Comrade Profile Part 2; A Tip Of The Hat To The Incorrigible Mr. Tharp

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Comrade Profile Part 1; God Bless You, Mr. Hawkins

There are few things in this life that give me such well rounded joy. Riley and Callista are one. Music is another. So is Mountain Dew and Stove Top Stuffing in the same dinner. But there is not a single person in the world that fills me with such murderous rage and unattainable euphoria like one Michael Hawkins does.

At work, I often get the "new voicemail" alert on my phone, and when I do, I can only hope that it is Mr. Hawkins. "Hellooooo, umm, queer baby. It's Mikey. I, uhhh, hate your guts, and mostly wish that you wooooouuuuuld, um, get caught in an espresso machine explosion where the shards lacerate your skull, hahaha, and ummm, I hate you. Fuck you." There is nothing like a Michael Hawkins voicemail that can spark an imagination full of torture and pain for one person. A return call may sound like "Hey idiot. I hope someone comes knocking on your door, and when you open it, an Orc crushes your feet with a warhammer. While you are in agony, I hope he then laughs, tells you your penis is small, then crushes your skull. Shut up." It's a good back and forth.

As a song writer, the man bleeds music. Though it isn't very good, or thoughtful, or even audible, it is fun to play. Songs like "I love Derrick" or "I love Shane" or "Kiss Me On The Mouth, David Hasselhoff" are all hits, but have an underlying tone I can't quite put my finger on. If you haven't heard this modern Mozarts masterpieces, imagine a baby crying over Kid Dynamite riffs. Then, make your ears bleed.

What's worse is that this man is the quintisential stereotype of Italian. Obsessed with mob movies, always having his face buried in a bowl of some pasta, and weilding some sort of weapon in his trunk, there is nothing like watching Mikey Meatballs get upset. Just to witness the breadsick-bone, marinara-blood, spaghetti and meatball smelling wise guy go off on some latte drinking yuppie or everyday "leave me alone, I didn't do anything wrong and you have a bad temper" person is better than watching a determined Chihuaua try to make it with one of Michael Vicks prize fighters.

This is not to mention the man is obviously mentally disabled (please reference the above picture where he believes he can speak to animals). This man-child has somehow managed to operate in a society where everyone loathes him specifically, thus keeping his temper short and his face constantly red (as well as his eyebrows nicely trimmed and his cleanliness next to godliness [reference; wears socks around the house. all the time.]).

But, despite the horrible person that he is, he's been a good friend. Through one of the most difficult times of my life, he was a staple which kept my head up and my feet moving. As much shit as I give to this man, he is one of my best friends. As much as I loathe him to the core, I love him just as much. If it wasn't for this man, I can't say that I would be the same person I am today. Thank you, Mikey.

So for that, God Bless You, Mr. Hawkins.

Hybrid Creatures Stalk Through The Night, Commanding Air, Land, And Sea

There are few animals that are masters of their domain. It is safe to say that wolves, bears, and certain deadly felines easily control the land. Birds of prey control the skies, finding its food from thousands of feet high. The whale and the shark are streamlined to strike fear in certain aquatic inhabitants. But there are an elite few that are in complete control of more than one element, creating a deadly cocktail, to be sure. These hybrid creatures exist around the world. We have all seen flying Great White Sharks. It isn't fair. But there is one hybrid creature that lives in the great city of Ponce Inlet, an outskirt of Daytona Beach, for those of you who don't know. The Aquacat calls this city home.

In Ponce Inlet, there is a famous lighthouse tourists often frequent during blazing summer months. This area includes a nice beach where the inlet is separated by a man-made construction of concrete rocks that juts out into the water. It is this construction that houses these aquatic felines.

Having heard rumors of these monsters, we trekked out to the inlet one night to find them ourselves. My expectations were that we wouldn't find anything, let alone an ocean walking mammal. As we began onto the walkway, there was a sudden streak across our path. Stopping, we all kind of looked at each other with a nervous laughter, and continued on. As we got near the end of the walkway, we noticed a small, feline figure sitting along the edge. Once we got to the spot where the figure had stood, we looked over the railing, and found what we were looking for.

