bjciii: My twisted thoughts

Ya know those e-mail messages you usually get forwarded to you from an aunt or grandmother? Maybe they are friends of your parents or one of your really emotional friends, but they will send out these e-mails nonetheless. These e-mails of which I speak are the ones telling you about the boy whose life was saved by prayer or how a man died saving his dog, or other equally uplifting human-interest stories that might make the normal human tear up a bit.

I am not normal.

I usually read them with a sardonic smile thinking Okay… here comes the tear-jerking sentence and finish up. I usually never forward them past me, but I never really complain about them. I’m actually not complaining about them right now either… I’m just meaning that they are out there and they will eventually land in your Inbox. The ones I do tear up reading, however, are the ones about the United States military and the overwhelming sense of comaraderie they have with one another. I mean, sure… I’ll get a little choked up over a few things, but, for whatever reason, the immense idea of RESPECT seems to just hit me where it needs to hit me. Stories about a soldier accompanying a casket of a fallen Marine seems to just make me stop and think.

Don’t get me wrong: I really think George W. Bush is a megalomaniacal moron who had his presidency bought and paid for. He’s a thief, a swindler, and a liar. His corruption knows no bounds and this whole military action in the middle east was nothing more than a distraction from his unbelievable incompetancy dealing with a completely bass-ackwards domestic policy. I do not support the reasons we are sending troops over to Iraq and I do not support that whole shitty administration, but I 100% whole-heartedly support our military men and women in whatever task they are required to fulfill.

We have a VOLUNTEER ARMY folks… for those of you who don’t understand and consistantly call the soldiers “baby killers” and “fascists,” this means they CHOSE to join up. They are required to follow direction from above and, regardless of their personal feelings, they will follow that. These men and women signed up for the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, the Marines, the Coast Guard, the Reserves, whatever… they signed up because they felt a calling to protect those in need of protection. They look at the flag before any event and they felt an unreal calling to those 13 stripes and 50 stars. They look at that flag not as a weatherproof piece of fabric waving in the wind, but the symbol of hundreds of millions of citizens and over 200 years of history. They look at that flag and see something in need of our love, support, and protection.

Yet there are some that still spit on them.

It’s because of THOSE people that I get choked up reading about the soldier accompanying the body of a fellow soldier to his family. It’s because of THOSE people that I realize our fighting men and women do their jobs to make me safe in spite of those ignorant assholes who are content to jump on their soapboxes, but hide at the first sign of real trouble. It’s those people that make me realize, above all else, just how special one has to be to join up in a volunteer army to serve hundreds of millions of people who may not even support them.

Semper fi.

Firstly, I was very wrong to not mention that those numerous score updates I received during the wedding and reception on this past Sunday for the Philadelphia Eagles win over San Francisco came from my buddy France. He was wonderful enough to stay slightly sober and text me every time a score came in. It, of course, annoyed my boy Phile’s step-sister, but hey… you can’t make an omelette without pissing off a few people… or something.

Next, I learned last night that France, the avid photographer, has had one of his photos hand-picked by the head of his birding tour company to be the cover shot on their European birding magazine. As soon as I get a link, I’ll send it along. However, this is a pretty big deal. To you and me, birding isn’t much, but you should have seen France’s eyes light up as he told me this news. I’m happy for him as the rest of you should be as well!

Okay… I apologize that this is between 30 and 60 minutes later than I promised, but all of the “facts” just started being released through the media. Here’s what I understand about what happened with all sides taken into account:

On Tuesday the 26th of September, 2006, Terrell Owens, wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys (formerly of the San Francisco 49ers and the Philadelphia Eagles), was attended to by emergency technicians when his publicist called 911 to report that he was first, unresponsive, then incoherent, after taking some pills to manage his pain stemming from a broken ring finger. The EMTs asked Owens if he was trying to hurt himself and he replied in the affirmative. Upon admittance to the hospital, the staff induced vomiting and released him the following morning (Wednesday the 27th of September, 2006).

Now… The first reports said that he tried to commit suicide as a “friend” of his said he was “depressed” and his publicist said he had taken 35 pain pills from a 40 count bottle. She also replied that she had to use her fingers to scoop out a few pills from his mouth when she arrived. There was also a story about Owens attempting to swallow down at least 2 additional pills when medical workers arrived on-scene.

Of course, after the Dallas Police held their press conference, after the Dallas Cowboys held their press conference, and after Terrell Owens held his press conference, all sides say this was a big misundertanding stemming from T.O.’s body’s inability to properly metabolize the pain medication. As odd as this is to say, I happen to believe T.O. in this instance.

Let the shock settle in…

Better? Okay… allow me to illustrate my argument as to why I believe him.

First, when looking at the statistics of suicide, pills are usually how women prefer to do it. Men opt for the stronger and more brutal ends such as firearms, slicing wounds, or hanging. I was told this is because, even in death, women have that inborn drive to be neat and clean. Taking this into account, if T.O. wanted to kill himself, I guarantee you that he wouldn’t have any problem finding a gun in Texas.

