A cold day...

Walking out the door this morning, I was greeted by a chilly breeze and thin icy raindrops. I was on my way to do some early morning community service. I chose to go to St. Vincent's, a homeless shelter/soup kitchen, in downtown SLC.
Shutting the car door, I turned up the heater and lit a smoke. I couldn't believe how cool it was...
Little did I know, Reality was about to swiftly and smartly kick me between the legs.
I had been to this place before to help out and so it wasn't a shock to see the scores of people huddled in doorways or leaning against the building to keep dry.
It is what people do when they don't want to get rained on, right?
After I had been there a couple hours and breakfast was almost ready to be served, I went around back to grab a few quick puffs.
That is when I met Rashawn.
Rashawn came over to me and asked if he could buy 2 cigarettes (the bus stop and day labor going rate is 25 cents each). By the looks of him, I was quite sure he didn't have the half buck and if he did...he needed it worse than me.
I just gave him two.
He's a handsome guy and close to my height. He is white, but his face held a leathered and tanned quality. He looked like, at one time, he had been very fit, athletic. Maybe tennis had been his game...
But that was in the past...not now.
Even with the soaked sweatshirt he was wearing, I could tell he only weighed about 130lbs.
He wasn't much more than a frame of a man.
I asked him how he got this place...to this point in his life...

...it broke my heart...

Rashawn was an out-of-state college student living in Utah. He had a major in computer science and, as he said, a reasonably good GPA (by the way he spoke, I believe him). He was working at a fine dining restaurant and it paid just well enough for him to afford a place of his own.
Life was clicking along quite fine. He had his future set, he had plans, goals...
One day, the restaurant closed down and he was without work.
The little money he had quickly ran out and he couldn't pay his rent. Soon, he was evicted. He had nowhere to go and in the embarrassing rush to get out, he forgot to grab a folder which had his ID, Social Security Card, and Birth Certificate...by the time he remembered and came back to get them, they were in trash bag headed for the city dump.

That was two years ago.

Sitting there, listening to his story and fighting back tears, I felt ashamed of myself.
I was cold.
How dare I be cold? How can I even think such a thing? Rashawn's life is cold...and it isn't even winter yet. This guy has no family, no home...and I'm cold.
I felt like such an ass.
I needed to get back to help finish breakfast, but before I went in, I handed him two more smokes...I didn't know what else I could do...what do you offer a person with nothing?
Before I walked inside, he looked at me with huge forlorn tears in his eyes and said, "You know, I can work almost any job. I want to work. I just can't, because I don't have anything to prove who I am. No one will hire me."
I shut the door and walked inside, warming instantly...and hated myself for it.

Fluorescent Light Tuna

Okay, now I'm all for doing things safely.
I make sure I don't play Marco Polo on the interstate. I try not to blow dry my hair or toast some bread while in the shower. I even try (notice "try") to chew my food before swallowing...it just depends on how hungry I am. Hell, I even gave up my dreams of having a juggling chainsaw routine, all in the name of being safe....that's how safe I am.
But really now...
The new light bulb hysteria is just stupid.
There are people out there who seem to think there is this GIGANTIC hazard when a compact fluorescent light bulb (I'm going with CFL from now on) falls to the floor and breaks...because...they contain....are you ready for this....brace yourself....MERCURY!
(dramatic music crescendos and a track of people gasping should be inserted here)
Yes, it's not happiest of elements and in 7th grade it probably wasn't the smartest thing in world for me and Mike Charles to break an old thermometer so we could goo the stuff around like a big silver booger...no matter how cool it was (but, let me tell you, it was really cool).
It goes back to common sense...again.
How bad can these things really be, honestly? Think about it for a minute.
Are CFL's the only product on Earth which don't break from time to time during shipping?
What happens when Walmart's Joe Truck Driver hits a bump and a case goes crashing to the floor? Is HAZMAT called to rush Joe into quarantine and hose down the rig by guys in super-size space suits? I would think that might make the local news if it happened.
What does a store do when some little cowboy goes woo-hooing and yee-hawing through Home Depot and crashes his younger brother into a display case full of these bad boys? Does the store get shut down and terror alert level goes to a flashing neon red?
Of course not.
The mess is swept up and the world turns...with some little cowboy getting an ass-whipping when he gets home.
So, I am going to do an experiment. I am going to prove CFL's are not mini-Chernobyls, rather light bulbs.
I am going to break one (maybe two or three) of these CFL's...but....to make it better and before you call the SLC PD on me, I am going to get REALLY dangerous. After it breaks I am going to stand in the middle of this fuming toxic pile while eating a can of tuna (that should be enough mercury to kill me for sure, right? Or least give me a big metallic blister, huh?). I may even put my head against a running microwave, talk on my cell phone, all with my laptop running...has anyone done anything so daring?
I am quite sure all that will happen is, I will get yelled at for making a mess.
However, if I die or grown an extra thumb, I will give everyone who reads this $1000.

