Blog on Hiatus

I am having surgery next week. My next post will be on the other side of a doctor's knife recuperating on painkillers.

To quote Jack Nicholson's character in the movie The Bucket List, "Somewhere some lucky son of a bitch is having a heart attack right about now."

Bringing Up the Rear

I walked into a lively water cooler conversation about cosmetic surgery for women. A group of trendy women discussed an elective procedure involving extracting fat cells from their buttocks and injecting this same posterior fat into their lips.

“Joe, would you mind if your wife got this procedure done?”

“I don’t kiss ass, especially when you can no longer differentiate a stinking burp from a fart.”

Father Figure Wanted

This is a legitimate ad lifted from an actor's website for the Maryland area. Too bad I do not have touches of gray and am not fractionally Korean with a Hispanic appearance. I would do the paying gig for nothing but a porterhouse steak with fried mushrooms and an endless wave of Corona's.

Need someone to act as my father for dinner with ex-girlfriend who is trying to get closure on our relationship. She is from out of state and never met my parents, and unfortunately the weekend she is coming my parents are out of town, so I need someone there to satisfy her curiosity. She is a pit bull that won't take no for an answer, and so I have to resort to this...Long story that will make more sense when I hear from you.

Actor should: be or at least look 55 or older- I am 36 and be Hispanic, or part-Asian- I am 1/4 Korean but look Hispanic 3. if you do not look old but are Hispanic or part-Asian, contact me.

Date: January 24, 2008

There will be several people at dinner, including friends, for a total of 5-7 people. I will pay for dinner (probably Ruth's Chris Steakhouse) and drinks as well as a fee for the evening. Should be lots of fun, but need to make sure her curiosity and closure are taken care of.

USA vs. Russia Bubble Hockey

Sicne I don't have much time to write these days, I might as well share a sampling of what I have been doing. I painted and decaled these Super Chexx ice hockey players for a customer. These are miniature plastic molds that stand only 3 inches high. Two teams consisting of twelve players takes me about 16 hours on average to complete.

Life Stringing Us Along

An actor forwarded me the following story; its message is worth repeating.

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule.

A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk.

A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.

The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars.

Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats average $100.00 each.

This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing some of the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

A Wrong of Passage

In the vestibule outside the movie theatre, two silver haired foxes sat on a bench chatting about The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I just emerged from the same theatre so naturally my ears bent to hear elder wisdom.

Judging by the similar physical features of the women, I suspected they were related one generation apart. The wrinkles outlining their faces told stories and there must have been a century and a half of invaluable experience between them. Two pairs of prescription glasses, one walking cane, and a hearing aide were adaptive adjuncts to their time on this planet.

Rolling tears still with me from the movie's ending, I stood against the wall waiting for my wife to exit the ladies room. Watching the duo, the irony struck me because there may be no better movie encapsulating the entire aging process than The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

For we are all a body of work in a body that eventually will not work, with one not completed until the other expires. So while living we must lead a purpose driven life. We must do what we must with the cards that we are dealt. We must keep moving to find purpose, deriving meaning for the celebration of life as it changes and for as long as it is here.

The only time I feel grounded to this earthly plane is when I write. Nothing feels better, feels more right, or more cathartic to my soul than writing. For me it is truly living unencumbered. It is breathing. Almost everything else in my life is a duty, obligation, responsibility, work, chore, a custom followed.

God-willing, my life is already half over and I have spent the better part of it writing for free for the benefit of only a handful of people other than myself. That matters not because I believe I am doing what I am supposed to - chronicling memories and experiences. It is the cruelty of forgetting that cannot be underscored. Dying brain cells from the aging process, traumatic brain injury, dementia, repression, and even overwhelming stress rob us of short and long term memories. Although embedded in the taxing nature of life itself, forgetting is a thief that steals from us before it is time to leave our physical hosts. It is for this reason too that I write…to develop a permanent record so I cannot forget my life, however ordinary.

After sorting these thoughts from my perch, my keen mind returned to the elderly couple’s movie review.

“Mother, in the Benjamin Button movie, didn’t Cate Blanchett look lovely as a dancer?”

She hesitated. “...Are you sure? I do not remember dancing being in the movie.”

“Dancing was featured in the entire movie, Mother. Surely, you….”

She stopped mid-sentence. The frightened look on the daughter's face seemed to be a capsizing glimpse of her own future. For every rite of passage between them, this seemed so wrong. It made me cry harder. I would like to think that moment is something I will always remember…now that I have written it down.

No Room at the Inn

My poor wife has been worried about her uncommon forgetfulness. I showed an initial level of support trying to convince her that she has been under an incredible amount of stress and responsibility which is impairing her mental faculties indefnitely. When she refused to believe me, she irrationally convinced herself she was suffering from early onset dementia. I could no longer get her to think in any other terms so I joined her worry wart program.

When she addressed me, I would say, “Why did you just call me by your first husband’s name? I began to prey upon her insecurities even more by asking her if she remembered fake memories from our past. Out of the blue, I would say we just talked about that yesterday. My torment about her forgetfulness peaked at a Christmas party, when repetitive bombardments in a family atmosphere had her ready for nursing home admission.

After the party, I felt a pinch guilty about my ornery behavior on my way back to my car. As I got in the car, a strange feeling swept over me. My leather seats were warm. I had just walked through frigid outdoor temperatures but the cabin operated at a comfortable 73 degrees. The dashboard was all lit up. I noticed that I had half of a tank of gas less than I remembered. Then it dawned on me. I forgot to turn off my car. I had left the car engine running for the last three and a half hours….the whole time I tortured my wife at the party..about her forgetfulness.