Somewhere, In Ferguson, Missouri......

Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri...... There is a little child looking at the ruins of her home. It might not have been the nicest of homes, certainly, no palace, but it had all of the hallmarks of being called a home. It had love and safety, in a world not always filled with love and safety. But, for some reason that the child did not comprehend, it has all been taken away in less than a few hours. Some strangers came around the neighborhood and torched the carefully kept home. Now, it was no more for the child. All of the toys and instruments for a successful childhood were wiped away in a way the child would never understand. With Thanksgiving approaching, a time of celebration of the people you love, the child was out in the cold. One more victim...... Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri...... The store owner could only stare. He had been a child of the streets, when real poverty was a constant and unwelcome companion. There were nights when he would go to sleep without eating, a nagging, hurtful pain dug into his stomach. But, he had survived the mean streets and slowly pulled himself up. He went to school and got an education. He came back sort of a conquering hero, the local boy made good. And, he was determined to reward his upbringing. He would be there for the neighborhood. He opened his store years ago. A small grocery store, nothing major, and, certainly, nothing to compete with the big titans. No, the store owner was for the little man stuck down, way down, in life. His prices were reasonable. He hired the local youth to give them something to hold their heads high about.  And, for years he made good. The neighborhood needed him and he needed them. Then, the riot started and in mere minutes it was all gone. His beloved store. The neighborhood he had caressed with his feelings turned against him and burned it down. Everything, his whole life, gone up in flames. The man sat by the ruins. His head was in his hands. Another victim....... Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri...... The police officer watched it all through fear. She knew that the police should always show strength and courage. And, she did. She was proud of being a police officer. The fact that she served a community that, at times, did not appreciate her putting her life on the line everyday made her sad, but, also made her determined. She had the dream of turning the resentment into acceptance. She picked the heavily crime ridden area of Ferguson. She saw the faces of those that considered her an intruder, the real enemy. However, she shrugged it off. She had fond feelings for the residents, most just wanted to live in peace and quiet. They were fed up with crime. That was the True Enemy. The residents grew to grudgingly accept her presence in the area. She felt that she had made real progress and helped save lives. Maybe, on her most hopeful of days, the tide of racial misunderstanding and stereotypes were finally receding. Then, she saw the rioting. The burning police cars. The store owner pleading for his store to not get torched. The little child in the streets watching with big eyes as her home was torched. And, the police officer saw the faces of those around her, the people who she had sworn to protect. She saw hate in some eyes but mostly, the look of those who were weary of the racial battle. She bowed her head and wept her grief. Another victim........ Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri..... The rioter saw another target. It was a TV store. He wanted as much as he could possibly get because it was open season right now. Many hundreds, perhaps, thousands, were all around him playing the riot game. Self-interest and violent feelings disguised as ''making a statement''. He did not know Michael Brown, could not have cared a shit what happened to him. But, a few self-exploiting extortionist preachers had told him that violence and intimidation was allowed to express the rage in the community. Use your anger, they said in so many words, to punish the real Devil in life. The rioter, too stupid to use the common sense that God gave a goose, let free his murderous soul and went out looking to hurt. He never realized that he was the true racist as bad as his evil opposite. He was judging skin color instead of content of character. But, even in his most ''rationale'' of moments he would not understand. He was a walking blood machine. And, women and children were not even spared. He had torched the home of the little child, he had torched the store owner. He torched the police car. All done with a gleeful spirit that Hitler would have admired. Hate drove him and he did not know why. And, when he out running in the streets, he saw his fellow citizens spew their hate. Never would he see the light, never would he realize that by doing what he was doing, he was dividing the races even more. His true intention was chaos. He held his head high. Making victims....... Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri...... There is the fading spirit of hope. Hope for a better world. Hope for children to live safe and adults to live in harmony. Hope for understanding. Hope for a saner society from everyone. These feelings echo around the world. The circle of destruction just closed in again on the world. The circle of madness and hate is getting stronger and stronger...... And, we are all victims.......

