Incessant Whining of a Short, Fat, Bald Guy

Way Overdue

2012-01-01T11:54:00.001-05:00

I was 15 years old the first time I heard the band Rush’s first live album, “All The World’s A Stage”. I didn’t know much about the band at the time, I knew of their song, “Fly By Night”, but apart from that, I truly knew nothing about them. Anyway, A guy I worked with at a Gas Station was crazy about the band and while giving me a ride home he played a tape of the live album. I remember thinking how clean the guitars sounded and how odd the lead singers voice was.

The next day at school, I found I couldn’t get the sounds I’d heard the night before out of my head. It wasn’t anything like the music I normally listened to. This was loud, noisy and heavy rock. Still, there was something in it that just, I don’t know, gave me energy. It made me feel like I wanted to scream, jump up and down, anything to release this new feeling of sound from my insides. Over the next three years I became a fanatic. I saw them in concert a number of times and simply couldn’t get enough of this sound. I, along with thousands of guys my age just loved this band. There really were not very many girls who “got” them but the boys; well we just couldn’t get enough.

I eventually grew tired of them as my taste in music changed. That didn’t stop the band at all. They started releasing records that brought them great popularity, not only in the Midwest, where they were already rock n roll kings, but worldwide. I would hear the familiar sound of Alex Lifeson’s guitar, Geddy Lee’s distinctive voice or Neil Peart’s drumming and remember the madness I once held for them.

The band has been together now for almost 40 years. They’ve sold millions upon millions of records. They are an automatic sellout wherever they play. Somehow, after all these years, the critics have never given them their due. I find it amazing that this band is not in the Rock n Roll Hall Of Fame. I don’t listen to any of their stuff anymore except for the couple CD’s that I have of the albums I had when I was a kid. That doesn’t stop me from appreciating what they have done. This is three guys that, in concert, sound like a thirty piece band. Drummer Neil Peart is widely known as one of the great drummers of the rock era.

I think the time is long overdue for these guys to get the critical recognition they so well deserve. The Rock Hall has certainly missed the boat on this one. Rush is so deserving of the honor, it’s actually kind of shocking when I think about them not being in. C’mon, Hall, do the right thing. Make us proud and put these guys where they belong. Right alongside all the greats of Rock n Roll.

Tell Everybody You Know

2011-11-10T19:21:00.000-05:00

Those of you that grew up with me, probably remember my house as one that always had people in it. It really didn’t matter if Mom was home or not. Our friends had the run of the place and, all in all, things went pretty well. David and I each had numerous people that might be over at any given time and whether either of us was home, it was no big deal. I’d come home after work and the only folks there would be a couple friends of either David or I. One of David’s friends that was there more than most was Steve Liebow. He was a couple years older than me and, up until he started hanging around the house, I’d never heard of him.

Steve was one of David’s friends that I truly didn’t mind being around. It wasn’t like we would be great friends but he understood my humor and always “got the joke” without taking offense. We could go off on some abstract subject and he’d get just as crude and disgusting as I would and, odd as it sounds, we kind of formed a bond doing stuff like that.

One night, for reasons neither of us would ever remember, we started talking about gross words. I mentioned that the way the letter g was printed made the word egg the most disgusting looking word in the English language. We used the word egg in every possible way; laughing like fools the entire time. We must have stayed at that Kitchen table until three in the morning laughing ourselves to tears with the stuff we came up with.

I had a room in the Basement at the time and eventually went to bed. Steve decided to go to the store, buy a few dozen eggs and proceeded to put large Paper towels around my room all held up with all these eggs. He had written, on the paper towel, in large letters of Magic Marker, “ TOP OF THE MORNING TO YOU EGG”. We both laughed for days and have called each other by the name “Egg” ever since.

Steve died this morning and, as usual, these kinds of things make us all remember. I wasn’t that close to Steve. I never even set foot in the famous Van. He was one of the guys at the house. I think those that remember being there throughout the years will agree when I say we were all like a big family. Not a very close family but we all cared for each other, never had fights there and just plain felt a comfort being there. Well, I guess that makes Steve kinda like a Brother. The more I think of it, I think we all felt that way. We had a certain comfort there, all of us. It was a place where friends came by and just relaxed. You couldn’t really do that at too many of our houses back then.

Steve used to walk around the house in his unmentionables, playing his bass guitar and making up lyrics as he went. Those that knew him will surely smile thinking of him singing the song “Rock n Roll Soul, playing the bass line to the "Tell everybody you know" part" and substituting the words "Tell everybody you know, you know STEVE LIEBOW".

 Go ahead, tell everybody you know, I know I will.

The Funkiest Band In The Land Part 2

2011-09-21T09:20:00.000-04:00

Went to a concert a few weeks ago, J. Geils at Pine Knob. A couple years ago I saw them at a theater in Detroit and wrote a piece about the show. This is not your typical rock n roll band. I can honestly say there are no other groups that do what they do, play the type of music they play and have a relationship with Detroit like they have.

This is, what can be described as, a White, Funk, Rock Band. The music is, how can I describe it, funky, energetic and most of all, just plain fun. They first started something like 40 years ago and, with a few breaks in between, have been together ever since.

I’ve seen the band, in concert, a number of times and have always enjoyed the show. Seeing them in Detroit is completely different than when I saw them in San Diego. The last time I wrote about them I spoke of how Detroit is like a second home to them. It’s not just me saying it; the band has made it clear on numerous occasions that Detroit literally fed the band in their salad days. A two or three night sellout was not uncommon while they couldn’t even sell out one day in most parts of the country.

So, I went to the show and, as expected, the place was jammed. Yes, they played all their hits and yes, the crowd loved them. I, on the other hand, felt a little sad. I knew that this would be the last time I would ever see them live. I say that because, and I know this sounds weird, besides the fact that the members of the band are all in there 60’s; I noticed something that night that made me think this way. I couldn’t help but feel, that on many of the songs they played, they were just “mailing it in”.

Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying here, they were fun and everyone was on there feet cheering like mad. It’s just that they didn’t seem to be working as hard as they normally do. On numerous songs, Peter Wolf, the lead singer, basically just spoke the words instead of actually singing them. The music was just as powerful as usual but Wolf, normally the highlight of any of their concerts, seemed tired. The show itself was still good and, like I said earlier, the crowd loved it. It just wasn’t what I expected.
I did notice something that made me happy though. I saw the real power of music and what it can do to someone.

I’ve written about how much Peter Wolf means to the band and what an incredible front man he is. On this night I really saw what he feels. Let me explain. I truly saw the music move the man. There is no way that he could plan some of the moves he does. I could actually see the music running through the man and how his body moved in these strange ways, simply moved by the music coursing through his veins. Even though he wasn’t as dynamic as he normally is, I saw what could be called a love affair happening right before my eyes. It was so obvious how much he loved this music. Just the same can be said about the music loving him. The two seemed to be meant for each other and watching the music and Wolf interact with each other was truly a treat.

So, for me, the concert wasn’t the great show I was hoping for. I did however, once again, appreciate rock n roll for, not only what it is, but also what it does to the soul. Peter Wolf embodies what it does; he is almost its messenger, if you will. That’s something I’ll always remember and hope those that were there remember too.

