Rooftop Plumbing With Teddy Roosevelt

    Christmas while in serious debt, and without a job or money is a depressing situation. Christmas with an ailment is even worse.

    I’m desperately attempting to remain optimistic, to stay positive, which became a bit easier in light of everyone’s uplifting, encouraging messages recently, which did help. Still, situations being what they are, its extraordinarily difficult. And while I’m happy I got my card done, and happy that it seems a majority of you hopefully enjoy it, I still cannot shake the searing pang of helplessness and despair, which crushes me even more. Ailments will do that I suppose.

    Christmas is something I’ve always enjoyed, since I was a kid. Its something my late mother loved, and that is something I’ve tried, again, desperately, to carry on for her. Every year, we prep for it, as i often say, "the way NASA preps for a launch." I remember, the first year we moved into this house, 2001. That Christmas was utterly...absolutely...excellent, which was strange considering it was only a few months after September 11th and no one knew how to feel. I remember our house being packed with so many people it overflowed outdoors, and at one point someone had to park on the lawn due to lack of spots on the street…There was just a feeling of joy, the way it should be, it was a bit of a catharsis, a moment to let your hair down. I loved it. It remains, for me, my favorite Christmas.

    I tried like mad to duplicate it every year since, with diminishing degrees of success, and I’m unsure it will ever happen at this point, with my family shrinking ever so rapidly, and with friends moving on or moving away.

    One thing I do have a solid feeling on however, is that this Christmas will be the first in which I haven’t had a job in quite some time. “Take any job” they say, without realizing just how my brain registers that statement. If I take, “Any job”…I will be stuck there, more miserable then I was before. I will be wasting my talents, and my degree…one that I valiantly battled to acquire, and I will never attain true happiness.

    Confucius is known for saying, “Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” Well, Today, a friend of mine retired after 30 plus years of “work.” I’m fairly sure if you do something that long, you have to love it at least a little bit. That’s what I want. I want to take the important photographs, the ones that matter for centuries, and I’m not afraid to say that.

    I knew…had a fairly good idea anyway, that life would be difficult following the completion of my degree. Everyone tells you that, and having seen the real world firsthand prior to getting my degree, I felt like I had a better…not total, but better idea of just how daunting the future would be, and would be prepared for it. Well, I to say I was wrong would be an understatement of gargantuan proportions. You don’t know depression till you purposely sleep on a couch for weeks because you think, “Beds are for winners.”

    Now, I’m not about to have a “George Bailey moment” if you will, and if you don’t know who George Bailey is, educate yourself. You’ll thank me later. No, I’m not at that point, but this year has kicked me around more then it should have to the point one of the things I enjoyed since childhood, Ghostbusters…one of the things that’s become associated with me more then I care for it to be…means nothing to me anymore, due to the actions of many. And It’s sad when something you used to love becomes work…work that you not only find miserable, but work that eats another childhood memory.

    I need this Christmas. I need the next, I need all of them. It is not about religion, not for me, never was. I am after all an atheist. Its not about receiving gifts. No one will buy that 40 pound bag of marshmallows off my Amazon wish list anyway. Christmas, for me…its about happiness, traditions and memories, be they reminders of good ones from the past, or of the establishment of new ones…that’s what its about for me. It’s about people enjoying the smell of a fresh, giant Christmas tree. It’s about the crunch of cookies, the sound of “Grandma got run over by a reindeer”, the reminiscing of Christmases past.

    New Years isn’t a big deal for me, I’m perpetually alone. No one wants to be around the straightedge guy who sips Pepsi out of a wine glass and chomps on Cheez-It’s and then has nothing to do but be asleep by 12:45...but Christmas…I need it. We all need it. We’ve gotten to far away from it. I want to wake up on Christmas morning to 4 inches of freshly fallen snow and sip hot chocolate. Many have said, it looks like. "Christmas vomits in your house." I love it.

