30 April 2007

Love Essay

I made a deal with a friend not long ago that we would swap stories about what we thought love was. It seemed a simple enough thing to do, and I was confident that I could find a few minutes to pound out an essay that would cover my end of the deal. Like me, this friend shares a need to write things down. She prefers to use poetry as a medium, which I think makes it easier, but that’s just my opinion. She was quick in fulfilling her end of the bargain. Her writing was heart-wrenching and immediate, sometimes violent and strangely erotic. Woe unto us, though, who prefer to try and pigeonhole everything through prose; the whole “love” thing is too elusive. As I try to write my “love” essay, I find myself wishing I was better at poetry. But, mechanics be damned. I’ll try.

If I could write in this blog what love is so that every person who read it knew and understood exactly what I was saying, well, I wouldn't be sitting in a crappy apartment writing essays that almost nobody reads. I don’t have the talent to cover such an all encompassing subject. “I love my mom. I love that movie. I love shrimp fettuccine alfredo”. How in the world would I begin to explain it to someone who didn’t know what it meant? More importantly, I think, how could I explain it when I’m not sure what it is myself? Anecdotes always work well, so I’ll hide behind that, and I’ll just stick to the adult occurrence. My teen love stories will have to wait.

I was married when I fell in love, and it wasn’t with my wife. I have heard older people say they fell in love with their spouses only after marriage, and it worked out great for them. Things don’t work that conveniently for me. No, as usual, there is always a giant monkey wrench floating about, waiting patiently to enmesh itself in my workings when I need it the least.

On the most mundane of errands, I inadvertently, unexpectedly, and blissfully fell in love with a complete stranger in about three minutes. When I saw her, I was immediately struck (blinded) by how beautiful she was. To be fair, I have seen lots of beautiful women, but this one was different. Of course, she was standing right in front of me, which helped; it’s tough to fall in love with a magazine picture, although I have seen others do it. But anyway, this girl literally took my breath away. I felt as though I were in another dimension. It was as if I could see, really see, for the first time. I was in my neighborhood liquor store buying bourbon like I did all the time, and yet, I was worlds away, my transportation courtesy of the new clerk.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Lush walks into liquor store, sees half-way decent looking girl, and has love fantasies. In a cynical (realistic) way, you’d be right. But this is a love story, so go with it.

Our short conversation was all business, I think. We may have chatted briefly about the weather or the gift boxed Jack Daniel sets or the man in the moon. I don’t remember, and it didn’t matter. I knew, in one instant, that I would be able to listen to her talk about anything. Anything at all. For as long as she wanted. And while she spoke, it would be as if I were in a dream, and her voice would be both an hypnotic soundtrack and a river that I could float away on, forever.

Quite (too) abruptly, our short transaction was over, and I was back in my car. I had to go home. To where my wife was. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt so guilty in my life. I actually took the long way home so I could try to gather my thoughts, once so neatly kept, so organized, so…predictable. Hadn’t I stood up, in front of my family, and professed to God and everybody, that I loved my wife, and would cleave to her and no other? Oh, this was bad. Very bad. All I had done was go to the liquor store to buy a bottle of bourbon, and now I was in love with another woman. Wait, not in love, but I knew I could love this woman, much more than I ever did my wife. I knew, for the first time, what love really was: It was the desire to hang on every word, to get lost in the smile and to scream and fight no matter the cost to myself in order to keep the smile in place. It was the feeling of utter relaxation. It was a calm that inspired abandon I had never known, and wanted so badly, no matter what I had said to anybody before I met her. It all happened in about three minutes, and there isn’t a day that has gone by since that I haven’t thought of it.

Did I lust after her? You bet I did. But it was more than just the physical act that I wanted. I wanted to be as close to her as two people can be. I wanted to lose myself in her, and I knew it would an ecstatic, delirious experience, with my only hope being that maybe some of whatever magic she had would shine on me, if only for a moment. I imagined it would be like touching the face of God, and I don’t care if that’s blasphemy.

When I had finally gathered my wits, I went home. I didn’t mention to my wife that I had fallen in love at the liquor store.