The Luckster

2011-05-12T12:25:00.000-04:00

Just got back from the Vet’s, had to put Lucky down. There is no question that the time had come and I did what was right for her. The Vet said that she’d probably had a stroke and it had paralyzed the back half of her body. I had known for a month or so that she wasn’t going to be around much longer and when I heard her crying while just laying on the floor, well, the decision was made for me. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel any pain. She was my friend and I’d never want to see my friend in pain.

I was fortunate to have her in my life for over 12 years. She was already over a year old when she came to live with us so you have to figure she was near 14 when her time came. 12 years is a long time and memories are many.

I remember when we caught her laying down on her stomach with her entire face in her food dish eating her dinner. It was then that we all knew she was a true member of the family. There was also the time that Shelly put a dog door into the sliding glass door out to the backyard. Lucky was so confused; she didn’t have a clue what it was. Shelly had to crawl through it while calling her name in order for Lucky to understand that through that door was the backyard. There are so many more great memories, as we all have about our furry friends, that it would take another 12 years to repeat them all.

She was such a gentle soul and I think that was her greatest trait. She never barked, never had a problem with any other animal and absolutely adored people. All she ever wanted out of life was to be loved and everyone that knew her would comment on how sweet she was. It was always a pleasure having people meet her. She wasn’t a jumper and would just want to be near anyone new. This was truly a case of, just knowing her was to love her.

I will miss her terribly, as I already do. I’ll miss her crying to me every time I would start to peel myself a Banana and me ending up just giving it to her. I’ll miss telling her to put her “Kepi” (sp) down and her coming from wherever in the house she was to put her face on my lap. I’ll miss the way she would lay down by putting her head on the floor and letting her body just drop behind it. Oh, I’ll miss so many things about her but most of all I just miss her being here.

I used to ask her if we were good friends and she would always give a little yelp to let me know we were. We really were. She was my friend and she was my family. I am so grateful for the years we spent together. I have been talking to friends about her and have said that it seemed everyone knew her. Even if you hadn’t met her, you knew her by how much a part of my life she was. I feel a little odd still carrying on about her after a few days but, honestly, I really don’t care. She was my Dog and, as cliché’ as this sounds, my best friend. I can’t imagine what I would have done after the divorce if she hadn’t been with me.

I keep looking up for her and expecting her to walk into the room to ask for something. I feel a little sad when that happens. On the other hand, I hope I feel her presence for years to come.

Hmm...

2011-04-21T08:53:00.001-04:00

So, doing all this over analyzing that I continually do to myself, I find all kinds of things to beat myself up about. On the other hand, especially lately, there have been a few things that make me wonder if there might be a thing or two about me that that I should look into. My friends have always made me feel liked but that, and I don’t mean to downplay these relationships in any way, is what friends are for. Granted, I’ve attained a whole bunch more friends than I ever thought I’d have, and it’s wonderful just knowing they’re around.

The thing that’s been messing with my constant attempts at self-loathing is coming from total strangers. I work with the public. I see and speak to, on average, 200 people or so a day. Many of these are customers that come in to the store two or three times a week and when you see someone that often, well, you develop a relationship with them. I’ve been doing the customer service thing for years and, dare I say this, I’m really, really good at it. I’ll put my ability to deal with people up against anyone. Wait a minute, did I just admit to something good about me? Hmmm, feels a little odd. Anyway…

The other day, as I was running a register, a couple women came through and I just started playing with them. We were all three making comments about being up so early and how much we’d rather be on a beach somewhere. I said a few things that made them laugh, nothing unusual as I usually can make customers smile and laugh in a situation that doesn’t normally foster that kind of behavior. Anyway, as they were leaving and I was thanking them for their business and the two of them were laughing about something I said, one of them turned back towards me and said, “ Thanks for making our day”. I gave my standard response of, “I’m here all week, try the Veal” and they laughed some more and went along their way as I started playing with the next in line. On my way home I started thinking about what she said and other instances came to mind of total strangers, usually customers, saying that kind of thing to me. It turns out, it happens quite a bit.

Thinking about it has made me think that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been mistaken about myself. I might be a little more likable and worthwhile than I’ve ever given myself credit for. Boy, that’s kinda scary isn’t it? I’ve never paid attention to the comments from customers before. I mean, I’m just playing with them, they know that, surely they’re just playing with me too. They most certainly couldn’t be serious when they say things that are complimentary towards me, could they? Well, could they? I’m constantly being asked, by these total strangers, if I’m up to being fixed up with a friend of theirs. I, of course, just laugh it off to them and get past the question as quickly as possible. I had a woman I slightly recognized come in the store the other day with a few of her friends. As she saw me she told the group, “This is the guy I was telling you about”. I made that kind of impression on this person? That’s pretty cool. Again, maybe I’ve been wrong.

I’ve actually been feeling kind of good about myself for the last few days. Actually having a little self-confidence. I still have my demons but, seriously, the last few days I’ve been actually contemplating accepting one of these offers of being fixed up with someone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not foolish enough to think I’ll be jumping into this overnight, it’ll take a little time, but I actually feel a little closer to breaking down a wall that’s been around for almost five decades than I’ve ever felt.

Maybe I’ve been wrong, that’s something to think about.

Trying To Deal

2011-03-30T10:01:00.001-04:00

Since my last post, I’ve kind of found myself in an almost funk, if that’s the right way to say it. I’ve always known the story but have always set it up as just an incident in my life that really didn’t matter. Something like a schoolyard fight that would be forgotten or placed so far back in my memories that I’d only cruise by it in my thoughts every once in a while.

I’m not sure what, in the last few months, has brought it back into the forefront of my thoughts. Sometime before Christmas I started hearing his voice. I’ve heard it a number of times over the years but this was different. It was much louder, much closer and much more consistent. I started waking up in the morning hearing it. I’d hear it throughout the day. I was always able to shove it aside in the past but this time, I just couldn’t shake it. I knew that he couldn’t harm me, or anyone else for that matter, yet still felt a fear. I keep finding myself right back where I was all those years ago.

Writing about it had to happen. It’s how I deal with everything in my life and this was quickly becoming something major. I’ve talked to a few people about the feelings that enveloped me while writing it and how I was able to finally admit to myself how much of an impact on my life this incident had. This is the first time I can remember placing blame on someone else for something so wrong with me. What I’m finding a bit difficult is that I actually find myself feeling guilty about pushing the blame onto someone else. Questioning how I’ve been unable to “get over” something that took place almost four decades ago. I know that there are so many others that have been through much worse and I truly marvel at their abilities to have gotten past it. They are much stronger than I, that’s for sure.

The problem I’m having now is the fight within myself over whether I was right in bringing it up at all. Since bringing it out into the open, I’m finding myself much closer to it than I’ve been in years. It’s a major topic of conversation in my head. I’m finding the smallest things in my everyday life have a way of reminding me of it. I just hear the voice on a regular basis lately. I know I’ll be seeing someone to talk to about it soon, my benefits just came through from work, and hopefully that’ll help me keep things in perspective. Until then though, all I can do is do all I can, if you know what I mean.

