Skip is a Punk.

            In 1976 I was eight going on nine, my mother loaded my three sisters, my cousin, myself her friend and her friends daughter into a station wagon and headed for Washington D.C. to celebrate the nations bicentennial. Yes, this was early July. Where the station wagon came from I have no idea, and how six kids and two adults along with the metric ton of clothes, games, toys, blankets, pillows and other sundries, I will never understand.

            I was positioned in the back of the car along with the daughter of my mother’s friend. I really didn’t mind. It afforded me time to read, watch the world pass by backwards and I was quite comfortable lying on my sleeping bag with my head resting on my pillow. Even though it was hot as Hades back there, for I don’t think the car had air conditioning or if it did, the cool air never reached as far back into the vehicle where I was stationed.

            I do remember occasionally playing car bingo, watching my cousin who had strep throat and decided eating potato chips was a good idea gets his ass whipped by my mom. I recall reading multiple books, playing cards, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of a cooler and sipping luke warm milk. When I was tired, I slept, that is until the girl who was relegated to staying in the back with me got sick. This was not a fun thing, no matter how much we cleaned the car, the stench of vomit could not be removed, even with the windows open and a sixty mile rush of air fought for superiority over the obnoxious aroma.

            As for the music on the radio… I can’t recall, I wish I could, but if there was anything playing on the old AM/FM receiver either I didn’t like it and blocked it out, or it was never turned on. I believe the former is true rather than the latter. Simply because as far back as I can aI was interested in rock and roll and my family… pop music. Therefore, if any music was played, it was most likely pop and I blocked the offensive melodies from invading my mind.

            The trip, where we stayed, what I did to get my ass whipped by my mother in front of Abraham Lincoln and the endless nights of sneaking out into suburbia with my cousin are tales for another time. Instead, let us now hope into a time machine and fast forward a bit… to the year 1979. A year where my musical tastes changed with a simple decision.

            Late August, early September of 1979, living in Green Bay, Wisconsin the air steadily cooling one never left home without a light weight jacket and I was no exception. My motley crew of pals and I spent those last days of freedom riding our bikes, shooting our bb guns, listening to rock music and scoring cigarettes where we could. We were all trying to make the most of the last vestiges of summer. Late night pool hopping parties, sleep over’s in the rafters of our respective garages where no real sleep ever took place, and chasing after girls even though our attention span was that of a fleeting gnat and if any of us really managed to garner the attention of someone of the fairer sex, we certainly wouldn’t know what to do with her.

            Yes, we were kings of the tawdry streets of the Midwest. I don’t know whose idea it was to go see a movie but once the subject was broached, we all eagerly agreed. We jumped on our bikes and headed downtown to the theaters. In Green Bay, around 1977, a mall was built in the downtown district called Port Plaza, it was a cool place to hang out, play video games, drink Orange Julius and eat Rueben’s at Pranges. Also, outside the mall was a great candy store where the old man behind the counter made the candy by hand as well as several different kinds of popcorn. The theaters were not part of the mall, nor were they next to the candy store but in order for us to save what little money we had, we stopped by the candy shop and locked our bikes in the bike racks at the mall. Then we walked the three or four blocks to the theatres.

            On movie house showed only adult films, we couldn’t go there, another showed a movie we decided we would never be able to get into because of the rating. The last one was showing a movie called “Rock and Roll High School” it was rated PG. We knew we could get in.  So we bought our tickets, and went in to watch the show.

            I fell in love with Riff Randall aka P.J. Soles and laughed at all the antics of craziness of Vince Lombardi High School, (named after the late, great head football coach of the Green Bay Packers!) but what really blew me away… was the music. Marky, Johnny, Joey, Dee Dee and of course the first drummer Tommy, banging out the basic chords of Rock-n-Roll High school, Blitzkrieg Bop and Lobotomy blew my mind away. Not to mention the songs of Todd Rundgren (who I’d already heard of) and of course Alice Cooper (who everyone had heard of by then) gave me a great appreciation of the film.

            But the Ramones music… the punk sound that threw away all the basic rules of modern music that I’d been listening too made my mind snap. They had managed to strip away almost all but the core harmony and melody leaving only a juvenile rhythmic beat that was topped off with the gravely singing of Joey Ramone. Even in the brief scenes of the film where the Ramones eventually show up and the manager of the band is forcing the band to eat alfalfa sprouts instead of pizza was funny.

            When we left the theatre I talked my buddies into stopping by the record store. When we got there, I asked the clerk about “The Ramones”. The young twenty-something behind the counter had long greasy hair, and pointed to the far corner of the store to a hand written sign that read “PUNK”. My two compatriots scattered about the store, Fish was looking at some of the new head gear located behind the glass counters, Fin was checking out soundtrack albums. I headed towards where the head-case had pointed me.