Never can say goodbye...

Even on my days off, I tend to get up quite early. It is in these still dark and silent world moments, I have found it is often the best time to write...to express true thoughts. The day has not clouded my mind with tedious remembrances or forced me to realize I am getting another day older...that I have wasted another chance at being a better man.
But when I woke up this morning, something was off and I couldn't tell what it was...
Did I miss work? Did I say something to somebody I shouldn't have? Did I forget something?
That was it...I forgot...
I forgot a true legend of my generation died. For a moment, I lost track that a man who consumed so many people during my childhood, was no more.
I never thought I would be upset or near tears over the death of a celebrity (other than Ronald Reagan), but I find myself more bothered by his death today than only a few hours ago. I wouldn't go so far as to say I am heart stricken, but what I am feeling is something of a first cousin to it. But why? What did I really lose?
I am glad (very selfishly) to see my dear friend Beth feels the same way I do, and it is only because of her warm-hearted and endearing posts I feel free to write this. She may be the most honest person I have ever known...
My father told me that when Elvis died, he was in grief for weeks. He was truly torn-up by the loss. Elvis was someone he listened to growing up and it was like he had lost a friend...
Could it be the same with me? Was MJ my version of Elvis only I didn't realize it?
Maybe it is a "guy thing" or another stupid idea of the sort, but it seems almost silly to cry for him...why should I? I am not a child any longer and I should, by now, understand loss is something which happens. I didn't know him. I didn't go to single concert. And I wasn't a big collector of his albums (even back when they really were albums). Yet at the same time, I feel, for me to NOT shed some tears for MJ is dishonoring what he meant to me.
He, or rather his music, was there when I was down. He was someone I could turn to, like an ever faithful friend... He was able to express loss, love, and affection to or for someone when I didn't have the words...only emotion. Just watching the man dance was enough to make me smile...if even for a little bit.
I'd put on some of those big muffy headphones, holding them tight to my ears. I could practice my moonwalking in socks over a tile floor and vain myself into thinking I was getting pretty good at it. All the while he'd sing a private concert for as long as I wanted, chiming out the same song over and over, each time with just as much energy and strength in voice...never tiring...for me...until I had my fill. I would listen and feel better or braver, then put it away...able to come back to it when I chose. But when I did, maybe even months later, he would be there again...for me. Isn't that friendship? Loyalty?
I am quite sure it is.
So, today, I no longer grieve over the death of the King of Pop, rather my friend, Michael.
R.I.P.

Michael Jackson suffers no more...

Time to vent...



I am sad Michael Jackson died. I really am...but what I am more saddened by, is the soon to come and simple-minded, ever so shallow, comments about his personal life.

Without question, we all know he was strange...a bizarre personality...but aren't we all? What would the world think of us, if we had all the money in the world and could spend it on every desire? What would our homes look like and how big would they be if we could make them into our only place of solace and peace?
The guy built a Ferris Wheel in his back yard and had a petting zoo...so?
Hell, I'd probably have a wax museum and fish tank the size of the Red Sea if I could.

So the guy had a lot of surgery on his face...and?
He wanted to look a certain way and had the money to do it. We say nothing when a woman gets a chest full of saline bags so she feels better about herself. We don't mind it when Jabba the Hut gets Richard Simmons to help him out...
OUR desires and, more importantly, actions are governed and monitored by the money we have to spend not our self control...


