Not So Divine Intervention

"Bad is bad, and good is good. Certain kinds of good may be bad. But sometimes bad can be good. So really...it's all good." - Laz Jones, in Bootleg Italian Voltron v. The Dalai Lama

Things are getting pretty bad.

I have to do pretty much everything on my own at work right now, I never said I could do it all on my own, never said I wanted to. But by virtue of the fact that I am doing it all, I guess I can. I still don't want to.

My father was always the other way around. My father always said he could do it all. Always said he didn't need anyone else. He'd spit and scream and get all red in the face hollering about how he could do it all on his own and he'd really believe it right up until the point where you called him on it.

See the thing is that early on you'd be hard pressed to find a man who worked harder and took to things faster than my father. For all his stubborn and willful ignorance he was a pretty sharp tack. He wasn't the brightest guy in the world but he was willing to learn as long as it was on his terms. Some people find that admirable. He was succesful at it too. He didn't just work a bunch of jobs, he ran a bunch of businesses. Other people would trust him to run their places, even if he knew nothing about them. Pizza place? Sure why not? Ink factory? Sounds like fun. Tour buses? Guess so. Travel agency? Piece of cake.

And when he went out on his own things went just as well, albeit a little more slowly. Rental cars? So-So. Tour buses? Decent. Travel Agency? Ok. School buses? Bingo.

So next thing you know my father's a millionaire, all the while working his ass off, all the while thinking he could do it on his own as long as he never really had to. It worked for him because he worked for it.

This is a man who busted his ass his entire life.

He had some relaxation coming to him.

Only problem is that before he got there an affliction that strikes down many succesful men got to him. He began to believe the hype. It wasn't just that he could do it on his own anymore, it was that he should do it on his own. That he was better off without the help.

But at the same time, he forgot the only way in which he could do it on his own. He forgot about the hard work. It wasn't that he stopped working hard, it's that he began to assume that things would always work out, whether he worked hard for it or not. He stopped relying on ridiculous effort and began to rely on pure divinity.

There ain't nothing divine about this business.

So now that I'm the workhorse, my father can't figure out why it's taking so much to keep things afloat. He doesn't understand that for every burden I sucessfully shoulder he adds on two more. He thinks that simply because he says so that people will do what he wants, that his very voice can part traffic and strike down competition, that his unrelenting gaze can take the place of proper mechanical maintenance.

Thy will be done, no preparation necessary.

He just doesn't get it. Or maybe he does. Maybe it's all an act because he doesn't know what to do anymore.

He can probably keep the act up forever, question is: How long can I?

Bootleg Italian Voltron Vs. The Dalai Lama

"In the practice of tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher." - The Dalai Lama

"Andiamo forza del voltron!" - Bootleg Italian Voltron (Roughly translated: "Let's Go Voltron Force!")

I think that sometimes you can take a new direction without ever really meaning too.

I don't know if that's what happened. I don't really know what the difference between today and yesterday was. Maybe it all started Sunday night. Maybe it all started before that, I don't know.

Some things are funny.

I know I bought The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy on DVD. I have no idea where it is. I really want to watch the movie so I might just have to go buy it again. Fuck.

Sunday morning we're broadcasting from the Dalai Lama's speech at Rutgers. I'm co-hosting with the new news director who is pretty good, but who doesn't have a deparment yet. Last night's show was awesome, but I don't know how the news department is going. They need people. I don't know what I can do to help. I always told Corey it would never be like the year we were there. I even said it then. I knew there was something special there, and that replicating it would be damn near impossible. We had such great people, such a great team. It's sad to see something you helped build up crumble, but it's great to know that you were a part of something special...and knew it early enough to appreciate it.

There's something about stories. We have so many. There are two types of stories you tell to people who were a part of them. The ones that start with "You remember the time that..." and the ones that don't...because you know there's no way they could ever forget.

Like Bootleg Italian Voltron, The Andre Agassi Pinata, The Four Inches, The Drunk Bus, The Stuff Yer Face Debacle...and so many more.

So many more...

"Sembrano diabolici, ma dopo che combattano Voltron che mighty potete portare ciò che resta la sede in una latta di rifiuti." - Bootleg Italian Voltron (Roughly Translated: "They look evil, but after they fight mighty Voltron you can bring what's left home in a trash can.")

"Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them." - The Dalai Lama

A Week's Worth of Worries

"I don't think that's a very good idea. You see, I'm very disappointing in person." - Palomba

Pt.1 - Trains

I didn't realize it till the other day, but not matter where I seem to move I'm never very far away from train tracks. There weren't any in North Haledon (little town's too prissy for that), but when I would stay with my father in Hawthorne there were. In Poughkeepsie the train line ran right next to my building, in fact (by sheer coincidence I'm sure) it ran right by all three of the freshman dorms and the trains passed by regularly (and loudly) at about 6:05 in the morning. In New Brunswick the trains were a little further away, but you could still hear them, and their tracks cut a neat little line across the city. In Fair Lawn my apartment was sandwiched between Route 208 and the Radburn Station, which made my complex a commuter haven (and ridiculously expensive) and which did me no good at all since I worked down the street. And now in Hawthorne my house is less than half a block from the same tracks my father's house was by. I knew they were there, but I didn't realize how familiar they would still sound. I haven't spent much time in my house since I moved in, but yesterday I was home for a bit, and I heard them. And I remembered them. I remembered the sounds.

Pt.2 - Dog Days

Work has been ridiculous. REE-DEEECK-U-LOSSS. These people turn every little thing into a catastrophe and they make the simplest thing into a major calamity. The other day I was in the middle of fifty things when the intercom went off. It was one of my mechanics telling me one of the other mechanics had been out by the dog cages and one of the dogs didn't look too good. I asked why they were playing with the dogs in the middle of the day and they didn't answer. A few minutes later a few of the drivers walked in and said they'd been talking to someone and they'd said that one of the dogs didn't look too good, he was laying on the ground and not moving. Then my secretary came in, said someone had just told her that the dog was just laying there with its eyes closed, not doing anything. I said I'd go take a look, but before I could the original mechanic walks in and goes, "Dog's just laying around with it's eyes closed not doing anything, I think there's something wrong." I said I was on it and dropped what I was doing to head out to the cage. When I got there, sure enough, the dog was curled up on its side with its eyes closed not really doing anything. I called his name, his ears perked up, his head shot up, and he bounced up off the ground and jumped against the side of the cage. He was yelping and running around just glad for a rare middle of the day visit. I laughed. A dog, laying in the shade, with it's eyes closed, not really doing anything...the son of a bitch was sleeping. There wasn't anything wrong with him, in fact everything must have seemed just right to him. As a side note when I came in this morning I could tell the dogs had been in the trailer, so I called my father and asked why. He says, "One of the mechanics said there was something wrong with him the other day so I thought I would let them inside." I thought that was funny until I found the little present they left me on the carpet in my office. Son of a bitch.

Pt. 3 - The Ride

I was driving to New Brunswick one night last week when the "Check Tires" light came on in my car. So I checked all the tires and made sure they were fine. I'm driving along and the "Check Gas Cap" light came on, so I checked the gas cap and it was fine. Then I'm driving along and the "Check Engine" light came on. I checked, the engine was there, that's about as far as I can go on that one. I have to get my car up to the dealer but I haven't had time, and with my warranty set to expire in a few miles I've decided to park the car until I know I can get it to the dealer. So I've been driving my pick-up truck for the past two weeks, and missing my car quite a bit.

"I need a girl. Not for sex, just so I have someone to go to the movies with and waste my money on." - Palomba

Pt. 3B-Someone Else's Ride

I was coming to work at 5:30 yesterday morning when I stumbled upon a car wrapped around a telephone pole. I hopped out only to find that the car was empty. I drove around for a bit, but couldn't find anyone that looked like they'd abandoned the car. I assumed whoever crashed the damn thing had fled. Maybe it was stolen, maybe they were stoned. But either way someone wrapped a car around a telephone pole and then just left. The cops drove by without even stopping. I don't know if I like working in a place like this.

Pt. 4- Play That Funky Music

Tonight is the first Youth Mass at St.Paul's. It will be an unmitigated disaster. I promise you this. I know things. I think it will go well enough, but they're expecting too much of it. I'm supposed to run the music. Maybe I'll replace the chants with Gwar. I would get a kick out of that. The things they trust me to do...

Pt.5 - Appearances

Someone keeps leaving bags of children's clothes on my porch. The night I moved in I found a foodtown bag with a jacket, a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts. Another night I found a bag with a few shirts and some socks in it. Two nights ago I came home only to find a blue book bag packed full of clothes sitting by my door. At first I thought it was meant for the people who used to live here, but they've been gone three weeks. Then I thought it might be for the neighbors, but they haven't said anything, and I'm not about to go knock on the door with a bag full of children't clothes and say, "For no explainable reason I have a bag of small children's clothes that I assure you have just been appearing on my doorstep which may or may not belong to the child you may or may not have." I can hear the sirens already. Hell, they can keep leaving the clothes as long as they don't start leaving the little kids.

