Matters of the Heart

It seems like just yesterday I decided that loneliness would be my constant companion. I guess it was foolishly pessimistic of me to make such a brash statement at a time of extreme uncertainty. Perhaps I needed some sort of justification for the place I had found myself. I, like most, fear the unknown. And not knowing if I'd ever find the courage to move beyond the present state I found myself in was something I wanted to face bravely. Which probably explains why I took such a solid stance on never dating again. But I'm here to admit I was mistaken.

My older sister, Jennifer, and I were having a conversation one day about the joys of entering certain stages in life. I, now being middle-aged, enjoy being called 'uncle' by, and being an uncle to, my nieces and nephews. I enjoy nature a lot more than I did when I was a young man, and occasionally enjoy a drink to take the edge off what all too often ends up being a stressful day. As a young man, I was too busy doing what young men do to appreciate the beauty of nature. I didn't have nieces or nephews, and I drank mostly to get drunk and party. But with age comes moderation and I now like to take the time to enjoy the precious moments that so many of us take for granted.

When it comes to matters of the heart, I've discovered a new appreciation as well. I believe I've developed a patience that affords me the ability to savor the sweetness of those fleeting moments that mark time in one's memory bank. In case you're wondering, yes, I've found someone who has touched me in ways I've not known possible. I know that sounds like such a cliche, trust me, it is anything but.

Time provides us gifts if we choose to accept them. But we all fear aging so terribly, most of us enter into the process reluctantly; missing out on so much. Who knew romance could be so rewarding being middle-aged? I know the young believe they've cornered the market on it, but they have so much to learn about love, it's almost impossible for them to fully understand the depths of what it may offer. A true indication of this may be found in the high divorce rate. So many believe that the aging process has nothing to offer-but I believe that if you are married and be patient, time has so many gifts to offer you along the way. Instead of jettisoning your mate in search of your younger years with a complete stranger, perhaps we should all consider rediscovering our new selves with the person we are with.

My situation is a little different. The person I am speaking of is new to me. We are both middle-aged and we've somehow found a way to see the world the same way. There are probably a lot of contributing factors, but one thing I know to be true is we focus on one another. I am not saying that we see everything eye-to-eye; we most certainly do not. But we do view partnership similarly. Each moment we spend with one another seems to lay a foundation that we almost effortlessly continue to build upon. We enjoy dining with one another-it seems almost mandatory that, when we can, we do. She enjoys cooking healthy meals for me and takes great pride when I compliment her on her culinary accomplishments. I've been with enough women to know that these days, this is rare.

If we allow it, time perfects us. But all too often we fight it-longing to maintain a youthful appearance and not disappear into the backdrop of society. I being one who appreciates sometimes going unnoticed, can recognize the benefits. I know what it is like to be amongst a crowd of people and not be acknowledged-inherently, it has its own rewards and if we silence our thoughts and relish in the moments, we can begin to appreciate those rewards.

I don't know how promising my future is with my new friend-and I don't really allow myself to think much about it. What I am learning to do is appreciate each day as it comes, and celebrate it as though it is our last. I don't think I've let a day pass that I haven't told her how much all that we do together means to me. I am genuinely delighted each time she leaves a token of her appreciation somewhere I'll surprisingly discover it. It is an indication of her thoughtfulness. There is so much that could be learned from what we've naturally seemed to have discovered. The young might be amazed at how much they truly don't know about matters of the heart.

If the gods smile down upon me, I believe I would be blessed if the rest of my days could be spent like this; with her. On the horizon I can see my end, and I no longer concern myself with if I'll get there, or when I'll get there. What is most important to me is how I get there, and if my Drugh and I discover a way to travel that path together, it will be a crowning achievement on what has been the most splendid and rewarding life one could ever imagine.

TPOKW

Is America An Emerging 3rd World Country?

With a war that is costing this nation over $1 billion a day, a housing market that has lost any semblance of a bottom, and oil at over $130 a barrel, I would venture to say...maybe. Months ago I wrote a blog titled, "Who Will Officially Welcome Us to the 3rd World?" and posited that we were well on our way. I'm still as pessimistic as I was then, but now I'm simply hoping that this election will turn things around-but it's unlikely.

The two (op)posing parties have the same agenda-catering to the owners of this nation-not it's labor force. If you don't own a piece of this country-a major piece, then you are going to find it difficult in the future to maintain even a substandard lifestyle. There are those who have seen themselves as a part of the establishment, and voted based upon such a belief. And it is those same individuals who are now recognizing that they too are just a cog in the machine that can simply be shut down, dismantled, or discarded at the behest of someone else.

In 1999 gas prices were $.90 a gallon. And then some of you decided to elect an oil man for President, and by doing so, we've gone from below $1 a gallon to $4, an increase of over 400% in 9 years. Does anyone else besides me see a correlation? But who's to blame? Certainly not the wealthy or the politicians. They've just done what we've allowed them to do-become what we've allowed them to become. The Native-Americans (I still call them Indians), believed that the land belonged to all. But now we all are seeing that we're being excluded from a system that we've helped to build.

The economy knows no discrimination. When you pay at the pump, you don't get a Republican or Democrat discount. There are no discriminating practices when it comes to foreclosing on someone's home. It's simple, you can't pay-you're out. Although minorities may be the first to go when companies decide to lay off its labor staff, but eventually we all feel the sting.

I have a question to pose to those of you who swore that immigrants were taking your jobs-Are they the ones sitting at the desk you once occupied at that corporate call center? Wait, I believe I have the answer to that-no. I also have a tidbit of information for you. When public sentiment was that immigration was destroying the labor market, in a way you were correct-they just used the wrong homonym. Immigrants taking jobs wasn't the problem, it was job emigration-jobs leaving the U.S. to be had by individuals in nations as far away as India, China, and as local as Mexico and Canada. Dell Computer, American Express, and a host of other corporations were able to reduce their overhead by paying an Indian worker a fraction of what they paid a U.S. citizen. During the Bush II administration, these same corporations have enjoyed tax breaks that would comparatively make welfare look like the cost of a McDonald's happy meal-all at the expense of America, and Americans.

What bothers me the most, is that everyone is silent. No one is really standing up and screaming at the top of their lungs about any of this. But I know the reason why-you see, we've allowed them to label us, separate us, categorize us...willingly. African-American; Asian-American; the disabled; multi-ethnic; white; Democrat; Republican; Independent. We were Nascar dads and Stay-at-Home moms. But do you know what they call us behind our backs? CONSUMERS. If you're finding it difficult seeing the problem with the term, allow me to illustrate it for you. Imagine a large sow, (for those of you who've never been on a farm before, that's an adult female pig), laying on her side and beneath her are a dozen little piglets suckling. The sow is the system, you're just one of the piglets. Now let's say that, for whatever reason, the sow loses her interest in the piglets, gets up and allows them to fend for themselves. Some will probably survive, most will not. People, the sow has left the building.

Look, I know this is hard to believe. How could your government do that to you? Well, for those of us whose ancestors were brought here in chains, beaten, raped, tortured, and then set free without any psychological assistance to repair the damage that had been done to our mental (and physical) well-being, we've seen this before. You're just a number and if children are forced to work in sweat-shops for pennies a day-in modern times, how is it that you would think the very same thing couldn't happen here? It's a mentality-a mindset. It's a philosophy, and all it takes is for someone in a position of power to see it as a viable solution to a problem. Yes, it's just that simple. Sure, people are going to hit the streets in protest, but understand this-you're protesting against your sow, and if you piss her off enough, you may never suckle again. They control the food supply, the water supply, and although you'll still have air to breathe, they are making sure that you'll have more than your fair share when you're forced to live out of doors.

But all is not lost. I say look to the Amish. They've lived self-sufficiently for centuries. Never taking more than was needed (over-consuming). Living and working in small self-serving communities, (communism people). Capitalism is for those who control the capital and the resources. In a truly free market it might have worked. But this hybrid economic system we have serves only a small segment of our population-and they have no intentions of sharing. We all were nothing more than just labor, and America a labor camp. And now that we've made them uber-wealthy, they've picked up like a swarm of locust and are descending upon crops elsewhere while the rest of us sort through what's left of what was once a great idea, but is now nothing more than a dream turned nightmare.

Exhaustion-Running on Fumes and From My Demons

I'm tired. Really fucking tired. Why? Because I'm too stupid to go to sleep. Rest is what I need, but instead I'm appeasing my demons and blogging. Yes, I have demons. Little brown ones that sometimes manifest themselves in the form of midgets. Why midgets? Because when I was a kid, the Oscar Meyer Weiner man came to town and he was a midget. My little sister was afraid of him because she'd never seen a grown man that small before. At the age of 4 she knew something wasn't right about him. First of all, he drove into town in a giant hot dog. She cried when he disembarked. I wanted to kick his ass for making her cry, but my mother warned me that he was a little man and I was boy. And even though when we eventually squared off we were eye to eye, he could take me-she knew it. Realistically, I don't think she wanted us to fight because she didn't want to end up in the local papers for kicking the midget's ass-victorious perhaps, but lacking the glory one garners when they defeat an opponent. Sort of like when an aging Muhammad Ali was defeated by the toothless Olympic gold medal winning Leon Spinks-lackluster to say the least.

So, we let the little man leave town. But there's still that picture of me and my two sisters posing in front of old man Kirkpatrick's grocery store next to the midget. Is midget politically incorrect? I'm too tired to give a fuck. It's not like one could take me now. Besides, midgets have come a long way. Look at Wee Man. He's in a movie. I'm regular sized, I've never been in a movie-well maybe not one you'd want to see. And what about Bridget the Midget? See, she uses midget, so I guess I'm cool (not that I was worried or anything. Like I said earlier, I'll kick a midget's ass). But back to Bridget the Midget. As you may know, she's a porn star (that term is so loosely used). I've actually seen her in action but there was nothing sexual about a naked woman with two little stubby legs in the air being penetrated by a full-sized adult male. It was comical at best. And quite frankly, I don't like to mix my sex with comedy. That's equivalent to eating in the bath tub. But I watched. Not to the end...what the hell do you think I am, a freak?

