I'm listening to KISS now. It was my cousin Joe's favorite band. As I start to write this tome, the date reads June 25th. He has been gone two years. This October he would have turned 47.
As far as blood family goes, he was more like a big brother then a cousin. More of a mentor and a best friend then any of my family, outside of my parents of course. Joe was far greater a person then I could ever hope to be.
He, in spite of seemingly endless tough breaks never let the world keep him down for too long. He was the quintessential optimist in a world that, at times, seemed to revel in negativity. When, during, "the storm", he lost it all, he still managed to put on a brave face, smile, and find a ray of sunshine through it all.
That he always, to this day manages to put a smile on my face is something I wish he knew. Be it through his kindness of heart, or his, and I am not exaggerating here, endless stories, he always found a way to pick me up. If I lived life half the way he did, it'd be an accomplishment.
He will always be my best friend.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
The E-Street Band, Performing Live At The Enchantment Under The Sea Dance!
I don't exactly remember the last words my mother said to me. She was far gone by that point, physically, whereas, I was too far gone mentally and emotionally. I know I was afraid. I didn't know how i'd carry on without her.
12 years later it still seems like just yesterday. Its kind of difficult to grasp how much has transpired in what in my mind anyway, amounts to a short period of time. Twelve years shouldn't have rushed by as quickly. But I look to where I am now as opposed to then and I think the trials I went through prepared me to better survive those of today.
She knew and accepted the outcome of her diagnosis and faced it without fear. She did not fight it, which at the time angered me. Then I realized, after a while, in some odd way, she gave me her final bit of strength to fight what would be the hardest time of my life. Its as if she knew the days ahead would be filled with difficulty, but somehow, I made it through. I've often told of how trying those times were, and sometimes been met with, "how did you not jump off a bridge?" For starters, I don't like heights. Unless there's rope involved, I do not like them. Even then, i'm not a fan. But...I made it becuase she gave me the strength. For the record, i'm an Atheist full and through, but I know, in some way, she helped me through it all.
Shes not in the clouds looking after me. I'm well aware of that. If that was the case, I wouldn't be going through what I am now. But I know, inside me, shes there in some way. She is the reason people claim I make good art. If dressing my friends up in costume is what she had in mind at the time, i'm unsure of that, but I am sure I enjoy it, and she would absolutely love that. She loved the idea of art, of creativity, be it with a paintbrush or a pencil.
I choose to remember her by trying to make my own kind of art. I use a camera. Or multiple cameras. The camera holds memory, both in physical and psychological form. You look at a photo and your mind snaps to what was happening at that moment, and the mind starts to imagine. And thats what I love about the art of photography. It gets the imagination in motion. That in turn, gives the spark to the engine that will produce excellent or horrible ideas. The only way to find out what the result is to go for it. Make art. Good or bad.
Thats what she would want me to do, and thats what I am doing. I'm doing something. I'm in motion.
I find that when i'm not in motion, I struggle more. I think thats one of the reasons I run. I feel better when I run. I don't like stopping. I don't like stasis.
I like energy. I like movement, flow, locomotion. Maybe one day i'll stop, but for now, I just have to keep on going. Keep moving, keep pushing, keep producing. And there again, is the big message. Keep doing, keep going, but above all, keep being excellent. Thats what she would want, and i'm fairly sure all our maternal figures would want.
12 years later it still seems like just yesterday. Its kind of difficult to grasp how much has transpired in what in my mind anyway, amounts to a short period of time. Twelve years shouldn't have rushed by as quickly. But I look to where I am now as opposed to then and I think the trials I went through prepared me to better survive those of today.
She knew and accepted the outcome of her diagnosis and faced it without fear. She did not fight it, which at the time angered me. Then I realized, after a while, in some odd way, she gave me her final bit of strength to fight what would be the hardest time of my life. Its as if she knew the days ahead would be filled with difficulty, but somehow, I made it through. I've often told of how trying those times were, and sometimes been met with, "how did you not jump off a bridge?" For starters, I don't like heights. Unless there's rope involved, I do not like them. Even then, i'm not a fan. But...I made it becuase she gave me the strength. For the record, i'm an Atheist full and through, but I know, in some way, she helped me through it all.
Shes not in the clouds looking after me. I'm well aware of that. If that was the case, I wouldn't be going through what I am now. But I know, inside me, shes there in some way. She is the reason people claim I make good art. If dressing my friends up in costume is what she had in mind at the time, i'm unsure of that, but I am sure I enjoy it, and she would absolutely love that. She loved the idea of art, of creativity, be it with a paintbrush or a pencil.
I choose to remember her by trying to make my own kind of art. I use a camera. Or multiple cameras. The camera holds memory, both in physical and psychological form. You look at a photo and your mind snaps to what was happening at that moment, and the mind starts to imagine. And thats what I love about the art of photography. It gets the imagination in motion. That in turn, gives the spark to the engine that will produce excellent or horrible ideas. The only way to find out what the result is to go for it. Make art. Good or bad.
Thats what she would want me to do, and thats what I am doing. I'm doing something. I'm in motion.
I find that when i'm not in motion, I struggle more. I think thats one of the reasons I run. I feel better when I run. I don't like stopping. I don't like stasis.
I like energy. I like movement, flow, locomotion. Maybe one day i'll stop, but for now, I just have to keep on going. Keep moving, keep pushing, keep producing. And there again, is the big message. Keep doing, keep going, but above all, keep being excellent. Thats what she would want, and i'm fairly sure all our maternal figures would want.
Sunday, April 05, 2015
Boxing With Doc Hollywood And The Geenie
I've been working to get a photo project off the ground where I photograph people looking up at me as I stand on a slightly elevated position facing down. The whole thing came about from something I've noticed. Everyone looks down these days. Literally and figuratively. Smartphones, Tablets, Smartwatches. Down, Down, Down. I'm guilty of it as well.
The past few weeks in general have had a downtown look towards them. Building explosions, journalists passing away, terror attacks...its all so depressing. I'm already depressed, so i suppose this project is another one of my many ways to find an outlet...or a means to help fight that depression.
So, with that in mind, i'm calling it, "Always looking up." I took the title from Michael J Fox's first book, of the same name, with the subtitle, "the adventures of an incurable optimist."
Now i won't go as far as to call myself that, but I tend to skew towards hope and light in the world as opposed to darkness, which is why my geek hero of choice was Superman. No disrespect to Batman, whom I also like, but I need light and happy in my world. I know a lot of folks tend to say, "The world is not a happy place." Well, those people need to watch a baby laugh. That'll change their mind right quick.
With this in mind, in the coming days, weeks and months, i'm gonna need some help with this and a few other projects, so if you could be so kind, keep yer eyes open, and look up, you might catch a glimpse of something wonderful.
The past few weeks in general have had a downtown look towards them. Building explosions, journalists passing away, terror attacks...its all so depressing. I'm already depressed, so i suppose this project is another one of my many ways to find an outlet...or a means to help fight that depression.
So, with that in mind, i'm calling it, "Always looking up." I took the title from Michael J Fox's first book, of the same name, with the subtitle, "the adventures of an incurable optimist."
Now i won't go as far as to call myself that, but I tend to skew towards hope and light in the world as opposed to darkness, which is why my geek hero of choice was Superman. No disrespect to Batman, whom I also like, but I need light and happy in my world. I know a lot of folks tend to say, "The world is not a happy place." Well, those people need to watch a baby laugh. That'll change their mind right quick.
With this in mind, in the coming days, weeks and months, i'm gonna need some help with this and a few other projects, so if you could be so kind, keep yer eyes open, and look up, you might catch a glimpse of something wonderful.
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Effie, Brace Yourself...The Mayor Threw Thunder In Jail
Earlier this month would have been my mothers birthday. Each year I try and write a little something to keep my mind at ease. The whole idea of writing is something that came about as sort of a cathartic way to cope with the eleventh of September, and has sort of morphed into an even further form of catharsis.
I'm not a writer by nature, I'm a photographer, as well as a kind and gentle lover, or so i've been told by...well no one. But maybe that lucky someone will say it. More then likely she'll say, "what are you doing? you do know this isn't Showtime After Dark right?"
But yes, I'm a photographer. People sometimes ask me, "Luke, how many batteries did you lick as a kid?" followed by, "Why do you stick with photography when you should be doing anything else?" After informing them it was only 15 batteries and that they were only triple A's....I get to answer the other question, and i've come up with this answer; Photography for me is utterly freeing which is a bit...interesting, in that i'm essentially freezing a moment forever. If that sounds a bit oxymoronic, it is, but bear with me.
Photography is a beautiful thing. When I have a camera in my hands, I instantly feel better about the world. I won't say all problems disappear, but they seem further away. I feel like i'm in my element, like its where I belong. From the feeling of a shutter click to the smell of a darkroom, from the euphoria of a shoot gone well, to the weary happiness at the end of a long edit...it all just feels right. Thats what I love about photography. But lately it seems as though it's not good enough for the world.
No one cares if you are passionate about something it seems. You're simply looked upon as some kind of obsessive lunatic who doesn't know how to, "grow up." as they say.
My mother wouldn't have stood for that. She didn't. She did things her own way. She dreamed, just like I do. Today, twenty nine years ago, seven others followed their dreams on the backs of legends, and though they took a different path, and their ride to Valhalla, like my mothers, ended far too soon, I am here to pick up the reins.