Childhoods Never Die

Strange, how you sit and watch one of your generation being eulogized. Sure, you feel the obvious sadness of losing someone forever that you held fondness for. But, the old nagging adage about how ''we are too young to go to funerals'' does apply to everyone at some point....... I just came back from a memorial service for a kid I once knew when I was a child. His name was John Roper and he and I are linked by that special town known as Des Plaines, Illinois. Now, I did not have any contact with John since high school, so, I cannot say we were close friends or even friends for thirty years. But, I do remember him with a smile from when we were kids. Because I practice the forgotten art of privacy, I will not disclose what happened to him. He was the same age as me, 48 years old. My memories of him are very warm. I remember a blond haired boy who loved cars and having fun. We kids used to all know each other in the old neighborhood, play ball with each other, and generally goof around a lot in class. He was a good kid, never mean or threatening to anyone. As an adult, I will say this, he encountered problems. And, those problems seemed to increase, by what I have heard. Hindsight is 20/20. Now, I wish I had stayed in contact with him. We have mutual friends. But, it was not to be. I wish him eternal peace in his new home........As I was listening to the service for him, my mind wondered. I thought of our childhoods. Some old neighborhood kids were at the service, including my brothers-in arms-, Rob Lindquist and Rob Steetz. These guys I proudly call my brothers. I would jump in front of a runaway train for these guys [ and, as anyone who grew up in Des Plaines knows, we have plenty of trains rolling through town ]. But, as I said, I also saw friendly faces that I haven't seen for years. My friends from childhood. Albert Einstein Elementary School and Friendship Junior High. We all went through the trenches of school together, we all played ding-dong-ditch and flashtag together. I have made many friends throughout the years as an adult--- and hope to make more--- but, there is something special about the kids you grew up with. There is the neighborhood bond, the cherished memories of when we were all young and the world was open to discovery and dreams. Anything was possible. We were gonna take over the world and remake it for the better. Of course, it did not happen. Reality hits all of us in the face and you deal with the shattered pieces of your dreams and hopes as best as you can. But, whenever I am around these people, I get a little special feeling, a touch back into the magical youth. Maybe, that is why I have never been too excited about high school reunions. While high school was a good time, by and large, it was too big, not like the intimacies that my previous schools had. High school was the first awakening to being a adult. Grammer school and junior high were still the childhood years, the last innocent time. A high school reunion would be ok, but a reunion of kids from my childhood would be ideal. I would run right away to that. I do not believe in living in the past, but, I do like to visit that past at times. And, these people are my time machine......... My concept of Heaven has many images. Naturally, we all will be reunited with our loved ones, forever in eternity. Yes, we will meet God and have all of our answers to life's questions answered. And, there will be the chance to meet all of the people that you always wanted to meet down here but couldn't. I will see Babe Ruth hit a homer. Abraham Lincoln will be giving the Gettysburg Address. Sinatra and the Rat Pack will be holding court at Heaven's Bar, where you can eat and drink as much as you can without having to worry about hangovers and gaining weight. There will be endless parties and good feelings of love......... And, I also believe that Heaven gives you the ability to relive your golden moments that you had on Earth. The joyous Christmas you had when you were ten. The first time you fell in love. Your parents holding you close. Great vacations and the special moments that are gone physically now but are swimming around in your soul. I like to think that those moments will be there for us again when we reach Heaven......... I also like to think that those old neighborhood friends of mine--- most still here but some are gone---- will be there. We will reawaken those old times. A time of not worrying about anything in life except being a kid. Laughing and smiling and no one hurting each other. The purity of a child's heart and their expressions of innocent life. That part of Heaven must exist........ I like to think my old neighborhood friend, John Roper, is in that world now. Someday, we will be joining you, John. Get the flashlights ready for tag.........

Little John

It seemed like such a strange day for the little boy. Something was not right in that big world of adults. Normally, the boy thought, they were all playful with him. There was his mother who watched his manners and taught him his first words to say properly. There was his Uncle Bobby, whom every child in the family always adored and climbed all over when given the chance. There were his father's friends, tall men who wore those funny uniforms of the army. As the little boy looked around, they all looked like they had been crying. And, this wasn't a day for crying, Little John knew. It was a day of celebration, particularly, for him. It was his third birthday and a big party was coming up later. There would be cake, ice cream, and all the toys that he wanted. Little John was partial to airplanes. Oh, how loved to pretend that he was piloting a plane--- zoom!!!---he would sweep his toy in the air, imitating the real plane he someday wanted to fly. So, the little boy felt the anxious feelings of the Big People all around him. Something was up, his mind repeated to himself. And, one last question: where was his Daddy???......... He hadn't seen his Daddy in days. For a small person, time is out of order. What seems like a short time , in reality, may be several days. Little John was used to his Daddy being away. Sometimes, the father would tell the son, he would go to magical lands, where people of all races and mixtures all greeted his Daddy like a King. One day, his Daddy promised him, he would take Little John [ whom everyone in the family called, never John-John, like some thought ] with him on these trips. They would see the fine sights in the world, with all of its glorious colors and shapes, with its big mountains and pyramids and bridges and buildings. Little John would love it all, his proud father told him. Especially, the airports. That is where the planes were held....... Father and son had a special bond. While Little John's older sister, Caroline, was the apple of his father's eye, John held a special place in his Daddy's heart. He was a son and his namesake. The little boy was a smart youngster, pointed out his proud father. A chip off the old block. Little John would have all of the advantages he could in life, his father declared, but, he would never be spoiled. The true raising of Little John and Caroline would be their mother's responsibility. The mother was guided by the love that all mothers and fathers are led: their children are everything to them. Little John's father was