I Was 12

2011-03-17T07:49:00.000-04:00

A 12 year old boy is put on a Greyhound bus to go visit a relative less than 100 miles away. While on this bus, events happen that, looking back some 38 years, seem to have had a major influence on this boys life. What happened on that bus has happened to thousands upon thousands of kids throughout time. The issue with this particular time is that this boy is me.

To say a sexual molestation took place would, to most people, be an untruth. To a 12-year-old child, it certainly wasn’t something he’d admit to even if it were. To a 50-year-old adult, looking back over all that time, I still have trouble figuring out how to label it. Nothing physically happened, aside from a hand consistently being placed on my knee. It was the words being spoken that still echo inside my head to this very day. If there’s such a thing as verbal molestation, well, I guess this might be the definition.

Being asked if I’d like this done to me, or how about that? Me, in a voice weakened by fear and drowning in tears, saying no to each query. “You’re so beautiful,” he’d say, over and over again. “Why don’t you let me just…?” Me, again unable to get the words out, for a complete lack of air in my lungs. I was 12 years old, you Bastard, 12 years old.

Over the years I’ve told a few people this story and I’m always reassured that it wasn’t my fault. Logically I know that. I also know that I didn’t have to sit in the window seat on a nearly empty bus, but that’s what 12 year olds do. I could have screamed and yelled. Maybe not. I don’t think my voice could have been heard by anyone, outside of my head.

I remember his face. I remember every line, every bump. I remember how his mustache had a bit more color on one side than the other. I remember how one eyelid was a little more closed than the other. I remember his dirty fingernails as his hand kept finding my knee as the verbal assault went on for what seemed like months to a 12 year old child.

I was chatting with a friend the other day about this and she asked if I still look for him. I couldn’t really answer. I’m absolutely convinced, even after all these years, that I’d recognize him. I’d like to think that I’d find him and hurt him somehow but we all know that I wouldn’t confront him in any way. He scared me like nothing has ever scared me before or since. After 38 years, he still has a hold on me on some level. He won. I fear intimacy. Every Shrink I’ve talked to about this has put a direct link to the two. Is it any wonder that holding hands is probably my favorite thing in the world? That’s what 12 year olds do. I was 12 years old once and because of this man, in many parts of my life, I still am. I was only 12 years old.

I Get Letters

2011-03-10T09:37:00.000-05:00

Doing this writing thing has, to say the least, allowed both friends and total strangers to see a part of me that they would never show others. In writing I’m not afraid to show the face we all hide from others. It also helps me while out in public. I can be alone in my thoughts and most people know that I’m fine. In most instances folks are concerned when someone is very quiet or detached in a group. There was a time in my life when I was always being asked if I was “ok” or if everything was alright. If there was something wrong, those that knew me best would know what was going on and I always found that remarkably comforting.

Another positive side of my writing is the allowance of trust that friends along with total strangers have bestowed upon me. This side effect is probably the one thing I’m most proud of when it comes to this. I couldn’t even count the number of emails I receive, mostly from people I don’t know, telling me their deepest, darkest secrets mostly relating to whatever my latest post was. I sometimes feel as though my email box has become some type of a confessional to many. I almost feel like a voyeur while reading these notes admitting the darkest secrets of ones life.

The subject matter ranges from petty crimes to things much more serious. I’ve had notes telling me of a transgression against a sibling over 30 years in the past. Most of these are just a way for the writer to get something off their chest. I never respond to these notes, I have no intention of becoming a “Dear Abby” or anything like that. I have, in some instances, sent a note asking if I could include their tale in a blog and if they agree, I sometimes have.

I will say this though: I have never written anything about anyone’s issues told to me in confidence. I think most of the writers of these notes understand that and that’s a good feeling to have. It’s one thing to be believed in by those that know me, and I value that dearly. It’s something totally different to have that same trust placed by total strangers. Total strangers to me at least. I sometimes get the feeling that these strangers know me a little better than I’m willing to admit.

Hey Nineteen

2011-03-08T06:53:00.001-05:00

I went to a local haircutting place to get the old noggin shaved. Seriously, I must be the easiest haircut they get in a day. I just walk in and ask for a number one blade all the way around. Anyway, I go in and some little Pixie that couldn’t have weighed more than 17 lbs. with 13 shades of hair has me sit in her chair and starts to wrap my neck with that tissue they use.

It’s at this point that I’m always asked if I really want to use a number one blade. They ask if I realize how tight to the scalp it’ll make my hair. Have you seen my hair? Do I look like I worry about how tight to the scalp it is?

Once the buzzing begins, for reasons I’ve never understood, whoever is doing the buzzing starts doing their “get personal with the customer” gig. I prefer the no questions cut but I understand that they want to give me that personal experience. Every once in a while there may be a decent conversation that ensues but yesterday I was in the chair while someone who may, on a good day, pass for 18 tried to converse with me.

This is the part that got to me. Truly, there was nothing that this young woman and I could have talked about, in the time allotted that would interest either of us. It occurred to me that I’m fully one generation older than this girl. Talking politics didn’t seem to be something that would get us anywhere and I didn’t care enough to ask her about who she was dating. We each made a feeble attempt at conversation as I just waited for the cut to end.

Something that I’m well conversed in is music. As I was sitting there I thought about bringing up the subject. How could this young woman know about the music I listened to? How could I know anything about the bands she enjoyed? I had to giggle inside as a song started playing in my head. “Hey Nineteen” by Steely Dan started ringing very true to me. I’m getting old.

“Hey nineteen, that’s Aretha Franklin.
She don’t remember the Queen of Soul”

Ahhh, to be young again…

Part Two

2011-02-28T07:51:00.001-05:00

I feel like I need to explain myself a bit after my last post. Not because I owe anyone an explanation but I just feel I need to clarify, you know, make things I said a little clearer.

When I say I’m afraid of being like my Father I’m only trying to compare Apples to Apples. I know there are many differences between us. Believe me, I thank my stars every day for that. What I see as so similar is our emotional retardation. His inability to accept others’ love and affection is something I don’t think anyone can say isn’t something I also suffer from. The difference is, and this is something I kind of admire about him, is his ability to at least fake it. Actually, he would know exactly what I’m talking about.

Something I’ve truly strived for and, I believe I’ve succeeded at, is in most of my relationships with people I try to let them know how important they are to me. You guys know what you mean to me. I’ve written ad-nauseum about that very subject on so many occasions that I sometimes get the feeling you’ve got to be kinda sick of it. That’s something he’s never even attempted.

Where I feel I’ve failed miserably is in allowing the reciprocation of those feelings to enter my reality. I’ve always written about how much I want to feel love and though so many of you are constantly trying to reassure me of said love, I just, I don’t know, find it hard to fathom. Yeah, I know, that all comes back to one loving themselves and that’s the real thing that I need to work on.

See, there’s another similarity between us. And, once again, I admire his ability to fake it. That’s really the one and only trait I wish I could carry on from him. I know, deep inside, that I’m not the fraud I fear so much and I truly believe you all when you tell me the same. For that, I will always be grateful to each and every one of you.

He's So Empty

2011-02-27T16:38:00.000-05:00

I can’t believe how angry I am at him right now. I’ve never been one to blame any of my problems on anyone but me. Looking at him this weekend, at times, filled me with a rage I haven’t felt before. Actually, I really didn’t feel it until I woke up this morning and knew I needed to get in the car to leave.