I also tire, bore, with the endless and pathetic one-liners on his trial and.........DROPPED CHARGES and ACQUITTAL.

Oh, yeah, we almost forget he was found "not-guilty." Or do we? It is much more fun, much easier, to just think he was "toucher," isn't it?

What I love (not really) is the double standard many "Christians" have when it comes to Michael Jackson. What happened to the line some famous guy named Jesus...and pretty important, if I remember correctly....said? Wasn't the quote," Give unto Caesar what is Caesar's and unto God what is God's?"
Something tells me Jesus wasn't just talking about paying the extra 2 cents in tax on a bottle of Mountain Dew. It has a much deeper call that we often forget...
Michael Jackson faced Caesar (the State of California) and was found not to be guilty of the crimes....according to Jesus...that should be the end of it. If there is something else to answer for...I'm pretty sure God can handle the rest.
What happened to the Christian principle of "Love thy neighbor?"
Did Jesus add a footnote to that and I missed it in Sunday School? Did he say, "Love thy neighbor...unless it is Michael Jackson. Then you can bust on him all day long?"
Which virtue does stigmatizing falling into...I don't know if Paul was real clear on that?

Michael Jackson sought to change the world (how many of us have even thought of doing something so large?) and in many ways did. I am not saying he was altruistic, because I would never say such a thing. However, I do think he had a good heart....and a broken one.

The King should be remembered for his actions, deeds, and music...not what he didn't do, not what people want to believe he did.
I would hate to go through life, through history, being remembered for things I was only accused of...it is a wrong no one should have to face or bare...even in death.
R.I.P. MJ

This afternoon at Walmart...

I had the truest of joys in meeting Henry and Sandra today.
Henry was training Sandra on how to run the cash register...the "20 items or less, express lane"...and the only lane which sold cigarettes.
I am guessing one of two things (both may be true, honestly). Only people who don't know how to count use this lane...or...they only hire people who don't know how to count to work this lane.
So, after watching 4 people unload their carts full of animal dotted underwear and scented trash bin liners...and not buying any cigarettes... I stepped up to the counter.
I said, "A pack of Camel Filters, please."
Sandra stutter-stepped, as she realized she would have to move two feet from the safety of the register and go fetch my smokes.
Henry followed her, being the dutiful "customer service TRAINER."
She asked, looking at Henry, "What kind did you want, again? Camels?"
"Camel Filters." I said, talking to her back.
Okay, now I understand the whole world doesn't have the same great taste I do and may smoke something else, or even (gasp) not smoke at all...but still.
You would have thought these two were looking for a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. I watched them go past the Camels, maybe, six times before I had to help them out. Really, how hard was this treasure hunt?
"By your right hand. There they are." I was really quite nice with my tone.
Sandra moved to her left...
I sighed. Very quickly, I was no longer happy with her...it's those little things, you know?
"No, the other way. That is your right."
Sandra turned, scowling at me like I slapped her ass. But what was I supposed to say? She was moving the wrong way. If she kept going much further she would have been in the pharmacy.
I said nothing, only pointed to my cigarettes with my eyes, hinting the best course of action would be to turn back to hunt for my smokes.
In a very dry tone, I said, "They are the pack with the big camel on the front of them. It also has CAMEL written in blue."
Finally, after conferencing with Henry (not me) if those were indeed the right pack, she brought them back to the register.
As she scanned them, it beeped for my ID and I handed it over(want to make sure I am not some really mature 15 yr old, I guess).
This is where Henry and I no longer became friends.
He went on to explain to Sandy (I can call her that, can't I?) how important it was to check every person's ID. It didn't matter if they were 90 (yes, he said this). Even if it is your granny, check her ID every time (yes, he said this too).
Before I knew it, I said, "That's just absurd."
Henry was shocked, but before he could list statutes or codified Walmart policy...I put up my hand. Just give me my smokes.
The fat guy behind me wasn't speeding the process up, either. He kept reassuring Sandra (I like that better) how he was almost busted once too and how I may be part of some sting...hahaha...yeah, that's me alright...Officer John.
Here is the thing. Sandy will go by this as though God or, in her case, Joseph Smith wrote it as the 11th commandment.
I know she has to be careful to mind who she sells what to...but there has to be a limit. I understand, if little Timmy comes along with a Sharpie beard scribbled across his face, that is one thing. Or even the construction worker with some gray in his beard...I can live with that (sort of)...but, let's say Barbara Bush walked in...Henry would think he should card her...and, now, so does Sandra.
Do they get an "I card old ladies" sticker for their name tag?
What happened to common sense? Where did it go?
...certainly not to Walmart.

