Vikar’s Rant

TO MY READERS - This is a snippit from my first novel of the Garden State Guardian series - This one is called “Rakshasa Nights”. Enjoy this bit of it.

“A young woman has young claws, well sharpened. If she has character, that is. And if she hasn’t so much the worse for you.”
- Henri Matisse

Killing Me Softly with His Song started to play softly in the background of the Point Pleasant Boardwalk bar. Gino sipped at his scotch slowly. He enjoyed its warmth and the peat oaken taste of 15 year old single malt Macallan scotch, savoring each molecule as it made its way past his taste buds on its route to his stomach. The wonderful thing about scotch is that it made a nice even drunkenness. He knew that once he hit a certain point of scotch drinking, it wasn’t going to get any worse. Gino knew he’d sleep that dead sleep that every Scotch drinker lived for. He had enough money now to not worry about drinking the cheap stuff after the really good stuff. It was his personal habit to have a glass of Johnny Walker Green Label first and then switch to the Black or Red Label. Tonight he stuck to the Macallan, keeping the bottle. This was his tradition after some of his more ghoulish jobs. He’d bang a stripper right after the job and then enjoy some scotch the next night with some of his earnings. There were worse ways to spend an evening.

The smoke-free bar was dimly lit with soft ambient light that reflected off of the bar mirrors. He mourned the absence of cigarette machines as well as the stale smoke that was always ever present in these old Jersey bars. The sure sign of a proper bar that subtly banned the yuppie class and their ilk was a cigarette machine in a corner implying second hand smoke in this building was a given and if you didn’t like it you should get the hell out. Why couldn’t he enjoy a good scotch and a cigarette in the same room? Instead, new minds under the guise of political correctness, took away one of the few simple joys that adults have. Still, he was thankful that places like this still existed as more and more of them were going out of business in favor of TGIFriday’s and Chili’s restaurant sports bars.

Sometimes a man just wanted to drink in peace. He just wanted a few minutes alone with his booze without the distraction of some stupid yuppie mother who thought it was her God given right to have her kids run amuck screaming around the tables. He sat back closing his eyes and inhaled, wishing he had a cigarette right now. Yeah, he needed a good smoke. Maybe later he’d even spend a few bucks to get some Sinatra tunes going in the music box.

Gino couldn’t stand it any longer. He laid a twenty on the bar and motioned to the bartender. “I’m just gonna grab a smoke outside,” he said. “Can you watch my drink?”

The bartender nodded knowing his tip would increase geometrically if he did.

Gino staggered out of the back exit of the bar into the soft July night. Macallan’s could pack a punch. He could still hear the music floating out from the bar. Telling my whole life with his words… The bar’s back alley stank of the sweet sour smell of garbage and rotting meat from the dumpster. Added to it was the nauseating stench of summer sun incubated vomit from some stupid Benny who just couldn’t hold his booze.

However, the open air did make some allowances. Through the stench he could still smell the air of the ocean cutting through all of the crap. The words of his father kept coming back to him about the salt from the sea breeze being a natural healing element. Even through the hot July heat he could still feel the cool crispness of the brine through his nostrils. Things were tolerable out here. Hell, this was nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a nice cigarette.

Gino fished a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his suit jacket pocket. It was a nice warm night that lost most of its humidity after the sun went down. Maybe if he was feeling a bit playful he’d hit either the Tiki Bar or another strip club somewhere else. His lips gripped the butt of the cigarette as he struck the match with his thumb. He inhaled allowing the smoke and nicotine to nestle into his lungs then he blew out the smoke in a slow thin stream. I heard he sang a good song I heard he had a style… The music drifted into his ears. Gino took another drag of his cigarette.

There was some noise of empty glass beer bottles rattling from or near the dumpster.

Probably rats, he thought. Some more beer bottles tinkled against the dumpster side and tumbled in the garbage. Gino took another drag of his cigarette. And there he was this young boy… Was that something in back of that trash can? It looked like a foot or a fuzzy slipper of some sort. Gino craned his head, squinting his eyes through his own scotch induced haze. Sometimes scotch screwed with your mind if you drank too much of it. He thought he’d seen a head; but who would be poking around a dumpster in Point Pleasant? That was something for the Hudson County homeless. The cops ran those people out of town. Point Pleasant, which had a different kind of vagrant, was a bit more upscale. Point Pleasant was for a higher caliber of criminal.

It was a head. Gino stumbled closer to the dumpster. My God! Was that a woman? No, it wasn’t just a woman; it was that stripper he’d been with last night. She was so hot and she could move. Her hips were electric and she had the chest, arms, and legs that few men could resist. What was she doing here? Strumming my pain with his fingers… Singing my life with his words… She straightened up and slinked toward Gino. She was maybe fifteen feet away.

Why was she here? He must have dropped at least two C-notes on her last night alone. If he played his cards right, maybe he could have her again for nothing. That would be perfect. Subconsciously straightening his tie and jacket, he ran his fingers through his hair and started to walk slowly toward her. What he wouldn’t do for a mirror right now.

Damn! That smell was just awful. Things would have been perfect without the smell of that shit in the air. Was it his imagination or was it getting worse as he got closer to her. Funny, he remembered that she had this exotic and tantalizing perfume on last night. It was the second or third thing that he noticed when he first met her. Last night that perfume was her engraved invitation to all of her physical delights, offering, in Gino’s base mind, the possibility of every carnal desire he’d ever had. Then, suddenly, there it was. Now he smelled the perfume, it was inviting… alluring. I felt all flushed with fever… Embarrassed by the crowd…

He was ten feet away from her.