coming to this way of emotional healing. He had his politics and his life away from the family. But, having children changed him. Little John's father was raised by a cold and strict mother. And, his father, while loving towards his kids, was a thief as big as the world. In time, when he grew older, Little John would discover that his father was raised with very little love. Therefore, his Daddy spent most of his life in careless trysts, not feeling real love until he became a father...... They did all of the things that fathers and sons do. They tossed a ball. They played with his toys. The father loved the sea and took Little John in the water with him, teaching him how to swim and how to sail. As it so often happens, his Daddy became the center of Little John's life, his first true hero. The first thing that the boy would ask for when he awoke in the morning was where was his Daddy? And, as Little John soon discovered, his Daddy had a great playroom for an office. A lot of the Big People came to that office to see his father, so, the boy knew that his Daddy was an important man that everyone wanted to see. But, when it was just the two of them in that office, Little John was in Heaven. He would run around the joint like a kid in a candy shop. He would bounce on the furniture---- except his Daddy's rocker--- and he would play hide and seek under his big brown desk. But, what mattered most to the boy was spending time with his Daddy. And, his Daddy glowed in his son's presence. All it took was Little John to walk into a room, and the thousand mile smile of Big John would show its approval of love. There were special times in that room, just the two of them. And, lately, Daddy had taught Little John how to salute like the military people. Well, it wasn't much of a salute. He was not quite three yet. His mother said Little John had a ''droopy'' salute. But, the boy never stopped trying to get the perfect salute. Not for him but for his Daddy......... The last time Little John saw his Daddy was before his Mommy and Daddy took off on some big trip. A helicoptor had landed on the lawn of their big, white house. Little John would ride in that helicoptor with his parents to the airport. The boy was in tears on this day. He did not want them to go. Or, better yet, he wanted to go with them. The father gently explained to the son that they just could not take him today. It was a Big People trip. But, his Daddy promised, his parents would be home by Sunday. And, the next day, boy, there would be a big celebration for Little John because it was his birthday!!! Little John calmed down. His parents left him in the helicoptor with his adult friend who was guarding him and Little John watched his parents get into the Big Plane. Soon, he would hear the sound of his Daddy's airplane fly overhead. Whenever he heard that sound, the boy would smile. He always loved the sound of that plane. Daddy's plane........The following day, a Friday, is when Little John began to hear and see things that confused him. The Big People, normally so happy, looked like they were crying. And, everybody was hovering around him---- his nanny, the men who guarded his family, his Daddy's friends. However, being so small, his attentions soon wondered to other pursuits. He played with his toys. He played with his sister. And, he was very pleased when his Mommy came home early from her trip. He saw her on the Saturday morning and ran into her arms. But, Little John also noticed that his Mommy had the same red eyed look that the other Big People did. Like she had been crying. After he hugged her, he naturally asked where Daddy was. Mommy said he was away for now. Little John accepted this and went on with his day........ By Saturday afternoon, Little John was gathered with his sister, Caroline, and his Mommy. Mommy had a serious and painful look on her face. And, then she spoke words that Little John heard but did not understand: His Daddy had been shot by a bad man in Texas and had died. He was now in Heaven with God. Caroline immediately started crying. Little John remained blank faced. Death had no meaning to him. If Daddy was in Heaven, that was ok. It was just another trip. He would be home soon........ Monday morning. It was very cold that day. Mommy told Little John that they were going to a special parade for his Daddy. Immediately, Little John was excited. He would see his Daddy!!! No, his Mommy stated, Daddy was in Heaven with God. Again, Little John did not grasp that meaning. But, he dressed up in his little outfit that Mommy had picked out for him and went with Caroline outside to see the parade. He didn't wear his gloves in the bitter cold because his Uncle Bobby said that boys don't wear gloves........ Little John watched the big box being carried by the Big People. Those military people with the funny uniforms. Mommy had told him that his Daddy was sleeping in that box. Little John wanted to see but he was told it wasn't possible. So, disappointed, the boy watched the big box go up and down the stairs and wheeled across the streets. And, Little John noticed a very strange sight: there were thousands of people on both sides of the street and down the street all watching that same box with his Daddy in it. How odd, he thought. When the box came close to where he was standing with his sister and Mother, his Mommy leaned down and said, ''John, why don't you salute Daddy and say goodbye.'' Immediately, John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr. raised his little right hand to his forehead........ The salute was perfect. It went up quickly and cleanly, just like the military people do. Hours and hours of practice with his Daddy had paid off. But, with this salute came realization for the boy. For the first time since being told that his Daddy was gone, the full meaning of the day and what happened seemed to register on the boy's face. Sadness crept into his eyes and little mouth. He seemed like he would cry. Somewhere, in his small child's mind, it finally struck him that his Daddy was no more and that he would not see him again. There would be no more playing under his desk. They would be no more swims in the ocean. And, they would not play with airplanes anymore. The boy grew older that day, at that moment. It was a moment forever seared into the boy. And, the world........ Around him, as he saluted, pain swept among the Big People. His Uncle Bobby, standing behind him, had his face twist in pain. The crowd watching the family directly across the street seemed to stagger, as if physically struck by the force of the salute. And, the viewing public around the world cried. No other image from that sad weekend when we lost our President has ever resonated more that Little John's salute. To see a little boy, who idolized his Daddy, have such a traumatic moment, was beyond human grief. Anyone who has ever witnessed this moment will never forget it......... That evening, Little John had his birthday party. He was himself again, tearing open all of his gifts, enjoying his new toys. The other young children were his playmates, screaming and whooping it up like little kids should. And, the adults, despite their private pain, made the supreme effort to have fun. The party was a success, by most accounts. But, there was one chair that was empty. The most important chair........

