Too Many Jerks in the Sea (from a writing essay in 2009)

Too many Jerks in the Sea:  

This chapter is dedicated to all the jerks in the world.  Now, there are as many jerks out there as there are people.  There are political jerks, financial jerks, dangerous jerks, school jerks, work jerks and that total jerk that has been on your tailpipe since you’ve turned on this road.  Since there is not enough space in the world to cover all the jerks, we will just concern ourselves to the most malicious, salacious, and underhanded of all the jerks; those that affect your love relationship.  

There are both men and women jerks, of course.  Being a jerk is an equal opportunity employer.  There are women jerks, to be sure.  However, in my life, I have observed men as jerks much more than women, so we are going to concentrate on them. There seems to be a consensus that when it comes to jerk-dom, men are easily of greater quantity and eminence.    

The comparative jerk and the beautiful woman: 

It was a hot summer afternoon and the band I was playing for “The Nighthawks,” was just finishing a rousing set of solid dance hits.  We were setup on the sun deck of Jolly Bob’s Tiki Beach Saloon on the Northern shore of Lake Wassapamani.  The sun was in my eyes during the whole set, which necessitated the need for my darkest sunglasses.  

Now, some guys can pull off that “I’m cool” look in dark glasses, Congo shorts, and a sweaty Hawaiian shirt.  Not me.  Since my middle age has hit me rather hard, I look more the balloon artist rather than a rock star.  Still, it really didn’t matter because I had it made in the shade.  I had my little band, and we were pretty good.  I also had a good job during the week, which made playing in my band even more of a treat.  But best of all, I had Glinda.  Even her name was poetry. 

I know you could ask yourself what a beautiful woman like Glinda is doing with an overfed, losing his hair insurance actuary.  I know I ask myself that every day, and I’m grateful for the answer; because she loves me.  No small feat, for sure.  Even my bachelor friends cannot believe I was dating Glinda.  

She was nearly six-foot tall.  She had willowy, dark hair, long, shapely legs, and a body most men would die just to gaze at from afar.  More than that, she had the darkest, most soulful eyes any human should be allowed and not be from another plane of existence.  Even on our first date, I took one look in her eyes, and I fell dead hot in love with the girl.  Everyone has told me since that I am a lucky man.  

“She’s not…. Well, she’s not anything like the women you normally go out with,” declared the drummer, after leering at her ample charms while also wearing dark sunglasses.  

There is, to paraphrase Frank Zappa, “the crux of the biscuit.”  I have a suspicion that sometimes a woman can be too beautiful.  There has to be some beauty quotient equality that exist somewhere.  If there is too much beautiful on one side of a relationship, it can spell trouble.  Terms like, “trophy wife” and other unpleasant assumptions are assigned the happy couple.  

“Is she really going out with him,” (Elvis Costello) is playing somewhere in the background.  

The set was over and I was just putting my guitar back on its stand.  I was thinking about finding Glinda and asking if we could have an adult (read nearly naked) swim after the show.  This is explains my stupid smile on my face as I saw Glinda ply her way through the crowd to talk to me.  Unfortunately, I saw that she also had a tag-along.  In slow motion, my gaze switched from her smiling face to that of her companion.  He was even taller than she was, anorexic-skinny, and with nearly the exact same length, color and texture of her hair.  He was perhaps, the most handsome man I had ever seen.  I noticed she had her arm in his, as she was escorting him to me. 

“Hi honey,” she said as she leaned over to kiss me with a peck on the lips, “This is my new friend, Chad.  He plays in a band too.” 

“Oh, hello there,” Mr. Awesome extends his hand for a shake.  I shake his hand, and notice his grip is formidable.  

He says, “I really love your Gibson guitar.  I play a Fender, myself.”  Even worse!  The guy has a British-sounding accent!  Real or fake?  I have no idea. 

“Chad’s here from England for a vacation, and just loves you guys!  He’s been going on and on how talented you all are.  It thought you should meet!”  
Just then, one of her girlfriends grabbed her from behind and wanted her to accompany to the ladies room.  

Within seconds after Glinda was out of earshot, Chad put his hand on my shoulder and spoke into my right ear, “I feel sort of bad for her.  She’s much too good for the likes of you.” Pat. Pat. He patted me like an old friend. 
Thinking I misheard his remark, “Huh?”  