“Hey babe, What brings you around here?” Gino said with olive oil charm and smiled. She smiled back, motioning with a curling index finger for him to follow her away from the bar. He took another three steps toward her. Oh, that scent was intoxicating. He watched her ass as she walked around to another fenced off area. Maybe he wouldn’t need the hotel room. She wanted him now for nasty back alley sex. He was just a few feet away from the fence. He had to have her, now.

I pray that he would finish… But he just kept right on… Gino turned the corner.

The only thing he saw was the talon. Five six inch razor sharp claws lacerated the left side of his face, cutting and crushing almost everything beneath the skin. Gino’s hand instinctively reached for his own face and his fingers touched the bare surface of his cheekbone. His left eyeball was barely contained within his now mutilated eye socket. He looked up just in time to see the heel of a large hand come down on his cranium. Gino staggered back. Strumming my pain with his fingers… Singing my life with his words… He started to reach for his shoulder holster as another swipe of the talon hit his forearm. His hand was gone before he could get to his coat. Gino raised his arm to see nothing but a bloody stump where his hand should be. He shrieked. Killing me softly with his song… Killing me softly with his song… The scream stopped short as the talon raked, ripped, and separated Gino’s throat and jugular vein from the rest of his body.

Everything was getting darker. He couldn’t make his legs work anymore. He was pulled forward toward the fence when the force of a sledge hammer hit his chest opening his torso, and pulled downward. Gino’s stomach and entrails spilled out onto the pavement.

The last thing that Gino saw with his one working eye was the face of the thing that had massacred him. It had large savage almost feline eyes and its fangs were the size of his outstretched hand. Its ears were lupine. Every inch of the creature was covered wiry gray fur. Then its hand-claws came down one last time and then Gino saw nothing but blackness and the void.

Wary of others, the demon kept to the dark.

The demon looked down at his work. He took his hand claw and rubbed absent mindedly with his knuckles at the center of his forehead where the remains of a bullet hole had been. He smiled to himself, if such a facial expression from a mouth so full of teeth could be called a smile, then licked Gino’s blood and bile from his long talons with his large green-black tongue. The professional had been good food for his body and “chicken soup” for his soul. Entrails with blood and bile with a hint of 15 year old single malt scotch were a rare delicacy indeed.

He reached for Gino’s head and with a slurping sound sucked each of the professional’s eyes into his mouth, softly squeezed them on his back molars. They exploded like ripe peas with two soft inaudible pops. Then he took the rest of Gino’s head opening his mouth while dislocating his jaw like a giant trash compactor. The head tumbled into his gaping mouth. Then the demon closed his mouth with great force making one loud sickening crunch.

He took his knifelike claws and stripped Gino’s thighs to the femur bones. Growing nostalgic, he remembered every Thanksgiving dinner when he used a knife to carve a turkey for himself and Loretta. His talons could cut through human flesh just as easily with the same effort of spreading soft margarine. He scooped the entrails from the pavement with his talons then slurped them up through his teeth as if they were long pieces of spaghetti.

Two hulk-like arms popped Gino’s lifeless upper limbs from his torso and the demon placed each in his mouth and stripped them clean between his teeth. He did the same with the other. Then as a matter of whimsy, the demon bit down chewing Gino’s remaining hand and feet.

As the demon swallowed the last recognizable bit of the professional, he found humor remembering that “there could be no identification.” He threw the rest of Gino into the bar dumpster knowing that the body would be rotting in tomorrow’s hot July sun. He licked what passed for his lips with his long snake tongue and looked up into the night.

His business and personal vengeance were done for now. The demon closed his eyes and relaxed as he melted into the form of a bird then quickly flew away from the beach to join the others.

For those of you who do not know. This is the often used, often misinterpreted list of critical words women use in their daily vocabulary. This is required reading for marriage.

(1) Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.

(2) Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

(3) Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.

(4) Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don’t Do It!

(5) Loud Sigh: This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing.
(Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)

(6) That’s Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That’s okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

(7) Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say you’re welcome. (I want to add in a clause here - This is true, unless she says ‘Thanks a lot’ - that is PURE sarcasm and she is not thanking you at all. DO NOT say ‘you’re welcome’ . That will bring on a ‘whatever’).

(8) Whatever: Is a woman’s way of saying F– YOU!

(9) Don’t worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking ‘What’s wrong?’ For the woman’s response refer to # 3.

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.”
- Mathew 7:1

“We live in illusion and the appearance of things. There is a reality. We are that reality. When you understand this, you see that you are nothing, and being nothing, you are everything. That is all.”
- Kalu Rinpoche, Tibetan Lama

“I think he’s lost his family, it’s not clear to me if he’ll be able to have a relationship with his children, but the Tiger Woods that emerges once the news value dies out of this scandal — the extent to which he can recover — seems to me to depend on his faith. He’s said to be a Buddhist; I don’t think that faith offers the kind of forgiveness and redemption that is offered by the Christian faith. So my message to Tiger would be, ‘Tiger, turn to the Christian faith and you can make a total recovery and be a great example to the world.”
- Brit Hume

Aren’t we blessed to have someone like Brit Hume in this day and age?

Just when I was thinking how my life is out of balance and what I should do to save my soul and put my life back on track, Brit had the answer for everyone: Christianity. After all, if Tiger’s seven time damned whore mongering soul has a chance of being redeemed through Christianity, then me, as a loud mouthed blasphemer, should have no problem at all.