I am here because I am too damn stubborn to quit. It's hard, life has always been that way, especially lately, but through every time I cry, I somehow hope to gain a little strength from it. I don't know how...Inspiration is a fickle thing, but when it does strike, it carries me further and further each time. One day its photographing book biting girls, the next its capturing the moment that pie goes -SPLAT!- in someones face.
Everyone finds their own inspiration, be it through photography, cooking, acting, etc., I just hope that people stay with their chosen passion and not let too much reality take it away. As the great Robin Williams once said, "You are only given a little spark of madness, you mustn't lose it."
I'm not a writer by nature, I'm a photographer, as well as a kind and gentle lover, or so i've been told by...well no one. But maybe that lucky someone will say it. More then likely she'll say, "what are you doing? you do know this isn't Showtime After Dark right?"
But yes, I'm a photographer. People sometimes ask me, "Luke, how many batteries did you lick as a kid?" followed by, "Why do you stick with photography when you should be doing anything else?" After informing them it was only 15 batteries and that they were only triple A's....I get to answer the other question, and i've come up with this answer; Photography for me is utterly freeing which is a bit...interesting, in that i'm essentially freezing a moment forever. If that sounds a bit oxymoronic, it is, but bear with me.
Photography is a beautiful thing. When I have a camera in my hands, I instantly feel better about the world. I won't say all problems disappear, but they seem further away. I feel like i'm in my element, like its where I belong. From the feeling of a shutter click to the smell of a darkroom, from the euphoria of a shoot gone well, to the weary happiness at the end of a long edit...it all just feels right. Thats what I love about photography. But lately it seems as though it's not good enough for the world.
No one cares if you are passionate about something it seems. You're simply looked upon as some kind of obsessive lunatic who doesn't know how to, "grow up." as they say.
My mother wouldn't have stood for that. She didn't. She did things her own way. She dreamed, just like I do. Today, twenty nine years ago, seven others followed their dreams on the backs of legends, and though they took a different path, and their ride to Valhalla, like my mothers, ended far too soon, I am here to pick up the reins.
I am here because I am too damn stubborn to quit. It's hard, life has always been that way, especially lately, but through every time I cry, I somehow hope to gain a little strength from it. I don't know how...Inspiration is a fickle thing, but when it does strike, it carries me further and further each time. One day its photographing book biting girls, the next its capturing the moment that pie goes -SPLAT!- in someones face.
Everyone finds their own inspiration, be it through photography, cooking, acting, etc., I just hope that people stay with their chosen passion and not let too much reality take it away. As the great Robin Williams once said, "You are only given a little spark of madness, you mustn't lose it."
Thursday, December 11, 2014
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 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...
Monday, June 23, 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
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.
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.”
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.
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.
Monday, April 14, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
One Of These Years I'm Going To Beat Him To The Check...
I'm breaking out like a 15 year old right now because i'm stressed. Ironically maybe, stress comes easier now than it did when I was 15. When one is 15, the things we found to be, "stressful" often in the long run turned out to be nothing of the sort. Kind of frightens me for what the future holds.
When I was 15 life was different, it almost seems a world away...I was still a kid...and everything was magical and the world held promise and hope. Then adulthood comes along and tries to beat it out of you, and it seems that, as of late, it has. This year has not been entirely kinda to me, nor has it been kind to others.
But, I the eternal optimist, with the 15 year old still living inside me still has hope that the promise of a new better day awaits. After all, thats part of what this season is about, isn't it? Being a kid again? Why limit it to one day, month or season though? Its time to unlace the boots and run in the mud again. Its time to sit on a comfy couch and read comic books. Its time to cover your neighbors car in water on a cold day so it freezes over...alright...maybe not that last one. Unless you have a grouch of a neighbor...which I do. Its time to have a soda drinking...and then burping contest...We need to let our freak flag fly proudly again...
...If we don't, we might not get another chance. One thing i've learned this year is that ages old and sometimes irritatingly cliche` mantra of, "life is precious, live today like it could be your last."...I wish i applied that mindset for no practical reason, but sadly I had to.
Christmas is not about religion for me, I am an atheist after all...but it is about togetherness in regards to the, "life is precious" thing. Spend time with those you like and love. Enjoy that time, enjoy those people, and don't be afraid to open up to them, to joke with them, or to be there for them...unless you happen to be pooping...privacy is important too ya know.
Realize that some people might spend this holiday alone, and welcome them into your life. No one, and I mean no one should be alone on Christmas, "Home Alone" taught us why. Give an 8 year-old that much freedom and Joe Pesci gets burned, and Joe Pesci doesn't deserve to get burned...nor do the cookies I made, but, hey, ya win some, ya lose some.
One thing I...you...anyone shouldn't lose is the ability to hope for a better tomorrow, a better year...whether its something as simple as downing a chocolate milkshake without getting an ice cream headache, or something as complex as getting a favorite tv show back on the air(yes, that one), you need to act on what you want. Make that your goal for the next year, not your resolution, because those are meant to be broken...make it your goal.
Don't accept anything less then what you want(unless it means cracking a brick over someones head, thats considered a felony), or what you deserve. Instead of saying it, go out and do it, give you all, and if you fail, you at least gave 100% effort. Be the person 15 year old you wanted to be, be the person you want to be. Its Christmas dammit. Have some hope.
When I was 15 life was different, it almost seems a world away...I was still a kid...and everything was magical and the world held promise and hope. Then adulthood comes along and tries to beat it out of you, and it seems that, as of late, it has. This year has not been entirely kinda to me, nor has it been kind to others.
But, I the eternal optimist, with the 15 year old still living inside me still has hope that the promise of a new better day awaits. After all, thats part of what this season is about, isn't it? Being a kid again? Why limit it to one day, month or season though? Its time to unlace the boots and run in the mud again. Its time to sit on a comfy couch and read comic books. Its time to cover your neighbors car in water on a cold day so it freezes over...alright...maybe not that last one. Unless you have a grouch of a neighbor...which I do. Its time to have a soda drinking...and then burping contest...We need to let our freak flag fly proudly again...
...If we don't, we might not get another chance. One thing i've learned this year is that ages old and sometimes irritatingly cliche` mantra of, "life is precious, live today like it could be your last."...I wish i applied that mindset for no practical reason, but sadly I had to.
Christmas is not about religion for me, I am an atheist after all...but it is about togetherness in regards to the, "life is precious" thing. Spend time with those you like and love. Enjoy that time, enjoy those people, and don't be afraid to open up to them, to joke with them, or to be there for them...unless you happen to be pooping...privacy is important too ya know.
Realize that some people might spend this holiday alone, and welcome them into your life. No one, and I mean no one should be alone on Christmas, "Home Alone" taught us why. Give an 8 year-old that much freedom and Joe Pesci gets burned, and Joe Pesci doesn't deserve to get burned...nor do the cookies I made, but, hey, ya win some, ya lose some.
One thing I...you...anyone shouldn't lose is the ability to hope for a better tomorrow, a better year...whether its something as simple as downing a chocolate milkshake without getting an ice cream headache, or something as complex as getting a favorite tv show back on the air(yes, that one), you need to act on what you want. Make that your goal for the next year, not your resolution, because those are meant to be broken...make it your goal.
Don't accept anything less then what you want(unless it means cracking a brick over someones head, thats considered a felony), or what you deserve. Instead of saying it, go out and do it, give you all, and if you fail, you at least gave 100% effort. Be the person 15 year old you wanted to be, be the person you want to be. Its Christmas dammit. Have some hope.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
The 12 Labors Of Hercules
The reason I chose that title above is for a multitude of reasons. One of which being the significance of the number 12. Another being my affinity for Greek mythology. Another still is becuase New York City, much like ancient Greece before it, can, in many aspects be considered the modern day pantheon of society.
Yet, I believe our city, our time will endure far, far longer than that of ancient Greece. It already smells older than it.
In fact, I beleive the fires that were stoked that day 12 years ago rage still this day. But they rage in a different way. They are the fires of hope, of a Phoenix rising above despair. My fellow New Yorkers may be scoffed at or even sometimes mocked because of our way of life, our candor, but without our city, this nation would not be what it is today. From the Bodega owner in the Riverdale section of the north Bronx to the family doctor in Tottenville, here on Staten Island, we have proven time and again to be a bastion of civility in light of the worst of humanity, and it was proven once again 11 months ago when our city was dealt another sucker punch by Hurricane Sandy.
Thats why I marveled at the fact, five days ago, as I stood on a Rosebank shoreline with a friend of mine...staring out over the harbor at Manhattan....that we still in fact had a Rosebank shoreline.
While i'm not arrogant enough to beleive that New York is a city strong enough to defeat mother nature, I do like to beleive that they can come to some agreement over a slice of Pizza at Denino's...or Nunzios...or Joe & Pats...or Lombardis...or Grmialdis...or...well, you get the picture.
New York city is so ballsy its frustrated some of the great writers, such as E.B. White, who once said, " It is a miracle that New York works at all. The whole thing is implausible."
Yet, through that audacious, sometimes unabashed bravado, the true New Yorker, the true American shines through...even in the darkest of nights.
My cousin Joe, whom I considered a brother, and who passed away 4 months ago, was one of the truest personifications of a New Yorker I can imagine. He lived his life to the absolute fullest and somehow, someway managed to even wear both a Yankee and a Met hat and get people to smile through one of his endless, and I mean endless stories. If, eons from now, New York Cities history is be complied onto a Quadroceptotino-drive (yes, I made that up so don't bother Googling it.), you can be certain that my cousin will get a chapter of some sort.
It is that kind of person, that kind of individual that will always be the true face of New York. So while the 34 inch plasma screen may show you a De Blasio, or a Colbert, both excellent in their own right, i'll prefer to look at an old Kodakchrome of Joe Spinelli.
