Change. Then Change Again.

I keep blog ideas in a file on my computer.  They could be just a sentence or even a few words.  For about three or four years, written at the top of the page, I had the phrase: Change. Then change again.  I ‘m sure I had a big idea when I typed that in my list of ideas, but I forgot what my point was.  It sat there for a long time.  Now, in the midst of the pandemic, when my kids are now adults, and that we’re moving out of the house we’ve lived in for thirteen years, I’ve found the meaning again.

I have never feared change.  Ever.  Even in the depths of my anxiety and self-loathing, it’s never been a fear of mine.  I’ve shrunk from it and been intimidated, and I sure as hell had issues making decisions.  But I always knew that it was inevitable.  It was as natural as the sun rising and the leaves changing in the fall. To fight it is to fight nature, and why the hell would you do that?

Sometimes I want to change just to change.  It’s time.  You can feel it.  This house we’re leaving is fine.  We could spend years fixing it up and we like our town.  But Amy and know it’s been…used up.  The kids are grown.  They happen to be living here at the moment though a mix of different circumstances, but those three people are young adults. The kids they used to be grew up here and now they’re gone.  There is no point holding a vigil or preserving some mortgaged monument to who they once were.  For us either.  I got my degree in history but I’ve never been a fan of preserving things just so they don’t fade away.  What’s worth remembering will be remembered, the rest will dissolve into the ether one way or another.

Through these changes and my obsession with time travel stories I have come to learn that the only time that is important is right now.  I’m not referring to the pressure to make every moment count, because that is ridiculous.  If you are present as much as possible, then change isn’t so scary. If it’s thrust upon you, like a viral outbreak that upends your life, you can breathe through it.  If it is by design, and you are in control of the decisions that have to be made, you can breathe through it.

I don’t get along with people who refuse to change.  They are children in adult bodies.  I don’t know a more respectful way to put it. Those people who want things to stay the same or don’t want to talk about the future.  I don’t get it.  Life moves in one direction.  Forward.  I also hate stories with characters who refuse to change, adapt, or grow.  I feel like that was a trait of a hundred TV shows in the last thirty years.  Men who are afraid to commit.  People who wait too long to start a relationship.  I realize that writes want to stretch out the plot of a show, but I think that shows an unwillingness to change on their part, too!  There are plenty of things to talk about after the ‘will they/won’t they’ is over.  You just have to try it.

I get it.  Fear of the unknown. People would rather be with the familiar, even if it makes them miserable, then venture out into the spooky and scary unknown.  But its like learning to care for yourself. Eating better, exercising, learning about the world.  A healthy attitude toward change is part of growing up.  It’s one of those things that is always better when you’re on the other side of it.

One of the other things that could be up for a change is how I approach these blogs, and if I continue to do them at all.  They are merely workouts in between book projects, and I plan to use them when I have my own self-publishing writer storefront up and running.  It’s another change. I’ll give myself another few years and make a hard, dedicated run at selling more books.  I can use these blogs to reach out to readers.  Plus, they are fun to do. If nothing comes of it, and I’m in my fifties and I’m still making sixteen dollars a year as a writer and I’m pouring all my time into work that no one reads, I’ll close up shop.  It will be time for a change.  And I’ll be ready for it.

The Secret Evil of the Movie Montage

The 1980’s were the Golden Age of Montages.  It’s that cinematic device that’s used to quickly show the passage of time to bring the characters from one stage to another, mostly because film is expensive.  It’s also necessary because it would be a cheat in the movie not to see the character train, learn, build or accomplish something before bringing them to the next scene. Rocky III and Rocky IV have training for a fight, The Karate Kid learns karate, Rodney Dangerfield studies for an exam in Back To School.

You also have montages for the progression of a family from a couple to parents, a cop learning the job and gaining wisdom about her experiences, or the physical construction of a barn, a boat, a car, or something that will aid the characters in the third act.  Montages were so ubiquitous that they are expected, and some were stylized better than others.  The writing of a movie (and sometimes a TV show) was designed to have a montage in them to fit the story. 

In the internet age, we have videos shown in 10x speed to show the creation of a piece of art from start to finish.  You can see furniture restored or a cake baked from scratch in thirty seconds.  It’s convenient, it’s education and its entertaining.  But I think there is a lingering evil behind it. 

Montages exist to speed through the boring parts.  The reading, the sweaty labor, the day after day of waking up and sticking to a plan and pushing forward.  It all the shit you can’t put in a movie because it’s a story in compressed time and that crap is not entertaining at all.  It also gives the illusion through the camera’s eye that someone is watching these experiences.  Truth is, you’re often alone.  You have to run ten miles or stay up late and hit the books.  You have to clock in and out every day and deal with the same bullshit.  In fact, montages are a window to real life.  They’re the realest shit in a movie.

