Transitioning My Anger To The Public Sector

For the last several years I have been in a state of flux, vacillating between the 'where I was' and the 'where I was meant to be'. This ebb and flow in my life was not a comfortable one-- it was a constant, painful reminder of unresolved issues, and unsolved perplexities to come. It was, at least in part, why I was thrown off-balance enough to make the bad physical choice that I did, the pivotal behavior which acted as a focal point for my creative juices. Since that unfortunate moment my mind has been crowded with guilt and absolution, with image and concept, with predicament and resolution... I have not been alone within my skull for quite some time.

Fortunately, I was not meant to remain a darkened soul bumping around dusty furniture and hundred-year-old boxes like a caneless blind man in an attic-- a glimmer of possibility flickered in the gloom, brightening with every step of my approach. And in that sparkle, my friends, I found the key to my future fulfillment... and a method to absolve the guilt of my own humanity: The Written Word.

It started simply enough-- I would pick an emotion, and create a poem to describe it. Each poem I penned was another rock removed from the dam that stoppered a deluge; every word I wrote was another crumbled chunk of concrete tumbling into a vast repository of unresolved desire. And as they fell away, so did my immunity from reality; I dodged huge jagged chunks of latex love and plasticene pride, rending the wall of pretense shrouding my eyes.

I stood naked before my demons; unmasked; small and fearful, begging for life.

And it was granted.

Now I sit poised, pen at the ready, winding the mainspring of my creativity until it balances, like a tensed panther, between past and future, fallacy and truth.

And I shake life to see what drops out.

My muse is a variable friend, a professorial vixen. She dangles in front of my eyes a dream tied with a pretty blue bow to a nightmare of staggering despair. Her intentions are unclear... am I to be a savior of man, or an unwitting pawn unwrapping our own dire destiny? The future seems dim to me, as though obscured by an ill wind. I turn my coat up and forge onward, heading toward the onslaught like a crowd swelling into a tragedy.

For some months now I bare my soul, spreading out my essence, exposing every muted desire. I believe it is cathartic, or at least self-effacing, and I am proud and yet still embarrassed. I try to hide amid the humor, but the jokes are as stones sprinkled onto a great plains; I spill out on all sides and am pierced by the barbs. But I do not lash out; my anger has subsided; I am at peace in my pain and even welcome it.

For awhile.

A long while, but at last the spillway has cleared. Those last few drops, as tears, trickle past the grates and join their brethren, all the while tracing a straight path, a history clear for all to see; then the sluice has closed. The book has been written-- all that remains are the accolades. I'll sit and watch the sun burn out while I wait.

But I have not finished; now purged, my refreshed soul yearns to spit out sunshine, shining its warm glow on a path of my design, a yellow brick road for all to follow. I had created a Yin; a Yang was the foregone conclusion.

And so off to Yang I go! I offer to take you all on the next leg of my journey. Thank you for sticking with me this far... we have been journeying through the dark and dangerous wood guarding the mountain of the Kingdom of Good; we are through it now. Though steep, the path is rich with knowledge, and answers riddle the rocky walls as handholds assisting ascension.

We are off to undiscovered places, my friends. It is the trip we ultimately desire and in fact, must take... if we are ever to shed these morbid chains. Travel with me into the immediate future, into a world of our making. A world of joy, and of love, and of peace. A world of art, and science, and knowledge.

A Perfect World.

Click Here To Go There!

A Death In The Family

It is a common question to ask you where you were or what you were doing on the day you found out that John F Kennedy was shot. The news was so Earth-shattering that pretty much EVERYONE can answer that question (I was walking home from first grade when I overheard some of the older kids in front of me talking about it).

Well, today that question has changed. As of now, and I would imagine for quite some time into the future you will hear people asking, "Where were you or what were you doing on the day when you found out that MICHAEL JACKSON died?"

Well, I was still trying to figure out my digital converter box and was scrolling through the myriad features when I heard the announcement of his untimely death break in under the menu item 'parental control'. I dropped the remote in surprise, and couldn't make the menu screen go away at first, so I could only hear the TV sound and not see the video. At first I thought something had happened to Joe Jackson, the music icon from the 1980's, until I realized they were talking about Michael's father Joseph. Then I thought it was his father who had died. Then I got a call from a friend who clarified it all for me, at about the same time as I managed to rid the screen of info I couldn't figure out and see for myself what was going on.

I couldn't believe it! Michael Jackson dead? I JUST went to one of his concerts... 26 years ago! (too soon for humor?) The worst part is he was YOUNGER than me (by a year). Because of our age similarity I had always used him as a benchmark. Was I doing things at the same time as he? Did I get married when he did? Did I have kids when he did? Did I build myself an amusement park in my backyard when he did? Did I make my first platinum album when he did? Okay, so some things we didn't share...

In a morbid game of telephone tag, I of course called everyone I knew, trying to be the first one to pass along the huge news to them. In one shocking moment I realized that I was a gossipmongering muckraker, but I just didn't care. It was gratifying to hear their fantastic reactions:

"OH NO HE DIDN'T!""SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"You're lying to me, you scum-sucking, whore-banging, ugly-ass muthafucka!"

"WAAAAAAAAAH!"

But the one call which almost made Jacko's passing worthwhile was to my know-it-all friend who is in the music business. He must have been in the bathroom when the news came on because he is a TV junkie and never turns the media off... it was highly unlikely I would find out before he did, so when I surprised him with the news he was almost violently incredulous...

"No effin' way!"

"Yes, they broke into regular programming to tell us. I missed an earth-shattering announcement about Brooke's triplet babies on Guiding Light!" (I've never seen the soap, but he wouldn't know that...)

"You're bullshitting me!"

"I shit you not."

"You shit me so. There is no Brooke with triplets on Guiding Light."

DAMN! That know-everything prick did it again! "A hundred bucks says I'm right about Jacko." THAT stopped him. He knows I never bet unless there's a 100% chance I'm right. I could hear him flipping through the channels and at every stop, announcers were in the middle of saying, "Michael Jackson is dead at 50." I could HEAR the color draining from his face. "I can't believe it."

"It's a good day for you, pal," I joked. "Don't you sell antiques?"

He glowered at me over the phone. "USED records."

"Oh, right. Well, how many Michael Jackson ANTIQUE USED RECORDS are you going to sell today?"

His voice grew chipper and I could imagine the lightbulb over his head flaring. "Oh, yeah! Gotta run... I've got inventory to load!"

I had to laugh... there's no sweeter sound to a businessman than the jangle of a cash register.