    I want to forget about the negative, if just for a moment, and remember what its like to have hope again, so that maybe I can build off that moment and make it a lifetime. I want everyone to remember what it felt like to be a kid...

I'm Just A Kid From Staten Island.

...A Kid from Staten Island. Sure. Let's go with that. I suppose its good to want to emulate Captain America. Everyone wants to be the hero or heroine, the good one, the pure one, the one with the right moral compass, and especially the one who did it despite all odds. The perfect one who leads others.

   Except i'm not really any of those. I'm not a good guy, i'm not a bad one either though. I'm flawed, immensely flawed at times, and while I've never drank, done drugs, assaulted anyone or been arrested...i'm broken. I've said and done things i'm not proud of. But the comics, the cartoons, the movies, they make it all seem so simple to be flawless, even when they show the flaws. The recovery is so simple.

   "Hey, here's a hero or heroine with a bit of angst, but don't worry...in 20 minutes, or 20 pages they'll get over it and succeed with minimal difficulty!" It's never that simple in reality. The angst, the doubt, the fear...it always stays with you, sometimes it eats at you for what feels like eons.

   Sometimes you get the, "Here's the hero or heroine surviving a 30 foot fall barely a scratch. Watch in wonder as they stand right back up!" Yet I can barely keep my left side from shaking most days due to an ailment I'm too afraid to confront and barely able to understand, thanks in part to a learning disability so hard to diagnose, that my barely functioning doctors on my even less functioning health insurance have all but given up on trying to figure out.

   "Now our protagonist will be asked to solve a complex scenario that will ensure his or her's team a victory instantly!" Nice, but I can't keep my mind from running all over due in part to said previous disability.

   These are some of the battles I face on a daily basis. These and others such as, "I am to crippled with fear to talk to that pretty girl." or, "Let me check my email for the 3rd time in the past 5 minutes"...or my new personal favorite, "Not going for that job that everyone tells me to get because its a job!, and instead holding out for the job I want." Turns out no one wants to hire a passionate photographer with a B/A in his ideal field when, "we can hire someone with an iphone."

   I don't know whats more frustrating, that or the fact that its becoming increasingly difficult to find reliable persons to shoot. You'd think in a city with more then 8 million, you'd find a few willing bodies to pose for a few photos. Apparently not.

   Yet despite all this, I do not lose hope. And i'll tell you why, and roll your eyes if you must, but it might make sense. It might not. Just take the ride. You won't get wet.

   In a few days, on the 25th to be precise, it will be one year since my cousin Joe, who was pretty much a brother to me passed away. It was sudden, and way, way, way to soon. Now, I know, all 6 of you reading this will either tune out, click away to pornhub or the nearest cat video, but for the 2 of you who stuck around, first of all thanks, second of all, read this with an OPEN mind. 

   I'm not going to tell you much about him, because, I realize in all honesty, you likely don't really care. That's ok. You didn't know him, you don't have to know his life story, nor do I want to tell it.What I will tell you is this. He easily was the epitome of the phrase, "He'll give you the shirt off his back." This much was true, and I do recall seeing him shirtless a few times. Chris Evans he was not.  But he really was that kind of a human. Didn't matter if you were a Yankee fan or a Met fan. Man, Woman, cat or dog. He did this regardless of how it impacted him.

   And thats where I get my hope from. The kindness of others. The realization, that in this world, there are real "superheroes", willing to drop anything to help others, regardless of the situation. These superheroes don't always wear capes. They don't always have a badge, drive a firetruck, or even use a stethoscope. These heroes are me, and you, the friend next to you, or the lady on the subway reading the paper.

   Everyday people willing to stand up for the right thing. Friends lending an ear. It doesn't matter. Everyone at some point will have a chance to help someone, maybe once, maybe multiple times. And the person being helped likely won't care about any failings the other person has. Thats what makes humanity great, and what gives me hope, is that chance to be great. Everyone can be great, and once you get a taste of it, you get that spark of hope back, and the challenges seem a lil less daunting, and hope seems all the more eternal.

