Ted Kennedy Has a Brain Tumah

It seems my inspiration to write comes and goes, waxes and wanes, yins and yangs. I suspect this is pretty normal for others, too. It also appears that right now, I am riding a crest of inspiration. Enjoy it while it lasts. You never know when this blog might go dark for another 2 weeks.

If you haven't heard already, Massachusetts US Senator Edward Kennedy (Democrat -- as if you didn't know all this already) has been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, and if you believe the Washington Post (I think) he has only 6 months to live. Other sources give him a bit longer.

I do not wish brain cancer on anyone, and I certainly feel bad for his family.

But man am I sick of hearing about this man and his extended family. And I, for one, will not miss him.

I have never understood the American, and especially New Englander, obsession with the Kennedy clan. I see 2 problems with the Massachusetts public and their inexcusable support of Tedward Kennedy in the US Senate since 1962.

The first is part of a larger problem that is probably an ineradicable part of human nature: the need for celebrities to watch, and the attraction to notorious personalities. The Kennedy family, certainly, has had more than their share of these magnetic personalities, beginning with the patriarch: whatshisname (I'm too lazy to look it up, and I don't really care that much). Obviously, JFK has captured American's fascination since before his election to President in 1960. He was young, handsome, slick, invigorating. He came along at the right time to help the civil rights cause, spur on the Cold War space race, and give Americans an alternative to cranky, bad-on-TV Richard Nixon. Then JFK was killed in dramatic, conspiracy theory-inducing fashion at a too-young age.

RFK was much the same. He, too, was struck down by an assassin as a young man. The young deaths of these men has only added to their legends.

But why are the rest of the Kennedys so famous? Why are they referred to as "American royalty"? Why do we care when one of them kills himself playing a stupid game of ski football? Wouldn't we berate a family member of our own if they engaged in such stupidly dangerous behavior? Why do we insist on following the exploits of this family in their elitist, Cape Cod compound playground? Isn't that what Americans hate? Elitism? Aristocracy? (Not that such hatred is necessarily a good thing.)

The second thing that bothers me is perhaps more disturbing: Massachusetts' voters selective blindness and dumb following of such a horrendous Senator. This man has one of the most liberal, stupid, foolish voting records in the history of the US Senate. Yet he is overwhelmingly re-elected time after time. It's like there is something in the water in Massachusetts that forces residents into believing that this man is good.

I once asked a couple friends here why everyone loved him. They replied with some vague answers about how he really has made a difference in improving the welfare of children. That's it? The guy has thrown money at some orphans? He supports fiscally irresponsible social welfare programs? That's how you become popular: support the little guy, the guy with "no voice."

Yet how many Massachusetts residents would believe you if you told them he voted against putting a giant wind-farm off of Nantucket (or was it Martha's Vineyard?) which could have potentially provided clean energy for much of the entire state? I can only assume he voted gainst such a thing because it would have uglied up his rich friends' ocean-view. Is that looking out for the little guy?

Anyway, I'm probably just blowing off some steam here, because I'm so disgusted at the arrogance of Massachusetts residence. They seem to think they've worked out how to solve their problems, yet it is startingly obvious that it is a horribly managed state. The roads are in terrible shape, the Big Dig in Boston is monstrously late and over budget, bridges not more than 15 years old are crumbling, social programs are bankrupt... and these are just the plainly obvious problems. What a joke.

I can hardly wait for the next generation Kennedy to take his rightful seat in the US Senate.

My Life With Women, Part 4

I know you've been waiting patiently -- or not -- for the end of the story of my failed past love. Hopefully there's more than one person still reading, since I only write onabout every 2 weeks. Anyway, here's Part 4. We're not done yet.

A great man once pondered, "I wonder why stories of degradation and humiliation make you more popular." Alright, that "great man" is named Homer. But I think he raises a good point. I trust you have found my own story of heartbreak, love, misery and hope compelling. It certainly was interesting living it. I think perhaps we can all relate to the decidedly most human story of love and loss. Or maybe we just like hearing about other people's sorrow. Like that same great man said later, "It's funny 'cause I don't know him."