Anyway, like I said before, I have my demons. They aren't always midgets. Sometimes they appear to me as women with three eyes...short women with three eyes....MIDGETS with three eyes. What the hell is it with me and midgets? Perhaps I have a repressed Napoleonic complex that needs addressing. There is that picture of my two sisters and me posing with the Oscar Meyer midget. My little sister was taller than me. Perhaps I feared never growing and ending up a 4-foot tall black midget who's only means of support was to travel from small town to small town in an oversized hot dog on wheels being threatened by little boys who would swear on a stack of bibles that they could kick my ass.

I need sleep.

TPOKW

Too Soon?

When two people with a mutual interest in one another meet, millions of questions crowd the mind. I wonder what he/she is like in bed? I wonder if we'll make it past the first date? I wonder if..... If you're anything like me, you try to predict if and when it all will end. But if things seem to be progressing smoothly, we often find ourselves faced with the is it too soon dilemma.

There should be some sort of progression chart that you can refer to when you want to know if you're progressing too quickly. Of course, all situations aren't the same. Sometimes you meet that perfect person, hop in the carpool lane together, and fast track the relationship to a painful and bitter end. Sometimes things do workout. We have no way of knowing, it's just a chance we all have to take while we pursue companionship in a world full of people who find connecting difficult.

Who determines whether a couple is moving too soon? I think we can all agree that meeting someone in Las Vegas and awaking married the next day is too soon. Talk about living for the moment. I've been known to do some wild, outlandish things, but I can assure you that I would never meet someone in Vegas and marry them the same night. Perhaps sleeping with someone on the first night is way too soon, but we've all done it (I suspect). But that goes beyond the scope of a relationship and relates to some entirely different agenda.

I think we all worry that we're moving too fast but I've yet to meet the person who can produce a document that will tell us when and how we should proceed. We all seem to know when it's too soon, but I have yet to hear what the opportune time should be. The toughest one of all seems to be when you utter those 3 words that always seem to seal the fate of a relationship. Once you say "I love you", it seems like the die has been cast and you either spiral into bliss or, in the not-so-distant future, someone's going to be needing a lot of Kleenex. Hearing those words is like winning the gold medal in the Olympics. Prior to hearing them you're in training. Up every morning at the crack of dawn. You eat right and keep the snacking to a minimum. You're in great shape-destined to take the gold. And then you take the podium...center stage. Over the loud speaker you hear the American National Anthem. It is your crowning moment. You bend at the waist and someone places atop your head the Caesar wreath and then the gold medal. You've done it! The moment you've been waiting for. It's the Olympic equivalent to hearing, "I love you."

You return to your home town a hero! Everyone says they knew you could do it. Everyone says they knew you back when. Who needs to train now? You've reached the pinnacle. All of sudden, you're partying to the wee hours of the morning-everyone wants to buy you a drink....how could you resist? Your waistline begins to expand, your endorsements dry up, and the honeymoon's over. It won't be long before TMZ eulogizes you.
I don't know what it is about hearing those three words that causes us to claim victory, but we always do.

I wish I had the answer because I know that we sometimes sabotage relationships by attempting to adhere to this imaginary timeline that no one has seen. I don't know what constitutes too soon, but I know the ramifications of being too late. Think about it, can you ever arrive to work too soon? Not according to most bosses-but you can definitely arrive too late. Is it ever too soon to begin investing for your retirement? Absolutely not! If you find a financial analyst who says otherwise-fire him on the spot. Is it ever too soon to do your Christmas shopping. Arguably yes, but consider the alternative. It's 12/24/(year whatever). I'm preparing to hit the malls-they close in 3 hours. I'm so stressed that if my blood pressure was measured in dollars, it would be considered a small fortune. I'm driving like a maniac. Running red lights and cursing anyone who'd dare drive the speed limit during my time of crisis. I hit the parking lot and, just as I suspected, parking is damn near non existent. I hit one department store and I have no intentions of leaving until I've purchased everything I need. 3 hours later I emerge the victor and promise myself to never again criticize those who shop too soon.

When it comes to relationships, who has the answers? Is it quite possible for two people to meet, let things flow naturally, ignore the warnings from those uninvolved parties who seem to be trying to rain on our parade, and have a successful relationship? I think so. We have to ask ourselves, how much of that advice can we attribute to jealousy? Too soon just might be a way for someone to throw a monkey wrench into what might otherwise be the beginning of a perfect relationship.

It's probably best that we develop our own too soon barometer. We should be reasonable and resist the urge to deviate from the plan when we've been inspired to move quicker. Even still, once we've waited the allotted time, it doesn't mean we should move full speed ahead. It just means that we've gone beyond the required waiting period and we can now consider moving forward. We should also use the time to evaluate the situation, but not over think things. All to often I am guilty of over analyzing a situation and ultimately killing the spirit of the relationship. This is beginning to sound like an advice column and that was not my intent. Perhaps what I'm trying to say here is that we should make our own determinations as to what is considered too soon, and what isn't. What may be too soon for someone, may be too late for someone else.

TPOKW

Idiot Nation

I heard this morning that a group of kids were arrested for vandalism the other day. Now that might not really be anything worth talking about, but if you dig deeper, there is a story behind the story. The kids got busted because, not only did they video tape their illegal antics, they posted it on youtube.

What the hell is wrong with kids these days? It seems like daily there is some teenage numbskull on the television who was busted for doing something totally ridiculous. I know most of you remember the video post of the girls who beat the hell out of that other girl for supposedly taunting them in cyberspace (white on white crime-but no one really likes to talk about that, do they?). There was the incident; the youtube post; ridiculous press coverage; and then arrests. It doesn't require a degree to figure out. In case there are teenagers reading this (which I doubt because teens don't read), you know the tape that you have in your possession? Yeah, that thing you just took out of the video camera-that's called evidence and it can and will be used against you in a court of law. Oh, and incidentally, the guy sitting behind the table placard that reads Plaintiff, and the the guy/girl sitting on the perch wearing the black robe and holding the wooden hammer, they aren't your friends, teachers, parents, or any other person that you've successfully manipulated in the past. They are THE LAW and they've seen enough idiots, just like you, who thought that they could play dumb, or concoct some oddly ridiculous story that flies with mother but couldn't fool a 5th grader. If you lined up the people who came in to court with the dog ate my homework excuse, you could wrap it around the globe 29 times.

Honestly, I don't blame the kids-I blame the parents and the teachers. A child's first bout with authority is usually with their parents, and then later with the administrative staff at school. If either of these institutions show too much leniency, complacency, or are exposed for their naivete, you can rest assured that the child will one day interface with the judicial system and think that it's as porous as their earlier bouts with authority systems. Sadly, parents and the school system are failing children. Parents these days want to be buddies with their children. By doing so, they neglect the duties and responsibilities required to raise a productive member of society. When a child can spin a tall tale and the parent(s) fail to become Ellory Queen and investigate every nuance of the story, that child has just learned that he or she can manipulate the truth and you (the parent) will be danced around the truth for the rest of the time that child is in your care. Parents have to make it difficult for the child to lie, and even more difficult for the child to get away with lying.

Once, when I was about 12, a stepfather of mine called me in for dinner. I had been playing outside all day and I went to the restroom and then sat down to eat. My stepfather asked if I had washed my hands. My response was yes. He then asked if I'd used soap. I again replied yes. He then got up, walked into the bathroom, and brought out a completely dry bar of soap and asked me why the soap was still dry if I'd just used it. Two things occurred at that very moment-#1 I realized this man was no idiot, and #2 next time I better wet the soap (kidding). Actually, what I did learn was that lies were fallible. And if you told one, it had better have been after some serious planning. If you come of the top of the head with it, someone with half a brain will be able to pick it apart. I became so impressed with his technique, I began to explore ways of lying and how those lies were easily exposed. I tried desperately to come up with a foolproof caper, and my 12 year old mind was unable to create a scenario whereby I couldn't get busted. So what did I finally decide to do? Give up lying until I could get better at it. After years of practicing honesty, I never really looked back. That's not to say that I haven't lied-but I have been honest to the point where I've lost girlfriends, and jobs-I feel compelled to tell the truth.

It doesn't help that our government has adopted a prove it mentality. When kids hear the president of the United States say things like, "I didn't inhale," or I didn't have sex with that woman, Monica Lewinsky," and both of those statements be bold-faced lies, where is their incentive to tell the truth? The rotting fish is lying from the tail to the head, why should the children be any different?

You might be thinking that it wasn't lying that got the bumbling youtube criminals busted-but it was lying. Lying and not being busted, (or not being punished if they did get busted). It bred this overconfidence in their ability to get out of trouble. They tell themselves these ridiculously childish stories that have more holes in them than swiss cheese-a pre prepared excuse that with even a cursory glance would appear to be as thin as tissue paper. But hey, come on, mom falls for it all the time. Well there's one thing mom lacks, and that's the experience of sitting all day and hearing the same tired stories from criminals who confuse judges with their blinder-wearing mothers. The judge has heard it all. In fact, I'll bet you money that he can probably take one look at a defendant and, based upon their appearance and the crime they are being charged with, predict the story that will come bellowing from their mouth. This is precisely why they insist you not represent yourself-you're an idiot and we need to appoint someone to keep you from tripping over your own two feet.

Committing a crime and then posting the evidence on youtube is intellectually equivalent to walking into roll call at the local police station and robbing at gun point all whom are in attendance...without a disguise. And if this isn't remotely apparent to the idiot who decides to post what he or she sees as his or her ticket to fame, then we've managed to create an entire nation of idiots who will undoubtedly continue to exhibit this incredibly imbecilic type of behavior no matter how many are caught. My hope is that this doesn't become epidemic because, instead of hitting the streets and doing real investigative work, our detectives will spend their valuable time perusing the posts of youtube looking for their next big case.