When I gazed out over the harbor at that skyline friday night, at that tower rising amongst the stone and glass of the city beneath it, I had that galvanizing "New York Minute" moment to myself where I realized that yeah,I, like the city will have hard times, but we will make it through those trying experiences, not because we have to, not because we want to, but becuase we simply "will." Our willpower is that strong. We really are, that damn stubborn.
So to those who seek to belittle us, and snub us...those who don't really know us. I ask you to remember when we dug on our hands and knees with buckets searching for hope 12 years ago. We found it. We found a lot more then hope, we found something indescribably incandescent. Hell, we may be one of the only cities in the history of the world to get dealt a series of devastating blows, but instead of sinking in defeat, we defiantly stand up, dust ourselves off and push onward, ready to meet the next challenge.
We're a city of of dreamers, and I know that I, like my cousin, my mother, and countless others dream of a city, hell, of a world where everyone, regardless of race, regardless of gender, regardless of religious preference, regardless of sexual preference, looked at each other, and gave that truly New York style handshake that turned into a hearty hug, because that is what it REALLY means to be a New Yorker.
It means throwing out all of your intolerances, all your prejudices, becuase when you really, and i mean really need that bathroom at that deli, you aren't going to care what religion the owner is, so why should it bug ya any other time. And why should it matter if the person who gives you coffee is gay or straight? How does that impact your life? It doesn't. And thats what being a New Yorker is about...not sweating the small things. We have more important issues to deal with, like...when's Jeter's ankle gonna get better? or why the hell is that damn ferry late again? It's the third time this week.
So I ask you, if you have time, listen to Billy Joel's(One of my late mothers favorites), "New York State Of Mind", and then remember this statement :
Being a New Yorker is a privilege, one not taken lightly. And I, Like this city, ain't goin' no where..
Yet, I believe our city, our time will endure far, far longer than that of ancient Greece. It already smells older than it.
In fact, I beleive the fires that were stoked that day 12 years ago rage still this day. But they rage in a different way. They are the fires of hope, of a Phoenix rising above despair. My fellow New Yorkers may be scoffed at or even sometimes mocked because of our way of life, our candor, but without our city, this nation would not be what it is today. From the Bodega owner in the Riverdale section of the north Bronx to the family doctor in Tottenville, here on Staten Island, we have proven time and again to be a bastion of civility in light of the worst of humanity, and it was proven once again 11 months ago when our city was dealt another sucker punch by Hurricane Sandy.
Thats why I marveled at the fact, five days ago, as I stood on a Rosebank shoreline with a friend of mine...staring out over the harbor at Manhattan....that we still in fact had a Rosebank shoreline.
While i'm not arrogant enough to beleive that New York is a city strong enough to defeat mother nature, I do like to beleive that they can come to some agreement over a slice of Pizza at Denino's...or Nunzios...or Joe & Pats...or Lombardis...or Grmialdis...or...well, you get the picture.
New York city is so ballsy its frustrated some of the great writers, such as E.B. White, who once said, " It is a miracle that New York works at all. The whole thing is implausible."
Yet, through that audacious, sometimes unabashed bravado, the true New Yorker, the true American shines through...even in the darkest of nights.
My cousin Joe, whom I considered a brother, and who passed away 4 months ago, was one of the truest personifications of a New Yorker I can imagine. He lived his life to the absolute fullest and somehow, someway managed to even wear both a Yankee and a Met hat and get people to smile through one of his endless, and I mean endless stories. If, eons from now, New York Cities history is be complied onto a Quadroceptotino-drive (yes, I made that up so don't bother Googling it.), you can be certain that my cousin will get a chapter of some sort.
It is that kind of person, that kind of individual that will always be the true face of New York. So while the 34 inch plasma screen may show you a De Blasio, or a Colbert, both excellent in their own right, i'll prefer to look at an old Kodakchrome of Joe Spinelli.
When I gazed out over the harbor at that skyline friday night, at that tower rising amongst the stone and glass of the city beneath it, I had that galvanizing "New York Minute" moment to myself where I realized that yeah,I, like the city will have hard times, but we will make it through those trying experiences, not because we have to, not because we want to, but becuase we simply "will." Our willpower is that strong. We really are, that damn stubborn.
So to those who seek to belittle us, and snub us...those who don't really know us. I ask you to remember when we dug on our hands and knees with buckets searching for hope 12 years ago. We found it. We found a lot more then hope, we found something indescribably incandescent. Hell, we may be one of the only cities in the history of the world to get dealt a series of devastating blows, but instead of sinking in defeat, we defiantly stand up, dust ourselves off and push onward, ready to meet the next challenge.
We're a city of of dreamers, and I know that I, like my cousin, my mother, and countless others dream of a city, hell, of a world where everyone, regardless of race, regardless of gender, regardless of religious preference, regardless of sexual preference, looked at each other, and gave that truly New York style handshake that turned into a hearty hug, because that is what it REALLY means to be a New Yorker.
It means throwing out all of your intolerances, all your prejudices, becuase when you really, and i mean really need that bathroom at that deli, you aren't going to care what religion the owner is, so why should it bug ya any other time. And why should it matter if the person who gives you coffee is gay or straight? How does that impact your life? It doesn't. And thats what being a New Yorker is about...not sweating the small things. We have more important issues to deal with, like...when's Jeter's ankle gonna get better? or why the hell is that damn ferry late again? It's the third time this week.
So I ask you, if you have time, listen to Billy Joel's(One of my late mothers favorites), "New York State Of Mind", and then remember this statement :
Being a New Yorker is a privilege, one not taken lightly. And I, Like this city, ain't goin' no where..
Saturday, June 15, 2013
The Ectoplasmic Ionization Rate
In a lil less then one week, on June 21st, i'll be 31...and thats more numbers then i care to use. You see, I like math about as much as I do wearing pants, which is to say I don't, but apparently, some people have made laws requiring their use.
So, 31. And yet i still live at home and am still in the never ending process of getting a degree...apparently living up to that stereotype. I get to see firsthand our natures youth grow up...the aging of, "Generation Y" if you will...and man is that scary...seems like just yesterday some of these kids were turning 5, now they're sitting in a class next to me telling me how, "awesome" it is they can stay out till 4am and wake up in 5 minutes ready to tackle the day and how it will "always be that way." Well junior, I come to you from the future with a little thing i'd like to call reality. It won't always be that easy.
I can't believe I've made it this far to tell ya the truth, I thought for sure a random oven explosion woulda killed me by this point, what with my penchant for random food creations...or perhaps i'd come across someone who didn't like one of my pictures beating me with a fish...which, I've always wanted to do to a few people...y'know, just to hear the sound it makes.
I don't know what to make of it all to be honest. It's a bit surreal. Everyone says "you're supposed to be an adult", but all the "adults" I see are miserable, so whats the point? Plus, i'm pretty sure my Amazon.com wishlist exempts me from being an adult...
I think you're supposed to have fun in life, but it seems a lot of people have forgot that. Yeah, I know...me, you, whoever...will undoubtedly face a lot of struggle and have a lot of bad days, you can't let them own you.
Think about it. Would you rather see a picture of you looking like you just went to a funeral or a picture of you having lunch with Weird Al? We all know Weird Al is the man. And lunch is fun, because its not breakfast, which in my opinion is the most restrictive meal of the day. If you have a burger for breakfast people think your insane because burgers aren't classified as "breakfast food." That...in my mind kinda makes breakfast foodist. I think just went on a tangent and invented a term...go me.
I do tend to ramble like a lunatic at times, but the doctors say thats alright as long as i eat my pudding....man I talk about food a lot....i'm a fat guy on the inside. It all works out since I run, and probably due in part to this running I have knees that hate me. Will I stop? Nope. Why? Because that'd be admitting I let pain win and if you go down that road, its never a good thing. You just have to look at pain and tell it, "nope, not gonna happen."
You need to stronger then pain....and yes, I know I sound like Sylvester Stallone there, but it turns out he was right on that one...and probably also right on, "The Expendables", which I still haven't seen...i'm waiting for a nice lovely lady to join me to see that...because any girl who is willing to sit and watch explosions and 2 hours of likely awful acting is a keeper.
The single life, while it does have its benefits(all the LEGO I want and i can crap with the door open), it does kinda suck seeing all you happy people bitch about relationship problems or constantly ramble about your significant other while most of the time i sit or lay alone wishing I had someone. I'm happy for ya, all...well...most...ok...some of you, really I am, but you bet your ass i'm jealous, and for damn good reason.
But still, throughout that all I don't want to let the world keep me down. I've been here almost 31 years and that means something, it means I've taken hit after hit and i'm still here. I'm still standing, just like my city, which has taken many more hits than me. We're that annoying 3 year old that doesn't shut the hell up in the movie theater.
That I realized today when out for a drive. It takes drive and tenacity to survive, but it takes a special breed to survive in this city, and I've managed to do it with surprising efficiency. That, I think- is why some people dislike New Yorkers, because we're a reminder of the fact that there are tough people in the world. People who like to say, "no" to things, not question them, just say, "no" to them, we're that bombastic. But i'm gonna let you in on a secret, if you're reading this, and you aren't from here, you at least know a New Yorker, and that is enough to make you tough. I hereby imbue you with the toughness of a mother of 6 from the South Bronx. I give you the tenacity of a firefighter from Bed-Sty, the bullishness of a homeowner from South Beach...the REAL South Beach, not the crappy one from Florida, aka Americas Wang.
