Keeping The "as" In Christmas

Maybe Charles Schulz was onto something when he did A Charlie Brown Christmas in 1965. In the classic cartoon, Charlie Brown declares that Christmas "has gone commercial". 46 years later, the statement "Christmas has gone commercial" has, well, gone commercial! For the past 5-10 years, "Keep Christ in Christmas" has been as common as "Happy Hanukkah" and "Happy Kwanzaa" when it comes to holiday statements. When Rick Perry claimed that Obama is attempting to take "Christ out of Christmas", I shook my head. I wasn't really shocked, because I heard this before; but I was            amazed that another Right Wing Bible Thumper has nothing better to do other than blaming the Left for all the problems in this world. Now I always thought that Christmas is a celebration of Jesus' birth not a stage for the whole Church and State thing. I mean the basis of this country is the whole seperation of Church and State, but that's just me.

I'm a little bit in the middle about this, and I'll tell you why. As a Christian, I believe in Christ and His birth. It is also a positive holiday, since when we come to it, Christ had a pretty hard life. What people often forget is that Easter is THE principal Christian holiday. Easter bears more importance since Christ died and risen and became The Son Of God. Not to knock Christmas, Christianity pretty much began with Easter. Yeah, Christmas is a positive holiday, since it's about Christ's birth. Birthdays are a little more fun than someone getting crucified and slowly bleeding to death on a wooden cross.

Then you have the conservatives, like Perry, who beat on the drum over the whole "Holidays vs. Christmas" issue. I had seen a story on CNN a while back about this guy who put up an "art piece" in his yard in which Jesus is holding a gun to lifeless Santa Claus lying on the ground. Of course, this scared the children who lived near the "exhibit", and many a parent is pissed off over this. Now, obviously this "Christian artist" has the wrong idea and is in desperate need of psychiatric help. However, I do agree when it comes to Christmas, we should look towards Christ as a central figure and not Santa Claus. Santa Claus is a fun figure, he is also a positive figure, you can say that he is a Christian (in fact he IS!). Of course, Santa Claus taken after St. Nicholas, a well known Saint popular in Central Europe. The message of Santa giving gifts to those who deserve gifts (mainly poor children), is a nice parable to Christmas since Jesus Himself was a poor, practically homeless child and received gifts from prominent figures. Yet really, Christ does come first! Then again, if you know that Santa's around, you want to buy a round of Jager shots for him and his elves if you see him in a bar-- okay more like milk and cookies since he's on the job.

If we want to delve deeper, Christmas was a compromise between the Romans and Pagans when the early Christian Romans invaded the British Isles. The Pagans, mainly Celts, grew trees inside their homes to celebrate their fertility god. During a certain time of the year, it's hard to tell what time since 10 month calendars were used, the fertility god's holiday would come in which the trees were decorated with flowers and polished stones. The Romans were intimidated by this, since they were trying to teach Christianity to these Pagans. A deal was made in which the same ritual can be done on Christmas (a much lesser known holiday) which was close to this Pagan holiday, which was called of all things YULE! Yes, Yule as in The Yule Log, Yuletide spirit, and the "'Yule' love it" tagline in Scrooged (great movie BTW). Yule and Christmas became a partnership, the "Christmas Tree" became a product, throw in Santa, Andy Williams, and your Aunt Agnes drunk on eggnog, and you get Christmas today.

Also, have we not forgotten that Christmas is...A SERIES OF HOLIDAYS! First we got Christmas Eve, which is known as "Advent" (which in itself a multi-day event). Then we have Christmas Day which starts the Christmas SEASON! Yes, "SEASON" as in SEASONS GREETINGS, which actually is an appropriate term since we're involving Christmas as a whole: which lasts...12 DAYS! Yes, "The Twelve Days Of Christmas" is more than a Christmas Carol about some bird (probably pooping) in a tree. Each day in those twelve days brings out a certain significance. Such as the last (12th) day or The Feast (or Day) Of The Epiphany; this is when The Wise Men (y'know "We Three Kings blabbity da blaaah") came and gave the Infant Jesus gold, myrrh, and frankincense ("Guitar Hero", or in this case "Gregorian Chant Hero", wasn't out yet). Add in Hanukkah, which was appropriate for Jesus since he was Jewish, and then you have *TA DAHH!* THE HOLIDAY SEASON! Besides, didn't Andy "Mr. Christmas" Williams himself a bigtime Christian and a well known Republican have a hit with "Happy Holidays"?

The bottom line is that separating "Christmas" and "Holiday Season" is like separating the chicken from the egg. I am a Christian, and I am proud of being a Christian (in fact, I'm Catholic so please take that with a grain of salt). Christmas reflects the positive side of Christianity, in which Easter identifies Christianity itself. I think Christ should remain in Christmas; the image of Christmas to me is The Nativity, and what happened at the manger in Bethlehem. The image of Christmas should not be centered on Rudolph, Santa, or even Andy Williams (sorry, Andy). However Andy and his friends are spared because they are a part of the holidays, not THE part, but A part- the part that makes us happy. I might not see Frosty The Snowman at Midnight Mass come Christmas Day, but I'm gonna need him (as narrated by Jimmy Durante) when I am mingling with friends and family. In the words of Linus; "...and that what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown"! And is that what it should be: celebrating good times with friends and family and have some "me time" with The God of your choice? This should go for everyone, Christian or Non-Christian.

I am writing this blog in response to all the serious overtones of Christmas, and yes, as a Christian, Christmas is serious to me but not as serious as Easter. My relationship with God is my business, as well as others who follow other religions, it's their business- again the whole "seperation between Church and State" thing kinda gets in the way. Yet, the time I spend with my friends and family is OUR business-- meaning me and those I hold dearly, especially if you are a relative or a friend of mine. And I know it's the same way, with you the reader.

So to all, have a Merry December 25th, even though most likely Jesus was most likely born during the summer months!

Buttafuocco, Ginsberg, and ME!

I was living roughly 35 miles to the east of Manhattan --the cultural center of the world. It's about an 45 hour ride to Manhattan from my old house in Long Island in the middle of the night. Normally during a weekday, it would run nearly two hours. In the late 80's/early '90's I thought I was God's gift to women. The sensitive, nerdy type of women. I had a fetish for the libraian types with the big horn-rimmed glasses. I found out, plain and simple, I was a dork!

I had the 34 inch waist and a hair helmet gleeming with gel and mousse. Yes, I even had hair spray-- but that is when I HAD hair! Of course, Mom doted on me, I was living with her at the time. And it was sad, because I wanted to be the so called "cool guy" I had the denim going on. My jacket and pair of 501's was like armour, and I was the "acid washed knight".I remember my mom stopping me on my way to school: "You are not wearing THAT outside! God, your pants are so tight they can see your RELIGION!". Granted I was not Jewish but New York State has a circumcision law so who can tell the difference? I was cool! On weekends I worked at Wendy's in a polyester outfit, so going to school in "normal clothes" was freedom for me. Ahhh, being young in Long Island!

Now since I was in the vincinity of NYC, you would think I seen my share of celebrities. Not really, I had brief brushes of celebrity in my time when I lived in Long Island. I bumped into Dom DeLuise when I was 7, but I was 7 it wasn't like Joe Namath or Tom Seaver or "The Fonz" or anybody like that., so I didn't remember that much. Believe it or not at Wendy's, I've seen more celebrities than anywhere else.

I remember in the fall of 1991, some large guy ordered a Classic Combo with a Diet Coke in the drive thru. All I remember was this fat guy driving a brand new Corvette (fire-engine red). He also had on a jacket with the then current SNL logo on it, and he had this sandy hair waving in the breeze. The kicker was the glasses, mirrored to the point that you were at the funhouse at an amusement park. It was a Wil Wheaton/"Stand By Me" moment: when he was the only one who saw the deer while everyone was sleeping and not tell anyone. And this "SNL guy", Hell of a nice man, had the mildest of manners and said thanks for keeping it "low-pro". I still didn't know what his name was. That night, I came home and watched SNL right at the beginning; that was when it was pretty funny. Must have been a slow night, I'm usually not back from Wendy's by 12:30-1AM and no one wanted to go to the diner that night. As I was watching this skit on SNL there was this fat guy cavorting around, he looked recognizble. I realized it was Chris Farley that ordered a Classic Combo! I didn't tell Mom about it either who was watching SNL with me, she would usually reply "Oh." and continue complaining about my pants being too tight. In fact this is my first time saying this about my brush with Farley. I'm 44-- I'm not out for the attention anymore.

In August of 1992, I remember seeing Joey Buttafuocco coming into Wendy's. The guy strutted in like he was a the Godfather himself! He had a walk that I can do better improv-ing then explain it with words. But he had Mary Jo with him! This was right after the whole Amy Fisher thing. Mary Jo was just released from the hospital and had paralysis on one side of her face. And she was just sitting there eating her Chicken Combo with her kids. Joey had a Big Classic and a baked potato. The biggest no-no one can do at a Wendys was weasing food from the salad bar. You can only order a salad. At the time, we offered salads from the salad bar--All you can eat! But again you needed to buy a specialized container to place the food in. When someone weased food, we tell them to buy the salad first, and if they didn't stop, buy, or comply and acted unruly we'd call the police. Joey Buttafuocco finished his baked potato with bacon and cheese. With bits of bacon and potato skin, he went up to the salad bar, and plopped a heaping serving of chocolate pudding on top of the bacon and potato guts! This would even make Bill Cosby gag! My manager, very good one and worked strictly by the book, decided NOT TO ACT. She decided to put away her "food police" uniform away. It was friggin Buttafuoco! Butafuocco and his family, left the restaurant and people went back to their seats they were in before the Buttafuoccos arrived. Some left the store with food in hands when the Buttafuoccos came in.