Drunken Randon Thoughts: November 2014

Oh, I'm hammered!!!! Delightfully so!!!! A cold, dark afternoon, where I was planning to spend at church, suddenly, swerved off into the nearest taproom. I called a gal pal friend of mine and soon we were floating in steady streams of vodka. Now, many hours later, after appreciating each other in the physical sense, she is blissfully snoring away here in the middle of the night. And, myself? Well, I passed out for a few hours into a restless drunken slumber. You know those drunk sleeps, right? You toss and turn, and the sweat from the body toxins finds its way to the surface. After peeing AGAIN, I decided to try a little experiment with myself. Normally, most experiments with myself involve, well, never you mind, missy!!! But, I thought I would write a blog in the throes of a downward slide from a drunken night and I would see what would come of it. The following will be thoughts from a sodden mind, uncensored, for the viewing public....... Boy, this broad can snore!!! It is more breathing from the mouth---- which gives the pillow she is using a nice bath--- but it is noise. Because she is a friend I will not embarrass her with revealing her name. Discretion is my code [ It took many years but I finally have a code!! ]. She is a blonde princess lying there. All peaceful, joyful innocence. You wouldn't believe in the quiet of this room a few hours ago that we were swearing at each other with complete abandon during out mattress exercise. Christ, I think we invented new sexual phrases for the masses to use!!!! Oh, well. A splendid time was had, despite my raw genitals....... Before I started this blog entry I took a spin around this Internet thing. I came across a story about the JFK assassination. It is November, and it is written in the media gospel that we must bring up Kennedy and Dallas and who killed him. Yeah, I am interested in who did do it. I wrote a blog about it last year. It is the ultimate mystery for our times. But, enough with the speculative programs. Just tell me who did it so we can close the chapter. Or, better yet, here is your killer. I DID IT!!!! I flew down to Dallas, fucked Jackie Kennedy seven ways from Sunday, JFK walked in wearing Marilyn Monroe's panties, and yelled at me that I would be deported or be forced to sleep with one of his ugly sisters if I wasn't careful. In a rage, I vowed revenge and called my buddies, Lee Harvey Oswald, Jack Ruby, and Paul Lynde to come help me take the rich boy out. We shot him from the back and front ---- Lynde was for the rear entry---- and escaped into the night. Ok? Satisfied? You now have the answer!!! Now, no more stories about JFK and the assassination.......... The snoring is getting louder......... I just went outside to get a clear breath of arctic air in me. It is cold out there. Not as cold as Joan Rivers, but cold. And, let me focus in on this thought. I hated this bitch. I am glad she is dead. Yeah, too bad for her family---- I think the only family she had left was the inbred looking daughter, Melissa. But, so what? I give her about as much sympathy as she did when she was skewering the famous for their sad misfortune. Now, I like a lot of naughty humor myself and I am always in the mood for a joke about a dead person, so, that is not the point. The point is that she made a name for herself taking these cheap shots at famous people so she could be noticed. That is fine. She is not the only person in show business history that has done this. So, it is highly appropriate that what is good for the goose is good for the gander. You play with fire, you are gonna get burned. Therefore, I feel it is very much needed to take cheap shots at her and her death. She did it when she was alive and had no remorse. I return the compliment back to her. A little bit of God showing Karma, Joanie. After all, to quote a great sage, ''God don't like ugly!''