The Holidays, A Body Gotta Live, and Respectable Pursuits

The holidays bring out the best in people. Watching the Sacramento Kings play the Boston Celtics on NBA Pass tonight, The Kings (as part of the half-time broadcast) were showing clips of their 'holiday' public service. The Kings and their owners, The Maloof family, along with other major corporations wanting to take advantage of tax write-offs and a chance for creating positive public relations, are very generous during the Holidays. In this 'community service segment' our heroes were going out in the poorer communities giving away Christmas trees, complete with ornaments to decorate them, as well as holiday meals prepared and ready to eat, 'donated' by Raley's\BelAir (one of the nicer supermarket chains in Northern California). Those meals aren' t cheap (my buddy Guy bought one at Thanksgiving and told me what he paid), but they are a nice meal. I feel relief for those few lucky poor people! I'm a sensitive person.
Stories of holiday goodwill and kindness make me tear up, normally. But there's more to the story... Well, see... the poor people weren't having these gifts delivered to their homes. Instead they were driving up in their cars and waiting in line. Then, with cameras rolling (wouldn't want to be generous and not have it be recorded\acknowledged, huh), the players delivered the necessities of a joyous holiday to the people waiting in their cars, who (as one happy recipient explained) "would not have been able to afford Christmas without the generosity of the Kings organization."
I guess I would have been happier for this 'poor' women except she didn't look older then thirty, nor was she unkempt, or portraying the appearance of someone downtrodden. And I noticed her nails were manicured in holiday colors (seemingly professionally) on the hand gripping the steering wheel of her newish mini-van. I wondered what the criteria was to qualify as poor and pull your car into line. Obviously a recent manicure didn't disqualify you. I could tell that owning a car didn't disqualify you either, because all these people had cars. I noticed that all the cars in line looked newer than mine too. These people gave me the impression the 'poor' had changed in the fourteen months since I left California.
The second recipient was driving what looked like a new Lincoln Navigator, which is a 10 mile per gallon SUV. I'm glad the Kings organization went out to the poor neighborhoods to play Santa, otherwise those poor people might have not been able to afford the gas to receive the necessities for Christmas. Thanks to the Kings organization they can drive in style and celebrate the birth of Jesus. Hallelujah!
Funnily, I didn't see any shopping carts in the line. I was under the impression that is the usual status symbol for the poor. Maybe those poor people got caught in traffic. Just as well, they wouldn't have had a roof to tie their tree on, or put under, for that matter. Those poor people are generally a little too poor for good PR video anyway. Though they know where the shelters are, it looked like they were completely unaware of this charitable event. In that respect, the Holidays bring out the worst in people too, unfortunately.
Every year there is the perennial story of the poor family robbed of their Christmas by thieves, and the gnawing moral question of how could anyone be so cruel? The following day, inevitably, will be the story of the public generously donating gifts, food, decorations: all the necessities of the Christmas celebration. All that love for those poor people, makes everybody feel good! This year there was another chapter to that type of story too.
It seems that a former friend of a poor family that was robbed, while sitting in his new SUV at a Kings Community function for the needy, waiting for a free meal and tree, saw the news clip on the overhead tv/dvd player in his Navigator, and notified the authorities that the same family had been "robbed" two years earlier. Ironically, the guy in the SUV thought it was atrocious his acquaintance would lie about his circumstances in order to take advantage of the public's sympathy. Morally, he felt like he had no choice but to expose him , saying, "that out-pouring of public generosity might have found it's way to the truly Poor, had it not been stolen by [his] unscrupulous buddy." So, the moral of the story?
ALWAYS HAVE A SCUMBAG HANDY TO DIVERT ATTENTION FROM YOURSELF
Merry Xmas to One and All

