Unpredictable

I just received a phone call from my Twin in Chicago.

"Killed...killed...bodies...killed...."

Whoa. Slow down. Who got killed? Are you OK?

He is OK. Physically.

The Twin was, as he is almost every evening, standing at the Cermak bus stop after work.
Unlike most days, today a runaway tractor trailer plowed into the station.
He felt the air move as the truck passed.
It was very close.

There was a deafening , exploding sound - louder than a hundred earthquakes- and suddenly bodies were flying through the air, people were screaming, blood was everywhere.
The Twin actually saw the truck coming in, but those who didn't thought it was a bomb or a derailed train.

After the shock, my brother and other bystanders tried to lift a piece of metal ( from his description, I think it may be the 'L' shaped beam directly in front of the truck's front tire) off of a pair of women who were pinned underneath. They were in a pool of spreading blood.
The women were not moving.

The rescue was not successful.

Two women died at the scene and nearly a dozen other persons are in critical care.

I'm not sure if the dead women were the ones he was trying to help or not; in any case it was a horrible scene and the Twin was very shaken, on the edge of tears...to make matters worse, someone stole the Twin's backpack, which he had dropped when he ran to help. It had his wallet, credit card, checkbook, cell phone...the works.

With any luck, the authorities picked it up while they were clearing the scene...maybe they thought it was a potential bomb and they took it somewhere and blew it up, it'll ruin your Blackberry but your ID will be safe.
I suck at comforting.

The Twin was still in a state of mild shock. He was afraid to watch the news...he didn't want to know how many people died. He started down the what if path:
-What if I hadn't stopped to tie my shoe?
-What if I hadn't seen the truck coming?

Don't think about that, I said.
Just don't take anything for granted, ever.
I don't.


There are degrees of near-death experiences. His was brief, unforeseeable and left him unharmed- dodging the proverbial bullet, as it were.

My own experience was a bit different. I didn't have a brush with Death, I had a long disagreement that went on for six days...I remember the doctor coming into my room and telling me that they had "lost me" a couple of times while I was on the operating table.

What operating table? I had surgery?

Yep. I went into alcoholic withdrawal while they were trying to repair my innards...I had a grande mal seizure while I had an endoscopic tube inside me. Everyone present was amazed that I survived. I used up four units of blood. This seemed like a pretty impressive statistic to the doc, he repeated it several times for effect.

Jesus. I'm glad I don't remember that. Doc, how long will I be in the hospital?

Not long, he said.

That's good news.

No, it's not. We expect you to die.

Die? When?

Today. Perhaps tomorrow.

That sucks. I don't feel like dying.

The doctors didn't believe me. Over and over again, I was asked the same questions in different forms...did I ever have suicidal thoughts? ...did I plan on drinking again?
I felt like screaming : of course I NEVER have any suicidal thoughts! I drank myself into a bloody pulp in a joyous, life-affirming manner!
I mean, nothing celebrates life like a 1.75 liter bottle of Bowman's Virginia Vodka... I sure could use a drink...but I didn't say that.

I lied and said : "No and no."

It's a good thing that I did.
I have since learned that if I had admitted to having "suicide ideation", I probably would have been placed into psychiatric care, which would have driven me insane...instead, I was left alone with Death, who can be a real asshole.

The smug, undying bastard was convinced that I was going to drink again.
"C'mon in, man", he said with a wink and a scythe, "the water's fine. One drink and you can swim here forever, you'll never feel any pain again."

"But", I protested, "that means I'll never feel anything good either."

"Dude", he said, using a condescending tone that only immortals can truly pull off, "your life sucks. You are a fat, used-up drunk with no job, no future and no friends. No one even knows that you are here...they won't miss you when you are gone. Loveless , hopeless, forgotten...that's you."

No. That's not me. Don't say that. No.

The Reaper grinned. "Why not? You say it every day. I'm just agreeing with you."

I had to admit that he was right.
I also had to admit that I was wrong.
Death was using my own words as a weapon against me.
That pissed me off.

