Cawfee Tawk

Not to go into any circumstances, but I managed to get a weekend off this week. I am so stoked. I haven't had a weekend off in eons. I'm also getting paid today (Friday) so I am preparing myself for my next two days off. Saturday would be too obvious, especially Saturday night. We all do something on Saturday nights. I've seen to many Saturday nights, not that they are not too fun or anything. Of all things I can do this weekend, I'm focusing on Sunday morning. I am thinking to go into the nearest Dunkin' Donuts (in my case, in Statesville which is 35 miles east of me) this sunday morning and have some COFFEE!!! Not just any coffee, but Dunkin' Donuts' Coffee!!!

You might ask is there a Starbucks in the hick town I live in? Yes, there's three (YES, FRIGGIN THREE!!!) in Hickory: one in the town mall, one two blocks away from me, and a new one off of Interstate 40 near The Waffle House. The one regret that I had living in New York was the overpopulation of Starbucks-Buffalo, NYC, Syracuse, Long Island there was a frickin' Starbucks on every frickin' corner! Now the Starbucks plague has spread to Podunk-ville, NC. And yes, I've been to one out near me and it's no different than the one on Elmwood Ave. in Buffalo, the one in Penn Station, and the one in Massapequa, LI (NY) near the Barnes & Noble and where Tower Records used to be. So yes you got the same banal decor, same snotty staff or "baristas" in the Starbucks in the sticks as you would find in any Starbucks. You will also find the overpriced coffee with weird-ass names and sizes of cups that you need to buy "Rosetta Stone" just to understand what the Hell you're buying!

Where I grew up, if you wanted coffee you go to two places: you went to see Mom (or Grandma), OR you went to DUNKIN' FRIGGIN' DONUTS! No Berlitz courses to get the size you want nor put up with the snottiness of the staff or the pseudo-intellectual poseurs that patronize Starbucks. Now I miss Mom, not just because she lives in Florida now and I live in NC, but I miss the way she makes coffee. My mother has a way with coffee, she will buy a can of regular Maxwell House and a can of decaffienated Maxwell House, she would then mix the both together (2 scoops each) in the coffeemaker and the magic begins! And SHE STILL DOES THIS EVEN AFTER MAXWELL HOUSE "LITE" CAME OUT! Believe it or not, even though it's practically is the same thing and she can save a few dollars this way, Mom just likes it the way she's been doing it for the past 20-30 years. And for some reason, Mom's coffee just tastes better! Another biggie for Mom is the "Eight O'clock Coffee" that at one point was only available at the A&P. Now Mom was born and grew up in Brooklyn, where there were A&P's as far as the eye can see. When we moved to Long Island, there were very few A&P's out there. Mom doesn't drive, so when I got my driver's license and got my car, I used to drive 12 miles from Babylon to Commack, LI to go to the A&P and buy her the "Eight O'clock Coffee". So once in a while I made the pilgrimage. There were other brands of coffee that I missed but I missed anything Mom made when it comes to homemade joe.

Now Dunkin Donuts was the coffee you stopped on your way to work. Obviously the donuts are hard to beat, especially the Boston Cremes and the Lemon Filled Powdered jobs. Then you have the Munchkins which went great with the coffee. The thing I remember about Dunkin' Donuts were that if any crime happened you will ACTUALLY find a cop when you need one. Yet, cops aside, I grew up on the notion that if you go on a Sunday morning and you see someone buy the Sunday paper, a large coffee and a donut, you know that person was "important". I grew up thinking that if you go to Dunkin' Donuts on a Sunday morning to read your paper over a donut and a cup of coffee, you made it in life! You were one with the world if you achieved that right to go to a Dunkin' Donuts on a Sunday Morning. I used to work at a nearby Wendy's and occasionally I worked Sunday mornings.So I would slump into Wendy's down the road getting ready for a long Sunday, dreaming that I would "make it" one day schmoozing with the other "well-to-do" people at a Dunkin' Donuts!

Now, don't get me wrong, I like the taste of Starbucks and other "coffeehouse" coffees. However, I like the nice roasted taste of coffee with a splash of milk and a trace of sugar. Yet Dunkin Donuts tastes like coffee, nothing fancy, but just plain coffee. This is probably the reason why I missed Mom's coffee. But I like it simple, as well as having simple goals and ambitions in life.

