I have no personal story to relate this time around, but wow. Read this one. (It's a very short story, well worth thirty seconds of your time.)
And this, my friends, is why I'm perfectly content to be called 'backward' by the atheists of the world.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Things You Can't Explain
Around a year and a half ago, I was still out on the road in my black Kenworth and seeing all that the nation's truck stops had to offer. (Well, maybe not all they had to offer, but you know what I mean.) I got a message from my brother, relaying a message that he had received from my sister, passing along information that she had received from my ex-wife. My sister and my ex work for the same airline, so they run into each other every now and then. It turned out that my best friend from high school had died. We hadn't been all that close in our post-school years. Ole Jeremy had taken one path in life and I had taken another, but friends are still friends. I'm not the sort to wallow in sadness or anything like that, so my predictable response was to remember some of the good times that we had when we were younger.
Death probably isn't supposed to make you smile, but what can I say? The guy was fun to be around. The one memory that leapt immediately to mind took place in the winter of our junior year of high school. Several of the guys used to chip in a few bucks and rent the ice at the community center in order to play hockey on the weekends. The only time that high school kids could afford the ice was very late at night. During prime hours that shit was way too expensive. So one night I picked him up and we headed out for some hockey. (I had an '81 Oldsmobile 98 Regency at the time. He had no car. I was the driver by default.)
We were on the way to the rink when we decided that it would be better to have some beers instead. His older brother bought us each a few 40's of Mickey's and we proceeded to get hammered. The only problem was that he had to get back home. It's not exactly a source of pride now, but I was a fairly skilled drunk driver when I was a teenager. I drove him home. He was afraid to face his mother alone though. He was convinced that she would know he was drunk. She had a soft spot for me though, so maybe if I went inside with him... yeah, brilliant idea.
So I reluctantly agreed to come in for a minute. Dipshit decided to hop the fence like a detective on a primetime TV show. He went face-first into the snow. It was ugly. Upon seeing her son enter the house with his face red and his hair covered in snow, his mother was understandably concerned. She asked what happened. He mumbled something that must have been in English, although I sure didn't understand it. "You're drunk!" she exclaimed. So what did he do? Of course, he turned to me.
I was pretty damned drunk myself, but I was equal to the task. I clamly explained that the hockey game had been a rough one. Jeremy had taken a tough hit from one of the guys and hit the ice pretty hard. He thought he could ease the headache by holding snow against his head, but it hadn't worked. So now he just needed to go to bed and he should be better in the morning. This concoction sounds even more ridiculous now that I'm actually typing it, but... she bought it. My buddy went to bed and I went home. Awesome. This is the kind of shit that is worth remembering.
I wasn't in a position to make it to a funeral after hearing that my friend had died last year, given my circumstances at the time, but I did make a phone call. Turns out he was still in the Navy, stationed in Virginia, survived by a wife, three kids, and an ex-wife, etc. I'll be damned. I would not have predicted any of that, given the way that his entry to the Navy was orchestrated back in 1993. Some of you old-timers probably have stories about how this guy or that guy wound up being forced to join the Army. Well, my buddy wasn't exactly forced to join the Navy, but he was grateful that our legal system offers some flexibility to the presiding judge. Lest you think I'm speaking ill of the dead here - he always delighted in telling the whole story whenever he got the chance (and it was a pretty entertaining story). He was never violent or anything; just a kid that made some stupid decisions.
Then, after he managed to straighten his life out and get his act together - gone. Three orphans and a widow left behind.
A few days ago, as I was making my milk run somewhere in Ohio, I got a message from my sister. She works at the same airline... okay, we covered that already. Another of my best buddies from high school died last weekend in a motorcycle crash on I-75. Like the friend mentioned above, this guy and I hadn't kept in touch during recent years, although we had crossed paths from time to time. The 'drifting apart' phenomenon that friends often experience is greatly exacerbated when you have my sort of personality and simply don't give a damn. I'm not much good at keeping those sorts of bonds active, but friends are always friends. So, upon hearing that he had died, my reaction was similar to the previous incident. I thought of the good times and smiled, rather than dwell on the unfortunate nature of death. I think my biggest grin came when I recalled the ludicrous drinking binge that took place the night before I got married. Perhaps you'll indulge me the chance to relate (some of) that story here. It still makes me laugh.
