Random Thoughts- Do They Have Meaning?

Jack's Experience In the Ladies Room

(I received an email from someone who said they were disappointed that my posts have become so serious. So here is one of a lighter nature. It is a gas.)

I have a dysfunctional digestive system. I write about it frequently as I have done here, and here. That probably gives you more information than you wanted, but I am going to continue on and regal you with one of my many tales of the loo.

For those who are interested in my motivation in writing about such things part of this stems from my embarrassment/anger/frustration regarding this little problem. I like to make fun of it because I feel better, and yes Shmata Queen I know that one day I should get a colonoscopy. Frankly I have the exit system down so making it an entrance bothers me greatly.

This particular incident took place a number of years ago. I had been going through a spell in which my stomach had been doing quite well and had been more relaxed and adventurous in what I was willing to eat. On that fateful day I had taken on a chilidog and some coffee. Under the best circumstances it was not a great combination but for me it was even more dire.

Initially I didn't notice anything. I had eaten the food and enjoyed my meal immensely. It was a gastronomic feast that was soon to turn into a gastrointestinal nightmare. {cue horror music now.}

I was minding my own business tooling along the 405 when the attack hit. There was a tickle followed by a gurgle and a rumble. Another gurgle gave proof to the night that soon there would be a mad rush for an exit. I knew that it was going to be similar to the rush for a free sample at Costco.

I was in an unfamiliar part of town but nature smiled upon me and I exited the freeway at breakneck speed and made for the first restaurant I saw. I couldn't tell you the name, but I can tell you that the nice girl up front understood my garbled and frantic gibberish to mean "show me the bathroom now or no one will want to eat here any longer."

I followed her outstretched arm and just managed to avoid knocking over a busboy carrying a bucket of dirty dishes and a waiter armed with three plates of hotfood.

Without looking up I straightarmed the bathroom door and jumped into an empty stall. My fingers fumbled and strained to unhook my belt and pants and at last I was able to engage in the task for which I had come.

If you are easily grossed out than you should hang up your spikes now.
Aside from the almost immediate relief one of the first things I noticed was that the air had grown toxic. I was choking on my own fumes, not to mention that there was an endless supply. I was unnerved to realize that I didn't have any medication on me and had at least 20 miles to go before I would be encased within the refuge of my home.

Lost for a brief moment in thought I hadn't heard the bathroom door open. Footsteps, light footsteps that sounded like a pair of heels made their way in. I stiffened as I realized that the heels were accompanied by what was clearly a pair of feminine voices. In shock and horror I lifted my size 12 Reeboks off of the floor.

In my haste I had entered the wrong bathroom and now I was frantically trying to figure out how to exit. There were a couple of problems with that. First, the rumble and gurgle were in full effect. They and their crew of noisemakers had. not finished playing with me. There was a marching band with a full horn section. It is hard to leave when the band is still playing When the Saints Go Marching In.
It was made worse by the comments of the ladies in there who had any number of suggestions for how and what I should do, talk about catty.

So I sat there and waited for them to leave. As my legs began to go numb and my feet started to tingle I despaired of ever leaving. More women were coming into the bathroom. It felt like there was a steady stream of visitors. The more polite among them entered without being too obvious about the immediate gag reflex, but there were plenty of who coughed.

The situation was summed up well by a little girl who said "mommy, it stinks in here!"

After untold agony and frustration I made up my mind to make a run for it. So I pulled up my pants and massaged feeling back into my legs. I summoned up a ton of attitude and waltzed out the door of the stall and the bathroom to a number of shouts.

The only thing that I remember hearing was this: You didn't wash your hands.

Mosque at Ground Zero- Just Say No

There is going to come a time in the not so distant future when my children ask me about 9-11. They'll look to me to answer the hard questions about how and why something like this could happen. It won't be the first time that we have talked about why people are willing to maim and murder others for no reason other than ideological differences.

And when that day comes I want to look them in the eye and remind them that we judge people based upon what they do or what they do not do. They know that remaining silent in the face of wrongdoing can be just as bad as participating in it. That is not liberal, kumbaya, feel good clap-trap but common sense.

If you stand around while kids tease other kids you are helping to create an environment in which that kind of abuse is acceptable. It doesn't mean that should or have to like everyone either. You don't have to be friends with everyone. And just because you have the right to do something doesn't mean that you should either.

I love America for what it has given my family. I am thankful, grateful and respectful of our heritage and traditions. Those laws and traditions means that the group that wants to build the mosque at Ground Zero has the right to do so. And if I lived in a world in which everything was black and white I would say that it is the end of the discussion.

