Is there any body out there?
My cousin Frankie died Saturday, 09 January 2010.
Frankie was a couple of years younger than me - maybe 45 or so. He'd high blood pressure. He suffered an aneurysm apparently, and died alone in his apartment. His body was discovered Sunday, 10 January 2010. It was the cocaine, I suspect.
Frankie has two young children and an ex-wife, Tara. I attended their wedding - 1995, I think. The rain had just passed. Tara and Frankie were very drunk. After the reception I drove them to their hotel: Tara beside me in my cab, wearing her wedding dress, Frankie standing over us in the bed of my pick-up hooting and hollering into the damp night.
A middle-child, Frankie was Aunt Kay and Uncle Frank’s oldest and only boy. Robin is my age - 47. Caroline is in her early 40’s now. She’s the one whom molested Diane when Diane was five.
Our cousin Kevin - our Aunt Maureen’s surviving son - was raised by Aunt Kay and Uncle Frank after Aunt Maureen’s boyfriend fatally threw Kevin’s little brother from an apartment window when Kevin was ten. Frankie became Kevin’s new brother.
Frankie was slender, with a handsome face before the drugs and alcohol ravaged his good looks. I can’t say I agree with Frankie’s worst decisions, but I’ve been struggling against the temptation to try steroids, so who am I to judge him?
I helped Frankie collect debts from his paper route when I visited him in Boston when we were young. Frankie worked hard, and had sharp business acumen. He could flip a stack of one’s near his ear and tell you if the stack was short or not. He liked to bowl too. We played street hockey during most visits. I was impressed with Frankie’s keen stick-handling.
I realize I haven’t blogged anything substantial for a while. My contract ends 31 January 2010, but my mission ends 12 March 2010, apparently.
I’ve taken some damage, but I’m healing physically. My friends alaria_lyon and raven_s where horrified to discover the condition of my feet during my holiday visit. I soaked my feet in hydrogen peroxide after I returned home. That helped.
The hole in my chest is mostly healed too. I had a pus incident last week, but that seems to be the last of it. There’s still titanium in my arm in case you’ve forgotten or just didn't know (lucky_duck_hula). I’m half-cyborg.
I don’t know where I’ll be Mike Charlie (Mission Complete). I’d like to stay in New England, though if I stay with the company - and that’s a huge “if” - the available positions are in Maryland, Virginia, and Germany. My friends alaria_lyon and raven_s tell me I’m not allowed to go to Germany.
I’ll have to buy a lap top computer soon too - our computers at work are being secured soon. The building is quite literally being emptied around us.
I’ve been tempted to try steroids for the past few months. I feel cheated by the accident that broke my arm. I’m strong, but not as strong as I was. I won’t use cheap Chinese or Mexican steroids of course. The one thing that has kept me from using steroids is ‘roid rage. I don’t think my community would appreciate a 260lb trained heavy-weight on a ‘roid rage. I suspect some incidents of ‘roid rage have been exaggerated - it’s as good an excuse as any to go ape-shit - but I‘ve a family history of mental instability which does give me pause.
When asked what I’ll do once I’m unemployed I like to respond that I’ll turn to a life of crime. I’ve been feeling the urge to go ape-shit anyway. Maine voters decided back in November to continue telling others whom we can and cannot marry. A friend of mine posted a comment on his Facebook wall supporting marriage between two consenting adults, a stance I approve of and commented on. A friend of his - the spitting image of Doctor No - upheld religious bigotry. I pointed out secular marriages were valid too: atheists, agnostics, Buddhists, and many others legally marry and religion shouldn’t have a say in that either. I was behaving. I didn’t want to insult my friend’s wall. Doctor No didn’t share my sense of propriety and flamed away as Christians are wont to do when their imaginary god can’t speak for himself - and they’ll know we are Christians by our love? Our mutual friend was mortified and deleted the post, but I saw what Doctor No had written in my e-mail notification. I was not amused.
I want to stomp Doctor No. I tried to explain my anger to a friend, but when I tried to give context he just wanted to defend polygamy.
Doctor No isn’t the only fool I want to stomp either. My former chain of command from the USS Elliot comes to mind, as does my Union Shop Steward and our former manager at work. They’ve not been held accountable for their crimes - and make no mistake they’re criminals all. Well, not Doctor No, honestly: he didn’t break any laws, he just pissed me off. But I know their names. I can track them down, and I can hold them accountable. It won’t right their wrongs, but their children will know them for who they are: weak pissy assholes that’ve hid behind their precious authority and my fading restraint. They claim Rank Makes Right. I propose Might Makes Right.
