Things That Suck

No, not this.

This

And this

And a whole lotta this

Mother Nature may actually be a man, because somehow, she can find a way to ruin even the most beautiful of moments. 

Troubled Times

I am inspired. For the moment. So you, interweb stalkers, are going to suffer reap the benefits. Tonight I had meaningful conversations with two co-workers of mine. And they made me realize what a loser I am for wasting my talents. More about them later.


My grandmother comes to visit me, pretty often lately, I'd say, although I can't be sure because I can't see her. She died in 1990. But she is around; I have felt her presence with me, have even felt her arm around my shoulders when things got really bad. She stays around because she is worried about me. I was her first grandchild, and she was my best friend. She was always there, often taking the brunt of the storm that often raged in our house. I was lost when she died. Empty. And so she comes to me. She may be here now, and I think she is, but I can't be absolutely sure. I can't see her, although someone in my family can. Actually, 2 people can. Monster is one of them.


I spent quite some time last weekend talking about Mom-mom with my step-father, Wolf, who can also see her. She hadn't been around in some time, he said. I asked Monster where Mom-mom was, and she shrugged and said "Mom-mom not here". An expected response, I suppose. But I guess Mom-mom's ears were burning because she did come to us. Wolf asked Monster where Mom-mom was, and she said "Mom-mom is here now", and trailed her eyes around the room, watching Mom-mom move. Wolf spent a long time that night acting as translator for her, telling me things that he could not have known, observations only one who truly knows me could make. You may think I'm full of shit, but I'm not. Spirits do walk this earth, and the innocent, the very young, can see them. (As can Indians, apparently, because every damn Indian I know can see some weird shit that I can't) Monster can.


Later that night, as I tried to put her to bed, she refused to let me go. This is a child who loves to sleep. It was hours past her bed time, and yet she still called for me. I went in to the room, and she asked me to lie down with her. I asked her what was wrong. No answer. On a hunch, I asked if Mom-mom was here. She nodded, a slow, deliberate nod. I asked where Mom-mom was, and she said, very slowly, "I can see her". She pointed, but not to any definitive place. She made me lie next to her with my arm tucked around her until she fell asleep. This child never lets me do that. She saw Mom-mom, and she was unnerved by it. (Can't imagine why)


The point of my supernatural story, is that Mom-mom stays here because she is worried about me. She sees my troubles, my inner turmoil, and she watches over me. And for that I am grateful, although a little advice now and then would be nice. Being ubiquitous must have its perks. So she is here, now, because I am a complete mess. Even when I fix the external and change my life, what's inside does not. It's still a raging tempest of confusion and sorrow, and I cannot seem to find the tools (or the strength) to tame it.


Now, bring in the girls. One girl (I guess I should call her a woman, but she seems so young to me!), and intern, is 23, beautiful, intelligent, well educated, exceptionally nice, and loves the news. Loves it. She actually does research and tracks stories down -- a real News Hound. I really wasn't sure there were any in the biz anymore. But she loves what she is doing, and is excited every day. She wants to learn it all and do it all, all with her eyes on the prize: a reporting gig. I could see the excitement and passion in her eyes, and it made my heart hurt. I envied her her dreams. Another girl woman works part time there like I do, and just like me, her heart is not in it. But she's not letting that stop her. She has published a book. A book, people! An actual, honest-to-God book on the shelf in Barnes and Noble. She is also living her dream, and doing what she is passionate about. She put herself out there. Took classes, met people, shopped around for an agent, and she did it, by God! She goes in to work when they call her to make the money, and she makes it happen. I look at the passion and intensity of those dreams, and I wonder where mine went. Or if I ever had them at all. And if I did (directing and producing movies) did I let them slip away, let them get lost in that inner tempest that seems to devour every positive thing in my life? If I found the strength to pull myself up out of the dark, could I accomplish what I never dreamed I could? I'm looking for some advice. Some help. From this world or beyond.

Sometimes There Aren't Any Words

On Tuesday, September 1st, a friend of mine from high school was shot and killed. He was a police officer in our small home town in southern Delaware, killed in the line of duty. He was 29. He was a single dad. His little girl is 3.

This nightmare started with a shooting at the McDonald's in town. The McDonald's that is within sight of my childhood home. The McDonald's we rode our bikes to as children. Chad Spicer and his partner were trying to pull over a vehicle seen leaving the scene of that shooting. The officers chased the vehicle, eventually ramming their patrol car into the car to stop it. The driver got out and ran. A man in the back seat fired a single shot into the patrol car, shooting Chad in the face. The gunman ran, and Chad got out of the car to chase him, before collapsing on the ground. He died at the hospital. The other officer in the car --another friend, a total class clown -- Corporal Shawn Brittingham, was wounded by the bullet that killed Chad. The shooter was arrested and faces the death penalty for murder. Another man in the car was also arrested, while a third turned himself in today.

