That Was Close...

Everyone has those kind of moments, the ones that make you stop in your tracks and take a deep breath and say a little prayer of thanks that harm did not come to you. I am not talking about the car almost sideswiping your Ford Taurus station wagon on the interstate where you think you might have gotten hurt moments; I'm talking about the did that just really happen moments.

Up until Wednesday of this week I have had two moments in life where I thought I was going to die. Then Wednesday happened and I have a hard head so I probably would have escaped death but there could have been serious injury.

When I was in high school I did not always make the best decisions. On one particular afternoon I decided to partake in all kinds of fun. A large group of us had gathered at a spot in downtown Lynchburg, VA that people from school called Nam. It was an old concrete truss over railroad tracks near a popular pizza joint. Nam was very convenient. It offered plenty of free parking and a wild variety of overgrown vegetation to keep our illegal activities from the local police.

Late in the day my head wasn't too clear and I probably wasn't following OSHA rules for hanging out on a ledge with paraphernalia. Someone told a story that made me break into hysterical laughter and when I did I took a step backward. My right foot landed on a pocket of air and my leg followed. I turned to my left and saw the wide eyes of the one person who saw what almost happened just before I felt a sensation under my foot and against my back. Believe you me, even as high as I was, I felt the downward force of stepping off into 30 feet of air. However, the downward force was halted. My shoulders lifted up and my right foot found purchase on the ledge. Immediately I felt sober and embarrassed. I put a finger to my lips so Bobbi wouldn't say anything. The look on her face went back to normal and I took a seat against the wall as if nothing had happened. I will never forget the look on Bobbi's face or the subtle (but not so subtle) sensation as Someone pressed the "up" button instead of "down" and all the momentum in life changed.

Instance Number 2 occurred in Costa Rica. In 1994 I traveled there to learn how to surf. The first day in I went out amidst chest-high surf. Anyone who surfs and might be reading this is already thinking 'what an idiot' and they are exactly right. I got caught inside a set of waves without really knowing how to duck dive too well. The surf worked me over as if I had never swam across the Tred Avon River, ran a 4.8 40 yard dash, or picked an obnoxious fraternity a#%hole up over my head and slammed him on the ground when visiting the Univeristy of Richmond. Wave after wave pushed me under water. Breaths were hard to come by but I was doing all right for a while. 'A while' was too much time. I grew weary quickly. One time I popped my head out of the Pacific Ocean and saw one of the other campers looking at me horrified and he started turning his board around to come back and save me. Then came another wave and under I went.

I'm not afraid to admit that in certain situations I can panic with the best of them. This was not one of them. The last time I went underwater I resigned myself to let the ocean have me. I had no business being out there so I had some heavy dues to pay. I kicked with my feet to try and reach the surface but I had no idea which way was up. No matter how many times I tugged on my leash I could not grasp my surfboard. I shrugged my shoulders and thought 'oh well.' My chest was tight with a desire for air and I had to let go. I opened my mouth and took a deep breath of that disgusting Pacific Ocean swill. It didn't hurt. Nothing in that moment hurt. It was a long and peaceful time underwater. The sunlight was gone and so were the bubbles. Then came sand hitting the bottom of my feet. It felt as if someone had unraveled a flying carpet of earth at just the right moment. I pushed off and broke through the surface as the other camper came over and yelled at me to get back to shore.

Getting back to shore was a chore. My arms could barely hold on to the surfboard. I was too tired to paddle so I went back underwater to try and push off the ocean floor and propel myself back in. My flying carpet of earth had vanished. Where had it gone? My foot found no traction. Once again I was floating in deep water but at least I had my surfboard under me and I wanted to paddle in the direction the waves were traveling. Back on the beach I sat and looked out over the ocean, my eyes focused on the distant horizon and my lips moved in a constant prayer of thanks.

