Bathroom Design

I am writing this entry in response to a hilarious entry I had read earlier today.

The first thing we need to get out of the way is the very nature of a “Men’s Restroom.”  This room is no longer a place of “rest” as it has morphed from a convenience into a still frame from a horror movie.  The premise of a public bathroom is a simple enough idea, and you would think that design would be the least of our worries as we hustle into the public bathroom looking to unload.

The reality is that the design of today’s public bathroom, and specifically the male bathroom, is cause for great concern.  Jamelah had mentioned in her blog three (3) areas in design that need urgent attention and I would have to agree with her on those points.

Point 1:  Stall size needs to be moderated.  Small stalls can pose a danger.

Point 2:  Toilet height needs to be standardized.

Point 3:  Doors need to swing in one direction, in or out.  Jamelah prefers out and I could come up with strong arguments for both.

Inward swinging door:  This poses a problem for those doors with lame locks.  Most people wouldn’t think a broken nose or a concussion could ever occur while going to the bathroom – but if you come across an overly aggressive man trying to break his way into a stall, then you know it is entirely possible.

Outward swinging door:  This poses a problem for those doors with lame locks, again.  Instead of someone trying to knock you back into the wall with the door, they simply reveal your agony and embarrassment as they tear open the door.  Also, the stall-member who is rushing to escape the stall poses a danger to anyone passing by as a door can quickly fly open to say “hi” to your face!

Now that I’ve gone on my tangent, let’s get back on track and talk about the main issues with the design of a male bathroom.  Keep in mind that males are blessed and now cursed with the ability to pee while standing up.  This unique talent also allows males to aim their urine in whichever direction they choose.  Some may ask, “well wouldn’t you just aim it in the toilet?”

All I can do is hope.

Some males find it fanciful to go freehand when they piss.  How you ask?  Well, I’m glad you asked because there are many ways males go freehand and many reasons why it’s wrong.

Superman Freehand:  Both hands are stretched forward and palms are pressed against the wall above the pee-destination.  This often results in uncontrolled backsplash and innocent shoes ruined forever.

Proud Man Freehand:  Both hands are firmly placed on the hips as the male stands perfectly erect and watches in pleasure as his hose flails about miserably like a firehouse without a fireman.  This always results in piss going everywhere.

Part of the problem with the freehand method of pissing, is the urinal.  Which brings me to design flaw number one.

Urinals should catch pee, not deflect pee.  The urinal is a great appliance for males across the world.  They can quickly run up to any urinal, unzip, unload, zip and retreat.  The problem with urinals is this odd need to have “nice” urinals.  The only “nice” urinal is one that doesn’t deflect my piss back at me, not on my pants and certainly not on my shoes.  Some designers have tried to avoid this by lowering the urinal so you can get a more direct line into the center of the urinal drain.  Some have gone as crazy as putting the drain for the urinal on the ground.  What.  The.  Fuck.  Haven’t these designers figured out the fatal flaw in this?  A hose can only spray a neat, clean line for so long, before the line begins to separate and look more like a shower head.  If you drop the drain to the ground, you should also include shoe polish in the bathroom because my shoes look like I just took a walk on the beach!

What’s more disgusting than realizing you sprayed piss on your own shoe?  Realizing that piss on your shoe is also the piss from the guy next to you.  Which brings me to my next point.

Urinal separators need to separate. Have you guys ever seen that urinal separator that looks more like a cereal box stapled to a wall?  I’m talking about the separator that is so low and so narrow, that when I unzip and look down, my peripheral is unfairly tainted with the view of some random dude’s junk.  What about those guys who like to challenge themselves and stand 4 feet away from the urinal?  That little separator is not protecting us from these rebels at all.  The solution is to build out a long tall wall that is about six feet high, stretches down to the ground to protect me from random piss (see above) and protrudes out from the wall about 3 feet.  This way I can take a piss without being subjected to the freehanders, stray pissers and random grunts and noises.
My third and final point is a point that applies to all sexes, but for some reason, has gone completely unscathed for decades.

Toilet paper, not sand paper and not rice paper.  How often do you find yourself spinning toilet paper around your hand like your wrapping up a ball of yarn just so you can get enough protection to cleanly wipe?  How often do you find yourself at CVS or Rite Aid looking for lotions and creams to help heal the searing pain on your ass because the toilet paper is made from half recycled beer bottles?  Nothing compares to the terrible feeling you get when you’ve been forced to enter a public bathroom and of all things, sit on a public toilet.  But after going through so much pain and torment, when you go to spin that toilet paper roll and you realize you’re in for a journey?  I mean, come on man!  Why are you so fucking cheap with the toilet paper?  The consistency of toilet paper in the public bathroom is either thin enough to dissolve with a drop of moisture, or so damned strong that you can use it to sand down your coffee table before you stain it.

To recap:

Urinals don’t serve their purpose because more piss leaves a urinal than enters it.  Please just give me a bowl of water to piss into and I’ll be fine!  My shoes thank you.

Urinals require separation that serves a function.  A function that keeps me from having to watch a freehander shake violently and a function that keeps me from having to see that you clearly have a herpes outbreak today.

Charmin needs to be adopted by all public bathrooms.  Raw asses and stained hands will rejoice!

The Doomed Generation

Shortly after arriving at work I found myself double-clicking Firefox and navigating directly to various news/media sites.  It didn’t take long for me to stumble upon an article that got my rusty gears cranking again.

My eyes wizzled through the article as my mind held its breath, hoping for that one profound statement that would send my spiraling thoughts overboard into the tumultuous sea of anger and frustration.  But as the article wound its way down and the advertisements beneath began to rise, I knew I had to be the one to make that profound statement.