But a call to another friend didn't go so well and is one of the two reasons why this post is featured in my 'Anger Management' blog and not in my 'Happy Happy Joy Joy' blog.

The other reason is that I don't have a 'Happy Happy Joy Joy' blog. If you've found one, I promise it's not mine.

His response to the news was curt: "One less pedophile in the world. Good be gone."

I did not need to make out a feeling finder to know he had reached a trigger point with me. In a flash I felt incredulity, rage, shame and violence... and grateful that he was miles away at the moment.

I'll get back to the conversation shortly, but I want to cover my reasons for the emotions I was feeling, and to do that I need to share a little background about myself.

I have made it a matter of personal pride that I can separate my feelings for an artist and the emotional response their art brings. As an example I bring up Don Henley, singer for the rock band The Eagles. As a roadie years ago I personally witnessed behavior I found reproachful and for that reason I have little respect for the man. This does not stop me from enjoying the music he creates, nor from buying his CD's, although I have to admit I don't like the idea of him profiting in any way.

We could also look at Meatloaf, a performer for whom I have the greatest respect and admiration, but whose music I cannot tolerate. My respect for him prevents me from hurting his feelings, so please don't tell him I said this.

Michael Jackson was a true artist, writing and performing dozens of mega-hits over dozens of years. He was an inspiration to a generation of young artists, an idol to people from all corners of life and an object of desire to many others.

He was a sensitive who was pushed into the public eye way too young and without enough emotional support, whose quirks and affectations began to surface with alarming regularity... the purchase of the 'Elephant Man's' bones, building of an amusement park on his property, the marriage and quick divorce from Elvis Presley's daughter, dangling his baby out of a hotel window, the questions of his sexuality... and then there were the allegations of impropriety with one of the many unsupervised boys who slept in his bed with him.

I have great admiration for his musical genius, and hold in awe his breathtaking dancing abilities, but I have to ask myself if it is okay to see him positively, and I have to admit that it is.

For one thing, I am not really a fan of idle gossip (despite my admission at the outset); I have no desire to injure someone's career or personal life with damning talk. I think passing along the news of someone's demise is merely informational, not actually damaging. But speculation is all too often mistaken for fact, and with alleged information as serious as pedophilia it is of paramount importance to GET IT RIGHT.

The fact is that Jackson, in an interview, admitted a childlike perspective, and if he is to be believed, there was nothing more going on in his bed than the comfort of innocents, minds so pure as to be uncorrupted by adult ideals. For Jackson, who had been molded into his current form by manipulative and self-serving adults, the purity of those young minds was the appeal, not the flesh.

If he can be believed.

I am always struck by numbers. Over the years, there were many children who stayed with him at Neverland Ranch. Were they ALL treated the way the plaintiff described? If so, where were they all during the trial? That question alone causes me to think in the direction of parents seeking payouts.

Think about it. Would you allow your tweener to spend the night alone at ANY famous adult's house, unsupervised? If the answer is yes, then I have to additionally ask, WHY? What would possess you to allow such an event to transpire? In asking, I came up with a few possibilities for answers:

1. You are naive, or an idiot, or a fool.

2. You couldn't give a damn what happens to your child.

3. You are close personal friends with the star; more like family, having spent thousands of hours alone with them in the past, and trust them without question.

4. You know about the pedophilia and approve of it, thinking of it as a necessary step into adulthood, just like it was for you.

5. You have been lied to about the entire event, with no mention of kids in beds with the star.

6. You see the potential for an enormous payout from the rich fool, who would gladly give it to preserve their career.

You see where I'm heading? The court found the testimony of the plaintiff and his parents to be shaky at best, and although other children had been there, done that, there was no corroboration. Case dismissed.

Getting back to the conversation with my thoughtless friend, I have to admit that at that moment I was not at my Anger Managed best. The moment his comment sunk in completely, I had some choice words for him. In no particular order I called him an ignoramous, a knuckle-dragging wildebeest and a slant-scalped twitterhead. I also accused him of seeing the world through moron-colored glasses (that's moron, not maroon).

Quick to respond, he shot back allegations of his own; calling me a straight-bashing heterophobe; accusing me of storing salamis on my person by sitting on them, HARD, and citing my own misconduct with the twelve little boys in my root cellar (how on EARTH did he know about them?). It progressed from there.

I suggested he should be tied in a cage with six sexually charged bulls in heat. He thought to unhook a chain saw chain and pass one end all the way through my digestive tract, relinking the two ends when it came out the other side and turning the machine on. I mentioned my goal of luring him into a metal room that was actually an industrial wine press and selling the liquids that emanate from the press to his grieving family as special 'buffalo broth'.

He paused for a moment. So did I. Then he said, "So Michael Jackson died, huh?"

I said, "Yup, about an hour ago."

He said, "I loved Billie Jean."

I saw that as an olive branch, so I asked, "Would that be the song... or the tennis player?"

I suppose I expected this... he hung up on me. Though before he did, he asked, "Coming to AM class next week?"

I said, "I couldn't miss it."

Anger Management Bi-Weekly

Or is that SEMI-weekly? I can never figure that out! Well, whichever one is twice a month, that's the one I'm shooting for. Excuse me... AIMING for.

And that's also what I'm aiming for in my now VOLUNTARY anger management meeting. It needs a new name, though... what we do there is so much more than management of anger. We console the sorrowful. We congratulate the triumphant. We encourage the effort. We suggest alternate strategies to better deal with stress. We repair friendships and massage relationships.

We are the New Age woo-woo fix-it crew!

And don't think all the handyman work is coming from the facilitators... the therapists... the psychologists... oh, whatever name you give them! Nu-uh! Much of the good advice is uttered from one Angry Managed to the other. We have much to learn, but we also have much to teach.

My first lesson-- when someone has an altercation of some kind and is forcefully encouraged to come to a 52 week anger management session, the person he had the altercation with has to attend a 52 week session as well! Sound extreme? Hear me out.

The number of angry people who actively seek out angry encounters is pretty small. Far larger is the number of people who are walking around, outwardly calm, but on the inside are just ready to snap and awaiting some kind of impetus. While it's true that a smiling, friendly person just MIGHT cause that breaking point, it is far more likely that an encounter happened because TWO angry people who were ready to snap bumped into each other. Wrong time, wrong place.

Whoever hits or hollers first, loses.

Unfortunately, while the arrested and punished party receives emotional help for his issues (via 52 weeks of anger management therapy), the other one receives nothing... nothing but the black eye, that is. And a bruised ocular region will not help the person with their own anger issues.

So yeah... whenever there's a fight, BOTH people gotta go to AM classes. And that can happen in the PM as well (tee-hee). It's good for both of you.