Remember the floating monkey wrench? It came back. Through an odd series of events, my wife became good friends with the clerk of my dreams. And (I couldn’t make this up), they had the same name. She would visit on occasion, and there just isn’t enough bourbon in the world to make that scene comfortable. I remember sitting in my kitchen with those two women and realizing that I had never felt so secretive and yet so exposed in my life. I had to be very careful about any vocal inflections when speaking their names. When I spoke to my wife, her name sounded like I was spitting out a poppy seed, but when I spoke to the clerk, it sounded like a symphony. I had to be very careful to make sure that what was going on in my head didn’t make it out of my mouth.

I could go on and on, trying vainly to describe how I felt. Suffice to say that I have never felt so strongly for a woman.

There’s no happy ending to this story. I eventually discovered that my wife had been involved in more extramarital affairs than I wanted to hear about. The beautiful clerk is married, and we do speak from time to time.

In case you’re wondering, I did have the chance to tell her how I felt. In a desperate act of foolishness, I told her I would build her a house with my own hands and love her children and devote the rest of my life to making her as happy as she could be. Bless her heart, for she was very gentle in letting me know that she did not feel the same way, which leads me to wonder: Did I know from the beginning that I could not have her, and is it that fact which made her so appealing? Would things have been different had she felt the same for me, which is to say, would it have lasted? I’ll never know, and yet, I am still grateful to her for making me feel like she did. It felt like love for me, and it was good.

Epilogue:

I’ve been working on this essay for nearly five hours, and every time I re-read it, I realize how much more there is I could say to try and describe how I felt for the clerk. It will take everything I have to resist the temptation to revise it…again. I’m tired, and at this particular moment, my opinion (subject to change) is this: Love, for me, anyway, is beautiful but clumsy: Just when things are almost fixed, she drops the stupid wrench.

I have since tried to extend the same amount of fervor I felt for the clerk to subsequent women, and I am sure that I have loved them, although it was different, and, I might add, unsuccessful. I wanted so desperately to feel the same way the clerk made me feel; I tried to make it happen, and it didn’t. There’s a word to the wise.

26 April 2007

Doctor, Heal Thy Arrogance

I have a great deal of respect for doctors. I don't respect them because they're better than me; they are people too, subject to the same human foibles as all of us struggling to live the life that is our blessing (or curse). They have been to school to learn how to try and heal what ails us, or at least, make our illnesses easier to deal with. We pay them (handsomely) to benefit from their knowledge. We, as patients, are ignorant when it comes to the complexities of what it is that makes a body stay alive, or how to fix it when it's broken. We are not, however, stupid, and do not deserve to be treated as such. Nothing makes me angrier than paying a person to disrespect me. I have a couple of anecdotes to share that illustrate my point.

A few years ago, I was living in Holland, Michigan, which is, by any stretch, a very conservative area. The nicotine patch was a brand new treatment to help smokers stop smoking, and it was available only by prescription. Now, despite my extended nicotine addiction, I have had no health issues; I didn't even have a regular doctor, because I never needed one, and I still don't. I had insurance, so money wasn't an issue. (The story gets a little weird here, but I swear it's true) One day while bent over drying my ankles after a shower, I was attacked by what I call a "ninja" sneeze. I never felt it coming, and it nearly crippled me. Somehow, I pulled a muscle in my neck, and I was unable to move my head to the left at all. I couldn't even drive safely. I tried to tough it out for a couple days, thinking it would go away, but it didn't. A friend suggested a physical therapist, so I went to one. He said he thought he could help me, but that I needed to see a physician first (he recommended one), which brings me back to the doctor. I thought as long as I was there for my neck, I would ask about the patch.