Pt. 5 - Lost Fathers

I'm three episodes away from having watched the entire first season of Lost in the past 8 days. I think I really like that show. I'm terrible afraid they'll ruin it in Season 2. They're introducing new characters (hard to do for a show set on a "deserted" island), and there will be "major revelations". You're always worried about a show "jumping the shark", but in this case I'm just worried about the show becoming silly. I mean it's been halfway there since it started. Also, I'm beginning to realize that at it's core Lost is really just a show about fathers. Think about it. Jack has issues with his father, and becomes a sort of father figure to the people on the island. Locke was abandoned by his father only to meet up with him later in life, and then only to be viciously betrayed by him. Claire never mentions her father, but splits with the father of her soon to be baby. Charlie sort of assumes the role of "father" to Claire's baby, and in fact sometimes tries to protect Claire like a father would. Hurley's first spot of bad luck when he wins the lottery? He loses his grandfather who was like a father to him. Jin and Sun are forced to leave Korea because of Sun's father. Originally he was what kept them apart, then he gave them permission to be together, and then he basically forced them apart to the point where they flee the country. Sawyer becomes Sawyer when his father kills himself, and then goes after the man who made him who he is (perhaps the idea of the man who caused his father's death filled the void left by his father's death for Sawyer. Indeed he follows in the man's footsteps far more than he does his father's). Michael is the only father with a child on the island, even though he didn't raise the boy and is only filling in for the father who did. Hell I'm sure there will be more in the episodes of Season 1 I haven't watched, and even more in Season 2. This is what happens when you study film in school, you read more into things that you don't need to read more into. Maybe it's got something to do with father issues as well.

Speaking of...

Pt. 6 - My Father And Other Stories I Haven't Talked About This Week

I didn't realize until yesterday when I finally stopped working that I hadn't really stopped working in nearly two weeks. When people say that they usually mean they haven't had a day off. I haven't had more than a few hours off. Until yesterday the longest break I'd had in the last two weeks or so was less than 6 hours. When I finally crashed yesterday I crashed big time. The cut on my foot had been getting better, but yesterday it got worse. It hurt to walk again, so I was moving with a bit of a limp. I was so tired I was moving slow, and my head hurt something awful. It got to the point where by 9:00 yesterday morning my father said I should probably go home. So I did, fully intending to go back in a few hours. When I got home I threw in a load of laundry, cleaned up a bit, and watched a little more Lost. I meant to be back at work by noon. I instead I woke up around two o'clock having never realized I went to sleep. Shit. I never made it back to work that afternoon, in fact I didn't go back until late last night. It wasn't till then that I realized something. As I was limping towards the pick-up truck yesterday morning my father was telling one of the guys from the post office about the kind of hours I've been putting in lately, and about the toll they're taking on me. It's just like my father to make everyone out to be weaker than him, just like my father to make it seem like nobody else can cut it but him. But then...as I was getting to my car I swear I heard something I've never heard before. I swear he said to the guy, "I'm worried about him." I stopped, and almost turned around. But I wasn't sure he'd said that. Wasn't sure it wasn't just my sleep deprived mind playing tricks on me. Wasn't sure he'd said anything at all. But then again...

"I'm worried about him."

Hell, so am I...so am I.

Shadow Man

I dreamed last night.

I've been pretty busy, and although I'm used to it, it still bothers me a bit. I haven't been able to do much else but work. I get to work between five and seven in the morning, I get home between ten and midnight...when I'm lucky. It won't go on like this forever (I suppose it can't even though I think I could roll with it if it did), but it will do its damage while it does.

I get home and I'm pretty shot. If I haven't had dinner by then I usually just forget about eating all together. Maybe I have a soda, no nightcaps as of late. It seems I've temporarily given up alcohol. I haven't had a drink in...weeks? Could that be right?

I get home and I think for awhile. Then I watch a little bit of the first season of Lost because I've given up on everything else on TV and am hoping to find a show to follow. I crawl into bed, completely exhausted but afraid I won't sleep, and plug into my Ipod for a bit. I never fall asleep before listening to at least a few songs, but I never fall asleep with the headphones on either. I have to be able to hear the alarm at 4:00 A.M.



I dreamt last night.

I was standing in the lobby of a restaurant I didn't recognize surrounded by people I didn't know. There was a lot going on. I could tell it was cold out, but it was warm inside, the place had a certain glow to it. A cute blonde waitress grabbed me by the arm and told me that my friends were waiting for me at our regular table.

