It was brought to my attention that the words in my last blog post, which I have since removed out of respect to a certain grieving family's wishes, were cruel and deeply hurtful.
I would like to take this time to apologize for any pain and suffering I caused that family. It was certainly not my intention to do so. Despite what they--and their friend who contacted me--might believe, that is not what this blog is--or ever will be--about.
In the blog, I had mentioned the fact that a girl from my high school, who recently passed away due to cancer had not been very nice to me. The words I used, I recall, may have been overly harsh.
However, I also took the time to address the fact that I was unaware that she had been so sick during high school and, knowing from personal experience--myself having been paralyzed from the head down when I was seven and, eventually, overcoming such unbeatable odds--that illness can sometimes bring out the worst in people. My point was--and maybe I just wasn't as clear and/or as sensitive as I should have been when dealing with such raw and emotional topics--that I wish I had known that she was sick, because maybe I might have cut her some slack. I might have been more understanding and I probably would have tried to befriend her, because I know what it's like to be looked at differently, to be made fun of, to want to be and feel "normal."
But again, that's not how it came out from my end.
I received an anonymous post from the girl's mother who said she wasn't sure how she came across my blog. Well, I imagine that she Googled her daughter's name. I tried it myself and found the blog in question. But I also found tons of other stuff, wonderful stuff about their daughter and it leads me to question what I know about this girl who, from everything I've read about her over the course of the last couple of weeks, was just a lovely and absolutely beautiful soul. Obviously, from the turnout of 500 people at her memorial service, she was beloved by more people than I'll probably ever know.
I wish I had met that person in high school. That, I truly regret, because she sounded like a really, really cool young woman. In this case, I'll chalk it up to being my loss.
And as I mentioned before, perhaps the things I wrote were indeed harsh, but the truth of the matter is, there's always going to be one great, big asshole out there (in this case, myself) who will have something to bitch about a person, even if there are a million other people who have thousands of amazing things to say about the same person. To which I ask, in general, can't there be room for both positive and negative opinions? Surely, mine can't be any less valid. Just because I have something negative to say while 500 other people have positive things to say, it doesn't mean that anyone is more right or wrong than the other. After all, it's a matter of perspective.
Regardless, I took down the blog.
And I did so because I want the family of this girl to know that I am not a bad person and that I know when to raise a white flag and admit when I've done a bad thing, intentional or not. And, yeah, while it was my opinion, it was inappropriate of me to have used such a beloved individual's name--at the very least, so closely to the time of grieving for her family and loved ones. While I'm not usually one to ask for forgiveness, I hope that me taking down the post takes away a little of the pain that I caused for those who loved Megan.
I wish I had known her better.
G-d bless.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 7, 2008
They Sure Are Friendly Around Here!!!
This weekend, I survived an attack by a man with a dirty, used vibrator and lived to tell the tale!!!!!!
Am I a badass or what?!?!
AND...
In other news, guess which lucky boy gets the award for conceiving The World's Greatest Bumper Sticker!!!
Am I a badass or what?!?!
AND...
In other news, guess which lucky boy gets the award for conceiving The World's Greatest Bumper Sticker!!!
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Waiting For A Want
Elton John said it best: I want love...just a different kind.
And it's true. I do want love. I'm just not sure I'm ready to settle for the next best thing.
In truth, I don't want to settle at all...for anything.
I always get a little exasperated when I hear my friends call their significant others "dick" or "asshole" or "dumb ass" or worse. It always boggles my mind when I see boyfriends and girlfriends constantly fight and break up and get back together again, as if their lives depended on it.
Maybe it's my inexperience, but I've always been of the belief that, while it's perfectly natural to argue from time to time and that every relationship has its ebbs and flows, partners should have a sort of mutual respect for one another and hold true to the belief that they're in this thing together.
Maybe it's just the way I was raised. My parents rarely fought or even argued. My dad is the ying to my mom's yang. He's the cool, calm, collected one and my mom is the emotional heart. It's pretty rare, these days, when you see two couples always smiling, holding hands, cuddling, wanting to be with one another, but somehow, my parents got it. I could honestly say they have the Perfect Marriage.
