I think the problem with government by the people for the people is that most people are too lazy or too stupid to get the facts for themselves.
The truth is a complicated and messy proposition, something most people can't be bothered to understand. They'd rather live in a streamlined universe, where political parties embody good and evil and where candidates are either blameless and holy, or utterly wicked and depraved.
"Oh, I don't want to listen to a long, boring Kerry speech. I'll just wait and let Bush's campaign team summarize it for me. I'm sure they'll give me a fair and unbiased interpretation, because why would they lie?"
It's a dead giveaway when the people who utterly despise Kerry can't think of any specific examples to back up their irrational hatred. Instead, they just trot out the same tired old Republican spin about how Kerry wanted to go to war but changed his mind, or how he apparently involved hundreds of people in a massive conspiracy to defraud the U.S. into awarding him a Purple Heart.
Kerry's supporters aren't blameless in this, either. I swear, if I hear one more person tell me they're voting for Kerry because "anybody's better than Bush," I'm going to shit kittens.
Here's a great example of what I'm whining about.
Kerry and the rest of the Democrats voted to give George W. Bush the authority to declare war on Iraq. They did so to strengthen the president's bargaining position, and they claim they had no idea Bush was going to use his newfound power so irresponsibly. After all, Bush had promised to exhaust all other channels (including diplomacy) before going to war. He'd also promised that he would not move against Iraq without UN support. But once he got the go-ahead, both of those promises fell by the wayside.
Were they really naive enough to believe that Bush would try to avoid war? I doubt it. After all, I don't think any of the rest of us were fooled. For all of Bush's posturing about diplomacy and UN support, we KNEW war was inevitable.
The fact is, the Democrats voted to support Bush, knowing full well what he would do. They did so because, at the time, disagreeing with Bush was tantamount to admitting that you were a terrorist. And it's only now that it's publically acceptable to disagree with our actions in Iraq that they're speaking out and claiming that they were duped.
Democrats are good, but naive. Republicans are evil, manipulative monsters. That's certainly easier to grasp than the truth, right?
Meanwhile, the Republicans were working overtime to put their own spin on events. Kerry had been very outspoken about Bush's mishandling of the war in Iraq. In fact, like the rest of the Democrats, he still claimed that he was utterly taken in by Bush's promises to look for a peaceful solution.
So a few months ago, Bush asked Kerry if he would have still voted the same way if he'd known they weren't going to find any WMDs in Iraq. It was a lose/lose situation for Kerry. If he said no, the Republicans would have peed all over themselves in their zeal to accuse him of flip-flopping. And if he said yes, they'd be able to distort that into proof that Kerry had supported invading Iraq.
Kerry gave one of his typically long-winded and complicated answers. Yes, he would have voted to give the president the authority to declare war, because he felt the president should have a strong bargaining position when negotiating with Iraq. However, he made it clear that he still felt Bush had totally abused the power given him and had utterly botched things in Iraq.
No doubt he thought he could avoid the trap laid for him by simply telling the truth. But unfortunately, the truth was too complicated for everyone, so the Republicans set to work massaging the facts to suit their own needs. They portrayed Kerry and the rest of those speaking out against the war as weak and evil hypocrites working to undermine the president's noble efforts to defend our nation. Since most of Bush's supporters already believed that anyway, it was a pretty easy sell.
I'm sure this rant will fall on deaf ears, because most people have made up their minds and they're not going to let anything as trivial as the facts sway them from their myopic world view. But is it too much to ask that people make up their own minds about something, instead of simply voting against a candidate because somebody else told them to?
Yeah. Probably so.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Thursday, September 16, 2004
10 Things That Annoy Me
Okay, if there's one thing I hate doing, it's inflicting my opinions on other people.
No, wait. Not hate. What's the word I'm thinking of... Enjoy! That's the one!
If there's one thing I enjoy doing, it's inflicting my opinions on other people. And so, I have been inspired by my new friend and blog diva SJ (Give me the Booger) to compile my own list of things that, if you will pardon my French, pisse me off!
So here it is, in no particular order. My list of things that annoy me. Bask in the pettiness.
No, wait. Not hate. What's the word I'm thinking of... Enjoy! That's the one!
If there's one thing I enjoy doing, it's inflicting my opinions on other people. And so, I have been inspired by my new friend and blog diva SJ (Give me the Booger) to compile my own list of things that, if you will pardon my French, pisse me off!
So here it is, in no particular order. My list of things that annoy me. Bask in the pettiness.
1. Reality show contestants who take themselves WAY too seriously. You know, these type A personalities who get on camera and brag about how they're going to scheme and connive and manipulate and do whatever it takes to win, like they're some kind of ruthless super villain? They indulge in some kind of half-assed passive-aggressive behavoir against the other contestants, and then they spend 15-20 minutes informing the television audience that it was all a part of their sinister master plan. Um, okay. Thank you, Machiavellian K-Mart cashier.
2. People with no sense of humor who try to be funny. Some of you are reading this right now and you're thinking to yourselves, "Yeah! Like you! Hahahahaha!" Well, that's exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about. Stop doing that. It's sad.
3. "Anyone's better than Bush." or "I don't agree with Bush, but he's still better than Kerry." Seriously. These two refrains are getting tired. If you can't be bothered to figure out WHY you're voting for someone, then fine. Just quit telling me about it.
4. Fragile healthy people. You know, the ones that are always obsessing about their carb/protein ratio or how much potassium they've had that day. The ones that take a sip of diet soda and then have to spend three days recovering because of the caffeine and aspartame. The ones that get physically ill if they smell a Big Mac. If you're that delicate, then I think your problem goes beyond diet. It's plastic bubble time.
5. People who express their dislike of certain musical genres by making up stupid examples.
- I hate rock music because it's all just, "Oh I do drugs and have lots of sex, yeah, yeah, yeah!"
- Country music is so stupid, because it's all just, "Oh I got drunk and married my cousin and then drove my pickup truck."
- Why do people listen to rap music, when all they do is just, "I'm gonna kill me a cop and get me a ho! Wacka wacka wacka."
6. Girls Gone Wild commercials. Holy Christ, those poor girls must hate their fathers! What could be more exciting that watching dozens of drunk and barely conscious women expose their breasts in an awkward and embarrasing striptease? Only the "comedy" of retarded host Doug Stanhope. "Show us where babies feed! It's natural!" These ads make me equally ashamed of both genders.
