Wellness & Celebration
I got home from work yesterday and I wasn't feeling too hot so I decided to implement the "Rule of Eleven." It's a simple formula that, when applied correctly, will alleviate the symptoms of an on coming cold. This of course needs to be implemented immediately once you have accurately diagnosed the symptoms to be cold related and not that of some tainted piece of postal mail. The rule of 11 is quite straight forward. After all when you're coming down with a cold you don't have time for complicated mathematics. So if you're looking for the recipe for wellness, in a pronto manner, look no further.
PRONTO WELLNESS (Serving size - 1)
11 quarts of water
11 grams of vitamin C
11 multivitamins over the course of two days
11 hours of sleep
11 Cups of orange juiced (freshly squeezed)
11% more food
1.1 shots of the green flavored Nyquil
11cc Morphine (optional)
Mix in a very large bowl aptly called a "stomach" and re-apply until desired effects are achieved.
On a lighter less bacterial note, I'd like to send my best wishes to Merc on his birthday. Happy Birthday to you Merc! (Take it easy on the wine alright?)
Speaking of wine and celebrations, my little sister turns 21 on Saturday. It still hasn't quite sunk in yet that she's of legal age to "begin" drinking. I guess I'm not allowing it to sink in because once it does I'll realize my own age. In any case, most all of her friends have yet to hit the big 21 so it looks like I will be taking on the responsibility of showing her a good time Saturday - which is preciously what I'm looking to do.
Unfortunately a "good time" in down town Seattle doesn't seem to come around as often and as much as it should, at least with respect to the night life. I have been in a bunch of different urban sprawls in this country and Seattle has to have one of the weakest nightlife's of any big city that I have ever encountered. Then again the city doesn't necessarily dictate the fun factor in each evening's outing. That tends to depend on who you go out with. Despite that, Seattle's nightlife is still quite weak.
Is it Just Me?
Today is one of the most beautiful days that Seattle has seen in a long time. Funny how the weather unfolds in magnificent fashion despite the constant assurances from the weathermen that clouds and a storm are due any second. I'm not sure about you but I have just about had it with these god damn weatherman. Shit. The only thing they're good at is telling me how the weather is presently, which isn't all that hard to figure out if you happen to have a window near by. And while I'm at it, why are they always telling me the forecast for the airport? Nobody lives at the fuckin' airport.
These weatherman really crack me up sometimes, because they're really one of the only groups in our society that are allowed to be completely wrong whenever they feel like it. Think about it. If I pulled into Burger King, paid for and ordered three whoppers, two large fries, and an apple pie at the first window, then drove to the second window and received a large dish of paella, seven chinese egg rolls, a glass of Australian Chardonnay, and fourteen milk duds - that fast food worker would get fired in half a second. He'd be out on his ass in the blink of an eye. So why is it that weatherman are not held to the same standard? They must be sleeping with the right people.
And here's another thing. Am I the only one sick and tired of hearing about all this bullshit in the media about anthrax? My god. Let's try to be realists on this one folks.
140,000 people die world wide every single day
50,000 people die from infection every single day
35,000 people die from cardiovascular illness every day
15,000 people die from cancer every day
10,000 children die from diarrhea every day
1,000 women die from childbirth every day
And we've lost what, 3 people to anthrax over the last few weeks?! The whole thing is completely out of balance. The american media has sensationalized this escapade of tainted envelopes to the point of complete and udder absurdity. I'm sick of it. I am really sick of it. Anthrax is a minor threat, so take a fuckin' chance and relax. In fact we can even go further than that. If you think that the potential threat of anthrax is so dangerous, then why don't you go far away and change places with a black kid from South Africa. Better yet why not move down to Central America, or Russia, or Indonesia, or a million and one other places that don't have the amenities and wealth that we do. You might not have a place to live or food to eat. The water might be brown and the diseases rampant. There won't be any Banana Republics or Starbucks on every corner, and you won't be able to go to the upcoming Hootie & the Blowfish concert - but at least you'll be away from tainted mail. Thank god for that ehh?
