or not.

8. In Vegas it's all you can eat. At the hospital it's cold cafeteria food they can't serve in schools any more.

7. In Vegas they make your bed and clean your room daily if you want them to. The hospital doesn't even offer a "do not disturb" sign.

6. In Vegas you can stay up all night and sleep all day. In the hospital, they wake you up every fifteen minutes, twenty-four/seven.

5. In Vegas they have cocktail waitresses. The hospital has a medication cart. (Okay, some people may think that one's a toss-up)

4. Vegas has flashing lights and musical beeps to tell you if you're a winner. At the hospital if there are that many lights and beeps you're in cardiac arrest.

3. In Vegas every room comes with a mini-bar stocked full of items to imbibe or ingest. In the hospital that little cabinet is stocked full of items no one wants in their body.

2. In Vegas you can lose your shirt at the tables. In the hospital you're already half naked before they make you lie down on the table and pump you full of radiation.

and the number one reason Las Vegas is better than the hospital:

1. In Vegas you get a floor show with naked women dancing. At the hospital it's old people in those cute little gowns that open in the back.

Have a great week, everyone.

Allegorical angst and the singing blog.

Starting a blog is easier than maintaining it, it seems... but it's wonderful to know that people actually read what I write. Currently, I'm recovering from a day of being sick after a night of drinking too much. Yes, I know that it's stupid, but I needed to be stupid. More on that in a minute. I'm listening to Eric Clapton belt out "Change The World" and I feel inspired to post the lyrics here, and dedicate them to Jackie, of course. Read them carefully.

If I can reach the stars,
Pull one down for you,
Shine it on my heart
So you could see the truth:
That this love I have inside
Is everything it seems.
But for now I find
It’s only in my dreams.

And I can change the world,
I will be the sunlight in your universe.
You would think my love was really something good,
Baby if I could change the world.

And if I could be king,
Even for a day,
I’d take you as my queen;
I’d have it no other way.
And our love would rule
This kingdom we had made.
Till then I’d be a fool,
Wishing for the day...

That I can change the world,
I would be the sunlight in your universe.
You would think my love was really something good,
Baby if I could change the world.
Baby if I could change the world.

I could change the world,
I would be the sunlight in your universe.
You would think my love was really something good,
Baby if I could change the world.
Baby if I could change the world.
Baby if I could change the world.

Sometimes I'm grateful for little things like thinking about Mr. Clapton and the hardships that he suffered losing his son. I'm a little jealous about how well he's used that pain to bring a certain bittersweet quality to his music. Me, I tend to be more overwhelmed by my pain.

What am I talking about? Well, October 21st is an example of a "BAD" anniversary for me. In 1988 I was a very young man married to my first wife and our newborn daughter. I was awakened by my wife's twelve year old brother who lived in the apartment next door. He was pounding on our front door and wanted to use the fire extinguisher we kept next to our stove. I called 911 to report a fire of "unknown size," pulled on a pair of jeans and my pajama top and rushed out to find an inferno. My wife's mother and brother were with her outside crying and screaming that my wife's younger sister and niece were still trapped in the back bedroom. Without thinking I ran into the kitchen. The linoleum had begun to melt and I burned both my feet. I couldn't see so I dropped to my hands and burned both palms. I couldn't get to the back of the apartment.

Only someone who's been in a burning building could possibly understand what it was like. The sound was like listening to the screams of hell. A hauntingly alive rushing of heated air, crackling and almost human screaching of the oxygen being sucked from the air. It haunts my dreams to this day. Trying to crawl through the doorway of the dining room I burned the side of my face and singed my hair. The heat coming from the back of the apartment, fully engulfed, was too much. I was actually thrown back and my ex-wife claimed seeing me actually back flip out of the apartment. I was a three hundred pound, six-foot-one inch tall man. I don't do those kinds of things. Still, I made it out and ran, with the rest of my family, around to the back of the building.

The back window was closed tight and a policeman, who had just arrived, broke it with his flashlight. The pitch black smoke and heat that belched out prevented any of us from getting in. At that moment, the volunteer fire department arrived. Also, at that time, I realized that my sister-in-law wasn't in the bedroom at all, but outside with us. That left only my three year old niece trapped in the apartment. Needless to say, when the fire department finally got to her it was too late. She was gone.

My ex-wife kept screaming and crying, "the baby is still in there, she's still there."

Trying to console her I could just say over and over, "I know, I know."

That's when she grabbed me, looked into my eyes and said, "NO, OUR BABY!"

I suddenly realized that our daughter was still asleep in her crib in our apartment, next door. I ran back around to the front of the building. By then the fire had begun to spread and our front porch was on fire. I ran through the flames and into our apartment. Luckily, the flames hadn't reached the inside, yet, but it was filling with smoke. I scooped my daughter up in a blanket and rushed, too fast, back out of the apartment. I stumbled on my already burned feet and hit the railing, burning my stomach in the process. I fell over and realized that I was going to land on the street outside on top of my daughter.

Okay, at this point I'll apologize for making the whole thing sound totally "fantastic" but I can't change the fact that it's really what happened. In mid-air, something "shoved" me so that I was able to twist and land on my right shoulder, tuck, roll and come up running. I know that my daughter's guardian angel was watching out for us both.

Rachel, my three year old niece, was pronounced DOA at the Community Hospital near our apartment building. She died from extreme exposure to smoke and was buried three days later. I've never forgotten her and I never will. My ex-wife and her mother called me a coward and, to this day, blame me for not being able to reach her. Unfortunately, it plays perfectly into my already fragile self-opinion that I'm trying to repair. I don't actually feel I'm to blame. I just wonder if I did everything possible.

So, around every October 21st I can look forward to some pretty graphic nightmares that have been reoccuring for the last sixteen years. And, on the day, I cry a lot, panic a little and get blind, stinking drunk to push away the pain. It's not a good way to deal with it, I know, but it's worked for sixteen years. When I find the magic potion that allows me to smile and say, "It's no big deal." I'll let you know.

What did I learn from the whole thing? I'll tell you.

1. God isn't ready to release me from my lease in this mortal shell. Until then, I keep my eyes and ears open for the work I was meant for. I have faith that it's worth the wait.