7. Patricia Cornwell. In case you don't know, Patricia Cornwell is the author of approximately 30,000,000 murder mysteries. When she finally realized that her talents were being wasted in fiction, she decided to turn her considerable intellect towards solving real crimes. One example is when Patricia Cornwell solved the Jack the Ripper murders. Another example is when Patricia Cornwell investigated the mysteries behind Lady Di's death. Yet another example is SHUT THE FUCK UP, PATRICIA CORNWELL!
8. People who view ignorance as a virtue. "We don't cotton to no high-falootin' booklearnin' in these parts!" Education should not automatically be considered grounds for suspicion, but Bush has built the bulk of his campaign on being a plain-spoken good ol' boy. The fact is, he went to Yale and Harvard but he tends to downplay that as much as possible. I'm sure Yale and Harvard are grateful.
9. Contemporary Christian music commercials. I'm always seeing these things late at night, when I'm watching Adult Swim on Cartoon Network. It isn't so much the banal music that disturbs me as it is the hordes of young, white people in the audience, their eyes closed and their hands raised in raptured bliss as they sing along. For some reason, it's how I always imagined Jonestown.
Besides, I don't understand why people like listening to contemporary Christian music when it's all just, "Oh God is awesome, blah, blah, praise Jesus dude!"
10. Furries. I swear, I was a lot happier before I found out these people existed. That's the beauty of the Internet, I suppose. I could post a message asking for pictures of retarded children in clown suits, and within ten minutes I'd hear from 30 other people that shared my fetish. So now that the furries have found each other, it's no longer a case of one disturbed individual masturbating to Bugs Bunny cartoons. It's hundreds and hundreds of people in animal costumes, raving and petting and... and... ick!
Okay, I'm done. Thanks for listening. As always, you've been very therapeutic.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Vegas Pics
Sean and I pose with the future Mrs. Irby.
Laura talks a French guy into holding her bat.
Thank ya. Thank ya very much.
I lost over 9,000 pounds by eating at Subway!
Sunday, September 12, 2004
I Wish My Brother George Was Here...
On Thursday morning of our Vegas trip, Laura wisely decided to abandon us menfolk for a trip to the spa. Sean and I found ourselves with a couple of hours to kill, so we decided to check out the Liberace Museum.
I must say that, for $10, the Liberace Museum is about the most fun you can have in Vegas that doesn't involve "full-release." It's cheesy as hell, but the people are very nice and HOLY CRAP, DO THEY LOVE THEIR LIBERACE!!!
I should mention that we had originally intended on visiting the Elvis Museum as well. Unfortunately, it was closed on Thursday and Friday. But in preparation for that great pilgrimage, I was dressed in this truly cool-ass Elvis shirt that I bought at Graceland a couple of years ago.
But I digress...
After the exhibits, Sean and I wandered through the gift shop. They wouldn't let us take pictures inside the museum, so we were digging through the postcards when I heard a whispered conversation behind me.
The cashier and a small, flashy man were looking at me and pointing. When they saw me looking, they smiled and waved. I went back to browsing, but soon those two were joined by two or three other ladies who worked as tour guides in the museum.
I carried my postcards up to the counter, and the man told me that he just LOOOOOVED my shirt, and he just had to know where I'd gotten it! I told him it was from Graceland, and he and the ladies began murmuring amongst themselves quite excitedly. He said, "You guys should get some shirts like this made up for the museum. I bet they would sell."
As I was paying for my postcards, I felt a hand on my collar. It was one of the ladies, trying to look at the tag of my shirt. As she struggled with that, the man asked me, "Do you know who made it?" I said I wasn't sure, but I could check.
I felt another hand on my shoulders as another lady tried to push me down so they could get a better look. Another hand tugged my sleeve. And the man said, "Oh, he can go ahead and take it off. He's got a t-shirt on underneath it." AND HE REACHED OVER AND STARTED UNBUTTONING MY SHIRT!!!
"No, I got it," one of the old ladies chirped right in my ear. She yanked down on my collar and I wound up crouching while the three of them peered down the back of my neck.
While this was going on, Sean just watched, amused. He fumbled for his camera, but couldn't get to it in time to capture what he referred to as "the look of utter shock and horror" on my face.
Once the women determined that the shirt was made in Taiwan, most of them went back to work. The cashier called us a cab, and the man continued to hang around us, asking us all kinds of questions about Liberace. "How long have you been listening to him? Did you ever see him live? Do you remember where you were when he died?" I didn't really have the heart to tell him we'd come to the museum as a joke, so I told him we had only recently come to appreciate the man's talent, etc.
Sean also took that opportunity to mention his wife Laura approximately 8,544 times, just so the man wouldn't get the wrong idea about us. What's really scary is, I don't think that guy actually worked there. I think he just hung around the museum. A lot.
So if you find yourself in Vegas with a little cash and few hours to spare, be sure to check out the Liberace Museum. Here are a few tips to make your visit more enjoyable:
I must say that, for $10, the Liberace Museum is about the most fun you can have in Vegas that doesn't involve "full-release." It's cheesy as hell, but the people are very nice and HOLY CRAP, DO THEY LOVE THEIR LIBERACE!!!
I should mention that we had originally intended on visiting the Elvis Museum as well. Unfortunately, it was closed on Thursday and Friday. But in preparation for that great pilgrimage, I was dressed in this truly cool-ass Elvis shirt that I bought at Graceland a couple of years ago.
My cool-ass Elvis shirt.
So anyway, we wandered through the exhibits and viewed Liberace's pianos and cars and costumes. Liberace's fans like to make a big deal about the 1983 palimony suit, in which his true sexuality was finally made public. But Jesus, the man pranced around on stage in star-spangled short-shorts and a feathered cape in the 1960s! His fans must have been going through some serious denial, because anyone with half a brain could see that Liberace was gayer than two men having sex.
But I digress...
After the exhibits, Sean and I wandered through the gift shop. They wouldn't let us take pictures inside the museum, so we were digging through the postcards when I heard a whispered conversation behind me.
The cashier and a small, flashy man were looking at me and pointing. When they saw me looking, they smiled and waved. I went back to browsing, but soon those two were joined by two or three other ladies who worked as tour guides in the museum.
I carried my postcards up to the counter, and the man told me that he just LOOOOOVED my shirt, and he just had to know where I'd gotten it! I told him it was from Graceland, and he and the ladies began murmuring amongst themselves quite excitedly. He said, "You guys should get some shirts like this made up for the museum. I bet they would sell."
As I was paying for my postcards, I felt a hand on my collar. It was one of the ladies, trying to look at the tag of my shirt. As she struggled with that, the man asked me, "Do you know who made it?" I said I wasn't sure, but I could check.
