Because Knowledge Is Power And Now You Have The Power

Man, I had a nasty bowel movement tonight.

It was bad.

In fact, it was so bad, the neighbors called 9-1-1. They thought someone was dying.

The cops wouldnt even come in the house. They just stood outside my door and shouted, "Hey, you ok in there?" and then they didnt even wait for an answer. Instead they turned around and hightailed it out of the area; presumably to go take advantage of the half price special on donuts over at Henry's Donut Shop before they ran out of tasty donuts at half their normal price.

Fortunately I wasnt dying, it just seemed that way. I was, however, royally pissed off at the nosey actions of my neighbors and the preference of the local cops for donuts over my well being. Public servants, bastards, every single one of them.

So there I was, the consequences of a very nasty bowel movment spread out all over the place, my innards drowning in a sea of peptic gas, my eyes nearly rolling up inside my head from the near pandemic roller coaster ride my body was on when, of all things, the friggin phone rang.

Which meant I would have to rise up from my unwieldly throne and walk into the living room; likely leaving a trail of unmentionable goo in my wake that even the most powerful steam cleaner probably couldnt remove once it had dried.

So I decided to just sit this one out and remain right where my buttocks were planted. But then I started thinking it might be someone important. You know, maybe a bill collector or something. Suddenly I was awash in a sea of indecision, the net effect of which was to cause my long suffering innards to do another double somersault which then led to yet another of a seemingly endless number of movements in the "tortured bowel symphony" that my body appeared hell bent on playing.

Decisions, decisions. Finally, I came to the conclusion if I held my legs in a certain way and sort of hopped into the living room, the amount of spillage would be minimized and I just might make it all the way to the phone without damaging the carpet so bad I would lose my security deposit whenever I eventually decided to move out.

So I decided to make a run for it. And, by God, I made it. In one piece. No droppings to be seen anywhere. I nearly danced a jig for joy until I remembered what I was carrying between my legs. So I settled for answering the phone, instead.

Except that the moment I picked the handset up, the damn thing quit ringing. Whoever was on the other end had gotten tired of waiting for me to answer so they hung up. Bastards.

As I stood there in the middle of my living, surrounded by expensive, upscale carpeting for as far as the eye could see, I suddenly realized I had a new dilemma that I hadnt thought of when I began this particular journey. Sure, I made it to the middle of the living room in fine fashion. But how in the hell was I going to get back? Especially on legs that were quickly tiring from being forcefully squeezed together so that Mother Nature wouldnt go about her business in the wrong places.

I sighed.

And then the dam broke....

(Editor's note: If you'd like someone to blame for the above post, go see this guy.)

Mish And Mash

Since I know every single one of the faithful twelve have been sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for this moment, it pleases me to no end to announce that the Mr. Helpful "Put My Whole Music Collection Onto My MP3 Player" project is officially complete.

That's right happy campers. Every song that I own that I might ever want to listen to, whether on album, cassette or cd now resides comfortably on my computer's hard drive AND in the bowels of my hippity zippity MP3 player. As a result, I now carry the contents of my complete music collection in a piece of shiny black hardware not much bigger than a pack of cigarettes. Except, of course, for the two boxes of albums which still, for some strange reason, remain in the pride and joy's possession.

So...Ive got that going for me.

At any rate, some of you might remember a humor magazine from some time ago called National Lampoon. There was a period of time thirty years ago when they were the bee's knees when it came to all things cutting edge funny on the printed page. They branched out and produced one of the funniest movies of all time, Animal House, as well as another of the funniest movies of all time, Vacation.

Around the same time they went into the movie business, the magazine kinda began a long, slow slide into mediocrity. I stopped reading it sometime in the early eighties, I think. It was likely due to the mediocrity thing as well as my ....er.... maturing tastes in humor.

When National Lampoon was at it's best they featured such talented writers as PJ O'Rourke, John Hughes (of Home Alone, Sixteen Candles, Adventures In Babysitting fame), Doug Kenney, Chris Miller and one of the sickest humans known to man, Michael O'Donoghue. It was laid out like a real magazine but everything in it was a parody except for the real ads, of course, and even some of them were pretty funny.

They had a letters section comprised of completely made up letters which were hilarious (my favorite was "Dear Sirs....Hey, the light inside the frig really DOES go out when you close the door"...signed Little Bobby Britton Age 10 St. Mary's Graveyard)

They also put out parodies of various American institutions. For instance one that was recently reissued was their infamous High School Yearbook parody. They also put out parodies of high school newspapers, Working Woman magazine (Working Girl Magazine...for prostitutes), L.L. Bean's catalogue (LL Beaner) and others.