I'm here for a reason, you're here for a reason, we all are...we're survivors...we're dreamers, we're supposed to be happy, and achieve our goals, whatever they may be, whether its making art out of paper clips or filming really weird porn, you have to push forward to make that dream happen...You need to learn to not be afraid, not let fear and pain grip you, that...is your mind giving up before your heart does.
I've made it this far, and have every intention of going a lot further and so can you, all of you. You all have the ability, the drive and passion to be that photographer, to be that firefighter, to be that baker, to be that crash test dummy, or to be whatever it is you desire to be. You do have it in you, you just gotta look for it, you gotta dig like you're goin for the best booger ever. You'll find it, its there. Trust me.
Be bold, be creative, be daring, just don't be boring...and if anyone tells you that you "can't" do something, work that much harder to prove them wrong, but more importantly, to prove to yourself that you CAN. Surround yourself with people that will lift you up, that will tell you to never give up, that will give you that extra kick in the ass when you need it.
This is what I've learned in my 30 or so years on this planet. Oh, and don't cross the streams.
So, 31. And yet i still live at home and am still in the never ending process of getting a degree...apparently living up to that stereotype. I get to see firsthand our natures youth grow up...the aging of, "Generation Y" if you will...and man is that scary...seems like just yesterday some of these kids were turning 5, now they're sitting in a class next to me telling me how, "awesome" it is they can stay out till 4am and wake up in 5 minutes ready to tackle the day and how it will "always be that way." Well junior, I come to you from the future with a little thing i'd like to call reality. It won't always be that easy.
I can't believe I've made it this far to tell ya the truth, I thought for sure a random oven explosion woulda killed me by this point, what with my penchant for random food creations...or perhaps i'd come across someone who didn't like one of my pictures beating me with a fish...which, I've always wanted to do to a few people...y'know, just to hear the sound it makes.
I don't know what to make of it all to be honest. It's a bit surreal. Everyone says "you're supposed to be an adult", but all the "adults" I see are miserable, so whats the point? Plus, i'm pretty sure my Amazon.com wishlist exempts me from being an adult...
I think you're supposed to have fun in life, but it seems a lot of people have forgot that. Yeah, I know...me, you, whoever...will undoubtedly face a lot of struggle and have a lot of bad days, you can't let them own you.
Think about it. Would you rather see a picture of you looking like you just went to a funeral or a picture of you having lunch with Weird Al? We all know Weird Al is the man. And lunch is fun, because its not breakfast, which in my opinion is the most restrictive meal of the day. If you have a burger for breakfast people think your insane because burgers aren't classified as "breakfast food." That...in my mind kinda makes breakfast foodist. I think just went on a tangent and invented a term...go me.
I do tend to ramble like a lunatic at times, but the doctors say thats alright as long as i eat my pudding....man I talk about food a lot....i'm a fat guy on the inside. It all works out since I run, and probably due in part to this running I have knees that hate me. Will I stop? Nope. Why? Because that'd be admitting I let pain win and if you go down that road, its never a good thing. You just have to look at pain and tell it, "nope, not gonna happen."
You need to stronger then pain....and yes, I know I sound like Sylvester Stallone there, but it turns out he was right on that one...and probably also right on, "The Expendables", which I still haven't seen...i'm waiting for a nice lovely lady to join me to see that...because any girl who is willing to sit and watch explosions and 2 hours of likely awful acting is a keeper.
The single life, while it does have its benefits(all the LEGO I want and i can crap with the door open), it does kinda suck seeing all you happy people bitch about relationship problems or constantly ramble about your significant other while most of the time i sit or lay alone wishing I had someone. I'm happy for ya, all...well...most...ok...some of you, really I am, but you bet your ass i'm jealous, and for damn good reason.
But still, throughout that all I don't want to let the world keep me down. I've been here almost 31 years and that means something, it means I've taken hit after hit and i'm still here. I'm still standing, just like my city, which has taken many more hits than me. We're that annoying 3 year old that doesn't shut the hell up in the movie theater.
That I realized today when out for a drive. It takes drive and tenacity to survive, but it takes a special breed to survive in this city, and I've managed to do it with surprising efficiency. That, I think- is why some people dislike New Yorkers, because we're a reminder of the fact that there are tough people in the world. People who like to say, "no" to things, not question them, just say, "no" to them, we're that bombastic. But i'm gonna let you in on a secret, if you're reading this, and you aren't from here, you at least know a New Yorker, and that is enough to make you tough. I hereby imbue you with the toughness of a mother of 6 from the South Bronx. I give you the tenacity of a firefighter from Bed-Sty, the bullishness of a homeowner from South Beach...the REAL South Beach, not the crappy one from Florida, aka Americas Wang.
I'm here for a reason, you're here for a reason, we all are...we're survivors...we're dreamers, we're supposed to be happy, and achieve our goals, whatever they may be, whether its making art out of paper clips or filming really weird porn, you have to push forward to make that dream happen...You need to learn to not be afraid, not let fear and pain grip you, that...is your mind giving up before your heart does.
I've made it this far, and have every intention of going a lot further and so can you, all of you. You all have the ability, the drive and passion to be that photographer, to be that firefighter, to be that baker, to be that crash test dummy, or to be whatever it is you desire to be. You do have it in you, you just gotta look for it, you gotta dig like you're goin for the best booger ever. You'll find it, its there. Trust me.
Be bold, be creative, be daring, just don't be boring...and if anyone tells you that you "can't" do something, work that much harder to prove them wrong, but more importantly, to prove to yourself that you CAN. Surround yourself with people that will lift you up, that will tell you to never give up, that will give you that extra kick in the ass when you need it.
This is what I've learned in my 30 or so years on this planet. Oh, and don't cross the streams.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
For Hope.
I ran last night, not at all absent minded of anything else to do to, not because I wanted to avoid the media onslaught that comes during these tragic events, no, I ran because others could not.
I ran because the cool air invigorated my lungs, my body - into a sense of drive, a sense of purpose to not let fear and cowardice rule my life. To not let the selfish acts of a few weigh me down, for I have done that far too long now.
This however, is not about me, the sum of this all is far greater than any one person, it is about all of us. It is about standing up to intolerance, ignorance, and hatred. That’s what this needs to be about.
Pointing angry, uninformed fingers at one another does not change what happened, it does not make the pain go away, it does not heal a wound.
I know many of you are angry and many are confused, however, acting against an individual or group because of ignorant fears is just as cowardly an act as the one that sullied this day. We are all better then the sum of our fears, we are far greater, far stronger than fear ever will be.
Many of you feel the need to act. Think before doing so. Give help and assistance to those in need, that is far more useful and much more resonating. Hug your family, hug your friends, maybe a little more tighter then normal, and be thankful you have the chance to do so.
It is my wish that one thing that is remembered most about yesterday is the love and caring for one another. In the darkness of horror, the light and love of humanity was at its brightest.
We will endure because we, as a species have hope, and that will always, always trump fear, because, simply put - hope is driven by good, and our capacity for good will always, always, outweigh all else.
I ran last night because I am a runner. I will continue to run, not from fear, but for hope. Hope for a better tomorrow.
I ran because the cool air invigorated my lungs, my body - into a sense of drive, a sense of purpose to not let fear and cowardice rule my life. To not let the selfish acts of a few weigh me down, for I have done that far too long now.
This however, is not about me, the sum of this all is far greater than any one person, it is about all of us. It is about standing up to intolerance, ignorance, and hatred. That’s what this needs to be about.
Pointing angry, uninformed fingers at one another does not change what happened, it does not make the pain go away, it does not heal a wound.
I know many of you are angry and many are confused, however, acting against an individual or group because of ignorant fears is just as cowardly an act as the one that sullied this day. We are all better then the sum of our fears, we are far greater, far stronger than fear ever will be.
Many of you feel the need to act. Think before doing so. Give help and assistance to those in need, that is far more useful and much more resonating. Hug your family, hug your friends, maybe a little more tighter then normal, and be thankful you have the chance to do so.
It is my wish that one thing that is remembered most about yesterday is the love and caring for one another. In the darkness of horror, the light and love of humanity was at its brightest.
We will endure because we, as a species have hope, and that will always, always trump fear, because, simply put - hope is driven by good, and our capacity for good will always, always, outweigh all else.
I ran last night because I am a runner. I will continue to run, not from fear, but for hope. Hope for a better tomorrow.
Friday, February 01, 2013
Apogee
A Few weeks ago, as I aimed my camera toward a rapidly darkening sky, a white streak raced across the heavens. This streak was not some celestial body on its orbital commute across the sky. It was the International Space Station, traveling at 17,000mph, roughly 260 miles above the Earth.
This marvel of human achievement is something that, sadly is often overlooked. This despite the fact that countless, and I do mean countless hours of blood, sweat and tears went into its construction. The fact that it the Space Shuttle Columbia paved the way for its construction should not be forgotten. Nor should the fact that on this very day, ten years ago, Columbia and her crew did not return safely to Earth.
To many, they are just names. Rick D. Husband, William C. McCool, David M. Brown, Kalpana Chawla, Michael P. Anderson, Laurel B. Clark and Ilan Ramon. But to many more, hopefully a great many, they are remembered as they should be, legendary heroes. Sure they may not have battled the forces of evil. They may not have fought crime or fires. But they did something that is just as, if not far more important.
They were dreamers. They looked at the reality of a situation and said, "there's another way, a better way. A fun way." They didn't see problems, they say chances for improvement. The box we sometimes live in? They shattered it. They, and the many, many others who dare to dream, dare to hope for better, dare to give us the chance to make possible the impossible, make real the imaginary.