            The bins for the punk albums were small. Only four compartments, two of which held Ramon albums, another had a band called “The Sex Pistols”, which intrigued me. But I knew if I came home with an album by a band called “The Sex Pistols” my mom would have a conniption. I grabbed two albums by the Ramones, the self titled debut and “Rocket to Russia”. Both were on sale. When I asked the clerk about sale of punk albums he said “No one listens to that crap. It’s too angry.”

            “I kinda like it.” I responded.

            “Then you need to relax a bit more, like your pal over there.” He said and pointed to Fish who was now holding a small brown bag in his hand. On his face was a large shit eating grin. I knew immediately what he had bought and what we would end up doing when we got back to his basement.

            About that time Fin showed up holding an album to his chest. I gave him a quizzical look but he just pushed past me.

            After Fin purchased his record, hiding it from us as much as possible, we headed back to Fish’s house. Riding was a bit difficult for me and Fin simply because our packages required for us to hold on to them with one hand while Fish’s package easily fit in his pocket.

            In Fish’s basement I quickly set the album’s on the turntable and started to play them, Fish pulled out his new head pipe and began to fill it. Fin’s purchase went forgotten. That night we smoked and listened to the hard strumming albums over and over and lived for every grinding note.

            Last week, the last founding member of The Ramones died. Tommy. With his passing so goes another part of my youth. He was the drummer for the first album with one of the best songs in punk history. “Blitzkrieg Bop”. He only was the drummer for a few short years but he went on to help manage the band through all its members.

            All this past week I’ve listened to the classic radio station off and on. Not one Ramones song has been played. There was however an announcement of Tommy’s death, but no tribute to one of the greatest punk bands from America.

            A band that single handedly launched the sales of leather jackets, torn jeans and white tee-shirts along with Chuck Taylor shoes.

            I can’t say I’m going to miss the Ramones, I wish I could, but I can’t, simply because I will always have their music to reconnect me to those heady days of the late seventies and the early eighties.

            For now though I’m gonna go listen to some Ramones and hope my mind if flooded with memories of youth, laughter, irresponsibility’s and misguided decisions based on altered states of mind. As I type this I’m smiling and can only believe that somewhere out in the ether, the original Ramones are in some other-worldly garage plugging in their instruments while countless incorporeal onlookers develop goose pimples in anticipation of the first notes of “Blitzkrieg Bop” or “Judy is a Punk” or “The KKK took my Baby Away” or “Let’s Dance” or “Rockaway Beach” or “Teenage Lobotomy.”

            I know if I were dead, I’d attend that concert.

            Have a great week.

            

Ironic Joe

            One of the great things about my jobs is that I get to observe people. All manner of people from all over the world. People who are economically challenged people who never seem to worry about a dollar and every kind in between. That being said, those people, the visitors to the museum, to the restaurant and the occasional contractor are not the only ones I observe.

            Each and every individual has a story to tell, whether verbally, or by the actions they perform in public view. I like to believe most individuals on this planet are good. They are here trying to do their best to survive and not damage others around them. Of course, there are exceptions to this rule. Our history books are filled with both kinds, although the latter get much more attention than the former. Truth be told, it is easier to find out more information about Hitler, Stalin, Polpot, Amin, Hussein and many other infamous individuals that it is to find out the same volume of information on the people that actually help others. It’s an odd sort of dynamic of the human condition. We seem to thrive upon the wrong doings of others rather than focus on the charity of the masses.

            This is about one of the few persons that rarely come to my attention and it is because of his actions that I write this blog. I don’t know this persons’ name so I will call him “Joe”.

            Tuesday night, five in the afternoon, I’m sitting at my part time job waiting for the first customers to arrive. Seated a few feet from me was the owner and next to me his son, also a waiter. The hostess, the owner’s daughter was standing at the hostess counter. The owner and I were talking about various things in the political and not so political world. We were in good spirits and ready for a night of hard work. My coworker seated next to me was busy playing with his smart phone, a dull look of incandescent glossiness in his eyes when the door to the restaurant opens.

            We were seated in the back of the restaurant where it is a bit dim and looking towards the curtained covered glass door and into the sunlight. I couldn’t make out who was standing there but what I heard peaked my interest.

            “God Bless You.”

            Seriously, that is what I heard on a Tuesday evening. Not the normal greeting from a patron of a food establishment. I squinted my eyes and leaned forward to get a better look as the visitor boldly stepped into the building. Both myself and the owner stopped talking and gave our full attention to the suspected patron.