When last we left our story, A. and I were living close to each other in Richmond. Life was good. We were happy to be comfortable with each other again. But some resentments were lingering. The disease that finally proved fatal for us was festering, benign for now, inside both of us. For her, it was resentment at the way I had treated her during the last couple break-ups, and a self-doubt in her own strength after taking me back following yet another heartbreak. For me, it was the male resentment of a female who had kept him from enjoying his young, single, carefree days when he could have been out chasing other girls. Events conspired that finally brought these resentments to the surface.

Sometime in late summer, I met another girl. We flirted, I got her number, and we actually met up a couple times -- if I'm honest with myself, these were dates. I even had her come to my place once, but nothing happened. In a fatal move on my part, I foolishly took down and hid the pictures of A. in my bedroom before my new friend showed up. I then forgot to put them back up.

The next time A. came over, she found the photos taken down and was understandably upset. I tried to explain away my transgression, saying that I had innocently taken them down just to see what it was like. I pleaded that it meant nothing, and that I had simply forgotten to put them back up, and that she should forget it. Hey, I never claimed to be smart. Oh wait, I guess I did at the top of this blog. But surely you understand sarcasm.

Anyway, A. was able to move on, but clearly doubts were rising in her mind. She slowly grew distant, and became combative. We had hardly ever fought during the entirety of our relationship. I can only remember a couple times when we actually raised our voices at each other in anger or frustration. In retrospect, this was probably not a good thing. But by this time, her doubts were driving her to confront me any time they bubbled to the surface. She began withdrawing to spend more time with her friends. I didn't think much of these things. With the gift of hindsight,the signs were staring me in the face -- and I stupidly did not see them. I had no clue about women. (That seems to be a recurring theme, no?)

Sometime in October or November, she was out with her friends one night, and met an older guy. They apparently struck up an easy friendship. A couple weeks later, they ran into each other again at the same place, and again felt an attraction. At that point, they began communicating by phone.

I was completely ignorant of this budding relationship. During this time, I somehow managed to put away the pictures of her once more, and once more, was caught with them hidden. This time, she broke down. I was unaware of it for another couple weeks, but this was pretty much the nail in our coffin. Again, I'm kind of an idiot.

Finally, in the first week of December, she went out with her friends on a Saturday night. I had not seen her in a couple days, so I asked if I could come along. This was nothing unusual, and I remember being struck that she was unusually forceful in saying that she wanted it to just be a girl's night. Usually she was accepting of me joining her and her friends when they went out. But we were also respective of each other's night with our respective friends. So I didn't think much of it. I met up with my friends.

By the next morning, however, I missed her. I decided to get up and go over to her place and surprise her by either cooking brunch for her, or taking her out for brunch. By the time I got there, however, she had already eaten.

Something seemed off. She picked a fight with me over something that seemed rather insignificant. I tried standing up for myself, but it only got worse. She blew the problem out of proportion, even embarassing me in front of her roommate. I did not take kindly to this, and walked out of her apartment. I had a few things of hers in my car, and I brought them back in her apartment, without saying a word. She said nothing, but watched me as I walked out again. I had no clue that was the end of us. We had had this type of spat before. I figured it would blow over in a few hours or a day at most, like it had in the past. I was wrong.

We did not speak for another 2 full days. This was highly unusual.

No-Hitters and Celtics Playoffs

Perhaps that should just be a singular "No Hitter" in the title, but I liked the pseudo-poetic feel of the plurality.

Somehow I missed Jon Lester's no-hitter last night (don't ask) for the Red Sox. My favorite sportswriter (and possibly the best writer of any type) Joe Posnanski was in town to cover the game for the Kansas City Star, and so we are lucky enough to read not one but two of his stories about the no-no. If you haven't read this guy yet, check out his blog-post about the game. The guy is a master of the written word. You won't be disappointed.