One of their best productions came when they devoted a whole magazine to a couple of characters called O.C. and Stiggs. These two guys were complete lunatics and this particular edition followed them as they trampled through the lives of those unfortunate enough to make their acquaintance. There was a movie made later of their exploits but it sucked more than anything has ever sucked before and I couldnt stand to watch it.

I stumbled upon National Lampoon's offical site last week via some news item on Fark. I was more than pleasantly surprised to find that someone very intelligent decided to bring back a bunch of the old favs from NL's heyday in the form of links to the articles/parodies. I spent some time reliving chuckles and laughs when I realized I had hit the motherlode! They had the complete O.C. and Stiggs parody available.

Since then, Ive been chewing on it, one bite at a time, in order to savor the flavor and relive the golden days of NL when the writing was crisp and the laughs were sold by the barrel.

If you want to enjoy writing that is rarely seen nowadays...if you want to experience the glory of NL then take the time to check it out. Ive often said Hunter S. Thompson was my personal Jesus however the style in this parody hits the mark unbelievably well too.

Here, in all it's putrid glory, is the story of O.C. and Stiggs (be sure to click on the links to follow each chapter).

And, when you're done, go back to NL's main page where you'll find a veritable smorgasbord of funny delight, complete with the original short story that spawned Animal House, the original short story that spawned Sixteen Candles and Christmas Vacation.

Enjoy!

My Favorite Mutant

Starring:

Bill Bixby as....The Incredible Hulk
William Shatner as....Captain James Kirk
Kim Carnes as....Bette Davis's Eyes
Wolfgang as....The Ghost of Wolfgang The Wonderdog With Hip Dysplaxia
Jim Nabors as....Gomer Pyle
Vic Morrow as....The Sarge
David Carradine as...Caine

And....

Ray Walston as....My Favorite Mutant

Tonight's Episode:

The Beginning

Gomer Pyle always looked forward to this time of day because that meant it was time to feed the school of piranhas which were kept in an aquarium on a shelf over by the hi fi system. He thought piranhas were the coolest thing since sliced bread...in fact, he was of the opinion they'd be even cooler than sliced bread except you couldnt make a sandwich out of them unless, of course, you wanted to lose your fingers, your lips and most of your tongue. So Gomer resigned himself to having sliced bread on the top of the list of cool things in his life but he considered the school of piranhas a very close second.

Gomer put on his safety goggles and took off the aquarium lid. He wore the plastic goggles because one never knew when one of those piranhas might get just a bit fiesty and jump up out of the water and latch onto his nose. As The Sarge liked to say, better to be safe than to not have any nostrils and Gomer thought that was a pretty wise saying.

He picked up a nearby bucket of spider crabs he got from the local bait and tackle shop and dumped the contents into the aquarium. Almost immediately, the water begain roiling furiously as the school of piranhas made short work of the tasty little crabs. Even though the crabs had shells, they were no match for the ferocious nature of the piranhas. By the time the feeding frenzy was over, there was little left to show except for the occasional shell fragment that escaped notice.

Gomer also liked to feed garter snakes to the piranhas; watching the snakes thrash about for a few futile seconds before being chewed to shreds. He wondered what might happen if he put some poisonous snakes in there, would the released poison do anything to his beloved piranhas? He decided that would be an experiment for the future.

As he watched the aquarium water slowly return to its normal placid state, Gomer heard a soft knock at the front door.

"Golly, gee whiz," he said. "I wonder who that could be. I'm not expecting any vis-i-tors today, I dont think." He walked over and opened the door.

Standing on the front porch was a strange little man. He was about five foot three and wore what looked like a flexible aluminum suit. He had on white shoes and was mostly bald. His skin was pallid as if someone had drained all his blood. He seemed almost normal except for giant bulging eyes which gazed upon Gomer without blinking.

"Why, hel-lo there lil feller!" Gomer said. "You're certainly a queer duck, arent you?"

The strange visitor didnt answer but only stared into Gomer's eyes. Gomer couldnt help but return the stare and, as he did, realized he was becoming very, very relaxed. Almost sleepy, in fact, which puzzled him greatly because it was only three o'clock in the afternoon and The Sarge never had lights out before nine pm. Still, he couldnt tear his eyes away from those of the little man on the porch and it wasnt long before Gomer could feel his eyelids begin to close and his body start a long, slow slump to the floor. And then everything went black....