According to Brit, Buddhism does not offer the redemption and forgiveness as Christianity does. Wow. What a mind. After the last decade or so in my studies of comparative religion, I never would have had the co hones to make such an empirical statement. And now, Brit, on national television (let alone the internet), has enlightened us with his divine knowledge of all paths. He told us as to what is right and what is wrong.

That’s something else.

Okay, so which brand of Christianity should we go to? There’s Amish, Catholicism, Christian Science, Eastern Orthodoxy, Gnosticism, Jesus People, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mandaeanism, Maya, Lutheranism, the Episcopal Church, Mormonism, Opus Dei, Pentecostalism, Protestantism, Quaker, Santeria, Unitarian, and oh, a couple of hundred other flavors. Which one of them offers the particular cure all of proper penance for someone like Tiger or even someone like me?

If Tiger was a Buddhist, I can tell you now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the path he chose. After all is said and done with the media as well as his personal failings as to the vows he took with his wife, the one person who is going to have to forgive Tiger is… Tiger.

I mean that’s what we are talking about. Brit was concerned about Tiger’s actual soul. My experience with Christianity shows that penance is gained by three very specific methods: 1) personal penance after sufficient reflection, 2) a priest after going into a booth and saying magical Latin words and a bunch of prayers to be said by the sinner, or 3) Christian rebirth or being “born again”. The last two are the equivalent of having some kind of charlatan wave his arms about and say, “Heal, heal, feel my power.”

The first solution, however, is very similar to the meditation Buddhists do. What’s more, a compassionate Buddhist would never have cheated on his wife to begin with. He would have been mindful enough to not cause that kind of pain to another person.

Now, I’m not a total hypocrite. I realize that there are also several flavors of Buddhism out there as well. However, the base of Buddhism, as well as the REAL base of Christianity, boil down to the same phrase – “Love one another.” The real difference with Buddhism and Christianity is that Buddhism is more tolerant of other religions. Indeed, a Christian believer can enhance their spiritual experience by using the techniques taught in Buddhism. There is no real conflict – only on the Christian side. It is an enhancement. It is a method of knowing yourself and being mindful of your own actions. It is done without all of the dogma and silly mythology that is attached to most Christian religions.

It can also be said that true Buddhism is not a religion at all. It more teaches us awareness of the present moment and the realization that we are all one entity. So therefore, compassion is a given. Buddhism is a method and a philosophy that can be measured through science at times and through quantum physics.

So, what am I saying after all of this in regard to Brit Hume and his proselytizing. Simply that Brit doesn’t know at all. The kindest thing I can say is that Christianity works for him. Which is nice but it’s not for everyone – which is contrary to most Christian doctrines. The worst thing I can say about Hume is that he chose national television to express his opinion about a subject that he failed to research as a newsman.

And that should never be done on a news network… not even on Fox.

The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn’t just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s:

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water.The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, Don’t throw the baby out with the Bath water.

Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying.. It’s raining cats and dogs.

There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house.This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That’s how canopy beds came into existence..

The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, Dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entranceway. Hence the saying a thresh hold.

(Getting quite an education, aren’t you?)

In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme, Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old..

Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat.

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.

England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell.Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a …dead ringer

I recall my first time with a condom, I was 16 or so. I went in to buy a packet of condoms at the pharmacy.

There was this beautiful woman assistant behind the counter, and she could see that I was new at it. She handed me the package and asked if I knew how to wear one.

I honestly answered, ‘No, this is my first time.’

So she unwrapped the package, took one out and slipped it over her thumb. She cautioned me to make sure it was on tight and secure.

I apparently still looked confused. So she looked all around the store to see if it was empty. It was empty.

‘Just a minute,’ she said, and walked to the door, and locked it. Taking my hand, she led me into the back room, unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. She unhooked her bra and laid it aside. ‘Do these excite you?’ she asked. Well, I was so dumb-struck that all I could do was nod my head. She then said it was time to slip the condom on. As I was slipping it on, she dropped her skirt, removed her panties and lay down on a desk. ‘Well, come on’, she said, ‘We don’t have much time.’

So I climbed on her. It was so wonderful, that unfortunately, I could no longer hold back and KAPOW, I was done within few minutes.

She looked at me with a bit of a frown. ‘Did you put that condom on?’ she asked.

I said, ‘I sure did,’ and held up my thumb to show her.

She fainted.

A man and his wife were awakened at 3:00 am by a loud pounding on the door. The man gets up and goes to the door where a drunken stranger, standing in the pouring rain, is asking for a push.

‘Not a chance,’ says the husband, ‘it is 3:00 in the morning!’

He slams the door and returns to bed.

‘Who was that?’ asked his wife.

‘Just some drunk guy asking for a push,’ he answers.

‘Did you help him?’ she asks.

‘No, I did not, it is 3:00 in the morning and it is pouring rain out there!’

‘Well, you have a short memory,’ says his wife. ‘Can’t you remember about three months ago when we broke down, and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him, and you should be ashamed of yourself!’

The man does as he is told, gets dressed, and goes out into the pounding rain.

He calls out into the dark, ‘Hello, are you still there?’

‘Yes,’ comes back the answer.

‘Do you still need a push?’ calls out the husband..

‘Yes, please!’ comes the reply from the dark.

‘Where are you?’ asks the husband.

‘Over here on the swing,’ replied the drunk.

Once, on a very windy day, a rabbi was on his way to the temple. Suddenly a strong gust of wind blew his streimel (fur hat) off his head. The rabbi ran after his hat but the wind was so strong it kept blowing his hat farther and farther away. He could not catch up with it.