It's like castor oil for the emotions.

You see, there's no such thing as an innocent party (for the most part-- no absolutes in this blog please!). If there's a dispute, it's rarely between someone with one strong opinion and another with NO opinion whatsoever-- no, violence happens when TWO people are angry (once again, MOST of the time).

I realize that the reader can imagine scenarios where one person is just an evil bully, picking on innocents left and right, leaving a wake of hurt and damaged people in his path... and like I say, I'm certain that occasionally happens. OCCASIONALLY. The far more likely scenario is that there is a buildup of frustration and other emotions within the violent person that BURSTS out at moments of heightened emotion, usually followed by immediate regret.

Regret, you say? Don't you mean regret at the punishment about to be meted out by the criminal justice system?

Well, sure... but that's not the only kind, nor the most important. Most violent people are GOOD people pushed to do BAD things. That is a valuable fact, and it goes a long way to preventing a permanent label from being affixed to the violent person. 

As it turns out, most violent encounters end with sincere regret at the violent person's own inability to control their emotions, regret at the physical damage to the person they have just caused, regret at the emotional damaging of the relationship with that person and about a dozen other feelings of personal failure. The violent person is going over and over the last few moments of the encounter in their heads, trying to analyze the failures in their emotional armor, what caused the outburst and how to prevent future ones. There is no more fragile, sorrowful person than the violent one who has just had an outburst.

And that's a good thing. That tells us that despite the physical outcome, the outburst was an emotional pressure valve releasing, allowing the pain to dissipate before some truly horrific, rifle-in-the-bell-tower event came to pass. There may be a black eye or a busted bone, and while that is not in any way a good thing, it is way better than making funeral arrangements from a jail cell.

Don't get confused, dear reader. I'm not advocating violence. I hope to see violence disappear off Planet Earth in my lifetime. That's not going to happen, but it is my HOPE. What I am pointing out is the slim silver lining of a minor outburst. It is something we are resilient enough to bounce back from-- not only the person who committed the violence, but the unfortunate who was the victim-- and hopefully learn from our mistakes so that we may never repeat them. 

An incident where everyone is still alive at the end of it is extremely hopeful, because you can't come back from an encounter which involves someone's death. And sure, there are degrees of non-death injury, including the kind where everyone is wringing their hands for 18 hours in the emergency room before getting the relieving news that their loved one is going to make it... and that is a terrible thing to have to experience (I would imagine)... but at the end of it you have your loved one back.

And don't think I'm suggesting that the person who committed such grievous violence should just walk back into the life of the person they hurt so badly... I am NOT. The emotional wounds from such an event can be incredibly deep and pervasive. I'm just saying that the person is alive to experience new emotions, and that in itself is a blessing. No, if the degree of damage is such that it requires an extensive hospital stay, then the violent person needs to feel, on some level, the pain of their victim, and there's probably no better way than a limited prison sentence living among society's most violent aggressors. 

Well, there's one 'better' way, but eye-for-an-eye is a sentence which is no longer meted out. Not that there hasn't been extensive discussion on the emotional healing which might come from being locked in a room for twenty minutes with a baseball bat and the guy who nearly killed  your daughter, but the overall emotional damage to society might not be worth it.

It all comes back around to society. We've built our social system around laws rather than around logic, which is why it always seems to be on the edge of spinning wildly out of control. Logically we should design life so that we are all as content as possible. Instead we've designed it so that we can all be as free as possible. But that's not happening either, because with unrestricted freedom comes unfortunate side effects, so laws are put in place. "You can be free, but not TOO free."  So we end up with a society which allows people to be selfish and greedy and cold and uncaring. When those behaviors are allowed to spread and flower into the majority of the population, we all suffer as a result.

How can we re-structure society to eliminate, or at least vasty reduce, the number of emotion-producing-events that drive violence in our people? Since we're not likely to re-structure our biological response system, at least not in the short term, what other way is there to keep people from getting emotionally bottled up and ultimately exploding?

Now is a good time to mention my OTHER blog, the one which seeks to address that very question. It's called 'Finding The Perfect World' and can be found at:

 findingtheperfectworld.blogspot.com

I'm not going to praise the virtues of that blog-- I'll let you do that. It is simply a collection of ideas which, when implemented together, will likely create a place for us all to live which is by many definitions 'perfect'... not like heaven, just designed perfectly for us humans with all our foibles to live in contentedly in peace and prosperity.

But the overview is this: Eliminate the fear in life and you eliminate most of the 'evil' which feeds on fear. People who are afraid of poverty, starvation, sickness and death will do whatever it takes to prevent those things from happening to THEMSELVES and THEIR LOVED ONES (and screw everyone else). While it seems huge and immutable, the laws which guide how we live are subject to modification. Change enough of them and society as a whole merges into a different 'operating system'.

The next post I write will incorporate every change I mention in the other blog, so it's time to get you up to speed. Read it. You will be quizzed. 

Okay... you will probably not be quizzed. BUT, you will be enlightened, and really, that's all I'm hoping for in this leg of the Perfect World Theory. The next generation of humans will do much better than us, and the generation after that will do better than THEM, and so on. I predict if we follow this plan we'll be living within a perfect Earth society in less than 200 years. 

Right about the time that aliens from the planet Zorgon attack.

Not Ready For Prime Time Quite Yet...

I know you're gonna ask, so I'll just say it... the vacation hasn't happened yet. I'll let you know.

In the meantime, I find that taking a week off from group was not only cathartic, but to my surprise, it was also expected of me. Nobody even anticipated my arrival, because I had completed my obligation to the court and was no longer required to show up. I'm a rehabilitated man, in the eyes of the court. The Judge used almost those same sentiments when he saw me last week.

"You have completed your mandatory 52 anger management sessions. You may be excused." I think he also said, "Next case." Warm guy. But no matter-- the tether has been broken, the chains have been removed. I'm free!

What am I carrying on about, you must be thinking... it's not like I have just been released from some dark and dangerous prison-- it was a once-weekly AA meeting for mostly mild and meek guys with flashpoint issues. I know, I know. But I DO feel as though my MENTAL bonds have been cut, and I am again alone to make my own decisions, right or wrong. 

I also feel like I am up on a tightrope without a net. When I went to a weekly meeting, I had a support group, peers who knew exactly what I was talking about and respected me enough to help me get through rough patches. Now, I'm supposed to fend for myself, go bravely into that good night? Frankly, I'm worried.