You cannot imagine the shock and devastation this horror has left in its wake. In a town of less than 5,000 people, the sorrow is palpable in the air. The entire town is in mourning; flags are at half staff, every official building in town (and some homes) are draped in black. More than 700 people attended a memorial service for Chad, and the townspeople have organized their own candlelight vigil tonight in Chad's honor. The first day of school is canceled for his funeral. The entire police department is on leave, for mandatory counseling. I won't lie, Chad and I were not close. We didn't hang out. He was 2 grades behind me in school. But I can guarantee if he saw me out somewhere he would recognize me. But this isn't just about him.

You may not know Chad, but you know 3-year old Aubrey. Yes, you do. In your mind's eye, can you see her inquisitive toddler eyes, so big and round? Her whispy little girl hair -- what color is your Aubrey's hair? -- tied up in a ponytail on top of her head. Can you see that beautiful little girl? I can. And my heart breaks into a million pieces. Her Daddy was her whole world. He was all she had, and some stupid motherfucker with a gun took him from her. That fucker robbed her. And the real tragedy, is that she doesn't understand. How do you tell a 3-year old that Daddy isn't coming home? She thinks he is still at work. Her grandmother has tried to explain he's not coming back, but she can't understand. How could she? She told a reporter, "My Daddy is with Jesus, but I still want to see him." How do you explain it to her? My heart aches every time I think of her. I have cried -- and will cry again -- for her.

Have you hugged your child today? When was the last time you spoke to your niece or nephew? Why don't you make that call now. Make plans to take your son or daughter to the park this weekend. Maybe a nice picnic or bike ride. Hell, just talk a walk after dinner. The time we spend with our children is precious, not only for us as parents, but for them. The memories you make with them now will carry them through. Memories are all that Aubrey has left now. I hope they are enough to help her through. (And I hope that motherfucker burns in hell )

Chad Spicer, August 23, 1980 - September 1, 2009

Because I Need All the Help I Can Get

Bring it!!

Things That Suck

This.

Don't see it? Look closer.

There, see that? The naked stalks, the brown, shriveled leaves. It's ghastly. And no, I am not a black-thumbed flora killer. I can grow anything. I grew Gerbera daisies without even trying. When I was 10, I cross-bred wild violets to create lovely white and purple flowers. Last year I ended up with about 50 pounds of tomatoes (or more). But I have met my match.

It's called late blight . Or as I affectionately refer to it, the mother effing black plague. It is the same fungus that caused the potato famine in Ireland in the 1800's, and forced all my Mic ancestors to leave the bonnie isle for the new world, where they would subsequently invent illegal sports betting and pub crawls. The black plague is highly contagious, and has spread virulently throughout the Northeast thanks to the shitty rainy weather all friggin summer, killing off tomato crops by the hundreds of thousands, including my 10 plants. Once it takes hold, nothing can stop it.  So the question is, do we immigrate to Mexico and become jumping bean granjero, or trek to Canada to become, uh, maple syrup farmers?

What is it With Jam Bands? Or, My Night at the Allman Brothers Concert

OK, before you get all up ins about taking it for granted, I had a good time. It was an excellent concert. I know I will never see 2 more talented guitarists than Warren Haynes and Derek Trucks on stage together (thanks to The Saint for pointing that out). I know I am lucky to have seen them. I am happy to say I have seen the Allman Brothers in concert. But, it's not me. I've learned, since meeting The Saint, that I don't like jam bands. Those are bands that play endlessly, just jamming with each other as if no one else was around, even though there are other people around, people that paid good money to hear the shit that's on the radio, dammit. Lyrics? Eh, maybe, if they feel like it. Mostly it's just guitarists playing with each other. Like Phish, or the Grateful Dead. (Although my real problem with the Dead is that they sound like a cat being sucked into a turbine engine)

I know it's about the music, man; it's about the feeling and the soul, man; it's about the way the music speaks to me, man...but it only says 'bathroom break' to me. I don't want to hear a bunch of guys jerk each other off on stage, musically speaking. (Or literally. Ew) I don't want to hear the 33-minute instrumental The Saint listens to at the gym as an encore. It's not even about the style of music. I've seen Government Mule a bunch of times, and I like a few songs I've heard from The Derek Trucks Band. I just don't like the endless guitar, the long, drawn out chords that go on forever and rarely ever resolve and sound like the musicians are conducting weird experiments and using the audience as guinea pigs. And most of the audience is so stoned they go along for the ride, even if it's long and repetitious.