PS The first snow this winter fell today-

You Reap What You Sow

You reap what you sow. Is there anyone that knows this better than a reformed drug addict? Being one, and seeing the harvest from what began as recreational methamphetamine use, and eventually evolved into a full blown addiction, I can honestly understand why so many addicts sober up and then relapse into their old habits. The damn guilt of failing my sons is enough to make me want to pull the trigger. Being a drug addict at least you're alive, although some addicts, without doubt, would be better off dead. Now as I look back and think how irresponsible I was, how selfish, how unfair I was to be so self-centered, I realize the worst; I can never make the lost love or time up to the ones I love. Never. If I spend the rest of my life trying, never. Time cannot be reused, whatever love I give them now, I give them now. It is not the love I could have given them then.
The remorse is brutal. Brutal is the proper word: The remorse is beating the life out of me, spiritually, mentally, physically. There is no where to hide from yourself. Unless of course it's
in the drug world, but I never "hid" in the drug world. One doesn't realize they're hiding until the game is over and they can't find their life, or what they thought was their life. While I was hiding in my mind, reality changed. After the party, reformed, I look around for the wonderful life I once had. The reality is my life has failed. The wonderful life is gone, I have no love. The love lost leaves me empty, lonely, heartbroken. Losing the love of my sons is especially depressing. Despite the fact I raised them, and shared some part of life with them daily, in the end they felt abandoned and ignored. The brutal part is not the Love they now Don't feel for me, (you reap what you sow) but the guilt I feel for not giving them every ounce of love every moment they were needing it, wanting it and I should have been delivering. That is the brutal part: thinking that my sons looked to me for love and and felt ignored. I love my sons. Always.It brings tears to my eyes writing these words. If time could be reused I would chain them to me to ensure our closeness.

A Lord of the Rings Weekend

All three movies are on Tv today. I am so jazzed; something to do all day that requires no work. Kickin' it with Gandolf and the short, hairy ones. There's a storm moving in too. When the films get to the parts I've already seen (this is a repeat for the first two. They played Friday and Saturday) I can watch the clouds slowly conquer the mountains and surround them in rain. Life is so wonderful!
The Fellowship of the Ring is almost over. As the age of man draws near to it's end, I wonder what the next age will bring? What will the life form of the next age be? Probably a Crocodile. The meteor didn't get them the first time around, Global warming won't get them this time. And there will be a lot more low lying shallow water. Sounds like a good deal for the Crocodile.
Probably a good time for me to start cross-breeding my Croco-dog. The Croco-dog will be the baddest dog on the block. Bred to keep its tough crocodile exterior, but retain a soft warm coat of hair on top of it's skin. The Croco-dog's tail will not only be able to pick a gazelle up out of the water, but also be faithfully wrapped around his master at night to help keep him warm. The Croco-dog will only need to be fed once a year or so and, with that kind of frequency in food necessity, the Coco-dog will be virtually maintenance free. Poop free too, almost. And when it does Poop, it will just look like someone left a steely in the living room, you know ball-bearing type thing, hard and round.
Maybe Ents will come back. A cross between plant and animal: Swamp-Thing. Tolkien must have had secret history books from Middle Earth. No one could could have come up with all the names, maps, history, everything! I call Bullshit. The man had to have found the treasures of Atlantis.
...Finally, the wind is picking up. The assault on the mountains begins. Bradland is normally last to give in to the cloud cover, first to bust out. Thus, the many rainbows. Might be the nickel mountain, but I always heard it was the pot of gold. No matter, they all equate to southern Oregon. Follow the yellow brick road.

Just go north til your dink is dinky
and the air ain't stinky
Where the snow will fly
and the colds' in your eye
the rain don't hurt
cause it ain't filled with dirt

Sorry, I guess the movies are putting me in the mood for some middle earth lore.

...It's raining now. Hard. I can hear it on the roof and the side of the shack. Every wind driven burst of rain screams, "Coooozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

Wisdom

Fifteen years ago I was 36 years old. You boys were 10 and 12. Now you are young men. The last fifteen years in your lives were the beginning. Looking back there are so many benchmarks, so many changes. Time is indexed and in retrospect those will be the years that passed slowest. So hang onto your hats, young men, because the train picks up speed from this point and it doesn't slow down for awhile. When you look back it turns to a blur. If you add any king of substance abuse, it disappears completely. Remember that, and this; Every moment killed in boredom, drunkenness and/or drug abuse... when you're on the 'other side of the mountain' you'll want it back.
That is a pseudo apology for not always being my best, not being compassionate or attentive enough at times, and giving too many of the precious moments away. The precious moments being the ones when you were boys. That I feel so guilty about.
I'm older now. And you boys are men. You both rarely have time for me. I guess you reap what you sow, but it seems to me I gave more then this. I wouldn't have tried at all if I would have known that for all my efforts I'd be shown no gratitude or love. I guess what I'm trying to say is: Although I tried to be young and one of the boys when you were growing up, as you reached manhood, I was forced to grow up too. My investments were paying no dividends. Another failed marriage, no love or respect from my sons, sold the family home, and I limped out of town depressed, heartbroken, and confused. Not to mention fifty years old and a net worth of $34,000. I had to grow up. I was terrified I had over extended my refusal to grow up AND didn't have the resources to make up for my recklessness.
I live a quiet life alone now. I go days in the southern Oregon mountains without speaking to other people. There is no bathroom, or kitchen. No excitement. Nothing artificial. Just reflection, remorse, understanding of the past, looking to the future, and hopefully wisdom applied. I am forced to be serious and responsible. I love you boys despite yourselves, so why can't I be loved, despite myself? I take no credit for your accomplishments but don't I get a cut of love for being there and trying? Don't all of you carry some of me with you every day?
I love you boys.