And if you've heard about how cold and windy it was at Fenway last night, believe it. Only in Boston can a late May evening be considered cold and blustery. It was downright chilly last night. I can only imagine that by the end of the game, the Park felt like it does on recent October nights.

Of course you've also probably heard the praise, adulation, congratulations, and good feelings generated because of what Jon Lester has gone through in the past couple years. This cliche is often thrown around carelessly, but it really is pretty inspiring that it could not have happened for a better young man.


In other matters of Boston sports, the Celtics begin their Eastern Conference Finals best of 7 game series with the Detroit Pistons tonight at the Garden. Damn it feels good to write that. It's been a long time since the Celtics have been this good. The Pistons are playing in their 6th straight Eastern Finals, and come to town owning the 2nd best regular season record in the NBA. The team with best record? The Celtics. This promises to be a physical, hard-fought, drawn-out series.

I'm perhaps more excited for this Celtics playoff run than I am about the Red Sox continued dominance of the AL East (despite those pesky Tampa Bay Rays). I'm fully aware that the NBA has dropped down the popularity foodchain of professional sports lately, but it really is exciting watching this team.

And out West, the Lakers play the Spurs in the Western Conference Finals. Imagine the ratings a Celtics-Lakers series would get. It calls to mind the great battles of years gone by: the '60s with Bill Russell consistently beating Wilt Chamberlain, the '70s when the Lakers finally broke through for a couple titles of their own behind Jerry West (the NBA logo), the '80s as the rivalry continued in heated fashion between Larry Legend and Magic, and the fading of the Celtics dynasty throughout the '90s and '00s, while the Lakers captured 3 more titles several years ago. Kobe and cast against the Celtics' Boston Three Party would make great drama.

Let's hope it happens...

My Life With Women, Part 3

I hope this story is coherent, since I wrote it pretty much all at the same time in a free flow, and have since broken it up into these separate posts. If it is confusing, let me know. I've also been told that it reads a little too much like a factual, emotionless "newspaper story." I think as the tale nears its end, I have included more feelings and emotions. And my conclusion (also already written) definitely focuses on my emotions about the whole thing. I'd love to hear more feedback. So now, without further ado, Part 3:


I returned home for Christmas break and got a letter from grad school saying that I was finished there, since I had failed all of my classes in the fall. I neglected to tell my parents, and went back to my school apartment in January. A. came to see me shortly after New Year's, and right before she left for home, I broke up with her. She was completely devastated. We had been doing pretty well. She was completely in love with me. Most distressing to her was my statement "I don't see myself marrying you." She had believed that while we may have been headed for some kind of break, there would always be a chance at an eventual reconciliation, but this statement seemingly ended any chance at oureventually ending up together.

She left my house in tears. I don't know how or why, but I felt nothing. It was reflective of that time in my life. I felt numb. I was lost. I had no purpose. I had no job, had flunked out of school, and was completely void of any motivation to leave my bedroom. I spent my days watching TV, listening to music, and surfing the internet. I spent my nights getting drunk. It was one of the lowest points of my life. It was just as hard for A. She later told me that she cried for days.

Finally, after a couple weeks, she pulled herself together and began to accept life without me. She began moving on. She is a strong-willed woman, so when she finally opted to decide that she was better off without me, she reacted positively. She forced herself to try to improve hersituation.

Meanwhile, I was mired in one of the worst depressions of my life. I had isolated friends, including a guy who had been my roommate for 4 years. He had moved to NYC, and we'd quickly grown apart. In hindsight, we were simply different people. He was kind of an a-hole, and I didn't appreciate it. I also did not like the fact that he had become close friends with A. Our last year living together, it really began to bother me, especially after he made what were clearly inappropriate comments about her. I once told both of them that I did not want them to continue their friendship, but they pretty much ignored me. Regardless of the reasons, I did not like their friendship. It all came to a head a few weeks after I broke up withA.