It was then that I decided that I was never going to drink again.
I've been sober ever since.

Poor company, Death was, but I'm richer for having met him.

Sometimes persons, on hearing my story, will comment that I must possess remarkable strength.
Or courage.
Or willpower.
Or faith...or any number of other things that I don't have.

Those aren't the things that keep me sober.

The secret to my sobriety isn't a secret at all.
I don't want to die.

That's it.

*********************************

In 1996 I wrote a comic book mini-series titled "Destiny Angel". This is the opening page from issue #1:

In which my protagonist is asked the question:





Eerie, eh?


I thought so.

Got Schmooze?

I'd like to thank my stalwart blogpal Sling for this award, even if I'm a bit mystified as to what I did to earn it. A 'community involvement/schmoozing' award is an odd thing for a self-professed subversive, reclusive, anarchistic, iconoclastic and downright anti-social Intertube crackpot to receive...or is it? Up is down, war is peace and American Idol is entertainment, so I suppose that by following that logic, I must be a pillar of strength in the blogosphere; a regular paragon of virtual virtue.

My award-winning humility is one of my myriad superlative qualities, but my rockin' modesty prevents me from listing them all- one of the drawbacks to being the Most Humble Man on Earth is that it doesn't come with bragging rights...but I can boast about some of the people who are lucky enough to have 'met' me online, er, uh...I mean that I have been fortunate enough to meet.
Yeah. That's it.

#1) Whim: Last year, quite a few bloggers with whom I had a passing acquaintance received emails regarding me from a shamelessly self-important blogger with a marginal messiah complex- he was warning them of my nefarious plan to commit suicide on-air during my Sunday morning radio show. I was one of the last people to hear of my own plans, very few folks took the time to write to me and ask me what was going on; most simply accepted this self-appointed arbiter of Blog behavior at his word.
I frequently point out the perils and folly of believing unsubstantiated claims without checking the sources, but a few readers did write to me and ask WTF? Whim was one of them. Whim understands what it feels like to be a survivor, and although we both get depressed at times, neither one of us is in need of a suicide watch. I quit drinking in order to live, not die- that's a major theme of my writing since my illness of 2005. Whim, who has fought to survive as hard as any human can possibly fight, understood this and after a short time she became one of my favorite penpals of all time. Her support during a period when it felt as if nearly the entire blogiverse had turned against me - for no reason- was invaluable in keeping me 'in the game'. I sure hopes she gets back on-line soon.

#2) Jackie Sue :Yellowdog Granny isn't old enough to be my grandmother, but she's cool enough to be my mom. Even her bad moods are funnier than 10,000 sitcoms, and when she starts dissecting the news and adding her own observations, you can see well how she uses humor to cope with a world that she is unblissfully aware of. I am glad she is my friend, because she'd be a formidable adversary. You absolutely DO NOT fuck with her.
Freya watches over this one.
'Nuff said.
(Under those big Texas Titties beats a heart of gold- see her latest post for details.)

#3) Angel: Like Whim, I was introduced to Angel by a blogger who no longer talks to me, but that's OK because Angel still does. She's a unique woman with a heavy load- but she bears it with dignity, humor and just the right amount of outrage. She is active in many blogging groups and has won so many awards that I fear her blog may tip sideways from the weight of all the trophies on her sidebar, but hey, what's one more? I am out-of-my-territory when it comes to child-rearing, but Angel seems to understand parenting and she knows how to get involved with web-networks of parents with similar situations and understands the importance of the support these groups provide. For that alone, she deserves this 'community' award.
(It's a secret fantasy of mine to start a communal ranch and raise domesticated mythological beasts. Angel would be my Dragon-Keeper)