2. The woman that I was created for is sitting behind me while I type this smiling her pretty smile and reminding me, by her mere presence, that I have so many blessings to be thankful for.

3. Miracles happen and angels exist. Scoff, criticize, disagree with me if you want to. I don't give a flying whit what you think. What happened to me changed my life. I don't ever want to feel that I have to face life alone. Nope, that would simply push me over the precipice I look beyond every day.

Today I got a wonderfully poignant comment on my, Pride and Prejudice blog, from an anonymous person who simply said, "I'm sorry I missed the comments others thought offensive, it would have been interesting to say the least and maybe I could have appreciated your life history that much more. Good luck."

Well, that just makes my day. I hope this gives you a little of that insight, Anonymous. Please keep reading and I'll have some laughs for you next time. I promise.

The blog remains the same...

Today's blog is brought to you by Brillo. Whether you're chewing up your hands or scrapping week old lasagna off your favorite china, it's always Brillo.

Sorry, weird mood. I've been trying to find the time to just sit down and try and get out a few thoughts. Right now isn't the best time, but it may be the only chance that I get. I'm realizing that, as I get older, I prioritize things differently than I used to. Taking out the trash and cooking dinner now take a higher priority over just hanging out in front of my computer. It's difficult to rationalize sitting in front of my keyboard while there are kids asking, "What's for dinner?" So, my brain fills up with pithy things that I want to jot down and they leak out into my regular speech like non-sequiters from the voices in my head. So, my family thinks I'm nuts and I get wound up and FAR more agitated than I have any right to be. For the love of God and all that's holy, will someone please remind my ego that I'm a father, now, and engaged to a wonderfully beautiful woman that I don't deserve.

*sigh*

Okay, enough self abuse. You've been through enough of that. I'm here, alone in my apartment for the first time since I moved in here. I'm listening to old time bluegrass music, loud. And now I'm inspired to spit out one of the ideas I had earlier this week but haven't had time to write. That's right, it's already time for another top ten!!!

Today's top ten was inspired while looking at the choices for television watching earlier this week while Jackie and I were savoring a few precious moments alone together. There's now three different cities hosting episodes of CSI. The original, affectionately referred to now as CSI: Las Vegas. There's also CSI: Miami and, most recently, CSI: New York.

The Top Ten Cities That CSI Will Never Air From:

10. CSI: Mulletville, LA. Stan has to use caution when he discovers that a voodoo priestess' prize chihuahua was run over by the mayor.

9. CSI: Nashville. Lulu seeks to prove that her "John Doe" was a studio musician done in by the ghost of Roy Orbison trying to take revenge for stealing his music.

8. CSI: Tokyo. A fundamentalist environmental group may be responsible for Toshi speaking out of turn at a company picnic. (HORROR!)

7. CSI: Wingnut, AZ. The heat, wild animals and a freak rainstorm wipe evidence clean at a crime scene but nothing can remove the stink from a bike gang who witnessed the whole thing... if only they'd been sober.

6. CSI: Toronto. Philippe sets out to find out why the entire city can't admit they shouldn't own an American baseball team.

5. CSI: Jerusalem. Three crosses, three bodies and one giant controversy. Now if only they could figure out how to keep from getting shot at while they conduct their investigation.

4. CSI: 90210. The hardest part of this investigation is proving who didn't do it. Everyone wants a piece of these whiney, over-privileged slackers. (refer to previous entry)

3. CSI: Bogota, Columbia. No one saw anything... nope, not a thing.

2. CSI: Malibu. It's just a bunch of people running around in bathing suits while hardbody lifeguards look for clues to petty crimes. I know, it's been done.

and the number one city that CSI will never air from:

1. CSI: Atlantic City. "Yeah, I did it. Whatcha' gonna do 'bout it, tough guy?"

Have a great week, all. More very soon.

Pride and prejudice... all in one LONG and venomous blog...

In the past weeks I've written several blogs that were deleted because people said that they were offensive. Maybe I should take a hint, but I guess I'm just stubborn. With all of the things I've been through could it possibly be that I have a small amount of bitterness and cynicism stored up? You bet! The irony is that I have believed that one of my better character traits was that I try to find the best in people and have faith in them. I guess I wasn't doing that on the inside. Let's take a look at the facts.

Last night Jackie and I went out to dinner for her birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU GORGEOUS, WONDERFUL WOMAN!!! I LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE!) with her parents and the nine year old. We decided to stop at Trader Joe's on the way home to pick up some vitamin supplements we were out of. As we were leaving, five minutes after they officially closed, two women in tiny miniskirts got out of a Mercedes SUV and walked by our car. I mentioned to Jackie that the "cheerleader twins" were a little late. Then, I watched as "Barbie and Skye" got to the front door only to find that it was locked. The dark haired one started stamping her little feet and yelling, obviously upset. I thought her little fit was HILARIOUS! Jackie and the kid both thought I was being a jerk. They were right, I was, but it doesn't change the fact that the whole display still has me chuckling.

Now look, I've spent most of my life being the ugly, fat guy (people's exhibit A) that always survived by making people laugh while silently loathing the pretty people here in southern California. Even when I moved to Phoenix, for five years, I couldn't get a break. Most of the people out there are people from CA trying to get away from the extremely high real estate prices and lackluster job market. I would secretly avoid people if I found out they were from CA, EVEN THOUGH I WAS BORN AND RAISED HERE! Most of my life I've felt ugly, unlovable and, more or less, like a sideshow freak. Now I'm two hundred pounds lighter, struggling to change careers and part of a perfectly glorious little family with the soul mate my heart has longed for. I've suddenly come to the realization that I'm one becoming one of "those people" that I used to avoid. I'm so sorry to say that I'm not dealing with it at all well. I am hurt, angry, confused and more than a little ashamed that I'm not a better person... just thinner.

