02 November 2016

One Cup, Two Americas

It has come to this.

Story link:

Daily Mail: 'Coffee should not come with political brainwashing!' Anger at Starbucks over green 'unity' cups that coincide with the election as customers demand traditional holiday designs

Bring us together. . . no, go fuck yourself

At first they thought the nifty green cups were replacing the traditional Starbucks holiday Christmas cups, so the usual suspects were outraged.

Then they thought it was some kind of leftist brainwashing so the usual suspects were outraged again.

All one: The imagery was created by artist Shogo Ota, pictured, in a design intended to communicate 'shared humanity and connection'
It's just a cup with a nice message. Just a freakin' innocent coffee cup.

'Radio Anna' from Detroit, who has changed her Twitter name to '#ScrewStarbucks', wrote: 'Screw you. 'My coffee should not (and does not) come with political brainwashing. I dropped Starbucks like a hot rock.'

'Jerzeee4Trump' said: 'Starbucks nope. Stay out of politics. Haven't had your products since your CEO supported crooked Hillary publicly.'

Archie Bunker, a bar owner and cab driver from Queens, New York, added: 'Stop pushing your liberal b******t and sell coffee. Lifelong customer becoming disgusted with the forced agenda #HolidayCupsNow'.

What have we become?

This would have NEVER happened when I was kid. It probably wouldn't have happened 20 years ago - people would have collected them.

I've said this before - we seem to be a nation on the verge of tearing each other to shreds over stupid crap. You can't even share a kind word with each other without being politically and socially vetted. More of us are just keeping our mouths shut, locking our doors and staying inside. Out there be dragons in human form.

We have seen the enemy, and it is a coffee cup.

01 November 2016

No happy endings

I was able to get out of bed this morning which will probably be my accomplishment of the day.

I didn't want to. For the first time in my life, I knew I could, and wanted to, lay there all day.

Even now, on the couch, I struggle to write and feel anything.

Yesterday I had my meetings at work. They went pretty much as I thought they would except I didn't lose my temper. Because that's not allowed. Emotions are not allowed at work - unless you're management.

Management is OK with gross negligence. They're OK with it resulting in the death of Veterans as long as their careers or retirement aren't threatened. Management is OK with contract fraud, lying to Congress, destroying evidence, destroying work that could save lives. Management is OK with Veterans killing themselves waiting for treatment. As long as their careers aren't threatened, management is OK with all kinds of vices.

But management is NOT OK with a lower level employee quoting a movie in fun after being set up. Management is OK with that employees rights being violated. Management is OK with that employee almost being killed because of their own actions.

Because words are more important than dead Veterans, than broken laws, then the worst sort of mendacity. 

Where do we get these people from?

VA management apparently, is anointed by God and given powers far beyond those of fallible lower level employees. Management has been granted a pass to exempt them from the petty niceties of following the law, acting ethically and having empathy.

I know I'm naive. I've always expected better. I should have known better.

After the sedation wore off and I started thinking about it, because I can't NOT think about it, I didn't get as angry as I thought I would. At least not yet. I just got numb.

And I wanted to stay in bed all day.

And I don't care about anything anymore.

I just exist. That's about it.

I'm reminded of a song by Jackson Browne

 I'm going to be a happy idiot
And struggle for the legal tender
Where the ads take aim and lay their claim
To the heart and the soul of the spender


But I could never be that person because I can't pretend. Life, work, everything was supposed to mean so much more. Meaning - life had to have some kind of meaning. I find for me it does not. I can't work, produce and consume. I never thought I was born for that. I naively thought that I would (don't laugh) change the world and leave a remembrance that it was a better place after I was gone.

While their priests buggered little boys and their management covered it up, that's what the Catholic church and its' schools taught me was our role in life.

I hate it all. I hate that for so long I tried to be that person and believed those lies.

The world is as it is, like it or not. And I wandered through it like the fool in the Tarot deck.

There are no magic pills, no wonder shrinks, no New Age woo that can salve a dead soul.

I can't be a part of this. But I'm forced to.

I thought of going to the basement today on this odd day off and tossing everything I've kept from childhood out on the front lawn. The past is dead, the present is dead and there is no future than I can see. Having all this shit lying around just reminds me of the person I used to be that I am not anymore. It's all over. It's finally gotten to be too much.