The doctor's waiting room had no literature save for bibles and other religious tracts. The walls had needlepoint bible quotes. As I sat in the waiting waiting room, I hoped that this guy would use traditional medicine instead of asking Jesus to take time out from his busy day to fix my neck and help me stop smoking. As I mentioned, Holland was a very conservative place; it was against the law to mow your lawn on Sunday. When I got in to see the doctor, I could tell right away that it was going to be a bad visit. I am not festooned with tattoos like a circus freak, but I have a few, and all of them are devils. At the time, I also had a ponytail over three feet long. The doctor looked at me as if I were Satan himself. He put on rubber gloves to feel my neck, presumably to keep any evil from seeping out of me and into his pores, corrupting his soul. As he spoke, he was curt, and, in my opinion, his tone positively dripped with disgust, as if talking to me was a loathsome chore, a test, even. I had experienced that sort of thing before with many people, particularly overtly religious ones. They were very quick to judge on appearance alone.

So I asked him about the patch, and I could have sworn he was miffed that I dared ask a health question unrelated to my current visit, like I was getting a "two for one" deal. He snapped at me, and said, "Quitting smoking is a very important decision. I need to know that you're serious about it, so why don't you come back in two weeks, and if you still want to quit, we'll talk about it". I said, "I am serious. That's why I asked you". He said, "Two weeks", as if daring me to make another appointment. Apparently, this guy thought that the Hippocratic Oath only applied if the patient fit his ideal of what a person should be. We both snorted at each other, and I left, never to return.

My next example of medical snootiness happened just the other day. To be fair, this guy was a vet, and my cat was the patient, but as you will read, it is another example of a doctor who is too big for his britches.

My cat developed a growth on the side of his head. I had no idea what it was; for all I knew it was cat head cancer. I took him to see a vet, convinced that this was going to be, at best, a "bad news" visit, and at worst, a one way trip for the cat. The vet (female) took one look at the cat and said it was a follicular cyst, very common and of no danger to the cat's health. In short, it was an ingrown hair. Since I am a poor struggling writer, I didn't have the money to have it removed, but said I would come back when I got it. I finally went back this week, and asked if the doctor remembered me from the visit a month prior. The receptionist said they had changed doctors, but that the new one would look at it and tell me how much it cost. The price was right, and I gave the OK. It only took about ten minutes, and I didn't hear any yowling, so I assume the cat was fairly comfortable during the removal. But just like the people doctor in Holland, we had an issue unrelated to the original visit.

The vet told me that my cat was way too skinny. "A bag of bones" was his phrase. I started to tell him that I have had the cat for 13 years, and he's ALWAYS looked like he does now (he was fully grown when I got him, so I have no idea how old he really is). The vet interrupted me with a tone that thinly disguised his belief that I was somehow derelict in my pet owning responsibilities. A gaggle of nurses (?) nodded in agreement, and chimed in that there was something very wrong with my cat. Again, I tried to explain that he has always looked the way he does now, and, interrupted again, I got the "He's been sick for years", with the distinct implication that I knowingly allowed the cat to suffer all this time. He quickly added that for another $150, he could do some blood work and see what kind of medicinal regimen the cat should be on, which, of course, would mean a monthly prescription (read: expense) for the rest of the cat's life. I put my cat in his carry case and left, promising to return, but I won't.

Don't get me wrong; I love my cat. But he is the same cat today that he was when my ex wife dragged him home one day so long ago, and he has never acted like a sick cat. Ever. He's lived a long time, and he won't live forever, no matter how much medicine (or money) I give. I don't think he's broken, so I'm not going to try and fix him.

The point of these two stories is this: We, as patients, are the customers. We are the kings. We are the ones shelling out the money, so why is it that we have to pay to be humiliated? I mean, c'mon! I can get that for free just about anywhere. It seems to me that listening when another person is speaking is the most basic consideration, so why do some doctors, in spite of their advanced degrees, not understand that? Why do they act like they're doing you a huge favor by speaking down to you with their hand in your pocket?

In all fairness, I do not think all doctors are buttheads. On the contrary, I have, due to a very painful motorcycle accident, dealt with a great many kind, considerate doctors, and would, as a whole, classify them as good. But those rude, snooty ones really get under my skin.