.......... When do you, once you are in a real relationship, break the ultimate barrier and start farting in front of each other? This has been a problem that has confounded the great minds from Alexander The Great to Socrates to Jerry Lewis. The beginning of any relationship is walking on pins and needles. You only want to see the good in a person, not the bad. So, once you are going strong, you let things about the real you slide out. And, nothing slides out more forcefully than the wind from your ass. At first, when you smell that familiar but comforting odor, you think, ''Jeez, that can't be from her, it must be the dog''. Then, you realize she doesn't have a dog. Maybe, while driving, it could be the engine? No, she let one rip. And, it is one bad motherfucker, too. ''Well, honey, if that is how you feel, then let me bring something to the party, then!'' I guess it is up to the couple when they share this with each other. Everybody has different time periods. One buddy of mine broke the seal when he was meeting his future in-laws. ''Welcome to the family!'' And, I have heard, probably it is bullshit, that one friend of a friend let it sail from the altar at his wedding. Oh, well, true love........ My Blondie friend is not having this problem now. But, the snoring had receded. This is good........ I do not like Michelle Obama. I think she is a wolf in sheep's clothing. The other day, perhaps, you heard the comment, she stated that she wanted all the black people out there to vote for whatever Democrat is running. Never mind the arrogance of her demanding that just because they share the same color as she, therefore, they would do whatever she says, she went horribly further by issuing the line that black people, after the voting for the Democrats, should celebrate by eating friend chicken. You see, Ms Nutrition was granting absolution to anyone that wanted to eat unhealthy, just this once. Forget her healthy eating public service [ which, like all First Ladies, gives them something positive to be in the public eye ] let me focus in on the fried chicken reference. How she gets away with saying this very stereotypical line is amazing. We all know that if a white or Hispanic person said the same thing, they would be hung out to dry. But, the media, in the pockets of the liberal media and, more crucially, afraid to challenge any statement by a black public figure for fear of the racism charge being lobbed at them, let it go. And, this is not the first time that Ms. Obama has spoken racially charged lines and gotten away with it. It goes back to 2008 and her stating that for the first time in her life she is proud of this country after her husband was nominated. Read between the lines in her statement and you know what she was really saying. There are other statements out there to show a pattern of what she is really thinking. There is a name for someone who thinks like you, Michelle. And, the word does not mention race, either. Good God, imagine her gas with that fat ass!!! It could power our nuclear missiles........  I am no Cub apologist. As a life-long fan, I fully admit that this team is an embarrassment to organized sports. However, my Mom was a good Cubs fan growing up and she passed that love down to us kids. Whenever I am in that beautiful shrine known as Wrigley Field, I look for the echoes of my Mom's smile at watching her favorite team try to win. And, I know her ghost is roaming the grounds, walking hand and hand with other Cubs fans who have gone to Heaven. I write this because I am getting a little excited with the rumblings I am hearing and seeing coming from the North Side. The long rebuilding program with their minor league system seems to be finally starting to click. And, the hiring of Joe Madden as manager is an exciting move. He is a world class baseball manager who might finally guide these misfits into a championship team. As I have said, I am no explainer of what this organization has done and no blindly following whatever they do fan. However, there are exciting vibrations coming from our Chicago Cubs and I am jacked about it........I am starting to fade a little now. The keyboard letters are blurring, along with the start of fatigue. The Sandman is tapping me on the shoulder, beckoning me to bed. I wish I could curl up to Blondie but she has sprawled out across the bed. What the hell, it is her bed. I will curl up on the couch. Thanks for sharing my late night drunken thoughts. I'm sure we will do this again soon........ Now, the only question remaining is who will go for the McDonald's breakfast, her or me? This is the best hangover breakfast, I believe......... Sweet dreams, my darling loves out there.........