I think back, even to recent days, when I experienced brief stints of frustration and rage at how many people break the golden rule towards each other, and with such startling regularity. You might know, that that is one of my trigger points. I want to see people treat each other well, and when I watch some fool behave in a selfish, greedy, angry or childish manner towards their fellow man, I just wanna TAKE THEIR FUCKING HEADS OFF!

Which of course, I do NOT. People NEED their heads. Besides, it's very difficult to learn the lesson I am about to rain down upon them if they have no brain in which to store the new information, right?

Also, if I've learned one thing in AM, it's that people are far less receptive to learning new things if they are defensive. Whatever I want to teach those soul-forsaken rapsnappers had better be done in a way that doesn't insult them or put them on their guard, and then they will remember, right? I have to believe that's true, because otherwise I'm certain I'll find myself right in front of a judge again, and maybe one who will use me as an example. "Behead that man!" Nah, I don't want that. I NEED my head.

So I keep silent. "It's not my battle" has become my mantra. "Don't get involved" is a poster over my bed. "Live and let live" is the tune I hum over and over. "Change Daily" is stitched into my underwear... MOM! STOP DOING THAT!

And when all else fails, I know of a place I can go, where troubles are all the same, where everybody knows my name. And when I'm done at Cheers I head over to the AM class to get the real work done. Which is where I'm heading tonight, because I have some unloading I need to do, and there's not a better place to dump shit than in that room. There, the shit gets pored over, dissected, separated and placed into recycling. Really, it's the best place to go if you want to green the earth. There's one bin for plastic, one for metal, one for fear, one for frustration, and there's a dumpster out back to toss your anger, one that gets emptied three times a day.

Yes, I said it. I'm goin' back. I'm caving in and returning to the womb. Do I feel like a loser? Absolutely. But do I feel like a loser for going back? Absolutely not. Because if there's another thing I've learned, it's that you can accomplish more with two people than with one. You can accomplish more with three than two and so on. My class with a dozen or so souls gets a lot done. Following that logic, we need to have an AM Revivalist Meeting and collect about 5,000 angry people under one tent-- imagine what we'll accomplish with that many minds! We can discuss that later.

Anyway, off I tread to my ole stomping grounds. I'm not the first in my class to do so... there are two others who were court-mandated, and then returned to a voluntary status once their duty was fulfilled. All throughout the year I attended there were at least three voluntary members in each meeting. As the year progressed that number rose. Maybe it's the camaraderie we share... maybe it's the power held in these tools of awareness and control... or maybe it's the two very cute therapists who work with the group, I don't know. Anyhow, people are crowding that little room, and I would hate to see the dynamic change... again. 

When I started there were two therapists in the room. About 6 months into my 'treatment' one left to open another group, and we received the two new therapists we have now, bringing the total to three. The original head facilitator has been there since the beginning, to his credit.

People might be surprised that I returned, since I so often went head to head with the head honcho regarding head treatment. I did not do it for fun, nor for spite. I genuinely believe that Anger Management is a band-aid that covers the cancer-- it's not going to cure anything, just cover it up and make it look civilized. But since that is the best we can hope for in this slow-moving and backwards-thinking society, I'll take it. Even though the big boss man made sure to do a reality check whenever I pulled out the soapbox, sometimes taking me down a peg or two (or six) in the process, I'm not one to interfere with the learning process. As a former teacher, I know it's sometimes important to knock down the incorrect learning in a resistant student before the right stuff will take hold, and I welcomed his considerable input. I'm not going to say whether or not he swayed my opinion, but I certainly respected his enough not to let my big mouth take over the room.

Off I go to the brain shoppe. I have to sand a little resistance out of my mind and fill it with acceptance. Either that, or I go for the coffee and donuts.

You Thought You'd Seen The Last Of Me, Eh?

Just because my very last court-mandated session was held last night, did you really think I'd abandon you? Just up and leave you like dust in the wind? Do you think you can slow me down with something tempting like a 'completed' citation to hand to the judge, do you? Oh no, Wile E. Coyote, I'm in there for the long haul. 

Actually, I HAD thought about dropping the blog like a hot stone, leaving a final post with only the words "OUT CAUSIN' TROUBLE' as my epitaph to you, dear reader... but I would be misplacing the sentiment-- it's not you I am leaving-- only the 'required' part of class. In all likelihood I will return to the group, once- or twice-monthly, either as a refresher or when there is an authentic anger emergency I have to work through. There's nothing like live feedback (not that there's anything wrong with silently listening to me complain, right?).

My topic tonight is twofold. The first you have already guessed. This blog would not exist had it not been for the suggestion of my brilliant facilitator, XXXXX (privacy is an important part of the group experience, which is why I left Dave's name out [I'm just kidding. My facilitator's name isn't Dave at all! It's Brad {I'd do another dumb joke, but I've run out of bracket styles.}.].). 

XXXXX, or 5X, as we like to call him (OR her... you can't be sure!?!) made the wise statement that of 168 possible hours in a week, we only attended sessions for 2 of them, so if we felt like talking about something which happens during the week, we should write it down. Well, my imagination took off from there and I used the space to instead wax philosophic. Now that the class has ended (for me-- it continues ad infinitum for all others), I find I am enjoying the release of endorphins that comes from a satisfying writing session, plus the ability to tell stories to the world-- 

stories that nobody in the world will ever hear. 

But that part's okay. It'll be my legacy long after I've turned to dust, burned onto a disc marked 'One Man's Ramblings In The Dark' and filed in a box containing a thousand other mans' ramblings, next to another box, and another, on a rack in a room of a warehouse, one of many, all filled with all of Men's Dark Ramblings. A cosmic CD-ROM will keep track of it all at the end of time, I'm certain.

All right, sarcasm notwithstanding, I am happy to be done with the stress of remembering to be in one place at a specific time for a whole year. I'm joyful to be getting my Tuesday nights back (or is it Thursdays...?) to use as I wish. I am ecstatic that I can take a vacation which crosses a Tuesday without feeling guilt at missing my class (something I never got to feel firsthand, as I attended 52 straight sessions, no absences, no tardies. What a brownnose-- I even brought cookies!). And best of all, now I get to ask one of the facilitators out on a date-- she (or he, or it) is smokin'! (now... is that true or am I just throwing up pixie dust?)

On to topic two.

Too many vacations! Let me to explain...

I've long been taking 'road trip' vacations with one friend, sometimes two, twice or thrice yearly. We'd choose a midway point and check out every cool thing between there and here, usually following a non-highway jaggedy-loop. We'd flush out the local hangs and do what the Romans do, learn the secrets of their localities and of course, get looped and tied.  Sometimes I would fly to a neutral location where we would meet and embark by Reñtaçar. Well, thanks to my long year of 'servitude to anger', friends have been waiting... and waiting... and waiting still... and now they are calling. I've got requests for road trips to Vegas, Enseñada and Anchorage, with a potential visit to the lush backlands of Idaho. What the hell to do?