For the longest time, many people have accused me of "not thinking in reality.", of being a "dreamer" and for a brief while, I let those people convince me that "their way" was the "right way." Turns out they were wrong. I am a dreamer, and you know what? I love it. I'm better for it. I don't want to be confined to the box of normal everyday drudgery, I want to be in the box of six year old me...when the box was a space ship or a submarine.
Dreams exist for reason. To let us know that as dreary as life can get, we always have the power to make it better. Be it a Kansas cornfield or the depths of the Atlantic, you should follow the dream...wherever it may take you. In the end, you will become a stronger person for it.
Whether or not you believe in the space program, believe in this: A decade ago, seven people went took a journey outside of the grip of our atmosphere, into the cold unforgiving black just so that you, me, all of us could have a chance to make our lives better. Is this a sacrifice we really want to forget? Chase your dreams, for our dreams our the key to our happiness.
The dream of happiness is something we all have. And just like the journey these legends took, it is not one of ease, but then again, nothing worth having is easy. You have to fight for it, just like they did.
There is a plaque at a launch complex on the grounds of Kennedy Space Center memorializing another group of Astronauts who made the ultimate sacrifice, and on it, is the inscription, "Ad Astra Per Aspera", which is Latin for "A Rough Road Leads To The Stars"
So while the road may be rough, the stars along the way are more then worth the journey.
This marvel of human achievement is something that, sadly is often overlooked. This despite the fact that countless, and I do mean countless hours of blood, sweat and tears went into its construction. The fact that it the Space Shuttle Columbia paved the way for its construction should not be forgotten. Nor should the fact that on this very day, ten years ago, Columbia and her crew did not return safely to Earth.
To many, they are just names. Rick D. Husband, William C. McCool, David M. Brown, Kalpana Chawla, Michael P. Anderson, Laurel B. Clark and Ilan Ramon. But to many more, hopefully a great many, they are remembered as they should be, legendary heroes. Sure they may not have battled the forces of evil. They may not have fought crime or fires. But they did something that is just as, if not far more important.
They were dreamers. They looked at the reality of a situation and said, "there's another way, a better way. A fun way." They didn't see problems, they say chances for improvement. The box we sometimes live in? They shattered it. They, and the many, many others who dare to dream, dare to hope for better, dare to give us the chance to make possible the impossible, make real the imaginary.
For the longest time, many people have accused me of "not thinking in reality.", of being a "dreamer" and for a brief while, I let those people convince me that "their way" was the "right way." Turns out they were wrong. I am a dreamer, and you know what? I love it. I'm better for it. I don't want to be confined to the box of normal everyday drudgery, I want to be in the box of six year old me...when the box was a space ship or a submarine.
Dreams exist for reason. To let us know that as dreary as life can get, we always have the power to make it better. Be it a Kansas cornfield or the depths of the Atlantic, you should follow the dream...wherever it may take you. In the end, you will become a stronger person for it.
Whether or not you believe in the space program, believe in this: A decade ago, seven people went took a journey outside of the grip of our atmosphere, into the cold unforgiving black just so that you, me, all of us could have a chance to make our lives better. Is this a sacrifice we really want to forget? Chase your dreams, for our dreams our the key to our happiness.
The dream of happiness is something we all have. And just like the journey these legends took, it is not one of ease, but then again, nothing worth having is easy. You have to fight for it, just like they did.
There is a plaque at a launch complex on the grounds of Kennedy Space Center memorializing another group of Astronauts who made the ultimate sacrifice, and on it, is the inscription, "Ad Astra Per Aspera", which is Latin for "A Rough Road Leads To The Stars"
So while the road may be rough, the stars along the way are more then worth the journey.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
According to blogger this is going to be my 347th post. That's obviously less then the amount of days in a year...which is odd considering I've had this blog for over a decade now. Oh how much I, and the world have changed in that amount of time.
I watched Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith tonight. While I can now safely say about 95% of the prequels were worse then having a fat lady fall on you on a hot day, the Lightsaber battle at the end of this film resonates with me personally.
Obi-Wan's words, "I have failed you Anakin, I have failed you." remind me of a friendship I lost. This point was especially driven home a few minutes later when he adds, "You were my brother Anakin, I loved you." This friendship was one of slow build, one that took years, but at its apex, it was unlike any other. Both myself and this person...lets call him R.D., were like brothers. A bond that was inseparable...or so I thought.
Like Anakin, R.D. would eventually succumb to the "Dark Side", but not of a fictional "force" per say, no it was of life. Where others found being pushed to be better a good thing and a determining factor in bettering their life, R.D. would be tainted by his achievements, and it gave him the feeling of social and personal invulnerability. This, combined with a mix of drugs and alcohol would serve to be the undoing in our friendship.
This decimation was not all his fault mind you. I do share some of the blame. My own failure to advance myself both socially and mentally was doubtlessly a contributing factor in the downfall of the friendship. I still shoulder this burden to this very day. Not nearly as much as I once did, mainly because I realize that maybe...just maybe the ending was needed. When my mother passed away in 2003, I had wrongly assumed(you know what they say about assuming.) that we could put our troubles aside and he could be there for me. I was wrong. Very wrong, in fact, as his roommate would tell me, "He thinks he's sorry." proved to me just how far gone he was. Then why do I always find myself wanting to go back? Especially when I know it could end catastrophically.
Maybe it is because that, like my so-called namesake, Luke Skywalker realized of his father in "Return of the Jedi", that, "there is still some good in him." Maybe I have that belief in my friend. Now this is not say that R.D. is evil. He has not killed a basket of kittens, nor has he pushed an old lady into oncoming traffic(though after being a paperboy for 7 years I got close a few times.), but he let his larger then life persona get the better of him and became tainted by it.
If anything everyone who knows me well knows I never go about things the easy way. It's another one of my faults. It's why i'm broke and mostly jobless now. It's why I've failed at love. As my many horrible crushes have proven to me, maybe I aim too high. Be it a girl who has stratospheric wealth, or one who has a committed boyfriend, I can never seem to get a foothold on anything within my grasp.
It is this lofty, dream-driven mindset that has likely tired many people close to me, and again, could be a factoring reason in the ending of that friendship.
But from the ashes of that friendship, I have learned how to build anew. This rebuilding has made my life better, especially within the past year. It has been a difficult year to say the VERY least. I liken it to a battle in which I am a lone warrior fighting against an unending army, and every time I sense the battle turning in my favor, another legion of troops is sent my way.
Then, like any good battle, the reinforcements show up, just when they are needed the most. And if that scenario played out in real life, my friends would be those reinforcements. They all, in various ways helped me survive that year, and in doing so showed me once again, that friends are stronger then family.
I'm not the easiest person to know, truer words have likely never been spoken. And everyone can attest to that. For that, I am truly sorry. I know those words likely seem shallow to many, but I speak them with sincerity, for I know my demands, my...sheer unique-ness can drive anyone mad. But, and I know it might be hard to believe, I am doing my best to remedy these faults. It may not come quickly, but I hope it does. I do not enjoy the life I currently live.Now before everyone gets nervous, I ASSURE YOU...I am NOT in any way planning on harming myself or others.
I am not a believer in violence, nor am I a believer in weapons, which, I know will alienate a few, but honestly...I don't give a shit. I've seen far too much horror in my life, nay, in this year to be a proponent in weaponizing the public. In fact, I was never a fan of it, but after the horror I've seen this year, I am even more vehemently opposed to it. I do believe in self defense. I do not believe in putting lead into another human being.
Now I know that many of you think that makes me a peace loving hippie. I am not. Rest assured if you attempt to harm me or those close to me, I will not hesitate to snap your legs into toothpicks, nor will I be ashamed of breaking your nose. Does that make me a hypocrite? Maybe. But I think i'd take far greater satisfaction out of watching someone walk with a limp for the rest of their life then be 6 feet under.
Many scream second amendment. Might I remind you that at the time of the second amendment's writing, no one owned an Uzi, but many owned slaves? In fact I'm fairly certain that if we went back and looked at all the laws written back then, we'd find them to be at best...dated. Maybe it is time we revisit them in an attempt to bring about a day where police officers do not have to deliver horrific news at ones doorstep.
I do not want to see any more photos of anguished people in tears due to tragedy. I want to see tears of joy. The tears that people shed due to absolute unbridled happiness. I want to see photos of troops returning home into the arms of loved ones. I want to see photos of shiny new cars being straddled by sexy models. I want to see photos of people in bliss. There needs to be an end to bitterness, to hatred and bigotry.
The cartoon series, "The Jetsons", envisioned a bright and great future, and it is still within our grasp to attain that future. I know it. I am, at the end of the day an eternal optimist. Maybe this is another one of my faults. But...faults build cracks and the cracks in my give a damn are very close to breaking.
These dams, these barriers that I've set for myself, they've held me back far too long, and in many ways contributed to what I will flatly call, a shitty year. Sure I've had sparks of goodness and joy, but all in all, it was quite shitty. But in spite of that, I have seen some friends have the opposite, and that truly does make me happy. I would easily trade my happiest day to a friend who was having a terrible one. I learned long ago that happiness for me is in all likelihood...unattainable. Now you'll note that a few lines ago I mentioned my penchant for being an optimist. How can these two mix you ask? Well, i'm complex.