All of the mental illness sites wants stories of overcoming and triumph. They also want young pretty faces to tell the story so they can be marketed. Why I ever thought that the depressed musings of a seemingly privileged white guy who will be 54 this month would interest anyone is another delusion I can chalk up to my colossal naivete.

Some people just don't recover for whatever reason. I can give you an example of such a person who has been through an experience infinitely worse than mine.

This is a woman who befriended a young man who later broke into her house with a bag of knives and landed up stabbing her daughter to death in the early morning hours of the day after Christmas about five years ago.

This woman witnessed the murder of her in all it's shock, gore and heartache. She recalls the sound of her daughter's last strangled gasps and having to clean the foamy blood off the walls later on. The court in California did not sentence the perp to death but life in prison or how many years 'life' is in California before the young killer gets a chance at parole. If Manson comes up for parole, why not this guy?

Anyway, for this mother, all she knows is her beautiful daughter is dead and this beast will be housed as a guest of the taxpayers. I have followed her FB for several years. She will never recover from this. She craves death but will not kill herself - yet. She doesn't live anymore, she just exists and the horror of that night plays across her consciousness every day.

To add gross insult to injury, her deceased daughter's FB page was hacked a few days ago with most of her daughter's history and postings erased and her friends list loaded up with, well, whores for lack of a better description - webcam types and others like that. Even her memory was desecrated. 

Her husband couldn't take it so he left along with other family members. She has very very few people left in her life.

Nothing will ever help her heal. Only death will bring her relief.

Compared to this woman, what I've been through is a comparative walk in the park. 

And yet we share a few things, albeit at different intensities: numbness, lack of interest in anything, memories of a past that haunt us, distrust of people in general, a wish to be left alone and an anger that has no real room for expulsion.

She doesn't know me, but I get her. I wish I could help but I can't. She is forever sequestered in grief.

Some people will never recover; they will never 'pull themselves up by their bootstraps.'

And they owe no one an explanation.

30 October 2016

Gratitude

Disclaimer: these feelings of gratitude could change at any time, especially tomorrow.

I've been struggling to write lately. Tomorrow is the soon-to-be-famous Address to the Director and I was thinking about writing on that but since I've been informed that the Stasi reads the blog, why tip my hand?

The old fallback for mental health bloggers and other pitchers of woo is to do 'the gratitude column.' Of course, that's akin to singing 'Climb Every Mountain' as their shoveling dirt in your grave, but whatever.

1. I am most grateful for my wife without whom, I would not be here today. Probably. Out of 7 billion mortals, I'm convinced she's the only one who not only gets me but can take living with me. Believe me, it isn't easy.

2. My hometown Cleveland Indians are one game away from winning their first World Series since 1948. As someone who attended their first Indians game as a 10 year old and skipped class in college to catch noon games, this is a big deal.

3. Despite an absolutely atrocious diet, for some reason, all the major organs, including the heart (!) are in pretty good shape. Yes, the liver has been battered but is better than it was three years ago. I have no idea why this is happening.

4. Even though it is rapidly filling with yarn and knitting accessories (caution to anyone marrying a knitter), I love my house and especially my basement sports bar/newseum. This is the only house I have lived in in my entire life that I feel totally comfortable in. It took awhile after the police raid to get back to a point of feeling somewhat secure, but that was not the house's fault.

5. I still like my Mustang. It was not a life-transforming machine, but then no one should count on a car to do that. It's still pretty sharp and fulfills a long-held dream from young adulthood to own one. And I figured, if mommy and daddy gave me one for my birthday in high school (as did happen) I probably would have crashed it anyway.

6. Coffee. I bought a new coffee machine yesterday and can taste the difference this morning. Thank whomever for coffee. How could we live without it?

7. Fall - my favorite time of year. After a particularly difficult getting-the-yard-ready-for-winter session yesterday, I sat for awhile and watched the wind whistle through the orange, red and green trees and felt a bit of childhood come back to me. Nothing like the feel and smell of fall. And when you get to be my age, you really have to stop and savor every one. You never know.