20 April 2007

Sports Aside

I am not what you would call a sports fan. No baseball, no football (American or otherwise), no racing (if that's really a sport), no jai alai. Because I'm old, I will confess to watching a bit of golf now and then, as long as there are no Star Trek reruns on. However, I do have one sports weakness: hockey. It came about quite by accident. I had come home from working in a factory at 3am, and plopped in front of the TV, as it was very cold outside, and I had a nice warm bottle of bourbon handy. A quick perusal of the channels showed nothing of interest, which, for the most part, is to be expected from television. Realizing I needed to remove my boots, I stopped clicking (completely randomly, mind you) on a hockey game. It could have been anything, an infomercial, the Jesus channel, or maybe Telemundo!, but it happened to be hockey.

Anyway, there was nothing on, and I was in no hurry to surf anymore, so I slurped my bourbon and tried to remember if there was anything constructive I could do. My attention was caught by the TV; the crowd was roaring, and I looked up to see what the fuss was about. It was a hockey game, and I don't like sports, but I had an epiphany at that moment. I watched men on ice skates chase a frozen piece of rubber around, and was completely awestruck by the speed and agility with which they moved. But, the most surprising thing of all was the amount of control they had over what was going on. Anyone who has ever walked or driven on ice knows that it's a tricky thing, but these guys had it down. So I watched to see what would happen. A goal was scored (beautifully), and the crowd cheered, which is what you would expect in a sporting event. But just a couple minutes later, it got even better. (Remember, as this transpired, I hadn't watched a televised sporting event in probably 25 years).

I thought I would watch for a few more minutes to see what happened. Play continued for a little longer, and then, the commentators started chattering excitedly about something going on that wasn't on camera. The picture cut to a different view of the arena, and there stood (circled) two opposing team members, gloves off and ready to duke it out. On ice skates. They grabbed and tried to pummel each other, somewhat effectively, for about a minute. The crowd roared, and when the referees separated them, they both skated off, a bit bloody and obviously winded. And I was hooked.

Before I get accused of being a Neanderthal, let me say this: I am repulsed by the thought of anybody dying in a war. If all wars were fought with fists on ice skates, well, there wouldn't be any body bags, and Purple Hearts would be awarded based on the number of stitches incurred instead of missing limbs. I would be more than happy to debate war stats to hockey ones; the "hockey is too violent" argument just doesn't work.

I, of course, have a favorite team, and even though I've left the frozen north, I still root for them when I can. I love hockey. Go Red Wings!

17 April 2007

Mea Culpa

In today's essay, I find myself in the unfortunate and embarrassing position of having to apologize to my (few) readers. I have done you a disservice. I am guilty of the very act that I took Josh Wolf to task for in an earlier essay, namely, that I posted and opined on a subject without presenting all of the facts. It is humbling and shameful when you realize that you are the pot that calls the kettle black. I have no excuse save laziness, and for that, I sincerely apologize.

In my previous post about the "Great Global Warming Swindle", I professed loudly and proudly that the documentary dispelled myths about man-made climate change, but after some more research, I have discovered that many of the scientists featured in the documentary have come forward to say that they were taken out of context, and, literally, duped into appearing in the film. In addition, there are charges of outright lying, lying by omission, and tampering with the data used in the film to ensure that it projects the results desired. You can read just a few of the refutations here, here, and here. In a nutshell, all of these links offer compelling evidence that the documentary filmmakers are guilty of the very thing they accuse the global warming movement of, and, perhaps worse.

I'm no scientist (which should be obvious), but it seems to me that the scientific method of analyzing raw data should produce the same results no matter who examines it. That is to say, scientists like to try and equate the method to "just the facts", much like, say, algebra. With all knowns and all variables in place, there can be only one correct answer. How is it, then, that different groups come up with different answers? And more importantly, whom are we, the non-scientists, to believe?

In any case, we should be able to believe those who claim to show all sides of the story and let us decide for ourselves which side to believe. Throughout history, it has been shown that scientists have often manipulated (or ignored) data to substantiate their theories, with raging debates to follow. This is a good thing, in a way, because it ultimately forces the truth to come out. In the case of writers (or bloggers), however, it is vital to present ALL facets of a story to stimulate and inform the reader.