Wake up people.


TPOKW

MUST READ!!!!!!

Everyone, please click the link below and read this essay I found on the internet. If this doesn't move you to tears, I don't know what will. It's a cold fucking world out there-yet some pull themselves up from the bottom despite what they've been through.

Please, read it.

click here

The Sound of a Sweet Song...Fading Away in the Distance

If you ask me what I like most about a romantic encounter, I would tell you it is the element of surprise. When you meet someone new, it is like hearing a beautiful song for the first time. You have no idea what the future holds, but you long to have that feeling last for all of eternity. There is what Barack Obama calls the audacity of hope, but I think what drives us the most is the unknown. We have absolutely no idea what the future holds for us...if it holds anything at all.

I know the warm feeling of both hearing that sweet song for the first time and having the audacity to hope. They are synonymous. You remember where you were, what you were doing, and why. I recently heard a song that touched me in that way. I won't share with you the title...perhaps because I fear the retribution that comes with being so exposed and open to public scrutiny. But suffice it to say that for a brief moment in time, I felt that feeling again. And then I began to notice how empty life can be when you don't share it with someone special. Sure, I feel safe cocooned away in my enclave-door locked and the world on the outside. But what should be obvious to most, and what is hardcore evidentiary fact to me, is that I've all but eliminated the audacity of hope in exchange for the comfort of security.

I haven't always been this cautious. Once I dared allow myself to love someone society deemed undesirable. In my estimation, I felt that she too deserved love and who better to love her than someone who understands the devotion required to make love a successful function of a romantic schema? I allowed myself to love her in spite of what others thought. Not only did I expose myself to the perils of love, I accepted all the punishment that one endures when they choose to love someone who does not feel that they deserve to be loved. I still bear the open wounds and battle scars that one acquires when one decides to put down their sword; their shield; their armor; and dare to hope for the best, but accept the worse. And I am a better man because of it.

Love demands so much of us, and most of us fail because we don't fully understand that, unless we acquiesce to those demands, failure is inevitable. But acquiescence alone brings not the promise of success; for the possibility of love unrequited always lurks in the shadows. With so many pitfalls before us, why do we choose to embark upon the quest for love? Simply put, it is the audacity of hope, and whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, hope is audacious. But what would life be without the excitement that comes along with the prospect of risk and reward? In a word, boring.

So here I sit, writing about the possibilities associated with hope, and faith, and belief-yet, I am too fearful to set foot on that path again. I know intimately the company of failure, and I don't know if I'm prepared for yet another visit. I think that I will take refuge within the walls of my fortified fortress, while time robs me of all the gifts necessary to find that perfect love. I no longer see hope when I look into the eyes of women who look upon me with that odd curiosity that once warmed my heart-I know all too well how the story ends. Perhaps I've been here too long. Perhaps I know too much. I try desperately not to sound pessimistic, but I know that I have neither the patience nor the endurance to devote that which is necessary to rewrite the script so that the story ends happily. Such undertakings should only be embraced in the realm of fiction. But in the world of reality, at least for me, what remains are the hard lessons of my past and the pain of watching hope evaporate like morning dew at high noon. One thing I know for sure is that nothing lasts forever. But even though I may be armed with such sage wisdom, I find it ever so difficult to move beyond the walls of this prison I've created for myself. And as I watch life pass me by, I sit immobilized by the wisdom granted me by my past experiences, as the light of hope that once shone so brightly fades away into the distance, like so many of my fond memories of love.

TPOKW

The Rat Tale

A few months ago, I was at my mother's house visiting. There's a lot of brush and vegetation in her yard, not to mention a wood pile from a few eucalyptus trees they had cut down a couple of years ago. As most of you know, these are havens for rats. My stepfather arrived home about midway through my visit and looking out into the backyard, he noticed one of his traps had been thrown. He went outside to inspect and lo and behold, he had caught two rats in one trap. I'm a little on the squeamish side and don't care to see things like this, but he was too proud, and I didn't want to ruin his pride-filled reversion back to his hunter/gatherer days, so I went out to congratulate him.

For many days after, I wondered how such a thing could have happened. I could see it if one got caught, but two? I pondered this marvelous mystery for days, and finally, this is the conclusion I inevitably reached.

THE RAT TALE

Once upon a time, in the wooded pile lived a rat named Travis Ratus. Travis was extremely naive, and his sidekick, Buck, was equally (if not even more) naive but compensated by inventing tall tales that sometimes entertained, but mostly irritated Travis. Travis and Buck had lived in wooded pile as far back as they could remember and rarely did they venture out too far. Travis always had questions about what might exist beyond the wooded pile, and Buck always had an explanation.

"What do you suppose is out in that vast open space, Buck?" Travis would ask.
"Why there's sheer paradise, Travis. There's food as far as the eye can see, and lots of things for rats like us to do." Buck answered.
"Oh yeah, like what Buck?"
"Well there's fancy resorts-not like the boring ones here in the wooded pile, but like the ones they have in Las Vegas-European style!"
"How do you know these things?" Travis asked as a look of puzzled bewilderment invaded is whiskered face.
"You remember my cousin Benji?" said Buck.
"Yeah, that freeloader who always ate my cheese?"
"Yes, that very same one. Well I'll have you know, that freeloader is livin' it up at one the fanciest hotels on the Vegas strip. He hitched a ride on a produce truck headed for the promise land and he ain't ever looked back. From time to time I receive a communique from him tellin' me how fine the livin' is there. A little hot, but they've got pools EVERYWHERE!"
"So how come you ain't hitched a ride?" Travis inquired, a little jealous.
"One day I will. I'm just waitin' for the right time." Buck answered as he ran a paw over his whiskers and gazed up at the sky.
Just about then, the two rats were distracted by a rustling sound. It was Michelle, the finest female rat in the wooded pile. Every rat within miles was interested in Michelle but she only dealt with rats who could bring in the big cheese.
"Hi Michelle," Travis and Buck said in unison. Michelle ignored them both and scurried down her hole.
"One of these days, I'm gonna get that girl." Travis said.
"That'll be the day." Buck replied.
"What, you don't think I can?"
"Look Travis, we're bottom feeders. We rarely take the chances that Michelle's dates take. Some venture out and never come back you know."
"I guess that Paradise you brag about is just too satisfying for them to return, huh?" Travis said a little annoyed with Buck.
"Look, if you don't believe me, go ask Ol' Willard. He's been around forever-he knows everything. Maybe he'll convince you."
"If it's such paradise, why does everyone we know sit around the wooded pile, rooting for worms?" Travis asked.
"Because, worms ain't so bad. Besides, to get to paradise, you've got to cross Hawk's alley and even the fastest rat we know can't outrun a hawk. But once you make it to the other side-it's all good."
"So you say. Look, I gotta run. I'm gettin' hungry" said Travis.
"Yeah, me too. I'll see you around." Buck scurried off in the opposite direction, stop and yelled over his shoulder, "Go see Ol' Willard.

Travis scurried over to his favorite spot of refuse and began nibbling on a left over piece of lettuce and a rotted piece of meat that someone had thrown away almost a month ago. As he dined, he saw Ol' Willard, the oldest rat in the wooded pile, slowly making his way to his hole.
"Hey, Ol' Willard, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, what do ya wanna know."
"What's out past the wooded pile?"
"Funny you should ask" said Ol' Willard. "I heard from an extremely reliable source that just north of the pile, in the shaded area, is a place where you can dine on wonderful treats. Large chunks of cheese, fresh apple slices, and peanut butter."
"Peanut butter?" Travis' eyes lit up. Peanut butter was a rare treat, but a delight if you could get your paws on some.
"Yes son, peanut butter. They serve it on laaarge wooden planks" Ol' Willard answered. "Look, it's time for my nap. If you decide to venture out, bring Ol' Willard back a taste would you?"
"I'll do just that!" Travis answered and scurried off to find Michelle. Ol' Willard gave him an idea. He'd promise Michelle something no rat could resist-peanut butter.

Travis arrived at Michelle's hole and called out.
"Michelle, come out-I have something for you." But Michelle didn't answer. Again, he called out, again, no answer. This went on for 5 minutes until finally Michelle poked her head out of her hole.
"What is it Travis?" she yelled, "I'm trying to take a nap." Michelle didn't have to forage for food too often, there was always a willing suitor who would do it for her. So she slept a lot.
"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to...well, go out on a date with me?"
"On a date with you? Why Travis Ratus, why on earth would I want to do such a stupid thing. You've been dining on that same rotten piece of meat for the past month-yes, I've seen you. I only dine on the finest imported cuisine. Rotten meat is beneath me. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some very important napping to do." Michelle turned to retreat into her hole when Travis blurted out,
"I've got peanut butter!" This stopped Michelle in her tracks. She turned around slowly and with a her eyes as wide as pennies she said,
"Peanut butter?"
"Yes, peanut butter. Ol' Willard told me of a secret spot just north in the shaded area."
"What does Ol' Willard know? He hasn't been out of the wooded pile since his acting days."
"He even shared some with me" Travis lied. He was desperate and at this point would say anything to convince Michelle. Michelle sauntered up whisker to whisker with Travis.
"Look, if you're lying to me, I have boyfriends, lots of them, and it won't take much to convince them to gnaw through that narrow head of yours as though it were rope. Do I make myself clear? Now what time will you be picking me up?"
Delighted, Travis yelled out, 3:30, but then he realized it was already 4 in the afternoon. Gathering his senses, he responded,
"Ahem, I'll pick you up in exactly one hour, and please, wear your finest." Michelle turned and scurried down her hole. She could barely contain her excitement. She had only had peanut butter once before and for days after, she would lick her whiskers remembering what a pleasure it was.