But all that aside, my biggest brush with Celebrity was talking with Allen Ginsberg. Okay, here it goes. In April of 1990, I was taking my English Lit 202 class at SUNY Farmingdale to finish my A.A. degree before I went on to my four year. I was in my early 20's and I thought taking this class would get chicks. That and I thought this would be my chance to be the "great writer" and continue onto SUNY Stony Brook, a nearby four year school to major in English. This was part on my goal to be the intellectual badass as I thought I was!

I was doing a report on Dylan Thomas. My 202 Lit class was based on the works of famous British writers. Dylan Thomas reached me more than anyone to me at that time. We finished the "Woodsworth Circle" and the Bronte Sisters, then Yeats (we never touched Wilde)- most (not all) of which was bleary, dull, and even depressing! I can read Ozymandias in a dentist's chair and not even know I was having a root canal! We then went into the mid 20th Century, and Thomas offered some light into the bleak. His poetry was the basis of all the heavy, more modern stuff that was cool at the time: Ginsberg, Kerouac, Williams, et. al. I make it a tradition to read "A Child's Christmas In Wales" around the seasons, because I still feel chills down my back (good ones), and that would get me amped up for Christmas.

And then I saw the poster ; Allen Ginsberg was doing his reading of his poetry collection, "The Big Red Book" known by his readers. It was also on the same week that my Thomas paper was due. And Ginsberg's reading was two days before the paper was due. Then I thought, "hmm-- Ginsberg was around early enough when Thomas was doing his stuff." The wheels were turning in my head. "If I can speak to Ginsberg after his reading during his signing section, maybe I can get some really cool pertinent information on Thomas!" I congratuated myself to the point I can only see "A"'s."Easy F***ing A! F***ING AYYY!" I said to myself, loud enough so only I can hear it. Okay, maybe the "F***ING AYY" part was audible. But I knew I was going to ACE this paper!

So here I was the "Acid Washed Knight" in due battle with the Literary Prince of the Junior College Kingdom. I seen my fair maiden in the crowd I liked. It was a deadhead girl who sat in back of my class who was kinda cute...but she had a BOYFRIEND! But I was gong to impress her and all the chicks with this "A" paper! I'll frame it, No I WILL PUBLISH the f***er!
So I go in the lecture hall and there's Allen! And there was something I didn't know, I did not realize that he was gay! I have never really read his stuff. I always thought "Supermarket In California" was about his crush on Marilyn Monroe, no it was Walt Whitman! Then he want onto his thing with his lovers-- but then the good part, DRUGS! Al liked the spliff as much as he liked Wally! Of course most the crowd ran out, because no one understood. But strangely I did. Goddammit it was about the SIXTIES and the "Beat Generation": political upheaval, civil rights, good music, DRUGS, hippies, and MORE DRUGS! That and I was destined to get my ACE paper all done!

The reading ended, the ones that stayed had a little wine & cheese (ALL FREE!) gathering at the grounds of the President's House. And there he was, selling his books for $60 a pop. Ginsberg wasn't cheap! There was a little "Q and A" section during this soiree. A small crowd gathered at the table, Ginsberg was sitting at the table signing. I went to the crowd as a defensive back joining in to help the front seven push back the fullback from getting a first down. The questions went on, and then the stragglers vanished. I soon realized it WAS MY TURN. I anxiously asked my question, and then I affixed onto his eyes. His eyes, weathered with age and DRUGS looked through hi bi-focals and focused on ME! One thing ran through my mind: "Is he looking at my CROTCH?" Damn, you can see my "religion" with these things on! I shoulda wore some looser pants! But I went on:"Mr. Ginsberg, when you started out in Greenwich Village, did you ever ran into Dylan Thomas and what inluence he had on your poetry?

Ginsberg then smiled at me. Instead of a perverted old man looking at my crotch, it was literature looking at me face to face. A voice of wisdom came from the face with the bespectacled eyes. "Ahhh, THOMAS" he said. "Yeah, I knew him, and God what a magnificent writer! Drunk as Hell, though!". He then went into his story about Dylan Thomas:

"It was 1950, I was doing a reading at this pub by the Square (Washington Square in NYC's Greenwich Villiage). I was leaving when I saw Thomas stumbling in through the door. "Hey Ginsberg" he said, "You got thirty bucks I can borrow?" I then asked what the Hell he needed it for? "There's this broad on 14th street that wants $20 for a throw (sex) and she'll throw in her girlfriend in for another ten!"
Normally I wouldn't do this, but he had some gigs and he was good for the money... Aww Hell, I didn't care, so I gave him forty and told me to leave the Hell alone tonight. So I was still at this pub and two hours later I saw Thomas hanging onto the front door bleeding and his jacket was torn.
I looked at Thomas and said, "Jesus, Dylan: what the Hell happened to you?" Then Thomas said "You shoulda seen it Ginsberg, I met that girl near the Bowery and she had her friend with her. It turned out they were a couple of dykes and they beat me up and took the forty dollars." Then Thomas said: "Shit, I need a drink, you got another five dollars I can borrow?"

The crowd started to laugh, I mimicked laughter. How in the friggin' world am I going to work this in the paper? Later, in the computer lab I winged it the best I can. Somehow I put the whole part in, angry lesbians and all. I then had a hard time putting this in the Index section. This was not from a book, so how I'm going to work it in. At the end I wrote "a personal interview with Allen Ginsberg". I was a little nervous, I thought the dialogue might get me in trouble-- but I knew it was going to work! I got the paper back and I GOT A "B+"! I went to the professor, I thought the angry lesbian thing was a little much. I asked her what she thought about the paper." Oh, Brendan" She replied" it was a great paper- you caught the true essence of Dylan Thomas. There was ONE thing that bothered me though." "What was that?" I said pretending I didn't know. She then said" You didn't index one book properly". I was a little befuddled --"What book was that?" I asked .She then said" "There's this line from this one book you had that was very funny, also I never heard of this book before-- "An Interview With Allen Ginsberg". I felt like I got hit with the dummy truck on that one. I then explained that I spoke to Ginsberg after his reading on campus the other day and I had a hard time putting that in. "Wait a second, you TALKED to Allen Ginsberg about Dylan Thomas?" In her eureka moment, she shouted out: "That is ingenius! I'm sorry I gave you a "B+" you deserve a higher grade." She then took out her red pen and maked a higher grade.... AN "A" MINUS!

My brushes with celebrity were unique to say the least. I have realized through the years that celebrities are very much like everybody else-- their days in the lights only reveal vulnerabilities which makes celebrities fragile. No matter who we are, we are all human. Whoever we bump into and what stories we have with the "rich and the famous" end up interwoven in our lives. In the end, do we worship them? Do we envy them? Or in some of the cases, do we feel sorry for them? But then we ask about ourselves-- is being famous a happy accident or an accident waiting to happen?