            “God Bless You.” He said again as he approached the hostess. She stared at him, her head cocked to the side a bit.

            “Listen, I was hoping you could help me out. I’m trying to get to Norfolk on the bus to get to the homeless shelter and I only need a dollar fifty. Can you help me out? Or maybe two bucks so I can get a drink? It’s really hot out.”

            The young hostess audibly sighs, nods her head and begins digging through her change purse. The sound of clinking coins add a strange tune to the jazz music playing over the speakers. I look at my boss and say “Should I just give him a coke from the fridge?” But my question falls on deaf ears. He is too engrossed in observing his daughter digging rooting around for change to pay attention to me.

            “I really appreciate you helping me out, I’ve been stuck here. God Bless You.” He says again. “I can’t seem to get out of here. Thanks, God Bless You.” He then looks to the back of the restaurant and notices us sitting there looking at him. “Hi, God Bless You, thank you for your help.” He says to us.

            “I’m not going to help you.” My boss says. “You need to help yourself.”

            Then the man made huge mistake. He confronted my boss, a man who is a extremely smart, powerfully driven and self made. The beggar whom I’m going to call Joe as I said before looks at the owner and says “What? You don’t believe in charity?”

            Oops… I say silently to myself knowing what this man and his family have done for charity in the past fifteen years. Well, I may not know how much but I do know it is a lot just from what I’ve seen.

            The owner points to Joe and yells “You’re not a charity, there is nothing wrong with you. Go get a job, like everyone else.”

            Joe’s reply… which was classic, “There aren’t any jobs. I’ve tried. That’s what brought me here.”

            “You’re lying; there are “Help Wanted” signs all over the place. I saw three this morning on this block alone. You’re not helpless you’re just lazy.” He then looks at his daughter and says “don’t give him any money. I wouldn’t.”

            The daughter/hostess stands at her station almost frozen, her gaze moving from her father to Joe. She’s unsure what to do.

            “Man, you aint gonna help me? What’s up with that?” Joe questions. His voice getting louder and sounding angry.

            “Get out of here. You’re just too lazy to work. We don’t need you here and stay away from our front door.” The owner retorts with almost joyful tones in his words.

            Joe opens the door “Man… Fuck YOU! FUCK YOU ALL! You all can go FUCK YOURSELVES.” He yells as he leaves.

            “God Bless You.” The owner says.

            I laughed for ten minutes. Still am as I write this.

Update:

            While it’s true, I never clearly made out “Joe’s” face it took just a few short days for me to finally realize who he was. He is the homeless man affectionately known as “Poopy-Pants”. You see, he starts panhandling around four in the afternoon and by seven o’clock at night he is so drunk he usually soils himself. Where-upon he starts to enter places of business to use their restrooms to clean himself up. He is highly unsuccessful in this venture. Why? Because who wants a drunk, stinking, poop covered man walking through a restaurant full of paying customers? Also, there are at least three public restrooms within two block of the business.

            I’ve seen Joe in the past panhandling outside many of the downtown businesses. He tells the same story over and over again. He’s stuck here, he’s trying to leave and only needs a small amount to get out of town. Of course there are a lot of people who tell the same story. But only one is Poopy-Pants-Joe.

            God Bless You.

            Have a great week.

            

Rave, Rant and Almost lose my Pants.

Wow, I just realized it was Thursday night and my weekly deadline in looming. (How ominous). My problem is that I don’t what to write about this week. Nothing seems to stand out to me. I mean, sure, I have plenty of topics floating around my scattered and scared mind that I could explore, but what would make anyone want to read those?

            Quick update, I attended a horror convention that I was reluctant to go to. I also saw firsthand the works of the adversary in my church and I worked hard and diligently to stop a mold infection of an almost irreplaceable artifact collection. That has been my week so far. But which topic do I talk about? What do you want to hear about? Then again, not to be callous, what does your impact as a reader have on what is most important to me in my life at this point?

            I suppose I could try and combine all of them. It would make for one truly convoluted blog but I can try… So here goes.

            I started/ended last week in Williamsburg, Virginia at a convention called “Scares that Care”. It was/is a convention where the profits go towards charity. I can’t think of a good reason not to attend something that benefits women and children, especially when there are so many cool writers around. Sure, there were actors, artists and vendors, but my main focus was and will always be writers. People that create from their mind and the tortures they’ve endured the tales of woe that give us fear, pause and hope. These people are fascinating to me. Maybe it is because I strive to be one, or maybe it is because I see in them the things that have brought me to where I am today.

            A tortured soul, stuck in between people I’m supposed to love, do love and people I would never have any dealing with in my real life. I’m talking about family.