A young man, a non-Jew, witnessing this event and being more fit than the rabbi, ran after the hat, caught it and handed it over to the rabbi. The rabbi was so happy and grateful that he gave the man five dollars and put his hand on the man’s head and blessed him. The young man was very excited about the tip and the blessing and decided to go to the racetrack and bet his 5 unexpected dollars.

After the races the young 20 year old man returns home and recounted his very exciting day at the races to his father. “I arrived at the fifth race,” said the young man, “looked at the racing program and saw a horse by the name of ‘Top Hat’ running. The odds on the horse were 100 to 1. The longest shot in the field.

Having received the rabbi’s blessing and the 5 dollars and thinking of the rabbi’s hat and the horse’s name being “Top Hat”, I thought this was a message from God, so I bet the entire 5 dollars on this horse.

An amazing thing happened, the horse that was the longest shot in the field and who did not have the slightest chance to even show came in first by 5 lengths.”

“You must have made a fortune,” said his father.

“Yes, $500, but wait, it gets better,” replied the son. “On the following race, I looked at the program. A horse “Stetson” was running. The odds on the horse were 30 to 1. Stetson being some kind of hat and again thinking of the rabbi’s blessing and his hat, I decided to bet all my winnings on this horse.”

“What happened?” asked the excited father.

“The horse Stetson won and I collected big money.”

“You mean you brought home all this money?” asked his excited father.

“No,” said the son, “I lost it all on the next race. There was a horse in this race named ‘Chateau’ so I bet all the money on it because the horse was the heavy favorite and the name also means hat in French and it all started with the rabbi’s hat.

But the horse broke down and came in last.”

“Hat in French is ‘Chapeau’ not ‘Chateau,’ said is father. You lost all that money because of your ignorance. Tell me who won the race anyway?”

“A long shot Japanese horse named ‘Yamaka.’”

Eggs, milk, and bread

“Raindrops are falling on my head, But that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turning red. Crying’s not for me, cuz, I’m never gonna stop the rain by complaining because I’m free. Nothing’s worrying me.”
- B.J. Thomas, Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

“I’m singing in the rain, just singin in the rain. What a glorious feeling I’m happy again.”
- Gene Kelly, Singing in the Rain

“If you give me what I want, I’ll go away.”
- André Linoge, Stephen King’s Storm of the Century

(Originally written April 16th, 2002)

Has anyone other than myself noticed that the moment a snowflake hits the ground people lose their freaking minds?

The same phenomenon happens when any kind of rain hits the road. People forget how to drive. I don’t know why this happens, it just does.

For anyone that lives outside of the Tri-state area, let me tell you what happens the moment snow is forecast on television. Everyone anticipates a craving for French Toast. And they have to have it no matter what. Why do I say this? Easy. It’s due to the inexplicable run on milk, eggs, and bread that happen the night before a storm (even if the storm doesn’t happen, it’s the same thing). Hey, quick culinary question: What are the ingredients for French Toast? (Milk, eggs, and Bread - and cinnamon if you want to get fancy)

People panic - plain and simple. There is an innate fear that they will be snowed in their houses and be stuck with sour milk, stale bread, and rotten eggs. Let me tell you right now - if I am ever snow bound in my house again, whether I have milk, eggs, and bread are the last things I’m going to worry about.

I will be worrying about things like water, heat, electricity, and whether my VCR and DVD players are working properly. I can live without eating milk, eggs, or bread for more than one or EVEN TWO days. It’s not like I’m going to go through yolk withdrawal or have an immediate need for yeast products (well, other than beer, that is.) But one thing is for sure, I will not panic.

You see, I survived the blizzard of 1996. I remember it very well. The day before the storm was spring-like. My landlady, at the time, was having a barbeque in her backyard. It was a beautiful day. The forecast of snow was literally a joke. And then it happened - SNOW out of nowhere. 40 some odd inches of the stuff. I couldn’t go to work because not only were the buses not running but the PATH trains weren’t running either. I couldn’t go to work if I wanted to. And I didn’t have milk, eggs, or bread, either. My wife and I lived off of whatever was left in the fridge and I watched old movies and played video games for 3 days.

And you know what? I lived.

The saddest instance I can remember was that in March 2001 when the “storm of the century” was predicted. I remember that one as well. I left a perfectly good St. Patrick’s Day party in Staten Island to try to beat the storm. And let me tell you, I drove through the “storm of the century”. I got home to Freehold and I watched the snow fall as it failed to cover the height of the grass. It was pathetic. Every weather forecaster got it wrong except for Alan Casper on NJ 101.5, who said that he didn’t think it was going to be bad at all. And the one thing I can definitely tell you was that the stores were free of milk, eggs, and bread.

Give me a break.

When did competent mature adults turn into a bunch of gun shy trembling old ladies? When did it happen when, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” was no longer funny? (I still laugh my ass off.) OH NO! Don’t let it snow! I might be indoors for more than a DAY? I think it’s a fear that we are going to reenact the Donner Family Christmas Special (subtitled - What To Do On A Snow Day). I tell you as rational human beings we are better than what pieces of quivering jello the modern media is frightening people into.

For God’s sake! What would happen if the pioneers could see the weak willed bunch of pansies we’ve turned into? I think they’d kill themselves in a fit of depression. It’s bad enough that mothers are about an inch away from wrapping their kids in bubble wrap before they go outside to play. Could you imagine what a pioneer would say if he heard a modern adult panic that he didn’t have fresh milk in the house before a snow storm?