Dante, The Angelic Demon Cat

Before you read this, yeah this is about my cat who died three years ago this week. You've probably read several articles in Parade Magazine and Reader's Digest about people mourning their dead pets. This might be an exception to all the rules. This is not going to be a depressing wordy story with the "Oh whoais me" comments and sappy dialogue. My cat was not depressing at all. In actuality, he was a very positive cat and would surprise the heck out of people. He was part of the conversation. At times, even now, he is the conversation.
Dante was born October 28, 2004 in a trailer located in the boonies of North Carolina. Black from head to toe, he looked almost demonic. Even before he opened his eyes, he was casted out by his five littermates. He was the sore thumb of the group. The only one who really accepted him was his mother, Oreo. Oreo was a minute black and white cat who of course looked similar to Dante. Yet, Oreo unfortunately passed away 5 and half weeks after the kittens were born from an immunodeficiency virus. Dante was given away to a family nearly the same time. Meanwhile, I was interested in Courtney, who was Dante's sister. Courtney is the perfect little kitty, she has Seal Point features and a bobbed tail. She was the exotic beauty in the group of assorted cats. All the other kittens had attractive features, with the exception of the lowly black kitten.
A couple of months passed by as the kittens matured. It was down to three kittens. I set my sails towards aquiring Courtney. For some reason, the black kitten made his return to my friends' trailer, back to four. The black kitten, once named "Midnight", was displaced by his adoptees and unnamed. My friends gave me a packaged deal: Courtney will come with the black cat and their two brothers whom I called the "Dover Boys" (in which both "Dovers" would eventually become adopted by my neighbor who lived across the street). The kittens' real names were Ghost and Snowball, but they always were together like two prep buddies in high school.
Knowing I will be stuck with the black cat, I tried to think of a name for him. He just attempted to raid my friend's refigerator in which he liked to break into. My one friend and I looked down on the black kitten, by now a small cat. The black cat stared up at us with his yellow-green eyes piercing through the the black sillhouette. It was a look of guilt mixed in with hunger and deceit. The word "Dante" mysteriously was uttered from our mouths. Although virtually innocent, he had a sinister look about him. Looking at his greenish-yellowy eyes, he had the "feed me, dammit" look about him. He also had the "I am going to kill you and take over the world" look. He was a mysterious soul, almost oblivious-- such as a "Divine Comedy".
So by the spring of 2005, I had the princess kitty and the demon cat. I just was happy to be down to two cats. I was sweated out by my landlord, but his daughter just adopted "the Dover Boys" so I was just glad that I wasn't kicked out. The Dover Boys now renamed "Yum-Yum" and "Kokomo". The Dovers were like the tennis playing preps of the cat world. Both had the Siamese features of Courtney and were well formed and well defined. Dante was a scrawny black shadow of a cat and stuck out in contrast with the rest of the cats in the neighborhood.
Dante could fight though, he needed to. He mixed it up in the nearby fields around the renovated garage I lived in. One time he fought on the front porch, defending his sister and his master. There was this one cat, a beaten down grey and white tabby who always called him out. Dante's inexperience showed and he had his clock cleaned. The Dover Boys across the street also got whipped by the grey and white cat.Yet as time flew by, Dante grew a little stronger and became a flat out street cat despite living indoors. One time in January, 2006, he limped in my apartment looking ran down. I was looking for the grey and white cat who bothered him. I saw him run through the back yard also limping, it was the last I've seen the grey and white cat. Strangely, Courtney looked concerned, cleaning Dante and following him around. Dante looked beat and then I became concerned. I drove him to veterinarian fearing he broke his front leg. The good news was nothing was broken, however he had the same virus that took the life of his mother.
I was given antibiotics for Dante as well as a "doom and gloom" synopsis of what his future could've been. The vet said if the antibiotics didn't work, he would get the needle. There was something about Dante that would not die--it seemed he wanted to get better. And he did in a span of 24 hours. He then became an indoor cat due to his "snipping". He had this unbounded energy, he not only improved, he started this zest for life. I then sent Courtney to the vet to get tested, she was negative. My neighbor took the Dovers to their vet they were negative. Dante was positive, he was truly the outcast.
Taking in the doom and gloom outlook regarding Dante, I could have put him down right there at the vet. Yet, he rebounded and became a new entity. He was the only cat I knew that had a "screw 'em all" attitude. Let's face it, he was all in black, he was socially excluded, and his name was Dante--- he was a GOTH KITTY! Speaking for myself and my fellow geeks who went through unbounded shit in High School and was always get passed over in social circles, don't we ALL feel for Dante? I'd realized I had my share of the Courtneys, the Dover Boys and the grey and white bully who lived down the street who always pick fights. I guess we are all Dante!
Every day passed was like a victory for Dante. Then his personality set in. He was relentless in his eating. One time I had a 12" sub that I left out for work. Mistakenly, I left the sub at my apartment. By the time I came back home, the entire sub was consumed. The only thing remained was the paper the sub was wrapped in and a few shreds of lettuce. Courtney must have helped but Dante, I swear, jumped up on the counter rubbed his face into mine in which I smelled his salami breath!
Months pass by, then it was a couple of years. I recently moved to a new apartment in "the big city" with a population of 45,000. I left the small town and left the Dover Boys across the street behind. Last Christmas, my mother came from Florida to visit me. Courtney mainly hid from everyone, so she was no help. Dante not only greeted Mom at my door, but she kept my Mom's spot on the couch nice and warm. Everytime my Mom got up to get coffee, Dante would sit in her place until she came back. Dante also perched regularly at the front window doing some bird watching. He also meowed when I left to go to my friend's apartment or do laundry. He would sit at the window meowing every chance he saw me getting out of my car or walking to/from my apartment. He wanted ALL the fun of outside, and wanted to go outside real bad! Once in a while, he escaped only to roll on the nearby sidewalk or in the garden nearby. The cat loves to roll in dirt. Well, he lost his two best friends (not the Dover Boys, but his buds between his legs) so like there is something else to do, right? He also invented a new sport, stalking and hunting my printer everytime a paper came out. Before his passing, I had some lollipops (or suckers) sitting near the computer desk. Dante noticed this and knocked them over so Courtney can play with them. Everytime I would put the lollipops on a shelf, he would knock them down. And don't ask me what he would do if he seen a plastic bag on the floor!
Then reality set in. During mid-November 2008, I noticed Dante getting short winded and lethargic. This was a little peculiar for Dante, since he was always energtic and full of life. That morning, I was awaken by Dante's heavy breathing like he was having an asthma attack. I knew it was part of the doom and gloom story the vet gave me back in Janurary of 2006. Later the same morning, I took him to the vet only to be greeted by could be's, should be's, and a possible $200 dollar bill for an X-Ray and exam. I was given antibiotics, a duiretic (for fluid in the lungs), a "good luck", and a bill for $59. I knew his time has come, and then it hit me. I was in a Dollar General looking for air fresheners and garbage bags when a wave of tears came towards me. I ducked in the houseware isle and started sobbing in front of the $7.50 can openers. I'm an imploder and it would sink in but fade away quickly. A short, quiet sob later (along with a bursted blood vessel in my eye), I decided to throw in the towel. The weekend slipped by and Dante was still sick, I ran out of options. I called the nearby animal control shelter to make it quick and painless. I discovered that the local animal control, did not "do" euthanasia.Yet, they gave me a number to a nerby vet that was far more reasonable and closer by.The new vet was much more fair than my usual vet. Yes, there was the "few dollars more" mantra ,and there were stronger antibiotics Dante could've used. The fact was that Dante's Feline Leukemia came to a head. He had pneumonia due to complications from the FeLV. It was time.
The gambling days were over-- Dante already achived his goal, outliving the expectaions of sceptics, even outliving his own goal. In the four years he lived, he put in a good ten. I remember the new vet looking at me and said "I bet he lived a good life". So true, Dante beat the odds. Dante was an overachiever and was damn proud of it! I held his front paw and held it like a hand. I then said "I love you, man!" like a surfer dude would say to another. I chose not to remain to be there and therefore didn't see him go, I might break more blood vessels in my eyes. For some reason, I can hear Bruce Springsteen's "Thunder Road" playing in my head. It was like Dante was giving me a subliminal message that everything was going to be all right complete with a Clarence Clemmons sax solo.
Now I had people come up to me, and asked me why didn't I have the vet put him down back in '06. He was alive and he was given a chance to live. Dante kicked ass when he was alive. Dante had soul, Dante was soul!

For Dante 10/28/04- 11/17/08, you will always be my "nunu".

An Introspect In Retrspect

I guess we go through various changes in life to the point we adapt to another identity; Picasso had his "periods"; a la his "Blue Period", "Green Period" and so on; David Bowie went through many characterizations during his career such as "Ziggy Stardust", "The Thin White Duke", and currently David "I'm a friggin' millionaire and even if I do a polka album and I wear a Chicken Costume, I'm still a friggin' millionaire!" Bowie. Like Bowie and Picasso, I guess we're all chameleons of time in some sort. I too been through many personas in my life.

I'm rifling through all the people I have met and known in the past 40 plus years. There are clusters and groups of people that I knew in a certain point of my life. For example, in my early teenage years, I was painfully shy-shy to the point I had panic attacks if I was seen in public. This lasted for a few years until my late teens-early 20's when the panic attacks stopped but I was still pretty shy. I also had my bouts with adolescent awkwardness between 15-17. Also going to Special Ed. didn't help me going up the social ladder either. With the indifference from the so-called High School hierarchy and the big scary-ass world around me, I became "The Angry Young Man". And my "Angry Young Man" phase lasted from 19-20ish to when I was 26. Then, between 26-30, I went into the "Not As Angry But Still Kinda Bitter Young Man" phase (let's see if Billy Joel can come up with a song with THAT!). The Brendan that you see today started back from when I turned 30. Three days after my 30th birthday, a revelation came to me. That was the day I found the meaning of the phrase "I don't give a shit"! If someone was to f--- up their life and I intervene to help him/her out, the only thing I'm getting for helping out was either half or all credit for someone else's f--- up!

In 1997, I had a friend whom I trusted who was in the same graduate program as I was. We were good friends but I wouldn't say the best of friends. We were both going for our Master's degrees at a college in Buffalo,NY. In this program, like other Graduate degree programs, everybody was competitive--everybody had causes. Both my friend and I had our eyes set on this gleaming (and fleeting) prize. I graduated the program before my friend did, though in my last semester, things got tougher. It wasn't the grades, nor the work, even though the work wasn't easy and good grades you had to work for twice as hard as an undergraduate. The center of the Master's program was comprised of what we called the "in crowd". The 'in crowd' like most other in crowds were pretty much "party people" You had people from their early 20's up to their early 50's (including our PROFESSORS!) laughing it up obliviously till kingdom come at some local townie bar. My friend and I, who came from similar backgrounds, kept ourselves outside Party Central. At the time, my friend had a girlfriend that he had dated for  awhile. He was pretty open about her when I first met him, he voiced his future with her; marriage, kids, and so on. As the semesters rolled on, and our internships and projects got intense, so did my friend. He became protective over his girlfriend, to the point that he did not want to bring her up in conversation. In fact, I haven't met her, only in pictures. Later in our friendship, my friend did not even want me to meet her-something was going on. At the same time, I had people from my program coming up to me, some were part of the 'in crowd' telling me they feel sorry for "my problem"- though it was never specified what my "problem" was. Another person, pretty much a stranger, came forward and said, "...it's okay, we can talk about it..." TALK ABOUT WHAT!?! I knew my friend, whom I trusted, stirred the pot and made up stories about me. I confronted my friend about this and all he came on like he knew nothing but then concluded with this question "Can you tell the difference between love and lust?" The strangest thing was I knew the answer-- I realized that preserving the values that were instilled in me, my integrity as a human on Earth came out of love. I then realized the "Gleaming Prize" that me and my friend were going for-a $50,000 job with all the benefits such as people worshiping the ground you walk on, a tenure made possible by stabbing your friends in the back, and just being "popular" was all the things that came from lust. When I mean "lust", I don't mean it in a biblical sense but something that is fueled by anger and resentment that gives you a false sense of power and control. My friend and I got into a heated argument in which he called me some names (including "sellout" -the irony). I pretty much told him to "F--- off" As he retaliated by threatening to kick my ass (and this was a 31 year old Grad student BTW), I stepped out the door- I lost a friend, but my integrity became intact. I decided to help those who only ask for it, if I do a favor, I would like something back, a "thank you" would do-thank you very much. And I pretty much stop stepping in the quicksand that came from my friends' problems. On June 27, 1997, three days after my 30th birthday, the "new" Brendan was born-I officially stopped taking life seriously or at least tucking other people's problems under my arms. Four years later, I recieved a phone call --it was my "friend" whom apologized for what he did back in Grad School-- but I did not know if I was ready for it yet. I "accepted" his apology, but I never really accepted it. I pretty much yessed him and we said we'll meet somewhere to talk about it, but it never happened. Obviously, I wasn't prepared for the call. If he called now I probably be a little more receptive and I would admit, I will most likely air out my own shortcomings from back then.