I’ve written a number of times about my fears of becoming like him and I realize that nobody thinks we’re anything alike. While seeing him though, it was so obvious to me how similar we are. The purest difference between us is that I’m ashamed of these traits while throughout his life he wore them as a badge of honor.

Every single quality he believes he has are the same things I abhor about myself. He spent his marriage to my Mother basically ignoring her. I was very close to the same with Shelly. We Kids always talked about how empty he was inside. How, in reality he could never have a real relationship with anyone simply because he was incapable of loving anyone. Over the last few years I’ve overcompensated so much that I practically beg for it and when presented the opportunity shut myself down so much that it seems I have no interest. I’m so afraid of the whole thing and twice as ashamed for feeling that way.

The people that like him have no idea what he’s really like simply because he has no ability to let anyone in. I’m so afraid that what you all see in me is the same act that he’s been putting on for as long as anyone can remember. It’s always show time for him and I can’t help but wonder, obviously with different personalities, if I’m just as big of a fraud as he is. I’m always questioning if I’m just putting on this open, sensitive act to ensure that I’ll always have people around.

I know, we’re all broken in one way or another. I can’t help but think that my cracks are a direct result of him. When I first saw him yesterday, as he had no idea I was coming, his first words to me were. “Oh, I thought I was gonna have a good day”. Of course, my being as plastic as he, we both laughed. I used to call him Daddy as a small child and I’m so ashamed of that. I’ve been yelling at myself all day during the drive home and I literally feel pain and exhaustion just from the whole head game. I didn’t deserve that from him. None of us did. Excuse my language but, fuck you Dad. FUCK you Dad. FUCK YOU DAD!!!

Things Just Seem To Work Out

2011-02-16T09:22:00.000-05:00

I’ve always had this, feeling I guess, that no matter what situation or life happenstance I’m in, things would just work out. It’s funny when I think about it. I mean, I don’t set myself up in these situations or anything, but even in my worst of times I think, ok, whatever happens, happens and I’ll still wake up in the morning and I’ll go on. I often wonder how much of an effect this has had on the direction I’ve taken throughout my now 50 years.

I think my lack of drive or ambition has probably been hit the hardest because of this “condition” or whatever it might be called. Not going to school never bothered me, simply because I just figured my life would work out. Not working hard to develop a real career, same thing. My marriage was kind of like the same thing too. I knew what I had to do to make it work, I just figured I didn’t have to worry about it cuz things would just work out. Even when I knew we were getting divorced, I just went along my merry way, knowing things were just going to work out.

I still, even though I find myself in places I know I shouldn’t be in, feel like it’s gonna be ok. I know when I’m down and hating everything around, I’m really not too worried about things. I mean, just because I’m down doesn’t mean I have this thought of impending doom. I’m not like that character in the old carton Gulliver’s Travels.

Lately, seeing what and where I am, I’m starting to think more and more about things. I know that this feeling I’ve carried forever can also be attributed to laziness. I just don’t want to work that hard to accomplish things. Even realizing that, I still figure I’ll be alright. The problem, to me at least, is that I’m now finding there are things in life I have to work for and I’m not sure I have the skill set to do them. It’s like this: I know that I can have the things I want so badly but in order to get there I have to turn a switch on the wall. The issue is the switch is very high up and I can’t find the ladder. I sometimes think the ladder has yet to be invented, like it’s waiting for me to invent it. The problem is, I don’t know how. Even with these thoughts, I know what I should do, that’s never been a question, I still have this feeling that it’ll all work out.

Whatever

2011-02-06T10:10:00.000-05:00

Driving around the other day, I hopped on the freeway and just let the road guide me. As I was moving along at a decent pace, I saw an accident occur. I saw one car move over and slam into another at around 70 miles per hour. I dialed 911 from my cell almost as soon as I saw it and was told that the Police and Ambulance were already on their way. This next part is gonna sound really strange and please, trust me on this, I’m ok. As I kept going I couldn’t help well, not wishing, but almost feeling jealous that it wasn’t me that got hit. Not that I want to get hurt or that I have some kind of death wish, I just, I don’t know, I’m just ready.

Those that know me well understand that this is nothing new. I’ve always been quite open on my feelings of life and death. My biggest complaint about dying has never been death itself, it’s the pain involved with it. While driving that day I couldn’t help thinking how misunderstood this feeling of mine is.

I was talking to a friend the other day about it and she thought I should see someone to talk to about it. I told her I was and she said that I should change Therapists because if I was still thinking this way then she wasn’t doing her job. I find this logic ludicrous. I’ve always thought that a Therapists job was to help one understand their feelings and thoughts not change them. I’ve seen numerous Shrinks over the years and have never hidden my thoughts on the subject. Obviously, they’ve never felt I was in any kind of danger or I would have been committed years ago. Again, anyone that knows me understands that I’m in no danger of hurting myself.

It’s almost like wishful thinking. No, that’s not right either. I’ve always used the word ambivalent when talking about the possibility of dying. I guess I can also use the same word for living. I don’t hate life. I don’t love life. It’s just there. I wake up, ok. I go to work, ok. But I’m just as ok with the idea of not doing those things. I know I’ll get notes and comments’ telling me how wonderful life is and, for those that say it, I’m sure it is. But I’ll also get notes from those that tell me they agree with me and that they’ve never wanted to be a part of life. That’s where the misunderstanding comes in. I don’t feel that way. I just feel like I’m ok either way. I don’t hate living yet I also don’t hate the thought of not living. I think it might be the lazy way to look at it. Whatever…

Ticking Away

2011-01-20T08:25:00.001-05:00

Turning 50 in a few days. I’m not really sure how I feel about that. There are the obvious self-asked questions: How much longer might I live? What have I done with my life? Why haven’t I done this or that? I suppose everyone asks these questions throughout their lives. More so, I guess, the older we get. I’m gonna try to not rehash all the regrets I have about the things I’ve done again, I’ve done that here before. I just find it interesting how unlike a 50 year old I, and many others of my generation feel and act.

I’m always talking to people about how much younger we are at this age than our parents were. My Dad moved out of the house when he was 40. I can’t think of anyone around that didn’t think of him as an old man at the time. I’m quite sure his generation felt the same about his parents and my kids feel the same about me. Still, I can’t imagine my parents listening to the music I listen to or liking the things I do. I often wonder what the thoughts of my parents was and is as it compares to mine, not just at this age, but throughout their lives.

I’m not naïve enough to pretend that my likes, dislikes, fears and all the other stuff in my head is so different to anyone else’s but I do wonder how others deal with it better or worse than I do. I know there are very few that allow others so deep into their lives as I have chosen to do. I know I’m quite different than most in that aspect of life. The idea that I’m different than most when it comes to that sometimes gives me pause. I know people must get tired of it and for that I feel bad. I guess it comes down to the idea of me being who I am, take it or leave it, I’ve found, especially over the last couple of years, that this ridiculously large amount of people I’m fortunate to call friends not only allow it but have somehow seemed to embrace this aspect of my life. For that, I am eternally grateful.

