WhaHappen?

Video link “God Bless the USA”

“And I’m proud to be an American
Where at least I know I’m free
And I won’t forget the men who died
Who gave that right to me”

I’m suspending my blog hiatus this holiday to post about something that’s near and dear to me. There are only a few things in this life that turn on the serious switch for me. Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day always makes me reflect and feel so in awe of those Americans who fought, and continue to fight, for this country’s freedom. Here in the United States, we have an unrivaled freedom to live our lives and pursue success and happiness; a type of overall freedom that’s not offered everywhere in the world. Our troops that are stationed in less fortunate countries will tell us how lucky we are.

So I’m forwarding this message that my very patriotic Dad forwarded to me so that others can reflect on the daily sacrifices our military makes and to honor those of have indeed made the ultimate sacrifice. Never forget.

WHEN A SOLDIER COMES HOME

When a soldier comes home, he finds it tough…

…to listen to his son whine about being bored.

…to keep a straight face when people complain about potholes.

to be tolerant of those who complain about the hassle of getting ready for work.

…to be understanding when a co-worker complains about getting a bad night’s sleep.

…to be silent when people pray to God for a new car.

…to control his stress level when his wife tells him to drive slower.

…to be compassionate when someone expresses a fear of flying.

…to keep from laughing when anxious parents say they’re worried about sending their kids off to summer camp.

…to keep from ridiculing someone who complains about hot weather.

…to control his frustration when a colleague complains about the coffee being too cold.

…to remain calm when his daughter complains about having to walk the dog.

…to be civil to people who complain about their jobs.

…to just walk away when someone complains they only get 2 weeks vacation every year.

…to be forgiving when someone says how hard it is to have a new baby in the house.

The only thing harder than being a soldier…

…is loving one.

Queen - You’re My Best Friend

I just want to tell you how fun it is to visit your blogs. You make me spill my coffee when I spaz-giggle before setting my cup down. Sometimes I just choke and chortle or spit-laugh at my monitor.

Also, I feel like we have alot in common. I salute the playfulness in all of you. That said, I’m letting you know that I’ll still be visiting everyone while I take a half-hearted hiatus from blogging.

My cat Trixie convinced me this morning, while she laid luxuriously on the bed, that I have to get on with my other projects, by which I mean, sleeping — and “napping” when I’m not sleeping. It’s not that I’m narcoleptic, though I’ve been accused. I just wish my chosen art form was “hammock-tester” or sleep researcher.

So I’m still going to be around - you can’t shut me up that easily. I just don’t plan to post on a regular basis, until I can complete some of my other goals that I’ve set for myself this year. I actually have several entrepreneurial ideas I’m toying with and need to focus on. Most of them are not internet-based.

As I’ve mentioned, I’ll be frequenting your blogs and commenting as usual. Hey, you can’t get rid of me without an enforceable restraining order.

Meanwhile, feel free to comment on any of my past posts. I’ll always respond to all comments. And I truly enjoy hearing about YOU. By the way, I totally like it when you leave longer comments - because that’s what makes me feel like I actually know you. It’s also cool when you “talk” to each other here. I like that cocktail party atmosphere!

Also, be sure to check out the blogs on my sidebar. I’ll definitely be adding the rest of you who have been regularly commenting. But being the obsessive-compulsive categorizer that I am, I haven’t been able to put all you square-pegs into the right holes, so I have to get creative. But I’ll get you in there soon.

Anyway, til my next post (which might even be tomorrow) take care and keep playing. Don’t get old - I’ll be right back!

Here’s the link, if you have trouble viewing the video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ise0ecATZ1o

Gordon Lightfoot - Carefree Highway

My car just turned 102,000 miles. (Sigh) It seems like just yesterday when she (yes she) and I were cruising around the Westside with the open sunroof, new car smell, with only 70 miles on her odometer. I hope she sticks around for another 100,000, so I can pass her on to my daughter Jordan, who’ll be driving in 2 years. At least I know she’s reliable and will keep Jordan safe.

As close as I feel to my current car, a white 2003 Toyota Highlander, I have the best memories of my 1989 Toyota Camry. That car and I had been through ALOT together. Sad stuff like bad dates and failed relationships. But plenty of fun, youthful times too, like driving with friends along the sunny coast with the open sunroof and singing “Brown-Eyed Girl” at the top of our lungs.

Most of my cars had good juju. They weren’t evil Christines (as in the Stephen King book/movie) trying to kill me or set me up for a bad accident. My flat tires always happened where help was nearby.

Looking back at my first car, a yellow 1972 VW Beetle, kind of reminds me of life and the aging process. My brother let me have it in 1983 when he left for college. It was cute and youthful-looking with a new paint job. But over the next 4 years that I used it, it really fell apart. I don’t know, maybe it missed my brother.