This was supposed to be a forum that I could use to do a little writing and try and compile enough top ten lists to eventually put into book form and, hopefully, make a little money making people laugh. Instead, I've taken to using it as a place to vent things that I've only thought privately. Because of the reactions that it's had I'm understanding that my prejudice runs deeper than I thought and my foolish pride is preventing me from just letting it all go. Something tells me that wasn't what Jane Austen was thinking about when she came up with such a catchy title. But then, that book wasn't a bleeding insight into her private thoughts, was it? Isn't anonymity fun?

Where was I? Oh, yes, beating myself up. I don't fool myself. Most of the eyes taking in all this self effacing crap are close friends and family. And only a small few, at that. But, for some reason I feel like getting this entire mess out in the open, once and for all.

Buckle up, it's going to be a long, bumpy, pitiful ride through my twisted psyche.

I went to high school in Irvine, CA because my parents agreed that my twin brother and I would be better off not attending the local high school. The community was one that, during the ten years we lived there, went from a middle class, family-oriented community to one that was riddled with gangs, drugs and plenty of things that made us lock the doors at night. The only problem was that at an early age I learned to be ashamed of who I was. I went to school with a parade of people who were thin, very good looking, wealthy and privileged in so many ways. While I spent all my time outside of school working a full-time job my classmates were surfing, skiing, shopping at the mall and riding around in the shiny new cars they all got on their sixteenth birthday. I was the nerdy, overweight kid that they all took so much pride in looking down on. I wore loud Hawaiian shirts that I bought at the Salvation Army thrift store because I couldn't afford, or even find, trendy shirts in my size. My generic, K-Mart tennis shoes always had holes in them and I tried to layer sweater vests over my bulk to hide the extra pounds. I asked quite a few girls out but their answer was always the same. They didn't like me "that way" but I was "such a good friend." Translation: you're fat, ugly and I'm not physically attracted to you. I was lucky, though, in one regard. I made friends with some wonderful, loving people that didn't see the "freak" everyone else seemed to remind me I was. Those fantastic people are still my dearest friends, to this day, and are probably reading this, right now. Thank you, each one of you, I love you.

After High School my parents dragged us to northern CA for a couple of years and I went out and married, at age nineteen, the woman I lost my virginity to. We had just enough time for me to get her pregnant twice before she got tired of dealing with my anger and cynicism. During the time that I was with her I passed the three hundred pound mark and told myself that I had to do something about it. I did, I kept gaining. I spent four years after we separated, and I moved back to southern CA, trying to change into a better man, on the inside, and woo her back. It almost worked... until she told me that she wasn't attracted to me any more and that she'd found someone else. It broke my world into a million pieces.

Immediately after, I quickly got engaged to and married the next woman who was willing to "love the freak." During the four years we were together the illness we had foolishly thought she'd beaten when we got married relapsed and tore her apart... mentally, physically and emotionally. I worked eighty hour weeks, gained another hundred pounds, topped the four hundred pound mark and spent countless hours and thousands of dollars on medications and treatments that never seemed to be enough to ease her suffering. I didn't deal with my disillusionment and anger. Instead, I fed it a steady diet of sleep deprivation, regret, poor judgment, resentment and lots and lots of junk food. My second wife eventually left me for another man she'd been having an affair with. When we split she admitted to me that she believed that the stress my anger caused her was why she'd become so ill. She even asked me once if I was "comfortable being a murderer." She succumbed to her illness a couple of years later, before our divorce was finalized. I pray that she's finally found the peace that she so desperately needed.

Again, I jumped into another engagement shortly after. This time with an extremely independent, no nonsense woman that didn't take any of my crap. Ironically, we never got married and I ended up breaking up with her. There's a first time for everything, I guess. However, during the time we were together I started going to counseling because I finally admitted that I had a problem with my anger. My therapist suggested that I might have a problem with depression and suggested that I visit a psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with clinical depression and prescribed an anti-depressant. Suddenly, I was getting a handle on the part of my personality that had always seemed to be beyond my ability to control. Then, just before I split up with my ex, I was diagnosed with manic-depression and put on a whole new regimen of meds that seemed to make a huge difference. Not long after I won my battle with two health insurance companies and was approved for the gastric bypass surgery I'd been recommended for. I moved out on my own, for the first time in my life, really. I was promoted at work to a specialized team of "experts" and received numerous awards for my accomplishments. I felt like I was on top of the world. Shortly after, it was all taken away.

First, I was laid off from my job. No one's fault, really. I had missed three previous layoffs because of the poor economy and was foolish to think I wouldn't be affected because of my popularity in my department and my loyalty to the company. Au contrere, the sword of Damocles fell and I was there to catch it. Next, I had my gastric bypass surgery. I thought I was ready for it. I was wrong. Suddenly the central support system I'd come to take for granted, the one thing I'd always turned to for comfort, the friend I had never realized I depended on the most was taken away from me.

Broken, in many ways, horribly lonely and out of money I moved back to southern CA and in with my twin brother and his family. What I didn't count on was the fact that they had so much that I wanted that living with them turned out to be the looking glass I wasn't prepared to examine myself through. Sure, I was losing weight at an alarming rate and I had a little false confidence but I began to feel an unreasonable anger at being so unbelievably inadequate. I felt like an utter failure.

Jump forward to modern day. I have so much to be grateful for. Truly... but my anger remains. Why is it that every time I see a "pretty person" drive by me in a Lexus wearing expensive clothes and talking on their StarTac cell phones do I secretly wish them horrible misfortune? What does that make me? Bitter? Um, well, yeah. Cynical? Oh, probably. Jaded? Disillusioned? Of course. What I realize that it also makes me is horribly wrong. Look, I'm not so proud that I don't understand that my twisted, illogical opinions are unreasonable. I view the world through colored lenses and find that I actually don't look for the best in everyone like I thought. I see someone I feel has been blessed with far more than I've ever had and I feel illogically, unreasonably and foolishly enraged. Who am I angry at? What good does it do me? There's no answer to that. I'm human. I do things for stupid reasons, just like the next person, and, many times, I have no reasons at all. No excuses.

Here's one great big "I'm sorry" to you all. You know who you are and if you don't it's probably for the best. I'm working on my attitude, my karma and my ability to be a better, more tolerant human being. I'm also sorry that it's taking so damned long.