“I said, that I think Glinda is wonderful, and she would be better off with me, old sport.”  

Old sport? Yeah, like he had ever read the Great Gatsby.  I just stood there, dumbfounded. 

He continued, “I’m going to find a way to take your girl away from you, and you can go back to your pathetic little hornswoggle group.  She’s one sweet piece, and before the night is out, I’m going to make love to your hot, little woman.”  
With that, he took his right hand and placed it on the middle of my back, and then with his left hand patted my stomach, “Ohhh, say.  A little bit of tubby you got going on there, don’t you?”  

I thought the whole thing was a joke, until I looked up in his face, and noticed his very menacing smile.  He meant every word he said.  I took one-step back in amazement.  I was about to say something when Glinda came back smiling with two drinks in her hands for this Chad character and me. 

“So, you boys are talking shop, I’m sure.. but I’m going to introduce Chad to the rest of the guys if that’s okay with you, babe?”  She hands me a cup filled with gin, and then one to Chad.  Never taking my eyes off from the tall worm, I nodded, not even saying a word.  Before I knew it, they walked off into the crowd. 

We had to start the next set before I got much of a chance to talk to Glinda.  She handed me another cup of gin, kissed me, and then headed back to her seat where Mr. wonderful awaited.  I could see them sitting there.  For the next grueling fourteen songs, I stared eagle-eyed, to where the new couple sat on top of a picnic table.  They sat close to each other, talking, laughing, and drinking.  They seems like they were as old friends sharing secrets and touching arms, shoulders and legs.  Occasionally, Glinda would catch my eye and nod at me with that sweet smile I know so well.  

Honestly, I was so jealous, I could barely contain myself.  Yet, all I did was continue to play my guitar, barely concentrating on my music.  I stood there and stared at the two having a wonderful time without me.  It was almost like being in prison.  Worse yet, being in prison where I got to watch though a peep hole, the indiscretions of the love of my life.  It was torture.  

At the end of the show, thankfully, Chad was nowhere to be found.  At some point, the little turd exited the scene.  Glinda came up to me at the end of the show and gave me a big, long slow kiss.  

I was not impressed.  I pulled away from her, looked at her in her beautiful eyes, and I accusingly asked, “So, where’s your new boyfriend?”

At first, she thought I was kidding.  It was evident I was not.   

Well, needless to say that we did not have a nice swim after the show.  We fought our first real fight.  And it was ugly.  All the way home, it was an awful representation of humans at their worst.  I dropped her off at her apartment.  

She did not kiss me goodnight.  I was almost glad. 

It took two days before we talked again on the phone.  
Eventually, we made amends.  But…  

It was only a first fight, yet once that membrane of respect is broken; it’s very had to get back.  I accused her.  She accused me.  From there, the fights and the jealousy just accelerated.  

Towards the end, there was nothing either of us would be afraid to accuse each other of terrible indiscretions.  We fought more than we made love.  Eventually, it felt as if both of us were squeezing the life from each other. 
Eventually, she packed up all her belongings and moved back with parents somewhere in Arizona.  

I know you’re thinking, she must have eventually hooked up with Chad the rock star jerk from (maybe) England, just to spite me.  That never happened.  She was never interested him, other than he was from another country, and like her boyfriend, played music in a band.  Her intentions were never anything but pure. 

Many years later, I must admit I stalked her once on Facebook (oh, come on.. I know you have too.. don’t be so innocent with me!)  and noticed a man she lived with for a short while did have a resemblance to that Chad person.  She lived with a tall, thin, long-haired guy for a while that looked somewhat like him.   

However, she moved away (no forwarding address) after he abused her.  
What a terrible missed opportunity for both of us. 

Now, in this story, it’s obvious the jerk here is this Chad.  But, the truth of the matter is, the biggest jerk was completely, awfully, terribly, most regretfully, yours truly.  

I began to realize, there are jerks everywhere.  Unfortunately, you cannot change that… other than something illegal or immoral (thinking duct tape, shovel, and tarp)..  it’s unavoidable.  What’s more important is how you handle them is your response to the many jerks in life. 

I missed a naked swim with one of the most beautiful woman I had ever known.  And eventually, missed her completely, all because I did not believe in her.  And that, my friends.. makes me the biggest jerk, ever. 

The end of the world.  