Between the rocks, there were dozens of cats feeding, sleeping, and generally living. We had found the aquacats. Once can only speculate the vast underground caverns constructed by these hybrid monsters, but I would imagine they stretched for miles. These cats had found a way to adapt to life on both land and sea, living in a beach town on the coast of Florida. Though I've never seen Aquacats during the day, I would imagine one to look like the picture at the top of the page.

This discovery has lead me to begin research on other hybrid animals. Expect pieces on Great White Sharks, Flying Squirrels, and Joan Rivers.

Death Carries You Away in His Golden Chariot

Coming close to my quarter life milemarker, a strange turn of events (though not totally unexpected) has gotten my mind in a frenzy about an issue that has never really been more than a flicker in my consiousness. Mortality is a vital element that many of us tend to put in the far reaches of our minds, only to spark when specific events bring it about. The most fascinating part about all of it, though, is how those around the sufferer copes. It would seem that the witnesses of this most defining and permanent event in ones life tend to have the hardest time finding the words or the meaning.

In my case, my main thoughts go to how the person in the situation must be feeling. This is a point where they have been given a timeline. At 23, I expect to be on my way out around average life expectancy. The end really isn't a concern of mine at the moment. But staring it in the face, at least to me, would seem like such an impossible task. Those who you love would be coming around, making it all the more real, since they hadn't spent the time they needed in the months or years before. Guilt would be an underlying tone to each visit. Lonliness would be an everpresent shadow, stalking in the corners of the apartment once everyone leaves, its weight crushing your lungs and stopping your heart.

What's worse is that there is such a detatchment from the entire situation. Numb might be the word? How can one be a support for someone who hasn't faced the situation themselves? It is impossible to develop a new or stronger relationship with a person through these times, especially since there wasn't one initially. Explaining why someone isn't around anymore is considerably one of the most difficult tasks a person could undertake.

May your journey be painless and swift. I'm sorry.

A Story to Corroborate the Existence of Zombies, Thus Justifying My Fear

Driving down a dark road one night, I had not a care in the world. It was a clear night, and as I followed a curve in the road, a woman stumbled into the road. At first, one would just think the woman was irresponsible, walking in the road in the middle of the night. Scared, I kept driving, not knowing why the woman was walking in the middle of the road at night. But something didn't seem right, so I turned the car around.

As I follow the curve back, the woman is still stumbling in the middle of the road. This is when I noticed a few suspisous things. First, the woman was shoeless. Now, as a Floridian, this is to be expected. Especially since we were driving near a trailer park. Then, I notice the bottom of her sundress is in shreds. Ok, she fell in the road...really hard.

At this point, I lose my breath. The woman looks like Carrie at prom. It's as if she crawled out of the woods after catching and tearing apart a large buck. She is literally covered in so much blood that I remember heaving a few times. Her hair looked like Bret Michaels in Poison's debut in the 80's, but worse. And I'm pretty sure she bared her teeth at the sight of a car headed in her direction.

This is what eventually lead to my studying Zombie Combat and the entry prior to this. Show me Zombies don't exist, and I will show you a deadman.

My Life With A Crippling and Justifiable Fear of the Walking Dead

As children, we all fear something. Some kids are afraid of dogs. Other's are afraid of the ocean (I'm still not too fond of this). Even more are afraid of adults. Usually, children tend to grow out of these fears, as they realize dogs aren't always barking, you don't have to go past your knees in the ocean, and that adults are just big kids (most of the time). As I've grown in the last few years, I have begun to understand that all the energy that was spread out into a number of different fears has joined forces to create a fear in me that weighs on my mind on a daily basis. Zombies.

It is silly. It is completely unreal (as far as I know), but after waking from a nightmare that shook me into walking around the house for an hour, I realized that I have a phobia of the undead. Last night, I had to turn every light on in the house before I could comfortably go to sleep. This is not the worst it has gotten.