Movies show the idea and the last moment of desperation before the character reaches the goal.  The bulk of the effort of anything worth doing in life is 98% of all the work in between.  It’s hard and boring, and unrewarding and shitty.  Plus, you have no idea at all if that last scene will ever happen.  Montages are fun in movies because you know there will be a satisfying moment at the end.  A character will understand the journey and it will be worth the effort.  We all know life isn’t like that.  You hope it will be, but uncertainty and doubt hover every decision you make during the process.

It’s the tough stuff. The real work.  The stuff not a lot of people are willing to do.  Or, they are willing, but only because of a fanciful notion in their head planted by a montage.  It’ll be fun.  There will be a neat soundtrack playing behind all of my actions.  I’ll have the support of everyone around me.  It will be worth it.  Nope. No guarantees of any of that.  If they are plagued by montage thinking, they will quit when it stops being fun.

 But some people do it anyway. Movies can’t tell their stories.  It’s an insufficient medium.

Entertainment is so intertwined with our culture that it’s difficult to know what’s real or not, especially if you are young and just starting out in life.  Life isn’t the movies or TV, but you also don’t want it to be.  There are rewards in life that will never be reflected onscreen simply because they’re not cinematic or they take too long to understand.

You might be able to read it in a book, though.

Aw, Man. Am I Chasing Camp?

Camp, 1990's-era

(Before I get started, I’ve never liked titles with ‘Chasing’, Searching, “Finding’, ‘Saving’ or any of those present tense verbs in them. No analysis here.  I just think they suck.)

I drive all over Oregon and Washington for my job.  I’ve visited around twelve thousand homes and most of them are the same. Just like in your town.  But because of the area, there is a percentage of these homes in gorgeous areas that I can’t stop thinking about.  Now, I’m rarely amazed by the houses, but the locations are unbelievable.  Some are obviously out of our price range, but still lovely to visit.  Then there are those that could be an option for us as we sell our house, and I’ve started cataloging them in my brain.

I came across one this week.  In an area I’ll never consider, but the actual set up was beautiful.  Out in the country, rolling hills and trees.  The house was meh, and too big for us.  The woman who owned it said her husband was out back, which usually means a guy working in a barn, landscaping or working on a car in a garage.  But this guy wasn’t doing anything at all.  He sat in a chair, looking at the little pond in his backyard.  He was a retiree, sitting in a cheap chair in his backyard with only the sound of birds.  He was just…being there. That may bore the living shit out of you, but I was envious the moment I spotted him.

To silently just be. No one laying any responsibility on me.  No noise from neighbors.  I’m in the woods, but only a few minutes in the car from groceries or tacos.  I never knew that was what I wanted.  Or, have I wanted that all along?

In the early 1970’s, my grandfather bought land in the East Osceola State Forest in Upstate, New York. There was, and still is, nothing there.  Miniscule towns an hour northeast of Syracuse, where I was born.  The construction of the cabin, or ‘Camp’ as we called it, is not my story to tell. It was a small cabin with a steel barrel for a wood stove, an upstairs loft with beds, an eventual toilet that replaced an outhouse, a kitchen, and a back porch. It was put together with scraps and only the ingenuity of the family and friends that helped build it. I feel like half the story of the Mercurio’s surrounds Camp itself, and I’m not the person to tell it because most of the time I was there, I was in long, footy-pajamas.  But I remember the feeling of being there.  We moved to Florida in 1981 and I visited a view more times.  I even brought my Florida friends there to hang out.  The best part of Camp, as anyone would attest to, was the back porch.  Screened, with a solid wall of trees and the forest air to breathe in. You went out there when it rained, if it was freezing, or every night just to suck it all in.

I’d like to share a poignant moment that happened there.  I don’t have one.  There are also plenty of shitty ones I don’t want to share.  I can tell you it was a feeling, and it was my only access to that feeling. It just as well could have been any cabin in the woods.  I don’t know.  But Camp was my doorway to it.

I grew up in Orlando.  Spots of green here and there, but mostly a sprawled suburbia with concrete and traffic and construction.  I also…prefer suburban life.  I like access to quiet and also access to a city.  I’ve never lived in a rural area, and I want to be close to grocery stores, fire departments and the occasional dinner out with the Mrs. We’re definitely homebodies, but I like concerts and comedy shows and the diversity of people and ideas that cities usually have.  But something kept pulling me to green. 

In 2001, Amy and I visited her sister in Seattle.  We were there for ten days, including a visit to Oregon for a few.  I remember my first morning in the house in north Seattle, with a view of the Puget Sound.  I drank a strong coffee on a deck on an overcast day in May, and the breeze was chilly enough for me to need a blanket. That was it. That was all I needed. Daytona Beach could suck it.

I could put one right here, in the Mt. Hood National Forest, right?