            Family… funny who we consider who and what they are. Think about it. Sure, our blood relatives are our family, but how many times do you reach out to them? How often do you talk, connect and share with them? Can you trust them? Can you rely upon them? Can you call them at three am and have them bail you out of jail? If you can, then you are lucky. I know I can’t. I wish I could say differently but I can’t.

            I met a bunch of folks, like minded folks this weekend, who have an eye on the dark, the painful, the disparaged and who live life on a razors edge. People who see things as either good or evil. People who see things the way I see them. They see life as a journey, as a transition from one place to the next and when they finally get to the end of this place, they want to be used up, worn out and an empty husk of what they once were. They want to look back and say “Damn! Did you see that shit? It was crazy but I survived and now I’m here! Can I do it again? No? Okay, what’s next?”

            Crazy cool people who’ve lived their entire lives without knowing what is next. Or if they do, they just don’t care. But you know what? That’s what draws me to them. Not the walking dead, the absence of value, but the ones who know what they want, how to create what fulfills them and go forth and produce it. Those are the individuals I enjoy meeting and talking seem to have lost. Yet, right now, I’m trying hard to find again. A joy in the present with an unknowing eye on the future and a well-placed focus on their past. Men and women who can reach down into their selves and see what made them and why they act like they do. People on the razors edge.

            I feel as if I’m always on that shiny, steel edge of life. As if at any moment all that I’ve worked for can be taken away in an instant. That being said, what happened when I returned from my excursion was of little surprise.

            Yeah, Brian, not the Navy Brian, I’m talking about you and Josh. You guys have suffered and are in the midst of some sort of crisis that I wish I could avert with a single thought. But I can’t, I’m only a corporeal substance on this mudball. (Yeah, I like mudball, what of it?) Just know this treachery and torture is but a small part of a larger picture. I am behind you and if it comes to blows, I am now and will always be a soldier for the light. Even though I dwell in the dark. I suppose that is the best place for a soldier, to live, breathe and survive where there is almost no light, but when called upon, to nut up and take out the adversary where they least expect it.

            It’s not a place I recommend. Nor would I suggest to anyone. Unless you are of like mind and intellect, you cannot possibly understand. If, however you do understand then you know the commitment and the toll it takes on ones soul to fight the good fight. To place yourself into the abyss with no hope of coming back. If this is you, join the quest, if not, sit by the sidelines and watch the carnage. It’s not pretty, it’s not nice and it is definitely not made for family television. It’s dirty, ugly and leaves most involved questioning the reality of this mudball. I don’t question, I act and react.

            So, if anyone from the “Circle” who’ve deemed themselves more knowledgeable and worthy than the elected want to tussle, I’m more than ready to scrap. Just know, I take no prisoners and there will be no quarter afforded. I’m in it for the long haul. You may think you know better but you don’t. You’ve forgotten what you’ve been taught and what has been offered to you. Do not test me. You will lose and you will not know from whence you started until it is too late.

            There is more in scripture about trust, from Joshua to Revelation, than you will ever understand. Same goes for trusting the fishers of men, from exodus to second Timothy and beyond. As for elected officials, from Exodus through Romans. Go figure.

            There is an inherent trust we should afford our leaders and if you have an issue, please feel free to talk to them. Either one on one or in a group. But, please do not sell yourself out to subterfuge, a tool of the adversary, in an attempt to figure out what you feel is wrong in your life or others. It will only lead to smoke and mirrors put in your path by the adversary.

            We, as a unit, a whole, as believers, need to be strong and of one mind. Not separated by sensitivities of this earth real existence. Trust in those who’ve been faithful and not led you astray. People who have been looking towards the light, offering help and assistance to those that need it. No one needs platitudes when they are parched, they need water, life giving water. It’s easy to see the difference. You just have to look through the fog of war that is raging all around you.

            Do I follow these principals? I try. I honestly try. Am I successful? For the most part I am. Then again, I am human and subject to the physicality of our nature. I try to forgive, to forget and to understand those that don’t. I try to be the better man. I don’t always succeed but when I do, my reward is more than I can bare. You, yes, you, you know whom I’m talking to, should try it. You may discover something not just about yourself but about those you have been following for year after year. It’s a catch 22, if you will. You will always have questions and few answers, but you will always have peace and know that what you’ve done is for the best interest of your beliefs.

            As I look down upon my word count I realize I’ve more than exceeded my weekly use of the English language, so instead of going on, I’m going to call it quits for the night and week. Besides, I have a story to flush out. Hopefully something that will get published and put some sheckles in my pocket.

            Have a great week.

