Don't Blog and Drive

 I was so excited. I never knew I'd have a chance to actually buy an iPad...one of technologies newest gifts to the 21st century. I was cool. I was hip. I had an iPhone, naturally. Now an iPad.
 My enthusiasm couldn't be contained. I wanted to shout to everyone in the store, "Looky, Looky! I got me a new iPad! I'm cool!" But the cashier was older and the other shoppers looked like English wasn't exactly their native tongue, so I bit mine and kept a lid on my exuberance.
 That is, until I got to the parking lot. My mind was awhirl with all the new things I could do with my new gadget. I could view the Internet bigger than from my iPhone. I could... blog!
 Yeah. I blog. So, here goes nothing. If I can't share this landmark mountaintop experience with others in person, I'll tap out the blog about it to the world on my flashy new screen...
 I noticed the time. Late again. Better hurry. Just a few more witty sentences. I started the car. I didn't mean to pull out, but my foot was on the gas and I had shifted into drive with my knee while tapping my blog on the screen.
 I was creeping out of the parking lot, blogging and driving like a 21st century multitasking machine. I had the world of technology in my grasp. I was master of the cyberverse...
My blinker was on. I swear. I pulled out on green. I did. Why that old lady in the 1979 Ford Fairlane thought she had the right of way I'll never know.
 Mistubishi Galant damage: $1,099.87 for new bumper and front panel and left headlight.
Ford Fairlane damage: Scratch visible on chrome bumper if standing two feet away and staring hard, looking for it.
 Not a fair fight, Fairweather Fairlane!
 Good thing my iPad is insured... at least it isn't damaged, actually. It saved my life. In mid blog, at the point of impact, my iPad shielded my face from the steering wheel as my head slammed down. Unfortunately, my left eye collided with the corner of my iPad and nearly caused a blood vessel to burst.
The eye doctor was polite enough, until he heard what had happened. Then he acted like insurance wouldn't cover eye injuries while blogging and driving.
I think he's just jealous, since he doesn't have an iPad. Well, now I'm one up on everyone. I have an iPhone, and iPad, and now, an iPatch...

Friar Francis Part 4

 Hello again, always good to see you. A fact of the matter is, it is a surprise to see you on here. Watching me. I mean, not that I am not interesting or entertaining, it's just that... well, I'm not so interesting, or entertaining.
 Ahem, well, again, this is Friar Francis, as you may know, I am a 16th century Franciscan monk magically and tragically transported to 21st century America.
 So, here I am going on my first adventure outside the monastery.
 OPENS DOOR TO REVEAL A BEAUTIFUL FIELD.
Hmmm. So peaceful. I thought the outside world was full of strife and anxiety.
 SITS TO ENJOY THE SURROUNDINGS. SOMEONE DRIVES BY AND THROWS A McDONALD's WRAPPER AND EMPTY CUP AT HIM.

Friar Francis Part 3

 Hello again, Friar Francis, YouTube sensation here. For those of you just tuning in, please refer to parts 1 and 2 in earlier blogs.
 I am Friar Francis, a 16th century monk magically and tragically transported to 21st century America. Don't ask me how. I am not even sure why this has happened to me at this junction in my lifehood.
 Please forgive also my lack of good communication skill sets in the American English languague as I am a new beginner to such communication skill sets.
 Also, realize I am not familiarizated with the 21st century YouTube generation, so if I come across rather 16th centuryish, please understand it is not intended to offend so please accept my advanced apologizations.
 I am speaking to you in my very best authentic Mexican Spanish Monk accent this day. I hope you are available to understand.
 Today is the first day I am going out to see the modern world. I am leaving my monastery and the peace and tranquility it offers to see the lost and dying world around me. I have been instructed as a monk to help those in need, so if you need anything, please don't hesitate to call onto me. If I have a telephone number, I will find it out and immediately and will let you be informed of the telephone situation and how to contact me at a convenient time.
Thank you again for your dignified patience as I learn the English American language barrier and fight for helping those who are not in help at this time.
 PAUSE
Thank you.
PAUSE
I am finished now and can now stop the video.
PAUSE
I do not understand technology or how to finish the video at this time, so please bear with my shortcomings.
PAUSE
Stop the video.
GETS ANGRY
Stop the video NOW!
WALKS OFF ANGRILY.
(A few seconds of empty room, then video stops.)