I was chatting with a friend last night and I mentioned that there’s a comfort in being a freak and knowing it. It makes things easier for me to know I don’t have to put on a face that, for me at least, is such hard work while out and about. I realize that there are many out there that think I’m full of it and must think I’m faking it when I say the things I do when I’m writing. I simply can’t afford to think about. In the words of the world famous sailor, Popeye, “I am what I am”. I’ve often said that I’m not comfortable in my own skin and I’ve found a way to find a spot in my head to get as comfy as possible with what I have. Am I happy with who I am? No, not even close. Be that as it may be, I still wake up each day and fog the mirror and I’m told that means it’s a good day.

There’s a lyric from a Pink Floyd song that goes, “Another day older and one day closer to death”. I don’t look forward to death so don’t think I’m on the verge of hurting myself or anything like that. I “get” that lyric though. That’s pretty much how I’ve looked at things for as long as I can remember. Thinking that way has obviously shaped the way I am when it comes to being so open about my thoughts and feelings. Man that sounds so morose. It’s not meant to be, but that brings it back to the comfort in knowing myself thing I mentioned earlier. I do like that about myself. I’ve had these thoughts for so long that there’s comfort in knowing where they are and how to get there when I need to. It’s a lot like coming home after work and slipping into my chair. For those that know me well, you know what I mean.

So Happy Birthday to me in a few days. I think I’m ok with it. If not, I’ll just do some searching inside to find the most comfortable way to deal with it and park myself there for a while. Maybe light up a stogie, have a glass of wine and talk to myself for a while. Yeah, there’s comfort there.

It Really Is A Small World

2011-01-18T10:15:00.000-05:00

I have this program on my computer that tells me where people are when they get onto my blog. It’s a pretty nice tool and I always like to see the interesting places that people are from that read my stuff. I’ve seen readers from all over the United States, Canada and all over Europe. There are consistent visitors from Moscow, Taiwan and Brazil. One of my favorite things about the blog is the idea that people all over the world have the ability to read it.

The other day I saw that someone had left a comment on a piece called, “Logic, Don’t Look Here”. I opened up the locator program and saw that someone from Tehran, Iran had been on the blog at around the time the comment was left. I thought that was pretty cool. As I was looking at the program, the reader from Tehran came on again. I always like when someone from the same area comes back. I always hope it’s the same person and that they liked what they read and wanted to see more.

A couple minutes after noticing the visitor coming back, I got a message on Facebook. Clicking on it, I saw it was from someone with an Arabic name and nobody I knew. The message asked if I was the writer of the blog and I responded that yes, I was. Within minutes I had a friend request on Facebook from this same person. It kind of took me aback for a second and I decided to take a couple days to think about it.

I’ve thought a lot about the request and, I must admit, I don’t think there has been a minute that I considered accepting the request. There are a couple of reasons for not accepting. The first, and I’m not proud of it, is the idea that someone from a part of the world that is considered an enemy of the United States wants into my circle of friends. That sounds horrible, I know. We all have our prejudices and this has shown me one of mine. Like I said, I’m not proud of it but, it is what it is.

The second, and more important reason, is much more basic. I simply don’t know the person. I am incredibly flattered that there are people out there that have no idea who I am that read and enjoy my writing. The idea that I may have tapped into someone’s feelings with something I’ve written makes me feel wonderful. It also gives me a sort of self-validation on my own feelings. That being said, there is a line that appears that I’m simply not willing to cross.

Though I am very open about myself in the blog, there is still a feeling of anonymity once it’s published. My friends that read it understand me and who and what I am in real life compared to the writer. These friends are people that I’ve chosen to have in my life. Those readers that don’t know me have their own opinions about who I am without knowing me personally. I have always said there is a difference between the person that writes and the person many of you know. The person that you really know wants you to know him. That’s what friends are. My Facebook friends are either people that I personally know or those that, over the years, I’ve developed a real relationship with. Anonymous readers of the blog are not. It’s nothing personal, and I’m flattered by the attention I’ve received from these unknown readers. Still, like I mentioned earlier, there’s a line that I feel shouldn’t be crossed. I like that the line is there, it gives me a sense of safety in my head. Those that know me understand that completely and that’s what makes them my friends.

The New Kid In Town

2011-01-02T20:01:00.000-05:00

I have smoked a decent amount of “Pot” in my life. That’s Marijuana, for those not hip on my vocabulary. I smoked it more as a teen and gradually slowed down the older I got. I always enjoyed the buzz and it was never anything that people could say was making me act all crazy and out of control. That last part is and always has been very important to me. While living in San Diego I would smoke a joint on the way to work and nobody could ever tell. If I mentioned it to someone, they’d be surprised because they could never tell. Why do it then? Well, I just enjoyed it. It gave me a decent buzz and I could go along my normal actions and it was never a big deal.

When I got married I slowed down quite a bit simply because I didn’t want to spend the money on it as I now had a family to help support. I would still smoke a bit when I was out with friends but never at home. Honestly, I think I bought some once the entire time I was married. After moving to Florida I bought some once. It was a rather large amount and being that I smoked so little at a time, I kept it in my cigar humidor and it lasted for what seemed like a year. What I’m trying to say here is that I don’t smoke very often anymore. I just don’t want to spend the money on it. I’ll still take a hit off a joint once in a while but there’s also plenty of times that, while in the company of some that are smoking, I’ll just pass. I still like the buzz but it just takes a little to hit me and, of course, I’m able to stay in control of myself throughout.

Well, there’s this new “herb” being passed around these days and it’s completely legal. It’s called Salvia and it’s gaining in popularity. I don’t know very much about it but a couple friends have tried it. Their descriptions of the high are quite entertaining. It makes me actually curious about it. I’ve never dropped Acid or done any other types of hallucinogens and one of the reasons I’ve enjoyed smoking pot is because I can stay in control while smoking it. That doesn’t seem to be possible here.

There are instructions that come with the product and one of the “suggestions” is to not smoke it alone. You should have someone with you to watch over you as you go on this “journey”. That right there is what stops me from ever trying it. I am such a freak about staying in control and never letting anyone see me out of said control that the very thought scares me to death. That fear is one of the main reasons I never get drunk. The very idea of losing control sends a chill throughout my body. There are maybe two people in my life that I would trust enough to allow them to see me that way but once I’d come down from this trip I don’t think I could look them in the eye again. It’s like they would know something too personal about me and I’m way too guarded for that.

I think this is one of those instances where my being such a freak is a good thing. This stuff can’t do you any good and maybe my being so afraid for someone to see me like that is one of those signs from above telling me I’m doing the right thing by not touching the stuff. I’m still curious though.

Happy New Year 2011

2010-12-30T09:56:00.001-05:00

The end of another year is upon us. 2010 wasn’t what I’d call an easy year. Being out of work for half of it ensured that. People say that along with the good comes the bad. Well. The reverse was quite true for me. While out of work I had a number of friends and relatives that helped make sure I had enough to pay my bills, eat and have a social life that anyone would be happy about. For that, I can never give the thanks that are truly deserved.

One of the goals I’ve always set for myself is to not be an ass. By that, I mean to treat other people decently. I think I’ve done pretty well with that. I’ve made a few new friends and that can never be a bad thing. I’ve reconnected with a number of folks from my past and, over the last few years, that’s proven to be nothing but positive. . All in all I’ve done all right with a few asterisks along the way. I think that can be said for most of us.