Light Leaks

   "I'm a nobody," That's what I thought eleven and a half years ago when I first set foot onto the Willowbrook campus of the College of Staten Island. I still, in some ways, believe that statement to be truthful, all this time later. It's depressing, sure, but CSI has a funny way of letting you know just where your place in the world is. For me, I always believed that place to be mid-pack. Perpetually 20th place in a field of 40 race cars. Not special. I may still feel that way today, when I finally exit the campus as a graduate, but if I had my way, I'd escape that place like a greased watermelon on a grassy hill (Larry the Cable Guy, eat yer heart out...Since he now shills for Prilosec, that might not be the best advice.)

I know, that's a bit of a rough way to start this retrospective, if thats what in fact this is. But as I began to do A LOT of self examination, I started to think, maybe i'm not a nobody, i'm just a somebody who hasn't exactly found them self yet, Which is a lot coming from someone who describes himself as a: Jedi Knight (If the name fits...), Ghostbuster (Have you seen my car?), A Navy Seal ( I shook ones hand once), A 5 star chef ( I made a Chocolate Pizza), A Secret Service Agent (I bought the earpiece online), A Nascar Driver (I do own some Hot Wheels cars), and a Retired Star Shortstop For The Yankees (Someone Had To Precede Jeter), Olympic Class Runner (I do run...) just to name a few.... 

My Mom, who encouraged me to embrace those kind of...eccentricities...would have loved those crazy little quirks. And the big quirks, and boy do I have those en mass. When I first started CSI, she was well within the sickness that would take her only a few weeks into my second term. I don't know how she endured as long as she did, knowing what the outcome would be, and here I am, more than a decade later, wondering how she imbued me with the strength that I want to beleive she did to endure. In her battle, she taught me perhaps her greatest lesson. Always hang on. Always.

I'm far from religious, in fact, I define myself as an Atheist, so I know she isn't metaphorically looking down on me, but I feel, sometimes, she's there, giving me some kinda push to try and help me get past that year. I still feel that push when the going gets rough. That time period of my life I can easily describe as not only the worst, but the hardest. I would easily wish it upon my worst enemies.

I could not have completed the journey to CSI without the aid of my father...literally. I, for many, many, many days relied on him to traverse to and from campus. I know it often brought him well out of his way, but he still did it, and, just like Grandma, he always makes sure I have food, it might sound silly, but that helps. I mean without him, I would probably still be eating week old Ramen.

 His assistance did not end there. Without him, I wouldn't be able to forget all the math I learned. It took a lot out of him to drill into my head that Y + 45 equals...hey...is that a balloon...? Dad, without you, I likely would never have picked up a camera. What's worse, I might have picked up a chef's hat, and honestly, I think we can all be thankful I didn't. There's only so much chocolate and bacon in the world.

You taught me to always keep my eye on the ball, be it at the plate, or in the field, and though I have the knees of roger clemens and the arm of Tommy John, I hope that one day soon, we can hit the field again, and you can finally actually show me just how much the Mets need you instead of yelling it at the TV. These are just some of the great many things for which I always, always will be thankful.

Dad, your never ending ability and desire to support me...just like your curry-infused cooking is something I, to this day will never understand, but still be eternally be grateful for....except maybe that last part. I know I can always count on him, to help give thoughts on a paper, offer, and help with project ideas, and let me know just when to fall asleep during a movie. Usually right around the point of the nuclear explosion.

Like most kids though, be they 31, 11, or 51, you provided...and continue you to provide me with one of the best things I could ever have. That is the assurance that, whatever trial or tribulation I have gone through, however hard it might be, you have always instilled in me that at the end of it all, somehow, someway, it will be, I will be...alright.

Thanks Dad, for everything, but most of all, for being there for me.