There is music that speaks to me, music that can bring me to tears and fill me with absolute joy, but it ain't jam music. I'd rather go see Victor Calderone. (That's a trick. He's a DJ. I'd have to go to a club to see him, and I stand a better chance of dragging The Saint to see "Jersey Boys" than a nightclub) I'd rather see U2, who I hear are playing Giants Stadium in September. (hint hint!!) Snake River Conspiracy, The Crystal Method, Scorpio Rising, The Cure, Jimmy Buffett, George Strait, to name a few. That music speaks to me. (Wow, is that not the most bizarre combination of musical styles?)

I'm sorry  Skydog. I hear you, but I just can't understand what you're trying to say.

Random Thought of the Day #4

Why do cars have parking lights? You know, those yellow lights between the brake lights and backup lights. You're supposed to put them on when you're parked on the road. But it's illegal to park on the road. And if you are parking on the road, you put your hazards on. So why are parking lights even an option? It's a dangerous place, that limbo between on and off. You think you've got your lights on, but really you're stuck in parking light purgatory, and you can't tell because the dashboard lights are lit, and people are flashing their lights at you, and you're thinking "what the hell is your problem, you asshole!!", and you finally figure out your lights aren't on when you're turning into your driveway, and experience the burning embarrassment of knowing that you are the asshole.


For the record, I am not the asshole; I passed said asshole on the FDR drive last night.

Crying Over Spilled Milk

Just finished watching "Milk". (And in the comfort of my own home, no less. Being a card-carrying member of the WGA finally paid off)
Anyway...great film. Really powerful. And Sean Penn? Crazy good. Very glad he won best actor. He totally deserved it. By the way;  is it me, or was this year's flock of films a lot better than previous years? For the first time in a long time, I cared about who won, and I believed everyone who was nominated (and won) actually deserved it. None of that bullshit Russell Crowe winning best actor in 2000 for "The Gladiator", then being shut out in 2001 for a brilliant performance in "A Beautiful Mind" because the Academy wasn't cool with a repeat, so they gave it to Denzel Washington for an eh performance in "Training Day", when everybody knew Crowe deserved to win. That's the kind of shit that makes me want to find the members of the Academy and knock some heads together. And what is "the Academy", anyway? Are they like the freemasons? How do you get in? Do you have to run naked through Grauman's Chinese Theatre on opening night at the Gay Porn Film Festival? Seriously. Love to know.


Shit, I got way off track. Normally I don't post about politics or religion or social issues, because it just starts a shitstorm and I never have an umbrella. And talking social issues with people you know is like bring a gas can to a good old-fashioned witch hunt. You can be sure there's gonna be a lot of screaming, and somebody's getting burned. So here I go breaking my rule. A woman I know also saw the film, and told me she really liked it. Said it really made you think, really opened your mind to the plight of gay people. Next words out of her mouth? "Now, I don't think they should be allowed to be married". I bit my tongue. Actually, I bit my lip to keep from saying anything. She went on to say God didn't approve, and civil unions were fine, but the movie really made you think about the hardships they've had to endure. I think my hair was on fire at that point. It made me so angry. She honestly didn't see her hypocrisy. To her credit, she said those were just her beliefs, so she's not a bigot. But damn, seriously?


Here's my thing about gay marriage. Ready? Who gives a flying fuck? And I mean that. Think about it.  Why the hell does anyone care who gets married? You didn't care when I got married, but all of a sudden you care that your neighbors are getting married? I sure as hell didn't care when you got married, or to whom. It's not my business. It's not your business. We shouldn't even be having this discussion, you shouldn't be reading this ridiculous waste of cyber space. It shouldn't be an issue. But it is. So, here's my alternate take on gay marriage: who gives a flying fuck what you think? I understand that for religious reasons, many people see the marriage of two people of the same sex as wrong. That's your prerogative. That's your belief, and no one is taking that from you, or trying to negate it. You have a right to believe what you want. But marriage isn't always a religious thing. People also get married at the courthouse, not by a man of the cloth, but by some guy in a bad suit. Did God give the bad suit guy the right to marry people? No, the state did. So now the state is God? 


Come on people. Really. If a gay couple tried to get married in your church, well, then, maybe you'd have an argument. But you're going to say people you don't know and have never met can't get married in somebody's house, by some crazy hippy lady with a license to wed? Gay couples just want the same legal rights as straight couples. And don't give me that civil unions crap. They don't work. They only invite discrimination. Take a look.