A few of my buddies, including the departed, took me out for a really good time. And ole Danny brought his new girlfriend with him. What the hell is that all about? She turned out to be pretty cool though, so nobody really minded. Plus she was not bad to look at, provided that you could sneak a peek without your buddy getting possessive. You know how it is.
I was drinking shots of Jim Beam that night, chased by bottles of Molson Ice. And random strangers were buying me all that I could drink. To say that I was shitfaced would be the understatement of the century. The night wound up at a bar in Lincoln Park, a few miles from my apartment in Southgate. Not long before the bar was to close, I was turned sideways in my chair, talking to a gal at the next table. Our brilliant waitress decided to set my next drink behind my elbow while I wasn't looking. When I turned back... elbow hits the glass, whiskey hits the floor, I'm cut off, and so forth.
Time to leave. My buddy Dan had been the one to drive me around that night. I was feeling awfully observant though, so I refused to get in his car, on account of the fact that he was drunk. Obviously nobody was nearly as drunk as I was, but I tend to think I'm quite clever when I've had a few too many. "Fuck you," I mumbled. "I ain't getting in that car." Then, God love him, my buddy tried to push me into his car. I've never amounted to much in life, but I've always been a strong SOB. He must have known better, but he tried anyway. I wheeled around and gave him a shove, knocking him ass-first into the bushes next to the bar. The I sprinted home. You don't pace yourself after thirty drinks (or maybe more). You fucking sprint.
By the time I covered the the ~2.5 miles to my apartment, I was out of breath. No, seriously, I was huffing and puffing - big time. The look on the face of the girl that was living with me at the time (not my fiancée - another story for another time) was priceless. I told her I was just tired and I went to bed.
By the time I fought through the next morning's hangover and dragged my ass to the church in Allen Park, I was starting to recall the previous night's festivites. Holy shit, man. I parked my shitty car at the edge of the lot and walked over to the side entrance. Who was the first one waiting for me when I got inside? I'll bet you already know who it was. The guy that I shoved into the bushes the night before. Not a word about it either. He just said that my bride-to-be was looking beautiful and that it was a great day for a wedding. Little did we know...
So now, after we fast-forward another 14 years, I hear that the "new girlfriend" from back then was still his wife when he died. I was around when they got married but most people who were closer to the scene than I was were convinced that it wouldn't last. It did last though, and they had an eleven year old daughter.
And now he's gone. An orphan and a widow left behind.
You often hear about people who suffer some unfortunate event and cry out - "Why me?" I guess I'm the opposite, because these two deaths have left me wondering - why me? Nobody counts on me for anything. My family and my few friends might miss me for a little while if I were gone, but I keep to myself for the most part. Nobody's life would really be disrupted if I checked out. And the thought of dying sure as hell doesn't scare me. If eternity really is coming one way or another, then I don't think another five, ten, or twenty years on this earth are going to change my destination. Let the chips fall where they may. That's my outlook.
And if it's really all just a superstition and we're just destined to become dead meat, then I'm not too stressed about that either. I've had my fun and I'll continue to do so, but when the time runs out, the time runs out. The best you can hope for is to die with no regrets. I can't say that I have the number down to zero, but regrets are definitely not a prevalent part of my life. I don't fear the reaper.
But these guys - they had families. They had careers. They had obligations and dreams and goals. They're dead. I have none of that. I'm alive.
For what? I guess there are just some things you can't explain.
Death probably isn't supposed to make you smile, but what can I say? The guy was fun to be around. The one memory that leapt immediately to mind took place in the winter of our junior year of high school. Several of the guys used to chip in a few bucks and rent the ice at the community center in order to play hockey on the weekends. The only time that high school kids could afford the ice was very late at night. During prime hours that shit was way too expensive. So one night I picked him up and we headed out for some hockey. (I had an '81 Oldsmobile 98 Regency at the time. He had no car. I was the driver by default.)
We were on the way to the rink when we decided that it would be better to have some beers instead. His older brother bought us each a few 40's of Mickey's and we proceeded to get hammered. The only problem was that he had to get back home. It's not exactly a source of pride now, but I was a fairly skilled drunk driver when I was a teenager. I drove him home. He was afraid to face his mother alone though. He was convinced that she would know he was drunk. She had a soft spot for me though, so maybe if I went inside with him... yeah, brilliant idea.