I also look to his partner in crime, ruth, who, despite her joining this journey later on, helped me way, way more then she needed too. She essentially made me one of her kids, which, again, I don't understand, but am thankful for nonetheless. She, like my father is someone who looks past my many shortcomings, and like a true hockey fan, exhibits extraordinary patience.

My favorite film, Ghostbusters is something I also look to for guidance...or levity. I do this more often then I likely should, being an, "adult" and all, but I very often throw that ideology out the window. You see, CSI, like most colleges are supposed to "prepare" you for "adult life", but as my great friend and fellow navy seal/space shuttle pilot/Lego artist Don would say, "CSI is where high school students go to continue high school.", which is true...yet, once you go through the trials and tribulations of that "Adult" life, especially at CSI, sometimes all you wanna do is dress up in an accessorized jumpsuit and spend up to $800 or more on a light up, sound-making 55 pound backpack.

I feel like all those years of preparing to be a firefighter would have helped there, and even though I won't be wearing that gear, the FDNY has given me many life lessons that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

Those who know me for .5 seconds know that the FDNY has been an immensely powerful motivation tool, and provider of hats for me. More important, it has given me some great buddies, like Billy Smith, who has sideburns i'll always be in awe of. Arsen, who I know at some point will give me rope. And Tory, who somehow managed to not get punched while rebuilding my elbow.

Some mock me for my allegiance to them, describing it as, "Childish hero worship"...and while I first began my interest in firefighting when in kindergarten, I don't see it as childish. I see my affiliation with them as a way of striving to be what we all want to be inside; someone who gets to drive a big red truck, smash stuff with hammers, and at the end of the day, help someone.

That's what I...what we should all take away from what they, as well as countless others do daily. They help people. That is what we, as New Yorkers, nay, as humans the world over should do. Help those in need. We did it 13 years ago on that day, and continue to do it today.

You see, for me, September 11th is a wound that still hurts. It happened before I came to CSI, but once I got there, you could tell the wound was still raw. As I progressed through classes and campus life, the wound slowly began healing, until summer of 2012, when my photography and that day would once again coincide.

It began simply enough, a photograph taken a few years prior. The photo, that of firefighter Larry Sullivan, nicknamed "Sully", from Rescue 5 walking away from a fire here, was a decent enough shot I figured, never one to boast about my own work. Shortly thereafter, I presented it to him at the firehouse as I always do.

In 2012, on another routine photo-drop, I was told that Sully was sick. His body ravaged by what he  inhaled that day, and the ones following. I knew, despite my best hopes, the prognosis was grim. I was then told, "That photo you took of Sully? Not for nothing, but that's probably gonna be at his funeral."

That was a gut punch and still is. The intent of my photography has always been to uplift and showcase the positive aspect of the world, especially that part of it. That photo has grown to become something more then I originally intended it to be. It has showcased an extraordinary individual to inspiring others. I don't want to think of it as the photo that was used at his funeral,  I want to think of it as the photo that has inspired, and continues to inspire. That is, as I said, the goal of my work.

You see, photography has centered me. Hell It was at CSI where I discovered that it was exactly what was missing in my life. Since I was a kid, I'd always had a camera with me (when I say camera, I don't mean iphone. I mean actual physical photography device.), but it was at CSI where I honed my craft, where, under professors like Beatrix Reinhardt, Stephanie Powell, Mikhael Antone, Dan Nelken, Dan Hughes, just to name a few, i'd really find my footing, and now, I can at least in some way can fake being a photographer.

   Photography, in my mind is the epitome of working hard for something you love. My good friend Zara once said,  “My film Camera is three years old. I just put color slide film in it for the first time today. I'm so nervous. I'm so excited. I'm so dorky. I'm so in love.” Its rare thing, loving what some call a hobby, that much.

