Thursday May Something Close to June

Ah…what a majestic topsy-turvy News day of continual driving, adolescent music, from the “American Idol” clones in Virginia Beach to the “Smoking Joe’s” chorale in Newport News, to the water, which was far overrated today, to the iron, which is always appreciated by the body Walsh, to the sublime and always cheap refreshments purchased at 7-11, to close it all down.

Sweeps, the highly regarded ratings period for television networks and local affiliate stations, in their quest for greatness and share points, has finally concluded. This “book,” the “May book,” is most important because it determines the amount of revenue generated for the end of the fiscal year, which ultimately determines the bonus percentages that us slugs in the foul trenches of the seven cities, the blood, the murders, the fires, and the features, will get for our Christmas bonuses, sometime in April, several months after Christmas has come, ended, and been forgotten as the warm weather slowly trickles into the Hampton Roads bipolar ecosystem.

But, alas, it is done and thank God for the little reprieve until the “July book” hits, which is moreorless meaningless and the throwaway in the big corporate scheme of things, and then the “November book,” being far more important than July but lesser than this past May.

A handsome couple just strolled by with their infant child and daschund. I say this, not in the sense that I am bisexual in nature and attracted to both, but that they looked good, healthy, together as a unit, perfect, in the sense that no major limbs or extremities were missing nor did either seem to suffer from any form of leprosy or the plague, a common ailment in the older Tidewater days. A good-looking family strolling along the beach at dinnertime in Willoughby, at near sunset. Paradise on a budget.

Now I did take a second, third, and damned if it wasn’t a fourth glance at the wife. It wasn’t a lascivious act, or maybe a bit, but the point is she was cute, and had a wonderfully colorful tattoo displayed prominently on the small of her back due to the wonderfully fashionable middrift apparel she wore on the beach. But husbands, fear not, as it is a compliment to your wives, when a lecherous fool such as myself takes that much time to inspect a fine, yet taken lass, because know in your heart, that my advances are nonexistent and the bottom line remains that at the end of the day she is going home, with her family, and not me, and my mere glances, though numerous, only strengthened what you already know, that even after a child, your lady still has it going on…be happy, be proud, you lucky bastard…and as a footnote, most of the horrible beasts that walk along these shores don’t warrant a second glance.

Dammit all, if the tide isn’t coming in quick-like, rushing the still cold May sea water against my feet, now submerged even deeper in the coarse Bay sand. Coupled with the occasional ankle bite from horse flies, I still have no reason to complain about anything, the small high tide sets rolling, crashing, diminishing on the beach, four to five at a time.

The polite pleasantries were passed between the family and I, per the standard for beach folk in Norfolk. The little black daschund spouted his “rat-a-tat-tat” of barks at me, letting me, the family, and anyone else in barking distance know that at that moment, on my beach, in this time, that he was most certainly in charge and running the show.

I felt no malice by his territorial outbursts. I am not a dog person and he sensed it, he knew.

I had a dog long ago and I failed him miserably, as poverty, parenthood, and life in general was failing me and those around me as well. I always say “one day when I have more money,” but we all fucking say that, don’t we?

And that day never seems to come…

Even when you sit in your slice of ghetto paradise, sipping the 50-cent beer in your 75-cent mug to avoid the $100 fine, purchased with the last bit of change you have for the next 8 days…

But, that’s the point…living for the now, to enjoy when you have the opportunity, because we all know this moment will be over in a blink and then it’s back to the grind, everyone of us grinding a little bit differently, but as the tasks may differ drastically, the ideal of “work” is still universal, still continual, and still sucks. It’s what you do because you have to and if you don’t have to, then. Well, it seems you won the race.

You know…the human race, the one most of us are a lap or two behind, or even worse, sitting on the bench, tired, injured, uninvited, or worse…

To quote the foul-mouthed drunken poet and hero of mine,
“the future’s uncertain and the end is always near…”
I don’t try to think morbidly, but Death is all around,

I feel it, and dwell upon it too much,
when I’m in the water and I shouldn’t be,
when I am trying to sleep and I can feel my heart vibrating off my ribcage like a low rider in East Los Angeles,
when I think about my parents and the years they have racked up…
when I think about the kids…
when I agree to take stupid risks for the sake of a television station that doesn’t give a fuck about me.

But without risk, without fear, we live too complacently and miss out on the important part of life: living.

The one thing I aspire to do,
every second,
of Every Day,
That I awake to at 3 a.m.