Answering in the Affirmative

I heard an unfathomable recording of a telephone conversation made to Planned Parenthood. Excerpts were played on AM talk radio today and I hope for the future of mankind that it was misconstrued, misguided, or taken out of context.

The male caller wanted to donate money under one pretense. He asked if his charitable contributions could go to a specific population. The Planned Parenthood representative agreed that it was possible to divert donations to their organization for a particular purpose. The caller explained that he wanted the money to exclusively go to abortions of black children because he did not want his own children to be negatively impacted by Affirmative Action. The Planned Parenthood representative said that this was "understandable."

If I was asked if this diversion could be considered extermination of a particular race, I would reply in the Affirmative.

Standing Tall to Maneaters

This was the start of an actual 911 call to a dispatcher in the sunshine state of Florida.

"I have an alligator in my kitchen."

"How tall is it?"

-Maneaters invading human habitat do not need to reach the handle on the refrigerator to find food.

Random Observations of a Shopper

• I saw a uniformed supermarket checkout girl buying groceries in the Self Checkout line. Talk about death by proxy.
• I can't hold a candle to the fact that ice cream cakes are not made from one poof of flour.
• A grave blanket on clearance sale at a pet store. What is next, sun block for melting ice cubes?
• I can never find cone coffee filters in packets greater than 100 but basket shaped filters sell in bulk packs of 500. Somebody needs to break the mold at Papperidge Farm.
• When I think back on it, grapefruits are now the size of the oranges of my childhood. Too bad that I can barely afford any fruit, regardless of size, in my adulthood.
• There is something wrong with the world today when a crate of bottled water crafted into eco-friendly containers is for sale next to a free public water fountain.
• Paying .75 cents a minute to call a lottery hotline to find out that you are an even bigger loser.

An Obama Nation

I know little about politics. As swarmy as the political arena is, I am not ashamed to admit that I keep my hat out of the dirty ring. I thought by listening to two mentally retarded clients talk about the upcoming presidential election that it would at least keep my interest.

The mildly reatarded woman led the discussion. "It's about time someone with a Virginia led this country."

The man said. "You mean vagina, don't ya?"

"That is what I said."

"Well, I'm voting for a man." replied her staunch counterpart.

"Who?' she asked. "There are two of them."

"That Obama guy."

"No way." she squeaked. "That would be an abomination."

He corrected, "It's Obama nation not abomination."

"I meant abomination. I know what I am talking about."

Talent Bubbling Over

I clawed my way through the South Jersey bubble hockey league to qualify for a briar patch low seed in the playoffs. I am the old man on the far table sweating profusely through his red sweater playing against a lightning rod player nicknamed Reckless A Dan-don. The playoff rounds were triple elimination and I managed to stay alive until the third hour. The competition was fierce. In fact, the first and second place winners in our SJ league finished second and third in a national invitational tournament held last weekend.

Child Visitation

Sunday, April 13th, 2008 -

After a dozen years of child visitation, I saw what was once my car approach the house. Something rectified inside me the moment I saw the car park curbside but I could not articulate the feeling at first. I watched what was once a child emerge from the driver's side. My oldest daughter had come to pay a visit.

It marked the first time one of my kids actually visited me on their own recognizance. She carried a smile and a birthday present for me. The fact that she still had Christmas presents to open from 2007 told a story in and of itself but that mattered little with her in the house again. She talked about her upcoming high school senior trip and the prospects of college. Her future sounded brighter than the bridge ahead of me. For a divorced non-custodial parent, I knew that court ordered child visitation was no more with her. There was no child before me. While I will maintain an open door policy, visits with this adult are now strictly at her discretion.

Sink or Swim?

-Waiting for permission to go swimming after a meal circa 1970. I am standing far right with brothers John and Greg.

A Family Reunion

By the end of a three-day weekend, I took inventory of the only block of quality time spent with my wife. The nuggets of quality time that we spend together in a busy marriage are never enough but lately…it is all we have. Necessity dictated that we be together from morning until evening in a reunion with her family. Operating in tandem no further than one another’s side, the closeness we shared bonded us as a loving couple.

While making communal stops in the drearily chilly weather, my wife’s moist palms repeatedly caressed my inviting hand. I admired my wife’s strength yet supported her weak moments too. We attended a special service at Saint Monaca’s cathedral in downtown Philadelphia. Surrounded by breathtaking stained glass and piping organ music, the sermon’s sacristy fitted the occasion. The refreshing scent of fresh flowers filled my nostrils. A stranger sang an acoustic number on a guitar that was none short of inspirational.

Back outdoors again, raindrops cascaded off us like tears while we strolled through the city underneath a miniature umbrella. Navigating ungodly traffic patterns in the car, I watched the wind whip a hood-mounted flag in our windshield wiper processional. I ran red lights and beeped my horn to get to our destination, a final resting place. The outside world could have cared less about our purpose because we were making them late for life. A short march on foot later, someone handed a single red rose to my wife. I remember thinking that the thorns and petals represent the best and worst life has to offer. Prayers mumbled on our lips where the earth was turned.

The moments stolen alone together were as intimate as they were sad for a rusty married couple like us. We laughed, cried, and remembered. Our lips gently kissed and their firm moist quality moved me through past events in a nostalgic time warp. We did not want to wait for our lives to be over so we relished our hugs. We shared a humorous Seinfeld moment before dining at an Italian South Philadelphia restaurant aptly called Popie’s. The wine and cheer made it feel good to be alive but we remembered our place. By day’s end, it was time for us to say unfitting goodbye to one another as husband and wife…as we did to the dearly departed - David DiNicola - 1960-2008.

OCD on the Bubble

Maybe my obsessive qualities finally got the best of my practical nature. Over the last year, I have slowly become obsessed with movie making software. I just dipped deep into my empty pockets and bought a new state-of-the art computer whose quad core processor can adequately handle my mutli-faceted media driven needs. Now I am overlaying musical tracks to home movie clips and creating sentimental treasures like there is no tomorrow. I am forever directing movies in my mind. While it takes me painstaking hours to create professional quality movie footage, these memories will last a lifetime, possibly longer. I realize that this newfound hobby is an extension of my interest in acting but frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.

Here is a link to one of my movie shorts, Let's Get Ready to Bubble, that I uploaded to You Tube. I could only get my second rate beta copy of this movie to upload to You Tube so it has two kinks that will be ironed out in time. Ever the entrepreneur, it advertises my attention to detail on 3 inch miniature hobby work that turns occasional coin. After all, I must pay for this new computer somehow. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wz8dMcJallc