So I reluctantly agreed to come in for a minute. Dipshit decided to hop the fence like a detective on a primetime TV show. He went face-first into the snow. It was ugly. Upon seeing her son enter the house with his face red and his hair covered in snow, his mother was understandably concerned. She asked what happened. He mumbled something that must have been in English, although I sure didn't understand it. "You're drunk!" she exclaimed. So what did he do? Of course, he turned to me.
I was pretty damned drunk myself, but I was equal to the task. I clamly explained that the hockey game had been a rough one. Jeremy had taken a tough hit from one of the guys and hit the ice pretty hard. He thought he could ease the headache by holding snow against his head, but it hadn't worked. So now he just needed to go to bed and he should be better in the morning. This concoction sounds even more ridiculous now that I'm actually typing it, but... she bought it. My buddy went to bed and I went home. Awesome. This is the kind of shit that is worth remembering.
I wasn't in a position to make it to a funeral after hearing that my friend had died last year, given my circumstances at the time, but I did make a phone call. Turns out he was still in the Navy, stationed in Virginia, survived by a wife, three kids, and an ex-wife, etc. I'll be damned. I would not have predicted any of that, given the way that his entry to the Navy was orchestrated back in 1993. Some of you old-timers probably have stories about how this guy or that guy wound up being forced to join the Army. Well, my buddy wasn't exactly forced to join the Navy, but he was grateful that our legal system offers some flexibility to the presiding judge. Lest you think I'm speaking ill of the dead here - he always delighted in telling the whole story whenever he got the chance (and it was a pretty entertaining story). He was never violent or anything; just a kid that made some stupid decisions.
Then, after he managed to straighten his life out and get his act together - gone. Three orphans and a widow left behind.
A few days ago, as I was making my milk run somewhere in Ohio, I got a message from my sister. She works at the same airline... okay, we covered that already. Another of my best buddies from high school died last weekend in a motorcycle crash on I-75. Like the friend mentioned above, this guy and I hadn't kept in touch during recent years, although we had crossed paths from time to time. The 'drifting apart' phenomenon that friends often experience is greatly exacerbated when you have my sort of personality and simply don't give a damn. I'm not much good at keeping those sorts of bonds active, but friends are always friends. So, upon hearing that he had died, my reaction was similar to the previous incident. I thought of the good times and smiled, rather than dwell on the unfortunate nature of death. I think my biggest grin came when I recalled the ludicrous drinking binge that took place the night before I got married. Perhaps you'll indulge me the chance to relate (some of) that story here. It still makes me laugh.
A few of my buddies, including the departed, took me out for a really good time. And ole Danny brought his new girlfriend with him. What the hell is that all about? She turned out to be pretty cool though, so nobody really minded. Plus she was not bad to look at, provided that you could sneak a peek without your buddy getting possessive. You know how it is.
I was drinking shots of Jim Beam that night, chased by bottles of Molson Ice. And random strangers were buying me all that I could drink. To say that I was shitfaced would be the understatement of the century. The night wound up at a bar in Lincoln Park, a few miles from my apartment in Southgate. Not long before the bar was to close, I was turned sideways in my chair, talking to a gal at the next table. Our brilliant waitress decided to set my next drink behind my elbow while I wasn't looking. When I turned back... elbow hits the glass, whiskey hits the floor, I'm cut off, and so forth.
Time to leave. My buddy Dan had been the one to drive me around that night. I was feeling awfully observant though, so I refused to get in his car, on account of the fact that he was drunk. Obviously nobody was nearly as drunk as I was, but I tend to think I'm quite clever when I've had a few too many. "Fuck you," I mumbled. "I ain't getting in that car." Then, God love him, my buddy tried to push me into his car. I've never amounted to much in life, but I've always been a strong SOB. He must have known better, but he tried anyway. I wheeled around and gave him a shove, knocking him ass-first into the bushes next to the bar. The I sprinted home. You don't pace yourself after thirty drinks (or maybe more). You fucking sprint.