Drugs in Baseball

Can you imagine? Now imagine what can be done about it...
First and foremost, all season ticket holders, from the moment they had a documented junkie playing on their team till the present, should be refunded all monies paid to watch ATHLETES ON DRUGS. Why?
Without those stars (those supermen on drugs slapping homeruns, those stoppers, the young award winners, the MVPs, etc) baseball would not have drawn the crowds it did. The fans bought a false product; the supermen were ATHLETES ON DRUGS! Not that we can tell the difference between the two except every once in a while superman forgets he's a role model and murders a few people, usually culminating in a suicide. But the point is: we'll pay to see the best an individual can give naturally, but we want to believe in fairness. Nobody is going to pay to see an unfair contest (unless it's big time wrestling), therefore season ticket holders should be refunded their money. They were sold an fraudulent product.
Secondly, all steroid users should be put in the witness protection program. Barry, Roger, the runner, the bicyclist... make them all disappear. Then wipe the record books clean. Only fair records! We shouldn't be reminded, as we go through our more and more demanding days (cheating on taxes, speeding, overcharging, lying, and hustling to make ends meet) that the world isn't fair. It's not like any of us would do whatever we could to win. Those cheating bastards giving us what we wanted and then lying about how they delivered. And the money they were paid! I wouldn't do a few drugs for tens of millions.
Third, and most important, let's establish the steroids league. Players can do any drugs, steroids, hype they want. Fans can be sure they are getting the max in the athletes that they support. Everybody will be superman, or get on the shit, and since everybody will be involved, it's fair.
If your team is a loser you can change pharmacist. The athletes can be housed in special, luxury living 'areas' so that when they occasionally lose track of what is really important (winning) and start killing, we can confine the damage.
Additionally, it will be easier to study the long term affects of steroid use and see if the money is worth the damage?
Do they prolong careers? Do they grow hair? Can I be nineteen again? Huh? Pony up!

The News

I see the the U.S. Army has built a base at 8000 ft in the mountains between Afghanistan and Pakistan. It's a well fortified castle, complete with helicopter pads, the big guns etc. A command center high in the mountains for The War on Terror. This reminds me of boot camp mentality; "If we're going to fight them, lets do it at their house, burn their land, kill their women and children." This is all good and fine, I guess. But is this border patrol really necessary when I can't afford it? If we elect not to defend the Afghanistan border might there be enough money to defend America's borders? And dare I say it? Isn't it cheaper still to keep our southern borders porous and source our illegal drugs from there, rather then spend so much money to control Afghan poppy fields and do nothing to prohibit their cultivation? Oh, that's preposterous!... Is it?
From what I've seen the Taliban are now the gunmen for the poppy fields. Seems the local boys would like to continue to grow Opium. Something about 'earning a living' (Seen American Gangster? I wonder if the Armed Forces are checking the coffins. It wouldn't be original to use them for smuggling). How much is the worlds opium trade worth? I dare say, with all the other graft going on, would it be crazy to think that somewhere in the military/intelligence hierarchy an influential man might be making money on drugs connected somehow to those Afghan poppy fields, and maybe even... the War on Terror? I wonder what the shit in Harlem is like these days. Fucking good? I can't afford these wars.
For the money it cost us to kill each Taliban per kill, it would be cheaper to contract their asses out to Hitmen and BIG-GAME hunters. How many bona fide Taliban are we going to kill this year? Now how many BILLIONS are we going to spend? Those motherfuckers are the most expensive hit in the world!
If we just contract them our, for the number of Taliban killed this year versus dollar paid, Uncle Sam will be way ahead! We should close are borders to control our world, keep the shit out of the country, but that ain't happening. No. Ain't No Fucking Profit in that, is there? And at the end of 200 years of isolationism, the Chinese will invade our technologically backward country just like the British invaded them 200 years ago.
We can't afford the tarnish. Don't forget these are 'the lands of the grudge.' They haven't forgotten the Crusades. I try remember 'to save myself; the world don't wanna be save.'
Bring our troops home and let those people go back to chopping each others heads off in the middle of the desert.
Nobody wanted a War of Occupation.

I look out the window and right across from my property reminds me of what's important. America.