JCPenney, Sears...

...My job hunt continues. I feel like my buddy Darren, who told me at church tonight that his kids each got a deer in youth season, but he failed to bag the big one this year himself.
 Sears. Just past women's underwear, buried in the corner around the side. The door says "Human Resources". It's open. I walk in and ask about work to the lady at the desk.
 She rises and shows me where the computer kiosk is to apply. It is back in the main part of the store just before women's underwear.
 I have to look down at the screen since there is no chair and I am taller than the average applicant.
 I click on job titles. Can only choose one, so choose wisely!
 First choice, sales. Then I go to the next screen, and the red letter pop up with a message. NO SALES POSITIONS OPEN AT THIS LOCATION.
 I go back a screen and select MANAGEMENT.
 Same red letter message. Nothing available.
Go back and hit the next category. And the next, getting the same red letter message that no positions are open.
Every category is a strike out. No need to burden Sears with my work history. Next!
JCPenney's, here I come. Got to Penney's where I searched each quadrant of the second floor in my quest for the kiosk to apply. None found, I asked an employee (I hate to bother them with such trivial matters).
 Third floor, I was told. Hmm. Forgot they had one.
 I take the elevator to the third floor and, sure enough, a kiosk awaits. I enter the code, and listen to a short video of an executive explaining the benefits of working for JCPenney.
 I take a simple survey, and answer the questions, whether Strongly Agree, Somewhat Agree, Neither Agree Nor Disagree, Somewhat Disagree, or Strongly Disagree.
 Wonder if I passed the quiz?
 I may never know. But for now, I entered my information and click "Finish." My fate is in your hands, JCPenney. At least until tomorrow.

"Job-ba the Hunt"

 My job hunt continues. I suited up in my only power suit ("borrowed" from a previous employer) since I am otherwise unsuited for suits because they cost money I don't have.
 In the mall. Christmas rush. Gotta find somebody hiring here, right? All the jewelry shops. I hit every one.
I look the part. They like me, but don't have any openings until "possibly January". I haven't had much money since "possibly May"... well, OK, since December 2008 when my big bucks employer didn't get a contract for '09, but who's counting?
 Next on the hunt are the big retailers. Dillard's is big.
 Me (to Dillard's employee): Where do I find out about employment?
DE: The main store on the other end of the mall. (Looks at me like I'm doing poorly in junior high or something.)
Me: Thank you. (Leaves quickly, with purposeful steps toward the exit.)
I arrive at other end of the mall. Other Dillard's entrance. I instinctively go up the escalator. All big companies bury their HR departments in a corner.

 During the escalator ascent, I check my flawless appearance in the mirrored wall. Looking sharp! Lookin' employable, yeah!
 Nice older lady employee upstairs: Hi! (Wants to sell me something really badly...?)
 Me: Hello. Where can I find out about employment?
NOLE: Down that way, take a left at Christmas and go through the  trees. Can't miss it.
 As a career journalist, I never thought I'd end up my age, being directed through Christmas trees to find the answer to "do you have a job?"

 I find Christmas (and it's only November!) and find the two trees (can't miss 'em, they're big, they're bright!) and I look around a dark little corner with a restroom and drinking fountain on one side, and a desk on the other. I go toward the fountain and decide I'm thirsty, contemplating. Will this be $9 an hour? That's only $6 an hour short of my "break even" expenses for a family of six...
 I go up to the desk.
Nice guy at the desk: May I help you?
Me: I'm checking to see if you have any job openings.
NGATD: No. We're not hiring until January.
 (Strange, most people go shopping BEFORE Christmas. Who hires in January? What a put off! At least learn to lie better...grrr...)
 I retreat through the trees, exit Christmas, take a right and smile "phonily" at the eager older lady employee as I find the descending escalators for JCPenney.