#4) Skeet: I honestly don't know Skeet all that well, but she is an extraordinarily prolific blogger and I especially enjoy her observations on living in Hawaii- it's not what you get from the travel brochures. At one point -perhaps even now- she had numerous blogs on various hosts- like Angel, her sidebar is choc-a-bloc with accolades and blogger community widgets - Skeet does do some 'Post-for-Pay' work and she has been back-handedly criticized for that, but I would like to come to her defense: Life is hard and expensive, her blogs are well-written and she has told me she would not endorse products she found distasteful- I say if she can make a few extra bucks by doing something harmless that she obviously enjoys, then she deserves some respect- a few paid posts, contrary to the opinions of some, will not ruin blogs, blogging or the blogosphere. For all I know, those paid posts might be what pays her Internet bills and make the whole blog possible...always check your facts and sources before you presume to attach motives to the actions of others. Oh yeah, she has some great pics too...except maybe the fried food...that looked nasty, heheh.

#5) Cruel Virgin, AKA, Enemy of the Republic: Anyone who can get 71 comments and answer all of them must be doing something that involves the 'blogging community', the fact that she manages to upset, piss-off and generally outrage some truly stupid commenters indicates that she must be doing something right- she's spiritual, but not dogmatic- I suspect that it's her never-ending critical examination of the Divine that upsets the nutjobs, at least one of whom seems to really, really want to sleep with her, despite her frequently mentioned marriage . That thinly veiled desire is about the only comment from that person that makes sense to me. Smart women are sexy as hell and EotR is very smart.


#6) CS- CS has picked up on the usefulness of blog as therapy, she's had some major turmoil but manages to find some peace and beauty -or at least insight and irony- in nearly all her works. I think she's be a fun person to hike with..."ooooh, look at this" would be a phrase heard often, I imagine. Did I mention that smart women are sexy?
There is a cleansing, transitional quality to her recent posts, which seem to appear every sixty seconds or so, complete with photos that bring vicarious joy to my precarious state of mind.
For these brief moments of beauty, I have added one more blogger to the mandated list of five.
I never was very good at following rules...some are better broken.

#7) Craig D.- CD understands the beauty of truly cheesy LPs and he is an unabashed punster. I find these to be admirable qualities. It wasn't until recently that I found out that he also has a history of Rockin'...on the trombone! I think he eventually switched to MIDI banjo or something...in any case, he's almost as famous as I am, so you better treat him right. Don't misunderestimate the trombonist -or bassist or whatever- if you can play original music in front of a live audience, you are already ahead of 9o% of people who merely own a musical instrument. Keep on 'Bonin'!

NEXT: Bridges, and how to burn them.

To Be Continued

I took the day off to attend to some personal business.

First, I took a cue from my long-time blogpal Sling and used my Blooger skills to set up a 'sample' blog that the radio station could use as a newsletter/forum, thus keeping our internal politics off-the-air and off our public website; things that have been a problem for us lately.

Then I spent a long time talking with my grandmother concerning my father's whereabouts- he's been MIA (Missing In Alcohol) for a couple of months now. He had almost 90 days of sobriety but he chose to go back to the bottle.

His last words to his mother:"Say goodbye to the cat for me."

So I did a little sleuthing. Don't ask me how.

I found that Dad's bank and credit card activity ends abruptly on May 7th. This activity is how I used to track him down- back when I still cared enough to bother- it's possible that he figured out that he can be tracked via his plastic and has switched to all-cash, but I think that's unlikely.

The most likely scenario is that he's been dead since May 7th. Or 8th.

It must seem awful cold of me to be able to write about it like that, but that's the way is with alcoholics. I have tried to help him, but he has made his choices and he'll die with them.

I've made my choices too.
My choices are not his choices.
I intend on living with mine.

Anyway, I expect the shit will hit the fan very soon. There's already a considerable amount of fecal turbulence in my neighborhood, so if I'm not around much, don't be alarmed. I'm doing what's needed and I'll be back soon.

Then again, I could post again in an hour.

I honestly don't know what's going to happen, I only know what's NOT going to happen.

-I am NOT going on a wild-goose intervention chase for my AWOL parent.

-I am NOT going to stop playing music, alone or on the radio.

-I am NOT going to quit writing.

-I am NOT going to take a drink.

Not giving in,
Allan