Grandpa's Sandwich

     When I was a boy, my grandfather would make me lunch. He was partial to sandwiches and made a wide variety. 


   Deviled Ham 
     
     When it came to deviled ham he was a purist. Fresh rye, usually a sourdough or 'Jewish' rye, and meat spread. No mayo. No veg. That is all.


   Tuna


     No one ever called it 'tunafish' in our house and we were suspicious of those who did. Rye or sourdough, tuna in water, usually Albacore, diced onion, maybe some pickle juice, little mayo, bingo. You add corn chips to that, and you are set my friend.
   There were additions of tomato and lettuce when available, and on cold days, melted cheddar. 


   Sardine


     That's right. I was regularly sent to elementary school with sardine sandwiches in my pail. I thought nothing of it. My peers were rare to trade me. 
   Always rye. Little mayo, sliced onion, red. Let me reassure you, they are delicious.


     You may have noticed, no peanut butter and jelly. That's right, NO peanut butter and jelly! You want that shit, go ask your grandmother to make it.


     No matter the sandwich, they were always, perfect. Just the right amount, of everything. I never wanted for anything else when I had a sandwich from Grandpa. I never added or would subtract from their ingredients. I ate them throughout my childhood, and knew them like a friend. When I was older (and foolish) I wanted to make my own sandwich. 
   I had eaten thousands of them. I'd watched him a million times. I knew exactly how he did it.   But that's not what I did.


     No, I was somehow going to improve upon the perfect sandwich of my grandfather. A feat of culinary hubris so bold, I knew the results would be impressive.
   First! I would push the limits of the old man's sandwich theories. Mustard is good, yes, but what about a shit ton of it?!? Oh, he'd never thought of that, had he? 
   But it was too much, it ruined the sandwich. I was way off. A sandwich isn't great by its condiments, please, I needed the true essence of sandwich, the meat! But it was just a bunch of extra meat. It was too dry. It just wasn't right. I just started buying pre-made sandwiches.


     Year's later, with kid's of my own, I have returned to the art of sandwich making. I don't try and reinvent the wheel anymore, I just make sandwiches. With a little bit of what's needed, and nothing that isn't. And they're perfect.


     


     
     

"Ode to Nantucket"

There once was a man from Seattle,
Who listened to nothing but prattle.
  From blowhards and fools
  with nothing to do,
Than to live like Republican cattle.

"Raised in L.A."

     I live in the NorthWest now, and I guess that being raised in different parts of the country makes a huge difference in your upbringing. People out here are nice. I mean they are actually nice, not some affectation that you put on when you want something or have less power or money than the person you're talking to, I mean they're nice just to be nice. I know, weird huh? 
   I guess they were raised that way, to be considerate, empathetic, to care about the feelings of others. I wasn't raised here. I was raised in L.A.


     In Southern California it's a little different. When I was growing up, the only thing you did between graphic slanders of you peer's mothers, (preferably engaged in some sort of sexual act) was to wait until your friends made even the slightest miscalculation in judgement or speech, and mercilessly slaughter them verbally; the focus on humiliation and thus hugely entertaining to any and all not targeted. 
   It was an unspoken competition, that everyone was entered in, but only a few enjoyed. I liked it. It was funny, and good training for the real world, or so I thought. It's good training for L.A. out there it's pretty rough, best to have your wits about you. I don't think anybody took it too seriously, although it could get heated at times. But if you couldn't take it, it was as if you were admitting to being a wuss. Pussies were not tolerated in my neighborhood. You were either one of the boys, or an outsider, a fate worse than death. So, at the risk of your mother's good name, you hung out, and took it, and hopefully held your own with those soulless, cold-hearted bastards. 
   Thing about soulless, cold-hearted bastards is, you hang around them long enough, you get the jacket.


     Well, it's cold up here, I needed a jacket, so I brought the only one I had. I didn't think everybody up here was going to be so goddamned sensitive. Where was their sense of humor? Didn't they realize how incredibly witty I was? What are you? A fag?


     Yeah, they didn't like that either. Somehow, 'fag' now referred to a gay person, and was not politically correct. Or funny. I know, totally rocked my worldview.
   If you were called anything, when we were kids, you were called a fag. About a million times a day. The fun we had with those names, fag, dick shiner, butt humper. You remember 'butt humper'?!?   Oh the laughs...
   Well instead of being fond childhood memories, these people saw them as improper, epithets, derogatory. What a bunch of fucken sissies.  Sorry.  This is gonna be hard.


     So, in the interest of being good natured, and because I prefer people not to hate me or think I'm Republican, I sought to calm my inner beast, and try to civilize myself and 'be nice'.  It's fucken way harder than it sounds.


     First of all, people are fucken stupid. Now I know, that that may come off as a tad judgemental, or slightly intolerant, but have you talked to any people lately? See, that's what I'm talking about. People give you so many reasons to dislike them that most of the time my head is swirling with disgust and the only way to relieve the pressure is to blast them with both barrels. Figuratively speaking.
   But I have somewhat curbed this compulsion that I have to instantly take someone's inventory and cast down my judgement and disdain upon them. It's a process. I read somewhere that all judgement comes from the ego. That really, it is only our fear of our own shortcomings that leads us to judge others. I know, I thought it was bullshit too. But I guess it couldn't hurt to try.