I never understand how people can stay in relationships if they're so unhappy. I mean, I guess I understand that when you break up, it sort of feels like you've wasted your time with nothing to show for it other than hurt feelings and tears shed, but I mean, it's such a big world out there. There's bound to be someone out there who you're going to be happier with and who is going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Why stick with someone you can't stand, someone who treats you like shit?
I know I don't want that.
My cousin Greer, bless her heart, once told me that she wanted someone to love her more than she loves them. And to a degree, I hear that and I see what she's saying. I mean, who doesn't want that kind of security? Who doesn't want to be showered with love and adoration.
The problem with this theory is simple: That's not a significant other...that's a pet.
Honestly, what I'm looking for is something quite simple: I want to love and be loved in equal measures. That's it. I want the two of us to co-exist in our own universe of wants and needs and desires and happiness and dreams fulfilled.
Too sappy? Fine.
Long story short: I want to be someone's everything and absolutely, positively no one's "asshole."
And it's true. I do want love. I'm just not sure I'm ready to settle for the next best thing.
In truth, I don't want to settle at all...for anything.
I always get a little exasperated when I hear my friends call their significant others "dick" or "asshole" or "dumb ass" or worse. It always boggles my mind when I see boyfriends and girlfriends constantly fight and break up and get back together again, as if their lives depended on it.
Maybe it's my inexperience, but I've always been of the belief that, while it's perfectly natural to argue from time to time and that every relationship has its ebbs and flows, partners should have a sort of mutual respect for one another and hold true to the belief that they're in this thing together.
Maybe it's just the way I was raised. My parents rarely fought or even argued. My dad is the ying to my mom's yang. He's the cool, calm, collected one and my mom is the emotional heart. It's pretty rare, these days, when you see two couples always smiling, holding hands, cuddling, wanting to be with one another, but somehow, my parents got it. I could honestly say they have the Perfect Marriage.
I never understand how people can stay in relationships if they're so unhappy. I mean, I guess I understand that when you break up, it sort of feels like you've wasted your time with nothing to show for it other than hurt feelings and tears shed, but I mean, it's such a big world out there. There's bound to be someone out there who you're going to be happier with and who is going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Why stick with someone you can't stand, someone who treats you like shit?
I know I don't want that.
My cousin Greer, bless her heart, once told me that she wanted someone to love her more than she loves them. And to a degree, I hear that and I see what she's saying. I mean, who doesn't want that kind of security? Who doesn't want to be showered with love and adoration.
The problem with this theory is simple: That's not a significant other...that's a pet.
Honestly, what I'm looking for is something quite simple: I want to love and be loved in equal measures. That's it. I want the two of us to co-exist in our own universe of wants and needs and desires and happiness and dreams fulfilled.
Too sappy? Fine.
Long story short: I want to be someone's everything and absolutely, positively no one's "asshole."
Dancing Queen
"I'm here to dance, not pick up the ladies."
--Evan "The Aviator" Drinkall
--Evan "The Aviator" Drinkall
I'm not a great dancer.
Anyone can (and will...if you ask) tell you that. However, what I lack in "da skills" department, I think most people would agree that I make up for with "da enthusiasm."
So, I always find myself fairly bemused when I'm dancing all by myself--just the way I like it, thank you very much!!--on the dance floor and these beautiful women will come up to me and start grinding their pelvises in my face (or lower, which, ya know, in that case, go ME!!) as if they think they're doing me this grand favor by dancing with me.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered that they've singled me out (well, kinda-sorta) Sometimes, I just wanna say, "back away, ladies!! This boy's his own dance partner!! Now, off ya go!! Daddy's gotta dance to the beat of the the rhythm of the night!!"
Other times, I'm just completely, utterly annoyed, because there's always going to be that group of snotty bitches that look at me as I dance on a platform, look at each other and giggle and whisper. And then they have that look on their faces. You know, the why is he up there? look
To this, I have one and only one response...