Starbucks is simply "ambition overload". If you want to be a person that you will never be, then go to Starbucks! Starbucks are for overachievers. It's okay to go in once in a while but if your life revolves around buying overpriced coffee and buying "pastries" that are miniscule in size, then you got issues, buddy! Donuts, especially Dunkin Donuts are actually TASTY and go great with coffee! Starbucks might have pieces of cake and those dry cookies, but it doesn't amount to much. BTW DON'T DARE to ask for a donut at a Starbucks even if the pastry is shaped like a donut- those snotty baristas will hrrumph you to DEATH! Now I like the independent coffee house and coffee bars out there and the pastries they have. The workers at the indie coffee places are much nicer and the prices are a little more reasonable. There's very few "indie" coffeehouses out where I live in NC but if you're in Buffalo make sure you go to Spot Coffee. There are two Spot Coffees in Buffalo and if you want a "real" coffeehouse experience , go there! But I prefer just to go to Dunkin' Donuts, screw the ambience and the high prices! You can buy a coffee for half the price of a Starbucks and there is no hrrumphing! Also the people that work at Dunkin Donuts are referred to CASHIERS and counterpeople, no "baristas" here!

So that is my plan for Sunday morning. I might even go to church so Saint Christopher can guide me safely for the 35 mile drive to Dunkin' Donuts! I might even stop for bagels along the way, a good fresh bagel with lox and cream cheese is another thing I miss from New York-BUT THAT'S ANOTHER STORY! And let's discuss that over some "cawfee"!

Fat, Like Me

I am going to start this blog as simple as I can. I am fat. I have been for years. In some capacities, I've been overweight all my life. There were two brief periods in my life I've been at or near "normal" weight. When I was very young and later in mylate teen years and most of my 20's. I've been on diets and I was successful at it. In the mid 80's I'd lost nearly 100 pounds. I kept the weight off for a little over 10 years. As time went by, my metabolism slowed down. I used to run on average of 2-3 miles a day at about 3-4 days a week. Then I badly twisted my right ankle walking to a library. Arthritis slowly set in that ankle as it crept in my knees.Needless to say, I don't run anymore. I also don't smoke, therefore my oral fixations consist of a cookie here and there rather than tobacco. I also used to drink regularly on an average of two beers a night. On occasions I drank some of the hard stuff; mainly mixed drinks like whiskey sours and rum and Coke. It wasn't much, I rarely got drunk-- only in some parties (and I was particular who I got drunk with). I mainly drank beer because it went well with the pizza and wings when I lived in Buffalo, NY. I'd spent nine years in Buffalo, lots of wings and pizza and the beer to wash it down with. This is where I gained back most of my weight. I don't drink much now as I used to. Once in a blue moon, I'll have a beer-- light beer more often nowadays.

I might have gained back the weight, but I don't feel sorry for myself! Actually, I'd rather be fat than being addicted to heavy drugs (coke, meth), alcohol, or tobacco. And I'm not saying that to put down people with addictions; I have faults too. You can even say that I'm an addict too! Actually I'm not alone since it's been recently reported that 2/3 of this country's population is overweight or obese. This is my life as a fat person. Yet, is my life any farther from yours? Most of my friends have weight problems. I've heard some of their personal stories and there are those that hit close to home.

A few months ago I wrote a blog on how these diet/ exercise equipment companies think that us fat people are stupid enough to believe in anything. These diets work for some but we're not Valerie Bertinelli! Most of us don't have TV careers or even (ahem!) personal trainers. What these diet companies don't realize is that fat people, like everyone else can't afford things like a Bowflex or Nutrisystem. With the so called "heathy" foods being higher than your bag of potato chips, not that many people can eat "healthy". Hell, I had to buy the smaller bag of lettuce mix which is about 2 dollars for an 8 ounce bag! And YES, I actually eat vegetables. I also try to walk a mile a day for two days a week. So trust me, it's not like I'm not trying!

Yet, it's the ignorance that gets me. This past weekend, noted director and filmwriter and my long lost twin Kevin Smith, had his share of abuse. This past weekend, Smith was taken off a Southwest flight in California because of his weight. He had purchased two seats (because that is the mandatory rule they have for overweight people at Southwest) for a commuter flight. Although he was granted two seats, there was only one seat available due to a booking error. Smith got situated in his one seat and can put his seatbelt on. Yet instead of being charged for only one seat, he ended up getting kicked off the flight anyway! Even though he jokes about it, Kevin Smith feels discriminated against. Who can blame him? I surely can't-- does this mean that we need to go on a diet just to fly on an airplane?