Around about 4:50 pm, Travis began to make his way towards Michelle's hole and he saw Buck scurrying down a tree with a tiny bird egg wedged between his cheeks. The egg made his cheeks seem enormous.
"Where you goin' all decked out?" Buck asked as he dropped the egg from his mouth.
"Got a date with Michelle" Travis replied.
"Oh no you don't!"
"Do too. Ol' Willard shared with me one of his secrets and Michelle and I are venturing out to the shaded area for a little fun."
"He told you 'bout the peanut butter, didn't he?"
"Yeah, what about it?" Travis inquired.
"Damn that ol' rat. I was the one who told him!"
Travis' heart sank when he realized Buck was Ol' Willard's reliable source. "You told him? Who told you?"
"Benji. When he left for Las Vegas, he passed through the shaded area and saw a rat who had eaten himself to death. He was laid out on the wooden plank, eyes bulging. Benji thinks that he ate and ate until he couldn't eat no more. Funny thing was, there was still so much peanut butter left on the wooded plank. Benji ate some, and took the rest with him."
"Buck! Is this another one of your tales of paradise?"
"No Travis, not this time. Ok, I'll admit that I made up the European spa thing this morning, but Benji wouldn't lie. He might freeload, but he'd never lie."
"Well I have no choice now-I've got to take Michelle. Wish me luck, and stay out of those nests-you're gonna get caught one day."
"That's what you always say. Good luck."
Travis made his way to Michelle's hole and to his suprise, she was waiting outside for him.
"You're late, Ratus. Are you sure this is safe? I've never been to the shaded area, have you?" Michelle was filled with excitement.
"Yeah, sure. Buck and I go all the time" he lied.
"That Buck stretches the truth like it's string cheese, Travis. I don't know if I can trust you."
"Of course you can. Right this way M' lady."
Travis extended a paw and the two made their way out of the wooded pile and into the vast open shaded area. They walked for what seemed like hours. Travis felt as though someone was following him, and even mentioned it once to Michelle, but she said that he was being ridiculous.
Michelle talked the entire time and Travis began to notice that Michelle had some very annoying habits. She talked only of herself, and she snorted when she chuckled. She also had an enormous head and she made entirely too much noise to suit Travis, but he didn't have the heart to tell her. Just as Michelle began another one of her boring tales, Travis caught the whiff of a very faint, but familiar smell.
"...and he brought just one tiny piece of cheese..for the both of us. Can you believe-"
"SHHHH." Travis whispered, his whiskers twitching. "Can you smell that?"
Michelle began to pay attention and she too began to twitch her whiskers.
"Why, Travis Ratus, as I live and breathe, I smell PEANUT BUTTER!!!!"
A rat's sense of smell is is extremely sensitive and the faint smell of peanut butter was no guarantee they'd find any. But their excitement grew and Travis reached out, grabbed Michelle's paw, and picked up the pace. Travis noticed that Michelle's paw was cold and clammy and it made him feel uneasy, but now, he was less interested in Michelle and more interested in finding the peanut butter.

As they zig-zagged down the path in the shaded area, the scent of peanut butter began to grow stronger and it wasn't long before the two of them stood before a large wooden plank, almost twice their size. And sitting in the middle was a dollop of peanut butter three times the size of Michelle's exceptionally large head.
"EEEEK!!!" Michelle shrieked! "There it is Travis!" She began to scurry quickly towards the peanut butter, but Travis grabbed her paw.
"Wait, let's walk over together." Travis said.
"Let's not Travis. In fact, why don't you just go back to the wooded pile, we won't be needing you any longer."
"We?" Travis asked. Just then, an enormous rat with paws the size of maple leaves, and muscle that bulged as though someone had pumped them full of air, scurried from the brush and right over to Michelle.
"This here is Brutus, my boyfriend. Brutus, this here's Travis. He was just leaving."
"I...I don't understand." Travis said.
"Silly rat. Brutus has been tailing us the entire time. Did you really think I would date a rat who dines on rotten meat? You're beneath me Travis Ratus, now scurry on back to the wooded pile before Brutus here gets jealous."

Travis grew angry, but the bulging muscles on Brutus was enough to discourage any ideas he might have had. He was tired, hungry, and disappointed. But he knew he'd been outwitted by Michelle. He took one last look at the large mound of peanut butter as Michelle and Brutus made their way over to the wooden plank. It was too much for him to bear, so he turned and started to make his way back to the wooded pile. Just as he did he heard a loud WHAP!!!!!! that scared him so, he jumped 5 feet in the air and quickly ran for cover behind a rock. Peering around the rock he saw a site that both horrified him and delighted him at the same time. Michelle and Brutus' necks had been snapped by a large metal bar, their eyes were now bulging out of their sockets-they both were dead. Travis sat behind the rock for a while, wondering what he should do. He finally mustered up the courage to go over to the bodies of Michelle and Brutus. Picking up a stick, he poked at the metal bar, it didn't move at all-neither did they. He poked at the peanut butter with the stick and scooped up a nice chunk of it and put it in his mouth. It tasted like heaven.

He went back over to the rock and found a leaf. He dragged it over to the plank and began scooping the peanut butter onto the leaf. Not long after, he had removed all but small amount that stuck to the plank. He dragged the leaf for what seemed like hours back to the wooded pile and into his hole.

3 MONTHS LATER
Three months had gone by and not much had changed in the wooded pile. Ol' Willard was still the oldest rat, Michelle was gone but a rat by the name of Regina eagerly stepped into the harlot shoes she left behind, and there was still no shortage of male rats willing to risk life and limb to impress her. However, there were some slight changes. Travis and Buck no longer spent there days fantasizing about the paradise that existed beyond the wooded pile. After returning from his quest for peanut butter, Travis and Buck decided to go into business and supply the rare and savory treat to all who resided in the wooded pile. They were known as the Peanut Butter Hunters. Travis figured out what caused Michelle and Brutus' terrible fate and devised a method of extracting the peanut butter from the wooden plank without losing his neck. He was so successful at it that he and Buck became very wealthy rats, and they would often travel to the Vegas strip to visit Benji. Travis soon found out that most of Buck's tales were indeed false. But there was one thing he was 100% correct about, Las Vegas.

THE END

Ok, I know I have an overactive imagination-and this couldn't possibly be how my stepfather caught two rats, at the same time, in one trap. But you have to admit, at the very least, The Rat Story was entertaining.

TPOKW

Quotable Quote

"I'm a man with special needs and she's a woman who understands them."

Anonymous

Fear and Apathy

I guess I fake apathy, and I'm too stupid to be fearful of anything (or at least I used to be too stupid). Since I officially declared I was a writer, I haven't written anything. Is it fear? Apathy, perhaps? I don't know. Maybe it's just I haven't a thing to say. Have their been events in my life noteworthy of my acerbic prose? Possibly, but I'm not talking...at least not today.

How's my love life you ask? Thank you for your concern. There isn't a love life. I've been left with just life. Wait a minute, did I just reduce life to a consolation prize? See, I told you I was acerbic. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm bored here. I'll never pilot a commercial airliner, bang Meagan Good, or become the first black president of the U.S.A. (thanks Barack). So what's left? Wasting my life away selling crystal promotional products to mega-corporations who have more money to burn than the, say, Burundi? And do you ever wonder why they have money to burn? Because the taxes they should be paying are paid by John and Jane Q. Public. They are allowed to make these obscene profits and pay no taxes-how fucked up is that? While the little man, like myself, can't even write off the child support he pays. How did we allow it to come to this? I guess it's like anything else, those who are willing to risk it all and go for broke sometimes fall short, but when they hit, boy do they hit big. How could one have the audacity to, in a country that was founded on the principles of shaking the shackles of tyranny, create tyranny under the very noses of those who would swear on a stack of bibles as tall as the former World Trade Center buildings that tyranny doesn't exist in this country? I mean, come on, our elected officials no longer represent us, the executive branch of the government has morphed into a monarchy, and the judicial branch seems to be at war with itself. In the immortal words of Marvin Gaye, What's Goin' On?

Do I give a shit about my job? Good question. No. I do give a shit about eating, sleeping in a warm bed-inside a sound structure insulated from the elements. So by proxy, I guess I do give a shit about my job, but I'd never come out and admit it. Working for someone can kill your spirit if you allow it. I guess I just believe that my talents should take me somewhere. But I can hear that clock ticking. Too old to be a world renowned rock star. Don't want to grovel to become an actor. I'd love to get my PhD. but I'm a minimum 5 years away from that...so I guess I'll blog and write songs to ease the pain of my fear-ladened, apathetic past.

At first this entry was going to be a litany of excuses as to why I'm where I am in life. I was going to start with the failure to commit because Mr. Charlie always spoils the party excuse, but as I poured my morning bowl of cereal, my argument began to sound extremely weak. I kept seeing the faces of those who'd found success and thinking, "Why didn't Charlie rain on their parade?" Because they didn't allow him to. And if you let someone rain on your parade and you fail to commandeer an umbrella, whose fault is that? With that said, my limitations are not all self-imposed. Could I have become a commercial airline pilot? No, eyesight's too bad. Could I bang Meagan Good? This questions requires our attention. If you do the math, Meagan will probably have 10-20 sex partners in her life. That's less than .00000002% of the world's population, so, statistically, I'd have a better chance becoming president of the United States than banging Ms. Good. There are only 300 million people in this country and a decent percentage of those are ineligible because they are either felons, illegal, or naturalized citizens. But quite frankly, I wouldn't want to be the presiding puppet of the U.S.A. I'd be too tempted to dismantle the Federal Reserve Board, and we know what happens to those who attempt that feat (JFK anyone?).