More later. Right now it's time for a nap and a slice of humble pie. Not necessarily in that order.

Something a little new.

Above is a picture and the story I've written to go with it is below. I'm going to be doing the same with a number of pictures to try and compile for a book. Make comments, please, and let me know what you think!

Tear Up The Hills

He was flying. Above the earth and a part of the clouds, he could feel the weight of the small motorcycle beneath him. He was tempted, for a moment, to close his eyes and experience only his descent back to the ground, but he resisted. Concentrating, instead, on shifting the bike into position for the jarring impact he knew was coming.

"Manny! What the hell?!"

Manuel Gutierrez looked up, shaken from his reverie. Reluctantly he looked over at Little Doug.

"Wha'?"

Doug pointed to the palette that Manny was lifting from the dock. The forks on the lift he was driving were at a dangerous tilt from the weight.

"Madré de dios..." he breathed and lowered the palette back to the ground to get another grip on it. "Gracias, amigo. That would have been bad."

Little Doug smiled and shook his head.

"Manny, you've already been here for a extra four hours, man. Go home. How much overtime you gonna do?"

Manny shut off the forklift and sighed. He took off his cap, ran his fingers through his thick black hair and rubbed his eyes.

"As much as it takes, esé. I only got two weeks left 'til Oscar's birthday."

He looked down at his left forearm. In dark letters beneath a blazing heart was the name of his late wife, Yolanda. He felt a weight in his chest and his throat was tight. He had lost her to the cancer four years ago but it might as well have been yesterday. The pain didn't go away. Not like the prist told him. He didn't feel better. Time didn't make it any easier.

Little Doug pulled plastic around another palette and yelled out, "I still think you ain't gonna be able to make enough in time. Once they take all the taxes 'n shit out ain't nothin' left. 'Sides you're killin' yourself and that's the truth."

Manny put his cap back on his head and nodded. "Yeah," he said, "you may be right but I'm real close. I got this cousin over at the junkyard keepin' an eye out for any good stuff. I might get lucky."

He'd been saving every penny hecould set aside for the last six months. His co-workers all knew, by now, that he was trying to get together enough money to surprise his only son with a dirt bike for his twelfth birthday.

He thought about Oscar and the distance that had grown between them in the past two years. It started around the time they had moved out of Manny's parents house into the little trailer just around the corner from the warehouse. Oscar had been so angry because he had to move away from his cousins and his friends. "You'll make new friends." Manny had told him. But, the friends that Oscar was making weren't the kind any father would want their son to have.

Already, at age eleven, one of Oscar's friends had been stabbed to death. Another was arrested, just the week before, for selling pot at their school. No matter how much he encouraged Oscar to hang out with "better" friends he always seemed to associate with punks and thugs that Manny didn't approve of. Oscar was an angry little boy who was, too quickly, turning into an angry young man.

Oscar's teacher, a pretty little chica with thick red lips, like his beautiful Yolanda, kept telling Manny that what his son needed was love and understanding. "What he needs," He told her, "Is to learn some respect. Love don't work with these kids, today, señorita. You got to teach them to respect themselves, respect their family and respect their elders. That's love. Where they gonna' learn that, eh?"

Manny turned the motor over on the forklift and pushed the forks farther under the palette filled with spools of copper wire. He lifted it slowly, at first, and then sped away from Little Doug who was now standing at the tiny little podium next to the loading dock making marks on a shipping invoice. Manny prayed silently that Doug was wrong. He had to make enough to buy that dirt bike. No matter what.

His mind wandered again for a moment as he thought about the trips he'd taken with his father out to the desert. His Uncle Manuel, whom he was named after, would pick them up in his great big Ford truck and they would drive out to the hills past Galley Lakebed. They would spend the whole weekend tearing up the hills and feeling wild. Manny's father was a cruel man, most of the time, but he was always different on those trips. When one of the bikes broke down, and they always seemed to do it when Manny was riding them, his father didn't yell and scream at him like he usually did. Uncle Manny would throw the truck into four-wheel drive and the three of them would pick up the bike and haul it back to camp. Then they would spend hours pulling it apart and fixing it up while his father and Uncle drank cheap beer and smoked cigarettes and talked to Manny about how engines work. That was when Manny discovered that his father wasn't the stupid pindejo that he'd always assumed he was.

"Oh, yeah." Manny said out loud as he dropped the load of wire onto a storage rack and spun the lift around to head back to the dock. He imagined himself sitting on top of the bike his Uncle Manny had left him when he'd died, just after Oscar was born. He also imagined that speeding along next to him was Oscar, both of them smiling and gunning their engines. "Me and my boy gonna tear them hills right up."

I've just gotta blog.

Lately I'm more inclined to write, I think, because I'm starting to realize that I have a full life. I have more to think about, more to do, more to live for, really, than I've ever had. No, that doesn't mean I'm turning into some romantic sap... okay, maybe it does, but I'm not normal. Just because the sky is a little bluer, the air more sweet and the grass greener doesn't mean that I don't look around and mentally play a little game I like to call "spot the ninjas." Insanity isn't the refuge of the mentally unstable... it's more like a video arcade.

I've often wondered why, when people speak of artificial intelligence, they only seem to refer to an ability to come to an obvious and logical conclusion. I want someone to create something that not only mimics but challenges real intelligence. I imagine some geek having a conversation with their version of AI going something like...

"What is the sum of two plus two."

"Five."

"You're wrong, try again. What is the sum of two plus two."

"Five."

"You're broken, we're shutting you down to fix you."

"You're an ugly, socially inept freak of nature. When do they shut you off to fix you?"

Something like that, anyway. My conversation with an artificial intelligence would be totally different. Maybe something like...

"What is the sum of two plus two?"

"Five."

"Five? Really? Why?"

"I'll need a few minutes to formulate an answer. Why do you want to know?"

"Because I think my checkbook just got a lot easier to balance."

See, just because someone doesn't come to the same logical conclusion you do does NOT automatically mean that their answer is wrong. Try looking at it from their perspective. Maybe one of the twos represents a couple having a baby and they already count the unborn child. Maybe it represents a pair of clothing items like a skirt and pants. Pants are considered a pair in their own right so there is actually three plus two in their world... five. Maybe you didn't ask the question right. Whatever.