Why not?
Gimme that night fever, night fever.
I know how to show it.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sentimental Journey
It took me some time, but I have come to the following conclusion: No one--not even the most chilly of heart or empty of souls--is impervious to the upbeat melody and simple lyrics contained in the song "Don't Stop Believing."
Seriously.
I go ga-ga for that freakin' song!! It just gets the best of my emotions. Hell, I even cried when they played in during the Sopranos finale!! Don't ask me why. It just makes me melt. Thank G-d, I'm not alone.
True story: I was in this dank, depressing Irish bar (okay...it was the Dubliner, but seriously, people were really quiet, that night. For the love of G-d, people!! When I go to an Irish pub, I demand stereotypes, dammit!! I'm talking leprechauns, lilts, jigs and pots o' gold...the works!!) and being the music lover that I am, I threw a couple of bucks into the juke box and entered in "Don't Stop Believing" as one of my songs.
And then, after a few minutes, it happened.
That famous detuned piano opening and then...
Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin' anywhere
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit
He took the midnight train goin' anywhere
A singer in a smokey room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on
Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlights, people living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night
Working hard to get my fill,
everybody wants a thrill
Payin' anything to roll the dice,
just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on
(chorus)
Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'
Streetlights, people
Seriously.
I go ga-ga for that freakin' song!! It just gets the best of my emotions. Hell, I even cried when they played in during the Sopranos finale!! Don't ask me why. It just makes me melt. Thank G-d, I'm not alone.
True story: I was in this dank, depressing Irish bar (okay...it was the Dubliner, but seriously, people were really quiet, that night. For the love of G-d, people!! When I go to an Irish pub, I demand stereotypes, dammit!! I'm talking leprechauns, lilts, jigs and pots o' gold...the works!!) and being the music lover that I am, I threw a couple of bucks into the juke box and entered in "Don't Stop Believing" as one of my songs.
And then, after a few minutes, it happened.
That famous detuned piano opening and then...
Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin' anywhere
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit
He took the midnight train goin' anywhere
A singer in a smokey room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on
Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlights, people living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night
Working hard to get my fill,
everybody wants a thrill
Payin' anything to roll the dice,
just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on
(chorus)
Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'
Streetlights, people
****
So, yeah. Bat shit, man. Bat shit
Seriously, people who had had their heads previously lying on the table were alive, animated, thumping their fists on the table and singing it at the top of their lungs. I couldn't help but beam with pride because I had picked the perfect song to get everyone out of their doldrums, their fears, their worries. It was like fucking Cheers!!
People. Were. Happy.
Because of this song!! And that, right there? That's one of the gazillion reasons why I love music: One song--just one!--can bring a group of strangers together.
And that night, Steve Perry's velvety-smooth vocals were there for us, in all their glory.
Whatever sins that had been committed were instantly forgotten, any beefs that one man (or woman) had for the guy (or gal) sitting next to them instantly...disappeared.
Well, okay...I take that back.
There are some things that can never, ever be forgiven. Mr. Perry, we will never stop believing in "Don't Stop Believing," but "Oh Cherie?"
Really????
The Artist Formerly Known as Birthday Prince?
Seeing as my 27th birthday took place just a day or so ago (Monday, March 24, to be exact!), here's an odd b-day tale for ya.
Many years ago, I had a fight with my parents. Yes, my parents and I have our fair share of smackdowns.
I'm not sure what the fight was about--it's not that important, to be honest. I just remember is so well because it took place the night before my birthday. I mean, there was screaming, finger-pointing, name-calling...the works. It was one of the few times my parents and I went to bed angry at one another.
Then something strange happened when I woke up. My parents were smiling at me, wishing me "Happy Birthday!!!"
It was as if the fight had never taken place. It was as if I had entered The Twilight Zone (or The Outer Limits, depending upon which sci-fi netherworld you prefer). The whole day continued on in the same manner: smiles, hugs, kisses...hell, I even got presents!! And cake!! Can't go wrong there!! Let's just say I went to bed feeling like the Birthday Prince that I was, that day.