So for years things had been good. The wild days are behind me. Now I tend to think through adventurous situations and I almost always wear a helmet. Who would have thought walking a mongrel through Lincoln Park would hold me in my tracks and make me consider my place in life for several silent minutes.

The wind gusts were reaching 30 knots on Wednesday. Eli looked so handsome with his fur all blown out by the wind. We walked along a freshly paved path over by the zoo and I thought about going to the lake to see if there were any waves but it was getting near time to open the Ale House so we stayed close to home. I was admiring Eli and thinking about getting my camera out of its dusty bag to start making photographs once again. Suddenly I felt a sting on my wrist then something smashed into my right thigh. What followed was the sound of one solid bit of matter hitting another solid bit of matter. I don't know any other way to describe it. I turned around and saw an eight-foot-long branch that was about six inches thick lying on the path just behind me. The fungi from the bark left a stain on my thigh. The wind was so loud I didn't hear it snap from the top of the aged tree we passed under. I stood there for quite some time looking around to see if anybody else had witnessed what just happened.

Ninety seconds later an elderly couple came up over a small berm, smiled at Eli, then kept walking. From the north came some person bundled up in a medium-puffy coat who kept on their way as if I didn't almost just get seriously injured. No one was around this urban space to share my experience. Eli kept looking at me wagging his tail as if saying 'let's go!' I was almost maimed and no one can verify it! Much of my prayer of thanks was for the fact that Eli's leash was tightly wrapped around my wrist so if I had been knocked out he wouldn't have been able to escape unless he chewed my arm off!

Fortunately, favorable Eyes were upon me. I firmly believe such. I like to think it was my father who caught me and propped me back up on the ledge at Nam. Only one Higher Power could have unraveled the ocean floor to help a foolish young man make it back to New York to graduate from Columbia and make his mother happy after years of thorough and complete disappointment. Everything happens for a reason; at least it sure does so in my life. In a few years I might be able to look back on Wednesday and understand why I was only a little bit bruised. I cannot dwell on the "why."One must move forward from the kind of moments I described but one must move on with proper perspective. I think I am doing so. Today I am still giving thanks. Things are as they are and that is just great because as things are they are really quite wonderful!

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Turn Out the Lights the Party's Over All Good Things...

The novelty has worn off.

There hasn't been a sighting in quite sometime and everyone seems to be quite okay with it.

Street Jimmy has been absent from Wieland Street.

Early in the summer he was told by members of the 18th District to scram out of Old Town or be arrested. Residents of the area had grown weary of Street Jimmy's rather aggressive demeanor as he would seek handouts from all who passed by. And it was the right thing to do. Even those with a high tolerance level for his antics were having their giving spirits numbed by his lack of appreciation and sense of entitlement. Eventually, Street Jimmy decided not to listen to the cops who were trying to keep him out of jail. He did a few months. The out of sight out of mind period changed a lot of attitudes toward Street Jimmy. It was rather pleasant not having to deal with him on the street and especially inside the bar.

Street Jimmy thought he deserved more than he received. Crack can have that affect on the mind. His thinking, while being rather askew to begin with when I met him, became intolerable. I started losing patience with him when he decided to pick and choose which jobs he would do for people. He certainly was ready to run to the store and fetch a Coke Zero or duck into Starbucks for a Grande Dirty Chai with two shots but when it came to shoveling a foot and a half of snow off the sidewalk Street Jimmy was nowhere to be found. He would show up to help move furniture only after the bulk of the work was done. The words he would use to describe himself as being "tired of being tired" were those of your typical addict - they were fiction. Winter offered him limitless opportunities to make money. Twenty bucks was too much when five would do.

People would listen to him talk. His monologue was delivered with emotion but truth wasn't part of the foundation. Street Jimmy's delivery was need based. Words words words always words and never any evidence to back up those words. His actions always moved him toward the dealers on Sedgwick Street rather than toward rehab or the shelter. This summer many people commented on how pleasant it was not having him around. When Gracie said it, it held the most weight with me. Her tolerance level of Street Jimmy was on "Mother Theresa" level. However, one can only take so much.