******

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!"

Gomer stirred slightly.

"PYLE, YOU'D BETTER ANSWER ME PRONTO!"

Gomer opened his eyes, taking a moment to focus before raising his head. He was laying on the floor, head on one arm. From his prone position, he had a wonderful view of The Incredible Hulk's feet. As usual, they were dirty, callused and dark green. Gomer lay back on the floor and looked up at Hulk's fierce scowl.

"Golly, gosh gee, why are ya yelling at me, Hulk?" Gomer rubbed his eyes, still groggy. "What time is it?"

"It's five pm, you goofball." The Hulk had stopped yelling but his tone was still stern. "I come home from work and find the front door wide open and you lying on the floor, out cold. I was just about to call the cops when you finally woke up. What in blue blazes happened anyways? Were you robbed?"

"I dont think so. All I remember is a strange little man knocked on our door and then I fell asleep. Is there anyone else here?"

"No but look at this place, What happened!"

Gomer fully opened his eyes and got to his feet. He turned in a slow circle, gaping in amazement.

"Why, the walls are a completely different color," he said. "They're kinda purty too; much nicer now than before when they were just dirty. And look...." Gomer pointed toward the living room. "All the furniture's been rearranged, for gosh sakes!"

"So it has," replied The Hulk. "I would have never thought of putting the couch over in that corner but, now that it's there, it makes the whole room look a lot bigger."

"Do you think that strange little man did all of this?"

"I dont know but what I DO know is when Captain Kirk and The Sarge get home, they're gonna wanna know what's going on and they aint gonna wanna hear about no strange little men at the front door either."

*****

Hulk was right. When The Sarge and Captain Kirk got home, they DID want to know what was going on and they DIDNT want to hear about strange little men at the front door either.

"Look, fellas, if there's anyone in this household that knows about strange little men, it's me," Captain Kirk said. "I see em every time my ship heads out where no man's gone before and I'm telling ya the only place they exist is on planets whose names no one in their right mind can pronounce."

"Well, someone did all this interior decorating and it sure wasnt pussface here," The Hulk said, pointing to Pyle who, by now, was standing in the corner with a puzzled look on his face.

"And you searched the house?" The Sarge asked. "And not just a cursory look but a real military search?"

"We looked everywhere, Sarge" The Hulk answered.

"Everywhere but the basement," Pyle chimed in. The Hulk gave him a dirty look.

Everyone turned and looked at the basement door which was slightly ajar.

"Was that open before?" Kirk asked warily.

"I dont think so" replied The Sarge. "Maybe Caine got home early from his trip through the Old West and went down there to get something."

"Yeah, that's probably it. Sure, sure, Caine walked all the way home from Nebraska in double time and he just didnt tell anyone." Kirk was ready to agree to anything.

The rest of the group nodded too. Still, no one moved toward the door to check out the possibility.

"This is scary" Pyle said. "I feel like there's a pair of eyes watching our every move."

Hulk sighed in exasperation. "Of course there's a pair of eyes watching our every move. They're right over there on the fireplace mantle." He pointed to the mantle where Bette Davis's eyes floated in a jar of liquid preservative. "I dont know why we EVER let Caine talk us into putting those things there. Jesus, they creep me out every time I come in here."

Kirk shrugged and gave Hulk a "what can I say? he's Chinese" look.

The Sarge took control. "Alright, enough of this pussy crap. We're ALL gonna go down in the basement and take us a little looksee. Move out men!"

So the little group formed a line and headed toward the door. Just as The Sarge reached the knob and began to pull the door open, a dog suddenly barked, seemingly nearby.

Everyone froze in their tracks. "Did you hear that? Christ it sounded like it was right next to us" The Hulk said, trembling.

"But we dont have a dog" said Gomer, looking around anxiously.

There was another bark followed by a long howl that sounded like it was coming from the wall.

"This is insane," The Sarge. "Come on...we're going down in the basement." He pulled the door open and stopped yet again.

The rest of the group collided with him, nearly knocking him down the stairs. Sarge caught his balance and stayed on the top step, peering into the darkness.

"There's something down there and it's looking right at me."

"Dont look at it's eyes," Gomer piped up. "That's how he put me to sleep."

"What does it look like?" asked Captain Kirk.

