State of State of the Union:  2018

If asked, no I did not watch it.  I think I’d rather eat glass, fiberglass that is.  Now, before you get all up in my grill… I haven’t watched the last several “State of the Union” addresses either.  Like many things these days, the whole thing has turned into a reality TV “must see.” Oh, look… there is Great and Glorious Leader up on his podium, reading a prepared speech (In this case, thank God!) and tell us all what we’d like to hear.  Everything’s great, America!  Let me tell you what I’m-a gonna do. 

Frankly, I found the speeches tiring…. Clinton, George W and yes, even the King of soaring sermons, Barack Obama.  Lettme break it down for you:  State of the union is strong!  America is awesome!  We love our country.  Introduce you to the “survivor of the year” (a symbol of how strong our country is in the face of overwhelming odds…..)  

aka: Everone loves an underdog that wins!  Yeah, us!

Then: Here are all the overinflated things I have done for you this past year.  Oh, and here are all the proposals I’ll send to Congress because you’re my peeps – Oh, by the way….none of these have a chance in hell in passing… but, I think free college for everyone is a great sale point for my re-election… 

Then some video shots from around the room… the bored wife with the pasted-on smile, ditto for rest of stuff-shirt family.  A couple of the sleepy-eyed Congressmen, one of which has nodded off to sleep.  A few shots of glassy-eyed admirers of the king.  About half the time is spent applauding each other.  Then the end game of the speech.  

We are one and one is we and we are all together.  

I am he as you are he as you are me

And we are all together

See how they run like pigs from a gun

See how they fly

I'm crying – (I am the Walrus)

Well, as nicey as Trumpy was, I ain’t buyin’ it folks.  No, sir.  Wolf in sheep’s clothing, that sort of thing.  I like to use “for instances” to put stuff in perspective. 

For Instance: 

“Harold” breaks into your house, steals all your worldly goods.  He steals your money, credit cards, and bank accounts.  He steals your identity, all your furniture and even raids your refrigerator.  Lastly, he takes your liquor.  Bad Harold.  

Well, you know it’s Harold as there were witnesses that saw him break into your house.  Not only that, but he actually brags about what he did on his Facebook page!  So, you do the right thing and call the police to report what has happened and who you think did it.   

Well, the cops are no help as they laugh at you and say….  “Well, you know Harold, right?  That’s just Harold being Harold,” they say.  “He’s just helping you making sure you don’t spend too much money on your credit cards.  It’s because he cares about you…”   

Of course, you are frustrated, mad, and angry.  How could he get away with such atrocities? 

Well, shortly thereafter, a most astounding development; he shows up at your doorstep.  Now, a small part of you can’t help but feel a little impressed that the little jerk actually has the chutzpah to show up at your door.  You certainly suppose perhaps some of your property will be returned, or some money to cover the loss.  At the very least, you would expect a sober and solemn apology, from the little thief.

SURPRISE!  You get NONE of that, except Harold brags about what a great guy he is.  Then he says, “The problem with the world today is that we must work together to achieve great things!  We must continue to work together as a team!”  He promises you of all the great things he will do for you and then applauds himself.  Finally, he turns his back on you and trots away to his golden mansion located on the highest hill. 

So, how would you feel after that? 

Welp, there ya go….  

Part 1: I Woke up Dead

“So, why are you so fascinated with death?” asked the publishing agent, leaning over her impressive, oak desk, staring down on me.

I was trying hard to impress superbitch - Wanda Scythes, and was attempting to form a witty one-liner, something like Bob Hope might retort.  

“It’s the only sure thing in life,” I tried my best smile on her.  Dead silence.  She did not even crack a smile.  Suddenly the leather chair became even more uncomfortable.  

After several terrifying seconds, tapping her fingers on the desk, she said, “Mister ######…”

“#####,” I corrected her.

“Mister #####, we gave you a contracted agreement for three books.  To date, you have produced ZERO that are acceptable to this agency.  We certainly enjoyed your first novel for young adults, and it’s upon the sales of this first book alone, we gave you such a generous contract.  Now, give us something more like that first effort.  This?  You have given me nothing we can work with, nothing.  Death? 