   Be it getting a pie to the face, sucking in so many chemical fumes you become a walking bio-hazard, or going so long without sunlight, you begin to wonder if its the darkroom or if you're becoming part-Irish. For the record, as someone who is 50% Irish, I deem that joke only 75% racist ( Sorry Dad, I still suck at math.) You just have to love it that much.

You spend hours, days, or even weeks trying to do produce something, sometimes you fail, but then 2 things happen; one, you get frustrated to the point of tears & Hulk like-rage that results in wall-punching & Steven Tyler-esque screaming. The second thing, is quite amazing. You find yourself surrounded by people asking, "what happened?" and "heres what you did wrong, lemme help,", or "Is there anything you need?"

That is how photography works. Especially at CSI. It turns into a a pseudo-family where everyone helps one another when the going gets tough. Once, when faced with a pressing deadline and nearly insurmountable problems, my friends Cassie and Mike, swamped with their own work, dropped what they were doing to help me, and I didn't ask. They did it, becuase, as Mike said, "We want to see you succeed." If that isn't damn decent humanity, I don't know what is. And, lemme tell ya, if you ever want something to get done right in the photo department, you go to Cassie. She will get it done, with a smile, and do it while wearing a Disney princess backpack.

It doesn't matter if you're digitally inserting someone into a shot 6 times, like my friends Laura(who knows that photo is a major) & Lisa, or shooting roadside memorials, which my friend Don managed to make into a hauntingly beautiful project. Someone will always be there to help. That's what friends do.

And, Don, while some of the deer on Staten Island may disagree, is perhaps one of the best men I have ever met, not just at CSI, but in my life. Always there to lend a hand, a saw, a face to be pied, or sage, Yoda-like advice, such as, “Warm blankets are the enemy of productive days.”

Don, who once paid me perhaps the greatest compliment i'll  ever receive, “Your mind is filled with amazing useless information” is easily one of the most talented, most genuine guys i've ever met. If this were Hawaii Five-o, you would be the "Donno" to my McGarrett. I am glad CSI gave me you. 

CSI gives you more then an education, it gives you friends for life. It gave me my friend Zara, who knows the value of a good diner, and of is perhaps one of the most level headed people I've ever met. She once told me, “Sometimes chasing nothing when everything is chasing you is better then standing still when it's all you think you can do,” That's advice you can take to the bank.

CSI gave me Friends like my buddy Mari, who, for some unknown to me reason, offers me the kind of help I wish I got from the Time Warner helpline. She, much like E.B. White said about New York, "is a miracle that she works at all. The whole thing is [at times] implausible"....Mari is the Swiss-army knife of life.

Friends like Gella, who was one of the first people I met on my 3rd tour of duty in the forests of Willowbrook, and someone who knows how to get the back of my skull to look good in a blurry camera phone shot. Though i've mentioned quite a few folks, the people I have met at CSI who have had an impact on my life are far to numerous to even begin to mention by name without sounding like a Nascar driver who just won an academy award, but for the record, I would like to thank Pepsi, Caterpillar, Canon, Old Navy, Samsung, Pontiac and my pit crew.

 Its not just about the friends I gained from being a CSI student, its also about the friends, who are essentially family, that I have known for most of my life...that helped me complete this journey.

My sister-friend Michelle, really is just my big sister, even if she cannot point out Hawaii on a map. Shell is the one person who has been there for me more than anyone. I am, and always will be proud to call you family, and proud that you drew the duck blue. Ours is a friendship that has, in recent times, been through more downs than up's, but, hey Corky, here's a pretty big, "up." Now, have I earned a cup of lemon juice yet, or do I still have to clean the kitchen? Nooch.

Her parents Mark and Eleanor, who have more hope for the Mets then even my father does, pretty much adopted me as the son they never wanted.

Shell's sister Kim, husband Brian, you guys have always believed in me, encouraged me & fattened me up with what I will hope is in no way vegan food, otherwise, I promise the next batch of potatoes I cook for you will be cooked in bacon fat. Their kids, Arielle and Dylan, are the best "not quite-but actually are" niece and nephew I could ever ask for, and without a doubt the greatest, smartest and wittiest hope for the future, and with the future in their hands, I know the next generation will be just fine.