A few weeks ago he got out of jail. That was a fun day. We celebrated with him as he strode around the bar all smiles and health after amassing many days of 3 hots and a cot. He had just had his picture taken with former Chicago Bear Richard Dent and was rather pleasant to be around. I got him a few articles of clothing and  Grace sent him on a run to grab us some lunch. He even confessed to hitting the pipe that same day, which we all shook our heads at and laughed about. Unfortunately, the good times were short lived. By day two the snarl was back when he wouldn't get the handouts he thought he should receive. That did it for me and maybe for some of the folks who wear blue and carry silver badges because he has not been seen in a few days. Nobody is at all upset about it...except for one person.

There is one person left who he can still get over on. This particular lady constantly stops by the bar and asks whomever is behind the bar to relay messages to Street Jimmy. She is worried about him because she thinks people set him up. Other miscreants ask Street Jimmy to hold their drugs for him and that is why he gets arrested. She did say that she thinks he "might" smoke a little marijuana and drink every once in a while. Yesterday she came him and asked me to tell Street Jimmy to come see her. I said I would, but I also had had my fill of this nonsense. I told her that said could probably find him on Sedgwick Street trying to purchase some crack. "Oh no, he doesn't do that!" she said storming out of the bar. That poor woman...

Nobody wishes any harm to come to Street Jimmy. Actually, some people do and it is hard to argue against that. He had a real good thing going around Wieland Street but his crack-addled mind lost him that territory. He was a watchdog, a wheelbarrow, and at times a worthy companion. Now he is a crack addict and nothing else. I hope there might be some humanity left in him and a Higher Power can yank it out of the fog in his soul because once upon a time there was a diminutive boy who had trouble saying certain words, in fact a lot of words. Said boy went trick or treating through a South Side neighborhood with his mother who held a gun in her hand to keep them safe. Now that boy is a machine who's level of survival rivals anything our Armed Forces can produce, but his existence is for a sole purpose in this life. How much more can he take? I have no idea and I don't care to think about it for another minute today.

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Branching Out to Dine on Words

I readily admit that my cultural tastes are rather narrow. As a child, for me to dine on anything that did not come out of mother's kitchen Americana was usually the result of a grave threat. Foreign movies were sleeping pills and foreign literature just wasn't Hemingway. My parents did their best to expand my horizons, but early on I knew what I liked and saw no need to go beyond tuna fish for lunch, Miami Vice on Friday nights, Star Wars on Betamax, and Beverly Cleary for a good weekend read. At 42 I am much improved as my horizons have greatly expanded to include a love of many cuisines, subtitles, Neruda, and Katy Perry. I know Ms. Perry is an Americana but she is amazing isn't she?

I have many people to thank for kicking me in the seat to venture out of my comfort zone. In Fredericksburg, VA, Craig Lovett introduced me to sushi for the first time and I immediately went nuts for the stuff. Japanese food led me to Thai food, Thai food led me to try Indian food and a few cases of hospitalization-worthy food poisoning later I am starting to tolerate Indian food again. These days I hardly ever eat full on American food unless I am stuck in Yemassee, SC for two and one half weeks.

Forgive me for rambling as I am fighting the flu after paddling on a cold-a** Lake Michigan without wetsuit booties and can barely think straight but let me get to my orginal intent: Haruki Murakami (There is a study that says cold feet have a direct correlation to the functions of the nose and the nose is the cradle of all that is not well with my world.)

Despite all Grace's trips to Walgreens for Diet Canada Dry Ginger Ale, orange juice, and strawberry ice cream, my suffering lingers. The garbage on television offered no relief to the tightness in my face and head. I turned to the written word when a package arrived on my doorstep from Barnes and Noble. Inside was "1Q84" by Murakami and another Inspector Rebus paperback by Ian Rankin. I knew I had ordered a Murakami novel but I wasn't sure which one. For almost a year I have been trying to decided which one to try first. One bad novel and I will put an author back on the shelf forever. Last night I opened "1Q84" and 3 pages in felt a sensation I had not felt since "The Captain's Verses," "Cold Mountain," and "The Stones of Summer." Let it be said that without Pablo Neruda I may have never sought out any author who did not copy his or her original words down in the King's English.