I just can't get past the bigotry that's out there. And I'm not saying I'm perfect, that I've never discriminated. Of course I have, everyone has. But I'm not a bigot. I have my beliefs, but I would never, ever tell you that you can't have yours. (Even if you're a moron) And I do my best to listen and see the validity of your views. (Even if you're a moron) I've heard your arguments, and I think you're a moron. But that's my belief, and you are welcome to disagree. Moron

Film School on TV: 31 Days of Oscar

For those of you who may not know, I was a film student in college. I spent my time studying both the art and theory of film, from directing and cinematography to producing and writing. It was fun, and it was expensive. So, if you don't happen to have an extra hundred grand lying around, turn on your T.V and flip to TCM. (That would be Turner Classic Movies, for those of you not in the know).


I have always enjoyed TCM's 31 DAYS OF OSCAR®, even before I started studying film (and before I agreed to do a review for it). They show Academy Award®-winning and nominated films for a month; what's not to love? Not a crappy film to be found. This year, the theme is "TCM University". Each day is devoted to a different academic field, like biology or world history. But it's not boring like biology or world history. We never studied "2001: A Space Odyssey" in Evolutionary Biology. Not that I actually took Evolutionary Biology, but whatever. There are more than 350 movies on tap, in 93 different courses.  And you don't have to get up at 8:00 a.m! Bless you, TiVo. 

31 DAYS OF OSCAR® runs through March 3, and you can get the "class schedule" (I'm so witty!) on TCM's website .

Oh, I'm supposed to say one more thing. The 81st Annual Academy Awards ceremony is Sunday, Feb. 22, at 8 p.m on ABC. I hope I don't get fired for making reference to a rival network.

Dear Ticketmaster: Suck It!

I have always hated Ticketmaster , but this just seals the deal. We (4 of us, with a total of 6 computers, in 2 different states) logged on to get Springsteen tickets the exact second they went on sale. None of us could get through. We got this message: "Our ticketing system is currently unavailable due to routine maintenance". Routine maintenance? At 9am when tickets for 20 different shows go on sale? What the fuck is that?? Needless to say, we didn't get tickets. I emailed to ask what the fuck happened. Here's what I got: 

Thank you for contacting us. We regret any inconvenience you may have experienced. When a popular event goes on sale, such as Bruce Springsteen, there are literally hundreds and sometimes thousands of customers simultaneously attempting to purchase tickets across all distribution channels. Like any limited commodity, tickets are sold as long as seats are available, and sometimes they go quickly. If 500 fans are simultaneously buying four tickets each, 2,000 tickets can be sold in a matter of seconds! It's the same reason why a typical 18,000-seat arena can sell out in a few minutes.

When a well-known and talented artist schedules live performances, invariably the demand for the finite number of tickets increases dramatically. This was clearly demonstrated in the case of your selected event. 

Thank you for using Ticketmaster, where we continually strive to provide World Class Service to every customer, every day! We very much appreciate your business, and hope we were able to resolve any problems or answer any questions you had. Please reply to this email if we may be of further assistance.

So you're telling me that 9 gazillion Springsteen fans logged on at the exact same time and crashed the system? OK, let's go with that. Then why didn't the entire system crash? Just for shits and giggles, I tried getting tickets for other Springsteen shows in the area: Nassau Coliseum, Hartford...I got the good old "can't find tickets sucka" message. (Duh. It was 9:10 at that point) So why did my particular concert venue crash and burn? BOTH shows. Trying to get tickets for either show gave you the same error message. Huh.


Wait, wait, it gets better! In my letter I made mention of the fact that there are tickets available on Ticketmaster's "sister sites", marked up to ridiculous prices. Check this bullshit:

Ticketmaster does not, as a matter of practice nor specifically in this instance, remove seats from general availability in order place them in resale on TicketsNow... The tickets you reference having been listed on TicketsNow may have been acquired in pre-sale or in the general on-sale by individual fans, as well as some tickets brokers. TicketsNow is a safe and secure digital domain that provides support for the secondary ticket marketplace. Neither Ticketmaster nor TicketsNow own the tickets listed. Tickets are sold at current market rates, meaning they are priced based on the demand for tickets. 

See that last part there, the "current market rates" part? So...let's assume Ticketmaster does not own the tickets on its sister sites. Say it really is just a safe domain for the "secondary ticket marketplace". Secondary tickets...that means someone has them and is trying to sell them. Market rates based on demand...that means tickets are sold at a higher rate because people are desperate for them. Let's see...that would be, uh, wait, it's on the tip of my tongue oh yeah SCALPING. Ticketmaster is, in effect, providing scalpers with a safe, anonymous, and legal way to bend unlucky fans over the barrel. How forward-thinking of them.


