Wasted Opportunity Wasted

Since Spanish class at VES with Senor Sullivan I dreamt of donning a pair of white slacks, a nice soft Egyptian cotton button down, a red kerchief, a pair of track shoes, and hitting the streets of Pamplona for a little jog...a very fast-paced jog. Throughout the years when news stations broadcasted highlights of the Running with/of the Bulls I always thought to myself - I could do that and I could probably do it faster than anybody else. I used to be quick, very quick and I used to be acrobatic. If there was a ledge I could do a back flip off it and land on concrete or grass or whatever. I used to have the clearest picture of doing a back flip off of some part of a bull to the cheers of thousands of adoring strangers in some plaza de toros, but then I turned 40. Some of my dreams have changed. This morning I watched some footage from San Fermin and my thinking was very different. I thought to myself, damn I wish I had done that when I could have. Maybe I have become older and somewhat wiser or maybe older should just be capitalized.

I used to follow up on all kinds of whims because they were part of my dreams. I used to tell close friends and family that I never wanted to look back and say what if. The locales for these experiences were never very exotic. Usually I had to stay within a gas tank or two, when gas was affordable, of Oxford and all I could take with me was whatever I could fit into the back of my car. Following up on whims left very little time for settling into well-paying careers so the existence was often bare bones and simple. Jobs were diverse but very low-paying. I worked as the shoe guy at the Rock-n-Bowl in New Orleans, mated on a charter boat in Key West, helped build a boat in Charleston, answered phones for a fashion designer in New York, washed dishes at a bistro, fetched coffee for the Treasurer of the National Gallery of Art, moved stuff for a world-reknowned sculptor in Canada, stocked shelves at an independent bookstore, and taught school. Now, my resume is too expensive to fax anywhere and nobody wants to hire a "flight risk" as I was once called. The whim pursuit has slowed down to anywhere I can walk or bike to.

One might say I already lived my retirement, which is great, but now I am going to have to work until I am 107, and I am fine with that. At one point I sold a bunch of bank stock that was at an all-time high to pursue some of my impulses. That was supposed to put my kids through college and be a down payment on a house. My family was furious and told me how foolish I was. Guess what...some very rich people who started running that small-town bank have made that stock almost worthless and there is very little hope that it will ever recover. Look who's the financial genius now! I satisfied a lot of urges and got out while the getting was good. Yeah, I have a fair payment plan with the IRS to take care of the capital gains but it's all good! I don't have to wonder anymore if I can play in the NHL. I can't nor ever could, but at least I found that out first hand and in a very hard way.

Seeing the Running of the Bulls this morning made me upset but it was only for the briefest moment. It is very rare that I ask myself - what if? A lot of what I tried to accomplish did not happen but I tried. I went after numerous goals and achieved very few if any at all. Are those failures, no, those are answered questions that don't bother me in my adult life. I am free to just get through life with a big old smile on my face while I try to pay off all that I owe.

These days I try to put my experiences down on paper. Literature was a bad influence on me. When I became too old to dream of making a living as a pirate I then dreamed of becoming a novelist, thus began the whims and thus began the infectious wanderlust. What my favorite authors wrote about I wanted to taste, touch, see, hear, and smell. Blame James Lee Burke, Pat Conroy, Hemingway, Faulkner, and a few others for my whims. More often than not, when I look back, I thank them.

I hope I can fine tune my syntax because I am not going to be able to throw cable down in gutters for very much longer. The retirement age of 107 is a long way off so I better get some good words down on paper and pray that someone wants to load my experiences into a kindle. The thought of having to go work on a tv show this Tuesday makes my back hurt already. I don't want to sound like a broken record or anything but I think that this will be my last show...

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Remembering When...

I got bullied.

Reading news reports about bullying makes me want to become an advocate for the death penalty. Legalize marijuana but put bullies to death. The effects of drug use can heal over time as I suppose the effects of bullying can too, but, unfortunately, the scenes of being shoved into a bathroom and beaten with fists by more than one person are a lot more vivid today than sneaking a joint and a couple smooches with a raven-haired beauty at camp. I wish it was the other way around.

The other day I was walking the Mongrel and saw a young boy walking down the street with his mother. Joy and innocence of being a pre-teen in the summer time was covered by a mask of sadness over his face. The mother attended to her son with an expression that was a mix of concern and strength. These two were on their way away from a playground. As the Mongrel and I approached the playground I saw more kids than ever playing various games all across the blacktop lot. I don't know the story but I couldn't help but wonder - why can't everyone just get along?