In contemporary literature there are few works that reach deeply and touch a person's soul. I mean this literally. A fine read is the mixture of all the words into the mind, which are then ingested into one's emotional capacity and spread warmth throughout the body like tomato soup on New Year's Day morning. This latest work by Murakami does so and I am only a few pages in. I have not been excited about continuing a read for some time. This isn't just entertainment like so many books being downloaded today (I am reading the hardback, no Kindle for me!), this is an example of the craft of writing. The work that must have been put into this novel is evidenced early on. Strength of syntax rivals any work I have read in the last five years. Each word is placed in it's proper order as if no other word could take it's place. This is a novel executed with care. There are too many Stuart Woods' on the best sellers list belittling the capabilities of our minds.

I hope I am not jinxing myself. A little research has shown me that Murakami can get heavy into the outlandish and that is what turned me off of Garcia Marquez. But what the future holds for this novel and my tastes will be determined shortly. The point is I am truly thrilled to be touched by literature once again. Maybe the flu has tightened my head to the point of delirium? That's okay. For now I am going to enjoy the ride. "1Q84" holds a tremendous amount of promise.

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Iphone Gone...Life Updated

Not too long ago I got rid of my Iphone. I traded the sucker in for an old flip phone that is best used for conversation...of the verbal kind. Hold on a second -

I hadn't planned on using the word "sucker" until I was composing that previous sentence. "Sucker" is such an appropriate term for the Iphone that the whole premise for this piece just changed.

Hello, my name is Basil Tydings and I was addicted to Iphone apps.

But I do have an addictive personality. I was not strong enough to set my Iphone aside in order to pick up and book and read it. I was too weak to address all kinds of creative projects that were hopeful jumpstarts to a career because I had too many Words with Friends games going on. I was becoming a technological recluse, hiding in any dark corner where I could still see a touch screen yet avoid a conversation. Now I am free and re-entering a society that has its collective head down with its ear buds in. I feel so all alone.

Oh well.

There are perks to being old and outdated. Silence and plenty of free time make for a productive day. I am enjoying being a new member of Barnes and Noble. Books arrive at my door and I don't have to pay for shipping. The newspapers aren't piling up as high without being read. I cooked four out of five nights last week and the apartment is clean. There isn't any reason to check my new phone because texting with that thing is one complete pain in the ass. I am getting a lot done that might help me improve my situation, one would hope.

My local environment is brighter because I actually take the time to look around and see what is going on. The female Downy Woodpecker that came to my feeder...I saw her because I was not engrossed in an application that was draining my lifeblood and furthering the pain caused by TMJ. The local news at 6pm is exciting to watch because I haven't received 14 updates about Kim Kardashian's wedded bliss. It feels like back in the day when the family would gather around the table for dinner and the evening news at my Grandfather's house and it feels good. Now if only the paper would be delivered in the evenings!!

By by 100 dollar waste of money every month. Some of the apps I purchased  were supposed to help further my career. So what if I knew the exact position of the sun on any given day; that $5.99 didn't get my any more work on movie sets. Nobody bought any of the comic strips I created with the photos I took on my phone. All the home movies I took of Boo eating blueberries look like crap on a larger screen. I wish I had a nice film still of Boo taken with my medium-format camera instead of wasting all that time with the Iphone. I am going to have so much money this winter I might be able to buy groceries!

We will see about that.