We cannot sell death to young adults.  What could you be thinking, Mister #####?” 

I decided not to correct her this time.  She was on a tirade. On a mission.  On a lecture tour. 

Let’s just say, the conversation degraded from there.  The summation of which was a not-so-subtle threat to terminate my contract with Big Bookstores incorporated, unless I wrote more drivel like the Sirens of Jupiter.  And by Friday. 

Let’s see, about eighty nine thousand words divided by fifty-eight hours is about…. Ah, crap.  And without sleep.  Of course, I could pull out the old box of tricks that I stuffed away in my garage storage.  As Ms. Ballbreaker was blabbing on about the virtues of shit-cake Company incorporated, I was weighing my options. 

A certain part of my conscience detested my forward line of thinking.   In the box about ten years of college student assignments and short story segments, I had taken with me when I left Bresser College.   To say I owe my entire writing success to stealing other’s ideas would be simplistic at best.  Besides, the clown heads at that college owed me.  

They owed me, bigly. 

Okay, sure.  So, I lied about my teaching credentials.  Look, I was teaching those classes every day for ten years.  I was present more often than any of those so-called “real” professors, that’s for sure.  I already had tenure!  I would have gotten away with it forever, if it were not for that slut, Heather. 

Okay, Okay.  I get it.  I’m not painting a very rosy picture here.  Look, Heather was eighteen years old when we first met, so it’s not like I was doing a child, for Christ sake.  She knew what she was doing.  Brother, did she know what she was doing.  That chick was a total nymphomaniac.  I mean, anywhere, anytime. 

She was a freak for sex, I think.  I mean dangerous sex.  Like in public, that sort of thing.  The more in the open it was the crazier she became.  In the car, the park, the swimming pool, the tennis courts, dressing rooms at the mall, the woods.  It just did not stop.  And I was such a willing stooge. 

Just when I thought it got as freaky as it could, it got way out of hand, when she introduced me to her friend, Vicky.  Vicky would join us on occasion.  Me; little old me, laid a sum total of ten times in my life, suddenly lost in a sea of young tits and ass.  I guess I should have asked how young.  Since Vicky was a “friend” of Heather’s I just assumed…  

Well, you know what they say about assuming… 

The Dean herself caught us three after class one night, having a “special study session,” in my own classroom.  That was the end of a golden time in my life: Employment, housing, sex, and adoration from my peers.  They pulled my records and found I had no records, at least not for a college degree.  Hell, I never even went to college. 

Well, come to find out the bitch girlfriend’s name wasn’t even “Vicky”.  She was a seventeen year old runaway from Las Vegas and running her own “business” out of her foster parents’ house.  It was just too sickly sorted for the little college to expose publicly.  So, they covered it all up and after all the dust settled they allowed me to exit with nary a scratch.  I tell you, somebody up there must love me. 

Hey, I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done in my life, okay.  Let’s just say I had to take a few shortcuts to get ahead.  Fact is, I landed as a writer partially because of my inclination to….well, take certain liberties with the truth.... 

D.I.V.O.R.C.E   (War of the Roses)

Oliver Rose: I think you owe me a solid reason. I worked my ass off for you and the kids to have a nice life and you owe me a reason that makes sense. I want to hear it.

Barbara Rose: Because. When I watch you eat. When I see you asleep. When I look at you lately, I just want to smash your face in.

I have a friend that is going through a difficult divorce.  I would call that NEARLY ATYPICAL.  I’ve avoided the subject of divorce in this blog, even though it’s a topic that affects many of us.  It is a subject near and dear to my heart - Or, maybe a bit lower than that.  Many of us which have been through the “process” realize even if has been many years since the BIG D, it’s still brings up those icky feelings… sort of like an acid reflux attack. 

My automatic advice to anyone that is thinking about Divorce.  Don’t.  Try to find some way of working it out.  You have invested years, money and grey hairs in “getting this far.”  Perhaps you have raised or are raising children…. You have faced traumas, sickness, and sometimes even the other big D (death) together.  That’s what that whole…  “in sickness and in health” stuff is all about when you stood at the altar or judge.  And it’s not a little thing.  