Fifteen years ago, I moved to Oregon.  Oregon is wall-to-wall trees on this side of the Cascades, as most people know.  There’s one day of snow every other year or so, and the misty light rain of the wintertime.  I’ve found a comfortable place to live, and a blue state to boot, but have I just been recreating Camp all this time?  Have I been trying to recapture a feeling I had in a shitty childhood and make it my own as an adult?  Is this my Rosebud? It’s certainly possible. It’s only by luck that my wife has been along for the ride.  My kids like it here and any downsides haven’t really amounted to much at all. 

Most people create their environments, directly or indirectly, without even knowing it.  Dramatic people are comfortable with chaos.  People in motion prefer to be unattached.  Those bound by tradition don’t move much.  You might be something that you don’t realize.  I wanted fame and fortune with I was eighteen, but I didn’t chase it.  Why?  Maybe I didn’t want it after all.  My brain thought I needed something else.  It’s tough to imagine a life of peace with you’re young and stupid and you live in America.  That kind of life story doesn’t get a documentary.

I’ve written about my problems with self-judgment and I spend way too much picking apart my motivations and shortcomings.  Maybe I believe deep down that this is the answer.  Something about Camp brought me peace and I’m looking to manifest it again to bring me peace as an old fart. 

I’m getting close.

Closing the Book, Saying Goodbye, and Killing It

             This is a thoughtful piece; however I think it will have a ton of pop-culture references in it. Brace yourself.

             Hitting your forties is special.  You know you are mathematically and undeniably middle aged, and you know that you’ve probably passed the point in your life where you were the most virile and vital.  However, if you are a thinking person, you also acquire the ability to let shit go.  I think your forties are the proving years to see whether you can age gracefully or become a bitter, angry, sad asshole.

             I’ve felt this a lot lately, and a fun way to measure these events as you get older is to acknowledge the small endings you have in your daily life.  They start early.  The end of high school and college or the end of a job that you won’t soon forget.  There are friendships that fade away and breakups, too.  Another one is to acknowledge the ending of stories in your life.  Some people feel it when a favorite musician dies, and you know that you will never hear anything new from them ever again.  The same thing with actors, writers and filmmakers. Sue Grafton died before she finished her Z book.  (That must drive OCD people insane.)

             There have been a bunch of story endings for me in the last year.  Game of Thrones, Avengers, Star Wars, Mr. Robot, The Good Place… I think there are a few more, too.  It is bittersweet to see it end, but the feeling that comes after is so important, even when it’s just entertainment we should acknowledge it.  Endings are such a major part of life and a real teacher of how strong we are.  We need to have things so we will know that next morning the sun will rise, and we’ll be just fine.

             My kids aren’t kids anymore and now I’m the old guy that raised them.  My hair isn’t coming back. All the shit I like has been forgotten, trivialized, or banished to an oldies bin of culture.  I have hundreds of open-ended arguments in my head that will never be resolved.  I have a few dozen dreams that I know will never happen.  Clinging to them is painful.  It’s not the dreams’ fault.  It’s the clinging.

             I have had important people in my life that I will never see again, and for some it is a sure thing.  You have to let them go.  I do not light candles for departed loved ones.  If they truly meant something to you, there is no way you will ever forget them.  Behaving as if they are actually part of your life right now, today, is clinging, and clinging only hurts you.  Their memory can dissolve and become part of your blood flow, your conscience, your morality.  That is the best you can hope for as a memorial.  That way, when you think of them, what comes up first is how knowing them also benefitted you.  They have become inexorable from you.  To know who you are, is to know them, too.

             Killing your past was a theme in the last two epic space movies I watched in the theater.  This is a tough one.  Killing the past in totality is impossible and stupid. However, strategically targeting can be helpful.  If you approach it like a surgeon who removes a tumor, then I think you’re on the right path.  Those memories of screw-ups and evil deeds that you’ve atoned for but still plague you…kill ‘em.  Those truly devastating and embarrassing moments you remember that still make you sick to your stomach…kill ‘em.  Those shitty people who betrayed you or fucked you over…kill ‘em.  Well, not them, but they should spend a lot less time occupying brain space.  Learn the required lesson and close that book.  Trust me, they aren’t thinking about you.

             Doesn’t it seem that a significant part of this country can’t let go of things?  They cling to the good ol’ days, whatever they think they were, and they can’t stand the fact that deep down they know they aren’t ever coming back. Refusing to adapt and change goes against the basic tenets of nature.  No change means no growth.  No growth means… Well, it’s nothing good.

They aren’t even pining for a time or place, they just mourn the illusion of it.  Everything changes, people die, and nothing lasts forever. These are things we figured out eons ago yet there are millions of Americans that believe they are immune.  Time and civilization only move in one direction.  Forward.

Close the old books and say goodbye.  You’ll be okay.  I don’t have to promise this.  It happens billions of times a day.

