Or maybe it’s part 2.  I don’t recall, and I suck at Roman numerals anyway.  I get past “V” and I’m lost because I don’t know if ”V” means “4″ or “5″ so everything above that is a crapshoot.  But a good set of Roman numerals makes anything look impressive.  

That’s it for the banter.  I’ve got one more entry on this series before I move on.  It’s about someone I once knew and will never forget - and the afterglow he left behind.  

There was this kid named Gary that I knew from kindergarten all the way up through high school.  He was the best friend of a mutual friend.  As a kid, I went to his birthday parties, and we went on school field trips, that sort of thing. He was a steadfast part of the neighborhood crowd.  Friendly, happy-go-lucky kid with an infectious smile and a warm heart. 

Gary was popular. That right there, meant I didn’t hang around him much, because I was the social opposite. We always ended up in some of the same classes though.  And jumping back to the field trips - I have a picture of him from grade school, on the bus, where he’s cheesing it up for the camera.  His friend sitting next to him is hiding from it. Gary turned to the camera and made the most of it, beaming like a lighthouse. 

After graduating high school, Gary went to college and I lost track of him and most other high school classmates. But somebody told me about Gary’s engagement to a local girl. It seemed like a great match.  I later saw the engagement picture of the young couple in the newspaper. They looked happy and Gary was beaming out his joy.

A couple months later, I read about Gary’s death. It wasn’t just an obit notice, it was front-page news. 

Gary and his fiancee’, and her father, were driving home  from a reception hall they had just booked for the wedding. 

From a country road, they pulled out directly in front of a gravel truck doing 60 mph on the highway.  Gary and his finacee’ were killed at the scene. They were 23 years old.  The fiancee’s father lingered in the hospital a few days, then died of his injuries.

Garys’ parents, and the mother of the fiancee’, arranged to have the young couple buried side by side. 

Gary’s parents could have been bitter over this unjust end to their son’s promising future.  But instead, they gifted money generously to his high school.  The announcement sign that stands in front of this school today, was paid for by Gary’s family.  Sports equipment was also gifted – things that tax dollars couldn’t buy enough of, for the growing school.

It seemed too soon when Gary’s mother lost her battle to cancer, scant years later.  Gary’s father should have been a bitter man. He’d lost his only child, and now lost his wife.

Instead, he gifted heavily to the community library, where Gary’s mom loved to spend her free time.  Much-needed new books were purchased.  A large flower garden was added to the grounds.  There is a modest plaque on the outer wall of the library, honoring the contribution.  Gary’s father didn’t want a lot of attention over it.  He simply explained,  “My wife loved her books and her gardens.”

Gary’s father had more grief, in a relatively short time, than anyone I knew.  Yet he took his personal tragedies and turned them into gifts for other people.  People who to this day, benefit by them, though they may never know the source.

Having witnessed the effects of these generous deeds,  I then knew the source of Gary’s beaming smile, and of his wide-open heart.   

Or write about it, if you do.  I can’t hold it in any longer, though.  My apologies in advance.

As I mentioned in my earlier post of “Afterglow”,  there’s stuff we try not to think about.  The biggie in that category is the end of our mortal days.  Yet, being a practical person, my mind drifts there once in awhile in a silent attempt to calculate how much time I have left, and out of that, how much I can afford to piss away on the internet.  

Recently, one of my cousins and I got on this mortality tangent, and she brings up this Life Gem thing.  If you haven’t heard about this, lemme tell ya.  There’s a company that will take a portion of your cremated remains, and using a process similar to the creation of a synthetic diamond, make a precious gem out of you.

Ashes to ashes…dust to…diamonds?!  Say WHAT. 

Seriously, this is promoted as a way to pass yourself down as a heirloom.  And become a precious stone as well as a precious memory to your loved ones.  A pendant, earrings, or perhaps a nice tennis bracelet?  

GAH! Oh, but it gets better. Or worse. 

This concept drove me crazy, because 1) The idea of being cremated freaks me out.   2) Now I’m curious what I’d look like as a mood ring.

Because of the various chemical compositions in a human body, one’s Life Gem color cannot be predicted. (Though most turn out yellow or orange.)  I was thinking, jeeze, what if I had this done to my remains – assuming I could handle what it took to get there – and then my gem turns out to be some yucky color?  What if I didn’t go with somebody’s outfit? I’d get stuffed into a box, never to be worn. 

One of my other cousins, upon hearing my triade, piped up and said,  “Relax. You’ll go with black…everything goes with black.”   This cheered me up, as I enjoy wearing black clothing, and imagined myself therefore equally cool as a hunk of synthetic ash, as I was in life.  For whatever that’s worth. 