"Well, it kinda looks like Ray Walston but that guy died four years ago. I cant see it too well, it's kinda hiding in the shadows. What the hell are we gonna do? I dont think it means us any harm unless maybe it wants to interior decorate us to death or something."

"I say we shut the basement door and go have dinner," The Hulk said. "Maybe he'll go away on his own."

"How's he gonna get out if we shut the door?" asked Gomer.

"Shut up" said Captain Kirk. "We can deal with this after dinner."

"I sure like what he did with the wall treatments" Gomer said as the group wandered through the living room and into the kitchen.

To be continued....

When The World Is A Bitch

There are no words for this.

And Here Comes The Nuttiness

Courtesy of this article regarding the Terry Shiavo case:

"Things are all done in God's timing," said David Vogel, a 47-year-old Steubenville, Ohio, musician who was arrested for trespassing last week when he tried to enter the hospice to take water to Terri Schiavo. "Does He have his hand upon this? Oh, yeah. The parallels are there with what happened to Jesus Christ. He was condemned to death, an innocent man. She's an innocent woman."

"It's the most significant weekend for Christians, and God wants us to be aware of the preciousness of life," said one of the coordinators, Louis Hymel, 52. "God calls us always to the cross, and this is an example of us taking up our cross."

This kind of nonsense gets tiring. It really does. John Lennon once took a veritable load of shit (and rightly so) for comparing himself to Jesus Christ yet the guy quoted in the article does the same with Terry Shiavo and we're all supposed to nod our heads and act like the moron has said something profound. Yeah, right.

These are the types of fanatics I referred to in my early post. This is the kind of stuff that drives me nuts. It brings to mind two immediate questions:

1. If this is happening because God really wants us to "be aware of the preciousness of life" then shouldnt he follow the same rule Himself? As in maybe not allowing this to happen in the first place? Assuming, of course, that He is involved in the minute details of every single person's life on this earth, I can think of about twenty thousand examples of children dying of starvation every single day in this great world of ours which just might be better examples of the "preciousness of life".

2. If God really does "have a hand in this" then why pick on a poor, defenseless woman? Why not put the smack down on someone who really deserves it like Brian Nichols? Or John Couey? For that matter, why does God allow this stuff to happen in the first place?

Of course the answers to those questions from those fanatical believers would be something along the lines of "we can never know the reasoning behind God's actions for he is so great and mysterious" or some form of similiar claptrap.

The actual answer, of course, is that God isnt doing any of this stuff either to us or for us. What God did was create us and then he gave us both our greatest gift and our greatest burden in the form of a concept called "free will". It's as simple as that.

In this case, WE decided something as unabashedly ambiguous as "death with dignity" was worth codifying into law. THAT is why Terry Shiavo rests on the brink of death today. THAT is the only reason. If there were no "death with dignity" laws then Terry Shiavo's life would not be at risk. Our free will at work.

My hope is that Terry Shiavo's death will bring about a much needed review of the usefullness of such laws. I do not think they are useful at all. I think they are wrong. And I think, when such laws bring about such cases as the one we are all wrestling with right now, we only have ourselves to blame.

How You Can Help Prevent Another School Shooting

I am offering a fresh jelly donut if one of the now twelve faithful readers can explain to me what useful information, if any, is to be found in this article on how you can help prevent another school shooting.

I am serious. If you can come up with something, anything, that is useful in that article I will give you a fresh jelly donut. If you are a Jekyll attendee then I will present your award in person. If you arent at Jekyll then I will mail your donut to you.

The game is on.

Matters Of Life And Death

If one of my kids were in the same situation as Terry Shiavo, I would be doing the same things as Shiavo's parents. I'd be spending every waking moment either in court or in front of Congress or in front of television cameras, or all three at once, pleading to anyone that would listen for my child's life.

And, like Terry Shiavo's parents, I'd be as wrong about the situation as I could possibly be. Just because they will spend their last breath defending their daughter doesnt mean the rest of us have to buy into their fanaticism. Because that's what it's reduced to at this point. Shiavo's parents are fanatics as are a growing number of their supporters.

The rhetoric being spewed here is beyond belief. I happened to turn on Michael Savage's radio show for a brief moment this afternoon, only to hear him utter one of the stupidest things Ive heard anyone say yet. He said, "Because of the Shiavo case, I believe it is now more dangerous to enter the state of Florida than it is to enter Iraq." What he means, of course, is that if you go to Florida, the judges there will try to kill you.