I never got that $50K gig, but I got steady work in the past 15 years. With all the flaws that came with it, I'm still very proud of my education. I never got into an "in crowd" but you can say I started my own. All the grapevines were cut down in my life. And I'll admit in my past, I have stirred the pot simply for the sake of survival. I deeply apologize if I stepped on some backs through the years, especially those whom I worked at Wendy's with (you know who you are, and again, I'm sorry!). I now realize that to survive is merely to exist. I had my moments of glory, I also had my moments of despair, we all do I guess. In the past 13 years, I still have my causes, but I try to keep myself ahead of my causes. Life is too short to count yourself out.

And several things happened-- I actually SMILE once in a while! I did a lot of traveling and relocated myself three times in my life. I even got LAID several times!!! (for those who knew me back then- picturing me get laid, or even smiling on my own volition was hard to imagine!) So for those who haven't seen me in the past 15-20 years, I'm not the same guy I used to be. I'm happy with the progress with my life, even though I'll admit was overachieved, but I guess I'm blessed.

When Radio & TV Didn't SUCK!

I've been waxing nostalgic (at least on You Tube) for some oldies but goodies. Lately, I will talk to some friends my age about some old school stuff from the 70's. I noticed people got a buzz from this sorta stuff. I generally talk to my Facebook friends about shows like Welcome Back, Kotter and growing up in the '70's. It's comfortable talking to people my age about this. It feels good talking to people within your age group. The one thing I noticed about people who are in their late '30's to early-mid '40's-- we appreciate what was on TV and Radio in the 1970's. See, before 1980 , there was a time when staying home and watching something on TV or listening to the radio (including AM) was the norm.

Back then, "top 40 radio" wasn't such a bad thing. Yeah, you had some of the disco crap, but there were other genres of music available at the time. Even some of the crap in the '70s and '80's was actually listenable. It's not like today when it's this empty pointless garbage that some people think it's cool to listen to. The Bee Gees, The Captain & Tenille, and The Carpenters can kick the asses of these singers and groups that sing the emo, rap, and pop junk out there! Before Katie Perry, there was Olivia Newton John! Before there was Justin Beiber, there was Andy Gibb! And back then, you had a variety of music on AM. You had the one hit wonders like Carl Douglas' "Kung Fu Fighting", and Andy Kim's "Rock Me Gently". There was also stuff for us kiddies such as the soundtrack from Grease and of course The Carpenters "Sing (Sing A Song)". Then you had the adult stuff like Paul Anka's "Havin' My Baby" and Barry White's "You're My First, My Last, My Everything". There was even stuff for Mom like Barry Manilow's "Copacabana" and the Eagles' "Take It To The Limit". Of course there were the songs that you thought was cool then your parents liked it and it wasn't cool anymore. So there were some drawbacks to AM, but it was all good!

TV was something back then too. I remember when cable was new and for the RICH back in the mid 70's. The "only" things on TV were the best things. There was a time when there were THREE networks if you believe that, people born AFTER 1980! There were no "reality" shows or shows like 24 or Lost where you have to watch every friggin episode of the friggin series (at least 5 or 6 seasons worth) just to know what the new episode was about. Then you wander after a watching a whole series of that paticular show "I just wasted seven years of my life to see THAT?" (this is why they make DVD's, folks!) Back then, you didn't have all that! You didn't need to be back on the same day at the same time next week to catch up on the show (not unless you wanna see The Fonz jump the shark-AAAAAYYY!) Also, TV got a little slutty in which the female star boinks anyone who walked in through the door. I remember when TV sex was ALL ABOUT THE IMAGINATION! You know Crissy Snow/Suzanne Summers "did it" on Three's Company, but all you see was her bouncing around braless in that little white negligee! You wish you was Jack Tripper "doing it" w/ Chrissy Snow. Hell you wish you were JOYCE DEWITT "doing it" w/ Chrissy Snow! Remember when the lesbian was the "tomboy" or the "smart, but ugly girl", like Janet from Three's Company? And don't get me started on Survivor, does anyone remember Battle Of The Network Stars? The thing was that Survivor is about a bunch of a-holes on some fudgin' island. You didn't care who won, that idiot will blow the million on coke or end up go to jail for tax evasion. On Battle Of The Network Stars, there was no "big money prizes" and the coke was free! All you seen was a bunch of actors and actresses in tank tops and short shorts, falling out of their clothes as they climb and run for their respected network. Adrienne Barbeau was not the greatest actress nor the greatest athlete but when her boobs tried to pop out of her tank top, she had all the respect in the world! Top that, Jeff Probst!

And that was the thing, there was no "status quo" in watching a certain show or listening to a certain song. You were cool because you were YOU! Yeah, there were shows like Star Trek in which you had to be a part of, but for an hour you were Spock, you were Joe Blow the other 23 hours of that day! AM radio was like a school for younger music listeners. You start out with your typical Wings song or an Elton John ballad, but then you graduate into a Patty Smith song or a Zeppelin song. Sometimes AM radio will sneak in the PSG's "Because The Night" or a Zep song. Late at night, they play some of the "harder" top forty stuff out there like Teddy Pendergrass/Al Green type of soul or some hard rockers from Deep Purple and early Aerosmith. TV was the same way, in which you see a hot chick like Farrah Fawcett and you graduate to dating a real girl who looks more like a hybrid of Kristie "Buddy" McNichol of Family and "Natalie" from The Facts Of Life. You didn't care if she was a "Buddy/Natalie" hybrid, you would still try to make love to her like Farrah. I know this very well, I had a Farrah Fawcett poster (y'know, the one when she's in that red swimsuit w/ the headlights on). Let's just say, I PRACTICED- but was only 11-12 at the time! Of course "Afternoon Delight" was playing when I "practiced"! RIP, Farrah!

That's the thing, growing up in the 70's and a little bit of the 80's, there was a sort of INNOCENCE. It was not as corny as the '50's but there was a sense of MORAL STRUCTURE when I grew up. The bad guys like the Malachi Brothers lost and the good guys like the Fonz won! Then Richie Cunningham would give a 2 minute dialogue that was boring but made sense why the Fonz won the Demolition Derby. The same thing when Vinnie Barbarino was the hero and Horschack was the moral supporter. There was a bond in those shows. There was a bond in Music too, we all cried when Terry Jacks sang about his "darlin' Michelle" and his "Pah-Pah" croaking in "Seasons In The Sun". We all sobbed when Henry Gross sang about his dog "Shannon". We ALL learned from this! Do you think the average kid today will learn anything from SpongeBob Squarepants or be moved to tears by a Lady Gaga song?

That's the thing, folks-- us "40 plus" people (or close to it), need to go to the younger generations and share what WE grew up on! If you have kids, sit down to the TV w/ your kids grab and watch something on DVD like Good Times or What's Happening? Teach them that everything is "Dy-No-Miite!" and bootlegging the Doobie Brothers is wrong! Speaking of the Doobies, listen to some Doobie Bros.; both the Tom Johnston and Michael McDonald eras. Hopefully, your kid won't be a drooling vegetable (however, it is ONLY ACCEPTABLE if you play some Floyd: I reccommend Wish You Were Here IT'S LIKE THE BEST FLOYD ALBUM EVER MADE!)

Well I hope this trip down Memory Lane reminds you on how good life was! Until then, if you feel like reminiscing, get out your bell bottoms out, shine up your AMC Gremlin, and get down wit yo' bad self!

My So-Called Handicapped Life

My good friend Annie on Facebook likes to share her experiences about her handicap. Annie had her leg amputated when she was young and she currently uses a prosthetic leg. Other than that, she gets around fine (thank you very much) . She is currently going though motions dealing with people who don't like being labeled "Handicapped". I kinda know where she's coming from. Actually, it scared me because it almost echoed my own life.

It all started when I was born. I was born blue and quickly placed in an incubator. I was born June 24th but according to my Mom, I "was supposed to be born on the 4th of July". At 17", 5lbs., and 8 oz. I have a feeling I was about a month to possibly 2 months premature. Then again it's hard to compare medical standards of 1967 to those of 2009. I might have been born with a stroke but nothing was really clear.

My developmental stages were more unique than anything. I might have learned to read before I can speak. My speaking and walking started late, but I can read newspapers by the age of two. I also had a thing when I was 4 in which where if told me a certain date in time, I can trace it to the day it fell on. For example, if someone asked me if what day January 13, 1947 fell on I would give the exact day. The funniest thing is , I cannot do it anymore but when I very young it was no problem. But that's when the weirdness just started. I never really spoke in complete sentences until I was 7 although I could read aloud perfectly. When I was 6, I read on a high school level. I also have a very vivid memory in which I can remember things when I was 1 1/2-2 years old (but no memories from the womb)This was the time I was more of a case study than anything. I also remember from the age to 3 up to 10 where I went through a battery of tests: WISC-R, DLM, the California tests, and the one where they glue wires on your head and hold it down with a spaghetti strainer (like Rick Moranis in "Ghostbusters"). I remember being asked questions when I was 6 with this damn thing on my head. What was the capital of Greece? Who wrote "Faust"? Who was the 13th President of the U.S.? I would answer (AT 6!) Athens, Gounod (who wrote the opera- Goethe wrote the original story), and Millard Fillmore (he was the first to have a bathtub in the White House).

Due to this "oddity" I was placed in Special Ed classes starting 1st grade. I also remembering going through PT/OT and Speech Therapy until I was in the 9th grade. In the 6th grade, I was finally labeled "Neurogically Impaired" but the "NI" diagnosis was never specified. Even my mother brushed everything off and said I had a "learning disability".