Dan Kant's "The American Commandment" Speech

The first book I ever wrote was in 2006. I wrote it on the job, by hand, in my spare time. It will never be released because its by first actual book and ain’t all that.  But, there was a part in it that I always loved and since I’m scrounging for things to do, I’m putting it up.

Daniel Kant was a modern-day speechmaker, like the ones that existed back in the nineteenth century.  They were spoken-word performances, but charged, political, and people loved it.  There was a lot of other shit going on, but the book led up to the last speech he ever wanted to give, and it was about the balance between the rich and the poor in America.  I reread it and I still liked it.  It fit the insane tone of the book.  You would not be surprised there a lot of details that remain oddly relevant in 2020.

(Update: I had completely forgotten that this was the third book I'd written. There's two previous completed projects in my file that I blanked on.  Oops.)

I fixed a couple typos, but here it is:

             “Good evening!”

             Applause.  Woo’s.

             “I was called a liberal twenty times in the last week.  Everyone used it as an insult and I thought that was funny. Liberals used to be rough types.  Hard-edged, fringe rogues with ideas that scared the crap out of banks, churches and governments alike.  But a tiny era from 1967 or so to 1970 or so changed that perception.  The image of the sly revolutionary was replaced by flowers and pot and peace signs and tie-dye and whining.  Liberals are now synonymous with hippies.  The right regards their cultural opposites as worthless, gutless and irrelevant.”

             “Maybe hippies are.  But liberals aren’t.”

             “The liberals of today are all over as they’ve always been, and I suspect the twenty-first century culture of sex, violence and materialism have made their mark.  Like the devout leftists before them, they ate and drank at the table for a while until something made them sick.  They might not bemoan big business, they may even want in on the action.  These are the types that perish for what they love, they burn for their beliefs.  They place forks in the road of human progress.”

             “Political debate doesn’t get in the way.”

             “If the conservatives left well enough alone, their opponents on the public stage might actually be hippie types.  But they ridiculed and giggled at the concepts of peace, love and understanding.  Now, I think liberals have to avoid the soft approach.  They are backed into a corner.  Creating segregated groups of people in a single society is never a good idea.  Liberals are divided from the right and they are distanced in the public eye.  This time around, the left side wants to be heard and preach the traditional morals of peace, responsibility and liberty and the right side wants them to shut the fuck up.”

             “So, what now?  Liberals in different times are known as revolutionaries.  The left creates change, it is in their blood.  Because of this, I am frightened.  As long as there is a place at the table where conservatives and liberals, rich and poor, the powerful and the powerless can speak to one another we always have hope.  That’s why America’s system is shaped this way!  Opinions should be heard and discussed and dissected.  The doors should never be shut. There are a few victories, but the conversation always goes on.”

             “This is much better than the alternative.”

             “What is the alternative?  Well I’m just an annoying citizen, one who was, until very recently, poor. I have a confused and socially virginal mind.  I have a theory and I base it on something that I hesitantly call “The American Commandment”.  It is a single line etched in the minds of each American who was ever born, and it is essential for the balance of any capitalist society.

“I’m sure all of you heard the real version of The Little Red Riding Hood.  The wolf eats Red and her Grandma and a huntsman saves the day by cutting open the stomach, then they eat the wolf, Red marries the hunter and she’s fitted with a wolfskin wedding veil?  Kay, I added some of that…”

“The point is that there are sometimes pieces of stories and sayings and morals that are left behind by history for one reason or another.  There’s only one I’m going to talk about and it’s the last thing I’ll ever talk about out loud.”

“The arguments we have all boil down the same thing.  I’ve heard advocates for peace, racial equality, sexual equality, kid’s rights, gay rights, more guns, less guns, anti-death penalty, pro-abortion, feed the hungry, get the government out of my face, help us be strong united county again.  One million causes.  Because we are a capitalist society, everyone knows what the root of the solution is.  I guess addressing it is considered a crime in some places, and debating it is rude.  Just like sex is a taboo subject in many circles, the topic is still very real and an important part of human life, let alone American life.”

“I speak of money.  This is a matter of dollars and wealth.  We value money above all things. Look around and be honest.  Our lives are about who has money, who needs it, who thinks they can get it and who wants to keep what they have. Any problem I mentioned can be solved with more money, one way or another.  I’ve heard people say certain things can’t be solved with money.  Don’t believe that.  All that means is you won’t find anyone willing to pay for it. The poor need money for basic necessities and the rich believe they should keep what they earn, inherit, or make off of interest of what they earn or inherit. I hear both sides and they make damn convincing arguments.  The only sticky wicket, the only monkey wrench, is the numbers themselves.  There are 330 million people in this country and less and one percent of a percent have half the wealth.  That is an issue.”

“So if we are honest and we admit money is number one; outshining love, kindness, tolerance, children, respect, the golden rule, family decency and happiness (all of which are free) then the poor must know their place in this value system.  They believe they know their place.  They are controlled and limited.”