I occasionally listen to Savage because his extreme nuttiness is mildly entertaining but, frankly, that kind of comment shows just how badly the worms have eaten into his brain. He has gone completely over the edge and dove into a whirling cesspool of terminal stupidity. Nonetheless, I'll be testing his theory in the middle of April when I attend the Georgia Writer's Workshop as I will be flying into Jacksonville, Florida before driving up the coast to the host island. If I dont make it back, then I guess you'll know his words are true. Somehow, just somehow, I think I will be fine.

The whole situation has turned into a three ring circus. Sean Hannity broadcasts his television show from the grounds of the hospice where Shiavo resides; interrupting the non-stop harangue with "breaking news bulletins" that inform the now suffering public about how yet another court has "condemned Terry Shiavo to death". I saw one of the family's spiritual advisors talk about how horrible it is that there are now armed guards at Shiavo's door. The implication was that the guards were there to keep Shiavo's parents away. What a load of crap. The armed guards are there because, if they werent, over zealous supporters of the family would likely attempt a midnight raid on the hospice with the goal of "rescuing" Terry and saving her from certain death.

All of this is being done in the name of morality. I'm all for a moral code of conduct however, frankly, that isnt about immorality. It's a family spat which has gone well beyond the realm of typical family spats and become a cause celebre for a whole bunch of people.

It has also become a perfect opportunity for the government of the United States to show just what a bunch of jackasses they really are. I think it is particularly fitting that, after participating in a mass circle jerk that produced legislation which "suggested" a federal judge review the whole case, Congress got a great big middle finger from that judge who ended up with the case. He did so by refusing to be bullied by a bunch of self important clowns which shocked the living crap out of no one except for the fanatics who, after a brief period of thinking they'd imposed their will in this case, immediately went back to the whiny handwringing which had taken place beforehand.

Obviously the Republicans who participated in this feckless charade didnt consider for even one moment that a judge might actually interpret the case differently than they...apparently it was a given that once the legislation passed, Shiavo's family was back in the driver's seat, emboldened with fresh new power they couldnt get from nineteen judges in all those previous court challenges, courtesy of the Congress Of The United States Of America.

I dont care if the federal judge who rejected Congress's direction IS a Clinton appointee...good on him.

Because the facts of the case are simple. Michael Shiavo has repeatedly been recognized as his wife's guardian and therefore is empowered to act on her behalf using his best judgement. No matter how many straws the Schindlers clutch at, no matter how much shit they throw against the wall hoping something will stick, that fact cannot be changed. As such, Michael Shiavo is permitted by law to make this decision and the Schindlers cant do a damn thing about it except try and whip the world around them into a frenzy on their daughter's behalf. And you can see how effective THAT'S been.

Personally, Ive never agreed with "death with dignity" laws which allow a guardian to make a decision to turn someone's life support off. In my opinion, it smacks too much of playing God. It has, however, been put into effect by voters everywhere and, therefore, this is the result. Much is made of the lack of a living will which supposedly would have solved this situation and never let it go so far.

Frankly, I dont think that would have happened. I think Shiavo could have had a living will and the parents STILL would have fought the removal of the feeding tube, tooth and nail. Ive seen enough examples of what appeared to be iron clad contracts being thrown out in favor of someone's interpretation of what was meant in the contract....methinks the same attempt would have been made in this case even if Shiavo had a living will written in her own blood.

The simple fact is the husband wants to pull her tube and her family doesnt. The husband has the power as determined after countless reviews and appeals. Therefore this will occur.

And then God help the rest of us because, when that happens, Terry Shiavo will immediately be elevated to a saint and her parents, especially her mother, will exist in a state of martyrdom. I shudder to even imagine what life will be like for the rest of us in that case....blechhh...

It's tragic, to be sure, but it's a great example of being careful what you wish for because you just might get it. If you're going to have "death with dignity" laws then you're going to get cases like this...

Pigs On The Wing

If you didn't care
what happened to me,
And I didn't care
for you
We would zig zag our way
through the boredom and pain
Occasionally glancing
up through the rain
Wondering which of the bastards to blame
And watching...
for pigs on the wing

You know that I care
what happens to you,
And I know
that you care for me too
So I don't feel alone,
Or the weight of the stone,
Now that I've found somewhere safe
To bury my bone
And any fool knows
a dog needs a home,
A shelter...
from pigs on the wing
....roger waters

The Long Road

I wished for so long...
I cannot stay
All the precious moments...
Cannot stay
It's not like wings have fallen...
I cannot say
Still something is missing...
I cannot say

Holding hands of daughters and sons
In their phase they're falling down
Down, down, down

I have wished for so long...
How I wish for you again

Will I walk the long road?
I cannot stay
There's no need to say goodbye

Oh, the friends and family...
All the memories going round
Round, round round...