As much as I would like to think I deserve happiness, I realize where I am now. I'm 30. I still live at home. I have a serious learning disability, I have PTSD, I'm broke, and mostly jobless. I'm going for a degree in a field that is dying. I know where I stand in the world. And for those of you screaming, "get help." Rest assured, I am. That's all i'll say about that.
But what I will continue to say is that I need too...everyone needs to, at some point put themselves in front of others and take the knife to the chest. I've been far too selfish for far too long and it has gotten me no where. I've let my fears envelop me to a point of almost no return. But, again, partially through the strength of my friends, and partially due to my own un-ending stubbornness, I've become quite adaptable. If nothing else i'll take that as a character development. That and the fact that I am a survivor. I will not quit. Accept that.
Maybe that is why I continue to hope for a peace between me and R.D. Maybe thats why I keep pushing forward where others have failed, where even I have failed. I'm not really sure where I gained that trait, but I'm kinda proud I did.
That is why, when the surge waters were rising, when power was flickering, when the house was creaking and shaking, i took a quick look at my life and was not happy. It was the only time in my life when I actually thought I would die. And I was scared. I was scared that I accomplished nothing. I even asked myself, through tears, as I sat alone, "is this as good as its gonna get?" I fought with myself in the darkness and fear. I sat there for I don't even know how long...and like a crazy person kept telling myself I had to fight for what was better and if I made it out alive to not accept the bad that life gives me.
I've done a little bit since then to improve my situation. I didn't expect a change overnight, and if I did, that would have been foolish.
I did endure a lot in those days, and in the weeks since. I've doubted myself, I've doubted others, but like I said, i'm a survivor. And while i'm proud of that, I don't want to look at situations as something I have to "survive", but as something I can either learn from, or enjoy.
I truly hope I can enjoy the next year. I've always been a bit O.C.D and superstitious, so knowing the number that ends the forthcoming year, I will not try to say it as much, and due to that fact I'll attempt to quicken its pace. But if its pace slows, I truly hope it is for something good.
Even though I said I want good for others, I also want good for myself. I do have a feeling, especially after this year, as though the universe owes me. And owes me big. This being said, I also know that I need to, at least partially make for myself what I want.
What do I want? Happiness, plain and simple. I want to be able to, in a year or so's time, say, "That was a damn good year." And, "it sure is good to see a nice naked gal on my bed." I'd also like to say the following:
"Thank you Mister President, It was an honor to be your driver. Sorry about the dents in the limo."
Or, "Yes, Allstate? I'd like to ensure my Ecto-1."
Or "My name is Luke Crisalli, i'm the photo editor for National Geographic's new NYC division."
Or, "Why yes, i'd be happy to give you my chocolate covered bacon candy."
Like I said. Eternal Optimist.
I watched Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith tonight. While I can now safely say about 95% of the prequels were worse then having a fat lady fall on you on a hot day, the Lightsaber battle at the end of this film resonates with me personally.
Obi-Wan's words, "I have failed you Anakin, I have failed you." remind me of a friendship I lost. This point was especially driven home a few minutes later when he adds, "You were my brother Anakin, I loved you." This friendship was one of slow build, one that took years, but at its apex, it was unlike any other. Both myself and this person...lets call him R.D., were like brothers. A bond that was inseparable...or so I thought.
Like Anakin, R.D. would eventually succumb to the "Dark Side", but not of a fictional "force" per say, no it was of life. Where others found being pushed to be better a good thing and a determining factor in bettering their life, R.D. would be tainted by his achievements, and it gave him the feeling of social and personal invulnerability. This, combined with a mix of drugs and alcohol would serve to be the undoing in our friendship.
This decimation was not all his fault mind you. I do share some of the blame. My own failure to advance myself both socially and mentally was doubtlessly a contributing factor in the downfall of the friendship. I still shoulder this burden to this very day. Not nearly as much as I once did, mainly because I realize that maybe...just maybe the ending was needed. When my mother passed away in 2003, I had wrongly assumed(you know what they say about assuming.) that we could put our troubles aside and he could be there for me. I was wrong. Very wrong, in fact, as his roommate would tell me, "He thinks he's sorry." proved to me just how far gone he was. Then why do I always find myself wanting to go back? Especially when I know it could end catastrophically.
Maybe it is because that, like my so-called namesake, Luke Skywalker realized of his father in "Return of the Jedi", that, "there is still some good in him." Maybe I have that belief in my friend. Now this is not say that R.D. is evil. He has not killed a basket of kittens, nor has he pushed an old lady into oncoming traffic(though after being a paperboy for 7 years I got close a few times.), but he let his larger then life persona get the better of him and became tainted by it.
If anything everyone who knows me well knows I never go about things the easy way. It's another one of my faults. It's why i'm broke and mostly jobless now. It's why I've failed at love. As my many horrible crushes have proven to me, maybe I aim too high. Be it a girl who has stratospheric wealth, or one who has a committed boyfriend, I can never seem to get a foothold on anything within my grasp.
It is this lofty, dream-driven mindset that has likely tired many people close to me, and again, could be a factoring reason in the ending of that friendship.
But from the ashes of that friendship, I have learned how to build anew. This rebuilding has made my life better, especially within the past year. It has been a difficult year to say the VERY least. I liken it to a battle in which I am a lone warrior fighting against an unending army, and every time I sense the battle turning in my favor, another legion of troops is sent my way.
Then, like any good battle, the reinforcements show up, just when they are needed the most. And if that scenario played out in real life, my friends would be those reinforcements. They all, in various ways helped me survive that year, and in doing so showed me once again, that friends are stronger then family.
I'm not the easiest person to know, truer words have likely never been spoken. And everyone can attest to that. For that, I am truly sorry. I know those words likely seem shallow to many, but I speak them with sincerity, for I know my demands, my...sheer unique-ness can drive anyone mad. But, and I know it might be hard to believe, I am doing my best to remedy these faults. It may not come quickly, but I hope it does. I do not enjoy the life I currently live.Now before everyone gets nervous, I ASSURE YOU...I am NOT in any way planning on harming myself or others.
I am not a believer in violence, nor am I a believer in weapons, which, I know will alienate a few, but honestly...I don't give a shit. I've seen far too much horror in my life, nay, in this year to be a proponent in weaponizing the public. In fact, I was never a fan of it, but after the horror I've seen this year, I am even more vehemently opposed to it. I do believe in self defense. I do not believe in putting lead into another human being.
Now I know that many of you think that makes me a peace loving hippie. I am not. Rest assured if you attempt to harm me or those close to me, I will not hesitate to snap your legs into toothpicks, nor will I be ashamed of breaking your nose. Does that make me a hypocrite? Maybe. But I think i'd take far greater satisfaction out of watching someone walk with a limp for the rest of their life then be 6 feet under.
Many scream second amendment. Might I remind you that at the time of the second amendment's writing, no one owned an Uzi, but many owned slaves? In fact I'm fairly certain that if we went back and looked at all the laws written back then, we'd find them to be at best...dated. Maybe it is time we revisit them in an attempt to bring about a day where police officers do not have to deliver horrific news at ones doorstep.
I do not want to see any more photos of anguished people in tears due to tragedy. I want to see tears of joy. The tears that people shed due to absolute unbridled happiness. I want to see photos of troops returning home into the arms of loved ones. I want to see photos of shiny new cars being straddled by sexy models. I want to see photos of people in bliss. There needs to be an end to bitterness, to hatred and bigotry.
The cartoon series, "The Jetsons", envisioned a bright and great future, and it is still within our grasp to attain that future. I know it. I am, at the end of the day an eternal optimist. Maybe this is another one of my faults. But...faults build cracks and the cracks in my give a damn are very close to breaking.
These dams, these barriers that I've set for myself, they've held me back far too long, and in many ways contributed to what I will flatly call, a shitty year. Sure I've had sparks of goodness and joy, but all in all, it was quite shitty. But in spite of that, I have seen some friends have the opposite, and that truly does make me happy. I would easily trade my happiest day to a friend who was having a terrible one. I learned long ago that happiness for me is in all likelihood...unattainable. Now you'll note that a few lines ago I mentioned my penchant for being an optimist. How can these two mix you ask? Well, i'm complex.
As much as I would like to think I deserve happiness, I realize where I am now. I'm 30. I still live at home. I have a serious learning disability, I have PTSD, I'm broke, and mostly jobless. I'm going for a degree in a field that is dying. I know where I stand in the world. And for those of you screaming, "get help." Rest assured, I am. That's all i'll say about that.
But what I will continue to say is that I need too...everyone needs to, at some point put themselves in front of others and take the knife to the chest. I've been far too selfish for far too long and it has gotten me no where. I've let my fears envelop me to a point of almost no return. But, again, partially through the strength of my friends, and partially due to my own un-ending stubbornness, I've become quite adaptable. If nothing else i'll take that as a character development. That and the fact that I am a survivor. I will not quit. Accept that.
Maybe that is why I continue to hope for a peace between me and R.D. Maybe thats why I keep pushing forward where others have failed, where even I have failed. I'm not really sure where I gained that trait, but I'm kinda proud I did.
That is why, when the surge waters were rising, when power was flickering, when the house was creaking and shaking, i took a quick look at my life and was not happy. It was the only time in my life when I actually thought I would die. And I was scared. I was scared that I accomplished nothing. I even asked myself, through tears, as I sat alone, "is this as good as its gonna get?" I fought with myself in the darkness and fear. I sat there for I don't even know how long...and like a crazy person kept telling myself I had to fight for what was better and if I made it out alive to not accept the bad that life gives me.
I've done a little bit since then to improve my situation. I didn't expect a change overnight, and if I did, that would have been foolish.