So here I sit, wondering if this is what life's all about. You spend all of your time trying to stay afloat in an ocean with a constant undertow. Eventually, the ocean wins. Yet we still fight-dream-believe that we can beat the odds. All of the people I know are just treading water, and some of them not so well. So many of us are focused on the trappings of largess, because there is where we find our identity. I want to go back to the day when we lived in huts and life was simple. Sure, I'd miss my iPod, my laptop, and microwave popcorn, but I know I'd find something equally as entertaining to occupy my time. And maybe even that wish is an illusion. Maybe there isn't a time where we didn't struggle against something or someone from somewhere. Maybe to live is to struggle and our only respite in the midst of attempting to survive is the occasional bout of fear and apathy. So no longer will I beat myself up for being too fearful to take a step. After all, this world is a dangerous place. And perhaps a little apathy is just what the doctor ordered because constantly swimming against the tide can be exhausting. I guess I'll just continue to swim upstream until my fins grow weary, or until it's time to float downstream, upside down, with my eyes open and my life complete.

I Am A Writer

It has taken me 44.49 years to say those words. I've been writing creatively since I was 7, but never considered myself a writer. Have you ever read anything I've written? Well you're reading this aren't you? Have I ever been published outside my blog? Yes, I used to write a column back in the 90's and I even had a (potentially) award winning article about Michael Jackson published in a small newspaper in St. Louis a few years back. I am a writer.

Writers write. And I write. I'll write about anything. Politics, romance, love (and yes love is different from romance), war, family, money-it doesn't matter, I'll write about it. Ask me about the great writers of yester-year and I'll admit with confidence that I've hardly read any of them. Who did Mark Twain read? Shakespeare, who did he read? Don't know do you? Well neither do I-which is why I don't read anything the people they read wrote, nor do I read anything Twain or Shakespeare wrote. I'm a writer, not a reader-didn't you read the title of this blog?

Writing is something that was gifted to me. It was recognized in me at an early age and cultivated by those along the way who discovered my ability to poetically express my thoughts through words. Am I a great writer? Hardly-I'm just a writer. That feels good to say-I'm a writer.

I don't know why it took me so long to muster up the courage to say those words, I am a writer. And now that I've said them, I can't stop myself. I am a writer. Will I ever finish a novel? Perhaps, I started one years ago and never completed it-but there is plenty of material to encourage me to continue. I think the very reason I quit was the very reason it took me so long to admit what I've always known-I don't like talking about myself, therefore it was difficult to admit that I was a writer. And what was said novel about? Me. About my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, my wishes, and I couldn't bare the thought of looking foolish in the eyes of those who mean so much to me. So I shelved the damn thing. But perhaps it's time to dust off the old manuscript and breathe life back into it because I am a writer.

A couple of nights ago, I watched my only brother die. Literally. I was there when he breathed his very last breath on this earth-when his heart beat for the very last time. I watched my mother, a woman whom I love more than life itself, place her hand on his lifeless body, searching for a heartbeat in a chest cavity that would no longer have one. I heard her subconsciously utter the words, "He's still warm." And in the ensuing hours, amidst all the pain and misery I experienced, what did I turn to? Writing. I wrote-emoted, expressed, shared. I laid bare all of my feelings with a momentous fervor I'd never experienced before in my life. I turned to the one thing that could provide me comfort-writing. Did I care if anyone read what I wrote? No, not at all. I just wrote and thought and wrote until I felt better. And then I wrote some more. If you ask me what I feel now I would simply tell you peace. A comforting peace I never thought achievable through writing. Sure, I've written about my life experiences before, but there is something about the finality of death, and it's affect on people that makes you take notice of things you've never noticed before. Why did my brother have to die? The answer lay silently in the thoughts and words that floated around aimlessly in my head. And when I sat down at the keyboard and began carefully selecting the letters and words and nouns, verbs and adjectives and arranging them in sentences that answered the painful questions that plagued me, I realized that I was a writer. Perhaps the greatest gift of all my brother gave me was the gift of writing. Not so much because he taught me how to write, but because in death he showed me why I should write. His death taught me that I should share my world with those who would take the time to step into my shoes and allow themselves to experience life through my written words.

I am no longer ashamed or afraid to utter those four very precious words, I am a writer. I've watched my older sister pursue her love for writing with a passion unmatched by me. She too has the gift and she has decided not to let it go to waste. I am a writer. Will the words that I write ever feed me? I don't know, nor do I care because if I did, that would make me something less than a writer-that would make me a hack. I am a writer and writers write. And from this day forward, if someone asks me what it is that I do, I will look them squarely in the eye and say to them in life what my brother taught me to say through his death, I am a writer.

TPOKW

Things Borrowed

I'm 44-in 6 months I'll be 45...another 12 months I'll be 46, and so on. Last year I experienced a major loss-my wife and I separated....I lost my wife. Less than 24 hours ago I lost my only brother. He succumbed to lymphatic cancer. From where I stand I begin to wonder what really belongs to me. Is it really my life if one day I'll have to give it up? Was he my brother or was he just a life on loan to me? I mean, yes, he was my beloved brother, but what really belongs to us? Or is it that nothing really belongs to us. It's not our life; she wasn't my wife; he wasn't my brother-they were just on loan to me-things borrowed.

One day my mom called me to tell me that my brother was ill-he had cancer. It hurts too much now to discuss the details, but writing has always been my catharsis and I write now to put this all into perspective. My brother and I hadn't seen each other for quite some time-his life was his own and he chose to live it privately. But he was still my beloved brother-my big brother-my only brother, and now he's gone. My mother said that she was going to fly up to San Francisco and spend some time with him and I told her that I too would come up to visit. She left Wednesday and my plan was to come up after work on Friday. But my brother needed me sooner. He didn't say it verbally, he spoke to me in ways I cannot explain. I specifically scheduled my flight to leave on Friday. When I looked at my itinerary, by some twist of fate, my flight departed Thursday morning at 8:05 am. I was angry at the time, but now I regret being upset that I didn't get what I thought I'd purchased. Had I left Friday morning, my mother would have had to experience my brother's death alone. Fortunately, the gods, my mom, and the will of my brother brought me sooner.

I arrived and my brother was in extreme pain from the chemotherapy. We talked. Surprisingly, he didn't look too bad for a man who had cancer throughout his body. I walked through the door and his first words to me were, "Little brother!." He rarely called me by my name. As far back as I can remember I was always "little brother." My visit was brief. It wasn't long before my mother summonsed his doctor, his vitals were checked and the prognosis wasn't good. His medical team went into action trying to stabilize him. We still had no idea that he would leave us so soon. He was rushed to have a CT scan and then to intensive care. The doctors spoke to us-telling us that he was in really bad shape and that they were doing everything within their power to save him, but they didn't give us much hope.

My beloved brother died at 1:56 a.m. January 25, 2008. By his side was my mother and I. I watched as his blood pressure dropped to dangerously low levels and his heart rate slowed to a fatal 30 beats per minute. He was dying. But he was sedated and in no pain. I remember sitting in the chair next to his bed and having a wave of emotion rip through my body so strong that I could no longer contain it and I weeped uncontrollably. I was angry at myself, I'd come to be a comfort to my mother and here I was being comforted by her. My brother was dying and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to tell him that he'd always been my great defender when we were younger-no one touched his little brother.

My mother told me that he held on long enough to see me and I love him so for hanging in there so that I could see him one last time-to hear his voice; to hear him say those precious two words to me one last time, "little brother." I promised myself I wouldn't "what if" or "if only" myself to death over his demise. I would accept it for what it was and help my family and myself heal. My brother held on long enough to give me the gift of his protective cloak. As long as I was his "little brother" I had nothing to fear. There were nights when I was a kid that I would be afraid, and I would climb into his bed and he'd always move over to make room for me. He was 7 years older than me and he watched over me and my sisters like a doting parent.

I'm going to miss knowing that I have a big brother in the world-just a phone call away. But I now understand that all things are borrowed, up to and including my own life. One day I'll have to return it to it's rightful owner. Our stay in this world is temporary and those who cross our path are on loan.

My mother and I have been comforting one another. She's talking non stop and even she knows it's to keep herself from focusing on my brother's death. From time to time she'll talk about it-she stops herself, and I encourage her to continue. One thing I do know, she is going to need me more than ever now. Fortunately I can devote the time. She told me today that I was her Ace. When her mother died, I flew out to Louisiana to be there by her side. I told her last night that we have to stop vacationing like this. I want her to know that she can rely on me come what may. It's a never ending circle. When I was a newborn, she took care of me, and now it's my turn to be her rock.

I don't want to preach to or lecture anyone. I just would like to ask everyone to take a look at the people who you've borrowed, or those who've borrowed you. Take a look at those who are on loan to you and appreciate them, for nothing truly belongs to us. Our wives and husbands, brothers and sister, mothers and fathers are simply on loan to us-and us to them. Cherish every moment.

Lamarr Marcus O'Neal
April 21, 1956-January 25, 2008

Rest in peace my beloved brother.

TPOKW

MLK & Greed

Martin Luther King fought for more than just civil rights for black people. Watch below.



It's real simple people-we have to buy back America. We outnumber them. We have to get together financially and buy the country back-otherwise, they'll strip the place and nothing will be left.

TPOKW

Watch This Before April 15th-But Still Pay Your Taxes

Slave Day Trading

Every now and then an errant memory will pop into my head and I'll wonder what the hell were any of us thinking at the time the actual event occurred. Like the time my three friends and I were at Disneyland in Anaheim, California and we were watching this 3-girl group onstage. The girls seemed to be staring right at us as they sang their songs and we were all blown away that these 3 beautiful young ladies were showing us all this attention. It never dawned on us that we were the only people watching them, so who the hell else were they supposed to sing to? Young minds are easily led astray-anyway, that's not what I wanted to discuss. Around about the same time, maybe a few years prior, my 2 friends and I were in junior high school and one of the annual activities we'd have was slave day. Yes, you read correctly, slave day.

On slave day, we'd all go to the assembly area and we would auction off certain students (of all racial make up) to the highest bidder. Of course the cute guys and girls usually went for the highest price. There would be chains manufactured out of construction paper, and the highest bidder would retrieve their slave for the day.

