Margaret Cho doing a hilarious bit. “You know if’a you have a friend …and you likea you friend so much you don’t know what to do? ….. that’s kinda gay”
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Update: I originally wrote this when only the one “mistress” had been revealed. I thought, at the time, that he may have had real feelings for that woman and that had clouded his judgement. I’ve reconsidered my position a bit since.
Don’t be too hard on Tiger, all men stray if only in their minds. And most would stray physically, if given the opportunities which the rich and famous experience.
If I may use the Bible as an example; there was a man, King David, written about there. It was said of him, by God himself, that David is a “man after my own heart”, the only man ever to which this is attributed. Yet what happened to him? In a nutshell, he fell for another mans wife, even having the husband killed to be with her.
The trick is to control these thoughts, keeping them from being manifest, with a pre-built, strong character. But even this is easier said than done. There are countless examples of men of power and fame having character and discipline in other areas but failing in this one. From David and Solomon, to the more current FDR, JFK, Bill Clinton, Kobe Bryant on and on the powerful and famous are exposed.
We are each responsible for our actions but there is always forgiveness with repentance if we fail, only if it’s just forgiving ourselves.
Spiderman’s uncle was correct when he said: “with great power comes great responsibility”.
I was thinking about a situation in my life, it’s a circumstance that I have thought about for many years now. My thoughts and conclusions on the matter change often, seemingly with my mood. The following is something I was pondering the other day:
Every time I act out that is, try again to connect to the situation, I revisit the pain. It is many things, but overwhelmingly, at this point, It is the pain, the trauma, that connects me. It binds me, in a very deep and meaningful way.
I won’t let myself heal, it can’t get better, like a physical wound that I still pick at everyday, until there is a large and obvious scar, that I then reopen and let bleed, over and over and over again.
I don’t want to heal completely. Because I am afraid that if I “fix it” and begin to heal I will lose them, permanently. I fear that my life will lose that excitement, that drama of the heartache, I will miss the pain.
To me what I have, the pain, is better than nothing at all.
I was driving my elderly father to the VA clinic today. He was like a child going to the candy store, so excited. I suppose just because he was “out” and having some human contact. He has become more and more isolated, in these last years. Partly because of a severe hearing loss, that makes it nearly impossible to communicate with him. And partly because of his choice, he refuses invitation after invitation to go here or there, although perhaps this to has to do with the communication. Without communication people grow apart eventually, well, except in very unique situations.
Speaking of communication in relationships, I am reminded of a laborer I had at one of my houses, He was from Mexico and spoke very little english but over the course of months being on the property I discovered that his wife was from China and also spoke little or no english. I never found out how in the world they communicated enough to fall in love and marry. But where was I, oh yes.
As my father and I drove along, he said that he had, had the strangest dream (like father, like son). My deceased mother, my father and I were the players in the dream. In this dream my father was bedridden, I was standing by his bed watching him as my mother was in the distance calling to him. He said that he ask me something but I just turned and walked away without a word. He said he didn’t understand the meaning ….I didn’t tell him what it was.
He then said “I think of your mother often” and began to weep openly, she has been gone 11 years this August. I could only think surely after 11 years I will be better…
I got a DM on twitter about this “blog” that made me get to thinking about what I was writing here. It IS becoming very personal but it is also kind of therapeutic for me, this way. I have always been, what I thought was “weird”, but that was only because I never shared with anyone what was inside or what I was going through and therefore thought I was the only one on earth with these thoughts and feelings.
I don’t mean to sound “down” and I am not trying to elicit sympathy, but who knows maybe someone can empathize and feel better about something in their own experience, that would be good, right?. I suppose that I am just kind of venting and maybe when I am done it will turn back to fluff like so many other unneeded web sites . So yes this blog has become “personal” but let me continue.
I’m a gambler, And I’m a runner, But you knew that, When you laid down, I’m a picture of ugly stories, I’m a killer and, I’m a clown. Some lyrics from an old Alice Cooper song, Desperado.
I am a runner, I always have been. There is only one person in my life that I have never really run from, and even in that case I have attempted to escape from them, in various ways, a few times.
It all began when I was 6 years old, about the same time that I was sexually molested by a family member (I was later also molested by an older neighbor kid, maybe reinforcing my need to flee). I was to start first grade and my mother decided to get a job, while I was in school. She took a job as a waitress, as they were called at the time, at a local, little cafe on main street, only a short distance from the elementary school which I would be attending.