I’m angry. Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.
Frankie was a couple of years younger than me - maybe 45 or so. He'd high blood pressure. He suffered an aneurysm apparently, and died alone in his apartment. His body was discovered Sunday, 10 January 2010. It was the cocaine, I suspect.
Frankie has two young children and an ex-wife, Tara. I attended their wedding - 1995, I think. The rain had just passed. Tara and Frankie were very drunk. After the reception I drove them to their hotel: Tara beside me in my cab, wearing her wedding dress, Frankie standing over us in the bed of my pick-up hooting and hollering into the damp night.
A middle-child, Frankie was Aunt Kay and Uncle Frank’s oldest and only boy. Robin is my age - 47. Caroline is in her early 40’s now. She’s the one whom molested Diane when Diane was five.
Our cousin Kevin - our Aunt Maureen’s surviving son - was raised by Aunt Kay and Uncle Frank after Aunt Maureen’s boyfriend fatally threw Kevin’s little brother from an apartment window when Kevin was ten. Frankie became Kevin’s new brother.
Frankie was slender, with a handsome face before the drugs and alcohol ravaged his good looks. I can’t say I agree with Frankie’s worst decisions, but I’ve been struggling against the temptation to try steroids, so who am I to judge him?
I helped Frankie collect debts from his paper route when I visited him in Boston when we were young. Frankie worked hard, and had sharp business acumen. He could flip a stack of one’s near his ear and tell you if the stack was short or not. He liked to bowl too. We played street hockey during most visits. I was impressed with Frankie’s keen stick-handling.
I realize I haven’t blogged anything substantial for a while. My contract ends 31 January 2010, but my mission ends 12 March 2010, apparently.
I’ve taken some damage, but I’m healing physically. My friends alaria_lyon and raven_s where horrified to discover the condition of my feet during my holiday visit. I soaked my feet in hydrogen peroxide after I returned home. That helped.
The hole in my chest is mostly healed too. I had a pus incident last week, but that seems to be the last of it. There’s still titanium in my arm in case you’ve forgotten or just didn't know (lucky_duck_hula). I’m half-cyborg.
I don’t know where I’ll be Mike Charlie (Mission Complete). I’d like to stay in New England, though if I stay with the company - and that’s a huge “if” - the available positions are in Maryland, Virginia, and Germany. My friends alaria_lyon and raven_s tell me I’m not allowed to go to Germany.
I’ll have to buy a lap top computer soon too - our computers at work are being secured soon. The building is quite literally being emptied around us.
I’ve been tempted to try steroids for the past few months. I feel cheated by the accident that broke my arm. I’m strong, but not as strong as I was. I won’t use cheap Chinese or Mexican steroids of course. The one thing that has kept me from using steroids is ‘roid rage. I don’t think my community would appreciate a 260lb trained heavy-weight on a ‘roid rage. I suspect some incidents of ‘roid rage have been exaggerated - it’s as good an excuse as any to go ape-shit - but I‘ve a family history of mental instability which does give me pause.
When asked what I’ll do once I’m unemployed I like to respond that I’ll turn to a life of crime. I’ve been feeling the urge to go ape-shit anyway. Maine voters decided back in November to continue telling others whom we can and cannot marry. A friend of mine posted a comment on his Facebook wall supporting marriage between two consenting adults, a stance I approve of and commented on. A friend of his - the spitting image of Doctor No - upheld religious bigotry. I pointed out secular marriages were valid too: atheists, agnostics, Buddhists, and many others legally marry and religion shouldn’t have a say in that either. I was behaving. I didn’t want to insult my friend’s wall. Doctor No didn’t share my sense of propriety and flamed away as Christians are wont to do when their imaginary god can’t speak for himself - and they’ll know we are Christians by our love? Our mutual friend was mortified and deleted the post, but I saw what Doctor No had written in my e-mail notification. I was not amused.
I want to stomp Doctor No. I tried to explain my anger to a friend, but when I tried to give context he just wanted to defend polygamy.
Doctor No isn’t the only fool I want to stomp either. My former chain of command from the USS Elliot comes to mind, as does my Union Shop Steward and our former manager at work. They’ve not been held accountable for their crimes - and make no mistake they’re criminals all. Well, not Doctor No, honestly: he didn’t break any laws, he just pissed me off. But I know their names. I can track them down, and I can hold them accountable. It won’t right their wrongs, but their children will know them for who they are: weak pissy assholes that’ve hid behind their precious authority and my fading restraint. They claim Rank Makes Right. I propose Might Makes Right.
I’m angry. Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.