I have wished for so long...
How I wished for you today

And the wind keeps rollin'
And the sky keeps turning grey
And the sun is set
The sun will rise another day

I have wished for so long...
How I wish for you today

I have wished for so long...
How I wish for you today
Will I walk the long road?
We all walk the long road
......pearl jam

I'm calling time out. I'll be back at some point...just not sure when. Thanks to the faithful eleven for their patience.

Traveling Man (Part Two)

One of the things I try to do in the course of daily living is improve myself.

With that in mind, Ive decided to participate in a version of continuing education known as the "Georgia Writer's Workshop".

According to the brochure I received, this workshop takes place on beautiful Jekyll Island, Georgia. There, amongst the lush surroundings, a group of like minded writers will gather to compare notes, exchange ideas, further the cause of writers everywhere and, most importantly, perfect their craft.

The days will be spent in breakout sessions covering such diverse topics as:

1. How a hangover can actually improve your writing
2. How to sit on the beach and write while major hottage walks by
in skimpy bikinis

At night, workshop attendees will diligently hit the books and work on classroom assignments such as:

1. Drink 23 shots of Jack Daniels and then write about how your perception of reality changes with each shot
2. Explore various ways to punctuate an argument including the use of a fist to make a point right through someone's cranium
3. Start a fight and then write about how fast the police responded
4. Describe the sensation of running into the pounding surf buck naked at 2:30 in the morning
5. Describe the reaction of your 90 year old neighbors as you run into the pounding surf buck naked at 2:30 in the morning

All in all, I believe this workshop will bring me one step closer to writing perfection.

Plus I hope to be invited to the big poker game which is apparently brewing.

Late At Night

Nearly eleven pm.

And here I sit, not really tired, not really excited, not really full of anything resembling creative energy, having spent most of the evening listening to music real loud, trying to come up with something to write about and failing miserably.

I suppose I know why I'm in this state; there's been some things weighing heavy on my mind lately, all of them important in one way or another but one of which keeps slipping to the forefront.

Hanging on the wall, in my bedroom, is one of those picture collages one can put together, complete with a wonderfully generic brown frame.

One of the pictures in that collage is of my dad, seated at a kitchen table along with my mom and a couple who were very close friends.

My wife and I were living in Sacramento at the time and Mom and Dad had come down for a week long visit as we hadnt seen them for six months or so. They came to our place first for a day and then headed down to Pleasanton for a couple of days to visit our close friends there. Then it was back to Sacramento for the final three days whereupon we were gonna head over to Reno, a short two hour drive away, and gamble up a storm.

While in Pleasanton, the whole group decided to go on a day trip to San Francisco. When they got back, Dad said he was feeling tired and he went upstairs to take a nap. Whereupon he proceeded to lie down and die of a massive heart attack in his sleep.

The picture in the collage was taken on April 7th, 1978. My Dad died the next day, April 8th. He was 48 years old.

I cant tell you how many times Ive stared at that picture in the ensuing 27 years, thinking if I stare long enough, I can figure out what in the hell the problem was. I look at it and say to myself, "what went wrong, Dad?". He looks so normal in the picture yet 24 hours later, he was gone.

And I never got to say goodbye.

I am 48 years old right now. I dont sit around and worry the same thing is gonna happen to me; I'm gonna be here for quite a long time to come; the world cant get rid of me that easy. But I do sit and imagine if, at this age, he felt the same as I do now. And I just cant relate.

I dont feel 48 even though my hair has more grey than black running through it. I dont feel 48 even though my joints creak more than they used to and I dont have the stamina for staying out late that I once had. I couldnt even imagine this being the last year of my life.

And I dont imagine my Dad saw it that way either...right up to the moment the hand of God reached down and touched him....

Still, I wish there had been more time. I wish he could have known his grandchildren. He would have loved them dearly as they would have loved him. He was funny and a joy to be around. I miss him very much...even now.

I was 20 when he died. On the surface, my life went on as before, only tinged with deep sorrow. But inside me, something died along with my father.

And I'd give anything to have it back.