Ooooh... I'm reading some physical cues! I can feel the tickle of something happening... I think I can read my emotional state... I'm getting that certain feeling... yes, I'm pretty sure that I'm... HAPPY! So many choices! You know what would be ideal? If each of my peeps could schedule their time with me consecutively, so that I'd have a long, long vacation.

That would be ideal, I said. What has actually occurred is that all my friends got the same exact 2 weeks off in June and are clamoring for my time, so instead of a best case scenario, I have the opposite. I'm left wondering what to do? Do I pick the most exotic location and travel with the friend who wanted to go there? Or do I choose the most fun friend of the bunch and go with them? Maybe I could go with the one who doesn't mind paying... or the one who has a jet... or the one who puts out... the possibilities are legion!

Maybe I could begin a lottery of sorts, auctioning myself off to the highest bidder?

Aww, who am I kidding? If I tried some egotistical crap like that, the chances are that my friends would go on vacation with each other and keep me out of the loop altogether as punishment, leaving me to drink beer after beer, sobbing out back in my little kiddie pool. Nah, I'm gonna have to man up and pick a clever method to choose my happy. I pounded the turf trying to reach a suitable choice, wearing grooves in the sod as I concentrated. Then it came to me!

I just learned all sorts of valuable tools in AM class (that's Anger Management, for all you antiacronymaniacs), and could probably use one of them to guide my process. The one tool everyone knows about is the Time Out... where I take an hour to separate from the source of my feelings and reflect on my own emotional 'treasure trove'... but I can't imagine that would help here, since my feelings stem from a weighty decision, not from an emotion-packed event involving another human being.

Then there's also 'Self Care', 'I Messages', 'Positive Self Talk', 'Door Openers', 'Listening For Understanding', the '4-4-4', 'Understanding Physical Cues', 'Stress Thoughts', 'Assertive Language', using 'Problem Solving'...

Problem solving! That's it! We should use the tool which calls for problem solving whenever there's a problem which needs solving! Okay, I've figured it out! Only...

HOW am I supposed to use this tool? Do I just sit quietly, with my eyes closed, mulling over all the variables and then magically spit out an answer? Here I go... mulling... mulling... mull... I GOT  IT! I'll use the wisdom of Abraham and cut myself into 4 pieces so part of me can go with each friend! Brilliant!

Ummm, brilliantly stupid, that is. Abraham only suggested that solution to the two women fighting over the one child, but only so they could see that a traditional sharing of acquired material wasn't gonna cut it (heh, heh, heh... cut it-- get it?). So I thought some more and then realized the final solution was the same as the answer Abraham ultimately elicited from the women. They both loved the baby, so instead of sawing it it two and each keeping one dead half, they realized it was smarter to share the TIME of that baby's life... and so became the first lesbian nuclear family.

VIOLA! I have to go on vacation with LESBIANS!

Okay, wait... I'm sure that's not the correct answer... although I have to admit it is a little provocative... and more than a little salacious! Think pal, think! How do I share myself with all my friends for one two-week period?  How? HOW?

I got it. The answer was right in front of me the whole time, and I just walked right by it. Boy, it's funny how blind we can be-- okay, ME. It's funny how blind I can be. I made a few phone calls, and a new plan was set into motion. I just rented a vehicle for the trip...

AN RV! We're all going together!

SO damn EASY. 

See you in a few weeks.

Weakly Managing Blog Anger

First off... I'm wondering when the parodies of this blog title will end. You'd think I would know the answer, since I'm the guy writing it, but noooooo! Apparently in this 'stream of consciousness' style of writing, I don't have any idea what milk will be spilling from my coconut... not until it rears its pointed little head, anyway. 

Okay, enough about the silly title... onward ho to more important fare.

I find one of my feelings right now is 'anxious', and I even know the reason for it. It's because, week after week, I try to find a topic for this blog, to excerpt my life during some moment of strain or emotion crossroads, which can be darn near impossible, because in the wide course of human experience I am, for all intents and purposes, a happy-go-lucky, it's all good,  even-keel kind of guy.

And who in hell wants to read an anger blog about a guy who rarely gets angry?

My daughter will disagree. She thinks I get angry at her. This couldn't be further from the truth. She would say, "But you yell! Yelling is angry!" I would have to respond with, "I don't yell... I just speak up when you obviously don't hear what I have to say the first six times." I'm just not mad at the kid! But you know teenagers... one day, I hope to be as smart as one. When my daughter gets a bright idea it's my responsibility to talk her down from it.

"I'm not sure it will be helpful to have a license as a Witch Doctor..."

"When I said you should learn about sacrifice, I didn't mean ANIMAL sacrifice..."

"You probably should hold off for awhile before tattooing 'Fuck You' on your tongue..."

She's of legal age, and I suppose she can do what she wants, but I just want her to make life decisions a little later along in life. But that's not what this post is about, either. It's about how I feel, trying to come up with a fresh and interesting topic week after week. I'm not employed by anybody... there's nobody riding my ass and looking over my shoulder, "You've got a deadline, boy... how're ya gonna keep yer deadline? I'm gonna fire your lazy ass!"

 I can skip a week if I want to. I can stop writing altogether. There's nobody reading this blog anyway. I could actually say anything I wanted to, no matter how inflammatory or rebellious, and probably nobody would even notice: 

I jack off in my cornflakes, and then I eat them, but not before I squirt coconut pancake syrup all over them too, because my jizz is too salty for cereal!

I bring a stepladder with me no matter where I go, so I can stand on it in a public telephone booth, which brings me close enough to rub the handset all over my naked, sweaty butt crack. I do that to about 60 phones a month!

Ew. EEEEEEEW! I keep forgetting what a delicate flower I am. Okay, I know that nobody's reading this blog... nobody but me that is, and I just grossed myself out. It's not true what I wrote, anyway. It's just not ME to behave that way. but I'm certainly not above imagining it and making others read it. But I think I've made my point-- when I don't have a topic, I get grumpy. 

But wait... isn't THIS a topic? Aren't I expressing my feelings in a meaningful way? YAY! Now I can move on with analysis and resolution!

What is it in me that makes me want to complete things? I know I'm an obsessive/compulsive (translate: anal) and I have to straighten, organize, reorder, count, neaten, dust, and scrapbook whatever moves into my eyeline... but the question is WHY? What makes me this way?

I have often said that I don't like messiness. At the same time, I AM a collector. 