     So if you see me around town, with a pained smile on my face, don't worry, I'm alright. I'm just trying to be nice.

"Waiting Room"

     A good man entered a waiting room. He had always been good. He was a good child, always listening to his parents and paying heed to their advice. He did well in school, always attentive in class and diligent in his work. He made good grades and went on to college. He was respectful and well liked amongst his peers. He started a business, and because he was honest in his dealings and paid a fare wage to his employees, he was successful and he flourished. He fell in love with a good woman, whom he treated with respect, and they lovingly raised three children. He was known throughout the community as a fair and kind man, regularly giving to those in need. 
  He sat on a bench in the waiting room and worried that he could have done more.


     A while later, an indifferent man entered the room. He had never really cared about anything, sullen in his manner. He was an indifferent child, and his parents struggled to show him the way. He was never empathetic to his classmates feelings and, in turn, not very well liked. He didn't make good grades, but neither did he fail. After school he took several jobs, not liking any, and finally stayed with a company in an entry level position, where he never advanced. He lived in a small apartment. He had no wife or pets.
  He took a seat on the bench next to the good man, and wondered how long he would have to wait.


     A bad man then entered the waiting room. He had been bad from the beginning. His parents had tried their best to control him, but he was simply too much to deal with. They sent him away to a military school where his masters attempted to beat it out of him. But he was hopelessly incorrigible, and he ran away to the city. He quickly fell into using drugs and began committing crimes to support his nefarious habits. He spent much time in jail, where he fought and lost often. He treated objects like women and had no friends.
  He sat on a bench across from the other men and knew this would not end well.


     "Are you waiting here?" said the good man to the indifferent one.
     "I guess, are you?" he asked.
     "That is what I was told to do." said the good man. "Are you waiting here as well?" he asked the bad man. The bad man turned his gaze from the floor momentarily, and then looked away without answering.
     "It doesn't matter." said the indifferent man.


     After awhile, God entered the office of Saint Peter down the hall from the waiting room.
     "Good morning Lord." said Peter.
     "Good morning Peter." said the Lord. "Are they all here?"
     "Yes Lord, they are here, do you need their case files?"
     "I know them." God said.
     "Whom should I let in?" Saint Peter asked the Lord.


     "Let them all in, for they are all my sons."




   
     
     

"Waiting for the Calm"

     I walked to work the other day. It's eight point two miles. My Ipod had no charge and so I strode along with my thoughts. At first about the days agenda and other periphery musings, and then deeper until personal introspection. 
   I thought about my journey and how I'd gotten here. I thought about mistakes and what I'd learned. I thought a lot about how, as I've slowed down physically, I have seen also the importance of slowing down mentally. I know, many of you will say that I couldn't possibly be any slower mentally, but you're wrong.


     I spent a good amount of time thinking about the past, but not being regretful. Lessons learned are hard come by, and I was better from the experience. I have the luxury of a deep bottom. I've seen it. I know. Like an immigrant from a war torn land, I'm grateful to be here.


     I thought about how lucky I was to have a life and a job where I can do wacky things like walk eight miles to work, and how beautiful it is in the city, even in winter, even in the cold. I thought about how great it is to do something I don't hate, and have the love and support of my family. I thought about the chances that I would be so lucky, without something or someone looking out for me. I thought about how thankful I was that God had always looked out for me, even when I wasn't looking out for myself.


     And just then, the clouds parted, just a bit, and the sun shone through, just a little, and reflected off the water, onto my face, and warmed me; and I felt loved. It was nice. It didn't last long, as it couldn't, but it was nice while it lasted, and I was thankful for it.
   I looked out across the water towards the other shore, and saw that the sun had broken through at another place, and now shone on someone else for a time. As it should be. I felt lucky to have seen it, and hoped they were grateful for their time in the sun.


     And just as I was thinking how grateful I was that God would look after me in such a way; I remembered that I didn't even necessarily believe in Him. I have never been sure about Him. I'd wager no one has ever been truly sure, only faithful. And the world remained largely the same, only maybe a little colder.


     If He isn't there, I don't worry that He's angry, least of all with me. I've only ever been me, and can't see how I could ever be anything but, so fault has nothing to do with it. I possess very little malice, mostly for phones and mechanical equipment, so I don't think I'll be dinged too much for that. So really, no matter how you slice it, I'm not sweating it. It's not my fault man. And anyway, God is God, He doesn't get mad. Period. All these folks attributing human failings to Him, please, it's silly.


     But for that moment, when the sun shines, and it warms my face, I like that world. It feels good, safe, meaningful, calm. I like that world and would choose it, if I could, for myself, my wife, my kids. I'd like to think He might look out for my son, in the same way He seems to have looked out for me. 


     And so I go about my day, still not sure, but willing to wait, and thankful anyway.