“But here’s what everyone has forgotten.  The Commandment.”

“Back to my analogy.  I apologize because metaphors have never been easy for me.  The wealthy have half of the commandment spinning in their heads.  The commandment is a statement made by the people of a nation.  The middle class, the poor, the powerless. The powerful know the first four words of the commandment and use it as a legitimate reason to ignore, and even hate the poor. It’s short, but it is what they truly think of when they see Democrats and social programs and intellectuals who want to change things and scholarships and free lunch and free healthcare plans and public school.  They look at the poor with all its sincerity and genuine need, their fellow man, and all they can hear is:”

“Give me your money.”

“These are the first four words of the commandment.”

“The poor ask for equal playing fields.  They ask for dignity and help.  They ask for the smarter, the luckier and the happier to be treated like equals. The wealthy can’t stand the fact they are expected to pay for any of that.  All the Have’s hear is:”

“Gimme your money.”

“That is why there is suffering.  That is why the system breaks down.  That is why things don’t work around here.  It’s that thought and that belief.  It is a half-truth, a half- belief.  The poor have failed to remind them of the rest of it!  It is the Poor’s fault everyone!  The rich only hear what they want to hear anyway, so it is the duty of the poor to remind the rich why on God’s green earth they should pay taxes and support those less fortunate!”

“Taxes exist to fund the government. Wealthy people know that.  Not just the DC guys pissing money away on missiles that never go anywhere, but billions of other dollars in tax money go to all the stuff we need.  Power, police, phone, fire fighters, emergency techs, teachers, sewer guys, sanitation, lunch ladies, day care, elderly care, medicine and a shitload others.  Lemme hear it if you are one of these people!!!”

Enormous applause.  They shook the stage.  My heart was a hummingbird eager to break through my chest.

“But those in power hear only: Gimme your money. Give me your money.  Like poor people are children asking for a cookie after school.”

“As for the wealthy, I’m sure when they go to church, if they go, there is a sermon or two about charity and loving thy neighbor and being Christlike or obeying the book or some shit.  If Christians were Christlike there would be no poor or war.  But I don’t know if the poor are waiting for that ship to sail in anymore.  I have a feeling less and less people are buying that old time medicine.”

“Remember, this is Poor’s fault.  I mentioned numbers.  They have numbers.  So do we.  Lots of them.”

“I want everyone to hear my final point.  I want all those smart phones and the MP3’s and the soundboard recording and that camera for the internet link and all you nice people to hear this.”

“This first part of the Commandment is indeed: “Gimme your money.” The last six words that have fallen from memory in our fat and bloated society are much more dramatic.”

“The second part is:”

A pause.

“OR WE WILL FUCKING TAKE IT!”

An eruption.

“I’m serious as a goddamned triple bypass.  You want to say that I don’t live in the real world?  Look around.  Look in the faces of the bored and confused and depressed. We’re in America!  It’s not supposed to be better than this and here we are!  Scared and tired and sad all the time.  If what I speak of is insanity, then that is where we live every day.  A state of insanity.”

“Think ! Think! Think!   Why would people with money ever give their money away?  For what reason other than the government initially set up laws to take it from them.  Why take the money at all?  To placate the poor!  The budgets for Social Security and education alone are staggering.  If we only care about money, you know this is not done out of the kindness of their hearts.  It’s done to keep the peace.  It is to keep you and me punching the clock and making them money. It is a carrot or a stick.  Money is the brass ring or whatever bullshit analogy we’ve adopted to silence ourselves when we realize our lives are meaningless.”

“What power do they have that we don’t give to them?  Tell them their money is worthless or take it all, it doesn’t matter. What is to keep us from taking whatever we want when we want it?  The laws, the rules? What are you afraid of?   Cops, security, the army?  All those folks will be right next to you.  If they don’t abandon their posts it will only take a few minutes.  Once they see they are equally as screwed over and desperate and they’ve swallowed even bigger lies they’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with family and neighbors.”

“What about the law, Dan? As far as the law, what is the goddamn point of the law if you are hungry, sad, fearful, and pissed off all the time?  It’s just paper!  It can be changed!  Do you think it is money or law that keeps the peace anyway?”

“As far as the daily feelings of the rich, you can’t base an entire socioeconomic system to keep a tiny segment of the population from feeling bad they have money.  Too bad, poor you.  You’re wealthy.  If you want to stay that way, you pay taxes.”

“Your possessions are only illusions.  They are only yours because the rest of us have agreed not to take it from you.  That is a contract.  That’s how it will always be.  It is the price of a civilization. You don’t like it; we’re coming for your stuff. Now get out.”

“Is this a threat?  You’re goddamned right it is!”