Here’s the other thing that gets me? Why is it that during a rain storm the majority of drivers forget how to drive? GOD! I hate these people! I understand that the most dangerous time on the road is during the first few minutes of a storm because the water is causing the car oils in the asphalt to rise to the surface (making the road slippery when wet). But after about 15 minutes, it really isn’t a concern anymore. I say use a little caution but don’t slow down to a snails craw. That’s all you need.

A. Little. Caution.

I try to not make fun of being prepared. After all, I was a boy scout at one point of my life (got merit badges, too). I don’t make fun of having a “plan B.” That only makes sense. But there is such a thing as being too cautious. And people who exercise too much caution are the first ones in a straight jacket.

Believe me, I came really close to seeing those buckles up close.

Here’s a good story about me exercising too much caution and having it blow up in my face anyway.*

It was two days before we closed on our house in Freehold. My wife and I were going crazy, moving stuff out of our house in Secaucus to my Grandmother’s basement in Bricktown**. This was to create less cargo for the movers and therefore making less time for them moving thereby making the cost of moving cheaper***. In absence of a truck or SUV, I was using our Honda Accord to transport all of the stuff from place to place and making many trips down south.

On top of all of this, my sister, Michele, was getting married the DAY AFTER we closed on the house and yours truly was in the wedding party. The wedding ceremony and reception was in Howell. So, the itinerary that I had to keep was pretty tight and of course, I had a plan that I could not stray from.

This, being our first house purchase, made life about as frantic as a hemophiliac in a razor factory. On top of all the trifles of moving and wedding, we had financial issues to consider. Would we have enough money in the bank for the closing? What was the number we had to bring? Would we be able to get to the bank with the cashier’s check, drive down to Howell (on a Friday) take care of business and then get to the wedding rehearsal dinner that night? It was a lot to consider. Moving day was the Monday after the wedding.

I figured a time table that would ensure some amount of comfort and efficiency that would keep us happy and sane. I got my father to move one or two things that were bulky and could be transported in his car that would save me a trip.

So, take this in.

It’s Wednesday, after I get home from work, I pack and drive. I come back (my wife is at her job until 7:PM with the other car).

Thursday, I take off of work and pack, move stuff, and drive to Bricktown …a couple of times.

Friday morning, get closing cost number from our lawyer then pick up the cashier’s check from my bank in Jersey City. Drive down to Howell to my parents house. Drop off the dog (Casey). Go to the lawyers office. Do the walk through on the house in Freehold. Come back to Howell and close on the house. Go to the local DMV and change my address on licence so I can get a parking pass for my future hellish commute to New York City. Pick up the dog and bring him to the new house (with cage). Rest. At 7:PM go to the wedding rehearsal, then to rehearsal dinner (fortunately it was close to the new house). Go back up to Secaucus, and go to sleep.

Saturday morning, pick up tux in Middletown. Shower at the new house then go to my parents before the wedding for pictures (Sherry would be picking up her mother in West New York, NJ to join me later). The rest of Saturday was a wash. Go home to Secaucus. Sleep.

Sunday, get up early and do the rest of the packing and bring stuff down to Bricktown, drive back up to Secaucus, finish packing for the movers that were coming - Monday Morning at 10:AM.

That was what was supposed to happen, anyway.

The excrement hit the rotating air circulation device on Wednesday.

Wednesday, on one of the trips to the storage bin, the muffler fell out of the Accord. The plan I had was contingent really on one thing, that we had two cars. One for me to move things and one for my wife to get around and do things. My parents could not help because they were involved with stuff for my sister’s wedding and we really had no one else to turn to.

So, what happened? (Other than my confirmation that there was no existence of a kind loving beneficial God. The one that was in charge at the time was the Old Testament make Moses wander the desert for 40 years for one indiscretion.****)

Bright and early the next morning, the day before the closing, I took the car to Midas and had the car fixed. This ate away at the comfort margin that we had for wedding and closing plans as I had to stay with the car and wait for the repairs to happen. Non stop packing and practically no sleep for 4 days. *****

But the point, I’m trying to make is that I had this entire itinerary meticulously planned and the one contingency I did not account for Murphy’s Law took care of. Ahhhhh! What happens to the best laid plans?

So, tell me that I should err on the side of caution. I’ll say you should have a couple of slices of French Toast… with cinnamon.

* - Ironically, enough, this is almost 4 years ago to the day.
** - Secaucus to Bricktown - distance approximately 80 miles.
*** - These bozos are paid hourly. The less time they spend moving the less money it would cost for me.
**** - My wife would argue this point saying that it was a good thing that the muffler fell off close to the house and could have fallen off on the Turnpike or Parkway. I say, “Why did it have to fall off at all?”
*****- We still got shafted on the price of the move, as the hidden cost of the movers using their tape at their prices was a scam job. Warning to NJ residents use a big name company and not the movers I used. The estimate was half of the actual cost. Nice, huh?

“Bartenders and doctors speak to the same types of people: the living and the dying.”
- Dr. Phillip Boyce, Chief Medical Officer USS Enterprise under Capt. Christopher Pike (The Cage)

“Doctor! Doctor! Will I ever play the violin?”
- Henny Youngman, (still painful)

(Originally written June 16th, 2002)

I think there is really nothing worse than being sick.

I sit here typing this on third day of a summer flu and what I can tell you is that there just is no relief in sight. Even when you are feeling a little bit better, it’s just a tease because the moment you get up and start doing “normal” things, that’s when it gets you. You get that little bit of perspiration and oh so wonderful dizziness and you are back on your back again.