I felt another hand on my shoulders as another lady tried to push me down so they could get a better look. Another hand tugged my sleeve. And the man said, "Oh, he can go ahead and take it off. He's got a t-shirt on underneath it." AND HE REACHED OVER AND STARTED UNBUTTONING MY SHIRT!!!
"No, I got it," one of the old ladies chirped right in my ear. She yanked down on my collar and I wound up crouching while the three of them peered down the back of my neck.
While this was going on, Sean just watched, amused. He fumbled for his camera, but couldn't get to it in time to capture what he referred to as "the look of utter shock and horror" on my face.
Once the women determined that the shirt was made in Taiwan, most of them went back to work. The cashier called us a cab, and the man continued to hang around us, asking us all kinds of questions about Liberace. "How long have you been listening to him? Did you ever see him live? Do you remember where you were when he died?" I didn't really have the heart to tell him we'd come to the museum as a joke, so I told him we had only recently come to appreciate the man's talent, etc.
Sean also took that opportunity to mention his wife Laura approximately 8,544 times, just so the man wouldn't get the wrong idea about us. What's really scary is, I don't think that guy actually worked there. I think he just hung around the museum. A lot.
So if you find yourself in Vegas with a little cash and few hours to spare, be sure to check out the Liberace Museum. Here are a few tips to make your visit more enjoyable:
- Show your cab receipt to the cashier to get $2.00 off the price of admission.
- Try to schedule your visit around 1:00 so you can catch the Liberace impersonator.
- If you're going to visit the gift shop afterwards, FOR GOD'S SAKE DRESS IN LAYERS!!!
Friday, September 10, 2004
Vegas, Baby!
I just rolled in from Las Vegas, and boy are my balls swollen!
Bada bing! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! I'll be here all week! Try the veal!
What can I say? I just spent the week in Vegas with my dear friends Sean and Laura Freeman. I gambled and won a bunch of loot, but blew it all on expensive dinners, prostitutes, cool shirts, and an afternoon of uber-geekiness at the Star Trek Experience. I saw Blue Man Group, ate my weight in buffet prime rib at the Paris, and somehow managed to talk Laura into riding the roller coaster at New York, New York with me. God bless her.
I was also mobbed by a bunch of people at the Liberace Museum who tried to rip my shirt off. Seriously. More on that later, I promise.
Anyway, I'm seriously wiped. Goodnight, you swingin' hepcats. I'll catch you on the flip flop. Straight from the fridge, daddio.
Bada bing! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! I'll be here all week! Try the veal!
What can I say? I just spent the week in Vegas with my dear friends Sean and Laura Freeman. I gambled and won a bunch of loot, but blew it all on expensive dinners, prostitutes, cool shirts, and an afternoon of uber-geekiness at the Star Trek Experience. I saw Blue Man Group, ate my weight in buffet prime rib at the Paris, and somehow managed to talk Laura into riding the roller coaster at New York, New York with me. God bless her.
I was also mobbed by a bunch of people at the Liberace Museum who tried to rip my shirt off. Seriously. More on that later, I promise.
Anyway, I'm seriously wiped. Goodnight, you swingin' hepcats. I'll catch you on the flip flop. Straight from the fridge, daddio.
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Friday, September 03, 2004
With Great Power Comes Blah, Blah, Blah
Sigh... I was all set to make a mean joke here about how Zell Miller had sold out faster than flammable lawn crosses at the RNC, but it seems I can't do stuff like that anymore.
Turns out people are actually READING this goddamn thing. And I've got one guy who, for some reason, has made it his mission to elevate the level of discourse in my rhetoric. Which is ironic if you check out his blog. It's sort of like Siegfried calling Roy a fag.
But now I can't just take cheap shots anymore, because I'll be called to task for not getting my facts straight. For example, if I post that George W. Bush is a warmongering, borderline-retarded, unibrowed bastard that likes to shoot puppies, I'll immediately get a response setting me straight. "George W. Bush has two distinct eyebrows, you damn dirty hippy!"
So from now on, nothing but the high road for me. No more jokes about the Republicans being bigoted, racist, or homophobic because we all know those allegations have absolutely no basis in real life. No more referring to the president as a "retard" because I understand the comparison is hurtful to retarded people. And finally, no more ad hominem attacks on any of Bush's supporters.
Except for Zell Miller. Because, damn! That guy is a fucking fruitcake!
Turns out people are actually READING this goddamn thing. And I've got one guy who, for some reason, has made it his mission to elevate the level of discourse in my rhetoric. Which is ironic if you check out his blog. It's sort of like Siegfried calling Roy a fag.
But now I can't just take cheap shots anymore, because I'll be called to task for not getting my facts straight. For example, if I post that George W. Bush is a warmongering, borderline-retarded, unibrowed bastard that likes to shoot puppies, I'll immediately get a response setting me straight. "George W. Bush has two distinct eyebrows, you damn dirty hippy!"
So from now on, nothing but the high road for me. No more jokes about the Republicans being bigoted, racist, or homophobic because we all know those allegations have absolutely no basis in real life. No more referring to the president as a "retard" because I understand the comparison is hurtful to retarded people. And finally, no more ad hominem attacks on any of Bush's supporters.
Except for Zell Miller. Because, damn! That guy is a fucking fruitcake!
Thursday, September 02, 2004
A lot of my friends are still wetting themselves over Arnold Schwarzenegger's speech on Tuesday night. I guess he did a pretty good job. Admittedly, the ideals and beliefs of the Republican party always sound better in their original German.
But it was a shrewd move on the part of Bush and his bosses, choosing a multi-millionaire former actor who married into the Kennedy family to stand up and call the millions of poverty-stricken Americans still complaining about the economy a bunch of pussies and faggots.
Kudos, Bush-Cheney 2004!!! Putting the "ass" back in "compassion."
But it was a shrewd move on the part of Bush and his bosses, choosing a multi-millionaire former actor who married into the Kennedy family to stand up and call the millions of poverty-stricken Americans still complaining about the economy a bunch of pussies and faggots.
Kudos, Bush-Cheney 2004!!! Putting the "ass" back in "compassion."
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Hi Mom!
We were on our way back from my stepsister's funeral when my mom and I decided to stop and grab some lunch. We really hadn't seen much of each other since our last silly argument, which had left both of us pretty sour (and had resulted in my unfortunately venemous post on Sunday). So over spring rolls and Kung Pao chicken, we both started apologizing.
We were laughing about the whole thing, and Mom offered me a rather back-handed compliment. She said she really enjoyed "discussing" things with me, and she was impressed that I always seemed to have my facts straight. (Not always, I'll admit... sometimes I just bluff really well.) Anyway, she said it was really good to see me fired up about something, "even if your principles are a little misguided."