So please don't fall into the trap of being a soft, frightened, unimaginative american that believes everything the media and government in this country tells you. We already have enough mindless ignorant robots in this country, we don't need any more.
I Shall Return
I have returned from my short journey unscathed by the heathen called travel.
My trip out of town for my grandfather’s funeral took quite a bit out of me. Somehow, somewhere along the path called life I fell into the role of an emotional support pillar for others and yet again found myself as the one to keep people together. Perhaps it’s my ability to thrive in hard times, or during periods of immense deep self-questioning. I don’t know. All I know is that I tend to have a knack for lifting up others and helping those in need. A trait I am very grateful to have.
During these out of town supportive times, I got to experience my first veteran’s funeral service. For those of you who have not yet attended one, I would strongly urge you to go to one and pay your respect to those who risked their very lives so the rest of us could enjoy the life style that we are so accustomed to. Even if you don’t know the fallen veteran, there’s just something about the ceremony that hits home. And this is coming from someone who is not the most patriotic patriot in America so these words should carry some weight.
The memorial began with a little verbiage from the minister who kind of reads the last rights for the dead. Maybe a prayer or two is said, and then a beautifully hand stitched American flag was ceremoniously unfolded, refolded perfectly and then brought before a 21 gun salute while two bugles play taps in the background. If that doesn’t bring you to tears, I’m not so sure that you were given tear ducts upon conception my friend. The flag was brought back and then presented to the widow of the fallen veteran. 3 shell casings, one from each volley of shots from the 21-gun salute, were also presented to my grandmother.
My grandfather was a World War 2 veteran who landed on Omaha beach in Normandy France on the second day of the invasion. He served in the Army Air Corp. and saw action in France before entering Germany in the final push of the European theater to bring an end to the war. He was among those who liberated a nazi concentration camp, and the pictures that he brought back are among the most haunting imagery my eyes have experienced. He was in charge of burying the remains of the hundred of thousands of dead Jews. The smell, he said, was something he never ever forgot. After crossing the Rhine River he was in on the action when hitler’s hideout, the Eagle’s Nest, was stormed. He arrived the day of hitler’s suicide and much of the hideouts goods made it back in his pack. He stole a silver key to one of the doors, as well as some nazi armbands and he even jacked an embroidered doorknob. He was one of only a few guys from his unit that survived the war and were able to see their hometown back in America.
Personally I’m doing very well with his death. We were quite close, yet still his passing has found a very comfortable home within me. I’m not sure how, nor why, but we are at peace. I shall see you again.
And finally, there is but one thing left for me to do. Eight months ago I made a promise to a friend. One that I shall keep.
I sat down with my grandfather eight months ago and I took out my big Michelin map of Europe. For the greater part of two hours we retraced every step of his WW2 journey from Minnesota to Florida, from Florida to NYC. From Britain to France, from France to Germany, and all points in between. It was the first time in over 55 years that he looked back in that much detail. I wrote every name of every town down, and in keeping with my spoken word, and with my promise I made that very day – I shall return.
My grandfather never made it back. In his place, I shall return.
Wistful
Exactly ten days after the word came that my friend Matt had died from AIDS, I received word last friday night that my grandfather had died. He was 79.
Two funerals in two weeks. This is one trend I would like to buck.
And although neither death came as a left field surprise, nothing can really ever fully prepare you for the death of a loved one. I guess that's just the way the cycle of life and death are. One is joyous, the other is painful. We celebrate birth with blue and pink cigars, and mourn the dead with flowers and tears.
I don't know. I guess just like almost everything else in society, I don't buy into this confined notion. I don't jump up and down when there is a birth, and I don't hit rock bottom when there is a death. After taking a look around at the public at large, I sought to question and/or reject every societal guideline and belief that I had been exposed to during my short life thus far on earth. Humans seem more often than not, to be fickle, selfish, greedy, and completely unenlightened. So why would I let a society of this type dictate to me how to respond and act in certain situations? In response, I decided to formulate my own ideas and my own beliefs.