I’ve still got things in my personal life I need to work on, we all do, and maybe the New Year will see changes in those areas. I’d like to be more open to new relationships. That’s something that I’ve always struggled with and turning 50 in a month, well, it night be time to grow up in that area of my life. I need to start taking better care of my life and it’s surroundings. Things like keeping the house and my car clean would be nice. I’m always embarrassed to invite friends over simply because I don’t keep things as neat as I should. All in all, I’d just like to be better. I can’t promise that it’ll be the case but, with baby steps, maybe I can make improvements along the way. On the other hand, maybe I won’t do anything differently. All I can do is give it a shot.

So, Happy New Year, everybody. I hope you all get everything your heart desires. Try to be nice to each other. Things always go much smoother when you start with that.

Here We Go Again

2010-12-20T09:44:00.001-05:00

I was on my way to the “Palace” to see the Pistons the other night. I was meeting a few friends that I hadn’t seen in a few years. I was thinking, though I really don’t like pro basketball, it’d be nice to see the guys, and best of all, the ticket was free. I got out of work a little early, came home and got Lucky out and changed then headed to the Palace to meet up with the gang.

I was about half way there when I started having one of my little episodes. You know the ones. My brain started telling me about all the horrible things that were bound to happen once I arrived. Of course, the people I was meeting wouldn’t really want me there. They were no doubt regretting their decision of inviting me before I had even arrived. Then the fight in my head started. I started telling myself how ridiculous I was being and knew that it wasn’t really happening. As I kept getting closer to my destination, the argument kept going and I started sweating and was having a hard time catching my breath. I ended up doing the dumbest thing possible and turned around and came home.

I’ve had these type of things happen to me so many times but it still doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. The obvious and most advised solution is to be on an anti anxiety medication. Well, guess what? I was. I got an RX for one a few weeks ago. I took one about an hour or so before I left work. It did absolutely nothing to stop my brain from telling me all the things we’re supposed to not believe about ourselves. Obviously, I need to see about getting a different one as Xanax does nothing to help.

Feeling like this is especially bad this time of year. The Holiday season is supposed to be a time to be together with friends and family and with the obligations to attend these events I’ve been in a mood to beat all moods since the Thanksgiving. I would give anything to be able to skip this time of year on a regular basis. It’s one of the reasons I’ve never minded working during the Holiday season. It’s the easiest out I have for anything. Unfortunately my store closes early on Christmas Eve and closed on Christmas day.

I guess I’m just writing this to sort of give an apology and an explanation to anyone that finds my behavior off putting and I hope they’ll understand that, truly, it’s not them, it’s me. I really wish I didn’t realize how childish this all is. Sadly, for me, it’s simply not the case.

We'll Just Never Get It

2010-12-14T09:28:00.001-05:00

Got a phone call the other night on my way home from the brother of someone I used to know with some pretty sad news. To say I was surprised to hear from him is quite an understatement. I barely knew him and had just become reacquainted with his sister. He called to tell me his Sister had died a few days earlier and, when I asked what had happened, he told me she had committed suicide. Not knowing how to respond, I gave my condolences and we chatted for a couple minutes about what had been going on in her life. I had just spoken to her over Thanksgiving and hadn’t spoken to her, before that, for around 30 years.

It seems she was in the middle of a bad marriage, thankfully had no kids and had recently cleaned up after a life of drugs and alcohol. Obviously, the demons hidden by the drugs and drinking were too much for her to handle and, not getting the help she obviously needed, she saw no other way or reason to continue living. I’m sure all of us can come up with a million things we could have told her to try to convince her that life was worth the effort. I felt a bit of guilt when I heard the news; I think that’s a natural thing. When I spoke to her I didn’t notice anything out of order in the things we talked about but, still, I wish I had noticed something was amiss. I hadn’t spoken to her in decades, I truly didn’t know the person I was chatting with and she gave no indication of what was to come.

I’ve always had different feelings than most about suicide. Don’t misunderstand what I’m about to say; I don’t want anyone to kill themselves. I do, however, understand the feeling of wanting to end ones life. I’ve always felt that there are certain people that are just “wired” wrong. Well, wrong isn’t the right word. Let’s just say that they aren’t meant to live this thing we call life. I seriously think that it just happens to some and though we, as a society, have been taught that life is so precious, it’s not that way for everyone.

Of course I believe that we should try to help those that truly feel this way. I can imagine little worse than dealing with these demons on a daily basis. I’ve had my own issues over the years and I know it’s a tough road to hoe. I’m not saying we should have some sort of panel to decide if it’s ok for one to end up killing themselves, I don’t pretend to think that’s a good idea. I just think we need to try to understand those that are in such a position, mentally, and not just write them off as weak or crazy. Life isn’t an easy task, and it is a task, some are just incapable of making it through to its natural conclusion.

I don’t know all the circumstances of this person I had just started talking to again and I hope she did find some happiness in her short life. What I won’t do is blame her for deciding life wasn’t worth the effort. I think that’s the least we owe these friends and family members of people that loved them.

They're Only Thoughts

2010-12-05T11:18:00.001-05:00

I spend a lot of my time trying to protect myself from harm. I think if you have read any of my previous posts you know what it is I’m talking about. I’ve always had a hard time making myself comfortable in pretty much any environment I find myself, no matter who I’m with or what I’m doing, out in the real world, I can literally bury myself in thoughts of self doubt so deep it’s almost certain to have a direct effect on the enjoyment of whatever I’m doing.

Lately I’ve been trying to find those “happy” places and identify them at the moment they occur. It seems that my only true comfort zone is when I’m at work. It’s got little to do with liking my job. There’s a feeling I get when doing the grocery store thing that just settles me in ways I can’t seem to find anywhere else. I was chatting with a friend the other day and tried to explain what I mean by that.

It all seems to come down to those damn expectations I work so hard at denying. When I’m at work, the expectations are set; the variables are few as there is always a solid plan that I have to follow. In real life, things are too wide open. There are too many ways to do each and every little thing. I have to be at work at a certain time. I have to perform certain functions and have a kind of map for all the tasks I have to do. There are certain ways to do this and that and, after years of practice, I’ve become pretty good at it.

Outside of work things are quite different. There’s nobody telling me what needs to be done, how to perform each task and, worst of all, this free will thing. I have too many choices and my fear of anything that requires commitment rules pretty much everything I do. Some friends and I joke about it sometimes. My first response to any question involving plans of any sort is either a quick “no” or a “let me see what’s going on” while I scramble for a way to ensure I have a valid, for me, excuse not to attend whatever it is I’m working so hard at avoiding.

It really doesn’t matter how much I’ll enjoy whatever the invite is for, I automatically switch to excuse mode. I think the problem is time. There’s always too much time between the invite and the event and I spend the duration of that time fighting within myself about wanting to do whatever it is and convincing myself that nobody really wants me there anyway. I know, that’s crazy. Why would they ask and all that other stuff. It doesn’t matter though. The thoughts are real and, as we all know, perception is reality.