The whole thing got me to thinking about my post on Sunday, and how it was so unnecessarily hostile towards her. I had written it while I was still fuming about the "my opinion is different than yours, so get over it" crack, and my point was likely lost amidst a bunch of grumbling.
Oddly, that was the first of my posts to receive any comments from strangers. The first came from some guy with a blog that basically regurgitates articles from Bush apologists. And of course, he took exception to my points that: 1) Bush refuses to admit that he's wrong about anything, and 2) Republicans seem to think that the economy will get better and America will be safer if they just keep saying it over and over again.
His counterarguments were: 1) Bush has never been wrong, so he has nothing to admit, and 2) The economy is getting better and America is safer.
That's about 300% more irony than you'll find in any Alanis Morissette song.
But those points aside, I really regret the tone of Sunday's post. My mother is a remarkably intelligent and independent woman. She raised me and my sister as a single mom, working long hours to keep us fed and happy. She's survived a couple of unfortunate marriages, and come through them stronger and more determined. She has always been supportive of me, even when I wasn't making the best or most informed decisions. She saw me through some rough times in college, and she was there for me when I was dealing with my father's death. If it weren't for her, I have no idea where I'd be today. Probably hopped up on crystal meth and hosting a conservative radio talk show...
So Mom, if by some strange turn of events you should find yourself reading this, then I hope you know that I love you dearly and have nothing but the utmost respect for your opinions and beliefs.
Even if they are a little misguided ;-)
We were laughing about the whole thing, and Mom offered me a rather back-handed compliment. She said she really enjoyed "discussing" things with me, and she was impressed that I always seemed to have my facts straight. (Not always, I'll admit... sometimes I just bluff really well.) Anyway, she said it was really good to see me fired up about something, "even if your principles are a little misguided."
The whole thing got me to thinking about my post on Sunday, and how it was so unnecessarily hostile towards her. I had written it while I was still fuming about the "my opinion is different than yours, so get over it" crack, and my point was likely lost amidst a bunch of grumbling.
Oddly, that was the first of my posts to receive any comments from strangers. The first came from some guy with a blog that basically regurgitates articles from Bush apologists. And of course, he took exception to my points that: 1) Bush refuses to admit that he's wrong about anything, and 2) Republicans seem to think that the economy will get better and America will be safer if they just keep saying it over and over again.
His counterarguments were: 1) Bush has never been wrong, so he has nothing to admit, and 2) The economy is getting better and America is safer.
That's about 300% more irony than you'll find in any Alanis Morissette song.
But those points aside, I really regret the tone of Sunday's post. My mother is a remarkably intelligent and independent woman. She raised me and my sister as a single mom, working long hours to keep us fed and happy. She's survived a couple of unfortunate marriages, and come through them stronger and more determined. She has always been supportive of me, even when I wasn't making the best or most informed decisions. She saw me through some rough times in college, and she was there for me when I was dealing with my father's death. If it weren't for her, I have no idea where I'd be today. Probably hopped up on crystal meth and hosting a conservative radio talk show...
So Mom, if by some strange turn of events you should find yourself reading this, then I hope you know that I love you dearly and have nothing but the utmost respect for your opinions and beliefs.
Even if they are a little misguided ;-)
Monday, August 30, 2004
Katrina Kracmer (1976-2004)
On Monday night, August 23, Katrina Kracmer was running late for a support group meeting. She was rushing down the sidewalk on Gaston Avenue in her motorized wheelchair when a car hopped the curb and crashed into her.
The driver just sped away.
Katrina was critically injured, but held on for four more days. Her family took her off of life support on Friday afternoon, and she died almost immediately afterwards.
Dallas police are still looking for her killer.
----------------------------
Katrina was born with spina bifida, a disorder in which the spinal column fails to close completely. As a result, she was paralyzed from the waist down. She wore braces on her legs and used crutches to get around.
I met Katrina in 1988, when my mom was dating her dad Frank. And she was like any other 12-year-old girl in most regards. She was adorable, giggly, naive, sweet, occasionally bratty...
For some reason, she took a liking to me almost immediately. Any time I was around her, she would cling to my arm or hold my hand. When I went to visit Mom and Frank (they married in 1990), Katrina would insist that I sit next to her at dinner.
I guess it was a crush. And even as I grumblingly endured it, deep down inside I was totally eating it up. Who wouldn't want to be adored, especially by someone as remarkable as Katrina?
----------------------------
I wish I could say that we stayed in touch, that she remained an important part of my life. But sadly, Mom and Frank divorced and Katrina and I just sort of lost touch. I would occasionally see her brother Joe, who would bring me up to date. And each time, Katrina's life seemed to be tinged with more and more tragedy.
She had dropped out of high school in the 10th grade, and was struggling to get by. She had been using drugs and drinking way too much, and for a time she had even lived on the street.
But as Joe said, "She had an innocent, childlike perspective on life. She believed there was good in everything."
Katrina really was trying to turn things around, and she was making astonishing progress. She'd sworn off the drugs four years ago. She'd given birth to a son two years ago, the stress of which had left her in a wheelchair. But even now, she was going through rehabilitation, trying to learn once more how to move around on the crutches.
She'd gotten married in February to a guy she met in the Dallas Life Foundation. And for the past two months, she'd been sober. She was on her way to an alcoholics recovery group meeting when she was killed.
God damn it.
----------------------------
Trina, you were truly a beautiful and remarkable person. I wish I had done better by you. I wish we all had.
Rest in peace.
The driver just sped away.
Katrina was critically injured, but held on for four more days. Her family took her off of life support on Friday afternoon, and she died almost immediately afterwards.
Dallas police are still looking for her killer.
----------------------------
Katrina was born with spina bifida, a disorder in which the spinal column fails to close completely. As a result, she was paralyzed from the waist down. She wore braces on her legs and used crutches to get around.
I met Katrina in 1988, when my mom was dating her dad Frank. And she was like any other 12-year-old girl in most regards. She was adorable, giggly, naive, sweet, occasionally bratty...
For some reason, she took a liking to me almost immediately. Any time I was around her, she would cling to my arm or hold my hand. When I went to visit Mom and Frank (they married in 1990), Katrina would insist that I sit next to her at dinner.
I guess it was a crush. And even as I grumblingly endured it, deep down inside I was totally eating it up. Who wouldn't want to be adored, especially by someone as remarkable as Katrina?