A vow in front of your friends, family, and God is not something you take lightly.  And surprisingly it’s one of those points brought up in many wedding ceremonies, which many never really take the time to listen to. 

“and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained.”  (The Wedding ceremony from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer)

HOWEVER….   We are all decisively human, we make mistakes.  We screw up.  We mismanage.  We misinterpret.  What seemed like a good idea then is not so now.  Things have changed.  People have changed.  Jobs, families many things have changed. 

You try hard to tough it out.  You try your best to ‘fix’ the problems.  Then, there comes a point when you have to admit defeat and dissolve the marriage. 

Sometimes it can be when one or both have changed beyond recognizing each other.  For example, when one person grows, while the other remains rooted in the past. Sometimes, it can be more serious, like violence or addictions. 

Notice I did not say infidelity.  Having an affair in and of itself does not necessarily end a marriage.  It is a symptom of a much bigger issue.  That issue does need to be addressed, however, for a marriage to continue… because trust in each other is only possible in a loving relationship.  And trust… well, once broken can be hard thing to recover. 

Yet, continuous infidelity should never be tolerated…whether it be physical or emotional. 

Though there are a great many movies about the subject -  Hope Floats, Kramer vs. Kramer, Double Indemnity (wait, what?) -  But, for me the salve of all things DIVORCY is the movie The War of the Roses – 1989 starring Michael Douglas Kathleen Turner and Danny DeVito. 

You may have seen the movie way back when it came out.  I have rediscovered the movie, through the book, and have led me to read books from one of my favorite book authors:  Warren Adler.  I read several of his works including Funny Boys, Trans-Siberian Express, and the Serpent’s Bite.  Highly recommended reading!

In the movie, the couple fall deeply in love and live their rather banal lives, being highly successful.  As divorce attorney Gavin (DeVito) relates:  They met, great…  they agreed on that.  House, car, boy, girl, puppy, kitty.  The poor bastards never had a chance…

https://youtu.be/5ebv3i_9Ltc

The movie follows a couple that oddly discovers they really do not like each other.  They decide they want a divorce.  The movie takes the separation through the initial stages… with one hiccup, the house.  They both decide they want the house.  In fact, the house is the thing. 

The movie takes a decidedly cartoonish turn, where they basically try to off each other (Spoiler alert: They accomplish this via a fall, plunging from the chandelier), in order to gain the upper hand.  I say cartoonish, though what I’ve heard in some quarters, it could almost be called: “normal.” 

Gavin: There are two dilemmas... that rattle the human skull. How do you hold onto someone who won't stay? And how do you get rid of someone who won't go?

So, back to Divorce thingy.  Here’s the deal.  Harking back to my own experience, I wish I could go back and be a little nicer, a little more understanding than I was.  Instead of treating each other so badly… and trust me, there is no more brutal enemy than a spouse that knows your most intimate details…I wish I could have treated it all a little more ZEN.  I know, it’s hard because when one wants to leave the other, it feels like a personal attack, or that you have in some way FAILED.  

Maybe that is the greatest letdown in the institution called marriage.  No ONE fails in life because a marriage is over, especially not these days.  The range of both single men and women towards success are so much more possible now than ever before.  There is even some scientific evidence to show that singles are just as happy (if not more so) than their married counterparts. 

If you live a “good life,” working, paying bills, a good parent (or a good parent to a pet) being relatively useful, and making the world better by small degrees…. Seems to me, you are a great success in the world.  You should be cheered and celebrated. 

I hope my friend will find their way through the jungle of sadness and bitterness…. Though it may take a very long time to get there.  A heart is a fractious thing…  but, I do believe once hurt, it tends to grow back…though slowly, it gets bigger and more generous than before.  That’s the problem with becoming a human being…  we live too shortly…. It takes nearly one life to figure out who the hell we are as a person in the world. 

By then, it’s getting mighty late.