By the time I covered the the ~2.5 miles to my apartment, I was out of breath. No, seriously, I was huffing and puffing - big time. The look on the face of the girl that was living with me at the time (not my fiancée - another story for another time) was priceless. I told her I was just tired and I went to bed.
By the time I fought through the next morning's hangover and dragged my ass to the church in Allen Park, I was starting to recall the previous night's festivites. Holy shit, man. I parked my shitty car at the edge of the lot and walked over to the side entrance. Who was the first one waiting for me when I got inside? I'll bet you already know who it was. The guy that I shoved into the bushes the night before. Not a word about it either. He just said that my bride-to-be was looking beautiful and that it was a great day for a wedding. Little did we know...
So now, after we fast-forward another 14 years, I hear that the "new girlfriend" from back then was still his wife when he died. I was around when they got married but most people who were closer to the scene than I was were convinced that it wouldn't last. It did last though, and they had an eleven year old daughter.
And now he's gone. An orphan and a widow left behind.
You often hear about people who suffer some unfortunate event and cry out - "Why me?" I guess I'm the opposite, because these two deaths have left me wondering - why me? Nobody counts on me for anything. My family and my few friends might miss me for a little while if I were gone, but I keep to myself for the most part. Nobody's life would really be disrupted if I checked out. And the thought of dying sure as hell doesn't scare me. If eternity really is coming one way or another, then I don't think another five, ten, or twenty years on this earth are going to change my destination. Let the chips fall where they may. That's my outlook.
And if it's really all just a superstition and we're just destined to become dead meat, then I'm not too stressed about that either. I've had my fun and I'll continue to do so, but when the time runs out, the time runs out. The best you can hope for is to die with no regrets. I can't say that I have the number down to zero, but regrets are definitely not a prevalent part of my life. I don't fear the reaper.
But these guys - they had families. They had careers. They had obligations and dreams and goals. They're dead. I have none of that. I'm alive.
For what? I guess there are just some things you can't explain.
Monday, June 13, 2011
As I've said for years...
I'm just a random milk man with a taste for alcohol and women of questionable moral character. You would be forgiven for not taking my pessimistic view of our nation's condition very seriously. I've done nothing worthwhile to merit your attention. You'd be perfectly reasonable to ignore whatever I have to say.
Bill Gross, on the other hand, has long been among the best at what he does - assessing entities that issue debt and deciding which of these entities are able to pay back their debt at a reasonable interest rate. Read it and weep.
"Oh, but you're just too negative. You know we'll eventually have to come to a compromise on entitlement reform."
Sound about right? Yeah, read it and weep.
It's commonly understood that you don't write a blog with the purpose of insulting your readers. Why would they return and read what you have to say, after all? I know there are plenty of people who read this blog and disagree with my views. I generally make an effort to stick to facts and/or humor for that reason. These folks will most likely continue to disagree with me, but they'll always know that my jabs are in good humor and not malicious. I think I've made it abundantly clear that nothing really matters to me, so it's all for sport at this point.
Well... there comes a time to do away with protocol and tell it like it is. According to the numbers, either 53% of you or 58% of you are absolutely clueless. 53+58=111, meaning that there's plenty of overlap in the two numbers which, quite frankly, makes the picture even worse. This is no longer a partisan matter. The Republicans are keeping their distance from Paul Ryan these days, aren't they? That's all you need to know. There is no political will to save America's future and there is no electoral will to force the political class to do so. We've become a society of people who think that we've earned a certain level of benefits and services, while we are convinced that someone else should pay for them. Bring on the riots.
Bill Gross, on the other hand, has long been among the best at what he does - assessing entities that issue debt and deciding which of these entities are able to pay back their debt at a reasonable interest rate. Read it and weep.
"Oh, but you're just too negative. You know we'll eventually have to come to a compromise on entitlement reform."
Sound about right? Yeah, read it and weep.
Well... there comes a time to do away with protocol and tell it like it is. According to the numbers, either 53% of you or 58% of you are absolutely clueless. 53+58=111, meaning that there's plenty of overlap in the two numbers which, quite frankly, makes the picture even worse. This is no longer a partisan matter. The Republicans are keeping their distance from Paul Ryan these days, aren't they? That's all you need to know. There is no political will to save America's future and there is no electoral will to force the political class to do so. We've become a society of people who think that we've earned a certain level of benefits and services, while we are convinced that someone else should pay for them. Bring on the riots.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Before it gets scrubbed from his website...
