Oh, I can't have that? Well then I want it.

     I have a hard time staying grateful. It's not that I don't have a lot to be grateful for, I do. It's just that like most people, I am almost constantly looking forward, thinking about the future.


     When you're growing up they're always telling you that you need to think about the future. Well, I am here to tell you that they are wrong.
   
     First:  When you are young, the last thing you should be doing is worrying about your future, and when they say 'thinking' they actually mean 'worry'. Kid's shouldn't 'worry' about anything. You only have your one childhood to be carefree. Your whole adult life will more than likely be filled with angst, no need to rush into it. Not to mention you're a kid. What the hell do you know about planning for the future anyway? No, what they are really telling you is that you should be planning for the future that they think you should have. Oh yeah? Well if you feel so strongly about it, you do the fucken planning then, I'm going outside to play. And kids, for the record, that is where playing is done, outside. Not inside some dark room with a computer, there will be plenty of time for that later on.


     Second:  When was the last time something worked out the way you planned it? That's right, never. Well get used to it, because there's a lot more of that coming. Planning is for pregnant women and fools. You can 'plan' all you want to, and the world will still throw you a curve. You know what you should plan for? Not knowing what the fuck is goin' on, 'cause that's what's gonna happen. I 'planned' on being a rockstar with an eight-pack that had hot wings smuggled to his jacuzzi inside the bikinis of Russian supermodels. Most of that didn't pan out. Thank God I at least got the hot wings. My point is, what I have is better than that. (my wife reads these.) And you can't know how happy something that you never dreamed of will make you. 


     Too much planning sets you up for failure. Now I'm not suggesting you just plop down on the couch and wait for the good times; a little hard work goes a long way. But if you have a roof over your head and some food in the fridge, and if you have a job and even a couple of friends...you're doin' alright. The truth is, most of us have much more than this and yet very few of us feel 'happy'.
   
     I see people everyday that make me glad I'm me. Also, there is joy in the little things, if you know where to look. Yesterday, on my way home from work, I saw two guys struggling to push a van uphill into a gas station. I asked if they needed a hand, and they said yes. The three of us tried, but weren't making much more progress than before. Just as we were about to stop pushing, three women joggers from the park across the street ran up and helped give it the extra shove it needed, and we all rolled it into place together. As soon as it was in front of the pumps, everyone went their separate ways, being thanked by the driver, but of course, wanting nothing in return. I can't tell you how good I felt after that. And it stuck with me. If you think you're different than your neighbor, you're wrong. If you think we aren't all connected, you're wrong. If you think you can't make yourself happy by helping someone else...you are wrong.


     You probably have more than enough already in your life to be happy. You probably know others that have much less. There are probably people in your life that you could help with a little effort. It would probably make you feel happier if you did.


   


                              "Don't worry, be happy."   Bobby McFerrin

Flies with Honey

     As a rule, I don't care for the 'people'. They are loud and obnoxious and usually in my way. My wife says that I need to be nice to the people, but this is much harder than it seems. Maybe it was my upbringing, maybe my environment, either way, it is not in my nature to be tolerant or understanding.

   When I was in fourth grade, I was beaten up by a fifth grader who then stole my jacket. I ran home and told my grandfather, whom I wholly believed would run out into the world to exact justice from all parties involved. Instead, after telling him what transpired, he stood there looking at me with an expression that said, 

   "Whaddya want kid? You expect me to follow you around and make sure nothing happens to ya?" After explaining to me that 'shit happens' and the world is a cold and dark place, he told me that if I didn't like being beaten up and having my stuff took, I should take steps to preparing myself so it wouldn't happen again. Also that my grandmother who gave me the jacket would probably be mad at me for losing it.
   "But I...he...nevermind."

     That was it. That was all it took. I understood what he was telling me and I never ran home crying again. (I would wait till I was done crying, and then go home.) 
   But it made an impression on me. Don't be a fucken pussy. Learn to take care of yourself or get used to being stepped on, either way, I understood, the buck stops here. I was responsible for myself and what happened to me. I and I alone. Two things have taught me this is true. The two greatest teachers a man can have, my grandfather and the United States Navy. The Navy doesn't give a shit who's fault something is; they don't want to hear your fucken excuse. Did I tell you to do it? Then it's your responsibility. 
   And so this is the philosophy that got me through. This was how I navigated the world. And to its credit, it got me through some pretty tough times. I was prepared for you to be an asshole. I knew you would disappoint. And if you wronged me, I wouldn't be sending my grandfather after you, you were gonna hear from me. And so it went. And my anger grew with every passing day, seeing my expectations manifest in people's rude behavior.


     But that's not what my grandfather was trying to tell me. Once again, I had misconstrued his meaning and taken it in with childish ears. 