I went up the stairs into the dining room, and realized that the restaurant was really this bar I went to in New Orleans once. Except they didn't look the same, I just knew they were. And there were my friends. A couple of the guys sitting on one end of the table with their girlfriends, a few others who I hadn't seen for awhile sitting off to the side. My old roommates were there, and so were some people from church, and a few from the radio station. Dominic Monaghan from Lost and Lord of the Rings was sitting next to me with a few other people I think were actors and actresses but whose names I don't know if I ever knew. My dead grandfather was there, but only for a second and my sixth grade science teacher (who is also dead) was sitting at a table half a room away making googly eyes at one of the girls.

Everyone was laughing and talking and I sat down at the end of one table with my back up against the railing, and began to join right in. We ate (what I don't remember), we drank (bourbon of course), and we sang (long wobbling songs with witty lyrics and silly refrains). Then the cute waitress would stop by to fill up our cups and laugh at our jokes and by the end of the night we'd ate and drank our fill. It was a good time. A happy dream...

The table quieted down. It was a pensive silence. They were waiting, so I toasted, it only seemed like the right thing to do. I toasted to life. To Happiness. To old friends, new friends, and friends I'd yet to meet. I toasted to today, tomorrow, and yesterday. I toasted to lots of things. And then as soon as we'd finished our drinks I offered to buy another round. But my friends were tired (aren't they always?), the others were in a rush to move on to other things, the actors and actresses thought they'd had enough to drink, my grandfather and science teacher went back to being dead. It was an awkward moment. Me there still ready to go...and everyone fading off into the darkness.

I had my drink alone.

The restaurant was empty, the lights were out. It was still warm inside, but the door was open now and a cold breeze blew in. I picked up my coat and headed for the door. The cute blonde waitress stopped me and put her hand on my arm, "Long day, hun?"

I smiled, "You have no idea."

I walked out the door alone, still smiling. I barely felt the cold.

I woke up for work at 4 A.M., I was still warm.

Jerk (Off)

"Most guys masturbate a lot, I masturbate enough." - T.O. Hob

Wicked...

School started on Tuesday and like I predicted it was an absolute disaster. I pretty much held things together on my own and I spent the majority of that night patching things together. I had told Goldberg I wasn't going to make it down for our show, and he should get a replacement co-host for the night. He did, but at the last minute I managed to break out of work for a bit (it was 8:30 P.M. and I still hadn't taken even a piss break since 5:00 A.M.) and in what can be described as a minor miracle I hit Route 18 at the exact moment the program started. I listened to the first five minutes of the show in the car, and made it upstairs before the ten minute mark. Instead of interrupting I just let them keep going. Thing was they were good, not great, but good and by the time they realized I was standing there they'd already said quite a bit. And then, just after the first break, I came on the air. And the whole program sort of changed. Goldberg sort of switched it to a different level and the two of us never missed a beat. We'd had decent shows before, but this is the first one where the two of us hit our stride and never looked back. I think it was because we got to see what it was like when it wasn't the two of us for a moment. I've always believed in the power of showing up, but I hadn't noticed until the other night that showing up late can work out well too. If we keep on doing the show and keep on getting better we'll look back on Tuesday night as a huge turning point.

I remember when Matt and I hit that point. We were mostly crap mostly because we wanted to be. But there were a few moments where the two of us were brilliant, where we kind of fooled ourselves into thinking we were better than we were. We didn't just think we were good, we thought we might actually be good enough.

I guess I knew we never were, doesn't matter much now anyway.

So Tuesday's schedule went in the shit, and despite everything we did to cover some things slipped through the cracks due to no fault of our own. I spent extra time Tuesday night making sure Wednesday would go well. I worked 17 hours on Tuesday.

My father and brother were being assholes, neither one had a real grasp of what was going on but until things started going wrong they were toying with my planning and taking credit for a smooth morning. When they started fucking up it all came back to me. So I fixed it. No problem. That's what I do. I placated angry parents, drivers, and schools. I fought to get things right and hit back at my father and brother's stubborn and misguided efforts with a pitbull sort of tenacity. At 7:00 when they realized how badly they screwed up the board for the next day it took me an hour or so to fix it. At 8:00 when they realized the kid had forgotten to write a handful of runs that began the next day they gave-up, packed-up, and went home. I stayed up all night writing them, they were ready to go for the next morning. I worked 20 hours on Wednesday.

Thursday I drove a very long run because it had gone badly the day before. The run took up 7 hours of my day. I spent most of my time reminding the kid of things he had to do and trying to help him do them. I spent the rest of the time fixing the things he wouldn't listen to me about. In the year and a half I've been running things we've completely blown exactly one job. Thursday, the kid's third day of running anything, we blew four. I put a stop to it all real quick. Late Thursday night as I worked in the office the phone rang. I answered, said hello, and the voice of a young woman on the other end said, "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number." I worked 20 hours on Thursday.