In this case, I don't believe that birth should be a huge joyous affair, and I don't believe that death should be such a downer. Granted emotions take over at some point, and I wouldn't suggest that death and mourning should be a huge party - but perhaps birth and death are one in the same? As Ghandi once said, life and death should not be feared for they are two ends of the same thing. When you die, you are returning to where you came from - wherever that may be. I seem to agree. Neither one are by their very nature inherently happy or inherently sad. It's the humanistic element that causes us to grieve and to feel pain when our loved ones are gone. Death is inevitable. I'm going to die. You're going to die. It's on your calendar you know? And it's not going to come when you want to either. But we're all going to die, and that's ok. There's nothing wrong with dying. If anything it should allow us to enjoy our time here that much more, and when we do go away to wherever it is that we go - I hope we who are still living can look back with wistful appreciation of those who fell before us. Maybe it's time to celebrate the passing of our loved ones?
With that said, in all likely hood I will not be able to post for the greater part of a week. I am off to Portland Oregon to be with family and friends, and to celebrate the man that so many loved.
I shall return.
The Corner of Close & Soon
I do not know if there is a more pleasant thing on this earth to do than to sit in a coffee shop in the middle of fall in downtown Seattle. Sitting there while a scratchy record of Louis Armstrongs sings overhead, with a foamed top cup of Guatemala's best brew sitting precariously in your hand. A nice section of the local newspaper in the other, maybe a few dead leaves on the floor here and there, and you just sit there and take it all in. Life is good.
I'm quite certain that there is nothing more pleasant in life. Well, I guess they could start giving the coffee to me for free. Better yet pay me to sit there and drink their coffee. If they really wanted to go all out, they could get me a couple of playmates -one to sit on my lap, and the other to massage my shoulders. Yeah, ok. So it can get better. I lied.
False
If heat rises, and mountains are closer to the sun, and there is less atmosphere to absorb and scatter the incoming rays at higher elevations - than why are mountains so damn cold?
Cacti
As was mentioned in an earlier posting, I lost my good friend Matt to AIDS last week. Saturday was the funeral and memorial service, so I spent the greater part of two hours inside a church. I can’t begin to convey how discomforting the confines of a church building make me. I simply do not belong in church. Period. But I was not at church to attend mass. I was there to pay honor and my respect to my late friend. That cause far outweighs my discomfort.
It was quite the depressing affair. After all, any time you sit in a roomful of tearful and mourning people, it’s hard. I sat in the pew and listened to various people in his life give speeches and their words on their fallen sibling and friend. They reminisced as best they could, and it wasn’t necessarily my loss that hurt – it was seeing the loss and pain in the family members that stood up there with their emotions on their sleeve that did me in. They had his picture adorning his urn, and as the memorial came to an end, they surrounded his remains with several dozen roses. I never knew red roses could sting so much.
Afterwards we all drove back to Matt’s mothers house and had a little celebration. The idea was not to have a party nor to pound brews one after another, more like a somber celebration where everyone had a couple glasses of wine, some excellent food – and shared hugs for dessert. It was nice.
I often wondered what my role was in all of this. I wondered how I could help, perhaps with my words or a card. I wondered what I could do for Matt’s mother, who unlike so many others, has the largest most giving heart that I have ever seen. They didn’t break the mold when they made her, they didn’t use one. See is limitless.
So I decided to buy her a cactus. Of all the millions of genus and species to choose from in the plant kingdom, Matt’s favorite was the cactus. I’m not sure why, but I now have an idea.
When I presented the beautiful cactus to her, I told her that I had bought it because it was her late son’s favorite, and because it would live on. Unlike a bouquet of lilies, or a basket arrangement of irises – the cactus would live on. You could put it in the hottest most extreme temperatures, and it would not die. Even if you didn’t give it water or fertilizer for a very long time, it would suffer through and carry on. It was a survivor, as was her son who battled AIDS for nearly 16 years. They were survivors.