Why is it so wrong for the people of a nation to want the government to help?  Upwards of 35% of my paycheck is taken away from me and I’m hard-pressed to tell you where all that money goes.  However, if the inability of the government to sustain and regulate its own economy has wreaked havoc on millions and millions of American families, then why, I ask you, is it so wrong to ask – no – EXPECT the government clean up their own mess?

Predatory lending practices.    Unsanctioned military actions.  Trillions spent on false wars.  Oil speculation.

Who has benefited from all of this?  Banks are failing miserably and desperately trying to pass off their costs of foreclosures onto new borrowers, so they certainly aren’t aided by this.  Thousands of our troops and countless more families and friends have been devastated by the losses and injuries sustained by those sent to fight in a war veiled by “our need to protect our way of life.”  Meanwhile, our way of life has come under attack from within our own borders with skyrocketing energy prices and an economy that can’t sustain itself let alone grow.

Oil speculation.  Big energy companies and the oil futures market has become grossly wealthy since this began – and it truly began when the government decided it wasn’t necessary to regulate the oil futures market to ensure speculation didn’t falsely drive up the cost of oil.  As we typically do in America, we saw an opening, a loophole and we took advantage – even if it meant sabotaging the American Dream in the process.

And in the midst of all of this we have a government with no accountability and one that accepts no responsibility for the current state of life in America.  The government can claim it needs to spy on its own citizens to protect our way of life, but they hesitate to pay Medicare doctors fair wages.  The government can argue we need to attack the Iraqi’s and Iranians because they pose a threat to our safety, but with hundreds of thousands losing their jobs – who is going to protect their families?

The cost of a house in the past decade has risen to astronomical values, but when those unrealistic home prices drop 5% in a couple years, the housing market begins to self implode – who is going to protect the average citizen from losing their home?

This administration, our current government has stressed time in and time out, “If you are not with us, you are against us.”  The cowboy mentality of guns blazing and riding into town to save the day is nothing more than a farce; a cruel prank played on us all.

Government has assumed the right to impose laws that “protect ourselves from ourselves” and to protect the innocent.  Abortion has come under heavy fire in recent years, but not a peep about the death penalty.  Recently, the current administration has been trying to persuade law makers that contraceptive pills, birth control, are a form of abortion and should be regulated as such.  Two people who share a life, a home and a family are told by the government they cannot be married in the eyes of the government, and this is done “to protect the sanctity of marriage.”

I see so much that has changed in the past 8 years of this once great nation.  I feel beaten, battered and worn down.  I feel cheated, robbed and scarred.  I see so many of my fellow people struggling to just survive.  These people aren’t concerned with the “American Dream” they just want to feed their families and put a roof over their head.  They just want to wake up and have a job to go to, a meaning in life.

In a nation that has put so much focus on working towards success, towards a unified goal of freedom – we’ve fallen terribly short.  Owning a home is truly a dream in today’s economy.  Earning a fair wage out of college is becoming an endangered practice.  And it’s not just the salaries that are bias, it’s the cost of living.  In 1962, the mean annual household income was just over $50,000.  In 2007, the mean annual household income was just over $75,000 – that’s a 50% increase in salaries over a 45 year period.

In 1962 the average cost of a home was $20,000.  In 2007 the average cost of a home is just over $200,000 – that’s a 1,000% increase.  If the cost of a home were to remain on par or close to the mean annual household income, homes would cost on average, $30,000 (a 50% increase over 45 years).  If the mean annual household income were to remain on par or close to the average cost of a home, salaries would average over $500,000.

But I digress.  My point is going to become lost in these numbers, in my ramblings.  Our focus has been so heavily on one matter that we so easily forget to focus on the others.  I’ve illustrated this in my writing and we’ve experienced this in our lives.

We’ve put trillions into protecting our way of life while our way of life has suffered because of the lack of focus on ourselves.  Our focus is guided by those in power who tell us what our focus should be.  For 8 years our focus has been safety and security for the future.  I hope we can spend just one of the next few years focusing on ourselves for a little bit, to secure our personal futures in our personal lives.

A Return to (un)Normalcy

Here we go again! I’m sitting in the airport, but I’m not on my way to an exciting destination or even to see family or friends. I’m back on the road again, but this time, it’s on my own terms.

Minneapolis is the destination city (MSP) and as I sit here in New York City (LGA) I begin to realize that this is for real. I’ve just left my cushy job at CA, Inc. where I was free to go home each day for lunch and play with my puppy. I had freedom to work from home as needed and was well on my way to be a Project Manager. But I gave it all up. You may be curious as to why I gave up a job so close to home, both literally and figuratively. After all, CA, Inc. was supposed to be the company that catapulted me to the top of my game – but after only 10 months, I’m already on another journey.

People like to think that things come full circle. Circles are, for all intents and purposes, representative of life. The wedding or engagement ring is to symbolize the circle of life and unending/undying bond of love between a couple. Elton John wrote a nice song for Lion King titled, “The Circle of Life” as it depicted a young Princes rise in society to take place of his fallen father. And just like these circles, I’ve circled back to RWD Technologies, Inc. They’ve taken me on as a contract employee this time, so I have an opportunity to pick and choose my projects as well as my pay. As a contract employee, RWD will pay me for each hour worked, and will pay the government my required taxes, but they do not offer you benefits of any kind and can simply choose to NOT hire you back for another project upon the completion of your contract.

I’m doing this on my own terms this time.

The Transformation

Ebbs and Flows.  Ups and Downs.  Wins and Losses. 

 Over the course of our lives we’ll encounter the good, the bad and the ugly – this should be no surprise at this point.  A true testament to our perseverance is how we come out of the downs, the bad, the losses.  But it’s only in retrospect that we realize after X number of losses, we undergo a slight transformation.  A person can take only so much suffering before drastic measures are set in place to derail the next pain train.  A desperate person is capable of nearly anything and it is also why a desperate person is the most dangerous type of person – they’ve got nothing to lose. 