----------------------------
I wish I could say that we stayed in touch, that she remained an important part of my life. But sadly, Mom and Frank divorced and Katrina and I just sort of lost touch. I would occasionally see her brother Joe, who would bring me up to date. And each time, Katrina's life seemed to be tinged with more and more tragedy.
She had dropped out of high school in the 10th grade, and was struggling to get by. She had been using drugs and drinking way too much, and for a time she had even lived on the street.
But as Joe said, "She had an innocent, childlike perspective on life. She believed there was good in everything."
Katrina really was trying to turn things around, and she was making astonishing progress. She'd sworn off the drugs four years ago. She'd given birth to a son two years ago, the stress of which had left her in a wheelchair. But even now, she was going through rehabilitation, trying to learn once more how to move around on the crutches.
She'd gotten married in February to a guy she met in the Dallas Life Foundation. And for the past two months, she'd been sober. She was on her way to an alcoholics recovery group meeting when she was killed.
God damn it.
----------------------------
Trina, you were truly a beautiful and remarkable person. I wish I had done better by you. I wish we all had.
Rest in peace.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
The other day, I was riding home from Winnsboro with my mom. It's a two-hour trip and, as we often do when we're trapped in the car together, we began discussing politics.
My mom is a Republican and frightfully conservative. And if you've been paying attention, you know that I'm... well... not.
I should first mention that I HATE arguing with my mom. Not just politics, but anything. I admit that once I get embroiled in the discussion, I get animated. My voice gets raised, and I can be really fucking stubborn.
Three guesses where I get it from.
The thing is, Mom doesn't argue from a factual standpoint. This may sound like a cheap shot, but it's something she's readily admitted to me several times. She doesn't have all the facts at her disposal. She just knows how she feels. Which is why she's convinced Bush is a great president, even though the facts have a distinct anti-Bush bias.
So anyway, she casually mentioned as we were driving home, "One of the things I admire about Bush is that he's always willing to admit when he's wrong."
I spewed Diet Vanilla Coke all over the windshield and just stared at her.
"If he feels he's done something wrong, he WILL admit it," she insisted.
"Well, as long as we're just making crap up," I said, "I've always admired Kerry's ability to pee chocolate milk and travel through time."
The debate devolved and ended, as most of ours do, with her insisting piously that she has an opinion that's different than mine, and I'm just going to have to get over it. And I resolved then, as I have a dozen times since, that I would not argue with Mom anymore.
I hate that. I honestly do. She will rail on for 20 minutes, trying to change my mind about something, and when she fails, she'll accuse me of being intolerant of her opinion.
I know she doesn't believe that. I know it's just a way to end the argument and save face. If you can't win on the facts, then just change it into a moral argument and pretend to take the high road.
Did I mention she's a Republican? They're good at that.
But seriously. Bush has always been willing to admit when he was wrong? Name ONE time! Unlike the usual Republican bullshit ("The economy is getting better." "We're winning the war on terror." "America is safer.") I think even the most ardent Bush supporter would have a hard time getting behind this one.
After all, the Republicans have a term for people who admit that they were wrong about something. They call those people "flip-floppers."
My mom is a Republican and frightfully conservative. And if you've been paying attention, you know that I'm... well... not.
I should first mention that I HATE arguing with my mom. Not just politics, but anything. I admit that once I get embroiled in the discussion, I get animated. My voice gets raised, and I can be really fucking stubborn.
Three guesses where I get it from.
The thing is, Mom doesn't argue from a factual standpoint. This may sound like a cheap shot, but it's something she's readily admitted to me several times. She doesn't have all the facts at her disposal. She just knows how she feels. Which is why she's convinced Bush is a great president, even though the facts have a distinct anti-Bush bias.
So anyway, she casually mentioned as we were driving home, "One of the things I admire about Bush is that he's always willing to admit when he's wrong."
I spewed Diet Vanilla Coke all over the windshield and just stared at her.
"If he feels he's done something wrong, he WILL admit it," she insisted.
"Well, as long as we're just making crap up," I said, "I've always admired Kerry's ability to pee chocolate milk and travel through time."
The debate devolved and ended, as most of ours do, with her insisting piously that she has an opinion that's different than mine, and I'm just going to have to get over it. And I resolved then, as I have a dozen times since, that I would not argue with Mom anymore.
I hate that. I honestly do. She will rail on for 20 minutes, trying to change my mind about something, and when she fails, she'll accuse me of being intolerant of her opinion.
I know she doesn't believe that. I know it's just a way to end the argument and save face. If you can't win on the facts, then just change it into a moral argument and pretend to take the high road.
Did I mention she's a Republican? They're good at that.
But seriously. Bush has always been willing to admit when he was wrong? Name ONE time! Unlike the usual Republican bullshit ("The economy is getting better." "We're winning the war on terror." "America is safer.") I think even the most ardent Bush supporter would have a hard time getting behind this one.
After all, the Republicans have a term for people who admit that they were wrong about something. They call those people "flip-floppers."
Friday, July 30, 2004
What Republicans Believe
Note: I didn't write this, but I sincerely wish I had.
Saddam was a good guy when Reagan armed him, a bad guy when Bush's daddy made war on him, a good guy when Cheney did business with him and a bad guy when Bush needed a "we can't find Bin Laden" diversion.
Trade with Cuba is wrong because the country is communist, but trade with China and Vietnam is vital to a spirit of international harmony.
The United States should get out of the United Nations, and our highest national priority is enforcing U.N. resolutions against Iraq.
A woman can't be trusted with decisions about her own body, but multi-national corporations can make decisions affecting all mankind without regulation.
Jesus loves you, and shares your hatred of homosexuals and Hillary Clinton.
The best way to improve military morale is to praise the troops in speeches while slashing
veterans' benefits and combat pay.
If condoms are kept out of schools, adolescents won't have sex.
A good way to fight terrorism is to belittle our long-time allies, then demand their cooperation
and money.
Providing health care to all Iraqis is sound policy. Providing health care to all Americans
is socialism.
HMOs and insurance companies have the best interests of the public at heart.
Global warming and tobacco's link to cancer are junk science, but creationism should be taught in schools.
A president lying about an extramarital affair is an impeachable offense. A president lying to
enlist support for a war in which thousands die is solid defense policy.
Government should limit itself to the powers named in the Constitution, which include banning gay marriages and censoring the Internet.
The public has a right to know about Hillary's cattle trades, but George Bush's driving record
is none of our business.
Being a drug addict is a moral failing and a crime, unless you're a conservative radio host.
Then it's an illness, and you need our prayers for your recovery.