I know it is hard for anyone to believe that such a bad-ass warrior as myself, who turned into one of the most incredible human beings ever, was ever bullied but it is true. The pain both physically and emotionally was exceptionally hard to deal with. I was new at Sts. Peter and Paul so I was attacked in the boys bathroom by two guys who didn't like the fact that I was there. They punched me continuously in the arms and chest so nothing would show and alert the Sisters. I was also attacked by a group of girls who pulled my shorts down outside of the locker room. Today I wouldn't mind that so much, as long as it wasn't too cold outside, but back then it was horrific. Later in my teens, a knife was pulled on me in a  restroom at Easton High School. These are just a few of the incidents.

Maybe it was because my parents made me dress like a geek or I always said out loud that I wanted to be a pirate when asked what profession would you choose. Something made people want to f#*k with me and most of that was the result of my own undoing. I could be a little weird. A lot of other kids had it much worse than I did. There were a few times that someone I knew just didn't show up to school the next day, or any other day after that. You would hear about sightings of that person around town, but they just weren't there anymore. School was awful; no wonder I liked going to church so much.

In Chicago, bullying can happen with guns or big sticks and death can be the result. Times are harsher. I contemplate getting back into teaching so I can be a part of suppressing intimidation. But the thought of doing so also scares me. School grounds in Chicago are no joke!

My trauma happened way before technology made it easier to be crueler. (Even though it is hard for me to imagine anything crueler than a fifth grader having his shorts pulled down on an exceptionally brisk fall day!) I don't know how one deals with bullying in today's society. One of the reasons I stopped teaching high school was the fact that there is hardly any discipline left in the modern school system. Whenever I saw even the slightest acts of bullying by a student I wanted to pulverize him or her into the macadam. Most of what I saw was verbal that had to deal with family income, athletic prowess, weight, or mental capabilities. If there was an incident usually a scholarship student had to deal with harsher penalties more so than a full-tuition student, no matter who was at fault. Witnessing bullying in any form would ruin my day. I took my job home with me and that was not a good thing. I am older now so maybe things are different.

Much respect goes out to the families who have to encourage a child to persevere through the time of their youth, despite the cruelty of others. I don't know why I wanted to write about this...the subject of bullying has been on my mind as of late. A lot of my time is spent quietly sitting back in observation of the world around me. Too many young sad faces pass through my field of vision. I want to stop them and tell them it gets better.

I want to say "look at me; look how great I turned out!"

But then they might say: "you are always broke and looking for work."

Then I will tell them: "I'm an artist these things take time!"

And they will say: "Whatever, old man."

Which is fine. Some people like to be advised and some people just need to get through it and work it out their own way. But it's out there and if there is an opportunity to make some one smile we need to grasp that moment and make it work. Eli Mongrel is good at making kids smile, he is much better at it than I am!

Now it's officially summer! Summer should be a time of carefree activity and growth in a young person's life. I hope all the kids out there get to regroup and enjoy themselves during the time off from school. As an adult who gets to visit home in the summer I sometimes run into or hear stories about the two guys who initiated me into the brotherhood of being bullied. They never look happy and you never hear their names in any of the "good ol' stories" from back in the day that old friends like to tell. Happiness and laughter don't appear to be in their dictionaries. It's almost like the cliche you see in many teen movies and somehow I can't help but smile...

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day lilies and yesterday

A day lily now sits on the front stoop. This plant is more than just a decorative thingy to try and make the place presentable for Art Fair weekend; the day lily represents my childhood. Every time I see a palmetto tree I think of South Carolina. Every time I see a day lily I think of home.

Home for me, meaning subjects of memory, began on Waverly Island Road when there were very few houses around. For those of you who know the area, Woodland Farms was in the planning stages and the Easton Club was a good place to look for beer cans. The footsteps of my childhood fell upon some very special parts of this Earth and day lilies covered quite a bit of that ground.

My incredible work ethic derived from being told to go weed the day lily beds. I remember being drug out of the house, plopped in front of the gardens, and directed to pull out all the unnecessary weeds. There were many times when the distinction between what was necessary and unnecessary became too hard of a decision for me to make so I erred on the side of pulling it...whatever it was. Often, my mother vehemently disapproved of these decisions. I am sorry, but to me there are still no such things as "decorative grasses." If you were all green amongst the battalions of blooming day lilies you were gone from that bed.

Here is probably a good time for me to confess something so I do not lead anybody astray in their opinion of me as blossoming young man - I was not always so diligent at doing what I was told to do...