With all of the plans in place, school began and she went to work saying things like, “Can I top that off for ya, hun”. It seemed to be typical until one day I decided that I disliked the teacher, a treacherous witch that liked me even less than I did her. Often making me stand for hours in the place where the coats hung, until I “could behave as a gentleman”
Until one day I got a brilliant idea. “I don’t have to go here” I thought to myself “I will simply run away”. So when my fat, dreadful brother “dropped me off,” at school, I only pretended as if I was going in the building. Instead, when the coast was clear I ran, I ran, as fast as I could, for as long as I could, in the direction of the little restaurant, which I was familiar with, having had many fine dining experiences there.
When I arrived, I pressed my little nose, yes it was little once upon a time, against the large picture window in the front of the cafe, to try to get a glimpse at my dear mother. When she saw me there she was furious, coming out and scolding me. Then, after getting permission, she marched me back to the school.
This went on, and on, and on, with me running to various locations trying to get away. Until my mother, actually had a nervous breakdown, and was hospitalized. Forgive me mother I didn’t know those were so horrible. And the stigma, at the time was horrendous I am sure. After my father wore out a very thin leather strap on me enough times and I became embarrassed enough about the welts all over my legs, buttocks and back. I behaved like a gentleman and finished the first grade.
But my running days were just beginning. In the following years I ran from friends, girl friends, situations and responsibilities. But I never physically ran from my enemies, having many physical altercations all the way through and including high school, I guess that I have also had a few after becoming “a man” but I always, well almost always have prevailed.
This pattern continued as I approached my 18th birthday. I could not wait to “get out of the house” and vowed to run as soon as I could. No more insane mother, god rest her soul, or what they now call an abusive father.
(Let me stop the chain of events here, and not write a book).
So, that I did, I ran, as fast as I could, for as long as I could. And I continue to this day to cut and run, if I feel emotionally frightened or unable to deal with my feelings. I’m a picture of ugly stories, I’m a killer and, I’m a clown.
This blogging thing and I guess, the social networking thing in general really bothers me. I am, in reality a intensely personal individual (see my personality profile thingy over in the side bar, for details haha) and trying to participate, in all of this, causes me a great deal of anxiety.? But I keep trying to have an online social life for some reason. What is my reward??
Maybe it’s the way that on the internet there are no age differences and no class structure, per se. I am an older guy and have managed to become, what most would say, financially successful. I have Armani suits in my closet and Mercedes in the garage.
But I can, because of the internet, have a meaningful relationship with a college student in Indonesia, or the kid that works at McDonalds in Amarillo Texas. Plus it allows me, if I take advantage of it, to be myself, silly, artistic and maybe immature acting at times. In real life I have to be “proper” much of the time not allowing myself to appear average. But my online experience has taught me that it is ok to be me, all of the time, and that it is not necessary for everyone to like me. Although, I am still trying to implement these lessons in both worlds. I suppose, that’s my “reward” for being online, but what about my discomfort??
I think there are a many causes for my intense discomfort online, but let me speak of few in particular. One is that I am what they call in the “program” (oh I see this guys been in rehab, how trendy!) a people pleaser, meaning that I worry an unusual amount about what people think of me. This has been a real source of discomfort nearly my whole life and is especially hard for me online, where the playing field is leveled, as I?alluded?to before, and I can’t rely on my appearance, financial status or the little power that I have acquired in order to get people to accept me or my views and opinions.?
I am constantly wanting to delete something that I have said online, in fact, at this writing, I am wanting desperately to delete a reply to a user on twitter, only? because they did not respond, therefore, I reason, that it must have offended them in some way. Isn’t that bordering on insanity? It seems to me that if I have identified these problems with my personality that I would be able to stop this behavior, but can’t seem to do it, although I am, I think, better.?
Maybe it’s also that in my real life I am “the boss” and have ultimate control of all those under me. And on “the net” there is no control of anyone. Even the lowliest, in my opinion, of persons can call me an ass hole, or ignore me as if I was no one at all to them. Of course I do realize that I am no “better” than anyone else but please understand my reasoning.?
This “people pleasing” also causes me to be a sort of chameleon when meeting new people, I unintentionally, become what they are, adopting their likes and dislikes, in order to get acceptance by them. But sometimes it backfires on me and I get myself into trouble.
So these are some of the reasons that being online bothers me so much and daily makes me want to delete everything and stay away. But I just can’t, it is human nature to want to be social, even for the insane humans.
There I was, just parking my little phallic symbol of a sports car in the parking lot of my local Home Depot. When I hear a male voice shout out from an adjacent car, “hey dude that is a great car, wish you would give me a ride”. Looking toward the sound I saw a young man 20’s, I guess, with his very white teeth smiling wide, all decorated with colorful tattoos, dyed black hair,? one those little gloves without the fingers and sporting heavy eye liner. I say “thanks, maybe another time” and hurry into the store.?
