Algebraic Equation

 

Are you like me?  Struggling throughout the annuls of time, trying to find the exact ratio of cereal to milk.  That's me on an almost daily basis.  Not once, since I was knee-high to a gnat, have I been able to find the exact quantity necessary to marry up with the precise volume of milk in order to not consume more than the desired amount of breakfast substance.

I start each day by filling a desirable amount of cereal, whether it be Shreddies, Corn Flakes or even a chocolatey treat like Nestle's Quik or Chocolate Lucky Charms (because of the marshmallows), I can never pour a perfect amount of milk.  Either I'm left with an obnoxious amount of milk after the cereal has been consumed, of which I'm not going to drink out of the bowl.  I'm not a damned animal, after all.  Besides, the milk doesn't taste well enough on it's own to be drunk in such a barbaric manner.  So I'm left with the only option.  Add more cereal.

The extra bowl is welcomed, sometimes, so it's no big whoop, but then the milk runs out, leaving half a bowl of cereal flying solo.  That's not good either, so out comes the jug and more milk is added.  This is where it becomes tricky.  I tend to add too much milk, the second time 'round.  It's not voluminous, but it's enough to throw off the ratio, leaving me once more, with an ample amount of milk in the bowl and no cereal, so the bitter circle begins all over again.

I've found myself, time permitting, in the past finishing off an entire box of cereal before the exact equation of how much to put with how much is ever ciphered to completion.  This happens more with the sugary cereals.  They're not just a source of vitamins and minerals, but they're also a tasty snack.  The nice thing about the latter cereals is that usually, the milk turns chocolate brown and it is somewhat tasty, although, I still refuse to drink from the bowl.  On account that I'm not an animal.

I don't recognize this mission as OCD-related, although I have experienced a similar problem when consuming ice cream.  I live alone so I tend to not use a lot of crockery.  In that, I mean, I drink from the bottle or from the milk jug (chocolate), rather than dirty a glass or cup.  With ice cream, it's the same.  I tend to eat it right out of the container.  (If I'm going to have company, I get a new tub of ice cream.  Like I said before, I'm not an animal.)

With the ice cream, I tend to try to finish with the ice cream being perfectly level, before I can return the lid to the container and place it back in the freezer.  Only problem is, I'm so picky that the ice cream MUST be completely flat with 90deg angles up against the wall of the receptacle.  Anything less than perfect, gets carved out and placed onto my tongue.  I thought I was the only one facing this dilemma, until one night I was watching late night TV and saw comedian Gary Gulman discuss the fact he does the same thing, often resulting in an empty bucket, just like me.  I laughed so hard at the premise because it wasn't just a funny anecdote, but a detailed historic recollection.  Almost like Gary, himself, were peeking in my window, taking careful note of my process.

After the show, I took to Twitter, complimenting Gulman on his very funny stand-up appearance, adding that I did the same with my ice cream.  It was a nice exchange.

I tend to have that problem with a number of factors in my life.  I use too much ketchup when placed on the side of my dish for French fries or bacon.  Too much gravy on my meat and potatoes, but really.  Is there such thing as too much gravy?  I think not, so I might be onto something there.  Hmm.

The question in every high school mathematics class is "When am I ever going to use this in real life?"  I've only come across, in real time, occasions when an algebraic equation might come in handy.  Most recently was just twenty minutes ago, as I was fighting to pour the proper amount of milk into my cereal.  Needless to say, but I will anyway.  I failed miserably.

The Yo-Yo Effect - Struggle For Survival

Everyone's lives have ups and downs.  Life can be a wild ride, much like a roller coaster.  Exciting at times, scary and terrifying at others.  My life isn't any different than any of that, but my ups and downs have always seemed to go from one extreme to the other.  Plateaus as high as Everest followed by lows as deep as the Laurentian Abyss.  Thankfully, as my most bleakest of moments, when survival seemed trifle and frivolous, there was a glimmer.  I glint of light that would catch my eye, capture and entrapping my attention long enough for the dark clouds to clear and life becoming bearable and easier to cope with.  Things that made me smile, rather than retreating into my blackness.  I'm sure many people have these moments of epiphany and clarity, but I bet very few, if any, can recall those "ah-ha" moments or what turned their lives around.  I have three, that I'm willing to share.