First, the window handle broke off. For you youngsters, we used to have to manually roll down the windows by making a cranking motion with a lever. It’s similar to dialing a rotary phone or using a manual return on a typewriter. Oh, never mind.

Eventually , the rearview mirror popped off, the glove compartment refused to close. Alot of things stopped working: the speedometer, odometer, and gas gauge. It was tricky trying to not get a speeding ticket or not run out of gas. And of course all the big repairs came along: brake jobs, CV joints, alternators, until it was finally time to say good-bye and just let it flatline.

But my sad little VW taught me alot about people getting old too. For example, the parts started creaking, herky-jerky movements, alignment problems, smelly emissions, fluid leakage, you get the idea. But I sure get attached to my cars, just like how I’m sentimental about this old body. I like it the way it is right now and I’m not looking forward to the day I gotta put it out to pasture.

Meanwhile, I’m going to live it up more than ever before, squeeze every bit of fun in, and get the most mileage out of life. Come with?

Now it’s your turn. Tell me a car story and/or answer the following:

• What was your first car?
• Did you have a favorite car and why was it special?
• What’s your Dream Car and who’s your Dream Passenger?

Rihanna - Shut Up and Drive

Gary Numan - Cars

Ancient Downtown Wisdom:

If you feed one homeless person, you will feed 10 others. They’re like pigeons and seagulls to one crumb of bread. Soon you are in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Run!

Posted around the perimeter of my office building are homeless people. Dey be my Homies - Yo, and dey know me, Ho! (Just tryin’ out my new rapper persona, like Joaquin Phoenix.)

Seriously though, it doesn’t help that my office sits above a food court, where Homies conveniently congregate, hoping for a donated meal. Well, I can’t keep breaking my shrinking budget to keep them fed. So lately, I’ve actually been trying to out-maneuver them by ducking behind trees and doing the low-crawl under benches and tables. I’m thinking about buying some camo-wear and tying small, leafy branches around my head.

(Theme Song from the TV Show Mission Impossible)

The other day, I was coming back from the courthouse and didn’t have my side-door key with me. Rats! That meant I had to walk through the food court to get to the front office door. Since I felt like grabbing a cup of coffee anyway from Carl’s Jr., it didn’t seem like that big a deal.

Then - I remembered! No-Speak Sad Sack W.C. Fields might be sitting at his usual perch on the stairs down to the food court. This guy never talks. He’s very sad-looking and indeed resembles W.C. Fields.

I tiptoed cautiously, figuring if I so much as catch a glimpse of his tattered shoes, I’d moonwalk away and go around the block if I had to.

Okay, no N-SSSW.C.F - but there was another homeless guy there. Maybe he was saving No-Speak’s spot for him. (Hey, I don’t know what kind of business arrangements these people make.) Anyhoo, I said hello as I walked by, relieved that I wasn’t going to get shaken down for my milk…er, coffee money.

Then I heard, “Excuse me.” I instantly froze like a statue, with my arm in a half-swing, begging for a pigeon to land on it and make Homie think I really WAS a statue.

No such luck that day. “Excuse me,” said The Smelly One, “can you please buy me some food?” I smiled weakly like a…weakling, “Sure. May I take your order?”

“Yeah, I’ll have a Double-Bacon Western Cheeseburger with some large fries. And can I get a large Dr. Pepper with that? If not, I’ll take an orange soda.”

Got it, Mr. Smelly-AND-Greedy One. Be right back. (Dude was a total Bogart!)

As soon as I turned towards Carl’s Jr, I couldn’t stop smiling and shaking my head because I’m such a pushover shmuck. So I get there and my regular server Ray started to grab my usual coffee for me. Ray knows I don’t eat much at Carl’s. I get my coffee and, only occasionally, a bacon and egg burrito, NO CHEESE. EVER. (I have this thing about melted cheese, can’t stand it except on nachos.)

So I cleared my throat, feeling oddly embarrassed, and ordered the damn Double-Bacon Cheeseburger with large fries and a large Dr. Pepper. Ray looked at me like this:

Then he looked at my belly, expecting to see a forming fetus holding a fork and knife. And he repeated my order to me, TWICE. “Cheese? You sure?”

Yeah, yeah! And a coffee, please - to make my frickin’ headache go away.

Bottom line: Like Meals-on-Wheels, I delivered to The Smelly One. If I had skates on and 50’s music playing in the background, I would’ve felt much better.

I asked Homie his name. It’s Edward. And he’s in the Witness Protection Program. The FBI set him up for a new job up in San Francisco as a postal worker, and he’s just waiting for the signal to go up there. Uh huh. Okay Edward. Enjoy your lunch, while I recalculate my food budget for the rest of the week. The weird thing is, I haven’t seen him since.

Meanwhile, this is what I came upon as I arrived at my office at 6 a.m. today: (just in case you think I’m kidding.)