Are Celebrity Deaths Really Upsetting?

In case you hadn't heard, last week, some music icon, who went by the name of Michael Jackson, or MJ to his fans, died from a drug overdose, or a heart attack, or faked his own death to avoid bankruptcy, or whichever conspiracy theory you want to speculate, and the whole world, including North Korea, went into a tailspin, unable to grasp the reality that the King of Pop was dead. Reports went so far as to indicate that there were 12 otherwise stable individuals who ended up killing themselves so as not to face the harsh reality that their moral compas and mental stability was no longer apart of their lives. And while even I, myself, have stayed locked in my room (though for completely other reasons), I still can't seem to understand why anyone cares. I mean, how was this guy so special anyway? Because he could sing? I can sing.

Okay, I can't sing. My YouTube vid, and all the comments that go with it, is proof of that. But what is with everybody's infatuation over this guy. Sure, he brought the moonwalk to the states, a dance move that's even cooler than the Macarena (if that's even possible). And sure, he taught us to embrace all of our inner ethnicities, and that yes... plastics are possible.

But I never met him... and neither have all but a select few. Yet, when watching interviews with fans, one can't help but notice the grief and pain that these people are going through. You have to feel sorry for them, you really do. Not because they've lost someone special, but because they are so far removed from reality that they think they have.

I am not venting. I actually don't really care why people feel the way they do. But I am trying to see what others feel, so please comment, and let me know what the big deal is.

Fishbowls and Sisters

I can't take credit for the title of this blog; my sister's roommate came up with it, and seeing how this week off from work has taken a turn from anxiously awaiting the mundane monotony of everyday life for the mere excitement of seeing my paycheck pop up in my direct deposit to a visit to Ithaca to spend time with my sister and her close friends, I thought that not only was the title catchy, but appropriate to the experience I have enjoyed before a second adventure down memory lane in the fantastic, yet small state of Rhode Island (coming up soon, and I can't wait) finishes off the week. All my inhibitions and life's disappointments seem to disappear with the consumption of fishbowls (an inside joke to those in the know) and yet upon reflection, it is because of this abuse that the true character is center stage. Most of you have commented on the "person who caused me to join Facebook" and have inquired about the rekindling of souls that has been so anxiously awaited from one end, and although this process is still ongoing, the reality is that without this precious substance that has its place in biblical history, this reuniting will more-than-likely not occur. (Of course, I'm talking about booze, after all, Jesus turned water into wine, not seltzer.) In fact, as I write this, I take note of a text message sent from my closest of friends, that is a response that I sent only because of my indiscretion due to "fishbowls".
It's late, and while most of blogs are philosophical, this one is written mostly because of a request; more like a challenge to what I am capable of under the influence of "fish". A lot has happened in the past two weeks, and while most people turn to these ulterior means of mind-erasing to forget about the bad, for me (for whatever reason) I am able to reminisce more adequately.
For starters, it seems like every time I bond with somebody, some higher power decides to have a little fun and take that person out of my life. But I'll tell you this... I am not giving up without a fight. People, I believe, are inherently good and deserve second and third chances (God knows I wouldn't be where I am today if somebody didn't take a chance on me). And when I found out that I am unable to provide that same chance to someone I feel is deserving, my purpose is now questioned. Think of it this way. I feel that everything happens for a reason (call it... fate), and there is a reason, unbeknownst to me, that I am where I am today. For the longest time, I thought that reason was to guide this particular person on a path where he could make the most of his potential, and become the person (to others) that he was to me. I saw in him humanity; I saw in him a future; and I saw in him love, a quality that not everybody is capable of showing. And then in an instant, he was gone. And while the idea that I have failed in my quest to change the world was reinforced with his removal from my life (yet again), I still can't help but take it personally. I do thank God, though (or whatever higher being is in charge of dictating my life) that there are other people who fill my life with rare happiness, but there is still an emptiness that I realize after a few approaches to the handful of straws that the bartender crams into the fishbowl.
I suppose the common theme is hope. Without it, we have despair, and with that comes a bleak future filled with broken promises and regret. Reflecting isn't enough; the actions not only speak louder than words, but are also the only source of change; a change that needs to take place if happiness is to come from more than just a half-empty fishbowl filled with ice. Here's to dreams (as subconscious as they are) and the hope that one day, those dreams will be realized, and life will amount to more than just "between sips".