“The threat is not new, it’s always been there.  We’ve just been rocked to sleep with shiny objects and pretty pictures and fluff to forget about it for a while. Television, cheap gadgets, cars, dumb movies, caffeine, beer and sugar serve as distractions.  We all know this or have a vague idea of our addictions.  But the cards seem so stacked against us and the allure of mediocre aimless Americana is so strong.  It still does not change a thing.  It is a tradition to fleece the poor.  What I speak of is equally traditional. The threat is very real.”

“Sooner or later, it will happen.  You have to see it coming.  Those who have the means to feed, clothe and help those who don’t have the means will have to make a decision. How much are you willing to pay for stability? Our society is a concept.  An idea.  An idea can be accepted or rejected. Humans must have a reason m a vested interest to accept the concept.  These laws that keep the fabric together will be respected if they work.  If they don’t, the concept is useless.”

“The alternative is something entirely more horrifying, but still real.  It has happened many times in human history, and it’s sure to happen again. Prevention is possible, but like a life- threatening virus, terrorism or natural disasters, it has to be faced. It must not be ignored.”

I took a sip of water.  I received applause just for that.

“I’ll only be another couple minutes.”

“I’m talking revolution.  Not the John Lennon kind or the Black Panther kind.  I’m not talking about rock and roll here.  I’m talking France, 1789.  I’m talking millions of pissed off people storming affluent neighborhoods because they are ill and all the medicine is being held ransom. Houses and cars aflame because they are starving or unemployed.  Do you understand how these things begin?  By those who feel useless and have nothing to do!  Are we that far? Are we getting close?”

“One crisis is all it takes.  One financial disaster and those without ample resources will be in the streets. Maybe it won’t even come to that.  Maybe it will be one man; one father. He watches someone he loves, someone he is responsible for, so sick and dying needlessly because he lacks the correct insurance coverage, or he was laid off, or injured, or unlucky. The medicine is right over there, in that building, just waiting for a high bidder.  Maybe he can’t handle it any more, maybe he himself is sick or desperate or hungry or even worse, bored to death?”

“People are poor because they are poor!  Why does it matter!?” I screamed.

More applause.  I wanted to bail right there.  I felt the crowd rumbling and they approved.  I sucked the marrow out the last bone of anger I had and all was left was the little blonde girl in the Pacific Northwest.  If nothing I said ever mattered again I didn’t care.  I wanted to collapse.

“Maybe this father hops a fence.  That’s it.  Right into a warehouse or a store or an estate.  He figures he has no other options so he grabs what he needs, maybe someone gets in his way.  But his baby is starving and dying, and the owner is trying to protect his property.  What would you do with someone who got between you and your starving child?”

“YOU’D FUCKING KILL HIM! THAT’S WHAT YOU’D DO AND YOU KNOW IT!!!”

“And who of you would convict him?  This is where the line is drawn for all of us.  This is where civilization stops cold and nature looms it ever- present shadow.”

“Then more and more people would get the same idea as the father and it would be bedlam before you know.  First the police would do their duty but eventually they’d figure out they are just arresting their own kind, the underpaid and the mistreated and the incredibly bored to death.  Maybe a change, even a violent one, is better than wasting away at the TV, growing fatter and sicker and dumber and wishing that something would happen. People would stop caring about burning the flag, gay marriages or welfare cheats in a second.  Maybe it wouldn’t be America anymore.”

“If the rich stand in the way of your baby dying, your loved one starving or they refused to grant you a bit of dignity, all your notions of a work ethic and the nuclear family dissipate like firecracker smoke. ‘Society’ and ‘country’ and ‘America’ and ‘laws’ become just words. You’d do whatever you’d have to do, and those with money need to know that.  They need to remember it.”

 “The people.  Us.  Everyone you see.  We aren’t in charge. We aren’t in charge, but we are the keepers of the kingdom.  This is our country.  We let them have it.  But it is an old agreement.  An ancient deal.  They must live up to it.  Every so often we have to rattle the cage .”

“To those who are frightened or find me hilarious I can only say this is a natural as the tides rolling in.  Snowfall.  Birth and death.  The few must protect the needs of the many, and now you remember why.”

“I’m getting tired.”

“To those who have things, just be fair. Give in.  Give up some of your money.  Yes, that’s how it works. Not all. Some. It’s not rude to ask someone to do something with their money.  Don’t want to help?  Then don’t call when there’s a fire or you need a doctor or a teacher or a cop or someone to fix the plumbing. Don’t expect protection from our enemies. You don’t need anyone’s help, apparently.  You have money and that’s the American way. What’s yours is yours.”

“I hope your right, because in the other scenario, your goddamned head is on a pike.”

“Give up the money!!!!”

More Memory Stuff (The Mandela Effect)

Are you familiar with the completely fabricated and ridiculous idea behind ‘The Mandela Effect’?  If you are uninitiated. I’ll walk you through it. 