But I don't, we don't and for my children's sake I cannot stand idly by without proclaiming my opposition to this. There is no reason nor need for a mosque or any sort of religious institution to be built there. It is not because the murderers who slaughtered the innocent on that day happen to be Muslim. It is not because there is a history of Muslims trying to claim control of land by building mosques on the sites of churches and synagogues.

Let me be clear that I won't say that this is the reason for the selection of this location any more than I will say that it isn't. I don't know what the reason for it is and I don't care.

My position is that Ground Central should be open and inclusive to all groups. Keep religion out of it.

It is not because I do not like religion, consider myself to be an atheist or dislike Muslims. There are good Muslims and there are bad Muslims just as there are Jews and Christians.

Building a mosque at this location doesn't do anything but help to foster an environment in which we define ourselves based upon religious affiliation. It will be divisive and create animosity. It doesn't have to be built there. There are lots of places within Manhattan to build one, it be wise to choose one of those other locations.

Tisha B'Av- 2010

A collection of thoughts and posts from the past. Will try to produce something more coherent later:

And We Sat And Wept
Tisha B'Av- 2008
Eicha- An Aching Heart Mumbles
The Anguish of Disengagement

Festival of Fathers- A Blog Experience #18

Some Days I Feel Broken

Some days I feel like I am broken. I am a giant Lego set that some child put together with a lot of love but not as much skill as one might like. The pieces don't always match or work quite like we want them to and so consequently I feel like I am broken.

It is not easy to write those words. I am not sure if it is because my ego doesn't like it or if I am worried that I might believe it to be true. It just might be that some times I fear to admit that I am afraid of failing. Or maybe it is that I am most afraid of failing those I care most about. Maybe it is that I worry that somehow I'll stumble and fall face first into some deep, dank and dark hole.

One slip and I'll tumble over the side headfirst sliding down a hill at breakneck speed, ass-over-elbow fighting to stop myself but not quite able to ever grab on to something that can hold me. And the crazy thing is that I when I imagine this, when the picture forms within my mind I am not really afraid of dying. That fall won't kill me, that is not my fate. I can't tell you why or how just that I know that I survive because that is what I do.

And then in anger I charge into the darker recesses of my mind and seek the things that lie beneath the surface. There in the dungeon I look for the demons and attempt to slay the dragon. I turn on some music to set the tone, take a deep breath and set off for parts unknown.

"And it's been a while
Since I could hold my head up high
And it's been a while since I first saw you
And it's been a while since I could stand on my own two feet again
And it's been a while since I could call you

And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
The consequences that I've rendered
I've stretched myself beyond my means

It's been awhile
Since I can say that I wasn't addicted
And it's been a while since I can say I love myself as well and
And it's been a while since I've gone and fucked things up just like I always do
And it's been a while but all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you

And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
The consequences that I've rendered
I've gone and fucked things up again

Why must I feel this way?
Just make this go away
Just one more peaceful day

And it's been a while
Since I could look at myself straight
And it's been a while since I said I'm sorry
And it's been a while since I've seen the way the candles light your face
And it's been a while but I can still remember just the way you taste

And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem to be
I know it's me
I cannot blame this on my father
He did the best he could for me

And it's been a while
Since I could hold my head up high
And it's been a while since I said I'm sorry"
It's Been A While- Staind

I am alone in the dark. I don't take companions along on this trip and it wouldn't matter if I could. You can't go where I am going nor can you see what I see. All you can do is go live your life. Your touch and your words can't fix this and I won't allow you to try.

I can't stand it. Can't be emotionally vulnerable in front of you. Can't be naked- not now. Too busy chasing after the will-of-the-wisp. We caught lightning in a bottle once. We shared something special, meaningful, incredible and important. And that is why I won't let you see me now.

This moment, this feeling I have inside me won't let go but it won't last forever either. I have to do this. Have to plumb the depths and find the way to smooth the rough edges. Until I do that I won't be able to rest nor give you what you ask for.

So I am closing down the shop for a bit and hoping that you understand. The dreams of the past can meet the echoes of the future but only if I deal with the reality of today.

Will They Know Me- I Am Going To Die

(This piece ran 5 years ago. I am taking a look back and asking myself if I still feel the same or have things changed.)

Among thinking people there is a fundamental question that is asked about our place in the world. Who are we? What are we doing here? What does it all mean? How can I be a parent? Will my children ever really know me as my friends do or are they destined to see me as nothing but their parent.

Ok, that is more than one question but it hits on a central theme of who am I and why am I here. I don't spend much time wondering why I am here. I am. I live and I breathe and while I walk the earth I might as well enjoy myself.