There might have been a time or two when my mother would lead me to location then go off to work on chores of her own. I would remain in a crouch as if ready to rid the mulch of invaders but as soon as I would see that red hair disappear from sight I was gone. Depending on what bed I was working on there was always Utopia just beyond my mother's line of sight. To the south was the mouth of Playtors Creek, to the north were the Segers' barnes, wonderful lush marshland full of wildlife bordered the east and west sides of the property. It was a win win situation wherever I ran to. That is until my mother came to check on me. My how her voice could carry across the whole neighborhood. I could not stand pulling weeds. The day lily soon became associated with misery.

After my hatred of all things associated with gardening developed, the day lily then initiated me into the world of culinary exploration.

One night at dinner a salad with all kinds of weird ingredients was placed in front of me. Me being me at the time immediately began to protest. I am not a fan of trying new things. When my mother told me what the ingredients were I asked if she was trying to poison me. Tiny oranges and flowers were not safe (these being mandarin oranges and day lily petals). And I hated nuts in everything. This salad was filled with walnuts. The woman was obviously unhappy with what God had provided her with a tried to off me through natural means. I refused to eat any of it and was adamant. Somehow I won that battle and only had to eat my broccoli and crabcakes.

Then one day I was sulking as I fell in behind my mother for another day of torture. Before we started working I remember she grabbed some day lily petals right off the plant and started eating them. I was amazed. I was also scared she was going to die. Seeing raw petals on a plate is one thing but having someone just eat them off the plant was another. Who knew what dreaded plague had spread across the wilds of Waverly Island overnight? However, when she didn't die I became intrigued. I thought my mom was pretty bad-ass to do something so cool as to forage outside of the doors to the Acme.

So I tried the day lily petals and they were absolutely horrible. They were as gross as I predicted they would be. But...as nauseating as they were I did not abandon the practice of eating them right out of the garden. Such an act often provoked spirited reactions from people my age. There were some fine looking young ladies growing up in the area and I would do whatever it took to try and look cool in front of them, even if it meant eating disgusting plants and having to keep from throwing up. Anything for a reaction...

When my family left the Eastern Shore and moved to Virginia the day lily beds were left in the hands of strangers. I was heartbroken. However, the house in Fredericksburg was soon surrounded with them as my parents completely refurbished a property that had been neglected for some time. I was happy to see the day lilies placed around the house. Even at a young age they helped take me away to better times and  places when being in a new area was a hard adjustment. They were a bigger help to me than that dipshit therapist I had to see.

In a new area meeting new people what was one to do to try and make his mark? You guessed it - eat the day lilies. In Fredericksburg when my friends and I got the munchies we ate day lily petals instead of potato chips but only if there were hot girls around. In my youth I rank day lilies just under marijuana and just above Virginia Gentleman bourbon in what helped me get through the tough times.

The day lilies were always there for me where ever my family lived. I cannot think about my childhood and not see them. Today they have faded from my mom's garden schemes. For some reason her tastes have changed and there are more things that I would have yanked out as an amateur landscaper. Now I have my own day lily as homage to a species that played such a pivotal role in my upbringing. I hope the damn thing blooms before the weekend. And don't think for a second that I won't pull off a petal and munch on it should the proper occasion arise...

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A little this and a little that...

I don't trust onions that don't make me cry. White onions are too mild. Vidalias however, Niagara falls over the cutting board. A squirrel that will not run from me when I go to chase it away from my bird feeder deserves a good ping in the butt from a pellet gun. Too many peace love and happiness types in the city to make my squirrel problem go away on the hush-hush. You can't even smack a kid for breaking into a car without some overweight hippie in a tie dye threatening to call the cops. Imagine if I made a squirrel assume room temperature? This is how my morning train of thought has gone so far.

But church was right on time...it was all about not letting opportunities pass you by without making the most of them. I have some possible career decisions to make over the next few days. Pretty good timing I would say. Anybody have any life-changing questions they need answered? I'll be in pretty tip-top shape, mentally, for the next several minutes or so.

The onions are now in a quiche which is about 20 minutes away from being done. I threw some mushrooms, ham and provolone in as well. Fresh chives will garnish the top. The gym work starts again tomorrow so I might pull out the Clamato and make a red-cup Bloody Mary then watch the rain soak fresh Basil and Parsley plants that patiently wait for a good dose of sunshine in our living-room window box.