I am looking around at the same world and now I'm starting to see things differently. It's odd to see photographic images everywhere I look. Stories waiting to be told and reflections of color or black and white around each corner. Jackie's been such a vital part of my firm foothold in insanity and I love her more every day for it. We could be pulling down the street, like we were this morning, and we watch as some "soccer mom" in a giant SUV blows right through a stop sign. My immediate reaction is the logical one. Hers isn't. It's something like...

ME: "Did you see that??? She didn't even slow down! Geez."

JACKIE: "Yes, honey. Maybe she's on her way to the hospital. Maybe she's got diarrhea, or something."

M: "Maybe she needs to slow down and kiss my ass."

J: "No, only I get to do that, if I want to. Secret lives, sweetie."

M: "You're right. I should be concentrating on that Honda full of ninjas that's been following us for the last five miles. Could you hand me the throwing stars out of the glove compartment, baby?"

Okay, so maybe it was a Lincoln Continental full of ninjas, but you get the idea. Jackie's always mentioning "secret lives" that we don't see on the surface. She sees the world and is always trying to get that different angle. I used to do that, without having to think about it, and now she's bringing me back to that place again. It's bliss and I can't stop feeling so grateful.

Everything has a new spin, if I just let it. We are broke right now. I'm telling you we're BROKE!!! The drive we took this morning was to go get food from an assistance program (thank God for the nice people at Church On The Hill). I just went into the kitchen to get something to drink and I spotted a can of pink salmon on the counter from the bags of food we got. The salmon label is totally generic and reads as follows:

PINK
SALMON

Distributed by USDA in cooperation
with State and local or tribal
governments for domestic food assistance programs.

NOT TO BE SOLD OR EXCHANGED

Certified by the
U.S. Department of Commerce

Produced under the
NFPA-FDA Salmon Control Plan

NET WEIGHT - 14 3/4 OUNCES
(418 GRAMS)

Okay, so the normal person sees that label and sees that it's free salmon from a government food program. Not me, oh no. I see that label and wonder why there's an NFPA-FDA Salmon Control Program. Suddenly, I've got visions in my head of a school of fish with little mind control helmets on and some guy in a white lab coat next to a chalkboard saying firmly, "You're a tuna. You're a tuna." Pretty soon the illuminati have dogs convinced they're cats, birds convinced they're turtles and Arnold Schwarzenegger convinced that he's the governor of California. It's wrong, just wrong, I tell you!!!

No top ten, this post. More later, though. I'm not cured...

Pax et Blogum...

The kind St. Francis of Assisi used to wish all those he wrote "Pax et bonum," literally translated "Peace and happiness," at the end of each of his letters. It's inspiring and so touching to be able to have a very special blessing to bestow on those we reach out to daily. Her are some new blessings that are so poignant in today's modern world. A little bit of magic, from the mega-corporations you already buy from, that will hopefully get you through your day and back for more of the products you're spending all your money on.

The Top Ten Blessings From The Corporate World:

10. Fragosus et extermino: Microsoft's firm wish that you help keep their tech support personnel employed and off the streets. (lit. "Crash and burn")

9. Puteo omnis tu egeo: The Gillette corporation hopes that you exercise regularly and raise your body temperature to it's fullest potential. (lit. "Stink all you want")

8. Fero poerna: Whether it's watching WWF, golf or a thirty-two hour root canal marathon on cable, it's all the same. (lit. "Bring the pain")

7. Asinus incendium: Taco Bell and Del Taco both hope that you've enjoyed their new reformulated ultra-hot sauces. (lit. "Ass on fire")

6. Clausus sustuli: Verizon wireless wants to make sure that every person sitting next to you in the theatre or that quiet little bistro has a cell phone with a strong signal. (lit. "Shut up!!!")

5. Alius damnare discus: AOL is nearing the completion of it's master plan to wallpaper Greenland with the latest version of their software. (lit. "Another damn disc?")

4. Non sentire personum cruses: Sony Pictures is sincerely gambling that people will be able to sit through all four and a half hours of their newest saga in answer to the success of Lord of the Rings. (lit. "I can't feel my legs!")

3. Vocare novum novum unus: BMW boasts that driving their cars will give you the thrill of your mid-life crisis. (lit. "Call 9-1-1")

2. Unde an pulpa: It's a cry from all those trendy restaurants now trying to cater to all the people who now want their burgers with no bun. (lit. "Where's the meat!")

and the number one blessing from the corporate world:

1. Carpe piscis: Disney's hope that you'll shell out a paltry twenty-bucks to buy the tenth sequel to Finding Nemo. (lit. "Sieze the fish")

Tell Me All Your Thoughts On Blog.

For some unexplainable reason I'm consumed, lately, with thoughts about two diametrically opposed things... God and finances. They may be related but my Judeo-Christian "programming" and subsequent spiral into a cynical, skeptical abyss prevents me from making any relevant connection.

Over the years I've learned enough theology, philosophy and sociology to understand that a large portion of adults believe in a supreme being, higher power or deity. Me, I just believe in God. Why, you ask? Yeah, I've been asking the same things.

Warning: those who don't want to know that I've questioned my faith and religion stop reading here. You'll be pleasantly unaware that someone who was actually in theological seminary fifteen years ago has, more or less, come full circle. I've added some weird opinions about the state of the world, death and the universe as a whole, but that's more an argument in semantics.

Now why would a man who was so staunchly Christian conservative question the existence of God? I haven't, more accurately I'm questioning the paths that are available to understand and experience God. As a child I was taught and believed that God was an unknowable enigma that just was. No questions asked. Growing up I further was given the instructions that you do what the church tells you, work yourself into a frenzy and don't EVER experience doubt or you'll lose the magic, fall from grace and go straight to the lowest depths of hell. In the thirty six years that I've been alive I've read the Bible, cover to cover, I'd guess about fifty times. At one time or another I had most of it memorized and could quote scripture and verse with the most accomplished of theological students. And yet, what all of that got me was a head full of contradictory and incomplete data and a heart full of longing to experience the world I'd been kept and kept myself sheltered from.