And yeah the neverending name calling began. Oh yeah. I was called a "Retard" , "Polio Victim" (b/c my feet goes "out" when I walk), and my least favorite "special".It was also weird b/c in some Special Ed. classes I was the "smart guy". In other classes w/ the "normal" people I was the outcast. I remember a time when I was in 5th grade , since I was different from the rest of the kids, some kid in class called me a "faggot". I went to my Mom and I asked her what a faggot was. I remember her reply: "I hope you don't grow up to be one". I felt puzzled and said "What?" She then said "little sticks, yeah little sticks". However she gave me permission that if the mean kids call me a "faggot," I should tell them to go fuck themselves. And I did! One kid called me a "faggot" and I told him to go fuck himself. There was a teacher there and he was on MY side! The kid who called me a "faggot" got suspended and I got off scot free! I then asked the teacher what is a faggot. He looked at me, winked, and said "Just don't grow up to be one, kid!" Grade school in the '70's-- you can't make this stuff up!

Then grade school turned into high school. The mean kids then became meaner kids. I mentioned in a few blogs that I changed high schools in the middle of the 11th grade. I attended my new high school that was dominated by Preps. Of course, there were the sarcastic questions and the "special" label hanging over my head like a black cloud. The funniest thing was by Grade 11, I was fully mainstreamed. I knew college was my only way out.

I remember asking my guidance counselor about college. She laughed in my face and said I should go to trade school. I started to get teed off. However, I took it out on my school work. Shortly after I graduated from H.S., I later learned that the guidance counselor got fired-- KARMA!

I took a couple of years off and went to college. I took yet another aptitude/psych exam and the powers that be decided that I had LD (Processing Disorder). I started out in Junior college in which I had an advisor who started a support group for students with LD. I thought it was a good idea in order to share stories and learn from our experiences. The "club" as the advisor called it was more of a joke if anything else. The other students in this "club" acted like they had mental problems rather than having a learning disability. I remember this other advisor (who was a grad student in Behavoral Psychology) talking down to us and made us sit in a circle in which we did dittos. We the students in the support group were in "regular" 100-200 level classes and we were in a workshop doing worksheets that were meant to be used on the 6th grade level. I remember the advisor asking me in slow voice "Do you know what a bank account is?" I took out my ATM card and asked, "does this answer your question?" I then walked out the group one day saying that this precious "club" was "Romper Room Bull****"! I then delved into my work and and finished J.C. (Junior College).

In the summer of 1991, between J.C. and my four-year, I was doing my thing in a 1979 Chevy Chevette driving on the L.I.E. (Long Island Expressway, for those keeping score).. I was listening to music when a cop pulled me over. The officer told me over and over that I was going 12 miles over the speed limit. He was basically looking for drunks. Firstly, how in the world can a 1979 Chevy Chevette with a 4 cylinder eggbeater can do a 67 in a 55? The one thing he was focused on was the way I spoke. He looked at me and asked me with a flashlight in my face, "do you always have a slurred speech"? I looked at him and dead in the eye I said, "Yeah". He still wasn't convinced-- so he made me take a breathylizer. When the B.A.C. came out 0.0, he threw out the mouthpiece sharply on the ground, and promptly apologized for pulling me over. Disappointed, he drove off looking for drunk people with slurred speech instead of sober people with slurred speech. Ironically when I'm drunk, my coordination improves and my slur goes away.

In the fall of that year (1991), I went to my four year college. I had a better advisor. She then asked me to look into this support group on campus. It was a better support group.It was a better school -- SUNY Stony Brook (known as "the Berkeley of the East") had (and from what I know still has) a very good support group for disabled students. I went in the first day and shared my story with the others. I later then became President of this group. I thrived in this school and some of the members of this group and I became close friends. Yeah, there were some militants who were big time about this. There were some Blind people who prefer to be visually impaired. There were some Deaf people who preferred to be called "hearing impaired ' and so forth. God forbid, if anyone made the mistake and call someone "handicapped"- OUT COME THE PICKET SIGNS!

Myself, it was hard for me-- I had no true idea what my disability is! Even though it was "LD" there was something a little more to it.I remember ppl. thinking I was dyslexic but I clearly wasn't. Really it was something else, but what was it really? Was it CP, LD, Asperger's, or Aphasia? I still had delayed and slurred speech. In addition, my coordination was still off. Yet I had no clue. In late 1992 and early '93, I've decided to go to the state agency (VESID) and see if I can recieve any benefits for Grad School.. If anything it was for sake for identity and closure. I went though another battery of tests, no spaghetti strainers this time. I had seen a Neurologist with a terrible accent, and a Neuropsychologist who was more interested about my "drinking habits". I then got the so-called results: I was told I "had" a disability but I was "CURED" of it! WHAT THE FRICK?!?

After all the bullcrap and discrimination I faced, I'm cured? After being in Special Ed. AND special schools for all those years I'M FRIGGING CURED!?! I gave up the sacred "quest" for my "true" handicap and I began to do my thing. I graduated from Stony Brook and then later went to Grad School in which I also graduated. I still pay my student loans, but I DID IT!

Am I still pissed? I am little piturbed, but it's all in the past. I achieved some things that "professionals" thought I never could do. I am happy with what I have done. If it wasn't for my past, I wouldn't be in the field that I'm in (Human/Social Services).

Do I see myself as Handicapped? I think "handicapped" is a state of mind. I believe that a handicap is as trivial as a personality trait. I still slur my speech and stutter at times. I even still duck walk, but it's me and people like it. I like it. Do I think I have a disability? I believe I have a low level of Asperger's w/ a touch of CP. My "diagnosis" is based on my own personal research --I have a friggin Master's for Crissake! I decided that if there was anyone who would know best about me, it would be ME! Do I still want closure for all I've been through? I'd still want closure although I'm not really desperate about it as before. After all of this, I'm not resentful. If I have children, I definitely need to keep an eye on their development. Mistakes are meant to be made, and God knows I've learned from them! The good news, they weren't all my mistakes. In the end, I believe nobody really owes me --I owe MYSELF! That chip fell off my shoulder a long time ago.

Class Of 1985

It took me a while to write about this. I don't know if it started when a friend from Facebook contacted me from high school a couple of years ago. Maybe the idea for this blog came to me over 25 years ago. I pretty much put my high school experience on the backburner in my life. I kept distant from those days. I kind of put those days behind. Sadly, I pretty much left those days for dead.

In high school, I was an outcast-- probably THE outcast. To say I was different from everybody else was the grandest understatement of all understatements. I didn't fit in. Thanks to certain "in" groups-- I wasn't allowed to fit in. Those groups, at least I thought anyway, had it out for me. I was short, fat, kept to myself, I walked pigeon toed, and I talked under my breath. I was shy, it probably came from the stigma of being "different" from everybody else. I also went to "special" classes because of an "undisclosed" disability. In fact, I went to "special" schools due to this "undisclosed disability"in my earlier years. To this day, there is no explanation of this "undisclosed disabilty". Yet I was considered "normal" and "cured" of this "undisclosed disability" in 1993. But that's another story.

I had recently transferred high schools in my junior year. I had my share of crap from the previous high school, yet this was nothing that I was about to face in my new school. My mom just got this better job plus the landlord was selling the house that my mother and I lived in. As you noticed, I left out my father. When I was 2, my father abandoned me and my mother for "undisclosed" reasons. Funny how the word "undisclosed" keeps on popping up in my earlier years. She found a duplex apartment in a "better" neighborhood" and I was in a supposedly "better" school district. It was like Beverly Hills 90120 and I was Brandon Kelly except the school was overpopulated by a bunch of Shannen Dohertys. Then again you can say it was Freaks And Geeks except I felt like the entire cast of Freaks and Geeks attending Beverly Hills High. The moment I attended the new school- the alienation began.

If I was a character from The Breakfast Club, I would be what happened if the Anthony Michael Hall and Ally Sheedy characters had a baby. I had the "out there" traits of Ally Sheedy and the geekishness of Anthony Michael Hall. Judd Nelson would've been my buddy. However, the school was overrun by the many Molly Ringwalds and Emilio Estevezes who attended. It was probably the reason I hated John Hughes' films of the '80's.

The name of the high school said it all- Babylon Junior and Senior High School. And YES the town (or "village" as they call it) is called BABYLON! The "ruling class" was literally "the ruling class": mostly white WASPish neo-Reaganites decked out in Izod polo shirts with two parents and a brand-new BMW (known as a "Bimmah") parked in the driveways of their freshly manicured French Colonial "mini-mansions". The majority of the society of Babylon Jr. & Sr. High lived "south of Montauk (Highway)" which was the main street in Babylon NY. The who's who of who's who lived there- Bob "Captain Kangaroo" Keeshan was one of the celebrities that lived in Babylon at the time. Ironically, Rodney Dangerfield was actually born there- so there were others who had less than "respectable" experiences in Babylon, Long Island.

The name of the ruling class were The Preps. If you didn't wear Izods and Benettons you weren't cool. If you listened to different music then they did, you weren't cool. If you weren't a Prep you just weren't cool. Where I lived wasn't cool for a Prep, I mainly lived in a mixed part of town, mainly working middle class in between Montauk Hwy and the Babylon-Montauk line of the Long Island Railroad (LIRR). So the usual insults began i.e "Fatty", "Nerd", "Freak", "Faggot" (even though I'm VERY straight), and so on. But it got worse, since I was in Special Ed (yet I was fully mainstreamed in my Senior year) I was called "Retard". I was called this so many times that the Preps wanted to make me think I was actually retarded. A couple of occasions they asked me where was my orange helmet. I actually had aspirations to go to college, of course the Preps laughed in my face. "Go to Trade school like the other retards!" said one of them. The namecalling and teasing grew worse. Since my mother wasn't married, the kids (who never met my mother) called my mother a "slut". And of course I got the "wrong side of the tracks" line since I was middle class. And since there was "no middle class" according to Prep standards, therefore I was considered "poor white trash".