Distracting thought:  Would these Life Gems end up on ebay?  Would people try to pawn them?  It’s one thing to be dead.  But I tell ya, if I ended up in a pawn shop beyond the grave, it would just be the frosting on the cake.

Anyhow, I found this Life Gem concept both repelling and interesting, so I studied it, and ran into all kinds of information I wasn’t looking for in the course of my research.

For example, there’s companies that make “memorial jewlery” that simply use a tiny amount of your natural, cremated ash to fill a glass pendant. You can be a life-gem of sorts, without the expensive synthetic process.  

Here’s the thing with memorial jewlery. Much of it comes in a do-it-yourself kit.  It includes a tiny little funnel so your loved one can fill the little pendant.  I wasn’t ready for this idea.

After I recovered from my faint, I pictured somebody scooping out a portion of my powdered ash with a teaspoon, and trying to pour it in this tiny funnel and fill the little pendant.  I don’t know about you, but I can’t fill a salt shaker or a sugar bowl without getting spillage.  So I imagine some of it making it into the pendant, and then some of it spilling on the coffee table, on the carpet….and then my mortal essence would be sucked up into a vacumn cleaner, or dusted away with a handi-wipe and lemon-fresh Pledge. 

Chilling, ain’t it?  Oh, there’s more.

I also discovered a Scandanavian company that has a process to make human remains completely biodegradable – quickly. No bones about it, those who dislike cremation can now avoid a slow rot.  This company can turn you into a nice blend of plant food, so you can nourish the earth as nature intended.  Sans worms. 

Who knows what they’ll think of next.

All that said - I’ll never be made into a gem stone or poured into a glass pendant.  I doubt I’ll opt to become plant food. I would much rather have a blanket of sod and a leafy tree for company. A stone marker to prove I was here, until the passage of time etches away the name. 

What will remain, is the part of me I gave away to others during my lifetime.  Perhaps through them, a part of me will make it though to someone I’ve never met.  Our afterglow – the influence our lives – fades after our mortal days are over.  But just as the sunset never looks the same twice, it holds a bit of color from each one before it. 

In a Thanksgiving  tradition dating back to 1947, President Bush has pardoned two turkeys. The fortunate fowl will retire to Disneyland.

In the spirit of the occassion, I’ve decided to pardon George Bush Jr. and Sr.  They will eventually return to their native habitat of Texas, retiring to golfing and fishing and shooting the bejeezus out of quail.  Or whatever they do in Texas. 

Now, before I ruffle any feathers – let’s think about this.  We all have a couple of turkeys in our lives that we should pardon.  While we’re stuffing our gullets on Thanksgiving and reflecting on our blessings, we should go a step further and pardon those who have offended us.  Not a conditional, “well, if they do this, I’ll do that.”  I’m talking about a flat pardon.  Wipe the slate clean and let bygones be gone.  After all, we’re getting to the time of year when human charity and nobility is expected to show itself. 

And so, I hereby pardon my internet enemies.  You turkeys. 

Took awhile to nail the title on this one.  It’s not what you think, either.

I’ve been suffering from some Deep Thinking lately, and I’ve been trying to put a few thoughts into words without my dark sense of humor running away with it.  Failing to contain myself on that one, I decided on a pre-blog that handles certain topics with respect and dignity. So when I post the next one, that’s completely insensitive, you’ll forgive me. 

Stephen R. Covey once wrote, “Begin with the end in mind.”  Specifically, think of the end of your life.  What would you like to have accomplished?  Where are you?  Who is with you?  Approach your everyday decisions, and your priorities, with the end in mind.

Thank you, Mr. Covey, for driving me straight to the brink with that one.  When I dodge my boss’s emails and phone calls, I can’t tell him, “Sorry dude, I can’t picture you standing at my deathbed. You’re not my greatest priority.”  

With all due to respect to highly effective people, I’d like to kick Mr. Covey square in the rear.  Not all of us have the luxury of beginning with the end in mind.  For that matter, most of us are trying not to think about the end.

But he’s got a point.  A couple years ago, I put in a heavy schedule that included seven-day work weeks and twelve hour days as the norm.  I carried the world on my shoulders and stopped to pose for photos while I was at it.  I was a Type-A personality that never came up for air. 

Then, one night as I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep because I was thinking about work, I heard a voice that was not my own. (Yep, voices in my head. Good sign.)  Clear as day, I heard this phrase:  “Your customers won’t come to your funeral.”