And then I woke up, the next morning. And my parents were no longer smiling. They were yelling at me and arguing with me. It was as if they had never missed a beat. It was like a seamless transition from the day before my birthday to the day after my birthday. I'll never forget it.
Now, this is in no way me writing about what a poor soul I am or that I had a terrible, horrible, broken childhood. Fuck that!! I had a wonderful childhood and I adore my parents and we have a very healthy relationship. I consider them to be two of my best friends.
On the contrary, my point in telling that yarn is to illustrate how sacred birthdays have come to be for me and my family.
Recently, a friend of mine (COUGH! Kevin! COUGH!!) brought it to my attention that I make too big of a deal about them, that they're just another day and to get over myself. And said friend has made a very similar points regarding how I seem to make more of a hoopla on certain days than they actually merit--in particular, The Liz Factor.
In this case, I think we'll have to agree to disagree.
I'm sorry, but to me, birthdays are--and always will be--extremely important! As I've mentioned in past entries, so often we walk through our daily lives like zombies. So what if there's a day that we can actually say, "guess what, motherfuckers, er, friends and family!! Today is my day!! Sing your praises for me as I am fabulous and wonderful!!! Celebrate that I am in your life and that you love me for it!! Long story short, PAMPER ME, GODDAMMIT!!!!"
I mean, at the very least, a card and a balloon--maybe a Best Buy gift certificate...just throwin' it out there, people!!--would be nice. I mean, really...is that asking for too much?
The way I see it is we are the product of some pretty freaky shit: Chemicals, hormones, bodily fluids...blood, sweat and tears (okay...maybe not the last three, but they seemed to just go with the rest, so I went for it). How the fuck we didn't turn out to be weird amoeba-like creatures, I'll never be able to understand!! But here we are!! And that is really something. And we each took about nine months to get here. And let's face it: not all of us survive that journey, whether it be as a result of a miscarriage, an abortion or some tragedy that I can't think of at the moment.
And even then, once we're born, there are no promises that we'll be around to see a full year, much less the ripe ol' age of 27. If there's anything I've learned during this life it's this: When your number's up, your numbers up.
That, and you need to celebrate each of those numbers as if they'd be your last.
That's what I plan on doing every year. If that makes me a horrible, self-indulgent, arrogant little shit of a Birthday Prince, than so be it.
You may think me that, by all means. Please do.
Just know this, though: While you're wearing a frowny face and being a bitterman...I get to wear a crown.
Even if it's just for a day.
Many years ago, I had a fight with my parents. Yes, my parents and I have our fair share of smackdowns.
I'm not sure what the fight was about--it's not that important, to be honest. I just remember is so well because it took place the night before my birthday. I mean, there was screaming, finger-pointing, name-calling...the works. It was one of the few times my parents and I went to bed angry at one another.
Then something strange happened when I woke up. My parents were smiling at me, wishing me "Happy Birthday!!!"
It was as if the fight had never taken place. It was as if I had entered The Twilight Zone (or The Outer Limits, depending upon which sci-fi netherworld you prefer). The whole day continued on in the same manner: smiles, hugs, kisses...hell, I even got presents!! And cake!! Can't go wrong there!! Let's just say I went to bed feeling like the Birthday Prince that I was, that day.
And then I woke up, the next morning. And my parents were no longer smiling. They were yelling at me and arguing with me. It was as if they had never missed a beat. It was like a seamless transition from the day before my birthday to the day after my birthday. I'll never forget it.
Now, this is in no way me writing about what a poor soul I am or that I had a terrible, horrible, broken childhood. Fuck that!! I had a wonderful childhood and I adore my parents and we have a very healthy relationship. I consider them to be two of my best friends.
On the contrary, my point in telling that yarn is to illustrate how sacred birthdays have come to be for me and my family.
Recently, a friend of mine (COUGH! Kevin! COUGH!!) brought it to my attention that I make too big of a deal about them, that they're just another day and to get over myself. And said friend has made a very similar points regarding how I seem to make more of a hoopla on certain days than they actually merit--in particular, The Liz Factor.