Failing to derail the train will result in the same loss as experienced before, but succeeding to derail the train would be a huge win.  When a couple reaches a point in their relationship when arguments become cyclical and they just never seem to agree on anything, it’s not out of the ordinary for one member to expect something drastic to change.  The problem with this isn’t the need or desire for something drastic but the level to which that person demands change.

For me, I’ve convinced my brain that we need a geography change, an escape from her family.  I want her to begin depending more on herself and on me, than having that “cushion” knowing her family is always there for her to help her out.  Yet when one looks inward on this discussion it is a fair point to say that I don’t think it’s healthy to rely on your family; because I don’t.  I’ve always been self reliant, and when I needed help from others, I not only made sure I paid them back in full, but returned the favor later down the road – but above all, I did everything I could to remove myself from under their wing. 

Does this make me a better person than someone who is more willing to admit they need help and even more willing to accept it?

No.

Does this mean that my approach to assistance is the only acceptable approach?

Not at all.

Then why do I present it as such?  Why do I argue so vehemently for these types of actions when I know that my approach is one of many that will yield a positive result?  Much to my surprise, this is when I realized a transformation was underway.

I had first thought a transformation was underway when I began speaking of moving off Long Island.  Shortly after that, I realized the necessary transformation was maturity.  It doesn’t matter that I’ve been out of college for 30 months, or that I appear and act older than my actual age (24). 

My mentor professor sent me a document to help me overcome my own barriers.  I read it once and immediately got her point, it was clear as day. 

• High School Graduates realize they have much to learn
• Undergraduate School Graduates think they know a lot
• Graduate School Graduates realize there is much they don’t know
• Doctorate Graduates realize they know nothing

It is this logic and reasoning that helped me realize that while I think I know a lot, I have a lot of developing and learning ahead of me just so I can realize I know squat!  It’s so ironic that I position myself as someone who is so open minded and willing to learn, but I still argue my points to the death without failing to acknowledge the counterpoints.  When I get all hyped up and excited about something, I stick to my guns.  When the smoke settles, I can look back and see where I fell short and usually can admit that I was wrong.  It’s during the gun fight that I’ll defend my position like a Shao Lin Monk.

I’ve got lots to learn, I know this.  But above all, I can’t learn it all.  This is something I’m still trying to swallow.  I’ve prided myself on be knowledgeable, and have found myself only touching on wisdom here and there.  At what point will I take a step back and realize that I need to find a balance between learning and understanding?  At what point will I be able to accept my own shortcomings, and work on achieving goals rather than impressing those around me?

Do I care what people think about me? 

Of course I do.

Do I let people’s opinions of me drive me?

Absolutely. Isn’t that how we become successful?

Is it wrong?

That depends on how much you allow others to impact your decisions.

I’m comfortable now.  I don’t get upset or shy when I admit that I care about what people think.  It doesn’t make me vulnerable, only human. 

The Indifference of Good Men

“Never shall innocent blood be shed. Yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river. The three shall spread their blackened wings and be the vengeful striking hammer of God.”

For those of you who have an affinity for great films, I’m sure you’ve heard the above quote from “The Boondock Saints.” (ahem!) I was talking about this film with friends this weekend and we discussed the interesting dual plot of the film as well as the dual role of this particular film.

Many films that we see today can be easily placed into one category; such as action, drama, comedy, romance, etcetera. With “The Boondock Saints” you find yourself watching an action film, but what you may or may not realize, is that you can’t help but think about the moral of the story long after the film’s final scene. These types of films are the ones I like to call “dual plot” film because the film has one plot (good men doing bad things to bad people), but the story has its own plot, a plot that is intended to be played out after the film ends.

As my friends discussed the story plot (the one that occurs after the film), we began to wonder how our society would react to this type of behavior. At the end of the film, the director showed some clips of what appeared to be interviews with everyday people. These people were either praising or condemning the “Saints” for whatever reason they could think of. Some of the standard responses that you would expect to hear were:

• The streets are safer without the pimps and drug dealers and murders.
• What makes them any different than the murderer if they murder themselves?
• It’s not like they’re killing good people.
• Who gives these men the right to take life?
• One day they’re killing murders, the next they’re killing those who litter.

I started to think about how I would respond if someone came to me and asked, “Do you think it’s okay for people to kill evil men?” Being a Sociologist at heart, I first begin thinking about the societal repercussions of such actions. Being a Scholar at heart, I then start thinking about history and how people have reacted to this behavior in the past. Being a Human, I finally think about how I would feel if someone killed my brother because they thought he was evil.

In the end, you have a mess of thoughts circulating, all tied together with one common thread. But before I tell you that common thread, allow me to map out the thoughts I had while pondering this question…

1. How will society react? Right now, many people in the world view George Bush as evil. If he was assassinated, our country would likely respond in a most aggressive manner. The end result is a probable war and in the worst case scenario, World War III.
2. How has society reacted? Hitler began pointing out “evil conspirators” against his own country and proclaimed that all Jews need to be extinguished to save their society. He began systematically “cleansing” and a World War erupted all across the world. Even stationary battleships were bombed in a country that was not yet involved in the war.
3. How would I react? I can’t imagine that Saddam Hussein’s family was thrilled to watch video of their family member being hung because others thought he was evil. He may have been the most evil man in the world, but I’m sure someone, somewhere loved him and was devastated. But is it okay to take the life of one person to save the lives of many? That is what was done in this case, but I can’t say that I wouldn’t be vengeful.