Logic? Don't Look Here

2010-11-29T10:31:00.002-05:00

There have always been times in my life, as I’m sure we can all say, that I’ve questioned the point of it all. I, however, happen to do this more often than anyone I know. I think the reason I do it more than others is simply a case of my own laziness. When most people do this self-examination thing, they usually find something in their makeup that they want to change and they go about finding a way to do just that. They take a class, they start an exercise regimen, they do something, anything to try to self-correct whatever it is that’s bothering them.

I, on the other hand, always have good intentions but never, and I mean never, have attempted to take that first step towards changing whatever it is that I don’t like. Oh, I think about it, I plan it and tell myself that today is the day and all that other stuff we tell ourselves. Then the idea of the task hits me and I just let it go by the wayside. Oh, I still question everything it’s just that the question I ask is more along the lines of “Why me”? Or, “how much longer is this gonna last”? Like either of those are valid on any level.

Lately it seems the questions are more frequent than usual. I always get this way during the holidays and I’ll gladly attribute my feelings to the season. I’m thinking that maybe turning 50 in a couple months may be adding to the malaise too. Not because I’m feeling that mortality thing, not even close, more along the lines of what a waste of time it and I have been. I know, I know, we all question where we are and what we’ve done. I also know, as I’ve written about on numerous occasions, that we all have regrets. Here’s the rub: I have always been uncomfortable in my own skin. I’ve never wanted to be me. I know, once again, numerous people feel that way. My bigger issue is that I don’t want to be anyone else either. So what are the options? Kill myself? Never gonna happen, for reasons that have been discussed over and over again. So I sit and whine about my life and for reasons nobody I know can explain, write about it. I guess it beats talking to myself while walking in the mall.

I go out and see people, everyone having a good time, and I’m just burning up inside. I touched on this a bit in my last post but it’s a jealousy thing. Why can’t I enjoy it as much as they are? I literally find myself getting mad at them, like how dare they have this joy that I find so elusive. I look at the pictures and see everyone doing these normal social activities, which any adult should have wired at this point in their lives, and all I can do is look for the escape. First to my car then to my chair where I melt into this thing of nothingness that does nothing but get me more upset about the whole thing. It’s a constant that’s been with me for as long as I can remember. Not being part of this social scene is always an option and it does beg the question of why I do it. I have this ultimate fear of what I’d turn into if I didn’t go out and attend these functions. It’s a good thing I have to work because I could so easily find myself slipping into a reclusive lifestyle and hating myself even more for it.

You know what’s even worse? This all makes sense to me.

A Jumbled Mass Of...

2010-11-26T07:53:00.001-05:00

One of these days I’ll figure out what it is about Holidays that I find, I don’t know, maddening. It’s the day after Thanksgiving and I’m finding myself actually getting upset about it. I find it so hard to articulate what the feelings are, but they’re always there. It’s almost like a jealousy thing. I find myself almost more bothered by the fact that everyone else is enjoying the season than by the idea of the Holidays themselves.

I have to tread lightly in what I’m trying to say so as not to offend anyone here and I don’t want anyone to think I don’t enjoy the time I spend with family and friends. I’ve always had a hard time understanding why we have, in the case of Thanksgiving, one day where we are “thankful”. Seriously, do we really need to be reminded to be thankful, if that’s what you are, for what we have? It just seems so, I don’t know, contrived sometimes. I know, it’s always a good thing to be reminded but seriously, it seems that we’re more interested in the Black Friday deals than we are in the Holiday anyway, so why not just pick any day during any month and have a nice meal with family and friends? I know, most of us already do that; it’s called having a social life. See? This is why it’s so exhausting being me. All day yesterday, these were the thoughts going through my head.

Yesterday, as I sat in my chair, knowing I’d be heading up to Karen’s in a short while, I started having one of my typical panicky moments. I actually broke out in a sweat at the thought of having dinner with those closest to me. How ridiculous is that? What harm could possibly happen to me by what the day held?

My nephew called with an extra ticket to the Lions game and I quickly accepted. Of course going to a Thanksgiving game is cool and the drive, first to the stadium and then to Lansing, was something I looked forward to. I think the drive helps me in situations like this. I downloaded a number of episodes of “This American Life” onto the phone and listened to one on the way to the game and another two going to Lansing. Getting caught up in what I’m listening to doesn’t afford the time to dwell on the whole social thing facing me when I get to my destination. Of course dinner and family were wonderful, always is. I just have such a hard time convincing myself of that before the fact.

Tonight is that Bar Night thing I wrote about last year. Hundreds of folks from my High School gather at a local venue and have an all class reunion if you will. I’ve known about it for months and, though slowly, I’ve become more and more nervous about it as the time gets closer. I want to go. I want to see everyone. I wish I could just close my eyes and be in the middle of the place, surrounded by everyone instead of spending the day knowing that I am going there. In this case, I know that the juice is worth the squeeze. The squeeze is just so painful sometimes that I just want to hide myself in a closet and never be found. I’m working today and by the time I get off the shindig will have already started. I simply dread the ride to the venue; it’s too short a distance to entrance myself in a radio show. I want to just blink my eyes and, you know…

I Don't Wanna Grow Up

2010-11-21T09:36:00.001-05:00

A little over two years ago, many of my friends, along with myself, joined the social networking site, Facebook. I’ve written on numerous occasions how I feel about the site and can never really put into words how much it’s literally changed who I am. I know there are many out there that appreciate it just as much. It’s allowed us to reacquaint ourselves with our youth and, to me, it’s been an incredible journey. The education I’ve gained from this journey is one that’s helped me in more ways than one could count.

Lately I’ve noticed a number of folks talking about how bored they are with the site. How they aren’t having fun with it any longer. I find it a bit humorous that the people they are talking to about this are the same people they would have never even spoken to if it weren’t for Facebook.

I was chatting with a friend, I would never be talking to if not for FB, about this very subject the other day and came up with this idea of what seems to be happening. I told her we were all like kids that had just moved onto the same block at the same time. We all, at the beginning, would go out and play everyday, with everyone. As is with most neighborhood kids, we soon found our own little group of friends that we would play with more than others. The problem, as I’m sure you all remember, is that eventually the wonder of it all would somehow disappear. The process would take time, almost unnoticeable, until eventually you lose touch and would only see each other on rare occasions.

It’s kind of funny the way things have worked out. If you think about it, it really does mirror our actual lives. You move away and go to college, get a job, get married and raise a family. In the process, you lose touch with most of the friends of your youth. It’s nothing personal, you just grow up.

Well, just as in my youth, I’m not sure I’m ready to grow up. I don’t want to lose touch with all my friends on the block. It’s meant way too much to me and I’m not sure I can afford the loss. I know I’ve depended on these cyber friendships more than most and many out there laugh at my addiction to the whole thing. Be that as it may, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going away to college. I’m not getting married. I’m staying at home, living with my parents, as it were. I have no problem being thought of as “that guy” we all knew of back then.

I was at work a few weeks ago and a guy came through my checkout line. I’d never seen him before and when I said “Hi”, he responded with, “ I know you, you’re the funniest guy on Facebook”. It turns out he’s a friend of a friend and sees some of the stuff I post. It felt kind of cool, being almost famous like. I’ve met a number of people that have told me they knew me from the site. I like that, it’s a real good feeling and one I’m not willing to let go away. So, you guys that want to go away to college, go ahead. I’ll be right here if you want to come back and play a game of pick-up football in the street. Remember, two completions or two squares for a first down.