Since I looked different and I was still in my "MY Mom still buys my clothes" phase, I was a moving (but unknowing) target. I had my share of a Prep pointing to another Prep and yell out "She likes you!" as the group of Preps chortled with laughter. And the functions they threw like the "Junior Deb" (I'm not kidding), I was teased so bad I didn't even bother going to "The Junior Deb" and the Senior Prom. I was even called the N-Word by (ironically) a Prep who was also black. To top it all off, I was even called a commie because I didn't "love" Ronald Reagan. The ones I exacted my revenge on were three girls who were the center of the Preps. The one girl, was originally from California and was into of all things the British band MODERN ENGLISH (not kidding) according to her, they were the "best band in the world" and she wanted to be their groupie. The two girls who joined in with the wannabe Modern English groupie were two of her lackeys who all joined in on the teasing. There were a few others who targeted me: the Black Prep who called me the N-word, the "Star Quarterback", and the wuss who hit me on my head with a text book and ran away and claimed to "beat me up". For the last six months of my Senior year in Babylon High School, I was just concentrating on graduating and getting the hell out of there. I vowed one day I will come back to Babylon High School and tell these Reaganite a-holes to screw off!

In the home stretch of graduating I came across unlikely allies. I realized there were fellow outcasts in my school. One group of outcasts that I pretty much owe my life to were the Stoners of the school except they were called "dirtbags" by the Preps. The so-called "dirtbags" are heroes in my book. They knew what it was like to be outcasted and excluded by the "in crowd". Some were the greatest people I came in contact with and my regret was that I should have known them when I first attended Babylon. They taught me that it was okay to be different. Some if not all of the "dirtbags" supported my ideals in life and made me feel that I wasn't stupid after all. Another regret was that I should copped a hit in the back of the van-but I had a good contact high! There were other non-"dirtbags" that I owe a debt of gratitude to. These were the people who no matter how bad I felt always made me laugh and never made me feel left out. The "dirtbags" also even defended me when some Preps tried to insult (and on a few occasions tried to assault) me. THANKS GUYS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!

The comeback came after I graduated: I lost a great deal of weight, I ended up attending college, I even wore DESIGNER clothes with labels. I even got MISTAKEN for a Prep! I worked hard to be a different person from my Babylon High School days and it paid off. Yet, as the days wore on like a thick woolen blanket, my life as I knew it in Babylon Jr & Sr High school soon faded. I never even mentioned my high school during my college days. I wanted to go on my life. As I was going to Grad School, it was getting close to my 10 year reunion-I never asked my Mom who was still living in Babylon at the time if I got an invite to the reunion. I never cared. If I was invited to ANY Babylon High School Reunion, I was going to bring all my college degrees with me and go to one of those doubters (preferably my Guidance Counselor) and stick my degrees in their faces! But as time went by, my feelings of vindictiveness slowly died out. Yet aloofness set in; thus Babylon was dead to me.

Then things happened in my life, I got a Master's Degree, got a 'real' job, and I moved to several places. In 1994, I first moved cross NY State and lived in Buffalo for nine years. In 2003, I moved from Buffalo to Hickory, NC (which is 50 miles Northwest of Charlotte and 70 miles East of Asheville, NC). My experiences in High School and College made me a Liberal Democrat for the past 20 years. My experiences in Special Ed made me work in the field of Human Services in which I work with the MR/DD population for the past 12 years. I gained most of my weight back, but I'm trying to lose the middle age spread, but this time I'm happy. I never married (even though I had some close calls). Even though I acheived my goals out of anger I still feel that l achieved. The exception is that I am happier than I ever was! And I'm STILL SINGLE ladies!

I also became less vindictive and I was not as aloof. With Columbine and 911 happening, I put my life into perspective. When many students and teachers got gunned down in Columbine High School (Littleton, Colo.) by two "outcasts", how much I thought about my days in Babylon. It could have been worse, and I thank God I never had the option nor I was evil enough to do what they did. No one deserved to die, even if they were Preps or jocks involved. Then a couple of years later, I realized that there were probably graduates of Babylon Jr. & Sr. High School flying in those planes or were in in those buildings when they came down on 9/11/01. Revenge was fleeting. Life was to important to ignore. Forgiveness became essential. I was never into the idea into forgiving and forgetting in my younger days. As I approach my 42nd birthday, I realize that I might not have time to forgive and forget. Even though I'm still fairly young, why should I end up as an angry old man?


All I would like to say for those from Babylon High's class of 1985 I contacted in Facebook, THANK YOU FOR KEEPING IN TOUCH! Also I want to thank my fellow outcasts from Babylon Junior & Senior High School. If I offended anyone during those days, I am sorry. And I forgive (believe it or not) anyone who have offended me when I attended Babylon. With the 25th year reunion coming next year, I will be happy to attend and fly to New York and left the forgiveness begin. Most of all, I forgave the biggest critic in my life-MYSELF!

I also want to say that Facebook helps me reconcile with my past and my high school days shouldn't be a "dirty little secret". Facebook and a few friends from Babylon gave me the courage to face the past and not lock the door to keep me from my past. I am eternally grateful to Facebook. If anything, I would like to invite anyone from Babylon High & Junior High School to add me as a friend on Facebook and MySpace. I know now that there are former BHS students out there who were outcasts like me. I would like to talk to some of my fellow outcasts, the door is open! The door is also open to some "Preps" out there: If you are willing to communicate with me- I might even apologize back. Then again, no apologies are necessary for either side.

...and we never complained!

On my Facebook page on the day after Halloween last year; I posted an old horror movie intro from a local TV Station. Back in my day, and pretty much most Americans born before 1980, we had very few choices-- but if we wanted something we had it. When I was a young lad growing up in Long Island, on Saturday evenings we had what was called "Chiller Theater" on WPIX Channel 11 (New York). Notice I didn't say "CW11" or "WB11", it was just "Channel 11" or "WPIX" (and yes, we used the letter "W" in its' call letters). "Chiller Theater" or as we used to call it "CHILLERRRR!!!!! Blb, blb, blb, blb...." had a fantastic Claymation intro of a six fingered hand emerging from a pool of blood before the movie itself actually began. They usually had the black and white classics like the Frankenstein movies with Boris Karloff. I was more into another TV Station that also showed some horror movies and that was WOR Channel 9's"Fright Night". "Fright Night" which had a smoking skull for its' intro, showed more independent movies like the original "The Crazies (1973)". and Italian horror movies such as "The Night Evelyn Came Out Of Her Grave (1970?)" and Hammer Horror flicks with Vincent Price and Peter Cushing. Here are some examples...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATUJG3DSziw (Chiller Theater);http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlOqrh8rHM8 (Fright Night); http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RY5s1ve5AdM ("The Night Evelyn..." Trailer.)

When I posted the "Chiller" and "Fright Night" intros on Facebook on Halloween, I had big time positive feedback. I had a high school classmate remind me on how good we had it back in the day, even without today's "modern amenities". By "we", I mean the people that were born before 1980. Not knocking the later generations, BUT it knocks me dead when you post-1980 kids complain about that "there's nothing good on TV" and you're bummed that the director's cut of "Iron Man 4:Tony Stark Is Anemic And Needs More Iron!" is not out on Blu-Ray yet. When I was growing up we didn't have MySpace or Facebook. In fact, computers were those big bulky reel-to-reel devices with blinky lights that we seen on Star Trek or some low budget Sci-Fi movie. We didn't have cell phones, nor we had I-pods or MP4's. We had a transistor radio amongst ourselves and when it was time for dinner, our moms yelled out the window...and we never complained!

When I was in my pre-pubescent years growing up in Central Islip and later Lindenhurst, Long Island in the late 70's, it was all good! My mom and I had no cable until I was 15 and that was the case with most of us kids born between 1965-1972. Cable was considered a LUXURY when I was a kid! We were happy with our 6 VHF stations and we might have picked up a couple of UHF stations if our antennas work that day depending on the weather. But we ONLY had SIX channels to watch: Chs. 2,4,5,7,9,&11, and no VCR (another "luxury")...and we never complained!

And if we found nothing to watch on TV we did one of three things 1)Do our homework, 2)Do our chores, or 3)GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY! And if we dare say to our parents; "...but it's too cold outside!", our mothers would tell us to wear a sweater or hand us a pair of gloves and a scarf. And guess what? We went outside anyway ...and we never complained!

And when we DID go outside, it was for a least an hour and a half on a school day! And when it was summer time, we didn't go home until it got dark, and that was at 9PM in some cases! And this was when I was 9 to 10! And if had nothing to do, we found something to do. If there were no balls, bats, hoops or any sports equipment around we invented stuff. I remember playing "Star Trek" when I was a kid. Basically, we acted out the roles of a certain episode of the ORIGINAL Star Trek (Notice I didn't throw out initials out like TOS, TNG, and DS9- because THERE WAS ONLY ONE STAR TREK!). In some cases, we made our own episodes, however, we had to kill off some characters because there wasn't enough people to go around. Now if we had some newbies or bratty little brothers or sisters they would automatically be redshirts. I, being the "different kid", started out as the lowly redshirt (and got "killed" right away), but when the kids realized that I have an IQ over 100, I became Mr.Spock! So we did improvisation before we knew what improvisation was! We were pretty much forced outside to perform in an ensemble group with no audience and no pay...and we never complained!

And if we God forbid, ever DID complain, our parents went into THEIR stories of growing up in the Fifties and compared their shortcomings to our shortcomings. And they started off with "When I was YOUR age..." then they went into "...And you don't know how lucky YOU are..." and the concluded with "...and I never complained!" Take my mother for instance, she went to A CATHOLIC BOARDING SCHOOL when she was a kid, plus she grew up in the 50's into the early 60's. She told me about her listening to the radio all the time because TV WAS CONSIDERED A LUXURY ITEM when she was a child! But in the scant times my mother reflects on her childhood, she seemed like she had a good time at some points...and she never complained!



