Homeless-ness: A Full Time Gig

Right now, this very minute, people all around the world are ruining Christmas for me. At least that is what I would say if the world revolved around me. But then, if you think about it...if the world really did revolve around me... we would probably be faced with quite a few problems, scientifically speaking. For one, my love and heart-warm-ed-ness, though weak most of the time, at its strongest would never be enough to fuel the earth and all its living creatures. Second, gravity would be severley messed up and people and objects alike would be flying around everywhere without a care.

Speaking of not caring, homeless people are an interesting bunch. I'm not talking about people that have fallen on hard times and currently are without home...not the legitimate ones. I'm refering to the people that are "homeless" by choice. These are the ones that you typically see on the corners, looking all pitiful and bedraggled, begging for money with their carefully crafted, authenic cardboard signs and misspelled words. They really tug at the heart strings, don't they?

I was leaving work from the arena the other day, here in the downtowm area, and I was approached by one of these seemingly lupine city nomads. He asked me for my spare change. I don't carry cash on me, to be honest. But instead of the quick "no", I responded with the question, "What do you need it for?" The weathered man responded, "I'm hungry and want to get some food." I then thought fast, remembering something my dad did many moons ago, and invited him to come across the street to the cafe with me where I would buy him some lunch. Normally, I would say that a truely homeless, deprived and famished person would jump on an invitation like this, but his answer was simply, "Thanks anyway." I didn't care. I wasn't even really going to the cafe; I just said that to see if he would bite (yeah, pun intended!).

At least they, meaning the bums, aren't all dishonest with their motives and purposes. Just the other day, another street fellow was standing on the corner with a sign that read "need money for pot". Now, although I can't say I totally support his cause, I do have to admit I was tempted to donate solely based on his straightforwardness and gumption. Everybody loves a bum with gumption.

Anyway, to wrap this bad boy up, I've decided that being a bum (and by bum I am refering to those sneaky societal "homeless" leaches) is a full time job. Yep, remaining jobless (in their case) is a full time job. In fact, knowingly or unknowingly, they have made a living out of trying not to make a living. If they would just put some of that tenacity (I was going to say will power, but then I started laughing and could barely type straight) toward a real, respectable career...they might make it. But then again, that is why they do what they do already...the pressure and responsibility of a respectable career and "making it" is just too much for their rag-dressed bones to handle.

THERE IS NO BLACK AND WHITE, ONLY GREEN

Who cares whether the candidates are black, white, female, male, old or young? The real question is: Do they drive a hybrid?


Elections are finally over. After what feels like decades of tough and, at times, dirty campaigning, America has chosen a new leader.

I find myself sitting on the couch, this Super Tuesday —the day many people around the world have been eagerly anticipating for months. The sun has been buried behind the distant horizon for hours. In fact, it was dark at five in the evening, making me and many others, I am sure, feel like the kid who gets sent to bed while his friends still play in the street outside his window.

On the TV I am being loaded with campaign information, a trickling of incoming national and state specific election results and the image of a frozen map with a growing number of red and blue states. However, it is my internal feelings that surprise me the most. I don’t want to make this a political rant, by any means, nor do I care to even share my particular political partisanship, but there are a few, unique things that I am sure many others are experiencing.

First and foremost, we have a new President. The election of Barack Obama came as an internal surprise; and by internal, I mean my own feelings. Typically I have voted Republican; that is no secret. However, this time around I didn’t feel partial to either candidate. So, here on election night, I find myself watching more than rooting. When the news broke that Obama had exceeded the necessary electoral vote number, I thought I would be disappointed because of my Republican-ness history —but I wasn’t. In fact, I confused myself with a feeling of excitement; excitement, I feel, being produced by the possibility of the unknown. Here is my reason. I will use a version of the cup half-full, half-empty metaphor to explain.

A McCain presidency, as I see it, would be like having a cup on the table. However, the cup is completely empty of any water, except for the remaining condensation that is slowly dripping down the outside and pooling onto the table where it rests.

McCain may be a new candidate (and by new, I mean not GWB. After all, the man is no stranger to running for president. He and H. Ross Perot should form a club.), and he may have new people surrounding him; but, over all, I never believed his team would be too different from what we have experienced in the abysmal Bush years. Had he won, I wouldn’t feel like there would be an overwhelming possibility for a new dawn, a dawn of change for the better.