Now without qualifying (which is just what I'm doing, isn't it?), I have to say I'm not at the top of the list-- psychiatrists aren't shoving each other to be the first in line to analyze me-- but it does bother me nonetheless.

As a matter of fact, I use my own solution when trying to eliminate unwanted behaviors: I shine a figurative light on them (which makes me sensitive to them) and when I catch myself falling into an old pattern, I decide whether it is 'normal' or 'over-the-top' and make a decision to stop doing it, if needed. 

As an example, I was cleaning up my wood shop the other day. You can be certain that a dust bowl like a woodworking shop will have a mess in every corner. I was on all fours with a vacuum cleaner and a wand extension, trying to pull a pile of sawdust in a back corner, behind a table leg. I was straining to reach when I just said to myself, "STOP!"

I actually startled myself! (no, I didn't.) I made the decision right there to leave that little bit of sawdust... just ignore it. I then cleaned the rest of the shop normally. When I was done, I felt momentarily proud for challenging my OCD and fighting it directly.

 Just Say No.

That's when I reversed my decision... and my Shop-Vac, and turned it into a Shop-BLOW. Starting in the back corner I hit the switch and caused a mini-tornado, like being in an Iraqi sandstorm-- visibility at zero, sawdust swirling about in large twirling waves... and I think I saw Dorothy's house pass by.
I approached the door using my wind wand like a dust gun, shoving the airborne mass outdoors. Spic and span, one, two, three.

That may not sound like a solution, because I had solved the problem which was irritating my OCD instead of letting it lie. But it was the WAY I solved it which made me proud-- it wasn't a NEAT solution. Virtually everything that wasn't tied down found a new location in the shop, mostly on the floor. But then I picked it all up and dumped it into a drawer, and I was done! Cleaning like a man! It's a good thing I have no carpet in there or there would've been a huge lump in the center!

Besides, I'm not sure if wanting things organized IS anal-- in my line of work time is money, and if I can't find something in my inventory that I need for a job, it will takes TIME to find, and TIME is MONEY. And the one thing I am is FRUGAL. I save the skin off apples because it makes a good wallpaper (no I don't, and no it doesn't-- but I AM frugal nonetheless).

Okay... anal AND frugal. Looks like we're analyzing a damaged person, all right! What else can we find in my bag of tricks, hmm? I went to a website which lists common human psychiatric conditions, and I think I might be suffering (to one extent or another): 

Panic attacks, phobias, stress, sociopathy, depersonalization, dissociative amnesia,  bulimia nervosa, bipolar disorder, cyclothymic disorder, depression, delusions of grandeur, schizoaffective disorder, dissociative fugue, anorexia nervosa, schizophrenia, gender identity disorder, the Peter Pan effect, transsexualism, paraphilias, dissociative identity disorder, somatoform disorder, body dysmorphic disorder, binge eating, conversion disorder, hypochondriasis, somatization disorder, schizophreniform disorder, pain disorder and Munchausen syndrome.

Munchausen Syndrome. Yeah... sounds about right.

So while I may be irritated at writing a blog I'm not required to write by a deadline I don't have to keep for an audience who not only won't read it but isn't even aware of its paltry existence, at least I get the rare opportunity to analyze myself and my issues and arrive at some kind of conclusion about my chances of wellness or healing in this modern, crazy world. Catharsis. That's why I do this.

Gee... I feel better!

New Environments, New Tests... And New Successes!

How can I be sure I feel differently now? How do I know that what I have learned is become my new reality?

I have wondered about the complexity of the human mind (other people's minds... my own is frighteningly simple) and how easy it is to believe we can just modify it, like adding mudflaps to our trucks. Turn a few screws and viola! an all-new personality.

Only I know that it doesn't work that way. I think it's kind of like hypnotism. The way I hear it, you can hypnotize anyone to do anything they are amenable to in waking life. For example, you can't hypnotize a gay man straight, or make an honest man into a thief... but you can make a person stop smoking cigarettes if that is something they WANT to do, but lack the necessary willpower to carry out.

I had to have it IN me to be a nonviolent man, no matter how conditioning has coerced me to behave. It might have become a part of my association with my ex-wife, for example, to become emotional and agitated over every piece of news, but if it wasn't who I was before I met her, then I had the chance to return to that pre-wife calmness that I not only desire, but NEED in order to remain on this side of a walled-in pen.

I have spent two hours a week for the past year getting hypnotized into being the calm and docile man I used to be. Only it wasn't hypnosis... it was common sense. Hearing common sense from the facilitators and hearing the positive outcome stories from other group members was a cathartic immersion therapy. Add to that a few a-ha moments and I feel as though I have a new lease on life, and today's story exemplifies this learning. I'm ready to receive my diploma.

To all of you who read this blog, you know I maintain a friendship with my ex-wife. Not only is she my daughter's mother, she is the person I hurt which landed me in Anger Management group to begin with. You may find that risky, like dieting at an all-you-can-eat place, but it's really not.

To begin with, I actually love my ex-wife. We split long ago not because we fell out of love, but because the emotion which built up around our everyday behaviors around each other became very intense, very quickly, all the time. It was not uncommon to have a scene in public; at a restaurant, in a department store, in a movie theater. Unfortunately, we never made up... the anger just petered out to a tolerable level and we would continue like that, until the next flare-up. 

We handle situations differently, and neither of us could ever understand why the other one just couldn't see our perspective. So yeah, there was a lot of STUFFING going on. And I have come to learn that if I am stuffed too full, I explode, and it's usually not pretty when I do.

But of late I have found that a few tools have surprising results for me. My wife was born in another country, and while that in itself is not a reason to think or act differently, certain cultural differences have caused clashes in the past. I doubt I can attribute stubbornness to one particular culture, but it comes into play in this story. Anyway, I have learned that if I capitulate when my ex believes she is right... wait for it... she will cave as well!

That's right... I learned that all she needed to hear was that I thought she was right, and all her own doubts about her behavior just spilled out in a confessional forgive-for-all. I also learned she is a tough cookie (and that MIGHT just be a cultural behavior) and I shouldn't expect a tearful hug'n'kiss'n'makeup from her. But that doesn't mean she isn't feeling it-- I can tell by her mild reactions to whatever events transpire in the next few hours.

So I learned to pick my battles.  I also learned to LISTEN FOR UNDERSTANDING. Now on to the story:

She is a proud daughter of Israel, and this past Sunday was Israeli Independence Day. She was invited to a barbecue, and invited me to come along as her 'plus one'. She said I'd have fun, and that it would only be for a couple of hours. Let me explain what that means, using my Bullshit-to-English translator:

Israeli Barbecue MEANS Food I've never heard of, which flavors alternate between garlic, snail juice and chutzpah.