Several years ago, in the meme-heavy internet world that we live in, there were people who believed at one point in their lives that Nelson Mandela had died before his actual death in 2013.  Upon news of his death, the internet came alive with ‘I thought he was dead already’ comments.  These were so pervasive that other collective brain farts were brought to life.  A lot of people thought the cartoon called the ‘Berenstein Bears’ instead of the ‘Berenstain Bears’.  There was the notion that the comedian Sinbad starred in a genie movie in the 90’s, which wasn’t true.  These ‘false memories’ became such a trope that there were theories (sometimes tongue-in-cheek, sometimes not) that we as a society were living in an alternate universe where Mandela lived longer, and the cartoon was always known as The Berenstein Bears.   

My analysis ends there.  Why?  Because it’s not worth noting. This is all ridiculous bullshit. The truth is, you probably have a shitty memory.  Or, at the very least, our bar for a good memory is much higher than we realize. 

I also cannot fathom the size of the ego that would even conjecture that the entire universe is wrong and that I’m right, there’s no way that the information in my mind is wrong.  I realize that a lot of people had fun with the Mandela Effect, but the fact that such a thing even exists shows the lack of our ability to evaluate the information we have stored.  Or, we simply are so full of ourselves that we’ve forgotten to simply admit ‘Yeah, I don’t know’.

All cards on the table.  I have a great fucking memory.  It’s my strongest attribute and my most powerful tool to trick people into believing that I’m smart.  I can barely add and subtract, I’m not mechanically inclined whatsoever, I wouldn’t know a sound business strategy if it punched me in the face.  But I remember.  History. Geography. Scientific factoids. State capitals. I remember every movie I’ve ever seen in a theater; who I was with, and where we saw it.  I probably remember your birthday.  I remember the personal information you’ve told me.  Yes, even that conversation we had 25 years ago.

When I was a kid my parents always told me to remember where we parked.  My dad called me from the bar on Friday nights to have me answer trivia questions and presumably win him a bet or two.  I crushed Trivial Pursuit when I was 10.

How the hell do you remember that?  Do you sit around and study this stuff every day? I don’t have room in my brain for all of that.

And it’s not perfect.  I don’t have perfect recall by any means.  That sounds like a nightmare.  I forget shit all the time.

I didn’t understand the depths and uniqueness of my memory until I was much older.  It is exceptional.  Most of the little gifted kids I grew up with had the same thing, some didn’t.  Not being able to remember the little bits and pieces of life is perfectly normal.  That’s the marking of a normal memory.  Just because you can’t remember the name of your classmate from high school doesn’t mean you have Alzheimer’s around the corner.  You’re normal.  The brain tosses these things aside.

             Did I know Mandela was still alive? Yep.  Did I always call it the Berenstain Bears? Yeppers. I pay attention.  I read.  I can pronounce s-t-a-i-n.

 But I’m constantly asking myself, after reading a news blurb about a celebrity death: Wait, I thought I heard that this guy died already.  Well, I was wrong. Not only am I wrong about a lot of stuff that I thought, you are too.  Collectively we’re been wrong about some major things over the last few thousand years or so.  We’re not dumb or trapped in some interdimensional backward world.  We’re just wrong. Look in the mirror and admit it when you’re wrong.  It might feel like it's going to be the worst thing ever.  It’s not.  It feels alright.

Be wrong with me, won’t you?

My 20 Favorite Stand-Up Comedians Of All The Times

I’ve been a fan of stand-up comedy since I was 15.  It’s all I gave a shit about in high school and my GPA reflected that.  Turns out that I really loved writing it more than performing it, and I’ve never stopped writing it. I’ve seen dozens of performances live, collected tapes and CD’s, and watched five million comedy specials since the late 80’s.  I have a list of my 20 favorite stand-up performers based on their careers on stage.  There’s no real order, but you can figure out who goes where.

 (Individuals have been left off of this list if they’ve been accused or convicted of sexual assault and/or converted to right-wing mouthpieces. Screw you guys.)

David Cross – I’ve decided that if I had made the leap to try and become a professional back in 1990, this is one of the guys I would have tried to suck up to. I would have failed.  Surly, sarcastic, brash, intelligent and a cantankerous asshole when he wants to be.  All the things I aspired to when I was 18.

Todd Barry – He actually writes and tells jokes.  He has a point of view but there aren’t a lot of traditional joke writers anymore and no one has his patient cadence. 

Richard Lewis – Retired, I think.  Back in the late 80’s and early 90’s, this geezer had an energy to his shows that were so fun.  Marc Maron said that they don’t have Jewish comedians like this anymore because they have medication for this type of frenetic anxiety and depression. Kind of a shame.

Maria Bamford – 100% original voice.  Absolutely one of a kind in every way possible. Open about her mental illness struggles and gives you a peek inside her chaotic brain.  I’ve taken all my kids to their first stand up show and this was my daughter Emily’s inaugural experience.