Blue Friday

We'd been working since midnight, stocking shelves and putting away boxes. There was hardly time to look up. The biggest shopping day of the year had arrived, and our isles brimmed with bargains in anticipation of the 5 a.m. opening.
 I was shocked to find a small crowd already huddled in the outside the locked main doors when I showed up for work.
 "It's gonna be a busy day," I said to Jimmy, a temporary worker.  I liked the young man, maybe because his nickname, "Jimmy" is the same as my actual name. He was big as a football tackle, but a teddy bear. Jimmy was always ready to help. He helped me put up some last minute displays. As we walked toward the front of the store about 3:30 a.m., we heard it. A sound like a distant waterfall. We peered through the front doors. People were standing with their faces pressed against the glass.
 "Wow," Jimmy commented in his Dominican accent. "Lot of people. Lot of money coming in today."
 I smiled. "That's one way to put it," I said, but I felt something strange. Should I call security?
 My manager had already done that. Her face looked grim. I overheard her talking about the crowd gathering outside.
 "No need to call police," another manager said. "We'll just have our people line up in front of the doors and slow the shoppers down. This is a good sign, let's not overreact."
 By 4:30, all the employees were talking about the mob at the doors. Though only illuminated by parking lot lights, they looked like hungry wolves pressing to get in. The din they emitted was an undulating cadence of chaos.
 I swallowed hard as I looked at Jimmy. He wasn't smiling now. He was big. He'd take it better than I. We were positioned ten feet back from the main doors like two fish in a tank surrounded by an ocean of humanity.
 But this wasn't humane humanity. It was wild-eyed, first in line, get outta my way humanity.
 Other employees flanked the front area, forming a human chain. Would our simple line deter that mob of thousands? As far as I could see, faces bobbed before the entire length of the store.
 The chanting began. My blood chilled. I couldn't make out the words at first.
"Take down the door!" "Break down the door!" 5:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes. Could we hold out?
 Managers' radios squawked. Now there was talk of calling police. I fingered my cell phone, considering a 9-1-1 call. But what would I say? Shoppers are going to overwhelm us? Who would believe that?
 I turned to comment to Jimmy when terrifying explosion ripped the doors off the hinges. Glass shattered and feet were pounding. Jimmy was down. An onslaught of rushing feet transformed into instruments of death!
I reached for him, getting sucked into the maelstrom.  My hand grasped his, but the feet wouldn't stop. "Get off him! Get off me! Get outta the way!" I screamed. My panicked mind raced. We were an ineffective human speed bump on a racetrack to discounts.
 It kept coming, I was on my feet, too shocked to realize how to help Jimmy. I heard him gasping for breath. "Slow down!" I heard other employees shouting. A pregnant woman was on the ground. Other shoppers lay moaning.
 My eyes saw the carnage, but couldn't comprehend it. We were in a war zone, not a Wal-Mart.
 I saw police and medical workers respond, but it was as if I were watching a movie. But it really happened. Jimmy was dead.  His real name was Jdimytai Damour. He was 34.http://nytimes.com/2008/11/30/nyregion/30walmart.html?

Saddest sound

 The sound of the zipper closing the suitcase is the saddest sound when you're the one closing it because you have to leave your family against your will.
 My suitcase zipper made that sound. Now I'm in another house, living out of that lonely zipper sounding suitcase. In this other house, not my own, I'm held captive by thoughts of regret. I sleep on a couch in my clothes and get up to leave as soon as possible. Sometimes I even sleep in my shoes. The change in my pockets rattles as I toss and turn. I collect it every morning off the couch and return it to my pockets.
 I am alone in the dark in the house not my own. I squeeze my eyes shut but I can't shut out the sound of the zipper closing me out of my familiar space. It is a prolonged lonely sound.
 I never wanted to close that suitcase and hear that pitiful zipper moan. If I could have done anything to avoid this living nightmare, I would have. But I didn't.
 I created my own nightmare and now I'm forced to live it wide awake. I eventually fall asleep. I dream I am home in my bed with my wife. Sometimes I am at my home, watching my kids, waiting for my wife to come home. I fall asleep on my own couch and when I wake, my wife is home, but I must go. It seems so backward. Seems so out of place. I walk away into the night.
 I look at my house from the outside. I imagine myself inside, warm and laughing and cuddling with my family.
 I look at my life from the outside and see the lights going out on the inside.
As I walk away from my home in the night, the sound of the zipper closing me out haunts me.

Superman, you're screwed...

Superman  wouldn't have a chance nowadays. There are no more phone booths. And even his alter ego, Clark Kent, is SOL. Newspapers are passe.

Cycle of Regret

Some choices are harder to live with than others. I've seen the results of poor choices --- up close, bloody and broken examples of the outcome of drinking and driving, speeding without a seatbelt, texting and driving, and on and on. Graphic images that visit me when I'm trying to sleep, or spend time with my son.  But the images from last week will haunt me for life.

