the state of the shit



right now, sentimental somethings is well into its peak season. i currently have more than three score voice mails begging for attention, a stack of faxes on my desk that is rivaled only by the stack that has yet to be removed from the machine and i get the sneaking suspicion that my relative inability to perform magic is frustrating sales reps and slow to pay customers alike.

in years past, such a scenario would: encourage a marathon viewing of falling down, result in a heavily damaged keyboard and force me to seek solace in a cigarette or two during my morning and afternoon breaks.

however, i am happy to report that right now i am completely unfazed by the incessant and often absurd demands of customers, the whiff of smoke is not on my fingers and i frankly do not give a (insert one of george w. bush's favorite words here: ______) about operational issues i cannot change or sales issues that cannot be solved in due course.

so that’s the state of the shit at present. pimpin'.

in praise of:




lately i have been sat on, shat on and ratted on simply because i love miller high life. i’ve taken my high life to parties only to have it used to kill slugs, others have openly questioned my honorable devotion to the old high life, and, worst of all, friends have left cracked open, but only partially drunk, cans of the high life on my kitchen table.

in light of these recent events i have only one thing to say: all of you upper-middle class, organic consuming, whole foods cruising sons a bitches can kiss my golden canned ass.

i’ve heard you talking about your desire to identify with the least while you consume your two dollar bottles of samuel smith pale ale! i’ve listened as you’ve hammered corporations like budweiser and coors, companies that honor our flag and provide good paying union jobs to john q. public, while you’ve languished praise on the products (such as newcastle) of socialist states.

you bourgeoisie bastards can have your micro-brews, cask conditioned ales and your incestuous little papist brews. as for me, i’m going to stick with the ole girl on the moon.

6.24.96

i suppose you could call it the summer of the butterfly.

in late may of that year i floated* haplessly down the illinois river with a few friends, devoured a substance or two that altered the mind, made an unexpected connection or two on the way down and was ultimately cited for yet another alcohol related misdemeanor.** that was the fourth such infraction i had received in an eight month period and for some reason it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. by the time the judge dismissed the charges in lieu of a fine and another finger-crossed promise of good behavior i had long since “rededicated my life to Christ”***, started serving as a “sponsor”**** for the middle school youth group and thinking about attending bible college for a semester***** to clear my head. at the time, i had no idea that the final misdemeanor was the first crack in the chrysalis of a new life, but i suppose God knew what he was doing.

unfortunately, as one butterfly cracked its way into new life, the short life of another was concluding. of course i didn’t know that at the time, but i guess that’s how irony operates.

so it was that ten years ago today the life of one of the most beautiful butterflies, my grandmother dana,****** came to an end. she was a beautiful woman, who eagerly welcomed me - an adopted child - as her first grandbaby, always believed – even when the facts clearly suggested differently – the best about me and was one of the only people on the planet that was able to bend me to her will. she, along with my papa, was one of the most generous and joyous people i have ever had the pleasure of knowing. moreover, she loved butterflies. she had a treasured butterfly charm that always hung around her neck, providing me with something to yank on when i was an infant and to fiddle with during church when i was a toddler, and now a beautiful carving of a butterfly marks her tomb, a place i wish i could visit today to commemorate the tenth anniversary of her death.

ten years ago, just as a butterfly was emerging, another was wilting. i hope that the life of the former would make the latter proud. i also hope, perhaps beyond all reason, that after my days flitting through these fields are no more, we will once again be reunited and free to fly together.

* and i do mean floated. if memory serves, the guys kicked me out of the canoe, citing a complete lack of industry on my part, somewhere around mile 7.

** note to self. when jumping off a thirty foot cliff face into a scant ten feet of water it is probably best not to clutch a bottle of bud light in one’s hand.

*** since i didn’t really know of any other way to express my contrition. in the bible belt there are relatively few ways to legitimately express life change. if you’re a non-Christian, you can surrender to the years of subtle or not-so-subtle gospel assaults of your relatives by converting. if you’re a christian you can recommit your life to Christ by going down to the front of the church and finally confess the sin that everyone in the congregation has known and gossiped about for months. or, if you’re a non-believer or an adherent to another faith you can try and alter your behavior and hope against hope for a climate controlled room in hell.

**** i’m pretty sure that the youth intern ironically expected the middle school students to “sponsor” my stab at sobriety. i’m sure that he knew i had precious little to offer those kids at that time in my life.

***** since it was cheaper than the therapy another county judge had ordered and in illinois i would be well beyond the reach of the okie law.

****** my mother occasionally notes that i rarely write about my family in this space. there’s a couple of reasons for that: 1) i am completely corleone-ish about my family. i always want to protect them at all costs. 2) there are some things that are too meaningful and beautiful to put into words…as i am proving right now.