With Obama, the sentiment is different. I don’t want anyone to assume too much from that statement, nor do I want to be awkwardly lumped with the “nuts for Obama fans”. I just find myself curious with the unknown possibilities —for better or worse— that might be with him as a president. And most of these feelings stem from the fact that I know little about how he plans to turn the sinking ship —that is our country— around.

So, to continue with the optimist, pessimist metaphor as it relates to an Obama presidency: the cup is on the table, and it also is completely empty. However, there is a pitcher with an unknown amount of water in it right next to the cup. Will there be enough to fill the cup, or will it leave it empty? I don’t know, and that’s why there is curious excitement.

SUPER POWERED

Superman had all the powers one yellow sun could bestow upon an individual. They included flight, speed, laser beam/x-ray eyes, and incredible strength that was advertised as stronger than steel —possibly even tungsten; but who knows, he was born in 1932, after all. All these attributes were sure to guarantee his financial freedom and pick of the ladies. However, he lived a lonely life, consumed by an alter ego and secrets he felt compelled to keep.

Batman’s super power was a bottomless wallet —an attribute many would love to share. Basically, he was the mortal equivalent of Superman, except with a lady on each arm.






Whether he liked it or not, Edward had scissor hands. I wouldn’t call it a super power, by any means, but I might say unique. And even though his career options were extremely limited because of this seemingly unlikely biological happenstance, he made the best of his situation.





He-Man was the mild mannered Prince Adam of Eternia one moment, and the hyper-buff He-Man the next. His power was straight forward; he was the strongest man in the universe. However, his stamina was suspect. He was also quite fast and fairly acrobatic, but this was hardly showcased due to budget restraints.


The X-MEN were mutants, just like the Teen Age Mutant Ninja Turtles…only, the turtles were a quartet of dudes who fell in some radioactive fluid at the exact same time an equal number of turtles fell in. Somehow they magically morphed together and were raised by an Asian martial arts instructor that, coincidentally, shared their same fate —except as a large rat. Their super powers included the ability to eat entire pizzas with a combination of toppings that would make any non-mutant turtle throw-up a little in their mouth.

Rocky Balboa’s super power was the ability to stay in the ring for dozens of rounds with an opponent twice his size; never block one punch —which resulted in a face that looked like a severely bruised plum— and still have the energy and heroic determination to win in the end.





Mario and Luigi were not super heroes at all, yet they are often referred to as “Super Brothers”. Fraternal love and saving a stranded princess does not equal super power, nor does smashing bricks with your head and jumping on mushrooms. I'm sorry, but your super hero status must be in another castle.



What in the world is a Green Lantern?

Captain Planet and the Planeteers were known for wielding elemental rings and taking the form of earth, wind, fire, and so on. If saving the world didn’t work out well for them, it was good to know they had a successful music career to fall back on —ba-dum-ching!




Spiderman was a spider, the Punisher punished, and the Kool-aid man could burst through brick walls without spilling one drop —OH YEAH.

The beloved Harry Potter was an emotional wreck, but who could blame him…his parents died when he was little —back off. Even though he struggled with spells, was a mediocre student at best, and had the worst communication skills of any adolescent wizard at Hogwarts, he did inherit a cool cloak.



So, even though there are many super powers that would be quite tempting to possess, I suppose if I had to pick one, I would choose the Scott Bacula Quantum Leap ability... without the having to solve people’s personal issues bit. It would just be fun to cause a scene at someone else’s expense. It might also be just as cool to be Scott Bacula.

Post a comment saying what super power you would choose?

The Diabolical Jerkbacks

The year was 1986. Ronald Reagan had traded acting for politics. Michael Jackson was readying the release of a follow-up to the immensely successful Thriller. I was in second grade.

Living in Las Vegas at the time, I enjoyed the rigors of grade-school academics. Honors and science-fair blue ribbons for superb volcano creations were just some of the accolades I had achieved at this young age. School yard chums and “yes or no” box-checking-crushes were not beyond me either.