Do I look gay? …not that there is, yada, yada… I mean this is not the first time this kind of thing has happened to me, although thinking about it, it seems to be equally divided between males and females because both approach me in various ways and places.?
At a recent concert I was setting in my seat, waiting for the thing to begin, with a beautiful lady at my side I may add, and an obviously gay young man leaned forward in front of the lady, and said to me, “oh my god, when you walked in I thought you were Sting, I felt faint!” WTF! Sting? Is that a complement? In all fairness it was the Elton John concert, talked about below, and he was drinking a lot, it being Vegas, and all. I simply said “I think you have had one to many”. And with that he turned back to his partner and began to whisper.
Another time I was in San Francisco, looking for my life. I was walking around the Hayes Valley area, making my way over to Haight St. in order to find a bar called, Noc Noc, that I had some strange sentimental feelings about, even though I had never been there, figure that out, I dare you!?
I was walking briskly, attired in my black sleeveless shirt, my guns shining, the left arm stamped with the Apple logo, an eternal symbol of my undying devotion. When I realized two young men were following me, for quite a while. I was thinking, muggers? Finally we came to a red light, I turned to stare them down and put the fear of god into their wimpy bodies. But instead of mugging me I think they wanted to wrestle in a different way. They began small talk, complete with pickup type lines, complementing my physique and the Apple tattoo. I was kind to them, even though I was dying inside over an unrelated matter. letting them know, subtly, that I was not interested in the proposed manajatua.
Let me throw in some female “incidents”: I was on a overseas plane trip once, alone, setting in my assigned seat, center, when a fairly attractive woman set down on the aisle, we exchanged the customary nods and smiles. I resumed reading and listening to my iPod. But noticed she kept looking at me, you know the feeling, like she wanted me to talk to her. So I did a little, “where you from?” “where are you going?” etc. By then we were into the flight enough that I had become sleepy an told her so. Shutting my eyes and dozing off I felt her snuggling up to me, I moved away, only to have her move closer, I nudged her away, to no avail. I was squeezed away as far as possible, so I just thought WTF, maybe she has something happening in her life and needs this little comfort, so I just let her snuggle and continued to pretend to be asleep for quite some time.?
Later we were both awake and the flight attendant came by and ask if “we” needed anything. The woman actually took my arm, so pleased that the attendant had mistakenly thought we were a couple, and said “no we are fine”. I was stunned and had racing thoughts about how to end my new found relationship without breaking her heart. I just acted preoccupied as much as possible for the duration of the trip. And when we landed I told her I was meeting someone and ask to exit ahead of her, then I ran like hell! The thing I usually do and am the most comfortable doing.?
I could go on and on, from the two women that followed me home, on two separate occasions, to the Korean school girls that mobbed me, for my autograph, in two separate locations, on a trip to South Korea. I don’t understand this, I really am quite ordinary in my opinion, really! Maybe this kind of thing happens to everyone and I am just trying to get some false self-esteem from it all, who knows.
P.S. I do know that a person should not gain self-esteem this way, but be honest we all do it.
I went to Las Vegas recently, I go every now and then, this time I decided to see some shows, actually two.
On the first evening there I went to see David Copperfield at the MGM Grand. It was a dinner show and I sprang for the good table, right in front, center, so close you could smell his breath, well almost.?
After a boring and unbelievably self promoting video, depicting everyone from Ronald Reagan to Conan O’Brien simply saying “David Copperfield, David Copperfield, he finally appeared in a box on a Harley, looking every bit of his 52 years and then some.?
Then ?for 90 minutes we heard lame jokes, making fun of audience plants and saw recycled allusions. It was mercifully over after the big finally ilusion, that I truthfully can’t remember. I left thinking this guy should have retired on top but, no, he had to keep trying to impress long after he was no longer impressive. I guess also, I was upset that I had paid $500.00 to see tricks that I had just seen in Honolulu for $40.00, and that cat made it snow!?
The next evening I went to see Elton John and his red piano at Caesar’s Palace. Although this time I bought “nose bleed” seats, thank god, still almost $300.00, I could clearly see that this was the same as Dave, maybe even more sad. Elton depended heavy on videos playing in the background, one video showed a giant pair of lips mouthing the words I love you, with the pursed “you”, that did make me well up with tears, but I digress.
After singing each of his “greatest hits” he would strut around the stage pointing at the audience looking more like an umpa lumpa than a “star”. I actually felt a little sorry for him at one point.?
The performers that die on top actually help their legacy so much, can you imagine people thinking a 75 year old Jim Morrison is such a deep, sexy, poet, while on some lame reunion tour, trying to reclaim some former glory??
So, I suppose, if it is financially possible, and one can deal with the loss of all the attention, it is best to just disappear from public view and leave the mystique intact.