Don't be fooled by my new found happiness; I still go through periods of withdraw. It took me ten minutes to text Gracie asking her to bring home a certain bottle of wine from Treasure Island. In my old age where dizziness comes quickly, I hate not knowing where magnetic north is. Creating voice memos is a thing of the past. I may have gotten rid of the Iphone but now I might need to buy a man purse in order to carry my compass, notebook, camera, voice recorder, pencils, sharpies, laptop, and sextant. Lewis and Clark did it; I guess I can too.

But I hear the Iphone 5 is going to be amazing...

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Technology Makes Me Want to Puke, Especially in Modern Times

Remember when you had a travel agent take care of all your vacation plans instead of the Travelocity gnome?

Maybe many of you don't, but I do. That person was a living breathing human being who had a job and earned an income. When I turned sixteen I used to pull into the Shell station on Route 3 and ask the guy who was attending to all the pumps different questions about the way my car was running. He told me a lot of stuff that I don't remember at all, but we developed a good relationship. I knew my car was in good hands when I left it with the really cool Shell guy.

Now I put my card in the slot, pump my gas and get the change rounded up to the nearest dollar in my Bank of America account. I would trade in my "keep the change" account to interact with a neighborhood gas station attendant that would take good care of the Sapphire Hornet at ANY point in time. Hell, at this point in time I'll take on the job of the gas station attendant!!

Where did the checkout girl go at Walgreens? Why do I have to drive several miles, in a city mind you, to get film developed with care? Is there such thing as an independent bookseller who caters to customer's tastes? The only good customer service left is the pot dealer who delivers right to your front door in 30 minutes or less.

Technology is killing the job market, or at least any job I am qualified for. Yeah yeah yeah, it makes everything easier, but it also makes you dumber and the gift of patience is becoming lost upon us as human beings. Nobody can spell anymore except for the 25 kids who end up in Putnam County. We are becoming too reliant on the ease of things and that is hurting America, socially and economically.

Somebody please tell me what the space program ever done for the greater good of our country...besides heighten the arms race? Get rid of NASA then those folks can go teach math somewhere...but who the hell wants to teach anymore? Very few people I know would be hurt by NASA closing because they couldn't work there anyway! I couldn't. Take that spaceship fuel and convert it to unleaded gasoline and fill up a few dozen cars.

It's nearing election time and I cannot take listening to anyone's solutions to our problems. There are a few easy solutions like take away age limits for some jobs. I could beat out more than half of any group trying out for the military, the police department, or the fire department in both physical and mental challenges, but I am over 40 so I can't even put my genius and somewhat in shape shoulders to work. There are a lot of people over 40 who want steady income who could perform a number of services as an "elderly" civil servant. Make credit cards harder to get. If you want a 2000 dollar limit for a credit card then you better show that you have 2000 dollars cash in an account. It's as simple as that. Less available credit that is killing this economy would force people to pay cash for necessary items and maybe bring about a higher demand for people in necessity stores...like Walgreens. Also, take some of the money from the now-defunct NASA program and fix the infrastructure of this country!! In Chicago they started at the wrong end of North Ave fixing potholes and there is plenty more that needs to be done. Local governments can't afford to maintain, I said maintain not improve, their facilities and roadways.

Hey politicians...come up with viable solutions and create some damn jobs!! And tax the rich so more money can be doled out at the state level for contracts that will make public transportation safer, roads smoother, and classrooms less crowded.

Wendell Pierce, an actor from the Wire and Treme, tweeted that he is part of the very small percentile that makes over 200,000 dollars per year and feels very little demand from the federal government. I applauded his honesty:

WendellPierce Wendell Pierce
Only 3% of Americans make more than $200,000. I'm one of them. For 10 years I have had a tax break. 10 Years. A 3% increase in tax nothing

The solutions seem simple but I have no idea what I am talking about. Hell, I was a theatre arts major. But our county is getting ridiculous and there doesn't seem to be anybody on the horizon who appears to be able to fix things unless you are talking about the distant hoirzon and the Rapture!!:) I will say this: take away age restrictions and I will put out some fires.

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