How Incredibly Sad

2010-11-11T09:00:00.000-05:00

There is a story here in the local papers about a 14-year-old girl that filed Statutory Rape charges against an 18-year-old boy at her school. The police were investigating the case and charges were filed against the young man. It soon became public and the 14-year-old child was interviewed on television. She gave her side of the story, with her identity hidden and, though there’s no way to know if she was telling the truth, sounded pretty credible. I don’t pretend to know much about the case, didn’t really pay much attention to it, shame on me. My natural assumption was that this guy forced himself on this child and that he was nothing but garbage. Well, it turns out, there was, and is, so much more to the story.

There are always three sides to every story. The first of which is what we’ve heard on the news. The third is the fact that this poor kid hung herself earlier this week and a young life ended far too soon. The second side of the story is more confusing than one could imagine. I’m pasting a story from today’s Free Press into this post for all to see. It’s an opinion piece, yet gives us all a better view into the events that took place.

Teen's life too short -- and too public
BY BRIAN DICKERSON DETROIT FREE PRESS COLUMNIST

Under Michigan law, it is illegal to have sex with a 14-year-old girl, even if she consents.

But there's no law against broadcasting on television the same 14-year-old's account of her sexual activity. And that's a shame, because if there were such a law, Samantha Kelly might still be alive today.
Late on Sept. 26, Samantha's mother, June Justice, told Huron Township police that her daughter, a freshman at Huron High School, admitted having sexual intercourse with Joseph Tarnopolski, an 18-year-old senior who lived eight homes down the road from theirs.
In a handwritten statement and two separate interviews conducted outside her mother's presence, Samantha said she and Tarnopolski had sex for two hours one morning while Tarnopolski's parents were away. She admitted telling Tarnopolski that she was anxious to lose her virginity. Police later found text message exchanges supporting the two teenagers' accounts that their sexual encounter had been consensual.
Those accounts, coupled with the fact that Samantha was too young to consent legally to sexual contact with anyone, gave prosecutors the grounds to charge Tarnopolski with third-degree criminal sexual conduct, a felony punishable by up to 15 years in prison and 25 years on Michigan's public sex offender registry.
Fox 2's version of the story
These would surely qualify as seismic events in the lives of any two teenagers. But for Samantha Kelly and Joseph Tarnopolski, things were about to get much worse.
In early October, distressed by the hostility her daughter faced at school from Tarnopolski and his friends, June Justice contacted Detroit's Fox News affiliate, WJBK-TV (Channel 2). On Oct. 18, the station broadcast a 21/2-minute segment in which Samantha, accompanied on-screen by her mother, charged for the first time that Tarnopolski had forced himself on her. An anchor's introduction to the piece called it a case of rape.
The issue of coercion was irrelevant to the statutory charge prosecutors had lodged against Tarnopolski. But the Channel 2 broadcast complicated the case in two ways.
First, it introduced a new version of events inconsistent with both Samantha's previous accounts and her text messages to the defendant.
Second, it turned what had been a closely held secret into general knowledge among the 850 students at Huron High. Many sided with Tarnopolski, a popular upperclassman who vehemently denied Samantha's allegations of coercion and branded his accuser a liar.
Where were grown-ups?
Wednesday, a day after Samantha hanged herself in her family's home, June Justice charged that the taunting and bullying her daughter had endured in the last three weeks had directly precipitated her suicide. But that's hardly the whole story.
Surely, Samantha's decision to go public with her allegations -- supported by her mother and abetted by Fox 2 journalists -- left the 14-year-old dramatically more exposed to criticism and ridicule. The WJBK segment blurred Samantha's face, but the station broadcast clear video images of Tarnopolski, Justice and Huron High, and identified all three by name. The segment's prime-time airing ended both Samantha's anonymity and her alleged attacker's interest in keeping his own version of events to himself.
Then there was the new charge of coercion. Prosecutors frankly doubted the revised account Samantha had provided in the WJBK broadcast, and warned that they would not abet any attempt to exaggerate the circumstances of her encounter with Tarnopolski in his preliminary examination, which was scheduled for Wednesday.
It's reasonable to conclude that Samantha knew she was in for a humiliating experience if Tarnopolski's lawyers were permitted to cross-examine her. She knew she'd be asked to reconcile the differences between the account she had given prosecutors and the one she gave for TV. Had she simply neglected to mention in those initial interviews that she had been forcibly raped? Or had she embellished her account after some of her peers questioned her decision to press charges?
That's how it was bound to go down on the witness stand: Was she lying then -- or lying now?
The end of the world
Any adult would shrink from such an experience. To a 14-year-old, it must have looked like the end of the world -- and for Samantha Kelly, it was.
In court Wednesday, after the charges against Tarnopolski were dismissed, June Justice railed at the high school peers who taunted her daughter.
"All them peers really need to think now, more than they ever have before, what they did," she said. "I want to know how they're sleeping."
But teenagers didn't put a 14-year-old freshman in front of a TV camera and broadcast her teenage angst to the world.

There’s really not much more to say after reading this. Yes, schoolyard taunting had a great deal to do with this and we should all pay attention to it. we’re reading and hearing far too many stories related to it. it’s that second side to the story that makes me wonder even more about where we, as a society, have gone. It’s all such a shame on so many levels.

All Those Little Pieces

2010-11-08T10:44:00.000-05:00

I know this guy, known him for close to 40 years, that everyone I know agrees is a bit strange. Nothing terrible, he’s a good guy and has a lot of friends, there’s just something a bit “off” about him. I find myself getting frustrated beyond belief every time I’m with him for any extended amount of time and that has made me wonder about a few things.

I wonder what it is that allows me to set the standard of what being a bit off is? I’m thinking that we all have to use ourselves as the measuring stick when it comes to these things. I mean, this friend for instance, he sits around and wonders about others just like the rest of us. While doing this, “normal” is him. His standard is himself, as it seems it should be. I can’t see how there can be any other measuring device. When any of us are talking to others about someone, and we all do, we’re comparing them to ourselves and that begs the bigger issue. How are you, me, or any other person, the standard?

I know when it comes to me, at times people must think I’m as weird as it gets. I sit and write about every issue that confronts me and put it out for the entire world to see. That’s certainly not the standard of the vast majority of people. Yet, in my mind, it’s the normal thing to do. I often wonder what I’d think if one of my friends did the same thing. Odds are I’d be talking to friends about this person and we’d all agree, this guy aint right.

I’m not saying that it’s anything so bad that we push someone completely out of our lives but don’t we all, whether we like it or not, feel that everyone is a bit “off” at times? Of course we do. I think that’s part of being human. We have that ability to look past the faults of others. The question is, who decides the faults? It’s you, it’s me, it’s the inner being of all of us.

We’re all a little broken in some way. I’ve stated on numerous occasions that I’ve got more issues than T.V. Guide but somehow they’re forgiven by the world at large and I’m able to go along my little immature life without being constantly hammered about it. I can’t imagine what life would be like if we were called onto the carpet for all our idiosyncrasies.