I never bid on anyone (I don't think the slave would participate in the events that existed in my deviant mind), nor would I allow myself to be humiliated by being auctioned off. The day always left a sour taste in my mouth. And this morning it dawned on me, (some 30 years later), how ridiculously insulting such an event was. How could you actually have a school in America, with approximately 3/5 of the students of African descent, participating in such an awful event. Yes, I know it was in fun. But to me it would be synonymous with having a Holocaust day where we put students on trains destined for concentration camps, and conducted simulated exterminations of students in gas chambers, all in fun. There's not a Jew on the planet, not one, that would stand for such ridiculousness. So why is it that we had almost 100% participation in this event? I'll answer it for you, we're an unconscious people. I admit I didn't care for the day at all, but I wish at the age of 13 I would have launched a protest. I was a pretty Afro-conscious kid. I once challenged my history teacher to an impromptu debate in front of the entire class regarding America and her supposed unblemished war record. I summarily reminded Mr. Rhett Gray that America had just had her ass handed to her in the Vietnam war. The impromptu debate abruptly ended. Final score- Young Black Impoverished Student-1, Uninformed Propaganda Spewing History Teacher-0.

In retrospect I do know why I didn't launch a protest. First of all, I didn't really understand how systematic racism was. I thought it was based solely on individuals. For instance, Mr. Gray is a racist, but Miss Brandsberg isn't, (that's because Ms. Brandsberg was too busy being a pedophile...seriously, but that's an issue for another blog). When you slice racism up into small bite-sized pieces, it's much easier to swallow isn't it? You have this notion that you can pick and choose the people you associate with. You can work for companies where racism is nonexistent. But what the mind of a 13 year old doesn't realize is that racism is built into the very fabric of American society and the only way you can get around it is to a). leave, like so many did in the 60's when they emigrated to Europe, or b). dismantle the entire racist system.

It took years for me to accept that racism would never go away in this country; that it would always be a part of my every day living. I would always have to be conscious of the fact that my skin is dark (beautiful, but dark), and that my actions would always be judged based upon a perceived notion that black people are all lazy, shiftless, unintelligent, criminals steeped in anti-social behavior. When I walk into a department store, I'm going to be watched. When I sit down at a restaurant, the assumption is that I can't pay for the meal I am about to consume-and everyone (including myself) breathes a sigh of relief when I pay. I will always have to answer for the crimes of other blacks and the level of trust I might of earned from my coworkers and non black associates has been reduced to zero because Johnny Cochran got O.J. off, or the Rodney King riots, or the Jenna 6 were released. I will always be viewed with an air of suspicion because to be black and accused of a crime in America is as good as being guilty.

When you infiltrate the minds of young people at an early age, it's easy to get them to accept certain things in life-be those things positive or negative. Just as easily as we participated (without protest) in the slave day festivities, a young mind can be persuaded to start a business or focus their attention on the more positive aspects of life. Those early years are extremely vital. Although I didn't protest the slave day, I definitely didn't care for it. I can see the difference between some of my former classmates and myself-we definitely have entirely different views about the world. They seem to have accepted their station in life, whereas I've always raged against the machine. I've always tried to rally people to institute change. Maybe not so much in the world in general, but at least in the small world in which we live. Alas, I've exhausted myself trying to not only drag the mule to water, but also have him drink. Now, I'd like to simply walk away from it all. From the slave days; from the Jenna 6 situations; from the racist mindsets that compel white people to scream "OJ did it!" when it was the very system that they designed that freed the man.

I get exhausted when I think of how ignorant and naive the majority of us all are. Who knew that our big brains could be so flawed? How is it that in the 70's, not long after a decade of intense struggles for civil rights, that we would voluntarily participate in mock slave trading? How could this happen? We were supposed to be the successive generation to further the struggle-and there we were, participating in a mockery of the tragic events our ancestors were brutally forced into. To this day I am ashamed. Not so much because I participated, but because I didn't stand up to the establishment and tell them to knock that fucking shit off! No matter how you sliced it, this event was an abomination.

Perhaps the 44 year old me is being too hard on the 13 year old me. But if you knew me at 13 you'd wouldn't agree. I was a militant and I had my ideas and beliefs about the establishment-and often I voiced them. I remember once when I was about to whip a white classmates ass, an African-American kid intervened...on behalf of the white kid. I never looked at that boy the same. To me, he was a race traitor and at the age of 13, I decided if ever I was in a position of power, I would imprison him for his treason. Fortunately for Noble, that day never came.

It makes me wonder at times exactly what the black students of today are experiencing in school. What else have they slipped under the radar that is a mockery of our experience here in this country? What I do know is this: we've definitely been tarnished by our experience here. It has shaped us in ways we don't realize. It might not have changed our physical appearance, but mentally, we've become something other than human. And we don't even know it.

So today I am officially announcing my plan to expatriate myself. I'm not sure where I will settle, but within the next 5 years my goal is to leave the United States. Europe comes to mind, but I haven't decided. Paris or Spain would be my initial choices, but there might be a place in a warmer climate that I might prefer. One thing's for certain, I have no intentions of being buried on U.S. soil.

TPOKW?

Who Will Officially Welcome Us to the 3rd World?

Before I get started, I would like for those of you who take the time to read to watch the video below...and then ask yourselves the title question.






My answer is probably no one. But one thing I know for certain is, you don't lose $2.3 trillion dollars and not feel the effects of it. The real question is, was it lost at all? Of course not. What is now taking place, and what has been taking place since 9/11 is a looting of the coffers. The current administration is lining their pockets and the pockets of their friends with your hard-earned tax dollars. When they leave office, they will leave this country in state that will make the depression era look like a picnic. When they pull back the curtain and reveal what they've been working on for the past 8 years, we will wonder how we allowed them to pull the wool over our eyes-but by then, it will be too late. They will be comfortably nestled in their air conditioned palaces in the United Arab Emirates, or Dubai, counting their ill-gotten wealth while the populace of this country settle old scores and annihilate one another in search of food, shelter, and the creature comforts we've all grown so accustomed to.

We are going to ask ourselves who was minding the store? And how did the wolves get into the hen house? I'll tell you how, they dressed up like sheep and baaaa'd their way in. Unlike Little Red Riding Hood, we ignored the large ears, big paws, and large teeth. We simply labeled them sheep and ignored the carnage-even when it was happening right before our very eyes. Enron was just a trial run-a reflection of what was to later happen to the government of this country.

When someone cannot account for $2.3 trillion dollars, someone should be sitting in jail until they can explain where the money went. I mean from the rooter to the tooter. The top guy and everyone he hired should be jailed until someone talks. When Rumsfeld made this announcement, it should have been followed by his resignation and a congressional investigation complete with independent oversight from an agency selected by the public.

Our representatives no longer represent the people. They talk at you and promise you the sun will come out tomorrow, but they have no intentions of fulfilling those promises. America will become a 3rd World country-and if there happens to be any civil unrest, Blackwater will be here to quash it, and not in a nice way. People will disappear, starve, become animalistic in their behavior and a lot of people are going to die. The anecdotal footnotes we hear on the evening news about civil unrest on foreign soil will be right at our doorstep, and most of us won't be prepared.

I urge you all to update your passports and keep a small amount of cash ($4000 or more) on hand, because just like in the depression era, when the banks close their doors, your money will be something of a memory.

TPOKW

Mama's Baby, Papa's Maybe

I like to come home during my lunch hour, make me a sandwich, and watch the court tv shows until it's time to go back to work. Yeah, I know it's mindless garbage, but it's about as much TV as I'll allow myself to watch so I think I'm in no danger of having my I.Q. drop. One of the constant themes is the paternity shows. Everyone seems to be getting a gang of mileage out of them. I admit, unless he is just a total asshole, I root for the male. Call me sexist if you wish, but my support for men in these predicaments goes beyond loyalty to gender, it has more to do with knowledge.

Women know how many men they've had sex with. Simple. If a woman misses her period, unless she's a streetwalker, there's no mystery in her mind how many guys she's been within the past 30 days. If it's just one guy, unless she's Mary, mother of Jesus, there should be no question in her mind. But if she's had multiple partners, it becomes a guessing game on her part. But this doesn't give her a license to pick the one she likes the best. Sadly, prior to DNA, all a woman had to do was pick a guy out of a line-up and the burden of proof was upon him, and unless that child was a different race or the potential dad was on another part of the globe, his ass was stuck. Bottom line, there's no way for the dad to be sure unless there's a DNA test.

If a guy has doubts as to whether or not he is the father of a soon-to-be-born child, the great likelihood is, there's only one place that doubt can emanate from-the mother of the soon-to-be-born child. Sure, he can be a jealous, insecure individual suffering from paranoid delusions, but I'm not factoring in mentally ill people. I talking about those of us who function at an acceptable level of sanity. If you expectant mothers have had a sordid and questionable past, are morally challenged, or just a plain 'ho', how can you expect the man you've selected to reproduce with not to have doubt? I don't understand why women come on TV, scream and yell about the man doubting. If you're 1000% sure, (which is stupid because it's impossible-100% is the total sum, therefore 1000% is impossible), why not just sit down, shut up, and let the test do the talking? Why not just ask yourself, "Is there anything I've done in my past to cause this man to question my commitment to him?" If that answer is yes, then you have however many months left to your delivery date to go through whatever there is to go through-you've earned it. By lying and cheating, you've earned whatever animus he feels toward you. And when the baby is born, if you're so certain he's the father, now is the time you have to remove all doubt. But until such time, whorish behavior is most certainly the mother of his doubt.