My eyes flew open and I shot bolt upright in bed.  And the words of rebuttal I gave to the darkness were,  “Damn you, Stephen Covey!” 

To this day, I’m haunted by his advice that I can’t figure out how to take.  Every time I try to work with the end in mind, I start thinking about bowling or anything else I could be doing with these precious breaths I’m sucking in, each counting down to my eventual last…..

AAAAAAHHHHH!! Oh wait, I said I was going to handle certain topics with respect and dignity.  I’m trying.  In fact, I was rather proud of “Afterglow” as a title, because it sounded like a classy way to talk about the legacies and light we leave behind when our mortal days reach a close.  

Thus far, my legacy is a ‘67 Impala that won’t start, and this damn blog.  Mr. Covey, I’m ending this with the beginning in mind.  THHBPTH!!

Everybody has a price.  Mine’s a quarter. If I can find an edible product for a mere twenty-five cents, I’ll buy it.  I don’t care what it is.  Hell, you can’t go wrong for that money. 

It’s getting harder to find cheap eats in the store.  I can’t find generic-brand condensed soup for twenty-five cents.  Ramen noodles are about the only thing left in that range.  But wait! There, by the checkout counter!  Junk food for a quarter!

Happiness is mine.  For twenty-five cents, the bounty of a 5/8 ounce bag of cheese popcorn was in my hand.  I say  ”was” because I ate it in two seconds upon leaving the grocery store.  Turned my fingers orange and I got popcorn hulls stuck in my teeth.   Tasty, though! 

If you don’t have cheap chips n’ such in your store, then look for the Little Debbie snack cake display.  I found cupcakes for a quarter.  There’s no resisting this.  I bought six of them.   

And not a damn thing to do with nutrition! The best things in life might be free; the next best things, are twenty-five cents.

I was reading the preface of a book tonight, and the author went on and on about the 1,743 people that helped make this book possible, blah blah BLAH.  I was like,  “Damn, if this is putting me to sleep, the novel itself is gonna be a snoozer.”  Then I thought about it; if I got off my duff and wrote a book that had a good chance of being published, who would I thank?  The entire continential United States, like this author practically did, or who?

I’d have a long list of people to thank. Yes, my friends and cousins, but also those who don’t know me so well, who read my insane scrawls.  ‘Cause when ya think of it, that’s what the publishers are looking for.  Stuff that will appeal to pure strangers. They want something that will sell to the masses. 

Yet as storytellers, we want to connect with the reader.  That’s what I dig about blogs and about posting on message boards.  Maybe someone will answer or comment.  Maybe they won’t.   But as writers, the internet gives us what we always wanted:  Somebody to read our stuff.  Somebody to share the world we have crafted. 

The ‘net offers the same for musicians, photographers, movie-makers and artists of all walks of life.  Amazing when you think about it.  We all trade with one another. 

Write, and I will read it. Sing, and I will listen. Create, and I will gaze upon it.  Show, and I will watch it.  

We each add a small drop of our own creative juice, to this vast pool of the internet.  We take back small sips, renewing our own muse with the sweet potency of this wonderous pond…. 

*glug glug glug gargle gluck *  *URRRRP!*    ‘Scuze me.  Ahhhh.    *hic!*

I’ve lost my frikkin’ mind.  Sometime during the last 3 weeks I’ve become completely bent.  I’ve gone stark ravin’ bonkers.   Ya know, in a post of a few days ago, I talked about attacking my enemies.  But when I’m really wired, I’ll attack my friends. 

In humor, of course, but I will ATTACK!!  Nobody….and I mean nobody is safe.   There’s a pie out there with your name on it.   *SPLORT!*  

I’ve already went after MaryAnne with a few well-aimed pastries.  She lobs them right back.  Which entertains me, of course, and I cheerfully up the ante. 

When I get in these wild-ass moods, I’m like a cat watching a piece of fuzz drift slowly across the floor.  I might stare at it without moving for the better part of the day.   Biding my time. Waiting for the right moment.  And then suddenly, I pounce!  Insanely, I will attack anything that moves!  

And so I wait, for something out there to give the least twitch…..

Things have changed concerning income, so I started digging around my material goods in the past few days to see what, if anything, I had worth ebaying. I ain’t in dire straights just yet, but I’ve been through these kinda upheavals before and it pays to think ahead.

I was in worse situations years ago, and so all the expensive stuff is long gone from prior pawn shop visits.   If you’ve never hocked anything at a pawn shop, I’ll tell ya, it’s humiliating.  