My father died, surprisingly, seventeen years ago.  I can still remember it like it happened yesterday.  He was diagnosed with cancer and succumbed to his sickness within about a month and a half.  Growing up and for most of my adult life, he battled the bottle.  An alcoholic, he was extremely angy and violent at times.  I remember coming home from school, seeing his truck was home and knowing that some shit was about to go down.  Alcoholism is a sickness, of sorts.  An addiction.  An escape from the problems that plague one's life.  In retrospect, I suppose drinking heavily was his way of coping with his own rollercoaster life.

We had our differences, fists were exchanged, but to be perfectly honest he flung more fists than I did, if I had any at all.  However, years later, when my dad emerged from the bottle, quitting the drinking, he was the most fantastic person in the world.  All smiles, laughter and joking.  I loved to sit and chat with my dad, and I think he loved reminiscing old stories from his youth.  I heard many of the stories thousands of times and loved hearing the retelling of those stories.  Even today, something will spark a memory of one of those stories and I get a big grin on my face.  So when he died, I felt ripped off.  Robbed of all those years of my dad due to his dependence of alcohol.  I was devastated and soon found myself spiraling into the abyss.  Miraculously, I discovered a musical group that drew me out of my funk.  Allowed me to laugh, cry and scream at the top of my lungs.  Friends around me, failed to see me at my weakest and then when I became able to crawl out of my funk, disapproved of my method.

Through watching professional wrestling, there were a couple of dudes in WCW, the now defunct World Championship Wrestling.  Not only were the guys decent wrestlers, but they were successful rap artists, too.  I speak, of course, of the Insane Clown Posse.  Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope had a song called "Take It", which got my hooked and soon I was buying up all the CDs I could find.  I had officially become a bonafide Juggalo.  I've been a fan for seventeen years and through that time, when I felt my happiness and contentment slipping, I'd pop a CD into the player and give it a listen.  The Amazing Jeckyll Brothers was my introduction CD and I'm honestly surprised that I haven't wore that one out, yet.  It's definitely one of the CDs I'd want if I were stranded on a deserted island.

Fast forward to 2009, when my life went back into the toilet.  Plunged deep into the furthest recesses of the sewer.  It was a time when I can fully admit that I contemplated suicide.  I found myself an embarrassment and a disappointment to friends and family.  No amount of ICP was digging me out of that funk.  I was alone to deal with my situation, struggling to inch my way back to something vaguely resembling normalcy.  I was at home and plugged in the three seasons of TITUS, a comedy TV show that was based on comedian Christopher Titus' life and stand-up act.  Soon I was listening to all of his comedy CDs in the car and in his own way, unbeknownst to him, he saved my life.  Titus never strays from how fucked up his life got to be at times, but he survived.  My life was fucked up, too, in different ways.  No more, no less fucked up than what his life was.  He survived and through his comedy and ability to laugh at the problems, I survived.  No more sadness, feeling of unworthiness and especially, no more suicidal thoughts.

A couple years ago, it happened again.  I'd had an accident at work, resulting in three crushed vertebrae, a mouthful of smashed teeth and uncertainty for what my future held.  I was struggling to go to sleep one night, hopped up on pain medications and lying in bed.  To occupy my time, I was listening to Doug Benson's "Doug Loves Movies" podcast and there was a comedian on the show, whom I was unfamiliar with, but this guy was fun, jovial and had a laugh unlike anyone I've ever known.  My dad had a tremendous laugh when you got him going, but that pales in comparison to this comedian.

I soon binged on as much Bert Kreischer and I could humanly consume.  I found his stand-up on YouTube, discovered his podcast, CORRECTION, Bertcast and I've become a huge fan of his TV shows and everything-Bert.  I bought his book, bought the audiobook, which is funnier, and love everything Bert.  To be honest, Bert Kreischer is someone who continues to make me laugh and keep me stable in life.  That is..., until recently.

My shitty life has plunged once more.  The worst it's ever been.  Everyday I desperately fight and struggle, clenching, scraping and crawling mere inches, fighting just to make ends meet.  This is the absolute worst I've been since the death of my father, seventeen years ago.  I'm so unbelievably broke that my bills are literally a juggling act.  I've compared it to that circus act of spinning plates.  I'm struggling to get thirty plates spinning and just as I think I'm getting ahead, one or two of the proverbial plates come crashing down.  I was unprepared for this level of strife in my life.  Of course, it's this time that I learn that the Insane Clown Posse was coming to town.  Tomorrow, in fact.  When all else seems bleak, I know ICP would help me see the light, but due to financial instabilities I came to terms with not going to see my Juggalo mentors.