Even with friends like that, I will still remember my family, particularly one great person who could not be here today physically, but will always, always be there in my heart and mind.  

   Last summer, maybe due in part to Hurricane Sandy's impact, my cousin, Joe, my best friend, passed away, another loss in a life full of loss. I don't want to remember Joe for the way we lost him, he wouldn't want that. Joe would want to be remembered for all the good things, and those good things could fill a library. Joe was the epitome, the absolute epitome of the phrase, "he'll give you the shirt off his back."  I know, wherever he is, hes...probably bugging the crap out of Harold Ramis to sign this photo for his, "kid cousin." Thats exactly how Joe was. He never once thought of himself. Be it friend or family, day or night, he'd be there with a smile, and an endless list of stories sure to keep anyone entertained, regardless of whether or not the person in the story was, as he sometimes put it, "a bum!" I will always consider it the greatest privilege that he was as much a part of my life as he was. 

Oddly enough, When the news about Joe reached me, the one place I went to for an escape was not firehouse, not a friends place, or a diner, but CSI. Thats when I had to acknowledge that, while the place is not perfect...in fact, it is such an utter disaster at times, i'm shocked it functions as a place of "higher learning."...It began to dawn on me at that point, that for the past 11 1/2 years, its been...home.

It was at that moment I realized, like "Brooks" in, "The Shawshank Redemption", I'd become institutionalized...dependent on a place I thought I disliked...due simply to the fact I'd been within its physical confines so damn much. I got used to it...comfortably numb to its problems, of which there were many.

However, at this moment, I then realized why I was comfortable, why I sought refuge within the 200 plus acres of often dimly lit, goose poop infested windiness.

In my introspective retrospective, I found it was all about the people, not the physical place, but the people. I wasn't exactly a social butterfly at first, and i'll argue i'm still not, but I eventually found people, like-minded weirdos that would help me trudge through the landscape of what was once - and in my mind continues to be, an asylum, run by good hearted inmates, a crew of misfits on a ship in deep space. I'd learn something unique from each of them, be it for good or bad, i've pulled a lesson out of each of them...out of each of you. I couldn't have done this journey, this odyssey without you.

The song, "Somewhere Out There." was one that was sung during my elementary school graduation from P.S. 11 in 1993, and one that is currently being belted out by my playlist. I know that somewhere out there...This odyssey  i've rambled on about will help, and hopefully all of you, find true happiness.

This is not an ending. Endings suck. They usually result in tears and regrets. Its a new beginning. I'm not sure where my life will take me next, I have vague ideas, such as Lego mansion builder, Chocolate skyscraper owner, but whatever mile marker I, or you, run past next, I want you to take this advice to heart; Don't Cross The Streams....wait, that's not right, oh here it is...

Be as unique as you want to be, don't let anyone tell you that being, "Strange", or "Weird" is a bad thing. Being strange and weird means you are letting your true self out, which is one of the hardest things you can do. You leave yourself exposed, but when you do that, and I say when, because I beleive everyone has the strength to do this...you've begun your road to true happiness, which, just like each and every one of you, is one of the most beautiful things you could ever accomplish.

The Reading Room At Arkham

   "You are officially a candidate for graduation.", read the letter...and with that...the hopeful last steps in a decade plus long journey begin, and they scare the crap out of me, At first the prospect of this was to alarming to talk about. And I have no problem admitting to that, for fear has long been a powerful force in the past decade plus for me...both good and bad.

   Fear, in all its forms, is always a motivating tool for me, either holding me back from things or situations that will have some sort of meaningful impact...or pushing me to do what I once thought was impossible.

   Thankfully, lately at least, its been the pushing fear that has been winning out...albeit with mixed results.