All this talk about reminiscing on "how good I had it" reminds me of Bill Cosby's routine about his "thankful" father during his "Bill Cosby: Himself" movie from the Early 80's: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tt33zqib2qk. Even though I don't have kids, I feel like I'm becoming a parent when I see or hear a 20something complain about the new Harry Potter movie coming out in two parts and the price on the new Windows Phone 7. I am proud to say that our generation (those who are born between 1965 to 1980), are the DIY generation. We did it ourselves, and we are still doing things ourselves. Therefore, WE HAVE NO TIME TO COMPLAIN! And I'm sure there are some of you out there who are born past 1980 who got their act together and are doing the DIY thing, especially those who have kids. I'm not trying to sound like an old man, but for crying out loud, everything changed really quick even though it had been a course of 30 years. And here I am on a PC as I charge my cell phone talking about the days back when there we no PC's and cellphones. Cable is now a necessity since we can't get TV reception without it! The days of "luxury" flew out the window. Yet if there was a virus that effected all the PC's, MP3 players, and cell phones-- we know what to do like using a payphone or dialing in a radio station or putting in a CD in our stereos. No E-Mails? Hell, I can go to a post office and buy some stamps and mail my Mom a letter! So to the younger generations out there who complain about nothing on TV or texting to someone standing 5 feet away, because you have nothing better to do (like ohmygod! talking to the person standing 5 feet away from you), GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND DO SOMETHING! Go outside. Play "Star Trek" (even "Voyager"!). In other words, QUIT YOUR BITCHING! Please do so or we'll get our parents after you and lecture you on why they were not allowed to listen to Elvis and/or The Beatles! THANK YOU!

I'm 44, Male, & Single: WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME!?!

 In my 44 years on this earth, I had over 10 dates, give or take; eight girlfriends; and an ex-fiance/ psychopath . I also had a couple of "friends with benefits" (Thank you Alanis Morrissette for coming up with that term, oh and writing that song about giving that guy who does the stupid voices on "Full House" a BJ in a theater). Having said that, I owned a (meaning ONE) cat (but she ran away), I don't own a raincoat and expose myself to old ladies in a park, I never wrote a manifesto nor I singled out left handed Asian Seventh Day Adventists to mail bomb them, and the biggest disclaimer of all:I AM NOT GAY!

The reason why I am writing this is because there are many people, male and female, who are in my position. I also noticed that people in my position kind of get picked on in movies or on TV. You've seen them, Steve Carrell's character in the "40 Year Old Virgin", the entire cast of "The Big Bang Theory", and pretty much every serial killer in most movies and TV shows (except for "Dexter" because he's a fairly attractive guy {in which the ladies like}, has a wife and family, and he's the "good" serial killer!). But this is the role us middle aged single guys are relegated to be: inept screwballs who have 20 cats, uber nerds with no personality whatsoever, serial killers, or having a show on HGTV or DIY about home decorating. AGAIN...I'M NOT GAY!!!

But I guess this is the consequences of sea change through the years. In the 50's & 60's , if you were male and single you either fell in three categories you were either a 1)"Playboy" which meant you dated all kinds of women (who wore those "torpedo" bras and the Angora sweaters), you might have been a 2) Sea Captain, literally, a sea captain: he often lives alone smoking a pipe, has twenty cats in his small one bedroom apartment, has a nearly empty brandy sifter in his hand, talks about "the war", and often speaks of his "long lost love who lives overseas" which is most likely a hooker in Bangkok or somewhere in the Philippines. Then you have the bleakest category of all in the Olden Time Middle Aged Single Guy vernacular: 3) The "Bachelor", which meant you were often crazy, or a hairdresser, or have a nephew who in forty or so years from now will most likely have a home decorating show on Cable TV.

Then you look at the "bachelor life" developing in the 70's. The Odd Couple had Felix and Oscar; both were not only straight but introduced the "sensitive guy" persona in Felix Unger. Yet the sensitive Felix often obsessed about winning back his ex-wife. Felix also had what we call now severe OCD, and was rather effeminate for a straight guy. But back then, it was funny. Nowadays, a Felix Unger type would be a candidate for a restraining order and/or be on Zoloft for the rest of his life! Oscar Madison, would be more doable in today's society. Oscar would now be compared to today's 21st Century douchebag who walks in the bar half hammered, wears his colors and letters from a Frat that he attended thirty or so years ago (before getting kicked out of college because he was on Academic Probation for five years), and constantly plays Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird" on the jukebox. Then you have the other side of bachelorhood in the 70's: yeah that's right, "Bert & Ernie" from Sesame Street. These guys were often seen as best buddies and when Ernie sang "Rubber Duckie" in a bathtub with Bert curiously standing by in the same bathroom constantly talking about his pigeon and... OKAY LET'S FORGET ABOUT THAT EXAMPLE!!! BUT I'M STILL NOT GAY! AND NEITHER ARE BERT & ERNIE!

Before I go into another "I'm not gay" rant: because I'm middle aged and I was never married nor I had kids, people would pigeonhole me (Sorry, Bert) as someone who would be gay. Pardon the pun, but let me tell you straight, I would make a terrible gay guy! My apartment is always slightly messy, and that's how I like it. I like some Broadway musicals but it's stuff like West Side Story, Hair, and the Sound Of Music that I really get into-- so I like musicals with street gangs, Nazis, and overt drug references! That and I like WOMEN, I like the way they look, I like the way they carry themselves, I like their softness, and I like their smell. I don't mean to describe women as a fabric softener sheet, but there is something about women that I love that is beyond any detail and description. Women are a mystery and I will never find the cornerstone that all women are made from, but I will love to try. Men, are a mystery solved-- most of us like sports, we fart, we complain over petty crap, we're usually cheap, and we don't ask for directions (because I have a State Road Atlas and I memorize anything I hit on Mapquest!). Hell, I don't even know why we often leave the toilet seat up when a woman visits (sorry, Mom); then again, WE DON'T CARE WHY WE LEAVE THE TOILET SEAT UP!!! And this is another proof why I'm not gay: here it goes...I HATE "DIRTY DANCING"! In fact, I have never seen it, NOR I WANT TO!!! I rather stick my right hand in a running blender (preferably on "chop" or "liquefy") than see "Nobody backs Baby into a corner", in fact SCREW BABY AND THE CORNER SHE'S BACKED INTO! I like Patrick Swayze but only in "Road House" and "Point Break" (and I'll admit I liked Swayze in "To Wong Foo.." but that's just me and other straight guys-- what? we can't be sensitive?). But Dirty Dancing is so freakin OBNOXIOUS and even the songs are grating, and God forbid if I hear "I Had The Time Of My Life" one more time, I swear, I will go on a Carnival Cruise just to throw up on the deck!!!!! Most likely, there are some people, straight or gay who hate Dirty Dancing as much as I do. And I shouldn't call Dirty Dancing a "gay" movie. I just like to write a paragraph on how much I hate "Dirty Dancing". Sorry, for any "Dirty Dancing" fans who might get offended. And before someone calls me a "phobe", I have several friends who are gay. I have a really good friend from my Undergrad school who is married to another guy. He's a great guy and more power to him and his husband!

And that's the thing that I'm writing about: just because we're in our 30's, 40's, 50's or whatever age we are, whatever gender we are, THERE IS NO SHAME BEING SINGLE! Some of us chose to live "the family life", but some of us like to live a life of adventure. I'm not saying that being single is adventurous (even though being with my ex fiance/psychopath was an adventure), but we are our own choices. We should be happy that we live in a time and place that we have choices. Remember a time when we HAVE to get married? I bet there are some readers out there, that came from a culture in which the marriages were arranged and there was no say against it.

As far as relationships go: yeah, I'm definitely looking for a compatible female out there that can share a few laughs with me. If she can appreciate my warped sense of humor and my dogs, that's cool. If she appreciates life itself, like I do, that's even cooler!

When Country was "Country"!

Now before anybody gets started, I'm from Long Island. In fact, I was born in Brooklyn and was raised there before going to Long Island at age 7. I'm 44 now and I've been living here in North Carolina for about eight years. Now why is it, this Yankee, a "Lawn Guylander", is defending country music? It's not about the "country" aspect, but the American aspect of the music. And the country music I'm defending is not the so-called "new" country but the "old school" country. Back when cowboys rode horses and not Ford F-150's, back when a "badonkadonk" was just a "big 'ol butt", Country Music was Country Music and it was all about THE COUNTRY! In the 70's and before, country music had charm, you can even say it was "cute" (but not in a gay sort of way). And believe it or not, my Southern friends, Country Music made it up North a long time ago.

Back then, we called Country Music "cookout music" or "barbecue music". When urban flight took place in the Northern cities like NYC, Boston, and Chicago; not city dwellers moved in into what they call "the country" which was really the suburban towns and regions that outlined the cities. When I was a child, Long Island and Upstate NY was considered "the country"- pretty much anywhere that has a tree! When some of the city dwellers moved into homes in "the country", they had cookouts or barbecues in their newly built French Colonials and played Johnny Cash or George Jones on their record players as they test out their new Hibachis as their brothers, sisters, and all of their kids came along and enjoyed a day out in the yard. Hence "barbecue music".

Country music radio stations popped up North during the urban sprawl of the 60's & 70's. When I was a kid "Hee Haw" ,was a very popular show especially with adults. I dunno if it was Roy Clark and Buck Owens "pickin' an' a grinnin'" or the half naked "Hee Haw Honeys" jiggling around in those tiny plaid shirts (strategically tied at the right place) and pre-Daisy Duke cutoffs. Then again, I had a strange fascination with LuLu Roman when I was a kid. But then again I know now that it was my love for large women and I think LuLu started the whole BBW craze, so I thank you LuLu! But back to the music, there was an innocence and even a purity to Country Music, just like rock in its' infancy and rap/hip-hop when it first came out. Then something happened, Country gone COMMERCIAL and got cheesy in the 80's!