"Resolute"

     I feel bad. I feel bad that I won't be making any resolutions this year. I don't like them and the way they shine a light on my inability to regulate my actions. I've never had making them, positively affect my behavior, so I'm just going to stop making them. Altogether.


     People always ask you, if you have any.
   "Nope, I became perfect a few years back." Nosy pricks. No. I don't have any resolutions. I'm aware of my habits and I like them. So much so that they became habits.


     If you have any glaring defects, ones that everybody already knows about, are you still supposed to make a fucken resolution about them? Does everyone just want you to say it out loud, so they know, that you know, that everybody fucking knows? Like some yearly intervention for losers? 
   "Yes, I remember when you hinted that I was fat and stupid last year, thank you." Sadistic jerks. Well, I'm not givin' 'em the satisfaction, the bastards. 
     
     How 'bout these fuckers that ask specifically if you've made a resolution dealing with an obvious shortcoming.
   "Are you resolving to workout this year?"
   "Yeah, I'm gonna take up boxing, are you resolving to mind your own fucken business?"


     The only people that like making resolutions are hot, rich, skinny people. I hate those fuckers. The only resolution I'm willing to make, is to knock the living shit outta anyone dumb enough to piss off a fat, drunk, asshole with an anger management problem, at a New Year's Eve party.


     Resolved. Now gimme a cigarette.
     


     

"An Agnostic Noel"

     Nothing like the holidays to get your mind off religion. What a pesky, arcane, useless thing religion is nowadays. I know a lot of people get riled up when they think about the way Madison Ave. has hijacked the holidays from religion. And it's true. It is also true that religion had been hijacked from the people, centuries ago.

     I was watching a documentary on the 'Ice Man' on PBS not long ago, (you still haven't responded to their pledge drive.) and it was saying how little, evolutionally speaking, we have changed since his time. We live a bit longer now with modern medicine and have a little length of bone from improved nutrition, but we are all Homo Erectus, and have mainly the same traits as he did. The Ice Man was lactose intolerant and had heart disease. He had tattoos, and was carrying a piece of new technology - for the time - when he was killed. He was shot from behind, probably by someone he knew. This was five thousand years ago.

     My point is, that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Our bodies are decaying organic matter, and regardless of what you do, we are all going to die.  Man has always possessed the newest greatest thing, and it has never once led us to Utopia. People have always been jealous of their neighbor, and in some cases killed because of it. And, of course, tattoos are just as cool as they ever were. I think we can all agree on that.

   I'll tell you what we don't have in common with him. A simple belief system. The ones we have now are anything but simple and have undergone huge sea changes in their basic fundamental dogmas, countless times during our history. Religious figures have been some of the most heinous known to man. I shudder to think what some of the founders of monotheistic religions would have to say about the custodians of their faiths. You ever play 'telephone'? That's one statement, in a single room, with a handful of people; and it rapidly turns into 'purple monkey dishwasher' before your very eyes. Imagine what folks could do with an entire belief system over a few millenia.

     I am an Agnostic by default. Despite what you might think, you are ALL Agnostic. Gnostic means knowledge, Agnostic literally means, without knowledge. And let me assure you, you are all without knowledge. On most subjects really, but certainly on matters of faith. Let's face it, religion deals with God, the afterlife, our purpose in the Universe. Let any among you, with a wealth of knowledge on these subjects, step forward now...

     Exactly.

     Don't feel bad. Nobody has a clue about any of this stuff, and I'm pretty sure the Big Guy upstairs knows it. I don't care what anybody tells you, they aren't Moses, they're not Mohammed, they've never met Jesus, and they don't know the Buddha. They are men. Just regular ol' men. Not gods, not friends of God's. As a matter of fact, when it comes to meeting the Boss, I like my chances as an Agnostic better than those of somebody that has spent a lifetime claiming to know the mind of God. Talk about speak for yourself, sheesh. 

     I'm not religious, but I like Jesus. In my estimation, he was a pretty good dude. He seemed to like folks and tried to do right by people, even though they rarely understood what He was saying, and usually butchered the translation in the retelling. It must have been frustrating. But PR has always been a difficult vocation, and I think He did the best He could. Working with the public is never easy, and when His Dad sent Him down here to promote the family business, I'm sure He wasn't thrilled. The budget was extremely tight in those days, no gas card or even a Diner's Club; I think the per diem was some fish and loaves in a basket. Ridiculous. But He did it with a good attitude and that's what counts.

     Even though I'm not a member, I am a huge fan. I'm amazed at the restraint of Buddhists, I admire the caring nature of the Qur'an, the loyalty of Judaism and the simplistic virtue of the New Testament. I don't see many people doing it correctly, and would feel hugely hypocritical joining in, that being said, I can't have an honest discussion about my life and what I might think God would have to say to me, without being reduced to tears.

     Is there a God? I don't know. I'd like to think so. I think He might be inside of us, and I think We might be Him. If He is, I'd like to apologize for things I've done in the past. Oh, and I had no idea that pop-up was for a porn site. I thought 'round the world' was a basketball term.

     Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and have a safe New Year. The Big Man loves you.