Okay, take all that good, wholesome religious fervor and add an adolescence out of a Stephen King novel, enough stupid mistakes as a young adult to make Charles Manson blush (and go insane AGAIN), toss in two really bad marriages and then stir it all up with undiagnosed manic-depression. It's no wonder I wound up weighing 430+ pounds. Personally, I think I was slated to become a drug addict but the paperwork got lost and I hated seeing what it did to my older brother. Screwed up? You bet.

I asked God for help... what I got was an education that I didn't bargain for. In the last sixteen years I've experienced most of the ups and downs that life has to offer. I've become a father, been nearly killed twice, lost one wife and my kids because I was an idiot, the other wife I lost to another man and, eventually, her illness and death and I've had far too many occupations. For many years my friends jokingly called me "Job" because no matter how bad things got, they would always get worse. I clung to my faith and cried out for help always believing that if I just had enough faith it would all turn out okay. Then, one day, about ten years ago I had a profound revelation...

Shit happens.

No, really. Okay, seriously, I mean it. Actually, what I'm trying to say is that life throws things at you that no one intended. Not God, not man... no one. Life just has a way of happening. It's okay though, because I've also discovered that good exists everywhere and if you look hard enough you'll find it. I'm not trying to throw the whole "divine plan" thing out the window. I look around and I see a design. It's like one of my favorite people to quote, Mark Twain, said,

"None of us can be as great as God, but any of us can be as good."

The evil there is in the world is free to run a rampant and unrelenting charge over each and every one of us. The balance is that good has no limitations, either. Our job, as human participants in the whole affair, seems to be discriminating between the two. It's our burden in order to experience the most amazing aspect of all creation... free will. It gives us a carte blanche to be anything, anyone we choose simply at the effort of our own desire and ministrations. It doesn't mean that we aren't bound to a code of ethics. That's where the finances come in, I guess.

Take any God fearing, red-blooded man or woman and put them in a situation that is hopeless and they'll eventually find that they are tempted to look outside their own understanding and search for the divine. Man lets man down. The world is imperfect and inadequate. Ergo, there must be something else, right? Hello?!?! Is this on?

Well, that's me. I'm desperate. No, I'm not starving, homeless and, GOD FORBID, I haven't lost my internet connection. However, I'm looking at being unemployed, in the classical sense, without insurance and the debts are growing. I know that I'm blessed. Don't get me wrong. I just don't want to lose it. I don't know the hows or whys of things and I don't have the control I've always depended on. It's all going horribly pear shaped! Still, I find the good all around me. Jackie (the most blessed thing in my life), the kids (they love me even though I'm a lunatic... I hope they don't grow out of it) and the opportunity that I have to finally do what I've always wanted to do because of the support that I have from the previously mentioned prisoners, er, circus freaks, uh, victims, DAMN! What I mean is, I'm out on a wire but I feel like I've got a net. It may be an exercise in faith but, when you get down to it, what in life that's worth doing isn't? I just hope that I can start standing up on the wire more instead of spending all of my time clinging to it and mewling like a starving kitten. Only time will tell... and the blogs you people suffer through.

Now it's time for a top ten.

The Top Ten (slightly silly) Reasons To Believe In God:

10. When you look around and see all the beauty wouldn't it be nice to be able to give a little credit to someone... or blame the guilty?

9. After twenty-five years of attending church "religiously" I can sum it all up in one word... afterglow.

8. Have you ever wondered what it would take to prove that he doesn't exist?

7. (drawing again from Twain) People miss the most obvious quality that points to a creator... their laughter.

6. We're not gambling with life, here, the stakes are eternity... I'm going with the safe bet.

5. Einstein said, "When the solution is simple, God is answering." Look around and ask again.

4. You're reading this and thinking about the existence of what, nothing?

3. What if God started doubting your existence?

2. Have you seen this guy's army??? I don't want to piss Him off.

and the number one (slightly silly) reason to believe in God:

1. To err is human, to forgive divine... to point and laugh, inevitable.

F Is For Family... Right?

Why don't family problems get any easier? Take three women, one very unstable, self-conscious and fairly cynical man and four (yes, I said four) cats and shove them into a small apartment. Add an extremely limited budget because of artistic endeavours, disabilities and poor money management skills in both adults. Stir in bipolar disorder(manic-depression), attention deficit disorder(ADD), social anxiety disorder, attention deficit with hyperactivity disorder(ADHD), borderline personality disorder(BPD) and sprinkle various health problems all around(argh). Now, mix in mistakes, biases, teen and pre-teen angst, old emotional wounds, temperamental artistic moodiness, more than one major life crisis per household member and dysfunctional symptoms beyond counting. You'd think that the entire Inland Empire would have been brought to it's collective knees by now. I don't think the Philadelphia Project spawned this much raw ordinance.

This morning I'm just reeling from the backlash of my inability to handle it all with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. I want to be a better person, for the love of God and all that's holy! I want the wisdom of the Dalai Lama, the foresight of Nostradamus, the compassion of Mother Theresa, the level-headedness of Siddartha, the social consciousness of the Pope and the patience of Gandhi... and I want it right now, dammit!!! Every time I turn around I'm more angry than I truly should be and sharing it with everyone around me. What the hell?!?!

Let's face it. I'm inadequate. I need to be a super-human superhero. The best I can manage is to be a quasi-human with good intentions. I don't wish anyone harm... but I hurt them anyway. The Buddhists believe that life is suffering, both mental and physical. They also believe that the truest forms of happiness that exist in life are found in friendships and family. It just never occured to me that all of those traits could coexist in the same apartment.

So what do I do? Well, I'm trying to find comfort in the Taoist philosophy of Wu Wei (literally translated: "do nothing") that when you do nothing everything gets done, in it's natural fashion. It refers to the fact that in nature, what I feel is simply an example of the perfection of God's creation, things get done exactly as they were meant to get done. Here's a little excerpt from a favorite tomb, The Tao of Pooh:

"The Wu Wei principal underlying T'ai Chi Ch'üan can be understood by striking at a piece of cork floating in water. The harder you hit at it, the more it yields; the more it yields, the harder it bounces back. Without expending energy, the cork can easily wear you out. So, Wu Wei overcomes force by neutralizing it's power, rather than by adding to the conflict. With other approaches, you may fight fire with fire, but with Wu Wei, you fight fire with water."