There's no question who the mother of a child is, for obvious reasons. And knowing that the 'X' factor in childbirth is always the father, women should behave in a way that doesn't tarnish a man's view of both themselves during pregnancy, and the child thereafter. Women are in a tremendously crucial position to set the tone of the relationship that all parties experience for the rest of their lives. That position shouldn't be taken lightly by women. Talk about power? That is more power than any man could ever wield. A chaste and respectable woman will be the gem of any man who chooses her. She's in the driver's seat and literally controls the fate of their family. We men need to learn to respect those types of women and do our best not to harm them-lest they see no reason to behave morally.

That is all.

TPOKW

You've been hoodwinked. You've been had....

We all know those words to be those of the late, great Malcolm X, one of the 20th centuries' great phenoms. I am going to borrow them for a while, (with the expressed inferred consent from one freedom fighter to the next), for this blog entry. I awoke this morning from a quasi-bad dream. I dreamt that I was, once again, breaking up with Lexi's mother. We're not in a relationship, but in the dream I guess we were. And you know how stubborn people can be in bad relationships, well this dream was no different. I don't know why I had the dream, (maybe it's because Lexi's here with me for the weekend), but I had it. This is going to seem like a complete non sequitur, but the dream had absolutely nothing to do with the title of this blog, nor its subject matter. I just needed to get that dream off my chest. The anxiety associated with another break up was overwhelming-even in my dream. I awoke exhausted.

Yesterday, on the way to pick up my daughter, I was listening to listener-sponsored KPFK, a radio station that touts itself as the voice of the people. Obviously they've never heard what the people in Orange County, CA have to say, otherwise they would specify exactly whom they are the voice of. But I digress. There was a female M.C. being interviewed who goes by the moniker Medusa. At the very end, they played one of her tracks and I liked it. Very original, nothing canned and thrown together like what's out there already. The fact that they put the track at the end of the interview was her redeemer because I was going to completely write this chick off prior to hearing her music. The interviewer asked her a question that I don't quite remember, but I do recall her responding something like this, "It's time women shine and express our individuality and take our place at the very forefront." When I hear talk like this, it's like someone has taken their fingernails and scraped them against a chalk board. I just wanted to put my hand on her shoulder and tell this person, "Honey, those are words of death." What am I saying? Read on, I'll explain.

Like Malcolm X said, she's been hoodwinked. Individuality guarantees one thing, the death of the human species. Now, I know I'm not a scientist-and although I fancy myself a philosopher, we all know I'm not. But think about it, men and women truly need one another to survive. We've gotten so wrapped up in this individuality nonsense, we've forgotten that the very basis of our existence is the family-and some sort of communal living with other families. Yes, I said communal living. Sort of reminds you of the word communist or communism doesn't it? Well it should, they all are derived from the same root word. It is sad that that intellects allowed politicians to vilify the word communist. Without much investigation, the American population allowed themselves to be scared witless about a group of people who didn't really want to harm Americans, but protect themselves from American invasion. Anyway, it is communal living which is the very basis of human existence. We have a version of it here in the U.S., but it only mimics a true community in the close proximal living of its human inhabitants. How many of us have lived in a neighborhood where we didn't know our neighbors? That clearly cannot be considered a community.

Rugged individualism is not the true basis of a decent human existence. When you have a true community, everyone is connected to the success and failure of that community. This is what makes it so unique-everyone has a vested interest in its survival. But we don't even have that in the country that we're living in-it's a global community according to the powers that be-again, we've been hoodwinked. Most of us in this country know absolutely nothing about the residents of, say Uganda-so how is it that we're a global community if we know nothing about our community members? It's another attempt at divide and conquer and the Medusa's of the world are blindly leading the charge. What is it that any individual has to say or prove that is so important that it trumps the existence of the human species? What if Medusa and her time to shine feminist get their way, but the price to pay is the discontinuance of the human race, I wonder if they would think it was worth it? Ladies, look-I know that the feminist have told you that you got a raw deal and that all men are the devil, but such is not the case. First of all, speaking as a black man, in America, black men have never been in a position to systematically disenfranchise you, relegate you to a less than status, deny you employment, etc. So we should be removed from you list of devils. I bet you not one feminist has ever considered the statement I just made. But I can hear their response already, "Yeah, but given the opportunity".... Don't be so sure of that.

Individualism makes no sense. It would be synonymous to your engine, as an individual component being more important than say, your car tires. Now perhaps it's more expensive, but one flat tire can render the entire car inoperable-one tire. So how is it that an individual part can be more important than the sum of the whole? When you have a flat, your engine is fine and unaffected-and in all truthfulness, your car can still run, but in the most inefficient way imaginable. So one part can't be more important than another-but let one part fail, and the entire unit has now been affected. The same logic applies to we humans. Their are two main components to just about any life form-a male and a female. They make a unit, and when those two units are functioning properly, things run smoothly. But start to play with the dynamics of their interrelations and you begin to undermine the basis of their existence. I just don't think most of us look at it that way. Truthfully, their are no free moves in life. Our actions have consequences. And maybe those consequences don't manifest themselves right away-maybe they take some time, but you can rest assured that there will be a reaction to your action. And this game of one-upmanship we're playing is having dire consequences. Most American women don't even want to be mothers anymore. So now where will our future generations come from? I often hear women say that they don't want to be bogged down by some screaming brat. First of all, if you don't want a brat, don't raise one. Babies don't come out of the womb brats. they emerge, test the waters, and if there is no parental resistance, a brat is born. I am the father of four-none of whom were ever brats. They were and still are pretty obedient because they knew that, when I spoke, I meant business. I took my duties as their guardian seriously and I knew that there was no way that, with their lack of worldly experience, they should be allowed to behave as they saw fit. But maybe that's what a man brings to the table which is why a couple should raise a child-both have something to offer.

I so fear that I'm speaking into a vacuum and that no one hears me. But I've resolved myself to accept the fact that we may never get back to an existence where we are in harmony with one another, and with the universe. The ecosystem has a way of eliminating that which doesn't live within the rules of the universe. There was a time when we believed we could destroy the world-we've now realized that the only thing we have the power to do is make it uninhabitable for ourselves and species with similar survival mechanisms. Armed with that knowledge you'd think we'd stop with the nonsense-but we continue with self-destructive behavior. We all look at the drug addict, the alcoholic, the bulimic, and point out their obvious faults, but there are those of us who are being equally as damaging in our behavior, and on a grander scale-we're not just harming ourselves, but the entire human race. Yes, an individual has the power to do that (just like one tire, or a fuel pump, or a leaky hose has the ability to disable an entire automobile). Sadly, most of us don't know we wield that type of power. We are not only connected to one another, we're connected to the ecosystem and to the universe.

I don't know if we'll ever wake up and realize that there are no benefactors to the rise of individuality-it only creates animosity and fosters in-fighting. Not even the wealthy 1% of the population, who truly believe that the current system benefits them, are going to benefit in the long term. They don't hide the fact that they would like to see the world population diminish. And we could probably benefit from lessor people on the planet, but their agenda to enslave the rest of us while they live lives of luxury will only be short-termed. Eventually we will find a way to make this place eco-unfriendly and the masses will wonder how they allowed that wealthy 1% to convince them to discount one another and fail to see the necessity for unity and harmony, not only amongst ourselves, but with nature. Medusa, and those like her, may one day achieve individuality, but at what price?


TPOKW

She's Not As Mad At You As You Think

I have the luxury of coming home for lunch everyday from work-I live about 3 minutes away. My routine usually consists of making a sandwich and watching about 45 minutes of the court shows-you know, Judge So-and-So. Today I was watching Judge Christina and there was a young girl who was suing the father of her child for the cost of diapers, formula, etc. This is pretty typical behavior of a certain ilk, but I'm not judging, just saying. The young lady made a comment that struck me as odd. Her baby looked like a newborn, she couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 months old. During the testimony, she lobbed an assault at the boyfriend and told him, "You don't care about the baby, you never ask how she is." I thought about that statement for a few seconds because it didn't really make any sense to me. I mean the baby is 4 months old-how altered could her existence be that someone would have to ask how she is? She just got here, and she's still got the wobbly neck and eliminates waste at the most inopportune times. Common sense tells us she'll be that way for quite some time. Furthermore, is there some list of behaviors that women have that informs them whether or not a man cares about his child? If so, I would like a copy so that I could rip it a new asshole. I don't know how many times I've heard women say, "He don't care 'bout this baby, he never calls." Never mind the fact that the baby's 1 year old. Yeah, I guess there are those who would consider a man who sits on the phone with a unintelligible baby for more than 2 seconds a loving father, I consider him an idiot. Besides, don't you have something better to do with your time, like earn a fucking living? I mean, come on, your family does have to eat don't they?

But back to the "You don't care about the baby" statement. First of all, that statement was not directed at her boyfriend, it was directed at her absentee father. That's right, you heard me, her father. She, in my opinion, is expressing the feelings of abandonment that she felt as a child. Think about it, the statement makes no sense. The baby isn't even a year old and already she's written him off as an uncaring father. Not to mention the fact that she put another man's name on the baby's birth certificate. What kind of retarded bullshit is that? You put another man's name on the baby's birth certificate and I'm supposed to act like you didn't. Someone please teach women the law of cause and effect. If you list someone else as the father, how the hell am I supposed to feel all cozy with the baby? Doesn't that cast even a slight suspicion of doubt? I just don't understand some women today. I'm required to behave in a certain manner and not deviate from that behavior no matter what you do. It's the same philosophy women have about men hitting them. They can hit you all they want, but a man's not supposed to hit a lady. I know we're not supposed to, but if you hit me, next week might be when you regain consciousness because in my book, you're not supposed to hit me either. And if our government can kill innocent men, women, and children all in the name of bringing democracy to a country that didn't ask for it, I can retaliate against someone who has struck me. Am I a woman beater? No, but I'll defend myself against anyone attempting to do me bodily harm-only a fool would do otherwise.