In the last three weeks, I’ve had a double whammy.

3 weeks ago, while in our back area, standing in our bed of weeds, I pointed to a patch of weeds and said to my wife, “Hey Honey, You see that? That’s Poison Ivy. Don’t touch that.” Meanwhile I’m standing in the patch, wearing shorts. To make matters worse, I decided to take action and get rid of it from my yard. Did I use weed killer? No. I decided the best most efficient way was to pluck it bare handed and throw it away.

A week later, I had rashes all over my body.

They are just going away now, as of this writing. But for two weeks I had calamine lotion all over my body to stop the itching and scratched anyway. Two days ago, I had an itch on my shin that I scratched until I bled. That was the last of it.

The one thing you have to realize is that during that time, I couldn’t work out at all. I couldn’t touch anything or anyone. That would include barbells and what’s worse, I wasn’t allowed to sweat. That would have spread the oil to other parts of my body. So, my routine was completely off.

Just as I was starting to feel like myself again, I felt a certain tightness at the back of my throat. I really didn’t think much about it, other than I probably swallowed something I shouldn’t have. Plus, I had more than enough Jolly Ranchers* at my desk to keep my throat feeling okay.

That was Wednesday.

On Thursday, the pain in my throat was much worse. Again, I decided that I was bigger than this problem and went about my normal routine. I went to work, started installing the software to my new PC (Dell 933 mHz - 14 Gig - 256 Megbyte SDRAM - Windows XP Professional) and everything seemed to be okay. I had candy. So, everything was going to be peachy.

That night, I had to pay a bill on my JC Penney Credit Card. So, my wife and I went to the local mall to do it. About 20 minutes and 7 comic books later, I started to hear a rattling in my chest as I breathed. I decided the best thing was to go home. I thought it was a good idea, after all my wife had just bought the second season of Father Ted** on DVD and I was looking forward to watching it. I mentioned the sore throat to my wife and she said she would look at it when we got home.

Now, you have to picture this. We get home. I sit down in the easy chair and my wife comes out of the kitchen with the one flashlight we have in the house. It’s one of those HUGE security guard flashlights. She tells me to open my mouth and put my head back. She makes the “not good” face and tells me that my throat is inflamed with little pus thingys and a big blister on the back.

Oh, joy.

This is something you should know about my wife. She is into herbal and home made remedies. She believes that nature’s way is the best way. I am not like this. I believe that medical science has come a long way since leeches and will take pharmecuticals when I can. If I have a sore throat, I will suck on a lozenge. If I have a headache, I’ll take an Advil.

My wife opted that I should take some of her witch’s brew. She went into my kitchen and started to…. do things. I’m not saying she was cooking, I’m saying she was doing… things. Ten minutes later she came back into the living room with this stuff in a mug. She said, “Drink.”

So, me being stupid, as usual, I did.

GOD! IT WAS AWFUL. It was the worst thing that I ever put into my mouth ever. I thought I was going to puke. It smelled horrendously bad but that was nothing compared to the taste. I did everything in my power to stop from reflexively spitting it out. And I swallowed it. Its vinegary taste burned my throat. It was like I just chugged a mouthful of hot Italian salad dressing but it was salad dressing that was left out on the table for about two months. BLEEECH!!!

“You have to finish it,” she said, “or else, it won’t work.”

And, me being the stupidest human being in existance, took another swallow. GOD!! The second swallow was worse than the first one. I was thinking that since I had already tasted it that my tastebuds would know what was coming. Nope. Apparently, the really foul stuff was closer to the bottom of the cup. It tasted much like the vinegar mixture from the first sip with just a hint of ear wax. This was not getting any better. I took another swallow, again thinking that it was going to improve. No, the hint of ear wax was now more than a suggestion. The only thing worse than drinking this would be having to gargle with it and then swallow. Fortunately, this was not the case. I finished the contents, finally, and managed to keep my gorge in my stomach.

I watched Father Ted, afterward, then went to sleep around tenish.

Friday morning, I woke up with my throat on fire. It was as if I had swallowed a golf ball with spikes. I also felt as if the Grim Reaper had used my teeth to sharpen his tools while I was asleep. I wasn’t going to work - that was for certain. I went back to sleep because I knew my boss most likely wouldn’t be in until 8:AM, and it being 5:AM, sleep was the best alternative. My theory on being sick, is the first thing a person should try is bed rest. If that doesn’t work see a doctor. I quietly mumbled to my wife that I was not going in today. As Friday is not a workday for her, I had someone to watch me most of the day.

I said before, that there is nothing worse than being sick. Here are some of the reasons why.

The first and foremost is that there is nothing on TV. Daytime TV, unless you are going to be on Jerry Springer or are a complete and total loser, should never be watched. It should be a deterrant to the unemployed. If you are out of work and find yourself watching daytime TV - STOP.

Stop quickly. Do not pass go! Do not collect $200! Go directly away from the TV.

If you start watching daytime TV and do not feel IQ points being sucked out of your head, it’s too late. The damage has been done. This is because if you aren’t watching the Discovery Channel or the History Channel, you are watching complete and total garbage. These are the shows they stick on people who have no money to spend in a supermarket. So, naturally, they suck. This is Judge Judy time. This is the time for Jerry Springer. Or even worse (although it’s very hard to get worse than Springer) - soap operas. This is for people without a life. They don’t have a life, so they go and watch manufactured stories of someone else’s life. It is truly pathetic. And, apparently, once people get hooked on soap operas, they become addicted. I’m sure it was bad during the eighties when young girls were main lining “Luke and Laura” for their General Hospital fix.