     There is an Islamic proverb that says, 'Tie your donkey to a sturdy post, and then go about your business.' In other words, be prepared. Don't rely on faith that you will be alright, take steps to make sure, and then go with God.


     Negativity begets negativity. I was approaching with anger and in turn, being met with it. I am not an enlightened person. As much as I try, I can't seem to grasp the, 'you catch more flies with honey' mentality. I prefer the 'you smash more teeth with fists' approach. But it has gotten me nowhere. 
   So recently, as an experiment, I have given this new model a try. And you know what? It works. My wife is the smartest person I know. (Please don't tell her I said that, she's hard enough to live with as it is.) But if I simply adjust my own attitude, I find that my experience with people is greatly improved. This really pisses me off. Sorry. It's a long road ahead.

     

Life is a Test

     I'm middle-aged. By definition that means my life is half over. This is not a good feeling. When I was young, I thought it might take me awhile to achieve all the things in life I wanted to. Like maybe till I was twenty four. My timetable was a little off.


     I find little comfort in this new position, with the sword of Damocles affixed perilously overhead. I remain unsettled and find it hard to truly relax. 
   In school, we sometimes had to take long comprehensive exams, lasting two or more hours. Invariably, I would fritter away the first half of my allotted time, doodling, day-dreaming, and generally fiddle fucking around. When it finally dawned on me that the time was nigh, I would fill with a sense of dread, and hastily scratch in whatever answers I could. Why would I wait so long to get down to business? Why not? I had two hours, that's like forever to a teenager. No need to rush into things.


    "Youth is wasted on the young." 
   When you are young, you have your entire life ahead of you. There are no pressing matters when you have all the time in the world, and that is how it appears from a young person's point of view. I had no idea that I would be consumed by a fear of impending doom, propelling me into a frantic quest for enlightenment.


     Enlightenment isn't easily acquired. In fact, I believe it might not be possible. This does little for my comfort level.
   Recently, a good friend of mine asked what all the 'God' stuff was about, in some of my writing. Apparently, she thought it might be tongue in cheek, or purely of a comic nature. When I assured her it wasn't, she was surprised to hear that I had any interest in such matters. 
   Now, let me stop here and make something exceedingly clear. I do not believe in organized religion. In fact, I'm not sure what I believe. I am an agnostic. I think everyone is agnostic whether they think so or not. How could you possibly know for a fact, if there is or isn't a God? I'm not even comfortable using that word. God. It seems so full of other peoples definitions of the divine. So, let's rule out the nutty stuff, like some old white guy on a cloud, or any anthropomorphic entity that the unwashed masses seem to think presides over the Universe. That leaves us with terms like, 'The One'. This feels a little too Zen Eastern philosophical, or it conjures up images of Keanu Reeves, either way, I don't care for it. So, for lack of a better term, I'll stick with God.


     I'm a tattooer, a tough guy (not really) but that is the costume I wear in the world. In my circles you just don't go around sayin' stuff about God. You save that shit for when you catch a case and and have to go do a nickel upstate. Denis Leary once said that no one finds Jesus on prom night, it's only when you've fucked it up so badly down here, that nobody else will talk to you. So I try and keep this shit to myself.


     The truth is, I enjoy reading religious texts. The tenets of the big three, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, are filled with beautiful wisdoms. The men that wrote them, (not God) were and are some of the greatest thinkers to have walked the Earth. Since their time, others have come along, with their own agendas, and bastardized what were once simple and profound teachings, that anyone would benefit from, were they to pattern their life according to these dogmas. I shudder to think what Abraham or Moses, Christ or Muhammad, would think of the modern purveyors of religion.


     This leaves the still unanswered question of what I personally believe. I believe in science. I believe in Evolution, and the Big Bang. I believe that we all emerged from the primordial soup billions of years ago and through Natural Selection we have become the self-centered modern pricks of today. I think it is hard in this world of the Ipad 2 to realize that wonders of the past are still around us. We are so caught up in amazement with our own achievements, that we fail to see the beauty, right in front of us.
   This being said, I like to think there is something else.


     Most days, I'm still unsure of what it is that I actually believe in. I believe I love my wife and family, and most days, that's enough. I'm not sure if I truly believe in God, but I'm still amazed when He takes time out of His day, to come speak directly to me.


     I think we are the fingers of God. We are how He experiences the Universe. Through us, He sees the world. Good, bad or indifferent, we are He. Now go love somebody.
   
     


     "I am as big as God, He is as small as me. I cannot beneath Him, nor He above me be."    Silesius 17th century


     "I am He, as you are He, as you are me, and we are all together."    John Lennon

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."