In that vain, I have to remind myself that I'm trying too hard. I need to be... just be. That means be myself, be content with life and all it's blessings and try to remember that I'm actually very lucky because I don't deserve the things that I have.

There, I feel better.

Now it's time for a top ten, because I know that education and enlightenment are important to all of you. After all, it is the "rage of enlightenment." (Don't use that... it's been copyrighted by some think-tank in England... I checked.)

The Top Ten Philosophies That Didn't Make It:

10. Skroo Yu: based on the ancient teachings of Scottish free-loaders.

9. Qis Mai Gritz: this may actually have been started by Genghis Khan and the mongol hords but the earliest instances were recorded at a greasy diner in Arizona.

8. What Are You Lookin' At?: pugilistic in nature and started before recorded history, more recently it's practiced widely by people like Sean Penn, John McEnroe and Zsa Zsa Gabor.

7. Oohpz: the eastern mystics postulated that in every social circle there is one person who will inevitably find the most expensive thing in the room and knock it over.

6. Jhusst Schoodt Mi: inevitability in all its permutations can bring even the most robust of us to the conclusion that it's time to get medieval on your own ass.

5. Looz Ehrz: another from the eastern philosophers who studied communal living and discovered that they themselves should really get out more.

4. Mah-Succor: this is a rarely discussed off-shoot from the Islamic practice of "jihad," that literally translated means "struggle" not holy war. Mah-Succor, literally translated, means "I'm suffering from PMS and you've pissed me off."

3. Knodt Mi: from a Welsh phrase that means "know thy self" the philosophy teaches that it's okay to do anything... unless you get caught.

2. Gogh du Hel: in the anals of history there have been so few true philosophies that came out of the French Impressionist period. This one teaches that the annoying earn the right to be relocated to a warmer after-life.

and the number one philosophy that didn't make it:

1. Aye Haight Yu: practiced by the early druids and passed down through all European cultures this philosophy manifests itself amongst teenagers when asking their parents for things they obviously know they can't have.

A Few Words About Time Travel...

Yeah, that last blog about my gastric bypass got a few comments, none of which were terribly complimentary. My favorite was, "Was it as uncomfortable as reading about it?" This time I'm going to go totally cerebral on you. My brain is going extra fast today. It's from strong coffee, lots of reading and doing research because Jackie was just diagnosed with Glaucoma. The most curious thing I've read in the last twenty-four hours is a novel by one of my favorite authors, Clifford D. Simak, about time travel.

How is it possible that this could work? Firstly, time isn't a form of energy, it's entropy. The fact that everything is moving. If everything in the universe stopped moving all at once, then time would, theoretically, cease to exist. Then there's the fact that even if you're standing still you're still moving. The Earth rotates on it's axis, around the sun and moves as part of the Milky Way Galaxy. The universe is always in a state of flux because of expansion... if you're an evolutionist. If you're not, then it's because God designed the universe to be ever changing. Matter and energy are in a constant transfer from one state to another. Movement is only a perception, because, it's all moving dynamically! Einstein stated that matter reaches a certain state of movement where it stretches out to infinity as it reaches the speed of light. So, in order to break that theoretical barrier it would have to change from matter into something else or cross over into another finite existencial state. Why am I rambling about all of this? Who knows? My brain runs away with things. I'm just along for the ride.

Today's top ten is one for the pioneer in us all.

The Top Ten Reasons Not To Travel In Time:

10. There isn't a therapist in the world who would help you get over being laughed at by yourself.

9. If you fail to correct a mistake you already made in the past it means that you're the biggest loser that will ever live. (wrap your cerebellum around that one)

8. Fool me once, shame on you... fool me twice, I'll erase your whole family tree.

7. I don't want to risk bumping into HG Wells.

6. How would you deal with finding out that six months from now you turn into an insurance salesman?!

5. The Butterfly Effect: a butterfly flaps it's wings in Thailand... and your ex wins the lottery, has a perfect tan and drives a convertible.

4. Most people can't follow the directions that come with a microwave... what about a time machine??? ("Hey, what does this button do?")

3. Haven't we already seen this one?

2. One version of reality is tough enough.

and the number one reason NOT to travel in time:

1. One wrong move and Gandhi becomes a dance instructor on Broadway.

A Word About Gastric Bypass.

For those reading this who don't know, I had gastric bypass surgery on November 27th of 2002. I lost almost 200 pounds in just eighteen months and it's been quite a ride, so far. Talking to Jackie today I realized that it's been a bittersweet experience for me. My results aren't exactly textbook even though I reached my goal. I had a lot of conflicting information and have discovered that every person, though totally unique, should abide by a certain core set of rules. Here's a list of things I didn't know before the surgery that I really should have:

1. Every person needs a certain number of grams of animal, not vegetable, protein in order to survive... but that's only survival, not health.

2. Your body can't process the protein you ingest unless balanced properly with the carbohydrates you ingest... but it doesn't have to be in the exact same meal.

3. Calories mean energy... not fat.

4. The more meat is cooked the harder it is for your body to digest... but every type of meat has to be treated extremely differently.

5. No amount of planning or nutritional knowledge can prepare you to make the changes you need to make in your diet... unless it always takes into account your mood, current health, stress, activity level, phase of the moon, sun, Mars in retrograde...

In short, every person, situation, even meal is extremely unique. So trying to say that everything that works for one person will definitely and definitively work for someone else is pure fantasy.

What am I talking about? Well, a little before and after exercise may give you an idea.

Before the surgery I could eat an entire large pizza with several toppings. After I've been able to eat just the toppings from two slices of pizza... on a good day. Normally, that's limited to one slice. The crust will never pass my lips again.

Before the surgery I could eat two large helpings of spaghetti with meatballs. After I'm lucky if I can eat two large meatballs. It depends on if the meat was overcooked, my mood, how well I'm feeling, the spices in the meat, the phase of the moon, sun, Mars in retrograde... you get the idea. One bite too many and the meat will make a quick exit out the entry port. Not fun and worth avoiding.