   I don't want to look back at my academic life just yet. Its not over, and if I do, that...bad fear...will permeate me, forcing me to a excellent land of panic attacks, cold sweats and shaking more violent then a Staten Island ferries "new" engines. The time will come for that soon enough, for now is the time to plow headlong into the last few weeks of it all. Y'know the thing I shoulda finished years ago? That's what the real kick in the ass has been...and continues to be.

   I'm sitting in classrooms at 10am on a random Wednesday with people born in a year I was a sophomore in high school. I say it to a lot of people repeatedly, many of them being the very people in those classrooms, all the while, the people I deserve to be with, the guy scaling a ladder, the girl with cupcakes, the kid I grew up with who has 3 jobs and is already a homeowner, the girl with a 3 day a week job...have started their lives. 

   It makes me feel like i'm playing a game of catch-up, that I always will. But within them, within the ladders, the cupcakes, inside the cozy house, the 3 day job, they have all given me that extra drive, because they have all given me a piece of themselves, they've worked with my quirks, hell, they've made them shine, and made me realize that the quirks aren't as much a hindrance as I thought.

   Hell, some of these lunatics have even let me hit them in the face with a pie. Thats a whole new level of trust. Or maybe they just really like pie. I know I do. I actually want some right now. Thats me, in the middle of introspection, I think of pie. Apple pie, Lemon Meringue(Which i'll freely admit I had Google help me spell.), Wildberry Pie, Key Lime, Chocolate Pudding...Theres nothing quite as sad as disappointing pie. I had it a few months ago at a place I almost always enjoy, and it damn near ruined my day, but then I remembered one of those people I just talked about, and wrote them a quick text, and it made it all better.

   Thats some kinda power. To help me overcome bad pie, you either have to be part Kryptonian or part Jedi, maybe both. Thats why i'm happy I have these kinda people in my life. I only wish I had the power to show you all how much you mean.

   Wow, now I really want some damn pie. And a good book. Yeah...pie and a good book.
  

The Bully Day

   "Valentines day is every guy's least favorite day. Valentines day is the bully of holidays. It forces love on people who aren't in love." were the ever so fitting words uttered by Allison Pill's "Newsroom" character Maggie. The continuation of that line should have been, "...and reminds those who have no one just how alone they really are."

   Am I complaining? Yes. Yes I am. I'm alone in a city of millions, and that...is an accomplishment I am not proud of.

   I've seen it day after day, night after night with nearly every couple i've ever met, They bitch, moan, scream, fight and are just generally awful for each other, while some of us just lay in bed at night, alone, wishing we had anyone, someone...to hold, to talk to, joke with, put cake batter on each others noses with, run with...its tough. Achingly tough.

   We wonder what we're doing wrong, saying wrong....is it the way we dress? Something we said? Is our face to ugly? Are we too poor? Maybe our brain is too slow to catch it all. Why can't we just say what we wanna say?

   It's fear. Fear of rejection, or even of acceptance. Because with acceptance comes change...and change is scary, it brakes the homeostasis, the familiar, the routine.

   I hate change mostly. It scares me to the bone sometimes. Big change especially. Loss of my grandparents, change. Loss of my mother, change. Loss of My Cousin, Change. Loss of use of my elbow, albeit temporary, change. All of them bad. Change for me has been bad for the most part.

   I want desperately to experience the good change. The change that comes with waking up that one random morning where the sun shines bright and warm and the day is full of seemingly unending energy, so much so i'm bounding through it like rocket on a course to a new planet.

   I want to not fear change. I want the happy, and I know, many, many people will say, "it will come, you just need to wait for it." or, "if you want it, you need to make it happen.", and i've tried both methods, and have, as always, been left questioning myself.