My ex-wife made Youtube...

If Al Gore invented the Internet, then I am quite sure my ex-wife created or had something to do with the creation of YouTube.
Only my ex-wife could create a place where the strangest of ideas could be set out for everyone to see and where I am always wrong or mean when offering contradictions.
For instance...
I have learned that "Reptilian" aliens not only exist, but they come in the form of a red-headed androgynous person (woman? I really have no idea).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XH1saCG7ZT4
They also come in more common yet notable forms...like Bill Clinton, George H. W. Bush, and the Queen of England.
I see that there are "Grey" or "Gray" (not sure which way that is spelled) aliens who have nothing better to do than peek through windows in the middle of the night or stand in the background as George W. gives speeches.
I have learned there is a face on Mars, the Moon, Venus, and me.
I now know we should worry about the Illuminati, a secret group of people who sit around in pentangular offices, consulting Ouija boards, and plotting the demise of mankind...and have been doing so for hundreds of years (should we really worry too much if it has taken them this long? And we thought the US government worked slowly)
I discovered that the Matrix is real.
I have also learned that if I step on my pet lion's foot...he will bite me. (really funny)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUnJNxZWE1M
I know I can surf behind a Great White shark.
I was shocked to find out the Earth is hollow and has giant holes at the north and south poles.
I found out everything the Bible taught me was wrong (or right, depending on which video you watch).
I saw people will happily sign a petition to ban dihydrogen monoxide....(H2O).
I have learned David Icke is Jesus...then, he isn't.
I saw "evidence" that Tupac is still alive and the world will end in 2004....no, 2007....no, now it is 2012.


Only my ex-wife could come up with ideas like these...right?
There can't be that many nut cases out there, can there?

You see, we worry about the "Big Stuff" all the time, like taxes and the war...but, unless it is just one psycho tramp (my ex-wife) making all of this stuff up...we have a much bigger issue.
People say, "Don't sweat the small stuff."
I don't think that statement could be more wrong.
I say, sweat the small stuff. The small stuff is what makes ideas turn into movements and movements into crusades.
There is not only an assault on Science going on, now, there is an assault on Reason.
It is tiny grains of sand which will one day weather the Sphinx away...and it is little crazy ideas which will do the same to us if they are not shown to be foolish.

I litter for the sake of history...

We need to be more like those Indians (sorry, native americans), don't we?

Those fellas were so good to the earth and at one with nature (whatever that means).



Were they?



Tell me this.

If these guys were soooooooo freakin' good about making sure Mother Earth was left the same way as they found it, then why do we keep finding all their broken and used crap everywhere we dig?

Something tells me there was no Chief Keepurpantson following them everywhere they went to make sure everything was picked up. I find it hard to believe the Indians (native americans, sorry...again) had the time to worry about whether their broken pot was biodegradable or whether the scented papoose paper they used on their little ones would float down stream and choke some dog drinking from the river.

Nope, the Indians (native americans, Sorry!) were very practical.

If they had to pee, they walked behind a tree and peed. If they had to take a dump, they squatted where they were and dropped a load...maybe kicking some dirt over it.

If a pot was broken...it was broken. They tossed it into a bush or just left it where it was.

If I do what they did...following by example...I'm a litter bug.

What were they?!

Over the hundreds of years since Brave One Feather tossed his first broken pot down a hillside unto today, their junk has become our treasure. Had they not done things like that, people like Indiana Jones would not have jobs.

So, this is my reasoning...

I will continue to litter...but...I am now doing so with a purpose.

I am making an investment into some future soul's profession. Hundreds of years from now, some cyborg archaeologist will find my junk, my litter...and it will make him rich.

You are welcome Mr. Cyborg Archaeologist...I got your back!