Next, an ego as huge as Owens’ would simply not allow him to go that quietly. If T.O. wanted to commit suicide, I am willing to bet that there would have been a publicity show to it much like a “Polish Hostage” situation. A quick aside to my Polish friends: This is not my terminology, but it is an accepted term used by HRT to describe someone who takes the position “don’t come any closer or I’ll kill myself.” Now back to the explanation… The ego that roared would simply not go quietly in a deliberate overdose. If there is a suicide attempt by someone that egocentric, there will be either a very messy crime-scene or a lot of cameras.

Lastly, I honestly don’t know about Texas, but I know from experience (not personal experience, but personal enough) that Delaware requires a 72 hour observation window for anyone attempting suicide. If the hospital truly believed that T.O. was trying to kill himself, then T.O. would should still be sitting in a psych ward somewhere looking at ink blots talking about his mother and the stress of making $25 million. Since the hospital released him the following morning (this morning), I truly believe that they acted in due dilligence and felt he posed no threat to himself or others… in this case.

Do I like T.O.? No. Do I wish him dead? As much as I joke about it, no. For a fleeting few minutes, I thought this might be a really Really REALLY bad publicity stunt, but then I figured that there is no way anyone is that stupid. If this was a publicity stunt, then T.O. would never play another down for the NFL, get sued by the City of Dallas, get charged by the City of Dallas for criminally diverting city services, and basically become the most hated man on the planet. Yeah… even T.O. isn’t that dumb.

This is just one of those cases of the media reporting something too soon and twisting some facts up for a salacious story… much like I was going to do. Thanks Duke! You kept my head on straight and allowed me to bask in the moral superiority I so love.

Anyone waiting for me to comment on the whole Terrell Owens possible suicide attempt situation, will have to wait a few more hours. I was fully prepared to just go diving in, but a quick IM chat with my buddy Duke made me realize that I really should wait until at least after the Cowboys press conference at 2:30pm EDT today.
So check back around 3/3:30, okay?

So I turned 31 on this past Saturday. Honestly, for the first time in a long time, I do actually feel different in regards to aging. When I turned 30, I didn’t feel any different, but I really did feel older as I was driving around on Saturday afternoon. It was odd. I hesitate to say “more mature” because, let’s face it, we never really mature, but I did feel as if I wasn’t exactly immature any longer. Don’t get me wrong, I still like to watch my stupid shows, play video games, and do decidedly un-adult things, but I do feel as if some weird switch was flipped and I expect someting better of myself in certain occasions. Frightening, no?

Anyway, I had a great day on Saturday. I woke up late, watched some TV (more on that later), got my hair cut (hair as in the plural… I still have that full head of hair that grows like a patch of weeds, I may “feel” older, but I’m still looking like $2 baby!), and went to work at the store for a few hours. After that, I ran some errands with my favorite platonic girlfriend Cara, and then hit my favorite seafood restaurant for dinner with my parents. Everyone must go to Feby’s Fishery on Lancaster Pike in Wilmington, DE!!! Okay, now that the plug is firmly in place, I’ll continue. After 2 bottles of wine and a hell of a lot of seafood (including my first raw oyster), I went home and almost fell asleep on the couch. Alcohol + Bill = sleepy-weepy.

Sunday was an interesting day. I woke up, took some football picks, watched more TV (I promise… it’s coming), and gussied up so I could get down to Long Beach Island for Phile’s sister’s wedding. Now, I was a little upset that she scheduled the wedding for Sunday September 24th at 5pm because Phile is a Niners fan and I am an Eagles fan. The Niners played the Eagles that day… at 4pm. Needless to say, we missed the game which the Eagles ended up winning. It’s a shame that we couldn’t witness the carnage first-hand! In any case, he owes me $1 for my team beating on his. The wedding itself was very interesting as it was held in a little barn which was renovated for a weddnig chapel. The doors (4 on each side in groups of 2, and the big double-doors in the back) were all latched open to get the nice bay-breeze sweeping in. Well, as the ceremony wore on, I looked out and realized I couldn’t see the opposite coast any longer. The breeze quickly amped up a bit and I thought, with a smile, Oh yeah baby… here it comes.

Now you know me… I love, Love, LOVE storms. I was almost in ecstacy watching this one develop, but a lot of other people remained oblivious to the oncoming clouds. No one really even paid attention until the wind kicked up and the rain started coming in right after the “I dos.” Of course the girls kind of screeched and skittered, but most of the men did too. I figured that this was gonna be fun, so I jumped up and ran outside to close the doors and get the rain out of the chapel. So there I am in a freshly dry-cleaned suit, running outside into a rainstorm with some kickin’ wind (which knocked over a glass candleabra and shattered it) and I’m unlatching doors with a former neighbor of mine. It was sooo cool. With the doors finally shut, the ceremony continued as the rain pounded on the side and the roof of the barn. It was a quick burst which allowed us all to get inside, but then it kicked up again during cocktail hour. I managed to hook on to 2 very lovely and beautiful ladies that I’ve met previously as I didn’t know ANYONE else at that wedding. Despite the 4 hours I spent driving round-trip in the car, it wasn’t a bad deal. Hopefully it will only get better, right?