 This is the first time I've been able to talk about it. Ever since my wife died in a car crash when Ethan was six,  I've been super concious of being careful. That's what propelled me to quit teaching school and become a paramedic. 

 Eric had been working about a year when I joined the ambulance crew. He gave me a hard time about being "by the book" and wondered why I never loosened up. I couldn't tell him my wife died as a  result of someone not paying attention.

 But now, well... after what happened last week, I think Eric will pay a lot of attention. He's a single dad too, now.

 His girlfriend, Rachel, was on the phone texting him the evening of the four car crash. She was in her third trimester and had begged Eric not to go in to work that day. She was determined to get him to talk about marrying her and settling down.

 Eric ignored her so long that her frustration grew. It got so bad she lost her presence of mind and drove head on into the other lane. Several other cars swerved, but were unable to avoid further collisions.

 Rachel died after two days of lingering in the hospital. I responded to the accident scene. I didn't know it was Eric's girlfriend. My partner, Joni, saw her first. We got her in a C-collar and put her on the board. Her water was broken and since we were about 25 miles from the nearest hospital, I called the medical helicopter.

 Rachel delivered Eric's baby girl within hours of the accident. He sat in shock and disbelief, holding his new child and wondering if the mother would live.

 I haven't had a chance to talk to Eric yet. Chief O'Reilly said he took a leave of absence. I kept trying to influence him to do the right thing and not take risks on the job.

 Below are some images from that awful day.

Jonie and other emergency workers help Rachel following a texting and driving accident.

I did all I could, but Rachel's life is still in the balance...

I don't know what to say to Eric. His poor choices had devastating results.



Audio drizzle

My heartbeat quickens. The car radio volume is instantly cranked. I am transported back to 1979 faster than I can blink back tears.
Tears? Yes. A lump rises in my throat, preventing me from singing along, though I desperately want to. The decades old anthem rises and swells, and with it, my heart and soul. Let me explain the phenomenon of classic rock and pop for those who weren't there originally.

Something about technology eroded the music making process. The sheer labor and time intensity involved in the pre-Internet music making business was an unabashed display of passion and zeal.
Musicians had no guarantee of success; they sure as heck weren't out to market a brand of clothing or willingly sell out as fodder for eye candy enthusiasts. It wasn't about advancing a career in a push button, low talent, high tech environment.
It was about music. You see, the sucessful music of the '70s and '80s rings so authentic, so vibrant and fresh, that their timless harmonies and original rhythms dominate airwaves and music loops in restaurants, businesses, doctor's offices, supermarkets and shopping malls to this day.
Sorry Britney. Too bad, Lady Gaga. (You ain't no lady, by the way.)
Your stuff sucks.

You'll never make me cry or turn up the volume 30 years from now. Rock on, ELO. Rock on, Journey. You earned your permanent position in pop culture the old fashioned way. And there you'll stay.
I can only wonder if this technology crazed culture will ever re-capture the essence of true music and the heart and soul behind it. I fear not. I fear we're doomed for a continual audio drizzle of pre-fabricated, emotionally stale, mindless melodies so mundane and so vastly uninspiring that we're bored with 'em before they leave the studio.
And that really makes me wanna cry.

Casting My Vote

Yesterday, I was on my way to vote (about a mile from my house) when I ran out of gas. So close, and yet so far.

It was still pre-dawn, and there was no shoulder to pull onto on the lonely rural blacktop.

I abandoned my car, hoping for no mishaps with my stranded vehicle, blinkers being the only defense against oncoming traffic rounding the corner.

I returned, breathless, with my trusty nearly empty gas can from my house 1/8 of a mile away.

The jog to and from my house included harrassment from the neighbor's bulldog and the joy of an intense hill climb. Every flabby jiggle reminded me how little strenuous exercise I do. Back on the scene, I emptied my nearly empty gas can into my totally empty gas tank.

To borrow a line from a "Wall Flowers" lyric, "I turned the engine but the engine didn't turn." The empty fuel light continued its mockery of me.

In addition to snagging my trusty gas can, I'd managed to find my 10-year-olds' wallet (he's the only one with cash... by the way, when is payday again? In my case, it will be re-payday... back to my son!)

So, I had a few dollars and no gas. A motorist came along, named Jim, I recognized his face. Jim took me to the nearest town four miles away. It took $6.75 cents to fill that gas can (I could almost fill my car back in the day for that amount!) I gave Jim a $2 tip and he returned me to my car.