The other day, my friend texted me and offered me up his ticket.  Sadly, he's unable to attend and knows how much I'd love and appreciate going to this show.  I'm not a religious person, by any means, but this is like divine intervention.  Like the hand of a higher power reached down and gifted me this opportunity.  My friend, who can't go, who gave me his ticket, is a truly great friend.  We often disagree on some social commentary, but in the end, he's an awesome guy and I aspire to be as generous as he is.

Every time I turn around, it seems like I'm getting violently kicked in the nuts and yesterday I took another major hit to the nuts, but I'm going to see the Insane Clown Posse tomorrow night.  Despite all that's going on right now...  Life is good.

Invincible

When we are young, we're fearless.  Not feat seems too daunting, no outcome too dangerous or frightening.  As kids, we may be afraid of what may be lurking in the shadows of our closets or creeping about under our beds, but in real life, outside, we're braver than the most courageous knight.

In high school, I recall having a healthy respect for the ski slope of our nearby Mount Blackstrap.  In comparison to the Rockies which tower over Western Canada, Blackstrap was a mere gopher hill, but gravity is gravity.  Crashing on a pair of skis is going to hurt, no matter what location you may be at the time.  However, there were small children visiting the ski hill that day, and while I, personally, was taking great caution in moving down the slopes, careful not to fall, yet again, my efforts were quite frivolous compared to the hoards of screaming and laughing children, streaking past me in a flash, sans ski poles.  Without trying, their very existence mocked me and my need for careful circumspection.

Fearless.

I used to be fearless in other ways.  One example would be my ability to overcome hot 'n' spicy foods.  Once upon a time, I attended a function where hot buffalo wings were served.  They were especially hot, but I was able to devour them with the greatest of ease.  While other people were panicking, searching out cold beverages to sooth their burning mouths and tissue to wipe the tears from their eyes, I sat back and mocked their inferiority with great disdain.

As time passed by, over the years, my tolerance for such spicy foods has fallen by the wayside.  No longer can I mock those affected by the extreme temperatures, but instead, have become the one who is mocked.  I ordered the "Pansy Wings" one night at a local watering hole, after work.  The people mocked me at the absurdity that I would purchase something so undaring and weak.  The ridiculing I got when I placed my order fell by the wayside compared to the teasing I received when they 'pansy wings' arrived and they affected me in a negative way, equal to that, if I would have received something much more spicy.  My eyes grew big, red and teary, while my lips got fat and swollen.  I shrugged off every poke and prod with every sniffle of my runny nose.  To this day, I'm fairly certain the cook read "pansy wings" on the order ticket, then thought it funny to give me the "Suicide Wings", they were THAT hot!

I have dabbled some, when it comes to spicy foods, but I don't go overboard.  When I do, I suffer such indigestion, that I swear death would be an improvement.  Of the foods I have been able to consume without much suffering, includes some chili con carne, which may have some heat to it, but nothing over the top.  Another snack I've been able to endure are jalapeno poppers.  The hollowed out pepper filled with cream cheese and lightly breaded.  Once in a blue moon, I'll bite into one that is unbelievably hot, but more times than not, they're pretty tame.  The same goes for the light rolls also known as 'antojitos'.  I've had them in the past, and while they do contain ingredients of a tempered nature, the cream cheese in them have always been able to stave off the heat.

Fast forward to this evening.  Following the Norm MacDonald comedy show, myself and a friend, decided to go for a beverage and a snack.  I'd not eaten since before noon, so I was famished.  I perused over the menu and decided on a pulled pork poutine and an order of antojitos.  The poutine was fine, despite the pulled pork having the consistency of meat that sat under a heat lamp since late morning.  The antojitos, on the other hand....  Jesus Christ.., let me tell you.  Hotter than a motherf**ker.  I ate only one piece out of the five that were presented on the plate and the scorching heat was nearly unbearable.  Every passing moment, for me, was more uncomfortable than the preceding one.  Every inch burned like a wildfire as it passed down my esophagus to my stomach.  It blazed the entire route like Marty McFly's DeLorean time machine.

That was it.  I'd had enough.  I asked the waitress to box it up, adding that it was much to hot for me to finish.  Kind as she was, the waitress spoke to her supervisor and had it deleted from my bill.  She still boxed it up for me, but I handed it off to my friend, whose constitution with spicy foods is much better than my own.

I remember when I was invincible, but sadly those days are long gone.  It's said with age, comes wisdom.  Funny thing is...  I don't feel any wiser.