Travel Anxiety

Today is the first day of my first vacation this year. It will be a short vacation, three and a half days long. I am supposed to be going out of town for two of those days. Something I’ve been looking forward too for quite some time. Yet, there is a large part of me that just wants to stay home and sleep. To not go anywhere. Just rest and try and let my life catch up with me.

            I know that if I don’t go, I will regret not going, yet I know if I do go, I will most likely end up missing my home, my porch and my family. Yes, I’m going on this journey alone. Just me and my bike and eventually a hotel room to rest my weary bones. Hopefully the place has a pool or a hot tub I can soak in.

            I’m still trying to figure out why I’m going. Sure I have planned this for almost a year now, and I know it is something that I’ve wanted to do, but now the day has come and I’m getting cold feet. Is it because I’m worried about traffic? No. Worried something may go wrong? Not really.

            You see, this trip is to a convention. A convention where I know some people and don’t know others. A place where one ends up talking to all sorts of folks and form friendships through similar interests. So why wouldn’t I go? I mean, here are people that like the same thing I like and yet I’m still hesitant about going, what seems to be the problem?

            I guess it comes down to my social awkwardness. I don’t seem to do too well in situations where you have to meet lots of people. True, I’m pretty comfortable in a one on one situation but when you introduce folks that I have no clue of as to who they are? Well, I just shut up and sit in the corner and observe. I’ve stated that fact before.

            In my youth, I had no issue of going out and greeting folks, traveling and looking for adventure, but here I am, approaching if not in middle age and all I want is comfort, peace and quiet. I want my routine. Unlike the life of a youngster who is always looking towards the horizon I just want to enjoy a slower pace of life. That is unless I’m on my Harley. Then, all bets are off.

            Now I know I will take this trip and I know I will have a good time. Okay, I hope I will have a good time. But for right now, I just want to sit at home, prop my feet up, watch mindless television and fall asleep. I don’t want to pack my stuff, I don’t want to leave my life behind even for a few short days. But I will and I am.

            I hope to have a good time. I hope my old friends are doing well and that the folks I will meet will enrich my life somehow. Then again, maybe I will just hole up in my room, turn on my computer and stalk the fine friends and family of facebook.

            Have a great weekend and wish me luck.

American Dissention?

Cogito ergo Sum. But what does it really mean? Sure we know from the Latin translation it means “I think therefore I am” and that Veni Vedi Vidci means “I came, I saw, I conquered.”

            While in boot camp for the United States Navy my company had a motto. It was “Seek, Engage, Destroy.” This was in the mid-1980’s, Reagan was our Commander in Chief, we were all in our teens and nothing could stop us. We were the greatest, the best trained and the most arrogant of all soldiers, sailors and marines ever to be trained by the United States. We were the answer to the hippy loving, peace seeking, let sleeping dogs lie myopic view of the world.

            But we didn’t really know what we were doing, did we? We followed orders without question and did our best to make sure our duties were performed to the best of our abilities. Was this a mistake? Was this blind following by men and women who didn’t understand the world politics? Maybe. But, now, looking back, did we do the right thing? I don’t know. I wish I did.

            Sure, we partied, we showed tactical support, we had a force that no one could deny and we didn’t care what others thought about us and our antics. We, the 1980’s soldiers and sailors had no clue as to what we were doing. How could we? We were raised to follow orders, do our job and ignore all the naysayers that were around us. Are we to blame? Maybe. But then again, we were doing what we were taught. Just like the modern day terrorists and the Nazi war criminals. Although our motives were not so distorted nor were they as Machiavellian as our enemies. Or so I hope.

            In the 1960’s there were musicians and poets who stood up against the injustice in the world. We, barely semen in our fathers bodies could not even begin to understand what was going on. However, we are now in the mid-life stage of our lives and we have no excuse to why we sit back and watch elected officials send brave men and women halfway across the globe in the name of democracy.

            Democracy… LOL… what a crock of shit.

            What is it? What is the definition of the word that countless people have died for? I can’t begin to fathom it. All I know is that we were founded as a republic but somewhere along our two hundred and fifty years of existence it has gotten bastardized into something that truly means nothing.

            From everything I’ve ever read in history all historians have advised staying out of the Middle East, it will always be volatile and unattainable. So why are we there? Weapons of mass destruction? A falsehood. Democracy? A blatant lie. Support for revolutionaries? Look at Cuba. No, we are there for one simple reason. A reason one of our Presidents warned us about… that reason is the Military Industrial Complex (MIC). For you see, for any entity to truly survive, all they need to do is justify their existence, which the MIC has done. They’ve done it at the cost of our fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers. Our nieces, nephews and grandchildren.