Food for thought

As I was anxiously awaiting a response to an invitation that I had sent out through facebook, I thought that I would log in and see who had responded. As the website was loading, I noticed that I had a friend request, which surprised me not only because I didn't see the response from my invitees, but also because, well, friend requests on my page are always surprising. I love getting that message, too, because it is during that brief moment in time when the potential is there for it to be anybody in the world, be it a lost loved one from the eighth grade, or that person that you exclaim to the world that you never want to speak to again, but secretly hope that he or she befriends you as a catalyst for reconnection (and we all know I have those people in my life!) Upon opening the friend request, I saw that it was from a man named Maurizio. Now, there are a lot of people that I know with foreign and unusual names, but I was certain that I had never met a Maurizio. I mean, I have had anonymous encounters before, but his profile indicated that he was from Italy and I was clearly at a loss as to whom this gentleman might be. And then I saw it. His last name was Renna. Imagine that. Some random fellow across the ocean was bored one night and decided to see how many people with the same last name was a member of facebook, and he came across me. Now, Renna (Italian for reindeer for all you trivia buffs) is not a very common name, and so I indulged his request and accepted the invite. Didn't really mean much other than the fact that I now had yet another friend on my facebook list whom I would never hear from again. But, being the philosophiser that I am (yes, I know I denied that label in my first post, but several of you called me out on it), I started thinking. My first thought was "what if he's related to me?" It's quite a major point on the technological scoreboard to connect several generations of cousins many times removed to each other despite distance both geographically and socially. But the possibility is there. What if his great grandmother and my great-great grandfather were brother and sister? I think it's kind of cool to find a link if there is one, or at least contemplate the existence of such a bond. Maybe I'm putting too much thought into this, as usual, but it would be cool to have a connection in Italy, should I ever decide to visit.
In other news, I have found (again, through the internet. Thank God for technology) a group of people located in Westchester that organizes hikes up different mountains in the Hudson Valley. They have a website and post different trips that they are taking as a group. If you are free and have the desire to expend a little energy, an affirmative RSVP and a pair of hiking boots are all that is needed to turn a boring day into one of adventure. If anybody is interested in tagging along, even if it's only for one hike, let me know. Perhaps these hikes can replace my Wii Fit with the program I'm trying to follow (though unfaithfully) to lose the extra pounds. Not that I could ever replace my Wii Fit...