Another thing that becomes increasingly disturbing, the longer you are sick, is you start to become a cold medicine connoiseur. Should you have lemon Theraflu with chicken soup or should you just stick with a buttered roll? Will a shot of regular flavored NiQuil keep you from eating anything else for the rest of your life or should you play it safe with cherry NiQuil shots? Are you a NiQuil man or a Robitussin man? Do you prefer the taste of new Robitussin or the old “stroke-making” flavor? Should you drink camamile tea or hot apple cider with vinegar and honey? Decisions…. decisions.

I find Robitussin D with a twist of lemon Theraflu to be the choice of champions. One shot of that, equivalent to two teaspoons, after a piping hot mug of lemon Theraflu with a drop of honey can really make your fever enhanced halucinations really entertaining. I take this in an easy chair with my least favorite flannel pajamas and let the good times roll. It beats daytime television and you don’t even need a remote control.

The problem is that when you take this a small steathly individual sneaks into the house and plays with the clocks. 10:AM - Close eyes. Open eyes - the clock reads 12:PM. Close eyes again. Open eyes - the clock reads 1:30. He’s really good and really fast. I don’t know how he does the sunlight trick, though. Maybe someday, I’ll find out.

The worst part of being sick is that actual being sick. This last volley with the sore throat, came with a headache and the runs. Later, it was followed by runny nose and congestion. There is nothing like the feeling of being like wet lint. Also, there is nothing like blowing your nose and having a mustache. That feeling is just wonderful. I’m sure the chemical reaction is very much like putting too much starch in a shirt and then wearing it wet. Unless, there is Advil on hand there really isn’t much you can do about a headache. You pretty much have to ride it out, doing whatever modern day mental yoga techniques that you can devise.

For sore throats, there is the lozenge route or you can take a multi-symptom medicine that may or may not be effective immediately. There is Robitussin, NiQuil, and/or Theraflu. NiQuil is my least favorite. The stuffy head, sneezing, sore throat, achey, so you can rest medicine may work wonders. But I just don’t like it. Cherry Niquil is bad but the liquorish flavored Niquil is the absolute worst. I can’t even smell it without wanting to heave. The most immediate thing you can take to put out a sore throat is NICE lozenges. Put your throat on ICE with NICE. It works for me in conjuction with everything else.

Right now (as I’m writing this) I am victim to the tickle in the back of my throat. This keeps me coughing steadily. Robitussin D comes with an expectorant. Or, loosely translated, something to keep you coughing phlegm out of your lungs every ten minutes. This makes for a charming picture. Cough, HACK, PTOOEY! Again. Ugh. This is also why the “sickness and health” line was included in the marriage vows - to remind your spouse she signed up for this knowing better. I’m the lucky one. My wife takes care of me. I’m clueless on how to take care of other people. What works well with me does not always work with everyone else.

There is however the old standby - chicken soup. Now, I, being married to a vegetarian, am the only one in the house that this works for. Medical science is turning to the wives’ tale of chicken soup due to the theraputic values of chicken fat. Apparently, there is something to it. I’m not one to argue. If it tastes good and does the job, it’s for me. My paternal grandmother was really into the chicken soup thing and was right everytime. I find that a strict diet of the stuff should get you on your feet within the week.

And that’s what I’m going to do right now. I’m going to have a nice bowl of chicken soup followed by my Robitussin Theraflu cocktail turn on my Jimmy Hendrix music and watch the show.

It’s 3:PM - Good night.

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* - Jolly Ranchers for those of you outside of the US are sucking candy.
** - Father Ted is one of the funniest shows produced on the BBC. Season 2 just came out on DVD. I recommend it highly.

“What else can I be? I live in a world of fools. ‘Merry Christmas’– out upon Merry Christmas! Tell me nephew, what’s Christmas to you? What good has it ever done you? You’re a year older and not an hour richer. You have bills to pay and not a penny to pay them with.”
- Ebeneezer Scrooge, A Christmas Carol

“All the Who’s down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot, but the Grinch who lived north of Whoville - did not.”
- Narrator (Boris Karloff), How The Grinch Stole Christmas

“If I had my way, every idiot who goes around with “Merry Christmas” on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart! ”
- Ebeneezer Scrooge, A Christmas Carol

“Enough with the ‘Merry Christmas’ willya? I’d like to take a candy cane and beat the wings off of a sugar plumb fairy.”
- Oscar Madison from The Odd Couple’s Christmas Episode

“I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas, and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the prisons and the workhouses, — they cost enough, — and those who are badly off must go there.”
- Ebeneezer Scrooge, A Christmas Carol

“For 53 years I’ve put up with this now! I have to stop Christmas from coming….but how?”
- The Grinch, How The Grinch Stole Christmas

(Originally written December 8th, 2002)

The Holidays.

I sit here today on the twenty-second anniversary of John Lennon’s death contempating when to start my shopping for the holidays. I’m certainly not in the mood for it. I have a rough decision to make. Should I either go Christmas shopping today or should I stick one of my appendages in an electrical socket? Decisions, decsions. These are the days I regret not taking advantage of Amazon.com.

Now, before you make any rash judgements about me, let me get a couple words in edgewise like these - “Christmas Shopping Sucks”. I’m sure that there are many of you out there that agree with me.

I am not one of these people that shops in July to get all of my shopping out of the way because I can’t be like that. One, usually, I don’t have the money to spend at the time and, two, - Who actually does shopping that early? Well, outside of my mother.