You've heard about Congressman Weiner in recent days, obviously, whether you wanted to or not. It started as a rumor and then, until the shocking revelation that Sarah Palin was excited to be named as McCain's running mate, apparently it was the only newsworthy story in America. Hour after hour, day after day, unfunny wiener jokes were the order of business.
Stock market tanking for six straight weeks and it ain't done yet? Irrelevant. MORE WEINER! "Days, not weeks" actually means months and months, while "protecting civilians" really means "trying to kill a dictator." Who gives a shit? MORE WEINER! The housing market is collapsing again, despite billions of wasted dollars in taxpayer-funded handouts designed to avert such an outcome? Hey... you know what would really help home prices? MORE WEINER! Unemployment? WEINER! Iranian nukes? WEINER! Our president follows up his stating of a position that will never happen (Israel's 1967 borders) by taking a position with no strategic or factual basis behind it (Argentina's claim to the Falklands)? WEINER WEINER WEINER! Thank God we'll have endless discussions of Sarah Palin's tanning bed to knock this shit off the front pages in days to come.
So of course it turned out that the dude was a bona fide pervert. A married bona fide pervert. Well, at least he picked the right career then. [Side note: What would lead a beautiful and apparently successful woman to marry an unrepentant douchebag? All I can come up with are three possibilities - (1) blind naiveté, (2) unbridled political ambition, or (3) a need to hide something. Is there a better explanation? You know, in case I... err... I mean... some other douchebag ever wants to know how to pull off such an arrangement...] I'm no paragon of virtue and I exercise nothing remotely resembling good judgment in my life, but I sure as hell know better than to send pictures of my cock to random strangers. That kind of behavior is the sole dominion of a world-class idiot. Well, at least he picked the right career then. But hey, let's ask him to tell us how to reform entitlements and so forth. I trust his judgment.
If you know what I know of the internet, and it's a safe bet that you do, you probably know where this story is bound to lead. I make no secret of the fact that Twitter and Facebook hold no appeal for me, so I don't have accounts with either outfit. I can't really understand why people find that stuff so intriguing, but que sera sera. I'm not well versed in how that social media stuff works, but regarding the internet in general - I do spend plenty of time killing time. I've seen some shit on the internet. I have very few friends, I don't watch television, and I don't sleep much. As long as I'm not working too many hours, I have time to kill. I've seen some shit. I feel perfectly comfortable in speculating that this creep was sending his junk to underage girls somewhere along the way - perfectly comfortable. As in - I'd bet fifty bucks on it right now.
I'm often told by my liberal friends that a Republican who cheats on his wife is inherently worse than a Democrat who cheats on his wife, since Republicans are the party of family values or whatever. 'Hypocrisy' is the line back to which they always fall. I, for one, love hypocrisy. I embrace it. When I find myself guilty of it, I generally type one of these posts and tell you about it. My own cases tend to be rather mundane though, so I also try to point out the more egregious cases whenever I spot them among our "betters." You know, good for the gander and so forth. I fully understand the charge of hypocrisy. I'm not sure that it always holds water in those 'family values' discussions. (Is one side really suggesting that abortion, infidelity, unwed mothers, and broken families should be a goal of society? That's pretty weird, if so.) I do appreciate the political expediency in using the charge, however. Nobody prefers to vote for a hypocrite (even though we all do, over and over and over...). Politics is about winning. The loser with the great positive message doesn't end up enacting a single solitary policy, once all the votes are counted, if we're being completely honest here. The best lying hypocrite does - right or left, no matter.
Hypocrisy is fun to point out when you don't like the hypocrite in question. I guess that's all I'm really trying to say. Therefore, since I most likely wont feel like typing a post when the time comes, I'm doing it now. I don't like Anthony Weiner. I think he's a pompous dickhead who really has nothing to offer society. So let's go ahead and point out some of that sweet, sweet hypocrisy.
If it turns out that this guy's creepiness hasn't run afoul of the law in any way, then I guess this post will end up worthy of being ignored. It won't be my first post to earn such a distinction, I'm sure.