On Friday, October 15th, 2094 at 3:15 pm Eastern Daylight savings time, the planet once called earth was struck by a large meteor.   The chunk of iron, dust and ice measured over 20 miles in diameter, in a shape something like an American football.  It hit in the Atlantic Ocean, some 300 miles off the Coast of South America, just a few degrees south of the Equator.  Though the exact location of the strike was somewhat inconsequential.   Within minutes the planet was completely enveloped in a searing explosion and fiery miasma that dissolved everything in its wake.  

There were no warnings of the impending disaster.  Though many advances had been made, NASA’s advanced meteor detection network spotted the unnamed killer rock streaking across the sky only moments before it hit.  There was not enough time to inform the President.  There were no last minute launches of nuclear missiles, nor movie heroics to redirect the comet.

This was the end.

The only omen of impending doom, was a small tremor earthquake in central Italy near Florence.  Just minutes later, the sky above Florence was Technicolor red and orange.  One minute after that, all life was swept away in the fire storm.  Nothing was left on the face of the earth, as the asteroid hit was even more devastating than even the experts had predicted.  

In the space of one hour all human, animal and plant life ceased to exist on earth.  The destruction on the surface of the earth was total. 

However….

Thanks to the advances in space technology, it was not the end of human existence in the universe, at least not yet. Exactly Six Hundred and forty four souls lived off planet. Five hundred men, women and children lived worked and played on the moon on the first lunar base, which the Chinese space built and inhabited.

In addition, one hundred men and women lived on the newest Mars colony, established by the new NASA/ESA alliance. Twelve astronauts lodged in the NASA’s Lunar Outpost, parked in an orbit between the moon and earth. Finally, thirty-two hearty souls saw the destruction of earth, up close from the newly refurbished International Space Station orbiting the earth.

Six hundred and forty four people now comprised the aggregate of the entire human race.  

Love and Death at the sparkle lounge with the Jimmy fizzle band

See that guy crawling on the ground by the front of the stage? That’s me. Johnny McCaw is my name, but everyone just calls me “Geezer.” I’m the light guy for the band, which means it’s my job to crawl around dirty and sticky dance floors to connect cables and run electricity to the equipment. Well, that is until that one night at the Sparkle Lounge.

It’s enough to keep me from ever getting married, I tell you what. I still cannot forget that smell; the smell of burning flesh.

I had been with Jimmy Fizzle for about a month. No, that’s not his real name. I found I needed extra money to supplement my infinitesimal income as a warehouse stock person. In addition, I am a frustrated musician with even less opportunities than I have talent. Fortunately, I did acquire some expensive lighting equipment from my last band. It was the cost of those lights that my soon-to-be-ex relationship ejected me from our happy home. She said I was obviously not worth the money I brought in. Well, how do you spell love?

The Jimmy Fizzle Band was your typical wedding group, a collection of ripened musical used-to-bees weary of playing to no crowds and for little money. There were eight of us, comprised of six musicians, the sound person, and me at the controls. They mostly played the wedding circuit, lending their talents to perform such classics as The Chicken Dance, and The Electric Slide.

The Sparkle Lounge is much like any wedding dance hall in this part of the state, just off from the main interstate highway, it displayed the personality of an adult video store. Still, the place did have its charms, namely cost and location. It sat right next to the famed Sparkle Motel. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.

Then we have the happily married couple. I give ‘em six months tops. 

The greasy groom, all of age twenty-two and the bride, a Petunia in a pink meringue dress looked more a sherbet than a Real Housewife of Orange County. Nevertheless, Patty and William Dietzle were well on their way to happy land at the conclusion of their nuptials. Only thing left to do was the drinking and the dancing. The wedding dance began at seven, but the drinking began as soon as the bellies hit the bar. 

I was getting nervous as show time was nearing, as I was having a devil of time trying to string enough power cords from the ancient basement up to the stage. The basement looked more at home in a horror movie; unfinished rock walls and dark, creepy corners. The stage was just overhead from the electric service boxes. Here, strands of wire from years of neglect, connected with fuses and circuit breakers from bygone eras met in a tangle.  Don’t even get me started on the spiders….

The band opened the first song and before long, the show was thumping right along. I sat next to homeboy, the sound person. I operated the light show and the go-for drinks when the band demanded refreshments. The interminable first set, complete with father/daughter dance, garter-toss and bouquet throwing rituals, made me want to wretch. By the end of the first set, I was ready to hit the open bar…hard!