Plus One MEANS  I'm the one they talk about behind my back.

I'd Have Fun  MEANS  She'd have fun.

A Couple Of Hours  MEANS  Bring a tent.

I already know what I'm getting into. I have been to many Israeli parties in the past and they are fun affairs in truth; the food is actually quite tasty if a little foreign, and everyone is laughing and chatting away.

Well, that's what this one was like. Doesn't sound bad, right? Well, I might have omitted a small detail about Israeli people at parties: It doesn't matter how many are at a party-- could be 2, could be 50-- the same thing happens every time, and that is: They forget all English and speak in Hebrew. Loudly.

Did I mention my learning disability? Maybe it's laziness, but I cannot pick up any more than a couple of words in any language. I know my ex for 20 years and the only Hebrew I know is what she yelled as she tossed my ass out, and I can't write it here because I don't know how to-- there are sounds in that word that I don't think exist in nature.

We arrive at the party and are introduced around: That one's Tzvika, she's Rivka (SHE? Really?); those people are Kak, Braug and Kiss (that wasn't her name... her name sounded like a kiss); that woman is named Titsy (or Tzitzy; doesn't matter, still terrible); Hurg, Plaktu and Fudi; the twins Zion and Ryan, and Flerm. Roll the 'r'. There were more, but my pencil point wore down. I called the rest of those people 'Buddy' and 'Sweetie'.

Everyone was very polite and shook my hand and said hello, or 'nayim mayode', which translates roughly into 'I won't kill you today', and we all did what people do at parties-- gravitate into groups. My first group was around the barbecue... I asked for chicken and he smiled and nodded, then plated me something red and springy... I think there was a shell? It tasted good but smelled vaguely of my grandmother's pantry. 

Afterwards I sat with my ex and  a bunch of others; one was telling an extremely funny joke-- I could tell because the others were smiling and laughing on cue-- but it was in Hebrew so I didn't understand. My ex then made him tell it again for me in English, which I would have preferred she not do. Funny thing was, because everyone had heard it moments before, they helped him along all the way through the joke, which I thought was funny. It went something like this:

There were two jews, Hymie and Moshe...

Wasn't one of them Chaim?

No. And they walked past a church with a sign that said 'convert today and get $50'. Moshe said, "I need the money-- I'm gonna do it."

No, Hymie converted!

Let me tell it!

I still think Chaim was there.

Oy vey forget Chaim he's in the other joke already.

Vat are you talking about?

So Hymie goes in the church...

You mean Moshe!

Moshe wouldn't convert!... oy, his mother...

Right! MOSHE goes in the church and comes out an hour later...

It was four hours later...

I heard Chaim waited for Moshe overnight...

OY! Forget Chaim already!

And comes back to Chaim, his head bowed...

Wait! You mean Hymie!

Hymie's head was bowed?

No! Moshe's head was bowed, and Hymie asked, "So Moshe did you get the $50?"

I love this punchline!

It's better when Gach tells it...

Tell the joke already!

Oy I spilled my Manishevitz!

Use some club soda darlink...

And Moshe says...

Listen, this is good!

He looks at Hymie and says...

Tell it already!

"Is that all you people ever think about?"

Is what all I ever think about?

Not you... Hymie!

Hymie's here?

No, it's the line punch!

You mean the punch line!

What is... Hymie's here?

No, the other one!

Oy, chapa baka chupa chacha... and then they all lapse back into Hebrew, talking nonstop, until they all laugh at the same time again and my ex makes him tell another joke in English to me.

Oh god I do not wanna hear another one! I excuse myself and use the bathroom, and wonder how long my ex wants to stay. Remember, she said a couple of hours.

I join another group, the last one of the evening, because that one encircles the alcohol table. Now it doesn't matter what they say, I'm talking to my Sauterne.

Months later I look at the clock and walk over to my ex, who is flirting with a guy 30 years younger than her. "Ready to go, dear? It's been 9 hours."

"No... but you can go... Snick's gonna give me a ride home." Snick. I must've missed that one.

I say good night to the hosts and head for my car, massively relieved, and proud of myself for just rolling with it all evening. I'm almost there when I hear running behind me. It's my ex.

"I thought the stud was giving you a ride." I alluded to her banging the kid, but she missed it.

"No, I can't. I don't have diapers his size at my house." So she DIDN'T miss it. Yay for her!

So I drove her home and we said good night. Very calm.

The next day she was bubbly on the phone, about how cool I was at the party. I admit it felt good to hear her saying nice things about me-- it's a very rare thing, and reminiscent of our early time together. 

I remember our arguments of the past; how I was blaming her over-the-top embarrassing behavior at parties or in public. Suddenly I feel I can see her side! Scary! She's just having fun and being funny, and out of the blue I come at her with a bad mood because I feel she's making a fool of herself, and of me because of our marriage connection.

I didn't feel like doing that at the party. I felt at peace and I was enjoying my role as observer of the Gorillas In The Mist. It's a role I should adopt more often when with my ex at events-- I feel complete calm at those times, as though I were watching her on a TV, remote, detached.

Let's see if it works at our next all-Americans party...

A Precautionary Tale

I just finished a post a few minutes ago when I saw this news article and had to include it. It is for this very reason that I have kept everything about my own Anger Management sessions vague. I feel sorry for this guy, but now I'm a little worried about the attendance records I kept for the class... Will 'Mr Blue' be upset that I included his absences, and will "Mr Yellow" and "Mr Rainbow" want revenge, now that the world knows that they missed the very same classes, AND came late on the exact same gays-- err, I mean DAYS?

Allentown Man Gets Prison For Recording Anger-Management Classes

He posted secret video on YouTube

By Riley Yates Of The Morning Call

An Allentown man who secretly recorded his court-ordered anger management classes and posted them on YouTube was sentenced to state prison Friday.



Richard P. Mason III told Northampton County Judge Paula Roscioli that he wanted his daughter to see the group therapy sessions, which were ordered as part of his sentence on a terroristic threats charge, said Second Deputy District Attorney William Matz Jr.



Instead, the recordings landed Mason, 41, with a probation violation and a new sentence of 18 to 36 months in state prison on the threats case. Prosecutors are also considering bringing new charges against Mason for violating the state's wiretap law, Matz said.

The case is ''unique,'' Matz said. ''First for me; I think the first for our office.''


Mason was arrested in June 2007 for threatening to kill his brother in Hanover Township, Northampton County, while armed with a gun, according to court records. He pleaded guilty last year and was given three years of probation and 36 hours of community service.