It's quite the conundrum that the dichotomy of the date that marks the beginning of the calendar year is so because in addition to being the second worst day of the year (second only to Valentine's day), it is also the most reflective day where one ought to glimpse into the past and ponder the future, no matter how mundane his existence may seem on the surface. Now, I'm not the most philosophical of people; I try to merely go along to get along while trying not to be bored. But after several hours of the Twilight Zone marathon that the good people over at the Sci-Fi channel provide for us, I can't help but seem to feel that my personal time continuum is on a loop, that my history is set on "repeat". Don't get me wrong. I don't mind forgoing a social life on the one day that is meant to be spent out of the house just to sit and watch a show that was fifty years ahead of its time. In fact, it's quite a good show, offering such quotes as "the second children stop playing games, they start to get old" or "I'm talking Tina and I'm going to kill you." Of course, I'm veering off track just so that I can define myself as someone with classy taste, and a desire for the "what once was". But in all seriousness, life is starting to take a pattern, filling each year with ups and downs, friendships gained, and relationships lost, job quit and random positions taken, all encircled by the beginning and end of the yearly time spectrum marked with the downs of spending New Years at home and the ups of the aforementioned television show.
But just because 2008 started and ended with familial deaths, holistically, this was the year of self definition (and I'm not talking about the abs that I'm trying to sculpt!) My personal metamorphosis allowed me to realize who I was on the inside, and who was willing to walk along side me, despite my confused sense of being. After all, it was only this past May or June when I declared to my parents that I was to become a scuba diver. And after a twenty hour course, a July excursion to the Bahamas, and a September camp out in the rain in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country that I received not only my diving certification, but my advanced diving certification. That wasn't enough for me though, and in November, I made a second declaration that I wanted to learn how to bartend, and so after another 40 hours during my Saturdays, and a grueling exam, I was able to make 12 drinks in 7 minutes, and get yet another certification that superficially defines me and distracts me from the reality that I am just as lost as the survivors of Oceanic flight 815. As David Cook sings, it was my declaration to anyone who's listening. And they were. For the first time since my college years, when friendship had surrounded me and my everyday existence was happily mistaken for the change that the world needed, or perhaps redemption for my future sins, people were starting to take notice. With the declaration from a former Broadway performer telling me to persue the art, or the question from my brother, asking me "how does it feel do actually do things?", to the first musical compliment from my gifted and talented best friend in regard to a song that I had recorded, people were starting to notice. But more importantly, I was starting to take notice. After a fall from grace, and a dead end job at a newspaper with people whom I loved, my final test came in the form of gang members. I knew I had finally circled back to the character of my glory days when one of my students, Justin, (a member of the Latin Kings) approached me one day during a free period and told me that we needed to talk. Of course, I know better than to not have another adult in the room with me during those moments of "we need to talk", but despite the fact that an adult was only about five feet away, he still felt the need to continue the conversation. After the sixteen year old had told me that he hated his father, and hated the fact that he was his father to his newborn daughter, a girl who incidentally had the same birthday as I did, hence the catalyst for our bond, he looked at me and said "I know what the answer would be, but I need to ask anyway. Can I come live with you?" Well, he was right. He did know what the answer was, but despite his disappointment in that small thing called the law, he spent the next few weeks trying to prove to me that he honestly did appreciate all that I had done for him. And while I would absolutely help him get out of his shitty situation, as I told him I would, I got to thinking... maybe I can't be his guardian, but maybe that role in some other child's life is just what we both need, if for nothing more than to give mine purpose. And that is my hope. Of course, I don't have the financial means now, nor do I have the time, what with me pursuing all of my other personal endeavors (sailing and flying planes is next by the way), but for some odd reason, that seems to be the dominating thought in my mind these past few months. Well, that and I hope the giants win the Superbowl again.
For now, though, I am satisfied with the bonds that I do have. Even when one person made it clear that I was to be loved in a different way than I had at first wanted, it is an unconditional Agape, which touches my soul much deeper than any Eros would. And the memories we have already made will far outlast any future experiences I could ever have with ANYBODY else, as hard to believe as that may seem. And even after one friend walked away forever on the most magical night this year, the pain was subsided with the assurance that it was only an isolated incident (despite the repetitiveness of it from past friendships!)
Yes, 2008 was that year of self defining. Two years ago, another former close friend (see, we''re dealing with the cycles of life again!) thanked me for yet another great year. And they are. The changes, the discoveries, the adventures, and the prospects of existing even better are all reasons to continue during 2009, hard as that may be sometimes. And who knows, maybe one day my time travel theory will be more than that, and we can just simply play around and manipulate the past, present, and future to our liking. Until then, I love you all, and look forward to another interesting year.

And yes, because some of you asked.... here is my annual list of good memories from 2008... in no particular order:
1) Pregaming in the giant's parking lot.
2) Being introduced to the two Davids: Cook and Archuletta.
3) My first Baptist wedding. Hallelujah!
4) Going from six feet under to sixty feet under!
5) Last play at Shea with Billy Joel.
6) Seeing my cousin Fran for the first time since I was a kid, right before she died.
7) 3 hour cruise around Manhattan.
8) Manhattans <3
9) Playing Rockband and Assassin's Creed for the first four months of the year.
10) My trip to Newport.
11) My second trip to Rhode Island to experience my first Frat party (and every pill that came with it!)
12) Grace Kelly
13) Playland on Memorial day.
14) Playland on the 4th of July.
15) Watching two people I love get fired from the Journal News and then quitting the next day out of principle.
16) Spring Awakening on Broadway.
17) Les Miserables, Footloose, Kiss Me Kate, and that other really good show about the Bible that some Hen Hud students put on (though I can't remember the name of it.)
18) Rollerblading by the water.
19) Wii Fit
20) Watching all 23 James Bond movies IN ORDER, ending with Quantum of Solace.