While filling my car in the early morning light, a motorist stopped behind me to protect me from oncoming traffic. Another motorist, a woman, slowed from the other direction to ask if I needed help. A woman! Wow, what a wonderful community I live in. No fear, just friends. I am surrounded by kindness. I am hereby casting my vote for kindness and community. We've got it where I live, no matter what the changing color (red or blue) of our state!

Homely Women and Forrest Gump

I met Forrest Gump. For real. He was in a Wal-Mart where I used to work. His hair had grown long, like in the movie "Castaway". Anyway, I couldn't just let him pass, so I said, "Hey, Forrest, has anyone ever told you you look just like Tom Hanks?"
His eyes contained only emptiness and confusion. Without any acknowledgement of my reference to his popular theatrical performance, Mr. Gump asked, in a shaky voice, "Do you have any bathroom scales here in this Wal-Mart? I'm supposed to do a remodel and I have no idea how much my bathroom weighs."
I had no words for reply. Stunned, I motioned for Mr. Gump to follow as I took him to the household area and showed him our selection of Wal-Mart bathroom scales. He didn't even thank me, just grabbed the first one off the shelf and stood on the box, looking down at his feet. The picture on the box showed a pair of bare feet on the scale, with the number of the weight at an angle so it wasn't readable.
Gump stared hard at the box, scrutinizing carefully. I wanted to walk away, but suddenly, he said, "Do you carry eye glasses? Apparently I can't read the information on the bathroom scale."
Forrest Gump on Homely Women
Hello, my name is Forrest --- Forrest Gump. You know, there is actually nothing more tragic than a homely woman. I mean, she has to fend for herself. It's as if she's invisible.
I heard a nice lady (who was attractive, by the way) say in a public television interview what concerned her the most about growing older.
The interview went something like this:
Interviewer: What scares you most about getting older?
Lady: (without hesitation) Getting older.
Interviewer: That's profound.
Lady: Sure, you make fun all you want, but it really is sad. It's a fear most of us women have to face as we grow older.

Now, I didn't think much of the interview at the time, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to realize something.
As women get older, they don't get the looks of admiration and recognition they once had. People look past them. That's the invisible part.
Take my cousin Emma, for example. (PHOTO ON LEFT)
She has such a nice personality, but, well, just take a look.
Not the most attractive girl, if you get my drift.
Anyway, Emma's obvious charm and good humor are wasted on trivial people who look only at her physical plainness, opt out of a conversation and a chance to find the true joy of knowing her. And that's why most people argue that beauty is only skin deep, but that's all it needs to be. Most people don't want to look at all your veins and stuff under your skin anyway.
And that's about all I've got to say about that.

Baby Face

My beautiful baby was born April 1, 2006 in a hospital. My baby had such imploring blue eyes... the innocence of infancy intrigues my inner insides immeasurably intensely.

(I know, enough alliteration already!)

My precious bundle weighed 4 pounds, 32 ounces and was 45 cm long at birth. Such an adorable little cradle critter!

I never knew what all the fuss was about becoming a parent, until it became apparent that I wasn't a parent until I'd given birth to a little one. Now my life is truly blessed. I forward e-mails to all my friends with comments and photos. My facebook page has become a posting board for images of the reason for my being... oh, the joys of parenting never cease!

I can't imagine life without my baby... or why anyone would want to steal my precious one.

Please, if you have seen my baby anywhere, please, oh, please, dear God in heaven, please deliver my baby back to me! I will pay you a handsome reward provided I get my baby back in one piece and I am employed at the time of my baby's safe return.

Oh, and one more thing, to whoever stole my little one... don't forget to feed my baby two scoops of formula to four parts warm water first thing of a morning, and last thing before bed.

My baby is also allergic to D-con mouse and rat killer, so don't have my baby near that stuff... one more thing, sorry for such a cumbersome blog this entry, but please, if you have my baby, please try to sing "I'm Henry the Eighth I Am" to my baby after lunch each day... it's the only way my baby will take a good nap. My baby loves that song! I used to sing it to the young 'un on our long drives home from New Hampshire in the early summer. We were both sound asleep before we got home. We usually woke up in the ditch after my head hit the steering wheel...

Enough about me. Please be good to my darling, and return my treasure soon! OK?