Old Loves And Phone Calls

It is nice to be missed. The other night, out of the blue, I received a phone call from an old girlfriend. This call, totally unexpected, kinda threw me for a loop. Not because I did not want to hear from her. Quite the contrary. I like hearing from old flames of whom I still hold so much affection for. I am an old softie beneath my verbal bravado. I am urgently romantic and believe in romance. So, when this call came I gratefully took a step back in history in my mind and shared our memories of our time together,,,,,,, But, I have done this many times before. Several months ago, the same thing happened. A phone call from a long-ago love. And, there have been previous attempts to reach me from old galpals. My point is that I am happy to hear from them and am glad that they are happy [ most seem to be, a few not so much]. I still love the women who have been in my life, always will. For I don't fall out of love. Rather, I transfer that love to another part of my soul. The part that loves those who are no longer in my life but are forever in my heart........ I tell you this because I am a lucky man. I have never broken up bitterly with a woman. Sadly, yes. Regretfully, of course. You don't know what you've got until you lose it. However, there are smiles mixed in with the tears of parting. And, this makes me feel good. I don't ever want hate to spoil the wonder of my love for another human being....... I am no easy ride as a mate. I can be moody, difficult, and a pain in the ass if I am not happy with a circumstance. And, I try not to take it out on the woman I am with. But, I sincerely try not to let my mood dictate a relationship. The understanding girlfriends give me my space and let me be in a bad mood. They know my good side will come out soon enough........ I hear the horror stories of love gone bad. Of the once ideal love that will last forever shattering into little pieces in a divorce court or a police station. I know of one guy who found out that his wife was cheating on him with the neighbor. She walked out on the husband [ and, the neighbor ] disowned her small children, and high tailed it out of town, but, not before fleecing the husband of half of his money [ California= half communal property] and forcing the poor schmuck to file for bankruptcy........ I don't have these stories. The women I part with have no hate in them for me. Disappointment? I am sure. Not living up to their expectations of me? Yes. But, never cruelty or malice. Perhaps, because there really has been no money involved when I break up with someone, there is not that darkness to go for the jugular. I treat women fairly well, I must say. I am faithful. I am caring. And, unlike many men I have known, I don't secretly hate women. I admire them and am glad to learn from them........ I have never understood the battle of the sexes between men and women. One side is always trying to get the upperhand of the other. Why? Is one side better or smarter than the other? Not really. If one side feels superior to the other, than there is a problem with ego and temperament. The plain fact is that both men and women do things equally good and bad. And, the secret to any relationship is that you both learn from each other and help one another [''Yes, honey, I leave it up to you in this case because you are stronger in this area of expertise than me.''] That is not putting yourself down or putting your partner up, but, it is covering the cracks that always threaten a relationship. If all sides are manned by both parties, you may have a great thing going........ When a call comes from the past, there is always the stirring of sadness of what might have been had fate chosen circumstances differently. In these conversations I can hear between the words of the memories spoken. The feeling of lost dreams of a love affair that was not going to end. No heart ever recovers from a broken heart. You carry that feeling until the day you die. But, underneath that broken heart there is a sweetness. And, that sweetness is tied into the feeling of knowing that another person made you feel alive, gave you a passion that you never knew was there. It is the feeling we hear about in songs and dream about with our fondest wishes. Love has no equal, even love that is not long-lasting......... And, these thoughts come to my mind when I hear the voice on the phone. Like many people, I have broken up with someone, and down the line, tried to rekindle a spark of the old affection. Or, if the rules are defined, a reigniting of a sexual equal....... One short term-love I had invited me over for a little fun while her husband was out of town. I enjoyed an egotistical male moment when I put on one of the condoms from his unused pack and it was too small on me!!!!.......Another woman I loved deeply--- my greatest love, so far---- texted me out of the blue a few years back. She has moved on with married life and is very happy but still thinks of me with fondness. Also, Jimmy here, proudly points out, during moments of sexual fantasy. I laughed mightily during this exchange. I thought, ''Her hubby may have her in many areas of infatuation but she thinks of me in the nitty gritty!!!'' That is called getting even, folks!!!!........ But, these last two stories are ego moments. The greater whole is that I feel good when I hear how much they miss me and talk about me to the people in their lives [ Boy, that must make their husbands and boyfriends real happy!] It shows me that I did well, or, as well as I could, when they were in my life. Before they close their eyes the last time prior to death, I hope, as they look back on what love gave them, that I gave them a smile and a good feeling. If you cannot be with them physically, be with them fondly emotionally. I have that feeling about them........ And, it is a nice feeling........