Eli and I went on a nice walk so he could relieve the excitement he contained for about 20 minutes while watching the squirrel eat my dang sunflowers. I wish the Mongrel could climb trees so he could seize the opportunity to rid St. Paul Avenue of a pesky squirrel or two. Hippies won't yell at dogs will they?

Also on my agenda for the day is picking a new John D. MacDonald to read. I ordered a couple non Travis McGee novels online. He is a brilliant writer. My boys from the Irish Brigade turned me on to him and I will be forever grateful.

Now it's time to go eat some quiche and meditate on some opportunities...

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This is Getting Ridiculous

How long will it be before everything we own has a tracking device inside it? If only stalking was an accepted practice...it is so easy now. In days gone by one had to put in a lot of legwork and be very discreet in order to discover the routine of an object of affection. Today, you don't even have to leave the house!

During my first year of college I saw a girl in a play and instantly became enamored with her. The program told me her name but her bio gave me very little information to work with. I waited around after the show to see what she looked like up close. I tried to think of things to say that would make a good impression but I was only eighteen. That was a long time ago. I was no where near as smooth then as I am now, which I know is very hard for some of you readers to believe. 

When Lady K came out of the theatre building my heart started pounding even more than it did when she first stepped out on stage. I had to meet her, but I couldn't muster up the gumption to say hello or congratulations or anything. Rather, I leaned back against some doric column and watched her head off into the night with a small entourage. But then a few months later I saw her walking down the street....

During those few months I had not forgotten about her at all. My inept ways had kept me pretty much dateless so Lady K was still the one I dreamed about at night and during Geography class. Seeing her walking down College Avenue had to be serendipitous; I was not to let this good fortune pass by without putting in some effort to meet the lady who had consumed my thoughts for countless hours. So I pulled over into the nearest open parking spot and waited. Just before she passed by I slid down in my seat and made it look like I was trying to pull a Whitesnake cassette tape out of my player. Luckily she did not notice me before turning down some forgotten avenue a few blocks away. Being the Sam Spade of stalkers I pulled out into traffic and followed after her. It was not long before she stepped off the sidewalk and onto the walkway that lead to a quaint brick bungalow. With the number of the house solidly memorized I whipped the car around and headed to the nearest flower shop. I returned, an hour later with a bouquet of white daisies and babies breath and a beautifully penned card that included my phone number. It took a whole lot of deep breaths for me to park in front of that house and walk to the door. After I knocked an elderly couple opened the door and smiled at me. I told them I had a delivery for Lady K. They said she lived in their basement apartment and they would make sure she got the flowers. I turned and hurried back to my car before my face exploded from the heat that was filling my cheeks.

Two hours later Lady K called me and agreed to go on a date. Over dinner at the Old Ebbitt Grill in Washington D.C. she asked me how I knew her address. I told her the whole story. I told her how I saw her in "Little Shop of Horrors," was dying to meet her, then saw her, then stalked her, then got her flowers. Instead of getting up and hitting me with a big shot of pepper spray she actually folded her hands and put them under her chin and smiled. She said she was absolutely flattered by the effort I put into tracking her down. Our first date was great and we went on several more. In fact, we almost became boyfriend/girlfriend but then I found her in bed with the Head of the Theatre department at MWC. 

At one point in time stalking was not such a bad thing then like everything good somebody had to ruin it by taking things too far. Nowadays it seems that technology isn't helping keep people's privacy safe. The news has been reporting a lot of unnerving stories about everything from Google saving every search you have ever typed into your computer, Iphones tracking your whereabouts, and now the New York Times reports that packages of electronic cigarettes will now alert users when someone else who smokes electronic cigarettes is within 50 feet. Isn't this a form of electronic stalking? Something does not seem right about this.

Are these electronic cigarette devices necessary? E-smokers don't exactly blend in to the woodwork. Personally, I find these particular brand of folks, when in bars and coffee shops, to be the most annoying people in the room. Just go outside and have a Camel Light! Now their cigarette packs are going to light up and buzz? These things cost 80 dollars and they also report information back to Blu, the company who makes them. When is enough going to be enough?  

The evolution of technology has me a little on edge. I don't want Apple to know that I went to Home Depot, Tipre's Hardware, and Walgreens to buy birdseed. AND...I don't want two e-smokers in the same bar I am drinking in. Go away choppers! If you are going to smoke man up and smoke some real Carolina tobacco. I think it's almost time to get rid of all these confounded devices and go back to typewriters, rotary phones, Pall Malls, stationary and intelligible customer service agents to answer our questions about consumer products. My old days weren't so bad...but back then there was no Priceline.com.

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