And as I sit her on a cold and rainy autumn night, I know Matt is still surviving. Somewhere. Somehow. Just like that cactus that sits on the counter top of his kitchen overlooking all that he once saw. It will sit there and carrying on. As a cactus. As a plant. And as a reminder that life goes on. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t slow down. It just keeps on going. So carry on my friend, wherever you are. I shall see you again. Somewhere. Somehow....
“Loss is only imaginary. Nothing in the universe disappears – It only changes shape.”
Amour
An interesting reminder of the significance of my screen name came today. Dizzyromance.
It came in the form of an email from Victoria Secret's reminding me that "Fall is on Sale" and that I should fall in love with fall's sexy new look. Well, I'm not sure I'd want to fall in love with "bra essentials" or "selected styles of fall sweaters" - but what remains is the urge to fall in love. Not with the style of the clothes itself, but with someone. I guess it might just be the undying romantic streak in me speaking, but fall and winter have got to be the two greatest times of the year to fall in love. It's as if it's in the air. If you close your eyes and open your mouth, you can almost taste love in the air.
But I'm not the one to force anything. Falling in love is something you can't force. It's not something that you can formulate or plan, and that's one of love's greatest elements. It's unpredictable.
So maybe if I come across "someone" whose willing to share a cup of apple cider, a fine dinner and a fire, and their "bra essentials" with me - I just might find myself in love yet again this time of year.
Soul
Sometimes life leaves in it's wake a trail of circumstances that puzzle and astound me. Whomever coined the phrase "Everything happens for a reason." was probably on to something.
This story starts when I was younger. I can recall watching some guy from Austin Texas playing the guitar on my local television station. My father used to stay up really late at night watching this guy play guitar. He would come up on stage with dark cowboy boots, draped in a brilliant blue shirt with a candy apple red fender srat strapped to his midsection. There wasn't really anything remarkable or outstanding about this guy, until I heard his fingers touch the guitar fret board.
One of those late nights as me and my father sat on opposing sides of the couch, I remember watching this guy play for the very first time. I was in awe. Complete and utter awe. Not since Louis Armstrong many years before, had I seen an individual take a musical instrument to that level. Never. He took the guitar, and played it like it was meant to be played. Every note that he strummed had blood and memories written all over it.
His name was Stevie Ray Vaughan and he was killed in a helicopter crash on August 27th 1990, only two years after I had first seen him. He is one of the greatest sources of inspiration that I have happened upon in my lifetime, and the magnitude of that inspiration could never be captured nor expressed in words. His sheer brilliance and mastery of the guitar is impressive for sure, but there was something else that I saw in him. Something that touched the very inner workings within me. It was something that very few people have, and I could see it in his eyes, in his hands, in his callused fingers, and in his music. It's called soul.
Defined as "the immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life", soul is the very first word that comes to mind when I hear Stevies music. Stevie didn't play the guitar, he played music. He was a direct channel of soul that flowed straight out. He followed his heart, his passion, and his love despite the circumstances that surrounded his life. If that isn't soul, I don't know what is. And Stevie's soul shone through in other aspects of his life as well. He shook off a cocaine and alcohol addiction that nearly killed him, only to return to the studio soon afterwards to record perhaps his greatest studio album In Step. Vaughan remained clean and sober for nearly four years before his untimely death, and he never ever looked back. That's soul my friends.
So getting back to my opening sentence, I was amazed when al received my Stevie Ray Vaughan discs on the anniversary of Stevie's birthday. Sometimes there are things in life that are best left unquestioned.
And finally, I thought I'd leave you with the greatest memory of Stevie that I ever had. I had just gotten my hands on an old Stevie Ray bootleg copy of a concert he did in Denver Colorado only 9 months before he died. I was standing in my room listening to a song called "Life Without You" when suddenly Stevie put his guitar down and started to talk. His words brought me to tears -
“I wanna stop right now and Thank God that I'm alive and well enough to be with ya`ll today. And that all's as well as it is with everybody here, and I am glad to be here with you today. You see, it does me good to stop and think about this stuff because, sometimes it's too easy to forget for a lot of us - you know. What we've been through, where we come from, where we're tryin' to get. Where we're tryin' to get is back home inside-you know? Back in touch with what really means something which is love and caring and what we've got between us. See, it took me a long time to find out pretty much everything else is a bunch of somethin' else.