The Murricane

His eyes tell the tale. They speak of a tired man, someone who has been disappointed in the world and people not living up to his expectations. They are world-weary eyes, too sad to even have any faith in human beings. It is an admirable look to have in an dramatic actor. The late, great James Gandolfini had those same eyes. A sad beagle drooping its sadness. But, in a comedian, the sad eyes look is not something that is the norm. You must have joy in the eyes of the comedian. The face must be of a jolly mask, even when the clown is truly hurting inside. A comedian must never be handsome, either. It is ok to be All-American attractive, like Johnny Carson was. But, never must he or she be a looker. Comedians must be inferior in appearance to their audience, because sympathy and protectiveness for the underdog is also vital for the comedian. And, Bill Murray has the scars on his face. Pock-marked, as if, as Chevy Chase once stated, it looked like ''Neil Armstrong landed on it''........ Bill Murray is someone I have admired ever since he came on the national scene in 1977. He came through the ranks of ''The Second City'' in Chicago in the early 1970's, honing his craft and finding his gift facing the toughest of all audiences: the drunk and hostile midnight crowds. To be on a stage without a net is, depending on how you look at it, a brave and audacious feat, or, someone who is a dumbfuck masochist. But, Murray faced the music in these long-ago nights, earning his stripes as a comic performer. He was only at ''Second City'' for a year before he was called to New York by his old friend and mentor, John Belushi, and asked to be a part of the ''National Lampoon Radio Hour'' and road show, ''Lemmings''. Having learned the tricks of the trade at ''Second City'', Bill Murray shined in his new environment. A comic genius was flowering. The underground scene of comedy noticed, and, when Lorne Michaels was putting together a new late-nught show, he asked the best and brightest young comic minds in the comedy scene to audition. Bill Murray did not make the cut. There were three comics that were up for the last two spots on the new show. Lorne wanted Dan Aykroyd for one of those spots. The second was a close contest between Belushi and Murray. Lorne was leaning towards hiring Murray because Belushi, he knew, was gonna be a handful to handle. But, Lorne was talked into hiring Belushi by everyone on his staff, especially, Chevy Chase. Thus, Bill Murray missed out on the inaugural season of ''Saturday Night Live'' by a hair....... His time would come in the second season of the show, 1976-77. Chevy was leaving for Hollywood and Bill was hired from a strong recommendation by John Belushi. His first show, in January, 1977, was a home run for him. He played in just two sketches but he garnered huge laughs. In one sketch, he hilariously played a director filming an execution of a prison inmate. After that show, Lorne Michaels told him that he was now a ''Not Ready For Prime Time Player''. But, he then went south on the show. Because he was the new guy, the writers did not trust him right away with the big scenes. The stars of the show, Belushi and Gilda Radner, were the meat and potatoes of most sketches. Soon, Bill Murray found himself playing second cop roles or having one line in a sketch appearances. His frustration at being shoved aside by the cast and writers showed on-air, as he muffled several times the jokes in the sketches he was in. His position on the show was shaky until the very last show of the season when he came up with his own idea for a sketch. He would play a simple working class Joe showering in the morning before starting his day. But, he put on a little variety show in the shower. The laughs that greeted this skit saved him from being fired off the program. And, in this three minute performance, his ''Shower Mike'' skit, he started to employ his comic persona--- the anti-comic....... The next three years on ''SNL'' Bill Murray rose in the ranks and became a huge star. Soon, Hollywood was calling for him and he made a small, innocent movie called ''Meatballs'' about summer camp hijinks. It wasn't much of a plot but Murray showed he had real screen presence. And, in some scenes, where he befriended a lonely misfit kid, Bill showed genuine acting ability. Yes, his smart-ass persona from the show was onscreen but, also, a touching compassion. With this little movie---which was a huge hit at the box office--- Bill Murray became a movie star to watch........ After leaving ''SNL'' in 1980, Bill made a succession of successful movies---- ''Caddyshack'', ''Stripes'', and a small but superb cameo in ''Tootsie''. He was coasting from one giant hit to another. And, in the summer of 1984, he and his old pals, Aykroyd and Harold Ramis, made the gigantic hit ''Ghostbusters''. With this movie, Bill Murray became an icon, a show business institution......... But, behind every comedian lurks a serious actor wanting desperately to come out and play. His committment to work in ''Ghostbusters'' came with a demand. He wanted to play a serious role in a remake of a classic drama. It was ''The Razor's Edge''. Bill wanted to show his dramatic side. And, he did, with mixed results. While the movie was deeply flawed, he was good in the role of a lost ex-soldier seeking the meaning of life. Not many of his fans remember this movie because it came just a few months after the enormous success of his movie where he was just slimed. ''The Razor's Edge'' sank without a trace. But, it was a noble failure. It showed the public---- and, us fans---that there was more to this comic genius than making an audience laugh.......... Then, in the mid-80's, Bill Murray did an extraordinary career move: he disappeared. While at the height of his box office prowess, he made no movies for four years [ except for a brief appearance in ''Little Shop Of Horrors'']. The public was seeing for the first time what many who knew Murray throughout the years had already known: this man did not play the Hollywood game. He would not dance to the tune the studios wanted