In this case, I think we'll have to agree to disagree.
I'm sorry, but to me, birthdays are--and always will be--extremely important! As I've mentioned in past entries, so often we walk through our daily lives like zombies. So what if there's a day that we can actually say, "guess what, motherfuckers, er, friends and family!! Today is my day!! Sing your praises for me as I am fabulous and wonderful!!! Celebrate that I am in your life and that you love me for it!! Long story short, PAMPER ME, GODDAMMIT!!!!"
I mean, at the very least, a card and a balloon--maybe a Best Buy gift certificate...just throwin' it out there, people!!--would be nice. I mean, really...is that asking for too much?
The way I see it is we are the product of some pretty freaky shit: Chemicals, hormones, bodily fluids...blood, sweat and tears (okay...maybe not the last three, but they seemed to just go with the rest, so I went for it). How the fuck we didn't turn out to be weird amoeba-like creatures, I'll never be able to understand!! But here we are!! And that is really something. And we each took about nine months to get here. And let's face it: not all of us survive that journey, whether it be as a result of a miscarriage, an abortion or some tragedy that I can't think of at the moment.
And even then, once we're born, there are no promises that we'll be around to see a full year, much less the ripe ol' age of 27. If there's anything I've learned during this life it's this: When your number's up, your numbers up.
That, and you need to celebrate each of those numbers as if they'd be your last.
That's what I plan on doing every year. If that makes me a horrible, self-indulgent, arrogant little shit of a Birthday Prince, than so be it.
You may think me that, by all means. Please do.
Just know this, though: While you're wearing a frowny face and being a bitterman...I get to wear a crown.
Even if it's just for a day.
Why?
Sometimes--not always--but sometimes, my daughter (yes, I have gotten to the point where I am calling her that) will start to wander out of my apartment as I enter it, curious to see what's on the outside world.
If she only knew.
I'm a pretty cynical person, but sometimes, the hate and the bitterness people have toward one another--whether it be between friends, family or colleagues--is too much to take.
Just last week, I was in a bar and I needed to hit the men's room and some lovely young lass grabs me by my gold Star of David and yanks me over to her, charmingly exclaiming to her chums, "Hey, fellas!! Looks like we got ourselves a Jewbag over here!!"
Hark! Fair Juliet speaks!!
She let me go after a moment of choking me with my own chain and I headed to the head and practiced my best comebacks ("I KNOW KA-RA-TAY, MOTHERFUCKER!!!!" or "YOU WANNA PIECE OF ME!! HERE'S SOME JEWISH RAGE FOR YA!!! TAKE IT!! TAKE IT!!" or, very calmly, "bitch, you touch my fuckin' shit again and I'll take your fuckin' number." All of the above would be followed by a punishing head-butt"). When I exited the little boys' room, however, she was gone. So, I waited on the other side of the bar with my friends, telling them what had transpired. She never appeared the again. The broad was seriously like the Moby Dick of anti-Semites. Emphasis on "Dick."
Okay. All of the above is true. I really wanted to let that girl have it. I wanted to hurt her. I did. I wanted to inflict bodily harm on her and humiliate her and make her regret the day she was ever born. This is all true. But I'm really not a violent man. I mean, yeah, I'm pretty volatile and am easily angered--lately, I've been referred to as The Jewish Joe Pesci--and, sure, if forced to use violence, I guess I'd do what I'd have to do. But I guess the biggest part of me just wanted to confront her and ask her one simple question: Why?
Why?
She didn't know me. She doesn't know who I am, where I come from, what my likes and dislikes are. And yet, she saw my Jewish star and that's all she needed? It's maddening!!
Me? I try and take everyone on their own individual merits. I don't think there's anyone person I truly hate. I really do try and be respectful toward everyone. In my eyes, everyone starts with a clean slate. Everyone should be allowed the the benefit of the doubt at least once.