I did endure a lot in those days, and in the weeks since. I've doubted myself, I've doubted others, but like I said, i'm a survivor. And while i'm proud of that, I don't want to look at situations as something I have to "survive", but as something I can either learn from, or enjoy.
I truly hope I can enjoy the next year. I've always been a bit O.C.D and superstitious, so knowing the number that ends the forthcoming year, I will not try to say it as much, and due to that fact I'll attempt to quicken its pace. But if its pace slows, I truly hope it is for something good.
Even though I said I want good for others, I also want good for myself. I do have a feeling, especially after this year, as though the universe owes me. And owes me big. This being said, I also know that I need to, at least partially make for myself what I want.
What do I want? Happiness, plain and simple. I want to be able to, in a year or so's time, say, "That was a damn good year." And, "it sure is good to see a nice naked gal on my bed." I'd also like to say the following:
"Thank you Mister President, It was an honor to be your driver. Sorry about the dents in the limo."
Or, "Yes, Allstate? I'd like to ensure my Ecto-1."
Or "My name is Luke Crisalli, i'm the photo editor for National Geographic's new NYC division."
Or, "Why yes, i'd be happy to give you my chocolate covered bacon candy."
Like I said. Eternal Optimist.
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
Bookishbelle: Day 4 of Christmas: A Ghostbuster's Holiday
Bookishbelle: Day 4 of Christmas: A Ghostbuster's Holiday: Submitted by Luke Crisalli Every year since 2004, I've been shooting my own Christmas cards, and these are absurdly off the wall hila...
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Richmond
As I sit here and type this, its been…oh…4 weeks since Hurricane or Super storm or whatever they’re calling Sandy struck. It’s been hard. Hard for me, harder still for others.
I…for the longest time have feared this day would come. Some called me a disaster prophesier, some said I was being paranoid. If only you knew how right I wanted them to be. To see what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard in the past few weeks…defies logic and reason. I’ve seen untold devastation and unimaginable horror, all within a relatively small island. This is not to say the rest of the region is unaffected…
The Wednesday night after the storm I finally made my way to a working TV at my friends firehouse, and finally got a visual on what I’d up that point only been hearing via radio. It was worse then I imagined. Far worse. Whole cities, towns…absolutely torn apart. These sights have been repeated in person as I’ve toured the island. I don’t think you can really grasp how bad it is through a tv report or even a photograph…
To say Staten Island is devastated would be understating the obvious. To say that we need help would be an even greater understatement. The island has been completely turned inside out. Our once proud and growing beachfront is all but a memory. Beachfront communities have been completely erased.
I have this fear that it may stay that way. This island…for the longest time has been associated with an acceptance of cynicism of sorts. We’ve accepted that we are forgotten and most people try to leave, yet those that don’t seemingly never accept anything that can improve their lives…that being said, what has been destroyed by Sandy…could stay that way due to the mindset of “why rebuild it if another storm will just knock it over again?” which in turn will leave things to rot and crumble and forever stay that way. I’m almost in that mindset too, and I hate it.
This storm was unlike anything I’ve ever been through. That night, as I sat, alone on my living room floor…power was going in and out. The house was shaking, creaking…power transformers were exploding in front of the house, lines going down, wind howling, trees were going down all over, I thought for sure a tree would come into the house, or onto the house or the wind would blow the roof off…I sat there and I thought “this is it. I’m going to die. Alone.” And I was just…it…its an unsettling thought to be confronted with my own mortality…it was scary honestly. To get down to the basics, it was utterly terrifying. I didn’t want to die. I still don’t, but that night…I thought for sure I was going to. Sure I’d always say jokingly things like “this is the end”, but this time, for sure, I thought it was. And I still don’t know how to deal with it. My life didn’t flash before me like some people say it does. It was just…moments of fear. Fear because I had no control over anything, fear because I was alone, fear because honestly I’m not happy with the way my life has been going.
I asked myself; “Is this as good as it gets?” I’m 30, single, broke, mostly jobless, and going for a degree that many consider to be pointless. So again, I ask myself, Is this as good as it gets? I try and I try to get better, but 30 year olds with a learning disability and a penchant for being a dreamer don’t always win, doesn’t always get the girl or score the winning touchdown…its not all sunshine and happiness. It’s hard. And it’s tiring. And I can’t help but wonder, has the lackadaisical cynicism from this island has seeped into me?
I generally try to find happiness with anything, find that silver lining, that piece of hope, but everywhere I look lately I see destruction, horror and just sadness. It’s hard to find hope. You can see it in the way people walk. People have a gray-ashen look to them.
This is not September 11th. This…in some ways…is a bit worse…or maybe its not. It’s different. It’s not one small part of the city. This affected the whole city. It impacted many lives and will do so for a long time to come. This isn’t something we can just bounce back from in a few months. This isn’t something the government can mess around with and leave sitting there while they squabble, this is something that needs to be addressed soon, otherwise it will define us, and honestly I’m tired of being defined by tragedy and terrible things. For the longest time, it’s been, for this island, defined by a damn a garbage dump. Not parkland, pizza, families and mom and pop stores as it should be…no, one stupid piece of land, and it sickens me. And what do we get after that? A TV show that of course picks up on the worst and the dumbest, not the best and the brightest.
You see, that’s my life too. For the longest time, I’ve been defined, by some, in a bad way as weak, inattentive, and too much of a dreamer. I have been singled out as too focused on what I want and enjoy, and been mocked, ridiculed and taken endless hours of shit for it, and ya know what? I’m tired of it, and I honestly don’t care anymore. If I’m known for something, I just want it to be something that I view as good, something I think can better the world, and if I’m considered a dreamer for it, then good. At least I have dreams.
I…for the longest time have feared this day would come. Some called me a disaster prophesier, some said I was being paranoid. If only you knew how right I wanted them to be. To see what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard in the past few weeks…defies logic and reason. I’ve seen untold devastation and unimaginable horror, all within a relatively small island. This is not to say the rest of the region is unaffected…
The Wednesday night after the storm I finally made my way to a working TV at my friends firehouse, and finally got a visual on what I’d up that point only been hearing via radio. It was worse then I imagined. Far worse. Whole cities, towns…absolutely torn apart. These sights have been repeated in person as I’ve toured the island. I don’t think you can really grasp how bad it is through a tv report or even a photograph…
To say Staten Island is devastated would be understating the obvious. To say that we need help would be an even greater understatement. The island has been completely turned inside out. Our once proud and growing beachfront is all but a memory. Beachfront communities have been completely erased.
I have this fear that it may stay that way. This island…for the longest time has been associated with an acceptance of cynicism of sorts. We’ve accepted that we are forgotten and most people try to leave, yet those that don’t seemingly never accept anything that can improve their lives…that being said, what has been destroyed by Sandy…could stay that way due to the mindset of “why rebuild it if another storm will just knock it over again?” which in turn will leave things to rot and crumble and forever stay that way. I’m almost in that mindset too, and I hate it.
This storm was unlike anything I’ve ever been through. That night, as I sat, alone on my living room floor…power was going in and out. The house was shaking, creaking…power transformers were exploding in front of the house, lines going down, wind howling, trees were going down all over, I thought for sure a tree would come into the house, or onto the house or the wind would blow the roof off…I sat there and I thought “this is it. I’m going to die. Alone.” And I was just…it…its an unsettling thought to be confronted with my own mortality…it was scary honestly. To get down to the basics, it was utterly terrifying. I didn’t want to die. I still don’t, but that night…I thought for sure I was going to. Sure I’d always say jokingly things like “this is the end”, but this time, for sure, I thought it was. And I still don’t know how to deal with it. My life didn’t flash before me like some people say it does. It was just…moments of fear. Fear because I had no control over anything, fear because I was alone, fear because honestly I’m not happy with the way my life has been going.
I asked myself; “Is this as good as it gets?” I’m 30, single, broke, mostly jobless, and going for a degree that many consider to be pointless. So again, I ask myself, Is this as good as it gets? I try and I try to get better, but 30 year olds with a learning disability and a penchant for being a dreamer don’t always win, doesn’t always get the girl or score the winning touchdown…its not all sunshine and happiness. It’s hard. And it’s tiring. And I can’t help but wonder, has the lackadaisical cynicism from this island has seeped into me?
I generally try to find happiness with anything, find that silver lining, that piece of hope, but everywhere I look lately I see destruction, horror and just sadness. It’s hard to find hope. You can see it in the way people walk. People have a gray-ashen look to them.
This is not September 11th. This…in some ways…is a bit worse…or maybe its not. It’s different. It’s not one small part of the city. This affected the whole city. It impacted many lives and will do so for a long time to come. This isn’t something we can just bounce back from in a few months. This isn’t something the government can mess around with and leave sitting there while they squabble, this is something that needs to be addressed soon, otherwise it will define us, and honestly I’m tired of being defined by tragedy and terrible things. For the longest time, it’s been, for this island, defined by a damn a garbage dump. Not parkland, pizza, families and mom and pop stores as it should be…no, one stupid piece of land, and it sickens me. And what do we get after that? A TV show that of course picks up on the worst and the dumbest, not the best and the brightest.
You see, that’s my life too. For the longest time, I’ve been defined, by some, in a bad way as weak, inattentive, and too much of a dreamer. I have been singled out as too focused on what I want and enjoy, and been mocked, ridiculed and taken endless hours of shit for it, and ya know what? I’m tired of it, and I honestly don’t care anymore. If I’m known for something, I just want it to be something that I view as good, something I think can better the world, and if I’m considered a dreamer for it, then good. At least I have dreams.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Legion
About 3 weeks ago, I attended a funeral for a man whom I considered to be a friend. Maybe not the closest friend, but still, a friend nonetheless. That man was Larry Sullivan, from FDNY Rescue Company 5, in Grassmere.