Now… the TV I keep mentioning. Everyone knows I have a DVR; Lord knows I should be getting an advertising reimbersement from Comcast. Well the Fall TV season is in full swing and I’m taping a TON of shows. Currently it’s Tuesday the 26th and I’m not even past last Thursday yet. There are certain shows I have GOT to watch each time they come on because they are very high-profile and will be talked about the next day (The Amazing Race, Survivor, etc), but the majority have to wait until I’m ready. I was on the couch on my birthday watching waaaaay too much television! It’s tough to catch up!

Also, I’d like to publicly thank Chris for feeding my Battlestar Galactica addiction with Season 2.5 (along with The Lost Boys Special Edition), and Jim for hooking a brotha up with Supernatural‘s complete first season. They, along with co-workers who gave me wine and cards and my family members who called up and sent cards, made my weekend. Well there was also the number of people who left MySpace messages too. Thanks I am really blessed with people who I count as friends!

A gift from a good friend of mine for my birthday:

It’s called a “Bible Bar” and it “contains the 7 foods of Deuteronomy 8:8.” For those of you (like me) who have no clue what those foods would be, here is the chapter and verse mentioned:

“A land of wheat, and barley, and vines, and fig trees, and pomegranates; a land of olive oil and honey.”

Not only that folks, but it’s KOSHER too!!

In any case, I plan on eating it tomorrow, so I’ll let you know if I have any religious experience on my birthday!!

Okay… I have something to admit to all of you… it’s tough, but I need to get it off my chest. Deep breath… Okay.

I am completely psychotic about having some nasty booger lodged in my nose.

No, really.

My mom asked me a few days ago if I was doing cocaine because I rubbed my nose so much. I basically said “When did you get so God-awful stupid woman?” See, cocaine is a stimulant. My heart goes into overdrive if I drink a highly-caffeinated soft drink! Do you think I’d be dumb enough to do an illegal drug designed to jumpstart your heart? Shit… I may not be happy with myself sometimes, but nothing is gonna make me knowingly kill myself!

I told her that the nose-rubbing stems from me blowing my nose and then getting terrified that I have “hangers-on.” You know the feeling… you just blow your nose, make sure you’re clean, and then the next person you talk to tends to stare at you. So you rub your nose. Then they stare more, so you rub more. It’s basically just like the scene from Better Off Dead where Lane meets his object of desire for the first time.

Well, once she heard my explanation, she couldn’t stop laughing. I think what really sealed the deal was my feeling that I postiviely did not want to be known as “Booger Bill.”

So people, if you ever see me rubbing my nose, sniffling, or anything that might make you think I was auditioning for Tony Montana in the finale of Scarface, rest assured that it is only my overly-anal need to make sure that I’m booger-free… for you.

(BTW… during the 10 minutes it took to start and finish this, I’ve wiped my nose about 30 times.)

Wasting my time… In the waiting line. Do you believe in what you see?

I wrote a short story about how I will neve allow myself to go deaf and here is why: I cannot imagine ever living without sound. There are songs that just remind me of times, of feelings, of people… those songs that I cannot imagine never hearing again. Whether they are good songs or bad songs, they are songs that elicit feelings and emotions of people, places, and times that I do not want to forget.

No matter how bad they hurt to remember, they are part of me. No matter how disappointed I may get, they transport me to a time where things had possibility and time had no meaning.

Everyone’s saying different things to me, different things to me…

Okay… if you are reading this, chances are that you know I’m a Philadelphia Eagles fan. If you have even an idea of what happened in sports this past weekend, you’ll know that the collapse of the Eagles in the second half of their game against the division rival New York Giants was the lead in almost every sportscast.

Taking all that into account, I’ve become accustomed to the taunts of “Your team sucks,” “Your team blows,” “A pack of girl scouts run a better two-minute drill than Andy Reid,” and, of course, “Win a Super Bowl and THEN we’ll talk.” Basically all the people are just using the manliest rags in the world (and, to be fair, I do the same thing when it’s NOT my team losing).

NOW… I walk into my life this morning and I’m greeted with a fellow English teacher’s note to me. He is a Dallas Cowboys fan and, instead of taking the easy road and just making some gutteral cut-down, he wrote the following:

O grief, where has thou led me /
O Death, where is thy sting?

See how different my world is? Does anyone STILL wonder why I’m so much happier?

Those of you who pay attention to the side links (on the right) might see that there is a link called “bjciii:  my twisted stories…”

That is my short-story BLOG. I added a new one to there last night.

If you’ve never been there, I need to explain that not EVERYTHING on there is a short story (I have a teleplay that I put up) and not all of it is “good” in the clearest sense of the word

Anyway… there it is. Enjoy… or not.