Randy and Jason Sklar – You know why this brother team is on the list? Because they’re fun.  They look like they are having fun up there and that’s a serious skill when you’ve been saying the same shit over and over.  Plus, they took a picture with me:

John Mulaney – Noob on the list. Unbelievable how gifted this guy is at such a young age.  Get in early.

Dave Chappelle – Speaking of being gifted at a young age.  I saw this guy on Comic Relief when he was 19 and he was already a seasoned pro.  He’s one of the few all-time titans who achieved his own voice, becoming a comedian and social commentator while remaining funny. 

Jim Gaffigan – Do you have any idea how difficult it is to remain a ‘clean’ comedian and stay funny for decades?  There is a select group of people who can suck the marrow out of any mundane premise and make it all gold.  Still haven’t seen him live. Tickets are too pricey.

Paula Poundstone – She is the first comedian I ever saw.  In a shitty club in Orlando, and she crushed. Her 80’s specials are engrained in my brain.

Dave Attell - The closest thing we ever got to a Gen-X Don Rickles.  Fast on his feet, dirty, and a pure joke writer.  I took my oldest son Nick to Attell for his first show.  He lost his mind.

Bob Goldthwait – Bobcat has 4 careers.  80’s stand-up star, lukewarm comedic actor, indie film director, modern club comic.  First major name I saw live and he clashed with the redneck audience that paid to see him.  Lifelong punk attitude and native of Syracuse, New York, like yours truly. Minus the punk attitude.

Andy Kindler – Honestly, sometimes this guy is number 1 on my list.  Truly.  Absolutely no one does what he does.  He deconstructs the actual stand up experience, the jokes, the audience, the other comedians.  It’s more performance art and it all comes out of the mouth of a cranky old man.  He is known as a comedian’s comedian, which means only funny people enjoy him.  Again, it’s a shame.

Ellen Degeneres – You read that right.  Don’t give a shit about her talk show or even her sitcom.  Ellen was one of the most remarkable stand-ups in the 1980’s.  Even better than a lot of her male counterparts. Having a voice is so key and it seems like she had it the whole time. If you have to separate into categories…greatest female stand-up ever.

Bill Hicks - I’m one of the few people who was actually a fan of this guy before he died of cancer in 1994. Had his albums on cassette. Part lonely political comic, part paranoid stoner.   Some of the stuff doesn’t age as well, and when I think of him, I wonder what he would have been like if he had time to grow. 

Dana Gould – Stalwart comedian who was also a writer for the funniest show of all time, The Simpsons. He comes from the first generation of nerds and weirdos and has also dipped his toe in political commentary. My son Holden’s first show.

Paul F. Tompkins – Belongs on the list because of a unique voice and confidence on stage.  I’ve enjoyed probably 1000 hours of his improv work in the last 10 years in podcast-land so it did color my opinion, too. An attitude of ‘if you don’t get it, that’s your problem’.  Love it.

Chris Rock - Now we’re hitting my Mount Rushmore.  There is only one successor to George Carlin, and it is Chris Rock.  A millionaire, yet still needs to get specials out there. He needs to still perform. There are at least one or two undeniable brilliant observations per stand-up set. There are jokes, but there are big ideas behind them. Sometimes he’s just talking to us, and that’s what makes him like Carlin. 

Patton Oswalt – Patton was created in a lab when I needed a comedian to speak directly to me.  I would have tried to befriend him too if I put myself out there in 1990 but he would have thought I was a hack and told me to fuck off. The godfather of nerds, social commentator, writer, father, husband, fat guy.  Seen him twice.  Will see him again.

Richard Pryor - I mean, come on.  The funniest comedian of all time.  Legend.  Hall of famer.  He helped define what a stand-up is and what he could get away with.  If you haven’t gone back and checked him out, pay attention to when he gets into story mode.  He breathed life into every character, each with a unique voice.  You’re listening to a story about eleven different people and Pryor is the voice they’re coming from. He also anthropomorphized animals and everyday objects. It was rhythmic; musical. It all started there.

George Carlin – Pryor is the funniest comedian of all time; Carlin is the best comedian of all time.  A machine of writing, observation, social commentary, wordplay, language study, fart jokes.  He could do everything.  (Except relationship stuff.  Ever notice that?  He skipped that shit.) Hours and hours over forty years.  Insane work ethic.  He also evolved over time.  Straight-laced club performer, hippie stoner comic, 70’s drugged-out waste, reinvigorated political commentator, grumpy old man, enlightened old man. His later stuff was aimed directly at Americans in general, whom he thought could have been so much better.  Some bristle at his later stuff that is ‘mean’ to the audience, but I think we need that.  I don’t think we’re ‘soft’, as much as we need to not take ourselves so damn seriously.

Another reason I’ve always loved comedy.