            I applaud any family that has lost a family member in the cause and believe of our way of life. To not do so would be as sacrilegious as cursing the constitution and the bible in my eyes. My question is, did they really need to lose their loved ones? I wish I had the answer. I’m not smart enough nor do I have all the information available as the people who place others in the line of fire.

            However, I do know this, what is going on right now is an unwinnable war, a situation where none of our warriors have a winnable situation. There is no exit plan. I wish there were. But, our current and past administrations have not felt that getting away from a no win situation is worth the lives of the patriots blood that is spilled on a daily basis.

            Don’t get me wrong, I believe in our country and I believe that a democratic government is better and an Aristocracy or even a Dictatorship type of rule. We do have a good system. Even as broken as it is.

            The graft, the backdoor deals, the lies and the inconsistent behavior of our elected officials are truly our own yoke to hold. And it seems to me, no one is questioning the behavior of the people who pass there selves off as our constituents.

            Where are the voices of today? The Dylans? The Who? The Hendrix? The Jopins? The Smothers Brothers? Are they absent? Are they watching semi-reality television? Have they become so inebriated by over the counter pharmaceuticals that they can’t even form a cohesive sentence?

            It’s upsetting. Not in a judeo-christian way but more in he way of “whats best for our youth and future.”

            I’m at a loss. I want some dissention. What the hell happened to the dissention in America? Our fore-fathers stood up against a four percent tax on tea. TEA for fucks sake. Unless you live in the South, tea means nothing to you. Today, however, there is more than a ten percent tax on coffee. COFFEE. The crap over ninety percent of Americans drink each morning from some global coffee monger who started off in a rainy city in the state of Washington. You pay more for a cup of bean juice in two days than you would pay for a pound of ground beans in a grocery store on any given week. This makes very little sense to me.

            Fiscally, this makes a lot of sense. Offer something to people who are too lazy to push a button for themselves at an elevated price and then try to sell them some sort of liberal music so they still feel as if they are fighting against the powers that be. Genius. However, you won’t find me there. Nope. Even the thought upsets my stomach just like the overpriced, overcaffinated coffee and pleasant surroundings make my innards roil.

            I ache, no, I yearn for a singer, a songwriter who will stand up against the current powers that be. The politicians, the businessmen, the corporations and the advertisements that beg for our hard earned dollars. I want dissention. I want questions. I want people to stand up against the status quo and say “I’m smarter than this. I want truth. I want honesty. I want to be treated like the intellectual that I am.

            I know I won’t get it. How could I? Who in our age would want to give up their comforts just to make a point on their principals?

            What are our principal’s? Good question. I wish I had the answers. I wish I could take one of my almost middle aged, bony looking fingers and point to a culprit. But I can’t. Because we are all to blame. Our scarred, scraggly, chubby appendages only end up pointing to ourselves. We are to blame. We are our own worst enemies. We have to be, we keep putting professional politicians in places where they don’t belong.

            Jefferson, Adams, Washington and more never felt there should be someone who would make a career of serving in a public office. Are term limits the answer? Is the outlaw of outside constituents the answer? Or, should we just scrap the entire system and do what Jefferson suggested… which is rewrite the constitution every generation… aka twenty years?

            I don’t know, I wish I did. I just know I’m pretty disillusioned by what the hell has been going on in the states for over twenty years. Where are our hero’s? Where are the visionaries of our generation? Where are the people who will make a difference? I don’t know but I suspect they have gotten caught up in the convoluted world of “Reality Television” and have no inkling as to how to get out of that rabbit hole.

Have a great week. And if you can, perform some sort of public dissention. Even it it means just giving a Law Enforcement Officer a hug and a kiss.

Mid Life Faith Crisis

            Last year I bought my motorcycle. Something I’ve been yearning for almost my entire life. Yes, it was a dream come true and oddly enough it came to fruition at the age most men and some women experience what is known as a mid-life crisis. I know there were rumors to the fact that I was going through this sort of trial in my life. But I wasn’t. No, in fact I really don’t believe I will ever act in that manner. No matter how adamant some people are and the rumors they spread. Yes, I hear the rumors.

            The funny thing is, to me at least, is that a motorcycle is completely within my character. After all, I’ve been riding for most of my life, I started when I was eight. So it should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me that I purchased one. I mean, I have long hair, facial hair, I smoke cigars, I like rock and roll, and I speak my mind when asked. (all of these traits have gotten me into a pickle in one form or another over the span of my existence.)

            For me, when a person goes through a mid-life crisis they change a lot of things about themselves. What they wear, their hair, who they hang out with and purchase frivolities that don’t make too much sense to anyone. True, some would say owning a motorcycle is a frivolity but I assure you, it is a much needed part of my life. So aside from the machine that sits gleaming in my driveway, I don’t think I acted improperly. At least on the outside.