Men, when your women says some shit to you that, for the life of you, you have no idea where it came from-know that she really meant to say that to her dad; the man that abandoned she and her mom years ago and she's been waiting to make someone pay for that shit. And here comes your unknowing ass, all in love and looking to build a family with someone whose sole intention is to make you pay for some shit somebody else did to her. When she tells you If you love me you would... those are the things that she expected her father to do, but for whatever reason, he wasn't around to do them. Years and years of anger, frustration, hurt, feelings of unworthiness and abandonment have built up inside these women and when someone of the same gender as their dad shows them any attention, she lets you have all of that pent up emotion.

Think about it. A father is supposed to protect his daughter and make her feel safe. All she has is her mother-who is just as scared as she is. They are two frightened beings in a household unguarded by a male presence. Yeah, I know they yo all of that I don't need a man nonsense-and to a certain extent it's true....'til it gets dark. That fear sets in and anxiety builds. Sure, if there was an intruder you might be able to blow his head off, but you also know that having a male present in the home is often a deterrent. If you think about some of the behaviors of, okay I'm going to say it, black women, it's what frightened people do: loud talk-unnecessary bravado, quick to anger. All of that is to mask a fear of being alone in a world that is dangerous and, to a degree, unstable. Imagine being raised in an environment where there is constant fear. When a young woman finally grows up and gets with a man, there a sense of relief and a feeling of security-and then she gets mad because she never had that growing up and in ways she can't discern on her on, is asking you where you were when she was growing up. How come you didn't make her feel this way back then when she was 8 and frightened every night because she sensed that her mother was frightened as well and there was no security to be found-just fear as a constant companion. Not the way you want humans to grow up.

If there's one thing we can take from this as men, it's we have to stick around to raise our daughters. Why, because they grow up stable and feeling secure and in turn raise better men. One of our generations is going to have to bite the bullet and take the brunt of the black woman's anger. Yeah I know it wasn't you that made her feel this way, but it's going to be necessary that you pay the price for someone else's nonsense so we as a people can flip this thing back around. I'm guilty of not wanting to hear the bullshit and pay the price too-I walked out on plenty of them in my day. But I didn't know any better. Yes, she is mad, and she's scared, and she's insecure, and she overeats because she's denied all other creature comforts. We as men have got to do better by our women. We're denying them the one thing that Maslow said that we all need to develop into fully functioning human beings (see diagram below). In Maslow's theory, the needs on the very bottom rung of the hierarchy have to be met before the individual can advance to the next level. If a person doesn't have food, water and shelter, there's no way they can feel secure-which in turn means they can never advance to a level of love, so on and so forth. And many of us today are stunting our children's development by unknowingly denying them some basic needs necessary for development.



No wonder she acts a damned fool-she can't even ascend to the level of feeling love because she's too damned scared. There's too much knowledge out there for us not to turn this thing around as a people. In the very near future, we're going to need one another more that we've ever needed each other in the history of human existence. And if we don't begin to prepare now, while we have a little free time, we may be torn apart forever.

TPOKW

Responsibility

This is definitely going to be a random entry-but before you turn tail to go watch reruns of Seinfeld, read on, it'll be juicy. Wednesday night I was having a conversation with my youngest daughter's mom and she made a comment that I've heard before, but let slide. She mentioned something about all the shit I'd done to her. After I hung up the phone, I started thinking about that statement-what the hell is this bitch talking about?

I then devised a solution for this dilemma. She should write a list of all the shit I've done to her, and on the right hand side of that list write one of two words: Proactive or Reactive. I'll bet you the ratio would be 9:1 (9 R's to 1 P). I think what she, and most people fail to realize is sometimes you unthinkingly do or say things that set other things in motion. You don't recognize what you've done to precipitate the reaction, because most of us walk around mindlessly just doing shit. It often reminds me of a phrase I used to use when working in the music studio with friends: Like in a nuclear facility, there are no free buttons. You can't just go randomly pushing buttons in either a studio, or a nuclear facility without something occurring. Now of course the consequences of doing so in a nuclear facility are far more dire than doing so in a recording studio, but I think you get what I mean. If you don't, let me break it down to you in it's simplest form and then we'll work our way back up to the more complex.

Let's say you're sitting in your living room watching Living Single reruns, eating bon bons, and curled up in your favorite blanket. It's about 5 p.m. and you had the day off. All of sudden, the lights, T.V., and every other electrical appliance in your home ceases to function. First thing you do is peek out the window to see if anyone else lost power. You see the familiar glow or your neighbor's T.V. through her front window, so you know it's not a community problem-you power's been cut. You pick up the phone and dial Southern California Edison (or insert your local power company here) and you ask them if there is a problem. The rep politely replies Not on our end. But in the same breath she informs you that, since you didn't pay your bill, well, your service has been suspended, (I like when they use that word-it seems so courteous). Now you commence arguing about SCE's billing system-BUT WAIT!!!!! Did you pay your damn bill? What was that? You were going to but your boss didn't give you time off to go on that skiing trip so you shopped your ass off to make yourself feel better and figured you would postpone making the payment another 60 days. I have one question: Is there anything you've done in this scenario to precipitate the suspension of your electricity? AHH-AHH-AHH-wait, nothing about what your boss did, or about the power company, this question is directed at you and is solely about you. What was that? A little louder-did I hear you say you should have paid your damned bill? I thought that's what you said.

Now if this scenario was on my ex's list of offenses, she would have to scribble reaction. SCE reacted to you proactively not paying your bill. Are you all with me here? Good, now let's get back to my ex's imaginary list.

It would probably read something like this:

1. Cheated on me (R)
2. Tight with money (R)
3. Impatient (R)
4. Mean (R)

And I'm sure there are more but I don't want to bore you. The (R) would indicate the offense was a reaction on my part and not a proaction.

CHEATING

Ahh yes, a lady's choice. This is the one that women just love to tout as an irreconcilable offense. But let's take a closer look. Were you fucking your man or giving him the attention he needed from you? Or did you use your pussy as a weapon against him? Ladies, I'm going to highlight a well-known fact here. If you won't fuck your man, unless he's Quasimoto of hunchback fame, there is an entire community of women out there just waiting to fuck him for you. And I guarantee you some of them are either related to you, or shop with you, or party with you-you get my drift. I am going to say this publicly, lest someone one day says that they have not been warned: If I'm dating you, and you choose to use your pussy as a weapon, I will neutralize your attack by fucking somebody else-don't take it personal because I won't take it personal if you refuse to fuck me. Now if you're ill, having social, sexual, or mental difficulties I understand and the rule does not apply. But if you're being spiteful because you didn't like a comment I made, you'd better be prepared-I'm back into my hunter/gatherer mode.

This is a major difference between men and women. A man will fuck you even if he's angry you-to him it's like refusing to breath because you don't like hot days. If he's decided not to fuck you, you can pretty much figure he's done with you and whosoever you decide to fuck at this point, matters not to him.

TIGHT WITH MONEY

Your honor-guilty as charged. But why am I tight with money? Because you have to put money away for those times when the transmission goes out on your car, or you lose your job unexpectedly, or someone falls ill. Money is the lifeblood of this society and without it, you pretty much can wrap it up-you're done. Spending it frivolously will have you like the individual in the previously mentioned scenario. Besides, you don't need those new shoes anyway, you've got a closet full of them.

IMPATIENT

I stand accused. And that's because when I'm ready to do something, I'm ready to do it. Case and point-a couple of weeks ago, my ex and I took our daughter to her school's Fall Festival. My ex knew I would be at her house around 1 pm. When I arrived, I waited at almost 2 hours before we walked out the door. Now mind you, none of this was my idea-it was her idea to take our daughter together as caring parents-how could I refuse? But at least be ready when I arrive. If you know I'm impatient, why test my impatience? Secondly, the very next day when I was bringing my daughter back to her house, I told her I would have her back around 3 p.m. I get a call around 2:30 informing me that no one would be home 'til 7 or 8 p.m. Now, mind you, I'm already on my way. Why wasn't I informed of this the day before when we discussed when I was bringing her back? Or maybe a few hours earlier? I believe I've justified the (R).

MEAN

Most people who know me personally know that, by nature, I'm a kind and warm-hearted person. But make no mistake, I can be meaner than a rattle snake on hot desert sand if you push-and you really don't have to push too hard. My ex has pushed me and sometimes without realizing she's pushing me-because like I mentioned earlier, some people go through life unconscious of the moves they make and the consequences of those moves. When I interface with people like this, I usually make concessions. The only problem then is, if the consequences haven't occurred because I've preempted the action, I'm painted mean. Once my ex told me that I was stingy. My reply to her was, "Yeah, and you're broke-you decide which you'd rather be." I know it sounds harsh and I'm such a bad man, but my responsibility is to make sure that my family has all of what it needs-now and in the future. And if that means I have to be stern and frugal, I'd rather be considered mean and stingy than to sit at home wondering when SCE is going to turn my lights back on.

In a lot of ways I'm a no-nonsense guy. I like to have fun like the next guy, but not the expense of food, shelter, and necessary amenities like electricity. Have I been irresponsible in my day? Yes, there were times when I fucked around and didn't pay bills on time-but I never complained when my shit got cut off, because I distinctively remember tossing that final notice in the trash the day it arrived in the mail. So who's really to blame? Hell, they even sent the notice on bright pinkish-red paper, how could I miss it? And the excuse I usually get is, "Well, you even said that you were irresponsible at one time. Give me time to correct my mistakes-like you had." Let's say your traveling down the main thoroughfare in your fair city and you cross over into the path of a semi truck-how much time would you like to correct your mistake? If you're aware you're making errors, why prolong correcting them? This is what my mother refers to as trifling. And it's also what sometimes makes me unpopular with women I date-I will highlight an area that is in need of correcting-and I hope you will do the same for me. Because I hope you're not telling this to berate me, I hope you're telling me out of love and the want for the both of us not to have to dig ourselves out of a hole.

As I mentioned in my opening, this was going to be random-I guess I'm just venting. But hopefully you've all gleaned something of use from my rant.

TPOKW