Again after a few weeks, I began missing her again. On Valentine's Day, I missed her horribly, but for some reason, convinced myself to be strong, and didn't call her. I later regretted that decision, since she told me that she was dying to talk to me on that night too. A few days later, I broke down and called her. I drove to Richmond and we went out to dinner. I had convinced myself that I wanted to get back together again. I told her this, she was of course reluctant to believe me, and I went back to myschool apartment. The next time we talked, I had changed my mind again. I told her I did not want to get back together, and she was again let down after getting her hopes up. It was not a nice thing for me to do, and only contributed to her setting her mind that she wouldn't fall for me again.

But, oh, I wasn't done.

I discovered a couple weeks later that she was planning a trip to NYC with a friend. I could only assume that she would be visiting my old roommate. I called him 2 or 3 days before the weekend she was to visit. I had not spoken to him for a few weeks, and our friendship was clearly crumbling, but it was not completely over yet. I left him a voicemail without indicating anything about her impending visit, just saying I was calling to say whats up and check in since we hadn't spoken in a while. I didn't hear back from him.

That weekend marks probably the worst I have ever felt as a human being. I was making myself physically ill worrying about what was happening. I attempted to reach my old roommate multiple times, and even tried calling his current NYC roommate, who had actually been our 3rd roommate for a couple years in school. Again, my calls and voicemails went completely unanswered. I felt horribly betrayed. I felt disgusted. I tried feverishly to find out anything I could, even talking to one of A.'s roommates, in an effort to discover if she knew anything about thesituation. I did not know what to do.

Luckily, an old friend from high school, whom I hadn't seen in years, came for a visit that weekend. She knew A. from around the time we first got together, so she understood what kind of situation I was in. Fortunately, she helped get me out of the house that weekend, and tried to force me to have fun. I've since told her that I think she may have saved my life that weekend. Literally. There is no telling just how despondent I could have gotten without someone there, distracting me from my self-pity, -loathing, and the horrible, paralyzing thoughts running through my head. I remain ever grateful to my friend, and I hope she knows it.

By the time Sunday night rolled around, and I was again left alone, I was in rough shape. I tossed and turned in bed for hours, unable to sleep. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, I broke down and called A. Of course, she did not answer, and I left a voicemail. I finally spoke to her the next night, which was also when my friend in NYC finally called me back. Both of them were upset at me for "disrupting" their weekend and so forth. I was pretty pissed at my friend for simply ignoring me, when it was pretty clear that I was obviously concerned about what was going on. To this day, I remain convinced that any friend worth his salt would not ignore his friend and treat him the way I was treated.

By now I was convinced that I wanted to get back together with A. I moved back to Richmond, and started working. It took weeks for her to get over what had happened, and finally sometime in April or May she took me back. Meanwhile, I had ended my friendship with my old roommate in NYC, and asked him to respect my wishes that he not have any contact with A.

For a few months, A. and I enjoyed living only a few minutes away from each other, down the same historic street in Richmond. We even lived together for a month or two while she was between apartments. Everything seemed perfect. I really enjoyed being so close to her, and spending a lot of time with her. I was pleased with my decision to fix things. She also seemed happy to have her boyfriend at her beck and call. Life was good again.

But you know how this ends.

Next, Part 4...

May Day

Well, I'm still on the job search, and yesterday I started a new temp gig. The commute is terrible, the money's no better, and I loathe myself for working in an office park. The job is at a commercial real estate brokerage company. Basically, they lease out strip mall space.

I detest strip malls. It's not secret that I'm rather conservative, and part of being conservative is believing in a certain measure of "conservation." I am vehemently opposed to the unchecked urban sprawl that eats away not only at America's natural beauty, but also has untold and underappreciated negative effects on our economy and society.

I am no hippie. But I hate the suburbinization of America, and I don't like working for a company that derives its income solely from exploiting this process.

What's the point to this rant? I don't really have one. But I do believe that I've reached a conclusion as to what I should be doing with my genius, and it's something meaningful: teaching.