Otherwise...
(The image is too large for this column. Click to open.)
What was Captain Stiffdick's "venue of choice," since we're on the topic? Oh snap! Hypocrisy? But hey, maybe we really should let these people decide what belongs on the internet and what doesn't.
I'm guessing that this page won't last forever in its current form. Hence the screen cap. Time will tell...
Stock market tanking for six straight weeks and it ain't done yet? Irrelevant. MORE WEINER! "Days, not weeks" actually means months and months, while "protecting civilians" really means "trying to kill a dictator." Who gives a shit? MORE WEINER! The housing market is collapsing again, despite billions of wasted dollars in taxpayer-funded handouts designed to avert such an outcome? Hey... you know what would really help home prices? MORE WEINER! Unemployment? WEINER! Iranian nukes? WEINER! Our president follows up his stating of a position that will never happen (Israel's 1967 borders) by taking a position with no strategic or factual basis behind it (Argentina's claim to the Falklands)? WEINER WEINER WEINER! Thank God we'll have endless discussions of Sarah Palin's tanning bed to knock this shit off the front pages in days to come.
So of course it turned out that the dude was a bona fide pervert. A married bona fide pervert. Well, at least he picked the right career then. [Side note: What would lead a beautiful and apparently successful woman to marry an unrepentant douchebag? All I can come up with are three possibilities - (1) blind naiveté, (2) unbridled political ambition, or (3) a need to hide something. Is there a better explanation? You know, in case I... err... I mean... some other douchebag ever wants to know how to pull off such an arrangement...] I'm no paragon of virtue and I exercise nothing remotely resembling good judgment in my life, but I sure as hell know better than to send pictures of my cock to random strangers. That kind of behavior is the sole dominion of a world-class idiot. Well, at least he picked the right career then. But hey, let's ask him to tell us how to reform entitlements and so forth. I trust his judgment.
If you know what I know of the internet, and it's a safe bet that you do, you probably know where this story is bound to lead. I make no secret of the fact that Twitter and Facebook hold no appeal for me, so I don't have accounts with either outfit. I can't really understand why people find that stuff so intriguing, but que sera sera. I'm not well versed in how that social media stuff works, but regarding the internet in general - I do spend plenty of time killing time. I've seen some shit on the internet. I have very few friends, I don't watch television, and I don't sleep much. As long as I'm not working too many hours, I have time to kill. I've seen some shit. I feel perfectly comfortable in speculating that this creep was sending his junk to underage girls somewhere along the way - perfectly comfortable. As in - I'd bet fifty bucks on it right now.
I'm often told by my liberal friends that a Republican who cheats on his wife is inherently worse than a Democrat who cheats on his wife, since Republicans are the party of family values or whatever. 'Hypocrisy' is the line back to which they always fall. I, for one, love hypocrisy. I embrace it. When I find myself guilty of it, I generally type one of these posts and tell you about it. My own cases tend to be rather mundane though, so I also try to point out the more egregious cases whenever I spot them among our "betters." You know, good for the gander and so forth. I fully understand the charge of hypocrisy. I'm not sure that it always holds water in those 'family values' discussions. (Is one side really suggesting that abortion, infidelity, unwed mothers, and broken families should be a goal of society? That's pretty weird, if so.) I do appreciate the political expediency in using the charge, however. Nobody prefers to vote for a hypocrite (even though we all do, over and over and over...). Politics is about winning. The loser with the great positive message doesn't end up enacting a single solitary policy, once all the votes are counted, if we're being completely honest here. The best lying hypocrite does - right or left, no matter.
Hypocrisy is fun to point out when you don't like the hypocrite in question. I guess that's all I'm really trying to say. Therefore, since I most likely wont feel like typing a post when the time comes, I'm doing it now. I don't like Anthony Weiner. I think he's a pompous dickhead who really has nothing to offer society. So let's go ahead and point out some of that sweet, sweet hypocrisy.
If it turns out that this guy's creepiness hasn't run afoul of the law in any way, then I guess this post will end up worthy of being ignored. It won't be my first post to earn such a distinction, I'm sure.
Otherwise...
(The image is too large for this column. Click to open.)
I'm guessing that this page won't last forever in its current form. Hence the screen cap. Time will tell...
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