Mirror

Damn. My mirror just reminded me how old I am. Again. Sure, intellectually I know I’m 52. But most of the time it’s an useless number to me that doesn’t carry any emotional weight. That’s when I try not to pay attention. However, when I forget, I become uncomfortably aware that I’ve already spent half a century here, and I’m one more day closer to the last day before I vanish into the Big Black Empty. I don’t want to think about that too much, so I look for something to do. Thankfully, even for a lazy bastard like me, it’s easy to stay busy. If you turn off the TV and leave the cave, things will happen to you. “Life,” John Lennon’s ghost whispered to me, “is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans”. I’m 52, and I’ve been married, divorced, got married again at a science-fiction convention , lost a father and sister, gone bankrupt, totaled a car, betrayed a friend, and seen Ghana. And that’s not even trying hard. Do I want to do more? Of course I do. To get through the day, I pretend I’ve got another fifty years to play with. It’s just a number. So most of the time I forget how old I am. The persistent aching in my knee I shut up with Tylenol. But then I looked in my mirror the other day. Usually, I’m clean shaven, but I experimented with the doomed idea of trying to grow a beard. I knew, just like the last futile attempt, that it was time to give up. Grabbing a razor to repair the damage, I studied myself in the glass. And, for some unknown reason, I saw somebody different staring back at me. Where did this clarity and inner illumination come from? I dunno. Maybe it was the lightbulb floating over my head. My face was an unfolded road map, creased with a few new wrinkles. There were more treacherous grey hairs than I remembered. The scar near the corner my left eye, a childhood tattoo from falling off the monkey bars at the playground decades ago, was a dull smudge. And then, just for a brief moment, I saw my dead father in my reflection. “Damn,” I whispered to myself, “I’m 52. How did this happen?” I think that’s why some people don’t like mirrors. Whatever lies you tell yourself, it will show you exactly who you are with a cold objectivity. And if you don’t like who you’re seeing, it’s a cruel epiphany. Abraham Lincoln said, “At forty, you have the face you deserve.” Well, at 52, all I want from my life is to be able to smile at that guy in my mirror and have no regrets. And mean it.

Instant Karma

Excuse me for a second, I just wanna open up the window and sing, O.K.? Thank you. Instant Karma's gonna get you Gonna knock you right on the head You better get yourself together Pretty soon you're gonna be dead Ahhh. That felt good. And, I have to tell you, it’s a feeling that’s been a stranger in my life for quite some time, especially if you’re a progressively-minded masochist who reads the news to see how the idiots in the White House are screwing us over. But not lately. It’s another day, and there’s another new scandal in Washington that won’t go away. “Our” President’s Teflon is wearing thin, I guess. The trial of “Scooter” Libby that resulted in a “Guilty” verdict, the horrific Walter Reed tragedy that has already caused three generals to resign, Alberto Gonzales–-man, the hits just keep on coming. Still, what else should we expect from The Administration That Couldn’t Govern Straight? Ruthless? Sure. Used to having their way? Uh-huh. Consumed by a vainglorious hubris and petty-minded malice? Yep. Smart? Hm, no. If they were smart, they would have remembered that old truism about “be good to the people you meet on the way up, because they’ll be the same people you’ll meet on the way down." If you ask me, what’s fueling this frenzy of investigations are all the guys Georgie (My Pet Goat) Bush, “Darth” Cheney, and Mr.Turd Blossom have brutally victimized over the years. You don’t think there’s a few ex-CIA spooks, pissed-off journalists, retired generals, humiliated diplomats and disgraced politicians waiting their turn to drop a dime and to savor a big bowl of cold Klingon soup? Hmm hmmm, tasty. Of course, it helps when the public is ready to hear the truth. And when foreclosures are up, when gas prices are up, the number of corporations downsizing is up, when bankruptcies are up, when medical expenses are up, and college tuition is up, maybe propaganda vehicles like Fox News becomes increasingly more irrelevant when it gets harder for Mr. and Mrs. Sixpack to pay their bills. I don’t think most Americans care about Monica (“Deep Throat”) Lewinsky anymore. Now, there are a few purists out there who are outraged by the idea that for all the heinous crimes this administration has done (Iraq, Katrina, Medicare Plan ‘D’, No Child Left Behind), it took some e-mails and incriminating paperwork to finally reveal that The President Has No Clothes. "Huh? Bush is gonna be busted because some faceless bureaucrat forgot to hit the 'Delete' key? It's not big enough! Waaah." It's like being disappointed because Hannibal Lector is captured in a CVS because he wanted to buy Sudafed for his sinus infection. Who cares? Personally, it’s like when I heard the news about serial killer and part-time cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer getting killed in prison. Or Al Capone getting busted for tax evasion. Or Slobodan Milosevic dying in his cell of a heart attack. Good. If I’m looking for justice in an imperfect world and that’s the way the karma goes down, I’ll take it. After all, beggars can’t be choosers. Did somebody say “Impeachment”? Payback is a bitch, ain’t it? You know, I feel like singing again: Instant karmas gonna get you Gonna look you right in the face Better get yourself together darlin Join the human race... Yo, Alberto! How's that noose? A little snug, huh?