            On the inside, there are stirrings and thoughts that won’t go ignored.

            I like reading, I like watching documentaries and I love learning new things. So much so that my library in my house has overflowed into my office at work. (I hide books there, don’t tell anyone.) I’ve always liked to learn things and the subject doesn’t really matter to me too much. Of course, when I’m passionate about a topic, well, not much on this earth can stop me from absorbing all the information about whatever it is I want to know about.

            In school, back in the day when there was no internet, no mobile phones and definitely no cable television, I would spend hours in the public library and school library. So much so that most of the librarians wouldn’t even bother to have me check out a book. They shrugged and let me walk right out the door with them. They knew I’d be back and I’d return the tome or tomes I was absconding with. But when I really wanted a book, which was where all information came from back then, I’d try to save my money and purchase it. Or collect it by other means.

            My family, mainly my mother, I believe understood this about me and she singed me up for the National Geographic Book Club. Great club. Every month or two I’d get a new book about some exotic far off land, marine life, or various other topics. Hell they even did one on space. I still have those books sitting quietly in a box in my attic. I want to get them down and go through them one day and add them to the other Nat Geo Books I’ve collected over the years and am currently hoarding in my office. But one book, one tome, one hard covered dead tree spoke to me the most above all the others and it’s photographs drew me in so deep I dreamed about actually seeing the real artifacts they displayed.

            I’m sure you’re saying to yourself right now, “What is this book? Why was it so important and can I actually read it? The answers are simple. The book was titled “World Religions” and I believe you can still find a copy on the internet somewhere.

            As I stated the photographs of all the religious artifacts and places were amazing and the theologies as explained by the writers were not dumbed down. They were forthright and easy to read. Although, some of the reasoning behind the religions and how they started were a bit tough for my young mind to comprehend but I did my best. When I had questions, I went to the encyclopedias or dictionary. I figured out what I needed to and motored on.

            As I grew older I be-bopped around to various places and wherever I went I was subject to going to whatever faith based sanctuary the people who were housing me went to. I didn’t have an issue with going from say Catholic to Protestant to Methodist to Babtist or taking part in any of the creed based rituals. I went with the flow, tried to understand what was being done and kept my faith strong.

            Yes, I said faith. I am a believer. Which is where all this is headed.

            You see, while my lust for knowledge was and is not just faith based. I like science and math as well. All aspects of those two subjects. So much so that when I was a sophomore in High School I took an electronics class just to learn how electricity works. Fascinating subject. I highly recommend you delve into it. That’s where I learned about Tesla and Edison. Oh, and if you’re wondering, I’m a Tesla guy.

            In that same year my science class was learning about Einstein and what he did for the scientific community. While in History we were learning about the World Wars. I had a killer history teacher, even back then he considered both WWI and WWII to be almost the same war, with just a small break in-between the fighting. Heady times for my brain. Although my grades didn’t really show I was learning much, I was and I retained a lot of the knowledge as well and that has served me to this day.

            On television, between Kung-Fu theatre, Westerns and Horror movies I was watching all types of science programming. This of course was broadcast on the local PBS station. I was also a huge fan of the “In Search of…” series with Leonard Nimoy.

            All through those years of my life, the learning of our world, solar system, galaxy and universe never did I question my faith. Never once did the science part of my brain step into the faith part of my brain and vice-versa. I took things in stride and didn’t question them. The way I figured it, the Big Bang was the start of creation and it was just a term scientists used to coincide with the creationist story. After all, it fits.

            There was a void, God spoke, and everything was created. BOOM!

            Today however, my brain has been doing some crazy tangential thinking. It’s kind of a curse for me. For you see, if I don’t concentrate and keep my lizard like brain on the more crude and human side of life, it just wanders off into one of the many storage closets I have in my gray matter then it opens the door, pulls out a box and opens it up and decides to play with whatever it finds.

            Lately my mind has decided to use my knowledge of science and religion like a Punch and Judy doll. It keeps bashing them together and asking questions that humans have been asking since the dawn of our time. So I did what any modern man would do. I turned on my computer, went to Netflix and started watching endless hours on religious programing (Caution, it is painful at times) as well as endless hours of scientific programing. All of them supposedly un-biased documentaries. (Note: I don’t think they were all un-biased. In fact I had to turn some of them off because they were clearly an advertisement for whatever the program was about.)