The common thread here is that what one views as evil, another may view as a liberator. What one views as dangerous, another views as protective. Therefore, the only logical way to solve these types of issues is to come to a NON-UNILATERAL consensus. No one person should be able to decide the fate of any person. This is why we have jury’s and judges and courts of appeals and due process. If one person were allowed to make such major decisions as to the fate of another human being, our society would be nothing more than a blood thirsty peoples all vying for the “Top Dog” spot; so that we can execute our enemies.

In the beginning of this wonderful film, a priest is lecturing his church on current events. He tells a story of a young girl who was killed in broad daylight, and not one person who was around did anything to help. He posed a thought that was meant to sit residually in the back of your mind the entire movie. At the end of the movie when you try to answer that question, you may find yourself writing a blog about it and fiendishly searching for your own answer.

Since I can’t directly quote the Priest verbatim, I’m going to write it as I remember…

“Of course we must fear evil men, but there is another evil that we must fear more… and that is the indifference of good men.”

The Balance

I find it amusingly peculiar how we, especially myself, put so much effort into our endeavors with the hope of a greater return. Why do we allow ourselves to believe that it is acceptable to work for 40+ years? So that we can enjoy the last 20? Would the logical man not say, “Enjoi it while you’re young?” For every 9 or 10 hour day I spend in the office, how much time do I get to spend at home? How much of that time at home am I as devoted and focused as I am during the 9/10 hour shift? How much of that time at home do I spend sleeping or eating or showering or maintaining the home, and how much time do I spend ACTUALLY enjoiing my time at home and the company within it?

The answer may seem fairly obvious to the last few questions, it’s the answer to the first couple that I cannot seem to find. The problem with life in our society, is that our lives are built around work. We go to school and work hard to get good grades. We get good grades and then we get into the good college. We study hard night and day and cram for exams overnight over pots of stale coffee and beer stained sweatpants. We graduate and get the good job out of college. Being new to the workforce, we work the extra hours and study extra hard to stay ahead of the game, so that we can pad our resume with gold stars and double-thumbs up. Some of us go back to school while working so that we can get an even more advanced degree; as we split our time between work and school and leave none for friends and family.

When we finally get together with friends and family, what do we talk about? Work. Money. Stress. Why don’t we talk about friendship, stories, our hobbies and current events? We compare our salaries and our titles as we did when we were kids, except back then, we compared baseball card collections and a shiny new bike. We work our fingers to the bone and our relationships thin, and we do it all for the sake of competition, to be the best!

But what are we the best at? Ruining our own lives from the inside? Sabotaging our relationships, friendships and health? Distancing ourselves from our dreams as kids, to be astronauts, firemen, lawyers and doctors? We struggle our entire lives to be the best, and when we fail, when we fall short of our expectations and of societies expectations; what then? Do we simply bow out of the race? If so, what then? There will always be a “what then” as long as we’re alive.

Sure, we have the “American Dream” to strive for right? What happens after you get the dream job, big house and white picket fence, two and a half kids with a furry dog and energetic cat? What then?

In our society, we feel the need to have our lives headed in a direction; in this case it’s work. We are so afraid to just live life, that we need to set guidelines for ourselves. God forbid we go out and explore the world that was built around us. How dare we even think to quit our jobs to travel the very Earth, the very miracle that we walk on, spit on, drive on; every single day. And how blasphemous to think that we could take a job, doing something we love, and just letting that be enough.

We secretly mock those who swing a pick axe for a living. We look down on the man who rides on the back of the garbage truck and has to pick up the debris left behind. We wonder why the 40 year old lady at the local grocery store works as a cashier rather than working in an office, in a cubicle and behind a computer.

Deep down inside, we’re all cowards compared to these people. Or maybe they’re cowards because they didn’t devote their lives in the same manner we have. Either way, one of us will be the coward, and the other will be the fool. We all believe that live is about attainment, rather than life being about life.

I remember towards the end of high school, my friends were picking up their yearbooks and flipping through the senior pages to read quotes and quick biographies on themselves and their friends. We all read aloud the “Senior Quotes” and chuckled as some people took them less seriously than others. Since I spent my senior year of high school attending two different high schools, I never had the chance to write a senior quote. I missed out on my one opportunity to be immortalized and remembered for that special one-liner.

In the back of my mind I made up a quote that, at the time, meant nothing to me. I was trying hard to be deep and insightful – so I spoke in a circle.

“Live life like it was meant to be lived.”

Again, at the time it didn’t mean much to me and I’m still surprised that I remember that line to this day. I didn’t necessarily live my life to this motto, or mantra; but in an odd way, I feel that I may have been all along. Granted, I still went to college and I still got the job with the 10-12 hour shifts and I spent little time with friends and family. But to be honest, deep down inside, I always felt that I was living life the way it was meant to be lived. Even while at work I did what I could to insert a little piece of myself into every mundane task. I did my best to make those around me comfortable and I tried to build friendships and relationships with those people who were willing.

I didn’t spend as much time with Kelly as I would’ve liked. If I had my way, I would never work a day in my life and I would spend every moment sitting next to her, traveling with her and just living with her. Every moment that I spend with her is a moment more I wish I had. It’s funny now that I think about it because I lecture others on devoting their lives towards a direction and all I can think about is devoting my life to Kelly. All I can dream about is devoting my life to my children, my friends and my family. And in the end, when I go to meet my maker (whether it be a He, She or They), what will I be able to look back on? Will I regret not making an impact on the world and leaving my mark? Will I regret not making more money or getting that position as CEO? Will I regret not running every day so that I could live an extra year or two. Will I regret the nights of drinking and partying with friends?

I don’t know the answer. I don’t want to know the answer. All I want to do, is…(you know )

The Angst

Do you ever get the feeling that life is just a series of gut-wrenching events, one after the other? I know that, at times, I have felt like this. Lately, I’ve been working diligently on counting my blessings and taking pride in my successes. But lo’ and behold, along came another one of those events that made my stomach turn and my blood boil.