Cause, for a long time all I could remember to do is run away from myself and everybody who cared - you know? And usually that meant run to the party and stay there for as long as possible. And then one day I nearly died and it kinda' dawned on me that this was not the right thing to do - you know? Cause you know it's time to come home every once and a while. What this is all about, is just, I'm askin' ya`ll to take care of yourselves so you can be there for the ones who love and need you the most, and they need you all the time! I know I do! Are you with me? All right! ”
October 3rd 1954 - August 27th 1990
Childish Connotations
Today I spent my entire Sunday looking after two of the world’s most precious little girls – Lauren and Brooke. (Or Brooke and Lauren if you prefer them alphabetically.) Brooke is four years old, and Lauren is six. Both are adorable.
You see, I have a close family friend who contracted AIDS roughly 16 years ago and as I speak these words, he is lying motionless on a white cotton sheet with drip morphine and television as his last request in life. More on this developing story later, but for the sake of this blog, I will concentrate on the two above referenced kids.
I took these two little girls off the hands of their parental units today in hopes of freeing up their parents time with which they could use to go and see their dying brother. So the free time for the parents began at ten this morning, which is coincidentally when my free time ended.
First off we spent some time playing around on my guitar and listening to the various compact discs I have stashed about my entire room. For some strange reason they seemed to have a very strong interest in my musical predilections and I couldn’t have been happier. So we threw on some Louis Armstrong , and danced to John Coltrane. We hung from the chandeliers when Harry Connick Jr came on, and we rolled on the ground red in the face with laughter until the final track of the Paris Combo had finished. Things were running smoothly and I began to wonder, How hard could this be? In fact, I should get two of these little things myself.
We retired into the kitchen for a fantastic feast of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, mandarin oranges, yogurt, and tall glasses of ice-cold milk. One of which ended its short life when it quenched the carpets thirst in a smattering of glass, water, and lactose. I enjoy a good clean up don’t you? It keeps me on my toes, especially when there are glass shards all around.
After our brief yet surprisingly tiring “luncheon date”, as they called it, I took them over to my alma mater to visit with my sister. I figured what better way to catch my breath than to have someone else lose theirs. They got a deluxe tour of my baby sisters’ sorority as I sat down stairs clinging to an old newspaper and re-affirming my disposition for the geek system. Opps. Make that "greek".
After the tour, and right before the smell of pretentiousness got to me, we headed out and down the hill to partake in a much-needed coffee break for me, and a not needed juice break for the tots. Whoever coined the term “sugar buzz” must have present at the juice bar with me this afternoon.
After playing police on the way home, we crashed at my house for dinner and more playtime. I wish I could figure out what it is that they’re on – I would bottle it, market it, and be a very wealthy man.
So outside of wanting a few of these precious little angels myself – in future years of course- what else is it that I learned?
Well, first off I learned that I owe my own two parents a round of applause. For even though they can be quite irrational and irritating on occasion, they still get a whole lot of credit from me for putting up with me as I grew older. It’s amazing that they didn’t send me back to the storks after the first week. The magnitude of my thanks can not be expressed in words. Thank you.
I have learned today that one should never underestimate the unyielding energy source from which a young girl can tap after all the calories from her Kool Aid and donut holes have been spent. It is a phenomenon that defies every available finding in the fields of science and nutrition combined.
I have also been pleasantly reminded that children continually redefine what is rational, and what is perceived as possible – and there’s something inherent in that innocence that I love. Their openness and willingness to learn new ideas and concepts is something that no one should ever lose on the way to growing up. Stay open to any and all ideas. Pursue knowledge and respect. Never close your mind. Never close your doors, and always always dream – for anything is possible.