You support states' rights, which means Attorney General John Ashcroft can tell states what local voter initiatives they have the right to adopt.
What Bill Clinton did in the 1960s is of vital national interest, but what Bush did in the '80s
is irrelevant.
Saddam was a good guy when Reagan armed him, a bad guy when Bush's daddy made war on him, a good guy when Cheney did business with him and a bad guy when Bush needed a "we can't find Bin Laden" diversion.
Trade with Cuba is wrong because the country is communist, but trade with China and Vietnam is vital to a spirit of international harmony.
The United States should get out of the United Nations, and our highest national priority is enforcing U.N. resolutions against Iraq.
A woman can't be trusted with decisions about her own body, but multi-national corporations can make decisions affecting all mankind without regulation.
Jesus loves you, and shares your hatred of homosexuals and Hillary Clinton.
The best way to improve military morale is to praise the troops in speeches while slashing
veterans' benefits and combat pay.
If condoms are kept out of schools, adolescents won't have sex.
A good way to fight terrorism is to belittle our long-time allies, then demand their cooperation
and money.
Providing health care to all Iraqis is sound policy. Providing health care to all Americans
is socialism.
HMOs and insurance companies have the best interests of the public at heart.
Global warming and tobacco's link to cancer are junk science, but creationism should be taught in schools.
A president lying about an extramarital affair is an impeachable offense. A president lying to
enlist support for a war in which thousands die is solid defense policy.
Government should limit itself to the powers named in the Constitution, which include banning gay marriages and censoring the Internet.
The public has a right to know about Hillary's cattle trades, but George Bush's driving record
is none of our business.
Being a drug addict is a moral failing and a crime, unless you're a conservative radio host.
Then it's an illness, and you need our prayers for your recovery.
You support states' rights, which means Attorney General John Ashcroft can tell states what local voter initiatives they have the right to adopt.
What Bill Clinton did in the 1960s is of vital national interest, but what Bush did in the '80s
is irrelevant.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Sunday, July 18, 2004
A Modest Proposal
A lot of my friends are Christians. And homophobic.
Oh, they’ll deny it. “I resent that! Just because I believe that the gays are attempting to undermine the moral integrity of this nation and drag us down into a cesspool of sodomy and drug use, where our children will be forced to turn tricks behind dumpsters for their next fix of heroin, that doesn’t make me homophobic!”
If I’m lucky, they’ll tag on, “I mean, some of my friends are gays!”
A lot of churches have evaded the issue by railing against homosexuality as a concept, while avoiding the mention of any names. Except for Ellen DeGeneres. And those Queer Eye guys. And Hilary Clinton, whom a lot of people think is a lesbian because Rush Limbaugh once said so, although there’s a pretty good chance it was just the crystal meth talking. But I digress…
Anyway, as much as I admire the progressive Christian attitude of “hate the faggotry, love the faggot,” I still find myself unable to get on board. I just can’t generate enough fear and loathing against a group of people who never did me any harm. I mean, not counting Will and Grace.
But I guess I can sympathize, because I have a similar issue. You see, I am utterly disgusted by the thought of old people having sex.
I understand that they are consenting adults, and I know that nobody is forcing me to have sex with an old person, but it disturbs me just knowing that they’re out there, bumping their wrinkled uglies.
Oh, I can hear you whiny liberal bastards now. “But Jesus never said anything bad against old, horny people!” Yeah, well he never said anything bad against child molesters either! Does that make it right?
So lest our nation deteriorate into an endless orgy of Ben Gay and adult diapers, I’d like to propose a constitutional amendment banning any people over the age of 60 from having sex. God knows, it would certainly make me feel better.
But I know. That’s just not constitutional. If we could actually ban people from having sex with each other, Bush and his team would have snuck a rider into the Patriot Act. Ironically, “sneaking a rider” sounds like a euphemism for gay sex. But again, I digress…
So instead of banning sex between old people, how about a constitutional amendment to keep them from getting married? We can define marriage as a union between two consenting adults who don’t drink buttermilk and still have their original hips.
Oh, it won’t solve the problem. They’ll still be out there having hot, wild, geriatric “whips and dentures” sex. But I always say, an unwarranted, hateful and mean-spirited attack is preferable to just sitting back and doing nothing. Right?
Take that, you old fuckers. God bless America.
Oh, they’ll deny it. “I resent that! Just because I believe that the gays are attempting to undermine the moral integrity of this nation and drag us down into a cesspool of sodomy and drug use, where our children will be forced to turn tricks behind dumpsters for their next fix of heroin, that doesn’t make me homophobic!”
If I’m lucky, they’ll tag on, “I mean, some of my friends are gays!”
A lot of churches have evaded the issue by railing against homosexuality as a concept, while avoiding the mention of any names. Except for Ellen DeGeneres. And those Queer Eye guys. And Hilary Clinton, whom a lot of people think is a lesbian because Rush Limbaugh once said so, although there’s a pretty good chance it was just the crystal meth talking. But I digress…
Anyway, as much as I admire the progressive Christian attitude of “hate the faggotry, love the faggot,” I still find myself unable to get on board. I just can’t generate enough fear and loathing against a group of people who never did me any harm. I mean, not counting Will and Grace.
But I guess I can sympathize, because I have a similar issue. You see, I am utterly disgusted by the thought of old people having sex.
I understand that they are consenting adults, and I know that nobody is forcing me to have sex with an old person, but it disturbs me just knowing that they’re out there, bumping their wrinkled uglies.
Oh, I can hear you whiny liberal bastards now. “But Jesus never said anything bad against old, horny people!” Yeah, well he never said anything bad against child molesters either! Does that make it right?
So lest our nation deteriorate into an endless orgy of Ben Gay and adult diapers, I’d like to propose a constitutional amendment banning any people over the age of 60 from having sex. God knows, it would certainly make me feel better.
But I know. That’s just not constitutional. If we could actually ban people from having sex with each other, Bush and his team would have snuck a rider into the Patriot Act. Ironically, “sneaking a rider” sounds like a euphemism for gay sex. But again, I digress…
So instead of banning sex between old people, how about a constitutional amendment to keep them from getting married? We can define marriage as a union between two consenting adults who don’t drink buttermilk and still have their original hips.
Oh, it won’t solve the problem. They’ll still be out there having hot, wild, geriatric “whips and dentures” sex. But I always say, an unwarranted, hateful and mean-spirited attack is preferable to just sitting back and doing nothing. Right?
Take that, you old fuckers. God bless America.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
The Nerds Mourn Marlon
I write Generika Adventures, an online comic based on Dungeons & Dragons. The target audience is geeks with a sense of humor, which is a decidedly narrow demographic. However, I didn’t realize just how narrow until last week.