I’m sure if you are reading this, that we have likely spoken about this event last week, however, I feel the need to click it out on the keyboard in hopes that my fingers will write out some thoughts that my mind is incapable of translating. Last Thursday, Kelly invited some of her coworkers out to Dave and Buster’s during Happy Hour to celebrate her new job. Kelly was finally able to get a position in an HR Department with a reputable company – and she was duly excited. In anticipation of this celebration, I also invited some of our friends out as well as they invited their friends.

The night started out on a tremendous note. As people arrived at the bar they congratulated Kelly and ordered a delicious beverage from the bartender. We sat around and talked in two small groups, all reminiscing about life, work and all that fun stuff in between. As the night progressed, so did our states of inebriation. Some of us are able to hold our liquor better than others, and some of us should never be allowed to drink.

Now many people believe that when you are drunk, you are incapable of lying because your inhibitions are simply gone! Other’s argue that when you are drunk, you are the complete opposite of the person you are when you are sober – again, attributable to the lack of inhibitions. Either way, there are those of us out there who do not hold people responsible for what they do or say while they are drunk, simply because that person has no cognoscente behavior about them.

One of the people who was invited by a third party (I guess that makes him a 4th party, however, the “third party” was really a 2nd party because he is directly friends with Kelly and therefore invited by virtue of that relationship) has been known to do incredibly stupid things while he is wasted. Now I have hung out with this individual in the past and I held him in high regards. He is very respectful, reserved, and generally a nice person. At one point in the night we look around at our surroundings and find this person standing very close to another one of our friends, a girl. He is practically pressed up directly against her and talking into her ear. Knowing that she likely wasn’t comfortable about this drunkards behavior, I walked over and pulled “the guy” off. I told him that she had a boyfriend and his actions were not acceptable.

As he looked at me, I could tell that he wouldn’t remember a moment of this night, as his eyes rolled upwards then downwards and all around his sockets. He tried to tell me that everything was okay and he began to walk back towards the girl. I watched him closely to make sure he didn’t try to get too close to her again, but what a surprise – he was pressing up on her again!! My friend and I walked over to him as the girl was trying to get away from him. He kept pulling her in and she kept telling him no, and he kept pulling her in. The two of us grabbed his arms and pulled him back aggressively, and made sure that the girl was able to safely walk back to the group. She nestled herself in between Kelly and our friend. Now the two of us were holding him back and we made it abundantly clear that she was off limits and he was not to go near her for the rest of the night.

At this point he tried to hand me money, why? Who the fuck knows why (I actually found out the answer later in the evening, but we’ll get to that)? This time, instead of letting him go, we told him to stay put as the two of us returned to the bar to talk to the others. A few minutes later I was standing next to Kelly and I saw this guy walk towards us. He didn’t appear to remember anything we told him because he was acting like nothing happened. At that moment, things changed. This guy tried putting his arm around Kelly, and without any hesitation, the second his arm came towards her, she grabbed his wrist, pulled it away and screamed, “NO!” The foolish boy tried this a few more times and the same result occurred every time, Kelly grabbed his arm, twisted it, and pushed him back, screaming, “NO!”

Kelly stood up at this point and began to scream at him. The kid stood there and rocked back and forth, as if he was ready to fall sideways. Kelly started to walk away and he reached for her. He said something to her and Kelly screamed at the top of her lungs, “I SAID NO!” At this point, after watching Kelly impressively defend herself, I walked over to the guy to speak with him. My blood was boiling at this point and my first instinct was to choke him. I wanted to grab his neck with my huge hands, and squeeze it as I pressed him over the railing. I wanted to get into his face and speak quietly to him, letting him know that if I ever saw him again that I would make sure he regretted it. I wanted to squeeze his throat until his eyes watered blood and he choked on his last breath; then I’d let go and watch him cough and gasp to fill his lung with air.

But I didn’t. In an instant, I thought about the repercussions of the above actions and how it could seriously backfire. I thought about the alcohol in my blood and how it was altering my perception of reality. I also thought about Kelly, and how she defended herself without hesitation, and with honor. So I didn’t do the things that ran in my head. Instead, I told him to never talk to Kelly again and to stay away for a long time. He again, tried to hand me money. This time, I was enraged and asked him what he thought it would do.

Just prior to him handing me money, he tried to hand it to Kelly and she screamed at him, “What do you think I’m a prostitute you fucking asshole!?”

His response was, “Rich girls like money.” I told him that he could never buy respect and that his actions were inexcusable in any state of mind. My friends were around me and they were not as upset as I was, because they had seen him act like this. They had a different emotion. Jubilation.

They had never seen a girl stand up to this guy before, and they loved every second of it. They already knew that Kelly didn’t take shit from anyone, as she’s spoken up before. My friends were behind me laughing and joking about how Kelly was a “ninja” and how she was bending and twisting this kid’s arm like it was a twizzler. Instead of being angry with me, they were happy for Kelly.

At this point, I was extremely confused – not at how my friends were reacting, but how I should be feeling. As you read earlier, I was slightly angered by his actions, enough to want to hurt him – but I was also impressed with Kelly’s actions. A part of me felt like I should have intervened much earlier and stopped this action before it escalated. A part of me felt like I “bitched out” because I didn’t inflict physical pain on this kid, I felt ashamed that I didn’t respond like a man is expected to respond. I felt embarrassed that I didn’t explode on the kid in the name of Kelly.

I also felt immense respect for Kelly because she handled herself exactly the way I would want her to. I was proud that my friend’s were excited by her actions, and honored to be with her and associated with her. But I still felt, and still feel emasculated. I felt like Kelly reacted the way I should have, and I sat back and watched the show.