At this funeral, bagpipes were played, flags were flown and the masses stood at attention and saluted.
It was a scene that was all to familiar to not only myself, but especially the residents of Staten Island. While some may choose not remember that day, eleven years ago. I, along with many others, remember it well. It is a day that is literally burned into our memory. It is a day where I saw my city, my home, my family, my friends attacked without reason.
It is a day I cannot-and do not want to forget. I could dwell on the horror, and I will admit, sometimes I do, even eleven years later. Things like that don't leave your mind. Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, I still see that one burning building standing. It was a sight so alien to me that I still can’t comprehend it. I see it belching thick black smoke, then I blink, and it too is gone, becoming one with the cloud that surrounded it. Sometimes I still smell it too. And that for some reason has stuck with me just as much as the images have. It was a smell unlike any other. I suppose the best way to describe it is gunpowder mixed with something…and everyone knew what that something was, but no one wanted to say it.
That eerie silence overtook us for a while. It was almost louder then the explosions that created the day. I could remember the terror, the fear, but I choose not too, because amidst the chaos, something remarkable happened. A different kind of explosion, a new kind of fire. It was the fire of determination.
Determination to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and help one another. Being a New Yorker, hell, being a Staten Islander suddenly carried more of pride then it ever had before. We all saw the images. People digging with buckets, people waving flags, offering blood, water, food, anything to rescue workers. Those people did not ask to help. They just did it. Others saw that and followed suit.
And so can the rest of us. That has to be what we take away from that day, not horror, but human compassion. We don’t need an attack or a tragedy to help people. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “it takes a tragedy to bring us together.” It honestly makes me angry. We are a good people, we always wish to be, we shouldn't need a horrific event to bring us together.
A lot of people wait until this time of year, then they start waving flags and yellow ribbons and “never forget” banners. Then a week or two passes and what happens? They forget. The cynicism returns, and it makes me angry. You don’t have to mourn every day, but for crying out loud, be a decent human. That’s what I think the true meaning of “never forget” should be, that’s how it should resonate.
Maybe i'm just a blue eyed dreamer who believes that superheroes can walk among us, albeit in the form of real people, but thats a hope that I believe everyone should cling to, if for nothing else then to teach us that somewhere, deep inside us, lies that primal urge to do good for no other reason then us simply realizing its morally correct.
Whatever happened to just helping someone who dropped a book or holding a door open for someone just because it was the right thing to do? What about smiling at someone who is having a bad day? Small things in theory, sure, and it might not be the same as helping at a disaster site, but you can be damn sure that the person you helped will appreciate it, at least a little. People on this island, hell-on this planet very often like to talk a big game and act tougher then they truly are. Instead putting on this act, how about we all step our game up, become decent humans, and let that be the true face of the world?
Its not about religion, its not about politics, its not about whos gay or straight, its about doing whats decent, about being decent. Being a friend. One of the good things I can take away from that time was the friendships I either rekindled or begun, and ones I still cherish.
So instead of spending this time mourning, go be a friend, to anyone, they'll appreciate it. It may turn into something excellent. George Washington once said, "True friendship is a plant of slow grow, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation." That is what the day should be about, friendship and compassion. That is how you honor those you loved and lost. They'd appreciate it. I know I do.
At this funeral, bagpipes were played, flags were flown and the masses stood at attention and saluted.
It was a scene that was all to familiar to not only myself, but especially the residents of Staten Island. While some may choose not remember that day, eleven years ago. I, along with many others, remember it well. It is a day that is literally burned into our memory. It is a day where I saw my city, my home, my family, my friends attacked without reason.
It is a day I cannot-and do not want to forget. I could dwell on the horror, and I will admit, sometimes I do, even eleven years later. Things like that don't leave your mind. Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, I still see that one burning building standing. It was a sight so alien to me that I still can’t comprehend it. I see it belching thick black smoke, then I blink, and it too is gone, becoming one with the cloud that surrounded it. Sometimes I still smell it too. And that for some reason has stuck with me just as much as the images have. It was a smell unlike any other. I suppose the best way to describe it is gunpowder mixed with something…and everyone knew what that something was, but no one wanted to say it.
That eerie silence overtook us for a while. It was almost louder then the explosions that created the day. I could remember the terror, the fear, but I choose not too, because amidst the chaos, something remarkable happened. A different kind of explosion, a new kind of fire. It was the fire of determination.
Determination to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and help one another. Being a New Yorker, hell, being a Staten Islander suddenly carried more of pride then it ever had before. We all saw the images. People digging with buckets, people waving flags, offering blood, water, food, anything to rescue workers. Those people did not ask to help. They just did it. Others saw that and followed suit.
And so can the rest of us. That has to be what we take away from that day, not horror, but human compassion. We don’t need an attack or a tragedy to help people. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “it takes a tragedy to bring us together.” It honestly makes me angry. We are a good people, we always wish to be, we shouldn't need a horrific event to bring us together.
A lot of people wait until this time of year, then they start waving flags and yellow ribbons and “never forget” banners. Then a week or two passes and what happens? They forget. The cynicism returns, and it makes me angry. You don’t have to mourn every day, but for crying out loud, be a decent human. That’s what I think the true meaning of “never forget” should be, that’s how it should resonate.
Maybe i'm just a blue eyed dreamer who believes that superheroes can walk among us, albeit in the form of real people, but thats a hope that I believe everyone should cling to, if for nothing else then to teach us that somewhere, deep inside us, lies that primal urge to do good for no other reason then us simply realizing its morally correct.
Whatever happened to just helping someone who dropped a book or holding a door open for someone just because it was the right thing to do? What about smiling at someone who is having a bad day? Small things in theory, sure, and it might not be the same as helping at a disaster site, but you can be damn sure that the person you helped will appreciate it, at least a little. People on this island, hell-on this planet very often like to talk a big game and act tougher then they truly are. Instead putting on this act, how about we all step our game up, become decent humans, and let that be the true face of the world?
Its not about religion, its not about politics, its not about whos gay or straight, its about doing whats decent, about being decent. Being a friend. One of the good things I can take away from that time was the friendships I either rekindled or begun, and ones I still cherish.
So instead of spending this time mourning, go be a friend, to anyone, they'll appreciate it. It may turn into something excellent. George Washington once said, "True friendship is a plant of slow grow, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation." That is what the day should be about, friendship and compassion. That is how you honor those you loved and lost. They'd appreciate it. I know I do.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Soliloquy For The Silent
Later today I will be attending a funeral. I, probably like many, do not like funerals. I...generally do not like being in sad, depressing situations. Thats what I think most funerals are.
Lately, much of my life has been a sad, depressing situation, partially of my own faults, my extreme exacting taste being one, my self doubt and lack of confidence are also a contributing factor. Many people, close friends and brief acquaintances have offered advice and tips on how best to combat these things, but this is a battle I must fight my self.
The man that I will be honoring later today was nothing like me. He was a strong, courageous man, and though I did not know Larry Sullivan as well as I would have liked, I knew him to have a smile and determination that could posses a hundred men.
Larry's time working in the FDNY's elite, Staten Island proud Rescue Company 5 saw him battle everything from house fires to car wrecks. Every day he worked, not knowing what he would face, not knowing the outcome, yet he pushed through and carried his head high, proud to represent his company, his department, and his city.
You see, it takes a certain breed of person to not just live in this city, but to thrive, for as Frank Sinatra proudly said, "If I can make it there, i'll make it anywhere..."
Larry Sullivan made it here. He may not walk among us anymore, but he lives inside each and every New Yorker, past present and future. Thankfully, his is one fire that cannot be - should not be extinguished, because his fire has stoked, at least in my mind, a quiet determination to not let my shortcomings own me, but to let my strengths and quirks define me.
Larry, if I become a quarter of the man you were, i'll consider that one hell of an achievement. I'm proud to have been in your presence, to have shaken your hand, and most of all, to have known what a great and excellent man you were, and always will be.
Lately, much of my life has been a sad, depressing situation, partially of my own faults, my extreme exacting taste being one, my self doubt and lack of confidence are also a contributing factor. Many people, close friends and brief acquaintances have offered advice and tips on how best to combat these things, but this is a battle I must fight my self.
The man that I will be honoring later today was nothing like me. He was a strong, courageous man, and though I did not know Larry Sullivan as well as I would have liked, I knew him to have a smile and determination that could posses a hundred men.
Larry's time working in the FDNY's elite, Staten Island proud Rescue Company 5 saw him battle everything from house fires to car wrecks. Every day he worked, not knowing what he would face, not knowing the outcome, yet he pushed through and carried his head high, proud to represent his company, his department, and his city.
You see, it takes a certain breed of person to not just live in this city, but to thrive, for as Frank Sinatra proudly said, "If I can make it there, i'll make it anywhere..."
Larry Sullivan made it here. He may not walk among us anymore, but he lives inside each and every New Yorker, past present and future. Thankfully, his is one fire that cannot be - should not be extinguished, because his fire has stoked, at least in my mind, a quiet determination to not let my shortcomings own me, but to let my strengths and quirks define me.
Larry, if I become a quarter of the man you were, i'll consider that one hell of an achievement. I'm proud to have been in your presence, to have shaken your hand, and most of all, to have known what a great and excellent man you were, and always will be.
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