Country Music faded away and pretty much became a cliche. Country became cheesy in the 80's due to the "been there, done that" technique the songs took on. Y'know what I'm talking about; the classic joke-- Q:"What do you get when you play country music backwards?" A:"Your wife, your house, your pickup truck and your dog!" Everything started to sound the same. Then the worst happened. Now I know some people will kill me for this, but when Garth Brooks started to make records, that's when the cowpies hit the fan! Brooks mixed the 80's standard Country cheese (a la Kenny Rogers and Glen Campbell) and mixed it with some classic rock. But instead of stripping it down back to the bare bones like Lyle Lovett and Dwight Yoakum tried to do, Garth Vader made Country Music extra cheesy!!! Then you had the other ilk; namely Billy Ray Cyrus. Then came Toby "We'll put a boot to their ass, it's the American way!"-YAWN! Keith, Kenny "I wear a hat because I'm bald" Chesney along with Brooks and Dunn (or is it Big n' Rich or the countrified versions of Hall & Oates?). Now before some of y'all get your Daisy Dukes in a bunch, some of the country stuff today is mostly Country Music doing an impersonation of Hair Metal and Gangsta Rap- actually some call it "Gangsta Country" and that scares me and other music purists!

Let me conclude with this little story. When I was 8, my mother and I had a neighbor from North Carolina who lived above our apartment. We heard Charley Pride and Tom T. Hall wafting down from the upstairs apartment and into our ears. My neighbor had a daughter who was a few years older than me, and we played together with the other neighborhood kids. That summer (1975), my mother and I had the opportunity to go along with our neighbors on a trip to Goldsboro, North Carolina, and stopping to Washington DC along the way. Other than getting a nasty stomach virus right before the trip (I threw up in three states!), I was raring to go. Although the main thing I remembered when was in DC was downing Pepto Bismol in a hotel room after I ate a McDonalds (good news was I held the Big Mac down), my biggest memory was in Goldsboro where we stayed with my neighbors' family. I met up with some new friends that summer and I remember the tobacco farm we stayed at in which was about as American as America can get. I remember the kids in NC calling me a Yankee, but there were still very friendly despite the lack of red in my neck. I remember walking down the country road a mile down in 90 degree heat to the "general store" just to get a Coke (in a glass bottle for a freakin' QUARTER!) and walking back to the farm and not getting overwhelmed by the distance and the heat. The oldest one in our group of four or five was 10 and NOTHING HAPPENED! It stood out as one of the best times in my childhood. It was like The Waltons, and I was John Boy for that brief moment- we were both aspiring writers soaking up what God gave us in this countrified setting. I also remember being given some HUGE tobacco leaves from the farm- which made a great "Show & Tell" when I went back to school in Long Island a month later. Unfortunately, the leaves dried up and flakes were falling on the floor of Mr. Caruso's class, but even that time was fun- a 3rd grader sharing his tobacco with the class (and I think a few teachers were trying to buy the dried tobacco from me ). 8 years old, and I was already into "Big Tobacco"!

But it's moments like those that made country music, maybe any kind of music should be about that innocence.I guess nowadays music cannot capture those fun times like barbecues and trips out to the "real" country. Maybe that's why I'm into the old school when it comes to everything in life. "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" will never represent my past nor my present. Maybe it's the Americana that sticks with the old school Country Music. Then again, we should not pursue "The American Dream", but the American existence!

The Ballad Of Plunkett

One Saturday night, I read an excellent blog by my friend Shelli about losing friends through the trails of time and death. I commented on that blog stating that I enjoyed her blog but I never had a close friend die on me. Little that I knew was that comment became a premonition. Playing on another stage was looking on the net for an old friend from my undergrad days in SUNY Stony Brook.

I was looking for Mike Plunkett whom most of us called "Plunkett". I was called "Chuckles" by those in the same circle as us (a worldplay on my middle name; Charles). Last time I spoke to Plunkett, was in late October of 2006, when the Mets shit the bed in the NCLS against the Cardinals. I called Plunkett in which he lived in his modified bedroom in Smithtown, Long Island since 1994. He told me that he has been sober for the past three years, he buried the hatchet with a couple of people he had a grudge with for the past 11 years. Things were looking better for him-- he was starting a new job after so many years without one. He told me that he was going to get a computer and look for me on the internet. After a while looking for him, I assumed that he would find me-- but that day never came.

Plunkett was the master jokester, the pride of a group of people we were part of-- "The Irish Mafia". Plunkett and I would do these impromptu skits out of nowhere. His timing and delivery was impeccable-- much better than mine. He had a voice that reminded some of a "bad Bill Cosby" to me it was more like a nasal Gilbert Gottfried with a touch of Lewis Black- almost like a white Chris Rock. He looked a little bit like me, stocky with round head with thinning hair and wearing a goatee. He also had on these wire rimmed glasses, and sometimes wore an olive coloured jacket. He had mild CP, so he had a cane-- actually a sheleileigh he called O'Shaughnessy. Plunkett and I would go into these impromptu skits, sometimes with a third guy Steven West who was the straight man out of the trio. Plunkett and I would say funny shit cracking each other up or cracking up the people around us. If people weren't around, we would see if West can crack up. In the early 90's, the three of us attended SUNY Stony Brook-- 35 miles East of Manhattan.

We were part of a bigger outfit called STAC (Students Towards an Accessible Campus): a student run organization serving disabled students on campus. 80% of STAC were of Irish background and the Italian Coordinator of the Special Needs Program on campus labeled us the "Irish Mafia". We were a service group on campus but by the way we acted sometimes we should have been a fraternity. There was a core group within the Irish Mafia-- me and Plunkett were within this core. Plunkett was like the master improv artist, I was more into the one liners-- a few did hit. I also did these little underground cartoons. Like Terry Gilliam of Monty Python, I was the aminator --Plunkett spun the ideas. There was the classic "White Men Don't Hump", "The Nose Picking Society" and one in which was a parody of a Life cereal commercial in which it ended with the line "Holy shit, he ate the fucking box!". Plunkett also did these one man acts in which he sang his version of "The Candy Man": "Who can take a glass rod? Stick it up his dick? Break it with a hammer and smash it with a brick? The S&M Man! The S&M Man! The S&M Man likes to inflict pain, 'cause it feels so good!"

When I left for Grad School in Buffalo in the Fall of 1994, I left the Mafia behind but the rest remain. Plunkett got settled in his modified room that he rented. There was a darkness about Plunkett that remained hidden behind his jokes and dirty versions of songs. Plunkett liked to drink-- on occasions when we went to bars, we would order a pitcher for the two or three of us. Plunkett would exclude himself from us and order his own pitcher for himself and at times drink straight from the pitcher! Plunkett would also tell me of his family. He had two siblings, both almost twenty years older than him. When Plunkett was in his late 20's, his mother (father had recently died) was in her early 70's. Both his siblings bore this responsibility of being the head of the household even though Plunkett always held the bag.Plunkett also often complained that he was treated like a kid, and felt like he was walked on by everybody else. On top of that were his failed relationships, one girlfriend of his confessed that she wanted a sex change in the middle of the relationship. He stuck his troubles down the bottle like most other alcoholics-- and he had his drunk moments that almost and sometimes led him into trouble. So I was relieved on that night when he told me that he was sober for three years and made ammends with the past. He was going on into his next stage of life-- the jokes were still there in late October of 2006, but something lacked and I didn't know what. We said our goodbyes, made our promises and hung up.

A few years ago, I stumbled onto Facebook by another member of "The Irish Mafia" he's Puerto Rican, but can write these incredible limericks like his name was O'Malley! As I was finding lost members of the Mafia on FB, I noticed Plunkett wasn't around. Two years went by on FB with no sign of Plunkett. Meanwhile it was like I was back in Stony Brook in 1993 again spitting out one liners and writing blogs in place of the cartoons I did. But it just wasn't complete, Plunkett wasn't there! Sunday night, unknowingly reading Shelli's blog the night before, I decided to go on other sites to look for him. I stumbled onto his name on the White Pages site. Everything that I knew about him match, the age he would be, where he lived; but when I clicked his name I had seen the words "Deceased in 2009". Wait? What? Plunkett's DEAD!?! To confirm his death, I went on the Social Security Death Index (SSDI)-- and there it was. His date of birth was there as well as his last known address in which there is a large cemetary. The cemetary was military but Plunkett's father was a WWII veteran and was probably interred next to his father. There was an address that was listed previous to his last-- Smithtown, NY, and I remembered him living there. Plunkett is dead! Holy shit, my friend had died!

I spoke to our mutual friends on FB, even they didn't know about this. I hated to know what happened to Plunkett on January the 23rd of 2009-- according to the SSDI, his death was verified meaning that a family member or someone acting as a family member claimed him--or identified him. He might have been dead for awhile before he was identified. He might have fell of the wagon- drank himself to death, or keeled over in an alley somewhere. Either way, Plunkett died two and a half years with no knowledge to us. We all thought he would just pop up, but it wasn't that way. None of us were there to send him off-- no proper funeral, no proper mourners, he had most likely died alone.

I had wrote about death before and the thing is, no one can really explain it. People see it in many ways. This could have been a wake up call for some of us about how we deal with the past and addiction is not a way to deal. This could be a tale about dealing with anger the wrong way. But Plunkett was not a moral tale, he was a man and a damned funny one at that! I can make promises to pour a pitcherful of beer over his grave, but maybe someone can or had beat me to it. Even though Diet Coke would be more appropos for Plunkett since he fought alcoholism. Either way, Plunkett is meshed into the lives of his friends like a patchwork quilt. In retrospect-- I would wonder at what would Plunkett would say if his spirit was next to me. He would most likely say "I'm dead, get the fuck over it, Chuckles!"

Whatever Happened To Halloween?

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