However, not everything was smooth sailing; in fact, some things wee too smooth to enjoy. At an early age, we discovered I was allergic to gluten. This ruled out any possibility of eating grained goods. My stomach was very volatile and sensitive. Even the smallest piece of bread would send me running to the bathroom, hoping to make it there in time. This caused serious concern in my day to day activities, especially when I was away from the comforts of my home and bathroom.

One day I found myself sitting in class, quietly taking a vocabulary test with my fellow classmates. We had just come in from lunch. Cautiously matching the right definition with the right word, my concentration was suddenly broken by the all too familiar rumblings of my stomach. The flood gates were about to rip open. I didn’t have much time. I rose quickly from my chair and headed toward the teacher’s desk. She gave me permission to go, and I wasted no time leaving.

All had gone well. I sat back down in my chair and resumed spelling. Not more than ten minutes later, the rumblings returned. This couldn’t have been a worse time for an episode like this. I quickly jolted myself to the front of the room, once again pleading for permission to go to the bathroom. This time the teacher looked skeptically into my watery eyes. The answer was no. I had just come back from a bathroom trip and any reason to leave now was purely for juvenile no-goodery —at least that was her understanding and logic.

I returned to my desk, head lowered and worried. I didn’t know what to do. The pressure amassed in my stomach like an army attempting to break through the castle doors. My palms were sweaty, my forehead glossy with a mix of perspiration and anxiety. Then, without warning, the troops burst through the door. The castle had been breached. I had gone to the bathroom without leaving the confines of the classroom or my chair. The battle was lost.
I carefully made my way to the teacher’s desk for a third visit. This time I kept things short, sweet, and to the point. “Teacher, may I go call my mom? I need a change of pants.”

Besides me, the teacher, and my mother, no one ever knew what had taken place that tragic day. I can’t say I was embarrassed really, more discouraged than anything. It was quite the traumatic experience for a seven year old.

I have since overcome that particular allergy and am proud to say I have been nearly accident free for quite some time now —fingers crossed.

A Molding of Words

I thought it an odd, yet fun change of pace to post some poetry... in lieu of the usual smattering of words, opinions, and observations.

DEAR YESTERDAY

Minutes burn away, erasing tender moments we once shared together.
Now, only fleeting reflections of a distant past flicker their fading images on the screen of a weary mind.

Tick

It wasn’t long ago we were embraced in the arms of life, enjoying cool walks in the silvery rays of a moonlit stage.
Above us the star-speckled sky winked.
Heads would turn. Eyes would gaze with envy.
Together we shared of each other.
The world stopped its relentless turn. Seasons never changed.
Present played its Siren song, while past idled by on a park bench, lost in thought.
What we knew was what we loved, and future warmed our side.

Tick, Tick

Now gray, wintry days stretch for miles, and nights go on for years.
I long for times gone by, while future ambles off.
Past warms the bench to one side, distance spans my right.
And in the air a droning pulse resounds.

Tick, Tock

Aron: A Fine mix of Chaos and Order

I am really trying to be a more consistent poster of things. After all, what good is a blog if you never use it. On top of that, how do I expect to manage in the ever-evolving world of technology. I need to catch this bus and ride it, not just watch it go by.

I don't know why it is so difficult for me to write, maybe because I do it for a living. Which brings me to tid-bit number two. It has nearly been a year, and I must say it has been a pretty good ride...pun some what intended. Working for Larry H. Miller and the Utah Jazz has been a shear joy.

As many may or may not know, I work as the creator of Copy and Concept for LHM Advertising. I am responsible for many of the radio and TV spots you see for the many businesses of Larry H. It has been a great job. One that allows me to express my creativity in many different ways, go to Jazz games, and work out of the arena. It has also opened up new fun outlets for me and my silliness. I have included two commercial links if you would care to see them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VceiyEQcORc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZeM_nWJWleI


To add to the pile, I have been playing in the up and coming band LLoyd and Floyd and the High Octanes. You may have already seen them on TV. They are the un-official ambassadors of speed at Miller Motorsports Park. I also have a children's book that is to be published this fall, fingers crossed.