8. Friends - I still have some. They're mostly on the Internet. Some I haven't seen in awhile (since my high school reunion) and I hope they haven't given up on me. I know I'm a pill but I'd like to think I'm not really that bad a guy. At least my wife tells me so. I still have a friend in my home town - I don't get to see him and his wife very much anymore. Most of my IRL friends are my wife's friends and I don't get to see them much at all. And all the friends I lost, I still think about and wonder how they are doing.

9. Family -- not much left here. My two boys are really my pride and joy and even though I hardly ever see them, they know I love them with every Amazon delivery. Everyone else on my side is dead or not speaking to me because of long held grudges against my mother. My family, as it were, is my wife's family and I get the impression they think I'm a weirdo but they tolerate me the times I see them once a year.

10. The Cleveland Browns -- whenever I feel like the biggest loser on Earth, a pathetic waste of human space, a damaged, despised waste of potential, I think of the Browns and then I don't feel so bad.

Ah, hell, this is degenerating into 'gratitude with conditions,' so I'll stop it here. It's already a longer list than I thought it would be.

19 October 2016

Happiness Is (with extra Broadway)

I'm so happy. That little red-headed girl dropped her pencil. It has teeth marks all over it. She nibbles her pencil. She's human! It hasn't been such a bad day after all.
Without fleas
Today's cheap shot comes again at the expense of Canadian depression man-style HeadsUpGuys.

Don't get the wrong ideal -- I pick on because I love.

Anyway, today we behold Foster Eastman's (now THAT is a movie-star name!) tale of how he round-house kicked old man depression and then stomped on his head.

He's a creative guy (creative guys tend to get depression a lot) and was recently involved with a project: Recent exhibits have considered diverse issues including the challenges returning Veterans from Afghanistan face as they reintegrate into civilian life, as well as installations that leverage visual arts practices to give voice to those struggling with depression and suicide.

I like that because down here in the States when we think of Canada at all, it's usually about hockey, beavers or Celine Dion. Yes, the Canadian Forces fought in our wars and yes, their troops are afflicted with the same kind of problems ours are. And yes, they have similar issues with their government's Veterans services organization as well. 

But what I really want to highlight is Foster's advice for getting happy, or, how he did it:


What advice would you give to guys fighting depression?

Do what you need to do to be happy. Get out of town. Move 2000 miles away. Change your name. Go back to school. Get a new job. Find new friends. Keep your family at arms length. Do whatever it takes to be happy – that’s what I did. 

tap tap tap - that's my fingers tapping on the unused part of the keyboard as I try to fashion some kind of reply. . . 

As I've always said "WHEN YOU HAVE UNLIMITED CASH," but wait a minute, so what? 

Here in Pittsburgh when we tell someone 'get aughta town' it's an expression of disbelief in what someone is telling us. I think Foster is serious. Of course in Canada, 2,000 miles can be the distance between, oh, Gander, Newfoundland and Sudbury, especially via Air Canada. Canadian joke there. 

Anyway, let's polish these off in order:
1. Get out of town - previously covered. What people don't realize about Pittsburgh is you can check out any time you like; but you can never leave. Sorta like Cleveland.  

2. Move 2,000 miles away. Had a chance to move to Portland but it's now filled with assholes from California. And the pizza in Idaho is pretty sucky.

3. Change your name. Never thought of this. I always HATED my name, still do. What would I change it to? This one is a no cost move so let's see. . . maybe Charlton Eastwood. Has a nice ring to it, eh?


4. Go back to school - love to. I love arguing with history professors. But alas, money.

5. Get a new job - snap my fingers, presto! New job. Yeah, I agree. But alas, 53, too much government work, house, pending reprimand on file. Go ahead tell me - I screwed the pooch on this one. If I could do this, the others would fall in line. Except the name maybe. Hmmm. . . Clark Dean? Must think about this. . .

6. Find new friends - there they are! They've been hiding under the chesterfield (Canadian reference). Seriously, like Warren G. Harding, friends generally keep you walking the floor at nights. And I'm high maintenance. But yeah, I'd like to hang out with the guys from Animal House. I never had a college toga party.

7. Keep your family at arms length - good advice - I do, especially with my sister. All the rest of them are dead . . . or dead to me.

8. Do whatever it takes.

Look, I would but my bank account and my wife might have some objections.

But that name thing again - Leonardo De Niro. Eh, maybe not.