   I'm better then that. I'm the guy who, without question, managed to get on a major movie set with a fake accent. I'm the guy who pied people in the face, who printed photographs on fire hose, the guy with the Ghostbusters logos on his car, the one who painted his old bedroom electric lime green...i'm the guy who in the same year, got a letter of denial from the White House(Which I framed), while simultaneously getting  a Christmas card from In n' Out burger. I managed to bake cookies in my car. I stood up to high school tormentors when no one else would....I think i'm pretty damn excellent.

   I think almost everyone has some excellent, some courage, like love is a powerful and wonderful motivator. It moves us to do great, sometimes stupid things, but mainly great. Hopefully we all get the courage to make it all possible one day.

Waiting To Pound The Miracle Button

I'm a dreamer. I beleive in miracles, I guess I get that from my mother. Yesterday woulda been her birthday. I'd like to think she'd believe in the miracle of me getting as far as I have with all 9....no...still got 10 fingers...whew.

Its not been easy. I've been burned, physically and emotionally (yeah, i know, "woe is me", but this is me writing not you.), as well as frozen (last week when it was oh...-349 degrees comes to mind). I've been strug out, strained, broken and crushed. I've been all but melted and rebuilt from the ground up.

While its not any different or any worse then what others have gone through, its been my battle, so for others to belittle it is bothersome, and to them i kindly extend my demented middle finger as a sign of my not not giving a damn.

Throughout this all, ive learned a few mighty truths.

The past will never, ever truly go away, so stop trying to make it, stop trying to forget it and learn from it. I'm serious. The farther you attempt to run from something the quicker that the "something" will catch up. Trust me, I know about running. I'm the lunatic who runs when its 204 degrees out. (I like it when I sweat so much my clothes stick to me like a superhero. Woooosh!!)If an issue from the past, be it good or bad, confronts you, charge at it headlong...you might find the result to be surprising. The past is vitally, and yes, sometimes achingly important. It reminds us how to build for the future, and reminds us of where we came from, maybe not in the form of a physical place, but in the form of an experience. It the best instruction manual you can use, and since you wrote it, you can read it in whatever damn language you want.

Variety is not always the spice of life. After going down the cookie aisle at the supermarket, I once again noticed a new flavor of Oreo, bringing the current total to....329223. This is more absurd then wearing underwear backwards so the fart escapes via the pee flap.(don't try this at home, try it at work.) This absurd amount of variety is breeding a society so bored with what we have for 5 minutes that it "needs" something new in 3 minutes, which it will then get bored with just as fast, leading to more stressed out workers, who will then never to engage in watercolor conversation about who has an uglier set of argyle socks. 

Technology is not always a good thing. Leave it to a fictional character voiced by James Earl Jones, but when Darth Vader said, "Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed...", he likely had no clue it would resonate so well almost 40 years later. People laud the e-book, but fail to realize the printed book didn't have to run on battery, and when it got wet, all ya had to do was dry it out. They probably didn't realize that by downloading books, the publishers, book binders, and book store workers(myself included), would be out of work. Give me a 4 pound hardcover any day of the week. I'll use it to keep me dry in a storm, then read later while you get an electrical shock from your now soaked nook.

Scary is good. While not always true, more often then not, the old adage of, "the things we are most scared of are the most worth it." is usually spot on...keep in mind this does NOT apply to eating bugs or licking batteries. But being scared of that girl or guy, for whatever reason is not worth the fear. Break through the wall and be a hero, to at least yourself. You'll find that it was worth it, and while it might take a bit, it is worth pushing past the fear. Fear is nothing more then a stuck jelly jar. Its always easier...and far more satisfying to open with a sledgehammer.

While I'm not a philosopher, I do play one on TV...er...if I was on TV. Thats not true. I'd probably play a firefighter...or a race car driver. Or a male cheerleader. Regardless, its possible these could work, but being one who applies to the method of, "not following ones advice"...I might not be so sure. I would like to find out, I would also like to find out what Pepsi Cheetos taste like to. Theres only one way to find out...and maybe, just maybe, i'll get that miracle.