I walked over to the bathrooms, where Kelly was watching over a friend of ours. I told her how proud I was and how amazing she was. I also told her that I felt like a complete scumbag for not doing what my mind wanted me to do. She told me that from an outside perspective, if she hits him and hurts him, it is self defense. If people saw me hurting him, then it’s a vicious attack and/or a bar fight. She told me that if I did what I wanted to, that I could be sitting in the back of a police car and the other guy could be in the back of an ambulance. She told me that by restraining myself, I likely kept myself out of court and out of trouble. I knew what she was saying was true, and while it brought a bit of comfort to me, I was still boiling with hatred.

The kid was brought to my friend’s apartment and Kelly and I stayed back to look for a missing purse. I wandered outside for nearly an hour, in the rain, looking under cars, in bushes – anywhere. I thought of what I would do if I stole a purse, about how I would empty the purse and leave it behind. I feared the worst the entire time and walked back inside, dejected, again. I had to tell our friend, who was already sick, who was already approached by “the guy” and insulted, that her purse was gone. I told Kelly that I would walk her out while Kelly grabbed her final belongings. On our way out, we passed the bar and took one last peek, nothing to be found. As Kelly rounded the final corner and just before I opened the door to the outside, someone from behind the bar called for Kelly and handed her the lost purse.

We got outside and I finally had a smile on my face, at least tonight wasn’t going to end in a complete disaster. We loaded our friend into the car and drove home cautiously in the rain. We brought her inside, and made sure she was comfortably on the couch, under a blanket, and prepared for the worst to fall out of her stomach (a trash can was ready for that).

A couple of my friends were at my apartment, as it was still an early night. As I began walking inside I met up with them and began to vent. I told them that I was incredibly upset as his behavior and that I felt terrible that I didn’t respond. One of my friends, who is a very good friend as far as friends are concerned, stopped me and told me that everything I was feeling was normal and acceptable. He also told me that if I wanted to, we could go to his apartment now and beat this kid unmercifully. He then told me that this kid has done this many times before, and that while anger is acceptable, I should instead reflect on how Kelly reacted, and be comforted in knowing that she can defend herself effectively.

We walked inside and all sat down in the living room. We praised Kelly for her valiant actions and laughed as we recalled the events from the night. One of my friends suggested that we get a bit of revenge on the kid, since he was passed out nearby. Without any hesitation I took him up on his offer and exited the apartment with three other friends.

We walked over to the next building, marched upstairs, picked him up, and simply threw him in the dumpster. After we tossed him into the dumpster, I walked with another friend across the street to grab some beer. We talked a bit more and returned to my friend’s apartment to hear him yelling at the kid. He was screaming, “Don’t you ever touch Launchpad’s girl! We did this for Launchpad!”

It felt great knowing that I had a group of friends who were willing to help me feel better, even if it meant tossing a friend of theirs in a dumpster. We all walked back to my apartment and closed out the night by playing some video games and laughing about the night.

When our friend woke up on the couch we told her what we had done and how the final parts of the night pieced together. She laughed a bit, and was glad to hear that she had met some guys who were also willing to help her out, even after only knowing her for a short while.

I went to bed that night with a tiny bit of satisfaction, and an ounce of regret. I still wanted to act out my mind’s desires. Although, as I reflect, I’m not sure if I’d ever be satisfied enough. I’m sure at this point, while I may be happy he was hurt, I would still be feeling the same thing. I know that I’m not ready to confront this kid, simply because I’ve been thinking too much and I don’t want to overreact. I’m not sure, at this point, if I can ever respect him in the same light that I did before, and to me, it is a huge loss; for him.

My mind still churns and plays out the different scenarios from that night. I still feel the angst and the aggression, even today. Now I struggle with the confusion on which part do I need to focus on the most? Do I focus on releasing my anger for how I did not react, or do I focus on forgiveness and a return to normalcy? I’m not sure if I can answer that question at this point.

The Advice

The long drives home from lands far, far away are always interesting. With all of that time to sit and drive, my mind can’t help but wander, and wonder. On a recent trip back from Atlantic City (3-4hrs), I began to talk to Kelly about her family.

The discussion began when she mentioned that her Aunt has a house nearby, and she may be thinking about selling it in the next couple of years. Since the two of us will be and are sort of in the market to buy, I began to inquire a bit more about the house. Kelly mentioned the house used to belong to her Grandparents, and they had passed away years back. At this point in the conversation I chose to switch subjects and ask her some questions about her grandparents. One side of my brain wanted to know more about them, since I had clearly never met them nor heard many stories of them. The other side of my brain wanted to hear Kelly speak of them solely for sake of discussing mortality.

Since I was born, nobody in my family has passed away (except my Great Grandmother when I was 5 or 6). I have had some losses in my life, friends, teachers and pets – but never someone that I had developed a mature relationship with. Being 23 years old, I am concerned on how I will take this devastation. I have to keep reminding myself of the inevitability of the whole matter, but it hasn’t made this any easier on me.

So Kelly began telling me stories of her grandparents and how they passed. She seemed very composed the entire time and I was impressed by this. I’m not sure how I’ll react in the same situation but I hope I can be strong like her, even if it is 10 or more years after the case. As she finished up her words, I began to ponder the mortality of my own grandparents. Now I have two sets of grandparents like most people, however, one set has been out of touch since I was 16 years old, that’s 7 years. A couple years ago I was at my other Grandparents (father’s parents) and my Nanna told me that my Grandmother had passed away on the operating table.