Again, I was guilty of a knee-jerk reaction, and blurted about a topic I did not bother to research. I don't believe this is the same as purposely lying or leaving information out, but the end result is equally detrimental. If I had done my homework, I would never have touted the documentary the way I did. I still think it's interesting, and as I mentioned, it should be debated so we can eventually come to a consensus on how our presence affects our planet. But for me to believe that we humans have not had a negative impact on the ecology of this planet was a lazy, selfish mistake. In the future, few readers, I will do my best to make sure I know what I'm talking about before I shoot my mouth (keyboard) off. Please accept my apology.

11 April 2007

An Inconvenient Movement

Are you a thinking, rational person? Are you scared of the apocalyptic predictions of the earth's climate? Do you want to see one of the founders of Greenpeace and a host of respected scientists, many of whom are listed on the IPCC report on global warming (who have resigned in protest and asked that their names be removed from the report) utterly refute the "theory" of global warming?

Click the title of this essay to see a documentary that, for some strange reason, hasn't been broadcast repeatedly on every major network. Hmmm...I sense another political rant coming about this manufactured issue that has been propagated worldwide as truth. The global warming movement, championed by Al Gore is not a fact. It's a business, no, a cult, masquerading as science.

If you live on this planet, you owe it to yourself to watch this documentary. It's just over an hour long, but it will stick with you for a long time.

UPDATE: As of 16 April, the link for this video doesn't work. I (fortunately) downloaded it, and will try to paste it here with a working link.

09 April 2007

Josh Wolf, Journalist

Josh Wolf, jailed for refusing to turn over film footage shot at a violent demonstration in which he was a willing participant, feels he has been wronged by the government. Citing journalistic shield laws, he also believes he should not have to testify to possibly witnessing a number of criminal acts, and feels he should not have to turn over raw tapes that may or may not contain video evidence of the commission of said crimes. The U.S. Attorney General wants to see the tape to determine for itself if it contains any evidence of criminal behavior. Wolf says, "The Assistant U.S. Attorney said the government has the duty to see if anything suspicious occurred, and then determine if there's a crime. That's not a world I want to live in." Fair enough. Let's try that scenario a different way.

Let's say I'm a self-styled journalist with no real training who belongs to a radical group that vehemently opposes, say, Josh Wolf's parents. I go to a demonstration outside his house with the intention of filming my masked fellow believers protesting, then violently attacking his house and family. Although I do not have film of the actual attack on his mother, who suffered a fractured skull, there is a possibility that there could be evidence, unbeknownst to me, somewhere on my raw tape that identifies a perpetrator, or that the police believe I personally know who the culprit is. I manage to leave the scene without being questioned by the police, and later, post edited clips of the demonstration on my web site. When asked by the police to turn over my tape, I refuse. Do you think Josh Wolf would be comfortable with my refusal to hand the tape over to the government to be screened for possible evidence of criminal behavior? Would he defend my right to keep my fellow demonstrators out of harm's way by claiming journalistic shielding? Would people set up web sites calling for donations to fund my defense and demand that I be held free of any liability because I'm a journalist? Would the Society of Professional Journalists award me the title of "Journalist of the Year"? If not, why not?

Josh Wolf calls himself an anarchist. Merriam-Webster defines an anarchist as "1 : a person who rebels against any authority, established order, or ruling power. 2 : a person who believes in, advocates, or promotes anarchism or anarchy; especially : one who uses violent means to overthrow the established order." In an interview from jail with Kevin Sites, Wolf says he feels "safe" in his incarceration. He says he is not housed with violent offenders, but he does say he is inconvenienced by not being able to access the internet. And he doesn't seem very happy with the food either. Isn't that a shame? Isn't that inconvenient? Isn't it a bit incongruous to espouse violence and then be thankful that you're not exposed to it? I don't think for one second that Josh Wolf would last very long among really ruthless and violent people, and make no mistake: There are a lot of them, and I suspect they would chew Josh Wolf up and spit him out. Literally. At the ripe age of 24, he would have you believe that he has a better grasp of the real world than most, and that anarchy would be preferable to our current system. I say throw him down with the hard core criminals, and let him see the consequences of a world with no rules. There's a reason we have prisons for people who don't like to follow the rules of civility.