My mother, the cruel tease that she is, will ask me months in advance what I want for Christmas. And every year I make the same mistake over and over again - I tell her. For me, it’s a no win situation. Let me tell you why.

When you tell someone months in advance the one thing you want for the holiday, you basically can’t tell anyone else that item or you get duplicates. So the logical thing to do is to give her a low priority item. If I get it - fine, if I don’t get it - fine. That would be the smart thing to do. I never do that. I tell her straight off exactly what I want, and know that I’ll be disappointed if I don’t get it from anyone. This also means that I’ll neglect to tell my wife that item because, I know it’ll be taken care of by my mother. So, I’ll wait with much anticipation for the one gift I really want that I told the first person who asked. And that would be my mother.

So, what happens? I’ll ask for a CD and get a sweater. Plus, no one else will get me that CD because they don’t know to get it for me.

The other mistake is to tell her items with the phrase, “not” or “but”. I had an entire Christmas filled with these and lived to regret it. I asked my mother for a suit - Any color but brown. “I would like a watch - not a digital watch, one with hands. I’d like a sweater - any color but green. I’d like a tape player, not an 8-track. Get me a Cat Stevens CD, the only one I have is “The Very Best Of Cat Stevens”. So don’t get me that one. I already have it.”

Ask me how much I like my brown suit, digital watch, green sweater, and 8-track player. Oh, and by the way, does anyone want my extra copy of, “The Very Best Of Cat Stevens”? Now, I settle for comic books or anything else I could use an extra of.

But that’s me and my annual holiday disappointment. This rant is about shopping.

Peace on earth and good will toward man. May the idiot who first came up with that phrase be feeling every worm bite in his coffin. If I were to write a paper on the human condition and the very worst I can see, I’d park my ass in a mall and just observe. People are at their very worst during the holidays.

But don’t believe me. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that it’s my imagination. Tell me I’m jaded. Tell me the one about the three little pigs. Because it would be a fairy tale to me.

I live a stone’s throw from the Freehold Raceway Mall, Target, The Wiz, Bob’s Sports, CompUSA, and (my favorite) Barnes & Noble. Every year it’s the same thing. People forget how to drive for the entire month of December. All of those people are now driving near me. In the month of December, just getting in a car can be an adventure. However, I’ll overlook the fact that every car’s signaling system seems to short out all at the same time and that all of their rear view mirrors are not working in exchange for a parking space anywhere within walking distance of a store.

Actually, I have a parking spot.

My wife and I have found a blind spot in our local mall. We don’t know how or why this occurs but for some reason, people won’t park near Sears. The parking spots near Macy’s, JC Penney, Structure, and the Limited all are packed but Sears is like kryptonite for people parking cars. If you’re ever looking for either of our cars look around Sears and you’ll find them. Plus, we always know where we parked our cars.

My wife and I have made a pact as well. If either one of us doesn’t get exactly what he or she wanted to get for the other because it didn’t arrive on time or because they were out, it was okay. If it was coming later, we’d wait. If they were out - so what? And sometimes it’s cheaper to wait until after the holidays. It’s that much less stress for the holiday.

What I really can’t stand is all of the pushing, shoving, long lines, obnoxiousness, greed, programming, and general crap that is being perpetuated by Madison Avenue. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a diamond.” “The Spirit of Giving” “He knows when you’ve been sleeping, He knows when you’re awake.”* There is so much anger and hate during the holidays, I’m surprised that we can even squeeze in the peace, love, and goodwill. I am certain of a couple of things this holiday. I know that I will make at least one death threat to a stranger; I will shove an old lady; and I will most likely trip a child intentionally just because I was ticked. Take that, Lizzie Grubman.

Rootie toot toot and rummy tum tum.

We have become so programmed to give during the holidays, it is literally a long term brainwashing technique reperpetuated every November to December. And that is the start time. The moment all of the Halloween Ads are taken down, all of the Christmas Ads go up. I remember going to the mall at the beginning of November and seeing their Christmas tree assembled.

My wife and I have become so jaded that we were frightened after reading the beginning of Dickens’ Christmas Carol. It’s scary when you start to think - Hmmmmm, Scrooge has a point. But that can’t be it - can it?

What I do know is that my company almost scheduled a program release and forgot that December 25th was Christmas. I audibly said in a meeting, “A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December is what it is. But I suppose if you must have the whole day…you’d better be here that much earlier on the next day….” I stopped my self shortly before saying something about “decreasing the surplus population by one”.

I’m just a bright f%#@king ray of sunshine.

I suspect that with all of this reflecting on Dickens that I’ll probably go to bed on the 24th and be visited by three spirits that will throw up their hands in frustration and leave depressed.

I don’t want to leave you all thinking that I’m a heartless monster, though. I do really have some amount of kindness in my heart during the holidays. I try to put on the happy face and greet all with a “Merry Christmas” and have some kind of Yuletide spirit. I’ll be the first to pass the egg nog and hand out a card. I will wish everyone Happy Chanunkah, Yuletide, and a Merry Christmas**.

After all, if you have to find one time of the year to be nice, why not do it when everyone else seems to be an asshole.

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* - I suggest any child really into Santa Claus should read George Orwell’s 1984 and refer to Big Brother.
**- I do refuse to wish people a Good Kwanzaa, however. It is a made up holiday that came about in the 60’s. Elements ripped off from Chanukah. Why not just go with the rest of the pagans and go with Yule? Yule at least has been around longer than Christmas.