Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards Men.

Yes, I know of all the lies. Jesus was most probably NOT born anytime around December 25th. Yes, Christmas was most probably put in December to coincide with Yule, a pagan holiday of light, and Hanuka, the Jewish festival of lights. Yes, Santa Claus has nothing to do with Jesus. I know that Hallmark, along with retailers the world over, want us all to buy stuff, and probably propagated the holiday for their own selfish profits.
All I've got to say to that is, so what?
I spent many years, thinking I was righteous, trying to enlighten the world by refusing to "buy in" to what I thought was a sucker's holiday. I celebrated Yule (actually a beautiful holiday with traditions familiar to most), told all my friends and relatives not to send "Christmas presents" or "Christmas cards", but to send "Yule" substitutes instead. Any time someone would say "Merry Christmas", I would reply with a self-righteous "Joyous Yule!" Then, one day, it clicked.
I realized that I needed to lighten up. Why not celebrate every chance we get? Let's celebrate the birth of a savior. Let's celebrate the fact that the days are getting longer now until June. Let's celebrate the idea that a magical elf is giving gifts to the children of the world. Most importantly, let's celebrate and practice "Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards Men".
Life is too damned short to try to justify everything. If we have a chance to be happy in this life, we better damned well take it. I'll celebrate just about anything if it means I can get together with long, lost relatives and friends. People walking around wishing each other a good day, Christmas Day or any other, is kinda nice for a change. "Happy Holidays", "Merry Christmas", "Happy Hanuka", "Joyous Yule", "Happy Anachronismas", "Happy Kwanzaa", or whatever the hell else you have a chance to celebrate!
Today, I wish you all heaven here on Earth. May you all get just a little better than what you have coming to you. May you all know that someone loves you, and may you be able to spend enough time with that someone that they know you love them, too.
To all my friends who I don't pay enough attention to, I apologize and send my love. To all the friends I have yet to meet, may God hold you in His hand so that you may arrive safely to the day we become friends.
To anyone offended by "Merry Christmas", may your heart be softened enough for you to realize that "Merry Christmas" is not the most offensive thing a person could say to you, and that they are just trying to wish you well, regardless of your beliefs.
And anyone out there who hopes I have a happy day, go ahead and wish me one!
Lastly, may 2009 be the year your goals are met and all your dreams come true!

P.S. Sorry to my Jewish brothers and sisters. At least I can spell Yom Kippur!

God bless the working man.

My father never wanted to be poor. You see, he was one of eight children. Seven brothers in one bed for warmth and because they couldn't afford but one other bed, which was where their mother and sister slept. He told me about how the brothers would argue about who had to get out of bed to start the fire in the stove mornings so Ma could make coffee. I don't think my grandfather was around, or at least, he wasn't mentioned as being anyone.
The story of my father, like my own, is part myth and part tragedy. A jack of all trades, it would seem there wasn't too much the old man wouldn't do for a living; discharged from the Army, fry cook, restaurant manager, construction worker, farm worker, and even some things that might have not been entirely legal. My earliest memories make him a cross-country trucker.
The way I remember the story, my Dad hauled caskets out of Chicago to pretty much wherever his truck would take him. I believed he'd been everywhere, but only because I couldn't find anywhere on the map he couldn't give me directions to. Later in life, I even made a couple of those trips across the country with him. When his back failed him (broken in a trucking accident), he drove taxi for a living.
He drove that damned taxi like a man obsessed, and he was. My mother said he didn't pay his bills, but I don't know if he meant it to be that way. I remember him driving 72-hour shifts, coming home to sleep for sometimes as little as 6 hours, taking a shower, and being gone before anyone was awake the next morning.
I remember my father saying "Don't ever do more work than you need to." He was not a lazy man, but he was accused of being one. What he meant was to work smart, not hard. He believed there had to be an easier way. I don't know he ever found it.

So why am I sitting here, crying like a little girl over a man who's been dead for over a decade? Maybe it's because I remember his spirit and the pain it brought him. My father was a free man. Sure, he had ties that bound him, but he chose those ties; his wife, his children. My father was not the kind who took supervision well, because he could see the foolishness of his "superiors". My father was not the kind to stay in one place for too long. My father was not the kind who candy-coated his thoughts for you. My father was not the kind who could work in a factory. Neither am I.

I remember one time, when I was around 16 or 17 years old, I went to a local factory near my hometown to apply for a job. The idea scared me, but everyone told me that this factory was a good place to work. It provided steady pay, good benefits, and was close enough to home that it was convenient. When I walked into that factory, all I remember hearing was the machines. Clank, hiss, clank, hiss. It sounded to me like the noise Hell must make, and I ran, literally ran in fear. I knew right then that I could never, would never be able to do that kind of work.

Here I sit, unemployed. I haven't had a job since April this year. This is the longest I've ever been without a job, and I'm beginning to grow concerned. I don't know what the future holds, which may be why I'm wandering through my past this way.

God bless the man who can walk into a factory and see a machine he can tend to, operate, and spend his days with. God bless the man who can spend his whole life with a machine. Oh, I know what that kind of toil brings. It brings things like security, a mortgage, a nice car. It brings the "American Dream" to life, but I just don't have the stomach for it. Neither did the Old Man.

Maybe I am doomed to inherit the spirit that my father was possessed with his whole life. Maybe I already have. I am not lazy, I just can't be a cog. I can work hard, and have worked hard. But I would rather feel the sun on my face and the wind blowing through what's left of my hair.

Right now, I don't know where things are going in my life. I would like to have a job. This unemployment bullshit is getting old. I need more options in my life, and being broke isn't doing it.

I'm so out of my mind, I've even taken to blogging. . .

R.I.P. Earl Root

I've written and re-written this enough times, and it always seems to fall short. Here's the story: Earl Root was taken from us, and we all feel the loss. I hardly knew Earl, but I felt a connection with him. He was a kind and gentle man. He was full of love, and it radiated from him like sunshine. He dressed in black, had long hair and sideburns, wore a leather jacket and boots. He looked scary, but it only took a moment talking to Earl to realize there was nothing to fear.
Earl died of lymphatic cancer. It's a fucking shame. I feel his absence, as I know many others do as well. This Christmas season, I think about his family and friends celebrating without him. It must be hard.
Earl, if you can read this, I just want to say that you made an impact on me. The respect and kindness you showed me was both comforting and inspirational. God bless, my friend.

. . . but you don't cost a thing.

This, as with all blogs, serves a purpose. Mine. I might decide to bitch and moan about life, I might decide to enlighten or inspire, I might just give a movie or music or concert review. I might rant about politics or religion. I promise nothing except that I will not plagiarise anyone unless noted. If you know me, you should probably make a better effort to spend time with me instead of reading this. If spending time with me seems unreasonable (you're not the first to think such a thing), then sending money will work, too. If you're serious about sending money, I'll email you a PO box, in case you're just trying to find me to beat me up.
I digress. I will digress often and without apology. I have no real goals with this blog. I would like to become an international celebrity for the wit and candor presented in this blog, but, who am I kidding? I'll be lucky if everyone I invited reads this stuff.
BTW, if you are reading this, you should email EVERYONE YOU KNOW and force them to read as well.
Welcome to my blog. You will be serving as my non-paid, non-certified therapists. You're welcome.

Who Needs the Cops Anyway?

What you gonna do when the world goes spinning out of control? I know what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna call the cops!