So many thoughts ran through my head at the time, but sadly, and embarrassingly, I didn’t cry. It’s not that I didn’t feel emotion, it’s that I couldn’t believe it. How could I have not heard of this? My Nanna began to fill me in on the details and informed me that she heard from my brother, Peter. I immediately picked up the phone and called my brother to get the details. After speaking with him for two minutes he had informed me that his friend’s grandmother had passed, not ours. At that moment, a wave of refreshment had washed over my like a huge, cold, oceanic wave.

But the wave was so big that it took me down into it’s depths and began to cycle me around in it’s powerful grip. My body crashed viciously against the rocky sand below, with the blades of beach glass cutting deep into my flesh. I was dragged across the bottom of the ocean and spat out on the other side, in a foreign world. It was at this time that I began to seriously ponder mortality, my own and my family’s.

To get back to the car ride… After Kelly had finished speaking, I began to think about my grandparents (mother’s parents). I wanted to know how they were doing but was so hesitant to call. I had tried to reconnect with an Uncle just recently and was hit with a roadblock as he told me I “need to pan out my issues with my mother” as he didn’t want to get involved. I was so upset by this that I completely gave up and continued to live my own life.

But this time, I was concerned. I was concerned that my mother’s family would believe I chose to remove myself from their lives and I chose to stay out of touch all these years. I wanted them to know, more for myself than anyone, that I thought about them daily, and that I cared about them always. I don’t call my grandparents out of spite for my mother, I simply do not call them because I don’t know what to say. For 7 years they have heard a one-sided story that is sure to be exaggerated and devastating. At this point, I am done proving myself, I am done trying to apologize for my mistakes as a child. I am done.

I don’t want to call my mother and only speak about how terrible of a person I was, and probably still am. I don’t want to call my mother and listen to hear speak of how I ruined her life and her family’s life. This is why I don’t call my mother; she is stubborn and narrow minded and refuses to consider the possibility that she had anything to do with her own downfall.

The biggest problem is, she refuses to admit that her new husband is doing anything wrong by smoking marijuana. Now I’m not even going to get into this, because my father smokes marijuana openly, but I doubt he’d ever store it in a magazine rack on the floor where a baby is learning to crawl and walk.

But beyond that, beyond my side of the story – I simply do not want to prove myself to her any longer. And if she requires this from me, then I need her to know, and her family to know, that it is her decision and her ultimate choice to keep me removed from her life and her family. But what do I know right? I’m just a stubborn boy my self and I’ve also only told and experienced one side of the story.

So I called my Dad for advice, for the first time in my life, I had a father who I could call when I needed some help – and it felt great!

Just as a side note, I wasn’t able to complete my conversation with my Dad on my way home, so we finished it the next evening – but now we return to the main event.

My father, in my eyes, is a lot like me. He is incredibly intelligent, relaxed, calm, loving, adventurous and many other things. Above all of those things, he is compassionate and good willed. My father has done some terrible things in his life, and not once has he ever pretended those things didn’t happen. He knows he spent nights in jail, he knows that he was overly aggressive in punishing his children and he knows that he has done drugs. What many people don’t understand about this man, or choose not to understand, is that while he has done bad things, he has learned from them and become a better man from them.

Now I would never make the comparison that my father is in any way a holy man or as powerful a man in history as Siddharta Gautama. That would be nothing short of blasphemous. However, I cannot help but use the lessons from Siddharta in my own life, and I believe this is what I should be doing anyways. But if a man as great as Siddharta can make mistakes in his life, and still be loved and accepted, then why can’t anyone?

Anyways, back to the story. I spoke with my father and he handed out some pretty simple advice, but I didn’t expect to hear this from him.

“You’ve earned your position right now David. You are where you are because you worked hard and achieved your goals. Stop being modest all of the time and try being arrogant once in a while. I’m not telling you to insult others or put down those who may not be where you are, but don’t be afraid to be proud of what you’ve done. There is no shame in being proud of yourself.”

Now I have always thought that a good trait in a man is modesty, and I still believe this. My father is too intelligent to tell me something like this and to expect me to take it literally, so I began to dissect his message, his advice.

My father would never tell me to set aside modesty and become an arrogant and pompous ass. I think what he wanted me to hear, what he really meant to say – was be proud. Pride may be perceived as one of the Seven Deadly Sins – but only when indulged. There is nothing wrong with waking up in the morning, looking around at the home you’ve built (not literally of course) and smile to yourself. There is nothing wrong with counting your blessings once, twice, three times.

More important than the advice he just gave me was the message he left me with before he got off the phone. He told me to embrace fear and use that fear as motivation. Don’t be afraid of what other’s may say, just prepare yourself for what they may say and always remember, never back down from what you truly believe. If I truly believe that I am right in this situation, then I must stand up, as a man, and defend myself. There is no honor in folding over for everyone and always agreeing.

I am where I am today, because of people like my father and the advice they have shared with me. It has never been difficult for me to ask for help and I believe that this is a trait I thank God for every day.

Entrapment

There are a number of reasons why we strive for the upper echelon of societal sects. Some of us are looking to gain assets far beyond our fore-bearers and provide a life that they could not . Some of us are looking to hold power in our hands and wield this like a mighty broad sword in battle. Others strive for that plateau of social elitism so that we can coast through the rest of life, and worry about matters other than that of the monetary.

Whatever the reason is, many of our peers are spending more and more time at work and less and less time at home. We justify the 12-15 hour shifts and weekend fits of binge drinking on the stress of work and the goal of “financial stability.” We try to convince ourselves that this is only a temporary sacrifice and this will all end when we attain our goal.

When does the sacrifice cross the line and turn into a blatant disregard for the family and for the personal life?

Finding the balance between work and your personal life requires the greatest sacrifice of them all; or so we are lead to believe. Why must I let my life suffer for years? For the salary? The power? The big house and fancy cars on my very own cul-de-sac? Is that what this is all for?