Matz said Mason had attended several anger management classes before he decided to record them using his cell phone.

Mason admitted in court to posting online at least one video, which he said got 1,200 hits, Matz said.

Under Pennsylvania law, it is illegal to record someone without their permission.

Other attendees of the therapy learned of the recordings and ''obviously it was a major issue with them,'' Matz said.



The video has been taken down from YouTube. If investigators can recover it, Mason could face a separate wiretap charge for each time it was viewed on the Internet, Matz said.

Unauthorized recordings are a third-degree felony punishable by up to seven years in prison and a $15,000 fine. On 1,200 counts, the maximum penalty would be 8,400 years in prison and an $18 million fine.

Regarding this article, all I can say is: Where did they find a man who can serve 8400 years in jail? I've GOT to meet his doctor! Maybe it's Dr. Will Telliv?

I'm Ready For Love-- Oh, Baby I'm Ready For Love

This past year has helped me more than I was ready to realize!

I made a statement in class one week months ago wherein I asserted that every relationship everyone has ever had... has FAILED. I did make an exception for current relationships. It was a no-brainer statement, I thought... after all, if you were once in a relationship, and are no longer in that relationship, than it makes sense that the relationship has failed, right?

Wrong.

After a hotly contested battle of words, I was helped to realize that these associations did not FAIL; no, they simply ENDED. Of course, some of them DID fail, and magnificently so; there are some people who are simply not ready to give of themselves to the point of success in a connection. Saying goodbye while holding a gun on your partner smacks of spectacular failure...

As an example, I'm reminded of a comment made one afternoon decades ago by a relationships expert, on an episode of Sally Jesse Raphael or Montel Williams or Maury Povitch-- they said "In a relationship, both people should always give 60% of themselves, but only expect 40% from their partner."

Wise words. In effect, the expert warned that relationships should NOT  be 50-50; they should actually be 60-60, which I imagine would work very well for most couples, except maybe for a pairing of mathematicians who just couldn't wrap their heads around that particular solution.

In our ego-centric culture, it's not surprising that people are often holding out on giving that extra 10%-- they figure, 'Why should I? My significant other isn't!' For most aspects of life they would be right, but love connections are a special animal that allows us to think of others before ourselves... if we're doing it right, that is.

As a matter of fact, if you're ever wondering 'do I actually love this person?', your answer might be found in your actions-- DO you give more of yourself than you expect from your mate? Do you place all the collected actions in the relationship up to a microscope to determine who is giving more... who is the 'better' mate?

Here's a secret: If you put your relationship on a balance scale to find the 'winner', there isn't going to be one-- just a couple of 'losers'.

Well, here's one 'loser' that plans to 'win' the next time I jump on that bandwagon. I'm all about the learning and growth. Which, I will freely admit, is a big change for me.

If you were to ask me why I married my (now EX) wife while we were still married, I would say "Because I love her!" But if you were to ask me after a long night of drinking with my buddies, I would probably 'fess up with, "Because she has the best ass I have ever seen."

Not only would that be true, it would show a remarkable amount of immaturity on my part. But no more or less than my ex wife, who would have answered the question with, "Because he has great moneymaking potential." You see, we were BOTH immature, and getting married for SO the wrong reasons.

Although... in a historical sense, we both got married for exactly the RIGHT reasons! In humanity's past, potential mates were judged for their ability to contribute to survival (moneymaking potential) and the ability to produce a strong stock of children (good physical form). Of course, in the past there would be no divorce and we would stay married until death... or until one of us killed the other... which I guess, actually is 'until death', huh?

But NOW is not THEN. Now we get married (if we're smart) based on how well we get along, how much respect we have for one another... and how horny the other makes us (yeah, that one is still true, at least).

There was a time in the mid 1990's after I divorced my wife when I was looking for a woman who did NOT have any particular sexuality to me, because I thought it was that reason which caused me to choose my last mate poorly. I dated a nice person for a couple of years, but the relationship ultimately fail-- oops, I mean ENDED-- because there was NO SEX! She may have been just average-looking to me, but the way I treated her made her feel as though she were a pariah, or at least a bridge troll. That was unfair to her. We parted, but we are still on good terms-- I fessed up to her, using only the most circumspect of terms, and won her respect because of my honesty. Still, I felt like an enormous jerk, and vowed to be more open in the future.

Now I find myself free again; humbled yet wiser, modest and hopeful. I feel too old to receive trembling, heart-thumping love again; the best I hope for is a comfortable coexistence. But I worry, too- have I become too set in my ways to accept someone, anyone at all, living an entire life with ways completely their own? And although I'm not looking for a cover girl nor runway model, many of the eligible women my age have given up to the terrors of time and remind me of my dear departed grandma-- wonderful people though they might be, I feel too youthful to align with someone not my own mental age. The women who look the age I feel, I fear, not only don't remember that Paul McCartney was in a band before Wings; they don't even know who Paul McCartney IS!

Quite a quandary I find myself in. Of course, there's always my ex-wife; the mother of my child, the tortured soul whose head I creased with a soda can-- a regrettable move that began this whole journey of court-ordered self-exploration-- who constantly hints that we will end up growing old together. Knowing our relationship the way I do, I can't envision any future with her that doesn't end with a gun to my own temple, and her (or myself) holding the trigger. No, that's not going to happen, although I see us remaining casual friends until our natural (!) deaths.

I'm also feeling a little sorry for myself. My once-firm keg has become soft (I'm certain there once was a six-pack under it all, but no more); the rich mane of hair I sported in my 20's now resembles the fuzz on Phil Spector's head (Hm. Maybe I shouldn't reference Phil Spector in an Anger Management Blog); and the deep valleys and crags of my rock-climbing youth I now wear on my face for all to see. So no, I no longer look like Superman('s plumber), more like his Chia Pet. But I hear women of all ages appreciate self-deprecating humor, so I have a leg up in this Quest For (romantic) Fire.

No judgement, please. If you are in the market for a funny, smart, usually sweet recovering canoholic, I may be exactly right for you. I enjoy long sits at the beach, shuffleboard on the Lido Deck and dinner at 4:30. I am passionate about the grape-- a tall glass of red Welch's makes any meal a treat. Hobbies include staring out the window and staring at my silent phone. As a gourmet, I love the delicate flavor of strained Canadian bacon and Kaopectate. Call me! My number is Murray Hill 3. Gladys the operator can connect you.

Oh, and don't worry. An earring in the RIGHT ear means gay. One in the left just means I wanna be a PIRATE, and I'm keeping it. No ARRRguments.