But seriously, is happiness even attainable? Is depression ever really beat (like the Nazis in '45, not the Viet Cong in'72)?

I don't know. Happiness is like that short but fast little punk in school who always teased you but was too fast to catch and pound. If I could just creep close enough.  . .

I dunno. Unlike Brock Easterbrook or whatever his name is, I don't have a success story or a formula. For me happiness, fleeting as it is, is a bowl of ice cream and a re-run of "Sex Sent Me to the ER."

Don't judge me.

But I think it's a good idea to read all of these stories because the 'solutions' are as variable and unique to the people themselves.

And as soon as I have the Holy Grail, I'll let you know what worked for me.

Look, no one ever follows this blog but if you get a yen to comment, do it now - tell me how you found happiness, how you beat depression, how you lost 50 lbs. and kept it off, etc.

Oh wait! The last Trump-Clinton debate is on tonight! Fun!
Wait! Out of ice cream. Damn.

See how fleeting happiness is?

OK, I'm dating myself, but when I remember kindergarten, I remember this song (being pounded out on a big upright piano) and because I'm actually in a decent mood, I'll share it (from You're a Good Man Charlie Brown):

17 October 2016

We were friends once, and young

Today's screed is a situation that probably everyone can relate to or has experienced in one form or another.

From The Washington Post:

Best friends just. . . disappear. They stop returning phone calls, texts, etc. And you're left wondering - what did I do? Sometimes you can figure it out, sometimes not. Although this piece is written by a woman, this does happen to guys too.

A woman I was dating back in the day did this to me but I knew exactly why and it was my fault. I won't get into the details because even now it's too hard for me to admit how stupid I was. There was no rancor, no anger, just a - 'no, this is not going to work' kind of feeling. I called her twice before I gave up. I knew. And I didn't blame her one bit.

Gemma Hartley's incident is a bit more baffling and, well, cruel. Her bestie was to be a bridesmaid. They had a long history together. Her friend joined the Marines but still had an obligation to at least tell Gemma 'you know, I'm just so busy with deployments/training and such, I just can't make it now but I wish you the best and we'll get back together as soon as I can.'

But that didn't happen. The comments are, are they usually are, pretty cruel in ascribing where the fault lies but I have two ideas in this case.

1. Her friend was fully inculcated into the Corps lifestyle. In many ways, it's like becoming a cop. You're taught the Marines are your family, the only family you can trust and those 'civilians' back on the block represent your life before the Marines. Family doesn't count: you are still expected to cherish your family as you do God and country. But having friends outside the Marines can be problematic depending on the unit. You need serious friends in the Corps because you might be fighting and dying with them. God help you if your outside friends are seen as more important. It's hard social conditioning to overcome. 

2. Gemma herself may have been a bit too clingy, especially to a friend who is living in a whole different world now.  What seems cute and normal growing up may seem childish in light of life in the Corps. The Marines, like cops and doctors, tend to believe only their own kind can understand them. This make outside relationships difficult. In this case, it's really a case of two people going on widely different life tracks.

Still Gemma's friend should have made some effort to explain or at least apologize for running out on a wedding - that's pretty cold.

This is something I have had to face and I bet you have as well. People I been friends with for many years slowly fell by the wayside for one reason or another. After awhile, I found some of them had let the world turn them into unlikable people (by my standard) and some of my friends must have felt that I had turned into some kind of maladjusted misanthrope.

It happens. But as Gemma said, for some of us the memories of these people last, literally, forever. I remember people I met in kindergarten and I wonder about them from time to time as well. There's always Facebook and many other ways if you really want to find out what's going on with lost friends. Rarely does an individual leave any electronic record behind them nowadays. 

OK, I was in military intelligence - this kind of thing is what I do. What? None of YOU have ever Facebook-stalked anyone? Hey, I never post or interfere. Sadly, I just look and remember. My memory bank is full of regret, not hatred.

Thirty-five years after high school graduation, I re-acquainted with a lot of people who, like I, had grown up and had lives. Many of them had become whatever they became but in each of them I could still see a thread of their personality stretching back to high school. The pressures of modern life affect each of us differently. We break a little on the good and bad side but rarely, thank God, do we break all the way over to evil. The class of '81 was still a fun bunch and glad to be together. 