Believe it or not, I have a hard time writing a post such as this. I am not much for being too showy. I feel a little dumb doing it, but I have been asked on several occasions to share what it is I do and some of the things I have been in. I hope no one minds. If so, get over it. You knocked on my door and visited my blog, jerk. Sorry about the jerk bit; I didn't really mean it, or did I? Anyway, that and family is my life.

Bathroom Behavior

Be warned, this topic contains high levels of potty-language.

For some reason I am extra perceptive of my surroundings when in the gentlemen’s lavatory. I don’t know why this is, but I think I have it pinned down to a combination of several different contributing factors. Bathrooms are typically revolting places to be in, thanks to the supremely efficient and tidy manner in which the general male population comports themselves. This obviously tends to put me on high alert. Also, bathrooms seem to create an unexplainable element of shame. It’s almost as if, when entered in, they act as a self awareness vortex. This provides an entertaining show when you become aware of it.

So, what is it I’m talking about; what does it all come down to? Simply put —male bathroom conduct. The psychological behavior behind this topic would produce a wonderfully entertaining and thought provoking study, if you can bare to hear it. Without getting too in-depth and personal, I have logged a lot of mental notes about bathroom conduct and behavior I have witnessed, as it pertains to men. Where to begin…

“Two men are walking down the hall in an office building. Both are very animated as they converse about politics, local sports, and women. Before they know it, they reach the door indicating “Men’s Room”. As they enter the bathroom, they continue talking as they approach the urinals. Unconsciously, they each select the urinal as far away from the other person as possible, and conversation stops. They then proceed to do their business. One man looks up at the ceiling, the other straight forward at the wall. Both occasionally glance down to make sure everything is all right. When finished, they meet back at neighboring sinks, no huge spaces between them now, and pick up their conversation right where they left off.”

What happened; what changed? The human male is notorious for eking sounds and smells from their bodies and then talking about it non-stop. Often times they are criticized for their overly open discussions and displays. On top of it all, they find mountains of humor in it. I know; I’m one of them. But what changes in a public bathroom?

Here is another rather interesting scenario I have witnessed on several occasions. From time to time I will find myself sitting in a stall, taking care of business. To my chagrin, someone else will enter the bathroom. Quickly they realize the presence of another person in a stall and are too embarrassed to occupy another stall with someone (me) already in the other. Their minds race as they try to figure out what course of action to take. At this point, a number of different options will play out.
Option one: (and I have done this myself) they will go straight to the sink, wash their hands (maybe), and head right back out the door, making it seem as though they came in with a purpose, even if to merely wash their hands. The funniest part of this option is that the effort made to “save face” by washing their hands instead of looking stupid and embarrassed with no apparent reason for entering is wasted energy because the other person can’t see you through the stall walls anyway.
Option two: another “save face” alternative: the person realizes someone is in a stall already and decides to fake number-one to demonstrate a purpose for entering the bathroom in the first place. This one usually backfires because, more often than not, they don’t have to go, or stage fright won’t permit it, and end up embarrassing themselves more by standing at the urinal for a minute, making now noise, and flushing without having gone. To make matters worse, they decide not to wash because they didn’t go; and after leaving the bathroom realize, “now that person thinks I don’t wash my hands. Crap.” Admit it; you’ve done this or something like it.
Option three (my personal favorite to witness): The person enters the bathroom, sees the person in a stall, but undeniable urges help him bravely decide to follow through anyway. However, after comfortably seated, the person begins to institute “courtesy flush” after “courtesy flush” in an effort to spare you of the noise. But that’s not the truth; it’s the excuse. We all know the real reason goes back to what I mentioned before —bathrooms create a stigma for keen self awareness and shame. That person was more concerned for his fragile bathroom ego and masking the noise than he was for my level of comfort.

So what does it all mean; why do these things or others like them, happen? I don’t know for sure. But for some reason they do. Despite our huge talk, we are all insecure when it comes to public bathroom actions. The funny thing is… everyone poops. We all do it, and we know we all do it. But, for some reason we attempt to hide it in a way to convince ourselves and others that it is only something that other people do. There are many more observations and crudities that I can mention, but time and space won't permit. In the end, after becoming more aware of bathroom behavior, I still find myself putting my own level of comfort as a less important priority as I search for an empty bathroom to really let loose.