Sadly, the average fan has no recourse here. Ticketmaster is virtually the only way to buy tickets for concerts, sporting events, hell, even the circus. You can't even get tickets at stadium websites anymore. They direct you to Ticketmaster. The company has a monopoly on ticket sales, and we have no choice but to bend to its will...or the will of its "sister sites".


Of course, we could all screw scalpers and TicketsNow by refusing to buy secondary tickets. Those fuckers would lose money instead of turning a profit, since they've got tickets nobody's willing to buy. But that will never happen. Why? Because we're fans. We live for the game, the music, the show. That's what fans do.


You know the very very very best part? If you go to the website, Bruce Springsteen is right there on the front page "tickets on sale now!". Seriously? Suck it. Just suck it.

Resolved: One Resolution

I realize, dear readers reader, that it's the middle of January, and I have not yet made the obligatory New Years Resolution post. It's not that I hate resolutions and think poorly of those who make them; hell, I make one every year, the incredibly original, "I resolve never to make another New Years Resolution". (Which I obviously break, since I say the same damn thing every year) It's just that I don't get it.


What is it about January that makes everything all shiny and new? I don't see how January 1st is any better than December 31st. In fact, it's probably a much shittier day since you've got your face in the toilet nursing the mother of all hangovers. Now that's the way to start the year, waking up on the bathroom floor with the distinct taste of ass and cigarettes in your mouth. Yay new beginnings! 


Why do we need an excuse to better ourselves? Why wait until January 1? Why not June 1? Or tomorrow? After all, it is the first day of the rest of your life. (By the way, I hate that fucking saying. It's also one day closer to your death. Ever think about that, Shiny Happy People? Piss off) I guess I understand the concept, you know, "new year, new you" and all that happy horse shit. But really, why set yourself up like that? You know damn well you're not going to lose weight or quit smoking or jog 5 miles a day or ooh what's that on T.V is that the new season of House ?? 


So, you start the new year with a big fat lie, knowingly setting yourself up for failure within minutes weeks, which then sets off a prolonged guilt trip -- not only for breaking your resolution, but for perpetrating that big fat lie in the first place -- that results in you gaining 15 pounds and going up to 2 packs a day. Gee, where do I sign up? Wait, I missed that boat, didn't I, it being the middle of January and all? Oh well. There's always next year.

O Cookie! My Cookie!

What is it about the holidays that makes us overeat? I weighed myself this morning, and I've gained 5 pounds since Christmas. And I mean since Christmas, because I gained a few pounds after Thanksgiving -- don't judge! I did have 2 different Thanksgiving meals you know -- and I made damn sure I lost them before December 25th. So what is it about the holidays that makes us indulge, that says "hey, it's ok if you eat like a fucking pig, it's Jesus' birthday! He would totally want you to have that 3rd helping of pecan pie. In fact, you oughta have thirds on the sweet potatoes, in His honor. I heard He was big on the green bean casserole, too". Seriously. Are we trying to keep Santa from being self-conscious about his jolly old spare tire by putting on a few extra pounds ourselves? You're supposed to be good for goodness sake, not fat for goodness sake.


On Thanksgiving you're supposed to give thanks for what you have, right? -- what, by shoveling it into your face? It's supposed to be a season of giving, but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to give to others, not to your thighs. So why do we do it, then? Please, tell me why I'm carrying around an extra 5 pounds of Christmas cookies in my ass. And why exactly are there Christmas cookies? You can buy cookies in the store every damn day -- why do people choose Christmas to bake their own and have them at every fucking party and family function known to man? And then to add insult to injury, the assholes give them out as gifts! Bastards! Why must you give the cookie a bad name by turning it into a fundamental piece of Holiday Heft? What you're really saying is: "I don't like you enough to buy you a gift, but I don't hate you, and it would be rude not to have a present for you, so here's a little something that is really just a gift for me because in 2 weeks your ass won't fit into your office chair and I'm gonna laugh about it. Not to your face, though. Because that would be rude. Happy holidays!". There aren't any Independence Day cookies. No Martin Luther King, Jr. Day cookies. So what the fuck, people? Stop with the damn cookies! And the green bean casserole. Why do people only serve that nasty shit around the holidays? What makes it so special that we only whip out the Cream of Mushroom Soup and french friend onions around Christmas? Hell, maybe Jesus really did have a thing for it.


I'm tired of spending the entire year regretting giving so much thanks for what I have. I guess now I actually have an excuse to be an ungrateful bitch. Sweet.