During this break, the wedding toasts began. Homeboy had to make a microphone available to the toasters.  He also helped usher those tasked to toast across the four inches from dance floor to stage. Now, anyone in the business can tell you a live music stage can be a treacherous place with wires, and electronics strung everywhere. On this night, the stage was especially hazardous, as we did not have time to tidy the floor for the band. Most unfortunately, the floor drenched with spilled drinks, created the perfect storm for mayhem.  

It was time for Herbert, the uncle of the groom and head financer to speak. Homeboy helped the three-hundred-pound hunk of ham to the stage, and stuffed the microphone stand in front of Herbert Dietzle’s fleshy face.  He cleared his throat in order to gain attention, and then tapped lightly on the phallic-looking microphone in front of him. This brought large thumps from the speakers and the slight whine of feedback. I looked up from my drink and over to Homeboy, who had just winced in spite of his inebriation.

As Herbert began his rambling speech, I went back to paying attention to my drink. He said something about the couple, and something about love is like opening a new bottle of champagne. Blah. Blah. I could hear a distinct silence as he struggled to open the bottle. As expected, I heard the satisfying loud pop of the cork.  From the crowd rose an appreciative, AHHHH!  But, after a few moments of cheers and applause someone screamed a most blood-curdling cry. This is followed by ever more screams. I juddered around to look at the obvious commotion behind me.

All I could see through the crowd was poor Herbert Dietzle wriggling like a caught fish on the floor of the stage, covered in foaming champagne. He was dancing the worm, most violently on the floor. At first, I thought it was a joke, and then I saw the white smoke rise from his jacket.

I snapped out of my morbid fascination, and jumped into action. Both Homeboy and I ran to the basement stairs and nearly fell on our way to the electrical junction box. We both grabbed an old wooden chair to stand on and reach for the main service switch.

I knew better than to touch the metal box with my hands, as sparks now danced across the ancient electric panel. Homeboy took off his sweater and threw it up to me, and I used it to throw the main switch. The lights everywhere winked out, then just silence, except for the screaming up above. And that smell. 

Poor Herbert Dietzle died that night. Yet, I do wonder which pictures made it into the wedding photo album.

From Jack and Jill went over the cliff...   (A Romance Novel) 

"Sooo... you don't think it's wrong to go out and have 'business drinks' with some random guy that I've never met... that is your 'mentor' and he doesn't think it's wrong either?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, you've talked about all this with him, then?"

"Yes, of course. I don't know what he has to do with..."

"So, you've discussed you and I with this guy?" 

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way..." 

"So, I'm guessing you've had more 'meetings' with this guy then?"

"Well, yes. Business meetings, Jack."

"Uh-huh. What kind of business?"

"I told you... I'm trying to get my real estate business off the ground and Geoff is just trying to help me."

"By meeting you after your work for drinks?"

"Yes."

"And, now you're home at midnight?"

Silence.

"And you've discussed our relationship with this 'mentor guy' that kept you out drinking until midnight..."

Silence and then anger in her face. 

"Why don't you just go ahead and spill it, Jack. You don't trust me. You never have," she screamed.

"I guess I just don't understand..." 

"Oh, you sure as hell sure understand! How dare you tell me how to live my life. Geoff is an understanding friend that is helping me with my business, you jerk." 

And the argument dissolved into a hash of old arguments renewed... and ended with one or both leaving their little happy home for the squalid pallor of a seedy hotel. Eventually, Jack moved in with me in my little farmstead in upper New York. 

Such ended the fourth rendition of Jack and Jill. 

Just for the record:  I think going into work today was a Very Bad Idea. That is all! Thank you and don't forget to replace your speakers on your way out of the theater... 

The ABC’s of me…

Positive vs. Negative – Shrek, Donkey and…um, Harvey.

Last night (and rightfully, nearly all the time), my girl friend called me “negative.”  As in, “You’re always so NEGATIVE.”  In which she follows it up with, “Yes, but you’ve had so many things happen to you, I get it.”  That’s her… putting a positive spin on saying something negative about my… um… negativity.  I think it’s time to address this little paradigm once and for all. 

“Glass is half-full or half-empty,” goes the old proverbial phrase when describing a situation.  Of course, many such as myself, have made much fun of the other answers available - Completely full (Air and Water, DUH) and – It’s the wrong-sized glass - or finally - If it’s beer, the answer is always… not enough.

