Every time I turn around, there’s a charity appeal coming from somewhere. Haiti is a disaster, yes. But even before that, we’ve had charities wringing their hands for the past two years, as the tough economy sends more people seeking aid at the same time that donations are dwindling down.

Part of my day job involves reading hardship letters from people who want help to keep their home. I’d say about 25% of these people are truly in dire straits and the other 75% are opportunists who are gaming the system for a handout. The opportunists don’t give up as easily as the people who really deserve the help, either.

Anyway, reading these letters can get to me. Trying to come up with solutions to impossible problems for people who are so far underwater that there’s no real hope, is an unpleasant job.

And then I get home and hear of charity appeals on the news. I get appeal letters in the mail. I get emails asking me to please send only ten dollars so a child can get medical care.

Food pantries seems on the verge of empty shelves, animal shelters are full, unemployment compensation is running at two and three years for some recipients and running out altogether for others.

Something’s gotta give.

You.

Us.

It’s easy to become desensitized. I’ve had to “tune out” my humanity at my job more times than I can count. I’m a robot who enters data, a voice calling to say “no” to somebody counting on aid that isn’t going to come.

Giving a few bucks here and there to some charities seems like a drop in the ocean, but I’ve never seen a time when so many people, and animals, and causes, needed help at once.

I share what I can and would like to be able to give more, but I know that if I don’t take care of me and mine first, I can’t help anybody else later.

Every little bit truly does help. Enough “drops in the ocean” may eventually turn the tide.

As most of us look forward to some kind of tax refund this season, let’s all remember the extended hand…and put something in it.

Though a word to the wise: Fake charities are on the rise, and you should make sure the organization you’re helping is on the level.

I’d also like to thank the friends who helped me out during dark times several years ago, and who still stand by me today. Just knowing that somebody cares brings an incredible amount of hope and a willingness to endure.

A couple friends asked me how I could be so sympathetic to the drunk driver in the prior blog post. To clarify in brief, lemme just say it was the way the whole lawsuit operated that drove my post. The ease in which someone can be sued, and the way the jury in such a case is given a blank check to write, is a huge life lesson that I felt everyone should know. No matter what side of the courtroom you’re sitting on.

I also recognize alcoholism as a disease, not simply a habit. My stepfather died of it, perhaps indirectly as there were no witnesses, but he died brutally. My mother didn’t get enough to bury him from the insurance company because of his history of alcohol abuse.

I do not condone drunk driving. But I’m also of the opinion that in the court case I witnessed, the guilty party had experienced sufficient punishment, and going after him for two million dollars on top of it, wasn’t justice as much as a lawyer-driven lottery effort.

Have I ever driven drunk? Not flat out drunk, no. But I was somewhat buzzed once, and drove, many years ago, doing a 25 mph crawl from the bar to my apartment. It was probably a mile drive, if that. But does that make it okay? No. Was I too buzzed to drive? I didn’t think so, and I made it home without incident, so I must have been fine, right?

I don’t know. And trying to figure out if you’re over the legal limit or not isn’t a good idea. Odds are you’ll guess wrong; and people within the legal limits have been known to cause accidents. It’s never “ok” to drive under the influence. I’ve lost friends from high school to drunk driving; I’ve lost a family member to alcoholism. I treat booze fairly lighthearted in my blog, but alcoholism is no joke, and drunk driving has no excuses.

Months ago I served on a jury. That’s right, I was on the jury, not in front of it. Honestly.

Most people dread jury duty, but I’d never served on one, so I was kinda interested. Plus, it got me two days away from my day gig, which was a welcome break.

It was a lawsuit trial, to determine the sum of money to be awarded in a drunk-driving case. A wealthy CEO of a fast-food corporation was driving drunk in a large, expensive pick-up truck, and rear-ended a smaller pickup truck at a stoplight.

The victim in the crash sustained a mild back injury which has not impeded his ability to work, nor has it required therapy, or surgery. The victim required no special medications and took advil for the intermittent pain, at a cost of approximately ten dollars a month.

Two months BEFORE the collision, the victim had visited a local clinic complaining of back pain.

This was an epic battle between two very capable attorneys. The victim’s attorney was seeking an award of two million dollars.

That’s right. Two million.

The defendant’s attorney was nothing short of brilliant. As the opposing lawyer demonized the defendant…villifying him thoroughly as a multiple-offender ( which he was) who finally had to face the music…the defending attorney only nodded. I was like…what the hell? You gonna help braid the rope for the hanging of your client, next?

Of course, the defendant was guilty as hell. He’d served jail time with work release priviledges, though he later resigned in order to have more time for counseling and rehab. His wife filed for divorce during the interim.