In the above mentioned interview, Wolf seemed very enamored with the word "basically". Let's use that. Wolf is out of prison now, because, basically, he buckled, and he basically betrayed his convictions by turning over the tape the government wanted. Apparently, the mean old government, in its endeavor to try to protect all citizens from violence, and to hold those who do commit it accountable, basically broke Wolf's steely resolve by denying him access to a computer and giving him lunches he didn't like.

In the same interview, Sites repeatedly asked Wolf which side he was taking, either journalist or activist, and Wolf, basically, refused to answer the question. He talked a lot, but never answered the question. Many years ago, long before Wolf was born, I studied journalism, and I was taught that a good reporter will get the answers to the "5 w's and the h", which, of course, are "who, what, where, when, why and how". Wolf, the journalist, couldn't or wouldn't answer a simple question, one that any first year journalism student would know is vital to the story. (Sites, by the way, showed great patience by not saying "Answer the ******* question"!) Anyway, maybe now that he's out of jail, instead of milking his pseudo fame, he will, basically, go back to school to learn what a real journalist does: Cover ALL the aspects of the story and let the reader decide what is relevant.

For the record, this blog is my opinion; I, basically, do not claim to be a journalist.

03 April 2007

Political Rant Vol. II

In my previous political rant (23 Feb), I bemoaned the fact that Americans seem to elect presidents based more on their personal appeal than their stance on the issues. This, of course, is perfectly understandable. A person with a wooden personality is much less likely to sway the hearts and minds of the voting public than a skilled orator with a firm grasp on the principles of rhetoric. Often, it's not so much what they say but how they say it. It still boils down to style over substance, and that's something that, in my opinion, really needs to change. I don't hold out much hope for it, though.

Today's rant has to do with another aspect of politics, namely, the American political party system. Anyone with even a smattering of civics knowledge knows that our various parties each select and run the candidate they feel best represents them. Conservative Republicans generally represent business and traditional thinking, while Liberal Democrats tend to want to be a voice for "the little guy", and ensure that everyone gets a piece of the American dream. In an effort to ensure that all candidates have a chance, we also have the Green Party, the Libertarians, and even the communists. In theory, this all sounds very fair. As a young boy, I remember hearing from any number of sources that the beauty of America is that anyone born here has a shot at being president. Age and experience, however, have proven to me that this is not the case. America does not have a multi-party system, and it is not just the Republicans and the Democrats either. There is only one party: It is the party of money.

Just this week, many Democratic hopefuls either announced or were expected to announce the amount of money they have raised thus far (with 20 months to go until election) to fund their race to the White House. Those candidates who fail to raise enough capital are doomed to defeat, in that they will not be able to afford to get their message to the voters. Now, a case could certainly be made that their message isn't the one the bulk of voters want to hear. If, however, they happen to be independently wealthy, well, they might still have a shot, a la Ross Perot. The fact remains that if you do not have money, you cannot be the president.

It is a candidate's stance on the issues and their experience that should be on the minds of the voters. Innumerable cases of beltway corruption are sure to leave a bad taste in the mouths of voters, and it should. However, not being in tune with the inner workings of politics should send up a red flag for voters. Do we want a commander-in-chief who has never worn the uniform? As a veteran of an infantry battalion, I would not want someone who has never volunteered to place himself in harm's way for his country to decide to send others there. Likewise, I'm not sure I'd want a president that has served one term as a senator or governor to be at the helm of the most powerful government on the planet.

I don't care if Barack Obama is black. I do care, however, that he is a first-term senator with a voting record that hardly fills one page, and I am concerned that between himself and Hillary Clinton, they have already raised nearly 16 million dollars more than ALL presidential candidates combined at the same point in an election just four years ago. Neither Obama nor Clinton is a veteran.

I don't care if Mitt Romney is a Mormon, and that shouldn't be an issue, but trust me, it will be. I do care that he has limited political experience, having served only one term as the governor of Massachusetts. And again, he is not a veteran. He is, however, by any stretch, a rich man who donated 6.3 million dollars to his own gubernatorial campaign, at the time a state record.

I hope today's civics lesson is clear.