him to. Bill Murray has always been an individual who plays by his own rules. That is why he is a star, a wonderful outsider who will join the party when he is damn ready to. The anti-comic.......... He came back in 1988 with ''Scrooged''. It was a disappointment to Murray fans. Gone was the wise-ass who lit up the screen with his absurdist observations of the world --- aligning himself always with his fans, the underdogs---- and, in ''Scrooged'' came a most unlikable man. The movie has its moments but is unpleasant to watch---a fatal flaw for a comedy. He seemed bitter in the role, as if screaming his part would make up for its faults. The following year would come the long-awaited follow-up to his ghost film. And, ''Ghostbusters 2'' was a horrible movie [ except, for the courtroom scene involving the ''Scoleri Brothers'' ghosts]. Bill Murray looked flat-out bored and unhappy in this film, as if he was going through the motions. And, if he was, then, there was something wrong because this man has based his whole career on being true to himself and his comedy. Phoniness, especially, from the Hollywood end, has always been a huge target for his comedy. Like Groucho Marx, Bill Murray--- the modern day Groucho---- sticks comic barbs at pomposity and arrogance found in the world. With the second ''Ghostbusters'' Bill Murray entered this world of selling out. He would not make the same mistake again......... The 1990's would start with two minor hits, ''Quick Change'', which he co-directed, and ''What About Bob'', where he went over the top in annoying Richard Dreyfuss [ not a bad thing, really]. Then, like a king returning to his throne, came in 1993 ''Groundhog Day''. This movie, directed by his old pal, Harold Ramis, finally was his crown jewel. The role of a cynical, self-obsessed weatherman forced to relive the same day over and over again, was the point in his career where the actor and the comic met at the same intersection equally. By turns funny and bitter, sad and painfully honest, his Phil, the weatherman, showed how truly gifted this man is. It was his finest performance up to this point in his career. More impressive work would come that same year with ''Mad Dog And Glory'' with Robert De Niro. Murray played a mob boss who desperately wanted to be a stand-up comic. The only problem was that the goomba was not funny. In this role, Bill showed his patented irony at looking at the world but, also, a genuine menace. In a few scenes, he is downright scary. And, interesting. It may be hard for those that haven't seen this movie to believe but Bill Murray blows De Niro off the screen with his acting......... As the 90's progressed, he hit another rough patch onscreen. He transported an elephant across country in ''Larger Than Life'', played in a movie I have never seen ''The Man Who Wasn't There''. But, he also got some mileage from juicy supporting roles in ''Kingpin'' and ''Wild Things''. And, in 1998, he made a wonderful movie called ''Rushmore'', where he played an older man competing with a teenager for the affections of a girl. This was another movie where comedy and drama met for him in a role. and, finally, the critics took note. He was nominated for several awards for his performance......... Came 2003. A movie called ''Lost In Translation'', directed by Sofia Coppola. It is a small movie, intimate in its subject matter and quiet in its execution. Bill plays a quietly bitter man, stubbornly facing middle-age. His character has a marriage that is in the toilet and he is in Japan doing a commercial he doesn't want to do because he needs the money. There, he meets a young American girl, played by Scarlett Johanson, who is running away from her own failed marriage. The heart and power of this movie is tied into loneliness. These two characters are far away from home and are lost in their lives. Life has let them down and they are sad. Here, Bill Murray, with those sad and world-weary eyes, shows his character's depth by just being in the moment. When he speaks, it is from a wounded man that wants to cry out at fate. But, no one will listen to him. Until, that is, this girl in Japan. Both performances are excellent by the actors. Award season rewarded Bill Murray royally. He won every major award that year, except the big prize, the Oscar. It is a shame because he deserved it [ Sean Penn won for the overwrought and contrived ''Mystic River'']. And, it is also a shame because the Academy Awards missed out on a potentially memorable acceptance speech by Bill Murray. His time will come....... And, that may be this year with ''St. Vincent''. It has Oscar nomination written all over it. I haven't seen the movie yet but I am planning on it soon........ In private, Bill Murray reportedly is as compelling, and a hard to pin down person, as his characters. He is notorious for his moods [ Dan Aykroyd calls him fondly ''The Murricane''] because they take him to a dark place. He has a somewhat difficult reputation as being hard to work with, but, those that claim this also are quick to point out that it is not ego that gives off this behavior but rather frustration at the job not being done correctly. Bill is a perfectionist, mostly with himself. Those that have shared the same working environment with him say he is a great guy. Just don't fuck with him....... I have always enjoyed watching him. He is part ticking time bomb, part hero at large. A friend of the audience, who has the charisma of a world class star. But, Bill Murray doesn't play the star game, a refreshing change of Hollywood behavior. He doesn't have an agent or manager. He has a 800 number that people can call to get in contact with him if they have a project he might be interested in. If Bill has the interest he will call the person back. Or, his lawyer will. This is so far out in left field that Hollywood looks at him in awe. He plays by his own rules, like his onscreen representations, never to be boxed in. Bill Murray is an enigma rapped in a riddle. We, the world, don't know what to expect from him at any time. He likes it that way....... And, so do we........