There was no doubt the victim in this collision could have been killed, but the defendant managed to realize the red light at the last minute and stood on his brakes. Still, the collision was hard and the defendant’s truck sustained 12k in damage. The victim’s truck was hit on the ball hitch of the bumper, and took less damage as a result, but the frame was bent from the force.

But…two million dollars. I had some reservations about that kind of sum for a back injury, one that had reasonable doubt, at that.

When the victims wife took the stand and literally yelled at the defendant for his selfish, reckless behavior, the defendent looked her in the eye and took it. He didn’t look smug, he didn’t look angry. Like his attorney, he only gave a slight nod at various points, admitting his guilt. He’d already been convicted of the criminal charges and had served his time and completed his rehab, at this point….the ordeal in court now, over money, was the final punishment.

But the victim’s wife seemed to really be laying it on thick. What could have happened….ok, but we’re to settle what DID happen. Legally, I had a question on how much we were supposed to award on the basis of supposition, vs. the actual events. Could you really sue for what MIGHT have been? Was a sporadic twinge in the lower back worth two million dollars?

Not in my book.

Now, here is the important part of this story, and I’ve meant to blog this for a long time, because it’s important everyone understands what happened in the end.

The jury was handed a blank check, to determine the amount of the award for damages. For pain and suffering, both experienced to date and likely to be experienced in the future. For the emotional trauma of the victim and his family. For whatever the hell we wanted. The plaintiff’s attorney recommended two million, but we were not bound by that amount. We could award more, or less.

We were sent to the jury room, after two days of hearing expert testimony about how drunk this guy really ways at the time of the crash, and his prior record for drinking, his lifelong habit of alcohol, and basically what a demon lurked beneath that suit. How if we “let him off easy” he would probably just fall off the wagon and maybe next time kill somebody.

We listened as the defendent himself took the stand, quietly recited the events of that day, for what he could remember, and admitted his guilt, and spoke of his journey to sobriety and his current involvements in AA and church.

The victim took the stand and mocked everything the defendent said. He didn’t care! He only wanted to save his fortune. His past history speaks for itself.

I’d never witnessed the legal de-humanizing of a person before. I hate drunk drivers and it’s no joke, what happened. But again, I kept coming back to what really happened vs. the comparison to a “state epidemic” and how ” an example must be made.”

Two million bucks. Or more, if we chose to award it….

The final speech by the defense attorney, surprised us with it’s simplicity.

“You should award the defendant money,” this little, Elmer Fudd kinda lawyer said. “You should award him as much as you feel is justified. I respectfully disagree, however, with the amount he is proposing, and so does my client’s insurance company. This is why you are here today, to make a fair decision, since the plaintiff would not accept our settlement offer. Thank you.”

And he sat down. That was it.

In that jury room, the arguements of the plaintiff attorney couldn’t hold up against that simple defense strategy…which seemed to be no defense at all. All the vindictive fire, all the sharp logic, all the expert testimony, proved overkill.

We awarded just under one-half million, in the end. Mind you, we had no structure for our math, and could only guess what occassional doctor visits and x-rays and possible surgeries might cost if the condition worsened as the victim aged. And we all questioned what the injury really was, as the guy could stand and walk and carry things, by admission of his own medical specialist. He couldn’t do his golf swing quite right anymore, but that was perhaps the wrong example to give a mostly blue-collar jury, composed of the retired, unemployed, and a couple folks like me who worked hard for our wages.

We were all a bit taken aback, and startled, by being given a blank check to decide the financial fate of these human beings. Do we destory one guy financially, to set up the other for life? Is this justice? How much is enough? When does proper economic punishment become hitting the lottery? Suing somebody for a mint was so freaking easy it scared us all.

When we walked back into the courtroom, hours later, the victim and his wife had already left, but their attorney remained. The defendant and his attorney remained. The judge looked patient and calm, despite the expectant tension in the room.

The speaker for the jury announced the breakdown of the award and then the total. The plaintiff’s attorney looked slightly disappointed but could say nothing against it; we will never know, if our award was better than whatever settlement that the defendant’s insurance offered.

For himself, the defendent closed his eyes at the amount and let out a breath. His attorney seemed pleased; little Elmer Fudd, the mild-mannered, bespeckled attorney, allowed himself a small smile and gave a respectful nod to the jury.

The judge thanked us for our service. We were dismissed.

I overheard the defendant’s attorney as he said something to his client.

“It’s over now, David.”

Here comes a buncha stuff that’s been in my mind for a year, that I haven’t had time to talk about. As I’ve never mastered how to categorize my posts, this should be a royal mess.