For example, you walk in there with a 14k gold necklace. The pawn shop gives you a “loan” with the necklace as collateral. The loan amount granted is always far below the material value of the item, plus you have to pay interest.  Most folks never have hope of repaying the loan and recovering the item.  Let’s face it, if you’re pawning your jewelry and coin collection, you’ve hit bottom.

And so after 30 days, your item goes out in the display case of the pawn store, at a price considerably higher than that of your original loan.  If you get the money, you can still buy your item back…for the higher retail price. 

I don’t miss going to pawn shops.  I don’t miss the barred storefront windows. The security cameras pointed at your head every step, taking your picture in case you’re fencing stolen goods. And the rows and cases of material items, all once belonging to someone, before becoming a rummage sale of the destitute.  Cases galore of pre-owned jewelery. Stacks of TV’s, VCR’s, video games, cameras.  Guitars. Guns.

I always took one or two items at a time, always believing, or hoping, that I wouldn’t have to go back there. But I did.  I ended up sacrificing a Fender electric guitar, and what gold and silver jewelry I had, and my entire coin collection. 

This was all back before ebay. Pawn shops are still around, though.  The difference for me today, is I no longer own anything a pawn shop wants.  I don’t think they’d be impressed with my Dukes of Hazzard collection.  Still, it would be fun to see their face when I stroll in with my Dukes lunchbox, circa 1982. (Sans thermos and with only minor dents and scratches!)  

As I said, I’m not in dire straights yet.  I simply prepare for the worst, while hoping for the best.  And if I gotta part with some of the hard-to-find ERTL die casts, it won’t kill me.

The important thing to keep, is my own head.  Along with that big ol’ 67 Impala out in the driveway.  There’s collectibles, and then there’s irreplacables, and I’ve already sorted that out.

I spent an inordinate amount of time on the internet tonight.  I went to MySpace, and….next thing I knew, it was tomorrow.  Here I thought YouTube was a time-killer. 

MySpace has become the net within the net.  I kinda bashed it in an earlier post, so I figured it deserved further inspection.  While I was at it, I registered my handle there, because I’ve protected it this far and why the hell not.  Managed to create 2 accounts and screw up both profiles.

Anyhow, I browsed around on the friends comments within various profiles.  It was like flipping through a high school yearbook, with a lot of personal weirdness and obscenity thrown in.   I saw some unappealing stuff there. For example, a picture of a hairy guy in women’s underwear, sticking himself into a truck’s exhaust tailpipe.  There’s worse stuff that I won’t describe. 

There was innocent stuff to be found, too, but here’s the analogy.  It’s like driving down the street and seeing a Toys R’ Us right next to an adult bookstore run by drug dealers. 

The humor in some circles was a cross between National Lampoon and a bad issue of MAD Magazine, combined with rejected episodes of South Park cartoons.

All that aside, the big draw for people is to have somewhere to BE.  And meet friends.  I can dig that.  I just wish some of the streets there were cleaner.  

Ok, last night I came across that “fingerprint” in my own edited post, and promptly freaked out.   I thought,  “Man, they roped me in good with this one.”   And really, I couldn’t blame my peers; as a moderator, I’m slightly more irritating than I was as a regular user of the forums. 

So I sat and stared at the end of my shenanigans with a heavy, black-clad heart.  Behave I must. 

Then this morning, it was brought to my attention – gently – that this little tracking device on edits doesn’t exactly work as I thought it did.

But I never edited my own post before, and so I had no idea what to make of the tag.  My guilt complex made rapid assumptions and I’d Thought The Worst.

In a nutshell, I’d been served my just desserts and nobody had done a thing to me.  I had spooked at my own shadow. 

To test this, I snuck around the ol’ place today, axed out a couple of old posts on a dead thread, removed the duplicate post I saw last night, and then….I found a fairly recent post by my enemy and made a tiny, tiny, innocent little change.  It took, and there was no lingering proof I’d ever been there. 

I felt a deep relief.  Yet because of this ironic moral lesson, I’ve resolved to change my sinister ways.  I’ll conduct myself with the highest ethical standards. Posts will be left alone, no matter who writes them.  I will allow all users of that fair domain to enjoy themselves without the Nasty Moderator having a laugh at their expense. 

Quietly and with due humility, I’ll attend to my assigned tasks.  When I post, it will be for constructive, thoughtful discussion rather than the stray placement of smartass remarks.  Meekly, I’ll look the other way when an advesary posts something to rile me.  No more will I take the least opportunity to humiliate a foe.  I will strive to make this small part of the world a better place.