The following exchange was posted to the Generika Adventures board on July 2, the day Marlon Brando died.
I didn’t get a reply to that, so I can only assume Mr. Anonymous Movie Buff’s mom made him get off the computer for the night. Or maybe he fell asleep while masturbating to the buttered Marlon Brando scene in Last Tango in Paris.
But I guess it’s a good thing the thread ended before I was reduced to making Marlin Perkins jokes.
The following exchange was posted to the Generika Adventures board on July 2, the day Marlon Brando died.
Posted by: Chris “Irb” Irby
Marlon Brando? Dead?
NO! PLEASE TELL ME IT ISN’T SO!!!!
God, I can’t believe he’s really dead! He was truly one of the greatest actors of all time!
His work in White Chicks was just brilliant, and he brought to life the nuanced character of Snails in Dungeons & Dragons.
Oh, Marlon. We barely knew ye. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
Posted by: =^.^=
I seriously hope he’s joking… I really hate stupid people. There’s a big difference between a skinny black guy and a fat white guy.
Posted by: Chris “Irb” Irby
Please. There’s no need for name calling. At a time like this, we need to put aside our personal differences and show our support for Damon, Shawn, and Keenen Ivory Brando.
Posted by: Anonymous
hey irb you are clearly a simpleton with no appreciation of film because then you'd know marlon brando kicks ass and the examples you pointed out were just some of the worst movies of all time
jesus even sean connery got stuck with shit that had lines like "YOU'RE THE MAN NOW DAWG" every now and then. why dont you go watch some of brando's real films and then open your mouth about the film medium
Posted by: Chris “Irb” Irby
I was just kidding, genius. Of course I know who Marlon Brando was! She was brilliant in “That Girl,” and I really loved her as Rachel’s mom in “Friends.”
I didn’t get a reply to that, so I can only assume Mr. Anonymous Movie Buff’s mom made him get off the computer for the night. Or maybe he fell asleep while masturbating to the buttered Marlon Brando scene in Last Tango in Paris.
But I guess it’s a good thing the thread ended before I was reduced to making Marlin Perkins jokes.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
Some Rambling Movie Reviews
I’m only writing these because this is a blog, and I’m required by federal law to shove my opinions on movies I’ve seen down the throats of my three or four unsuspecting readers.
Fahrenheit 9/11
Okay, I know I’m beating a dead horse here. This nation is divided between slathering fanboys who think everything out of Michael Moore’s mouth is gospel, and brain dead Bush apologists who dismiss the entire movie as fiction.
And somewhere in the middle are the five or six of us who still occasionally like to think for ourselves. I don’t particularly agree with all of Michael Moore’s answers, but I respect him for at least asking the right questions.
There’s this asinine conservative organization called Move America Forward that seems to be threatened by the idea of discourse. I suppose it’s because some conservatives base their beliefs on blind faith rather than the facts, and they get very defensive whenever somebody challenges them. And of course, their knee-jerk reaction to Fahrenheit 9/11 was to harass and intimidate theater owners in an effort to shut the movie down. Fortunately, it seems to have backfired and actually generated tons of free publicity for Michael Moore.
Another group has decided to wade in swinging, and is producing a documentary entitled Michael Moore Hates America. Now I prefer to reserve my judgment on a film until after I’ve seen it, because I’m neither Republican nor Baptist. And I do applaud these guys for at least engaging in debate instead of trying to stifle an opposing argument.
But I’ve already got a problem with the title. It just reinforces that stereotypical conservative belief that anybody who dares to question or criticize the president must hate America. Which, as we all know, means the entire Republican party hated America between 1992 and 2000.
That said, I look forward to seeing the film. And I hope none of my terrorist-supporting, America-hating, tree-hugging, godless, gay-marrying, France-loving, drug-using, hippie liberal bastard friends try to get it banned.
Spiderman 2
I don’t want to bore you with an actual review. Go see it. It’s great. It’s a near-perfect superhero movie. The special effects are seamless. The dialog is brilliant (except for the occasional plodding soliloquy). The acting is much better than any movie about a guy in tights should be. Kirsten Dunst is astonishingly hot, and the image of her standing in a wedding dress and whispering “Go get ‘em, tiger,” should be required masturbatory material for all boys between 13 and 17. Plus, J. K. Simmons is so goddamned funny as J. Jonah Jameson that the guy needs his own movie!
Okay, review over. I only brought it up because I wanted to make a rather random comment about the film. There’s a scene early on where Dr. Otto Octavius is demonstrating the mechanical arms he uses to perform dangerous fusion-related experiments to the press. And one of the reporters actually asks, “Since the artificial intelligence of the arms is so highly developed, isn’t there a chance it could take over your mind and override your higher brain functions?”
In the real world, such a question would be answered with a perfunctory, “What are you? Retarded?” But since this is comic book land, Dr. Octavius responds to the reporter’s question as if it were a real, pertinent issue.
And this got me to thinking. How cool would it be if reporters really did ask questions like that in press conferences? I would love to see somebody from Time Magazine stand up and ask Dick Cheney, “Mr. Vice President? If Hussein really had managed to purchase yellow cake uranium from Niger, could he have possibly used its radioactive properties to create a race of mutant super soldiers?”
Of course, Cheney would tell the reporter to go fuck himself. But still, I would watch that press conference. Hell, I’d TIVO it!
Day After Tomorrow
Not the most plausible movie in the world. I didn’t bat an eye when the ice age covered the northern hemisphere in a matter of days, or when the icebergs growled and chased after people.
No, for me the scene that totally snapped my suspension of disbelief in two was when the Vice President (who looked eerily like Cheney) realized that he had doomed millions of people to death by disregarding the environmental warnings, and he offered a tearful apology. “We should have listened. *I* should have listened.”
What can I say? I started giggling.
Fahrenheit 9/11
Okay, I know I’m beating a dead horse here. This nation is divided between slathering fanboys who think everything out of Michael Moore’s mouth is gospel, and brain dead Bush apologists who dismiss the entire movie as fiction.
And somewhere in the middle are the five or six of us who still occasionally like to think for ourselves. I don’t particularly agree with all of Michael Moore’s answers, but I respect him for at least asking the right questions.
There’s this asinine conservative organization called Move America Forward that seems to be threatened by the idea of discourse. I suppose it’s because some conservatives base their beliefs on blind faith rather than the facts, and they get very defensive whenever somebody challenges them. And of course, their knee-jerk reaction to Fahrenheit 9/11 was to harass and intimidate theater owners in an effort to shut the movie down. Fortunately, it seems to have backfired and actually generated tons of free publicity for Michael Moore.