I’ve got many goals for 2010. One of them, is to obtain revenge for being soundly defeated in a game of pool by MeadowMufn, years ago.

I can’t win at pool, because I suck at it. Therefore, I challenge MeadowMufn to a game where I’ve clearly got the advantage.

Skee-ball !

Yes, my reknown skills at carnival games are the envy of everyone. Let’s see Mufn beat me at Skee-ball.

You hear me out there? Bring it on! Six balls for a quarter. Whoever gets enough tickets for the stuffed tiger first, wins!

I found the last known cache of Starbuck’s Chocolate Mocha Truffles. I bought everything the store had.

To find these rare, soon-to-be-extinct chocolates, I obtained the product UPC code from Walmart’s website. Even though the product is discontinued, the code was still there. I did a search by zip code in an ever-expanding radius.

To make a long story short, there was only one particular search combination that gave me a “hit” within a few hundred miles. Fortunately, the hit wasn’t all that far away.

I had to brave the Flatlands, on a cold, dark night, traveling on treacherous roads….thanks to Mapquest, and it’s needless “shortcut” across a strip of ice in the middle of a cornfield. If that was a road, you coulda fooled me. But it was worth it.

I grabbed every last box from the store shelf. MINE!! They’re all MINE!! MUAHAHAHA!!

And now, they’re MaryAnne’s.

Sweet victory.

I have a quest.

There is a rare item I must find. With it, I may be able to appease the heartbreak of my cousin.

There are few things MaryAnne adores as much as chocolate. If chocolate were a controlled substance, she’d be on the Most Wanted list. I always knew this.

But lo, to find that a favorite chocolate is no more? And here she is, all unhappy? Can I simply shrug and tell her to accept that these chocolate mocha truffles are extinct and to move on?

No. Because it’s not fair. She didn’t know they were being discontinued, and therefore, had no chance to hoard the diminishing supply.

My quest has begun. I’ve got a couple of leads. It could be false hope, as the product is truly discontinued. But I will try.

Because damn it all, I understand. I was a big fan of “Pepsi Throwback” which was an unfortunate name for a great soda. Pepsi made with real sugar, not corn syrup. It was out for awhile this last summer. I knew it was “for a limited time only.” And I hoarded it. Yeah, soon it’ll be gone forever, when I drink the last can, but I had time to prepare for this loss emotionally and mentally, and in the meantime, I’ve got a few more 12-packs left to comfort myself with.

MaryAnne deserves to have time to say goodbye to her favorite chocolate candy.

I won’t use ebay, as concern for food purity is everything here, this is going to my kin.

Fortunately, I’m a fairly clever cuss when it comes to quests.

Not that this one is easy.

Will MaryAnne’s Christmas be merry and Starbuck’s chocolate mocha truffled?

Or will I have to offer some meek substitute and hope she likes it?

We got about 2 weeks to find out. I’d better get a move on.

Namely, more scatterbrained prattle that has no categorization. I know you’ve missed it.

Lots of things happened when I decided I was too busy and too tired to write anymore.

First of all, I didn’t gain any more personal time, nor energy, nor sleep.

Then, I found myself sliding into mind-numbing stupors. Yes, this happens when I’m writing, too, and the evidence is found in the prior entries of this blog.

Finally, I found myself with more cases of the blues. With nowhere to go, the creative juice within became a toxin.

The moral of this story, is….don’t give up everything of your own, for obligations elsewhere. You won’t feel happier, more productive, more responsible, or more rested.

Naturally, I built this little epiphany up into something much more overblown. But it triggered the thought process. There are a lot of decisions to be made in life, every single day. Doughnut, or bran muffin? Go through the intersection on a yellow light, or hit the brakes? Tell the boss what you’re really thinking, or nod along mutely like any other office toady?

Your time is like that too. The sand that drains from the hourglass will never slow down. If you really think, when all is said and done, that “someday” you’ll have time to do the things you want….

…you’d better talk to the hourglass, because it doesn’t give a shit. It could cheerfully spill out all that remains of the sands of time in a sudden gush. You’d be standing there, astonished, going….”Wait! What about all that time I put off doing my personal things, because I was working, or taking care of my responsibilities at home? It’s not fair for time to run out on me!”

Tough noogies. Time, once spent, is irreplacable coin.

DAMN! That’s a good line. I oughta be a writer.

I’m working on that, actually.

And the meaning of life, lost somewhere here in my sleep-deprived ramble?

1) Help as many people as you can

2) Have some fun

There’s no one-size fits all to the meaning in life, so ponder your place in the cosmos and come up with a little ditty to sum it all up.