Friday I slept late. Getting to work at 5:35 A.M. instead of 5:30 A.M. For the first time this season my father and brother made it in to the office before me (they also seven hours before me the day before). They had the nerve to call me and ask if I'd overslept. I drove for seven hours. Spent the rest of the time banging away in the office. My father overbooked and when he figured out he couldn't cover all the work, he left it all to me. It's Friday and I've worked 17 hours. And the day is not over yet...

The day is not over yet...

I Think I May Have Loved Her

Ha...just fucking with you.

Yesterday I had BBQ at my new place. It wasn't as big, or as grand as the other ones, but you know what? It was just as good.

We ate and drank our fill till the sun went down and then we set up the projector in the backyard and did a movie under the stars type of thing. Real nice...except we watched Dodgeball and the noise sort of pissed off my neighbors. By the time I tore everything down and cleaned up the aftermath it was getting pretty late. And that's when the fireworks started.

I'm not sure where they were coming from, but the sky lit up anew with every staccato explosion. They weren't big fireworks, or spectacular in any way, and I could barely see them over the trees as they seemed to be very far away. But they were nice, a nice ending to a long couple of days.

I took a shower, had a drink, and completely exhausted hit the sack. Three hours later I was on my way to work.

What a wonderful world.

It was a half assed BBQ by my standards, one full of embarassing quirks and minor revelations, but in the end it was still pretty good. It was a start.

I've got a feeling about tonight...a very, very strange feeling.

School's in.

Once more the wicked whirlwind....here goes Day One.

Thematic

"Once more the wicked whirlwind,
once more the dark grows wide,
once more into the night dear friends,
another day has died." - T.O. Hob

It's been a busy couple of days. I performed another infamous Palomba move, a fairly succesful one if I do say so myself and have begun the transition to working with a new dispatch manager (possibly my fourth in a month and already knowing he'll be leaving soon.). School season starts in a few days and we're certainly not ready. We'll figure it out though, we're professionals. (Cue the laughtrack.)

I've been something of a mess lately. Lot going on in my head. Lots of thoughts about a lot of people. Damndest thing though is that I'm glad to be thinking them. I've sort of made peace with some things that were eating me before. Now I just have to figure out how, so that I can do it again when I need to. It's left me in a bit of a good mood.

I read the latest Richard Laymon book (man's been dead going on five years but he's still publishing) and finally gave in and started "The Kite Runner", it seems fantastic so I'm glad I did. I still refuse to read "The DaVinci Code" maybe later.

I like my new place so far. I've only met one of the neighbors, but my dad says he met a few and they seemed nice. I haven't met the man upstairs, but since I'm something of an intruder at this point I think I'll wait a bit before knocking on the door. The lady next door has two kids ( a girl and a boy), both seem to be about eighteen, and when I came home on my first night the girl was sitting on the roof of her house talking on her cellphone. I started to laugh, it reminded me a lot of New Brunswick. I've already decided I like watching a community wake up far more than I like watching an apartment complex wake up. There's just something better about it.

I don't have an internet connection at the new place just yet, so it may be a few days before I can post anymore. I'm all geared up for working 18 hour days for the next week, and even more geared up for my half-asssed bbq on Monday. I talked to Matt from WRSU today and he is talking about coming down and talking to the new news team, which would be great. Corey is talking about getting the new kids involved early. The new news director seems like a nice girl. I can't wait to see what they do with it all. Lots going on, wouldn't have it any other way.

And I learned something new too.

My father was helping me clean out my old apartment the other night. It turned out to be a lot of work for two guys, and it was getting pretty late. I had hurt my back and been moving furniture all day, so I had just about had it. My father is getting old and had been working all day, so he was pretty tired too. As we walked back to the apartment in a dull warm drizzle of rain I said over my shoulder, "Thanks a lot Dad, I really appreciate all the help." He didn't say a thing. I stopped walking thinking that maybe he had stopped to light a cigarette, but he hadn't. I thought perhaps he hadn't heard me so I said it again, "Thanks a lot Day, I really appreciate all the help." He just walked past me, never said a word.

I've always known my father wasn't a "please" and "thank you" kind of guy, but what can anyone possible have against "you're welcome"?

I've decided that it's not that my father isn't very good at expressing himself, it's that he's incapable of it. I love my father, and deep down I think he may actually be a very good man. There are so many ways I wish I could be like him some day...and there are so many more I hope to God I'm not.