Well, she is right… being a certain age, I have been through a whole lot…. And for the most part, much of it has been awful.  Relationships that didn’t turn out very pleasant, jobs that soured quickly, some people overbearing and under-productive, promises un-kept, and the Ginsu knives don’t work worth crap. 

It was this last, I think, that taught me my first real lesson on negativity. The Knives.

I was newly married and the wife and I were happily absconded in our new apartment when we were visited one day by a door-to-door salesman named Harvey.  Now Harvey was a pleasant, older gentleman that caught us in a weak moment asking us if we would like to check out his new line of super knives now on sale.

Well, hell. What newly-married couple doesn’t need a new set of knives to mingle with their Saint Vincent DePaul kitchen utensils?  Harvey was a seasoned salesman, as he adeptly showed us his line of knives could easily cut through a thick piece of cowhide, and still be nimble enough to slice a whole, ripened tomato (he just happened to bring along).  Just to PROVE that his knives stayed sharp, he then sawed an empty soda can in two.  I’m not sure how many people would need to cut a cowhide and saw a can in two with kitchen knives, but it was an effective presentation. 

And just for today (you know) he was able to offer a special price on his fillet knives… only $35 each when buying the knife set.  And they came with their own “simulated leather sheaths to wear on your belt.” After some discussion, we thought we could buy one for her brother and one for my mom, both fishing enthusiasts. There ya go… only June, and we have some of our Christmas shopping already done!

Grand total came up just south of $400.00.  Of course, we had nothing near that to give him, so he told us we could go on the “easy payment Plan.”  Just twenty dollars down, and 50 a month, we would have those knives paid off in no time flat!  

After the first payment, we found ourselves flat broke, and was not able to pay Harvey.  That meant that we inherited our very own bill collector and man sitting on our steps in the morning…every morning until we paid up.  Harvey became almost part of our daily ritual… as he would be waiting….always waiting outside our door. For a good year, and a little beyond that, Harvey faithfully stood there waiting to get paid.  We gave him what we could, three dollars here and five there.  I doubt we paid the whole debt we owed.  Back then, four hundred dollars was obscene amount of money…and we had no business saying YES to the knives.  I know that now.

The knives – by the way – that turned out to be no better or sharper than those you could buy at your local big box store for a fraction of the cost – and with their own stand yet too! Back then, of course there was no online up-to-the-minute credit report… but Harvey managed to ding up our credit to the point where we couldn’t even find an apartment without running into the likes of him and our big mistake. 

Lesson learned?  Well, yes and no. It taught me to be very weary of people trying to sell you stuff you really don’t need….and really can’t afford….No matter HOW GOOD the deal is.

Now, back to the positive verses the negative thing:  Take any film duo… I’ll use the movie Shrek for my example - Just because I love Shrek and it’s one of my favorite movies.  The truth is… you only really need a few movies to teach you all you need to know about life – The Godfather, Casablanca, The Martian, Gilda, and Shrek.

In Shrek, Donkey is the eternal optimist and Shrek is the eternal pessimist.  Shrek at the beginning is more than happy in his dirty little swamp, scaring the locals and being hated by all.  It’s only when Donkey happens into his life, does he fall into the adventure of the tale.  Now, it is true that Shrek is – by all accounts – a grumpy old curmudgeon that just wants to be left alone. Yet - it is he after all, that does the majority of setting out and rescuing and changing.  

In fact, after finally deciding to rescue the princess, the example I like is while Shrek and Donkey cross the perilous rope bridge. Shrek fearlessly crosses the bridge and helps Donkey to “not look down” while calming his fears. He goes on the confront the dragon, save the princess and his friend and escape. Not bad for a grumpy, negative ogre, eh? 

So… though he is a curmudgeon, and negative… the movie is named for Shrek and not really for Donkey… though without Donkey, it would not have been much a story at all, would it? See. In the real world, there are Shreks and there are Donkeys and in a world filled with evil, wannabe kings, fierce dragons and beautiful princesses…it takes both an idyllic optimist and the pragmatic pessimist to make the story work.

It doesn’t mean I’m negative about everything.  I just know that when people smile and shake my hand…chances are better than even - their name is Harvey…and they want to sell me the Ginsu knives for more than I can afford.  But more than anything, I need Donkey to reassure me that there are still good people in the world that just want to shake my hand.