So who is pressing this issue upon us? Is it ourselves or our bosses and managers? For so many years we, the worker bees, fought for solidarity. We chose our right to choose and now we must live with the consequences and responsibilities. We cannot blame our managers for expecting us to work overtime and weekends. We can only blame ourselves for not putting the truly important facets of our lives on top.

But, again, is it really our fault? Or am I simply looking to push my responsibility on others so that I can stand by my alibi, “I had no choice.” What decisions would we own up to at that point? Where do we draw the line between the job and our lives?

The line has been drawn for us, it is simply our choice to stand on either side. Straddling the line is not an option, we must decide. But how is one to decide when the work makes us happy, but the family must suffer?

Ah shit! I’m screwed…

January 9, 2007

My basketball team is playing our third game of the season, and we are finally getting some real opponents. The first two teams we played were dismissed with ease and to be completely honest, it wasn’t really much fun. The starting five take the floor(6-man team) and I opt to sit until the first time out so that I can finish the half when we’ll need the rebounds. 6 minutes go by and my team calls our first time out. We’re down 5 points to a team of former college players but we’re sticking close with aggressive defense and all out hustling.

I jump on the court and immediately the tide turns our way. My man (person I am defending) was a little over 6 foot and had a 5′10″ guarding him previously. His first few shots are lobbed high and inaccurately towards the hoop. With a few clutch rebounds we are back in the game and up by 3 points. After a quick score on our side I begin to run down court with my man. Suddenly he starts to sprint as I look up and see his teammate throw a bomb down the court and seemingly over my head. While still running backwards, I launch myself into the air and just barely get a finger on the ball. It was just enough to tip the ball out of bounds and stop the clock. after making contact with the ball I feel a sudden movement of my body upwards again. I had expected myself to fall and yet, for a moment, I floated.

In reality I had landed my ass on my man’s shoulder. He knelt towards the ground as my heavy frame landed on him, and just as quickly, slid off of him. I saw the ceiling above me next, then it was just black. I didn’t get knocked out but I sure as shit closed my eyes as the ceiling turned into the floor and I landed with a ferocious BOOM!

The few fans in the stands let out a painful ‘ooooooh’ as the whistle blew. My man lent out his hand and said “Nice hustle” as he helped me off the ground. My team congratulated me as I shook off the impact to my left arm. I stayed in the game until halftime and spent those 5 minutes dribbling a ball and squeezing it, trying anything I could to get the soreness in the back of my mind. I continued to play the rest of the game, primarily with one hand as it would hurt to shoot or catch a pass with my left hand.

As the game ended the pain began to intensify, I had most certainly sprained the bastard and couldn’t wait to get some ice on it. My friend drove me in my car on the way home as he lives nearby. I walked into the apartment to see Kelly at the computer. Her first words, “Its broken isn’t it?” i shrugged off the ridiculous assumption and asked her for a bag of ice. She grabbed the ice and walked me to the couch as I rested for a couple of hours before retreating to bed.

January 10, 2007

Around 3:00 am I am suddenly awakened by a terrible noise, my own bitching. The wrist had really started to hurt more and I was not enjoiing the pain. I threw on some sweats and convinced Kelly to stay in bed while I ran to get some X-Rays real quick.

After watching a doctor take the temperature of an anorexic amputee in his ass, my doctor arrived with the escort for the X-ray. I knew exactly the three views of the bone they were looking for as I broke my right arm only 5 years ago. After another short intermission of waiting and counting the minutes, my doctor returned with glorious news. “It’s not broken on the X-Ray, but I think it’s broken.”

The doctor walked me away from the others and called on the assistance of another female doctor passing by. The two continued to walk with me until they found a dark and unoccupied corner of the hospital. One doctor grabbed a chair for me while the other began digging out the ace bandages and splint materials. The young doctor held my left arm upwards so the other could wrap me up nicely. With no warning at all the primary doctor grabbed my hand and bent it backwards as she placed the splint in place. She held my hand in that position as the other doctor held down my shoulders. At this point I was in more pain than I ever expected and the two doctors were coaching me on my breathing and repeating this phrase, “I knew it was broken.”

The doctors handed me a pill of percoset and told me to call for a ride. Since Kelly was sleeping I didn’t want to bother her and so I faked the phone call and rushed home as the dizziness settled in and knocked me out.

January 11, 2007

The orthopedist concurred that I broke a bone, the scaphoid. He then proceeded to put a full arm cast on me and even locked the thumb in place. As I left the office I could feel the weight of the HUGE cast bearing down on my shoulders. I still thought I had control of my arm as I often attempted to do things like scratch my face or cover my mouth during a cough.

As the weeks passed, I continued to fight the broken bone theory as I felt fine. A week later I am sitting in an operating room getting a screw drilled into my bone so the bone can heal properly. Now I sit here slowly working my fingers, but not my thumb, and praying that this new cast will be taken off tomorrow, February 9, 2007. At this point I still can’t believe how quickly time has passed since I broke my wrist; but I’m certainly not complaining. I am still typing with one hand, but every now and then I throw in a finger from the other hand to assist me and get my thoughts out quicker. I’d have to say that the broken hand may have been the best thing for me at the time. Seeing as how I could no longer type as fast as I thought, I was forced to spend more time thinking and rethinking as I pecked out my sentences, one key at a time.

With all of this time to think I have come to a couple very important conclusions. The first being my living situation. Long Island is simply too expensive and not realistic. I took this opportunity to bring this to Kelly’s attention and now we are discussing alternative places to live. With this new thought came thoughts of work. No longer should I be focusing on jobs at CA or Symbol as I am now looking to remove myself from that area. The end result is the possibility of a return to my first company, RWD Technologies. Now that would be a change!