For me one of the tougher questions is tied into my children. I sometimes wonder how they will see me. By the time that they are old enough to really start asking these questions on a deeper level I will most likely be in my fifties.

What kind of man will they see? I won't look like I do now. In my mind's eye I see that 19 year-old boy who wore a flat top and had a rock hard body that was chiseled and solid courtesy of hours spent swimming and lifting weights. I see the boy who drove a '69 Dodge Dart Swinger, a '77 Camaro and a '77 Chevy Impala.

I see a free spirit. I see a shirtless tanned body and a pair of shorts and I remember knowing that my parents had never been like me, that they were so very serious and different. I remember thinking that they couldn't know what it was like to be so madly in love that it made their heart ache and their lungs burn. I remember thinking that they had never partied as hard as I did or laughed as much.

Now at 36 I look back and smile. I was immature and short on life lessons and I suspect that my children will look at me through similar eyes. Sometimes I find that to be difficult. Sometimes it bothers me that my children will know me so very differently than others do and other times it makes perfect sense.

One day I am going to die. One day my physical presence here will end. The light in my eyes will be extinguished and there won't be anything but memories of me. I don't need to leave a legacy of stone, no building need be erected in my honor or memory.

The only legacy that I need is that provided by my children and any offspring that they may have. It is a weird thought and a strange corner that I am trying to explore. I am not sure that any of this makes any sense, but...

I'll come back to this topic again. It is something that I will revisit.

A Six Year-old Speaks of Marriage

Technically the dark haired beauty isn't quite six, but since we have less than a week I am rounding up. I look at my girl and I see less and less of the baby and more of a little person. Truth is that the only thing she does now that reminds me of the infant I used to hold is sleep.

When that girl closes her eyes you can almost see her as she used to be. She had a full head of hair and she held her arms above her head in the same manner as she does now. But really she is all little girl now, my baby has grown.

She surprises me on a regular basis with comments and criticisms of this and that. She notices things that surprise me and regales me with all sorts of stories about school, friends, family and life. But sometimes she comes up with things that make me think WTF! Obviously I don't say that out loud in front of her and more often than not I try to keep a poker face.

It is a great skill to have as a parent. That poker face can save you a lot of trouble. Really inscrutability is valuable in many facets of your life, but we shall save that for a different day. Today let's talk about the moment where that girl of mine looked at me and said that if she didn't marry Jason she didn't know who she would marry.

That made me scrunch up my face or so said the dark haired beauty. But really, where does this child come up with this kind of craziness. We don't talk about it at home. What is with the marriage talk. Why is she talking about this now. I told her that she didn't have to worry, that her mother was 26 when she got married.

I figured that should be worth something. Intentionally went with the number one female role model and intentionally left out the part where she learns that her grandmothers and great grandmothers were all younger still. No need to provide that much detail.

Still, that girl looked at me and said that she is getting pretty old. I smiled and said that she was right. She nodded her head and said that any moment she might be losing her teeth. She looked at me and said that boys like girls with no teeth. I stood up and looked at her and demanded that she tell me who said that why it was important.

She looked up at me, the picture of innocence and asked why I looked angry. I was most certainly not going to tell her what her comment made me think of. And then she told me that her grandfather had been the one to say something. Her grandfather had told her that she was exceptionally cute and that I was going to have to work extra hard to keep the boys away.

Thanks dad, thank you very much. She isn't cute, she is beautiful but we don't need to say anything about that now. Let's talk about dolls, soccer or something other than boys. I am not ready for this crap. The same rules for dating my daughter apply now as before.

Unless you can beat me in single combat you may not take her out. All losers will be decapitated and their heads will be placed upon spikes to be displayed in front of the house.I figure that should keep most of the boys away. Of course there are a few negatives to be considered:

1) Decapitating suitors isn't seen in the same noble light as it once was. Rumor has it that you can be incarcerated.
2) It might cull out the smart ones who have the most common sense. So in effect I could narrow the field down to the kind of guys I really don't want chasing my daughter.

So I might reconsider the whole decapitation thing, it is kind of bloody. But maybe placing the kid in the stocks might be an option, or maybe not.

Ok, so maybe I am a tad protective of my girl. But what father isn't. I can't help myself. It is instinct. Sometimes boys are really stupid and my job is take the stupid boys and throw them under the boss so that they can't harm the dark haired beauty. The job description might not read exactly like that, but it is close enough.

What can I say other than I love her and am ever so glad that I have a long time before I have to worry about letting some other shmuck try to take care of her. I am more than happy to have that responsibility for years to come.