This is not the first time I've been a witness and/or been a victim of "fat discrimination". There was a time when a friend and I went to a restaurant and the waitress took our drink orders. The waitress asked what we wanted to drink. I ordered a Diet Pepsi and my friend (who is also heavy) ordered a regular Pepsi. The waitress then gave us two Diet Pepsis even though my friend ordered a regular Pepsi. Now my friend is about 6'6" and since he's heavy and has that height, the waitress automatically assumed my friend drinks Diet sodas. Unfortunately, the waitress did not receive a tip that day.

Now please stop me if you've been in this situation. Okay, you can't stop me because this is a blog and it's kinda hard to stop me here (yet, you can definitely reply to this). Okay, this had happened to me a couple of times. Have you gone to a McDonald's, Wendy's, or a BK and ordered some food for yourself? Well there have been occasions when I'll order 1 or 2 food items and a drink and that's all I want. When I'm at Mickey D's I generally get two dollar menu items, a small drink AND THAT'S IT! And then the cashier would give me this look and say: "would you like ANYTHING ELSE?" I even get a couple of "Are you SURE?"s. Some would even go through the lengths of saying "we've got the combo meals for $4.99" or "a (dessert item) for another 99 cents!" Like fat people have a quota on desert or we need to eat additional food just because we're fat! This is why I try to cook my meals at home!

Also, fat discrimination does not end at restaurants. Just last week, I bumped into a co-worker who likes to rail on me just because of my weight. "You know, you'll FEEL a lot better if you dropped some weight!" And she continued "you have SUCH a nice face, and you have BEAUTIFUL eyes... If you lost weight you would be really GORGEOUS!". Now this "motivational speaker" should listen to her own advice. One time, I noticed her wearing a white thong under her pink pants, AND SHE'S CLOSE TO 60, MAYBE OLDER!!! She also has a turkey jowl and crow's feet that runs deeper as she smokes her Virginia Slims ("because you've come a long way,baby!"). She also drives a BRAND NEW SATURN almost every year! BTW, she's not so skinny herself either! I would love to give her advice, however I doubt she'll like it! I need to act professional even if it's around ditzy co-workers like her!

Here's another thing that gets me: why is it that there are fat people who don't date OTHER fat people? I visited a profile on MySpace of a very attractive BBW. It looked good but there was a statement that read (as I am paraphrasing): "I'm sorry..., but I don't date large men... I'm not ignorant or anything but I feel uncomfortable with (other) big people around me." Isn't that pure stupidity or does she have self esteem that low that self acceptance is close to impossible?
Now as I tell you these things I've experienced; how do YOU feel? Do you feel the same way? Now here's some shocking statements: as large as I am, I really don't eat that much. I am not stagnant, as stated before, I do walk. When the weather conditrions become favorable, I tend to walk more and further out. Sometimes I walk 2-3 miles depending how good I feel. As far as diet as concerned, I have been trying to eat less and exercise more. Hell, I wouldn't mind running again in small spurts.Yet, these things take time and money. Like everyone else, I have neither. I would like to lose weight, WE ALL WOULD but "easier said than done", right? My advice for myself and people like us is to be yourself no matter what. Also, being fat is not the end of the world! Most, if not all of us have talents that the "skinny" people wish they have!

Also, let's face it-- FAT PEOPLE ARE SEXY! Remember when Rosie O'Donnell first started before we all knew she was a lesbian- she was pretty cute! Kirstie Alley was a babe before Jenny Craig and the post Jenny Craig breakdown. Kirstie can still be sexy if she only get some counseling and get that self esteem back, never mind the weight! Then there are other "big girl" actresses like Camryn Manheim and Kathy Najimy. And let's not forget how hot Anna Nicole Smith was before her "Trimspa, baby" days and before she croaked! And that girl from "Hairspray" is saa--mokin hot, especially when she was wearing that miniskirt and those go-go boots. She can carry a loaded gun ANYTIME, as long as she lets me frisk her! Ahhh-oooga!

We all MUST realize that there is good in EVERYTHING! If we just enjoy life the way we see it, what are the limits? There are no limits and boundaries in life. Screw the people on TV, the idiots at McDonald's, or even yappy co-workers! LIFE IS WORTH LIVING FOR! Remember, moderation is only a suggestion!

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.

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!"