I was of course, worried that I wouldn't fit in or become a wallflower again, but it didn't happen. Ten years after, we still were comfortable in our own cliques. Thirty-five years later, we were one big happy family. And that was great.

I had a good friend in high school who was not at the reunion. I really didn't expect to see him so I was not disappointed. I wasn't 'ghosted' by him but perhaps we could call it a long-term ghosting. We used to really tear up Mentor Avenue in the day and had lots of great times together. 

It took a little while but I remember the moment it was over, but I didn't get it at the time. 

It was his bachelor party and he'd rented a bus so none of us would drive drunk. Near the end of the night, something strange happened. This friend, who was never one for sentimentality, looked at me straight in the eye and said "Keith, you've been a very good friend." I was taken aback for a second. I felt great about that and mumbled sometime back about 'you too.' But it was the way he looked at me - like a last long look. I didn't know this was really goodbye.

To make a long story short, our lives really did diverge after that. He has worked very hard to make a name for himself in his industry and has succeeded admirably. He's earned everything he's got. Now with a wife and two adorable sons and a nice house, he's living the dream - really. His job takes him all over the world and it seems like one big party. I am genuinely happy for him.

As for me, the road has not been as smooth but then, with my conditions, I've been something of a fuck-up, like Moonlight Graham, getting so close to my dreams I could almost taste them but then they were lost forever. Still, I didn't do too bad for myself, all things considered.

We friended back on Facebook and I suppose would could look at each others lives. I would like and comment on his posts, he would like mine - but I don't recall comments. I once texted a suggestion we get together sometime for beers following up on an similar text from him when we re-acquainted. I never got a reply. 

Recently, I defriended him. Not because I was angry, but as an admission that we were never going to relive old times and I was deluded to think we would. I live in the past - he does not. I would probably not mix well with his friends - we would have almost nothing in common. In fact, I would bet he's worried that I would embarrass him in front of his high powered friends by bring up 'old times' that he'd rather not revisit. 

But looking at pictures of his life and remembering the good times we had so long ago was too much for me. These forays into 'yearbook yearnings' are not good for me. I need to try to be more in the 'here and now' even though I know I'll never be fully successful at it and the 'now' is a daily struggle.

There were others that I was truly ghosted by and again I understand why. It still stings a little but I had something to do with every one of them so I am not blameless by any means. But in the case of this one friend, it was nothing that was done, no offense committed, just a calculation made that I would not fit into the lifestyle and circle of friends he was going to be a part of - maybe like Gemma's friend. And I get that.

In American culture, our friends and relationships outside our family circles are generally transactional. That is, they exist if both parties are getting something tangible out of the relationship. Not just power, money or status but emotional support as well. When of of those supports is lost for whatever reason, the friendship tends to disintegrate. Liking someone as a person is often just not good enough. What your friends think of the friendship is equally powerful and there still is a strong attachment to our own kind whether it be race, income, education or whatever. It is what it is. 

The big one now is politics. Many, many friendships, even family relationships are being torn asunder during this Presidential election campaign. We used to be able to disagree and still love and respect one another. That has gone by the wayside and we are a poorer people for that.

It's tougher, of course, with a mental condition. People regard us warily as if we're going to go psycho any minute or just flake out. We may seem to needy or worry people that we will become too needy, emotional or clingy. I get that. 

But I guess where this article struck a chord with me is that real friendships, no matter how long lasting, are, essentially, thin threads that can break surprisingly fast and leave a lot of pain and bitterness. Some of us try to shield ourselves from that pain by have few or no relationships. Some stick to acquaintance level friendships where no firm commitments are made. 

I just think perhaps we could be a little more decent to each other when we go our separate ways. We're so afraid of each others reactions nowadays that people cut themselves off so as not to engender 'drama.' It may be the way of the future. But it is kind of sad when you think about it: we are, especially as we age, the collections of our memories and past relationships, good or bad. It would be better for all of us if the closures were make with kindness rather than a cold split. I'm probably engaging in hopeless sentimentality here.

It's hard to realize that, in many situations, you can never 'go home again' and that good times once had can't return. You mourn, like Genna does, but in the end it seems so cold to close a mental door on someone even though they've done that to you. So we leave it open because, I guess, memories of a friendship is better than never having one at all.

Perhaps this is the best way to think about it. But it's hard