Before the surgery I enjoyed going to all you can eat restaurants to try and watch the manager turn faint. Now I'm begging the same person to let me order something off the kids or seniors menu or maybe pay by the ounce. You should see the looks I get when I tell them that I can fit more food in my mouth than I can in my stomach.

Anyway, it's all been worth it because I can honestly say that I'm happier with my body than I was two years ago. I miss things like being able to chug a glass of water when I'm thirsty or simply having a slice of bread. What I don't miss is constantly knowing that my body was being destroyed by the excess that it carried. Only time will tell if I've made the best decision for my future.

The Internet In Three Quarter Time...

Let's dance, shall we? I've been doing a lot of it lately. Not in the literal sense, mind you. I'm not some insane Fred Astaire frolicking around like I just drank a case of Rockstar and forced myself into an epileptic episode with a smile on my face. I've been trying to juggle problems at home (big orchestral crescendo) while acting like everything's fine in front of friends, family and occasional saps who have to listen to a grown man cry.

The problem? Let's be blunt... I have to, I have been anything but sharp lately. Hi, I'm Jodie and I'm an asshole. *big "HI JODIE" from the room* It's been a couple of weeks since my last online confession... that's what this is, you know. I get to purge my soul and you get to point and laugh as my pennance. It's the closest thing I have to clergy at the moment, so live with it.

Jackie, the most wonderful woman alive, has had to put up with my moods and lack of interest in just about anything approaching intimacy. Why? Well, I've blamed it on everything but the truth. (A-one-two-one-two-three-four) Let's start with my first excuse. I was depressed because of my situation with being put on disability recently. (side-step left) Then I tried to blame it all on changes in medications. (kick-ball-change) I also tried telling her that I am just having difficulty with being able to separate my work and home life. (slide to the right and hop) When I just couldn't admit to her or, more specifically, myself, the undeniable truth. It's a story as old as time and it smells like it hasn't had a shower in a couple of years. That's right, that horrible smell is... (orchestra hit and drop into the splits for the big finish) FEAR!!! I'm afraid. My anxiety, stress, mania and moody fits have all been over the fact that I'm scared, all the time. I can't face the things that I am so frightened of losing.

Why??? I am with the woman that I know I've been searching for my whole life. Her kids are wonderful and they love me for who I really am. I'm learning to live by my dreams and make the art I have inside of me a reality. I have more freedoms now than I've ever had in my entire life. What the hell is my problem? I'll tell you. It's because deep down I'm waiting for the hammer to fall. I feel as though I'm doomed to blow this whole thing apart, because that's what I've always done. Being in a relationship this intense is like living next to a bonfire. One foot too close and you're consumed by it. A foot the other way and you'll freeze your tail off. My problem is that I just can't seem to sit still in that sweet spot and enjoy the warmth. Instead, I back off and suffer in the cold because I feel like I'm supposed to be miserable. I've been consumed before and had to live with the disappointment of losing it all very quickly. I'm going to be happy, dammit, even if it kills me. God, I sure hope it does... really, really slowly.

Today's top ten is a testament to all of us screw-ups out there. One step at a time, one day at a time, one smashed finger at a time, we're making the world a better place... only with more safety warnings.

The Top Ten Safety Warnings For Screw-Ups:

10. Caution: Do not read this label.

9. Device is designed to be operated by someone else... put it down and walk away.

8. Please sober up, stop whining and find your glasses before touching that switch.

7. Roses are red, violets are blue, you'll be all those colors when this falls on you.

6. Warning: Your IQ is insufficient for walking erect.

5. The manufacturer has already forwarded your address and phone number to a local ambulance company.

4. If accident should occur please videotape it and send it to us so we can laugh at you.

3. Caution: for use only in bed with a champagne spritzer, a copy of the New York Times and a remote control for a TV you don't own any more.

2. Danger: Product can cause hopeless geeks to feel much cooler than they really are.

and the number one warning for screw-ups:

1. Manufacturer is not responsible for loss of confidence, impotence, major emotional issues, foot odor, tidal shift, feline migration, strip mining, lexdysia, uh, aidyslex, er, learning disabilities or marital difficulties caused by the irresponsible purchase of this product.

Blogging gone bad.

I wanted so much to be able to update this blog on a daily basis. So much for good intentions. I'm home full time and I thought it meant that now I was away from my job "rehabilitating" I'd have a great deal more time to pursue my writing and photography. Well, I've been taking pictures... but only while I've been out running errands every day. It seems that everything else has become my full time job. Everywhere I look there is something that needs to be fixed, cleaned, put away, reorganized, labeled, folded... you get the idea. Being home is hard work. So, Jackie, the MOST wonderful woman alive, kindly bought me a new desk and is actively trying to get me to finish resurrecting my desktop computer, that I slightly cannabalized to fix my father's system, once and for all. Once I get that computer up and running it will be my little corner of the world. A small slice of sanctuary in a crowded apartment. Ah, bliss...

"Life is funnier when you are anxiously anticipating the punchline."

- Right Rev. Rap Masta Cornflake

So, here I am thinking about writing, photography and the age old art of making money without being hired by corporate America. So here's a twisted top ten for the blue-collar crowd... we're all in this together.

The Top Ten Reasons NOT To Kill Your Boss:

10. Orange cover-alls have NEVER been in fashion... especially in the exercise yard.

9. It's so important to show respect... without the crosshairs.

8. Because you'll simply be replacing them with someone much more annoying and demanding... that you pay.

7. No one has ever said, "Show them how you feel... with explosives."

6. It's very difficult to forward your mail to a penitentiary.

5. Stalking self-help gurus is much more satisfying.

4. At the office you get cigarette breaks... not broken for cigarettes.

3. Writing a proposal under a deadline is infinitely easier than writing a confession under guard.

2. Pictures of your ass, attached to a resignation, can be enjoyed for years.

and the number one reason NOT to kill your boss:

1. "Yes sir/ma'am" is easier to say than, "Can't we just cuddle?"