Sometimes, I look at certain people that I know and wonder why some of them act so negative and bitter and hateful about/toward everything. I mean, as shitty as life can be sometimes, why go out of your way and try to make things seem worse than they already are.
I don't get it. How can people can be so hurtful toward one another? I'd like to end this entry with one of my favorite prayers that we read responsively in Synagogue. It's called "A Prayer for Peace."
May we see the day when war and bloodshed cease,
when a great peace will embrace the whole world.
Then nation will not threaten nation,
and mankind will not again know war.
For all who live on earth shall realize
we have not come into being to hate or destroy.
We have come into being
to praise, to and to love.
Compassionate G-d, bless the leaders of all nations
with the power of compassion.
Fulfill the promise conveyed in Scripture:
I will bring peace to the land,
and you shall lie down and no one shall terrify you.
I will rid the land of vicious beasts
and it shall not be ravaged by war.
Let love and justice flow like a mighty stream.
Let peace fill the earth as the waters fill the sea.
And let us say: Amen.
If she only knew.
I'm a pretty cynical person, but sometimes, the hate and the bitterness people have toward one another--whether it be between friends, family or colleagues--is too much to take.
Just last week, I was in a bar and I needed to hit the men's room and some lovely young lass grabs me by my gold Star of David and yanks me over to her, charmingly exclaiming to her chums, "Hey, fellas!! Looks like we got ourselves a Jewbag over here!!"
Hark! Fair Juliet speaks!!
She let me go after a moment of choking me with my own chain and I headed to the head and practiced my best comebacks ("I KNOW KA-RA-TAY, MOTHERFUCKER!!!!" or "YOU WANNA PIECE OF ME!! HERE'S SOME JEWISH RAGE FOR YA!!! TAKE IT!! TAKE IT!!" or, very calmly, "bitch, you touch my fuckin' shit again and I'll take your fuckin' number." All of the above would be followed by a punishing head-butt"). When I exited the little boys' room, however, she was gone. So, I waited on the other side of the bar with my friends, telling them what had transpired. She never appeared the again. The broad was seriously like the Moby Dick of anti-Semites. Emphasis on "Dick."
Okay. All of the above is true. I really wanted to let that girl have it. I wanted to hurt her. I did. I wanted to inflict bodily harm on her and humiliate her and make her regret the day she was ever born. This is all true. But I'm really not a violent man. I mean, yeah, I'm pretty volatile and am easily angered--lately, I've been referred to as The Jewish Joe Pesci--and, sure, if forced to use violence, I guess I'd do what I'd have to do. But I guess the biggest part of me just wanted to confront her and ask her one simple question: Why?
Why?
She didn't know me. She doesn't know who I am, where I come from, what my likes and dislikes are. And yet, she saw my Jewish star and that's all she needed? It's maddening!!
Me? I try and take everyone on their own individual merits. I don't think there's anyone person I truly hate. I really do try and be respectful toward everyone. In my eyes, everyone starts with a clean slate. Everyone should be allowed the the benefit of the doubt at least once.
Sometimes, I look at certain people that I know and wonder why some of them act so negative and bitter and hateful about/toward everything. I mean, as shitty as life can be sometimes, why go out of your way and try to make things seem worse than they already are.
I don't get it. How can people can be so hurtful toward one another? I'd like to end this entry with one of my favorite prayers that we read responsively in Synagogue. It's called "A Prayer for Peace."
May we see the day when war and bloodshed cease,
when a great peace will embrace the whole world.
Then nation will not threaten nation,
and mankind will not again know war.
For all who live on earth shall realize
we have not come into being to hate or destroy.
We have come into being
to praise, to and to love.
Compassionate G-d, bless the leaders of all nations
with the power of compassion.
Fulfill the promise conveyed in Scripture:
I will bring peace to the land,
and you shall lie down and no one shall terrify you.
I will rid the land of vicious beasts
and it shall not be ravaged by war.
Let love and justice flow like a mighty stream.
Let peace fill the earth as the waters fill the sea.
And let us say: Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