            I did manage to watch a great program, hosted by Stephen Hawking which delved into the big bang and how it may have happened. Very interesting and extremely persuasive in its vagueness. The gist of the film came down to this, the universe was created before time and space. It appeared out of nothing by a quirk that deals with sub-atomic physics. Hawking stated that since there was no time before creation, God couldn’t have done the creating because God didn’t exist and doesn’t exist out of time. (That is a paraphrase, don’t quote me on it.)

            Now, for the most part, I agreed with him through the entire show. Until that last part. Now, I’m no genius, nor do I play one in real life. But, if God does exist and throughout the course of humanity we’ve been looking for him and can’t find him wouldn’t you say he either has a really good hiding place or… and this may be a stretch… couldn’t he/she exist out of time? Wouldn’t that be the best place to hide? I mean, if I controlled everything and didn’t want to be found, I would just zap into either a place of temporal stasis or out of the loop of time altogether and watch the fireworks through my porthole. I know, a bit naïve but it’s just a thought.

            You see, to me at least, I look around my yard, neighborhood, city, state, country, world, solar system, galaxy and universe and I see a lot of order that has been made out of chaos. A lot of things just make sense. Things work and balance out like an amazing machine. A machine that only a great Machinist or Creator could assemble. To think that it was ALL an accident of a stray sub-atomic particle deciding it wanted to perform it’s best impression of a pop-corn kernel is as preposterous to the faith community as a grand creator is to the science community.

            As for now, yes, I’m in a bit of a mid-life-faith-crisis. But that only means I’m more of a deist, like the great Thomas Jefferson and others than I am of a blind sheeple walking into whatever popular religion is being taunted today. I believe in God and Science. I believe there is a way both communities can live, thrive and survive together especially when both sides don’t have all the answers to all the questions. No matter how loud each side screams they do or don’t.

            Have a great week.

Pain

            We all have it. Some buckle under to it. Some thrive on it. Of course that is just physical pain. There are treatments for that. Little white, yellow and beige pills prescribed by doctors or purchased over the counter are good for temporary relief.

            This is not the pain I’m talking about. The pain I’m referring to is of a more mental and emotional nature. A pain that can only be inflicted upon a person by someone they love. Heartache? Yes. That is one of the types of pain I’m talking about. So is disappointment. Disappointment in one’s self for not seeing the clues to what is going on in the dark recesses of another’s life. Anger. A big cause of pain that leads to regret.

            Theses emotional pains can manifest themselves into physical pains and you can treat that. Sort of. The pill(s) will numb your sore spots, call your stomach, and make you a mellower person. Yet deep down inside you are still hurt, broken and suffering. There is no pill for that. No quick fix. This is the kind of pain that breaks a person, stunts their growth as a human and prevents them from becoming the best they can be.

            True, sometimes we bring this upon ourselves through the decisions we make and sometimes, it is heaped upon us by the people in our life that make decisions that go against all they’ve been taught. How do you fix that? Better yet, how do you protect yourself from that? Well, being a hermit on a mountain would help. But that isn’t an answer now is it? After all, we are social creatures who live, thrive and survive by interacting with others in our community.

            Truth is, I don’t think there is an answer. You can’t steel yourself away from the ones you love and care about in an attempt to protect yourself from them or yourself. You have to roll with ebbs and tides of life and the maelstrom of shit that brews just off the coast of happiness and pleasantness and try and be prepared for whatever it is that comes your way.

            You need to hold close the ones you love regardless of the pain they have caused you. Forgive them for the mistakes they’ve made and move forward in life. You have to have hope that one day all the lessons you’ve tried to impart upon them will sink in and that they will understand what you meant.

            But Skip, you say, life is long and how are we supposed to know when the knowledge is actually codified and understood? Answer; you don’t. You can’t. It takes years for those kind of answers to come to fruition. I know from firsthand experience. I was the knucklehead causing strife, pain and anger growing up. I think I’ve learned from my mistakes and I hope that I’m not making too many of them with my responsibilities today. But I don’t know. I won’t know and I can’t know. Which is another sort of pain. I call it my flux state.

            I do believe that the tender side of human nature holds the answers to these questions. I have to believe they do. Simply because when the storms of life are raging our immediate reactions are to pull someone close and make contact with them. It’s true, at times other emotions get in the way, the anger and disappointment fill our bodies with a strength that is easily tapped into but if you do tap into them, you will only cause more destruction, pain and anger. It’s an evil and vile cycle. But if you reach out with tenderness, love and understanding even if you don’t feel it at the moment, you will soon enough.

            So I guess what I’m saying is, the answer to the non-physical pain we heap upon each other in our daily lives is Love. Plain and simple. Just Love.

            I don’t normally do this but it is needed here; a biblical quote.

            Ephesians 4:2 Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.

            Have a great week.