Another group has decided to wade in swinging, and is producing a documentary entitled Michael Moore Hates America. Now I prefer to reserve my judgment on a film until after I’ve seen it, because I’m neither Republican nor Baptist. And I do applaud these guys for at least engaging in debate instead of trying to stifle an opposing argument.
But I’ve already got a problem with the title. It just reinforces that stereotypical conservative belief that anybody who dares to question or criticize the president must hate America. Which, as we all know, means the entire Republican party hated America between 1992 and 2000.
That said, I look forward to seeing the film. And I hope none of my terrorist-supporting, America-hating, tree-hugging, godless, gay-marrying, France-loving, drug-using, hippie liberal bastard friends try to get it banned.
Spiderman 2
I don’t want to bore you with an actual review. Go see it. It’s great. It’s a near-perfect superhero movie. The special effects are seamless. The dialog is brilliant (except for the occasional plodding soliloquy). The acting is much better than any movie about a guy in tights should be. Kirsten Dunst is astonishingly hot, and the image of her standing in a wedding dress and whispering “Go get ‘em, tiger,” should be required masturbatory material for all boys between 13 and 17. Plus, J. K. Simmons is so goddamned funny as J. Jonah Jameson that the guy needs his own movie!
Okay, review over. I only brought it up because I wanted to make a rather random comment about the film. There’s a scene early on where Dr. Otto Octavius is demonstrating the mechanical arms he uses to perform dangerous fusion-related experiments to the press. And one of the reporters actually asks, “Since the artificial intelligence of the arms is so highly developed, isn’t there a chance it could take over your mind and override your higher brain functions?”
In the real world, such a question would be answered with a perfunctory, “What are you? Retarded?” But since this is comic book land, Dr. Octavius responds to the reporter’s question as if it were a real, pertinent issue.
And this got me to thinking. How cool would it be if reporters really did ask questions like that in press conferences? I would love to see somebody from Time Magazine stand up and ask Dick Cheney, “Mr. Vice President? If Hussein really had managed to purchase yellow cake uranium from Niger, could he have possibly used its radioactive properties to create a race of mutant super soldiers?”
Of course, Cheney would tell the reporter to go fuck himself. But still, I would watch that press conference. Hell, I’d TIVO it!
Day After Tomorrow
Not the most plausible movie in the world. I didn’t bat an eye when the ice age covered the northern hemisphere in a matter of days, or when the icebergs growled and chased after people.
No, for me the scene that totally snapped my suspension of disbelief in two was when the Vice President (who looked eerily like Cheney) realized that he had doomed millions of people to death by disregarding the environmental warnings, and he offered a tearful apology. “We should have listened. *I* should have listened.”
What can I say? I started giggling.
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Happy Father's Day
After my dad died, I had this recurring dream for almost two years.
I’m in my old apartment, and there comes a knock at the door. I open it up, and my father is standing there, alive and grinning. And I’m overcome with this sense of relief, like some monumental worry has been lifted from my shoulders. I’m outrageously happy.
“What are you doing here?” I say to him, crying tears of joy. He’s so happy, so at ease. He’s the life of the party, the way I remember him being when I was much younger.
“Don’t you know?” he asks me. “It’s a special occasion.”
“Your birthday?”
“No. Sort of the opposite.”
I’m suddenly aware of the wrapped gift in my hands. “Oh, I got you this,” I tell him, offering him the package. He takes it from me and begins opening it.
The apartment vanishes, and we’re standing on my grandmother’s back porch. Dad is still opening his present. And I realize that the package contains my grandmother’s loaded revolver.
I try to take it away from him, but he won’t let me have it. He just keeps on unwrapping it, and I’m crying because I know something horrible is going to happen once he gets it open.
I always woke up right about then.
I don’t have to be fucking Kreskin to figure that one out. My dad called and left me a message several days before he killed himself, and I never bothered to call him back. And even now, after years of therapy, I still occasionally wonder if things would have turned out differently if only I’d returned his call.
But at least the dream has gone away.
I still have the occasional dream about Dad, usually around Easter (when he died) and Father’s Day. They’re not the heart-rending ordeals that the other dream was. They’re more wistful and melancholy.
I’ve had dreams where my dad shows up in unexpectedly good health at a party, or where he’s on stage performing but I can’t seem to find a way into the auditorium.
Last night, I dreamed that I was in a car with my mom and sister, and Dad was driving in a car ahead of us, by himself. And I kept thinking, if I had known he was going to be by himself, I would have ridden with him. I woke up crying.
These dreams are about grief, not guilt. I no longer blame myself for Dad’s death. Really.
But I still sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d called him back.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
I’m in my old apartment, and there comes a knock at the door. I open it up, and my father is standing there, alive and grinning. And I’m overcome with this sense of relief, like some monumental worry has been lifted from my shoulders. I’m outrageously happy.
“What are you doing here?” I say to him, crying tears of joy. He’s so happy, so at ease. He’s the life of the party, the way I remember him being when I was much younger.
“Don’t you know?” he asks me. “It’s a special occasion.”
“Your birthday?”
“No. Sort of the opposite.”
I’m suddenly aware of the wrapped gift in my hands. “Oh, I got you this,” I tell him, offering him the package. He takes it from me and begins opening it.
The apartment vanishes, and we’re standing on my grandmother’s back porch. Dad is still opening his present. And I realize that the package contains my grandmother’s loaded revolver.
I try to take it away from him, but he won’t let me have it. He just keeps on unwrapping it, and I’m crying because I know something horrible is going to happen once he gets it open.
I always woke up right about then.
I don’t have to be fucking Kreskin to figure that one out. My dad called and left me a message several days before he killed himself, and I never bothered to call him back. And even now, after years of therapy, I still occasionally wonder if things would have turned out differently if only I’d returned his call.
But at least the dream has gone away.
I still have the occasional dream about Dad, usually around Easter (when he died) and Father’s Day. They’re not the heart-rending ordeals that the other dream was. They’re more wistful and melancholy.
I’ve had dreams where my dad shows up in unexpectedly good health at a party, or where he’s on stage performing but I can’t seem to find a way into the auditorium.
Last night, I dreamed that I was in a car with my mom and sister, and Dad was driving in a car ahead of us, by himself. And I kept thinking, if I had known he was going to be by himself, I would have ridden with him. I woke up crying.
These dreams are about grief, not guilt. I no longer blame myself for Dad’s death. Really.
But I still sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d called him back.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
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