There is not a place I can travel that keeps my mind away from some zombie scenario. When I take Riley grocery shopping, I only think of food that I can store in case of a zombie apocolypse. The baseball bat in my trunk is a precaution. I even told Callista that she needed to read the "Zombie Survival Guide" because in case of a war, I wasn't about to save someone who wasn't prepared (it scares me because I think that I was semi-serious with this statement).

The worst part is that I haven't even begun to train Riley in the forms of Zombie Combat. She understands that zombies say "braaaaaaains," but does not understand that they would not hesitate to eat her. How do you explain to a toddler that you have to remove the head or destroy the brain? When we play hide and seek, she always says, "Here I am!" Bad move, Riley. And I'm pretty sure she isn't strong enough to wield some sort of deadly medival weapon that could rip through undead flesh.

This may seem crazy, but think about any other creature one may battle. Vampires are not only sexy, but retain complete consciousness during their time as the creature. Werewolves blackout, kill some people, then wake up in human form. Crazy nights, normal days. Aliens have technology. And the international sign of the doughnut wouldn't be as entertaining without "ack aaaack" behind it. Zombies are a creature of mindless hunger, consisting of undead tissue and damned to walk the earth devouring the flesh of the living with no consiousness or will. Even the Devil can bargain with your soul.

No matter who you are. No matter what walk of life you come from. No matter how much you prepare, there is only one thing that everyone can agree on; Zombies are FUCKED. UP.

Livejournal; The Time Capsule That Should Remain Buried (Somewhat)

Everyone between the ages of 20 and 30 should remember this little icon. And if you don't, then you were either 1. not "hip and with it" or 2. drama free and happy. Either way, for a small period of time in adolescence, this website ruled the majority of our social lives. So, with the advent of friendster, myspace, and later on facebook, what actually happened to livejournal? Well, it is still around, and I actually spent a few hours one night reliving a number of horrid occasions and personality disorders that I wish I could put back into the vastness that is the internet.

Just like reading a journal that one may have had at a young age, it is embarassing to return to those petty loves and angry entries about bands you hate or whats wrong with the world. But unlike that journal stuffed away under your pillow, this was on the internet for all to see (unless yours was private, which suffocated a bit of the drama). It was a time where we all worried whose lj was going to be hacked next, what we would say that would end up pissing people off, and how best to fish for compliments. And the only thing different from then and now is that we use a different medium.

But, I was glad to look back and read some of the outragously embarassing entries I made. My talk about politics was sprinkled with ignorant soundbites about "fuck that guy" and what have you. My boughts with love and hate were always interesting to follow (the waves of good to bad were clearly marked). There were shows that I still never forget. There were trips that coined phrases like "ooooooooooh myyyyyyyyyyy goooooooood, there's a daaaaaairy queeeeeen," and "pizza? in the morning?!"

Of all of these things, though, one memory came flooding back that was repressed for a reason. Tom Porter, Danny Skelley, Chad Smith, and I were in a band called Virginia is for Lovers. On our quick rise and fall, there was a trip to a city whose name escapes me at the moment. In this city, we stayed in a hotel room with a few friends, where the oddest night of my life took place.

A timeline isn't needed here. Delirious, this is what I can actually recall from the night. Chad was sitting on top of the T.V. in the room, where someone had gone out and rented a video called (insert any sort of anal porn title here). With Chad sitting on top of the T.V., the video played, and Chad began to chuckle in a way no man should when watching anal porn upside down. I'm sure Danny was uncomfortable. Tom was in another room, with our friend Chris. Chad leaves and enters said room, closes the door. Those of us left are wondering what is going on, so we open the door and see possibly the oddest and most uncomfortable moment in our lives. While Tom and Chad are cuddling in bed, Chris is jumping on top of them (in his "maroony-tightys), laughing like he's just murdered a group of tourists traveling through Texas. Then, I'm pretty sure I blackout and cannot recall the rest of the night.

So, to conclude, thank you LiveJournal. Without your archive of useless teen poetry, I would have never recalled such an interesting(?) time in my life. Traveling through three years of anger, heartbreak, music and friends, I found that I am very much the same, just a bit more quiet about it. And a little less angry.

And much more articulate.