I’m a longtime subscriber to the City of Atlanta’s tourism newsletter. For the most part it’s boring and packed with the same kind of crap that any city can boast. Sports. Restaurants. Shopping. YAAWWN!

Atlanta has taken great pains to avoid any connotation with the rest of the South, lest it offend somebody. Months ago I went pouring through the online tourism guide in an effort to find historical interests pertaining to the Civil War. You just might think there’s something connected to Atlanta with that period. I might as well been looking for Atlanta’s history in outer space exploration; I would have had better results.

I was annoyed enough, after Atlanta seemed embarassed at hosting the last Dukes of Hazzard “DukesFest” gathering, that I emailed the “ATL” gang and said, politely, WTF? Last time I checked, Atlanta was in the South. Is this awkward for you?

I never got an answer, of course. Maybe one look at a Google search under Ye Olde Brian Coltrane was enough to convince them they were right in disclaiming any association with Dixie.

But wait! Just recently, I discovered a small, somewhat hidden list of Civil War related points of interest on the ATL visitor’s guide. I only had to page around for about 10 minutes.

I’m sharing the link right here so the rest of ya’ll can see what’s listed without subscribing to this piece of spam for two years like I did.

http://www.atlanta.net/Visitors/seedo/civilWar2.html

Visit Atlanta! Before some other Yankee wrecks the place.

Legend. MVP. All-Star. Disgraced Hero. Nutcase. Egomaniac. Warrior.

He’ll always be a Packer. Except for that year with the Jets. And maybe next, he’ll be a Minnesota Viking.

It’s one thing to want to play football. To want another shot at the Super Bowl. To want to extend quarterback records that will go long unbroken in the NFL.

To play for the love of the game was the motivation of Brett Favre throughout his career.

Now, if the sports-news pimps of ESPN have it right, Favre has a new reason for pretending to retire from the Jets. You can take all of the rational reasons aforementioned and simply strike a line through them. This time, Brett wants revenge against the Green Bay Packers, and no one is pretending it’s anything else.

The NFL, far from censoring Favre’s manipulative antics, will be certain to endorse them. Favre promises drama both on and off the field. Finally, the NFL can compete with professional wrestling. It wouldn’t surprise me if Brett Favre picked up a folding chair and smacked a referee in the head.

I’m a fan of Brett Favre, and have been since he began his career with the Green Bay Packers. When the Packers management didn’t welcome him back with open arms after a “retirement” announcement that was obviously premature – I took Brett’s side. Surely, a living legend who had brought so much glory to an independent, small-town NFL team, deserved leeway.

Now, I consider the plight of the New York Jets and their fans. Surely, a rebuilding team that gave so much opportunity to Brett Favre, deserved better than this. One year. A token marriage, never meant to last, a ceremony perfromed as a stepping stone. In short…a sham.

I still believe that this bitter, and unfortunate closing chapter of Favre’s career could have been avoided. Yet, the question of Favre’s retirement had loomed over Packerdom for years before it actually happened. Favre himself was the author of the annual ritual, casting comments into the media as carelessly as a hurled football on third-and-long.

Favre’s courtship with the Minnesota Vikings is not the act of a rational mind. The Vikings, should they accept this wounded warhorse into their ranks, won’t be going easy on him. They will demand not just the Brett Favre who had a few good games with the Jets; but the Brett Favre who was a three-time MVP. The Vikings are not a desperate team in need of a shot in the arm. If they choose to work with Favre, their expectations will be high.

High enough, that Favre is likely to further injure himself in the effort of living up to it all.

The AFC went relatively easy on Favre. I doubt the NFC central division – particularily the Bears and the now-inflamed Packers – will be so charitable. The war of words has now escalated into a tab that may be too high for Favre’s body to pay.

Furthermore, Karma does not smile on revenge. If this is Favre’s primary reason for staying in the game, he’s disgracing his own sportsmanship, and perhaps, nearing 40, he’s tempting fate.

But Favre cannot simply retire. He cannot willingly leave that field behind. I’m wondering if he really wants one more Super Bowl win, or if he wants to play football until he’s carried off the field in a stretcher. Only in the latter case, could he retire without self-debate. The decision, under such circumstances, would be out of his hands.

If Favre becomes a Minnesota Viking, he may have the chance to rub the Packer’s nose in it – twice – before he retires for good. But retirement will still come. What is one year, two at most, with Minnesota, and one year with the Jets, against a career spent with the Packers?

Revenge is expensive, Brett. Even if you’re willing to pay the price for it, should it be the last chapter in your storied career?

Once upon a time, in the frozen tundra of Green Bay, a wild, reckless kid from the bayou put on a green-and-gold uniform….