Return to Amity

Okay, I lied. I'm back from hiatus. What can I say? Wallowing in depression is boring. I don't know how some folks do it.

Met a tired MM for lunch today. He was exhausted because he was up until all hours of the night watching Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. It reminded me of the first time I watched Shark Week while similarly afflicted with insomnia a few years back. Turns out as I was watching I recognized one of those world-famous shark experts from college. Here's a picture of him at work:
You know a guy who grabs a great white by the snout has some cajones. And you know it takes cajones to hang with me.

I remember good old Mark Marks for a number of reasons. First, my roommate had a crush on him. Problem was, she was vegan, a wee bit uptight, ultraliberal, and had a list of requirements for her future mate. He was a short, meat-eating Army Ranger who taught a self-defense class, a card-carrying Republican, and didn't tolerate crap well. She invited him over for cous cous and brussel sprouts one night. As she was cooking I went in the kitchen to get something, she introduced us, and he and I struck up a conversation. He too was a Desert Storm veteran and into running. It was quite clear he and I had a lot more in common than my roommate and him. I left, they had dinner, and he wasn't there in the morning (not really a surprise). Two days later I literally ran into him on a trail behind the college. We ran together and talked. We ended up meeting for regular runs, becoming fast friends and eventually dating - much to the "I never liked him anyway" chagrin of my roommate. (I did ask her permission, not sure why since they had only had dinner the one time).

Mark was a cool guy and his apartment was full of strange shark stuff, including shark embryos floating in formaldihide, shark jaws, shark toys, shark everything. He even gave me an official 'Shark Protection and Preservation Society' t-shirt. I think only 25 were ever made. I still have it. And I had a shark tooth necklace he gave me until I gave it to a friend's son who was more into surfing than I was into sharks. I also remember he was a fireplug of a man, wore a floppy camouflage hat, and wanted to experiment with spanking. He was ambitious, passionate, energetic, and focused. And he had a moustache that made it look like he had a big, fat caterpillar stuck on his face.

I don't recall how long we hung out but I do remember it ended in December of whatever year it was. He had gotten a grant to study great whites in South Africa and needed to leave soon. He asked me to come along and be his research assistant. I considered but was mid-way through college and really wanted to finish. I wished him well, we exchanged a letter or two, and never spoke again. In fact, I hadn't really thought of him until I saw him that time on Shark Week and noted that he had married a nice-looking strawberry blonde who appeared to be his research assistant. I smiled when I saw him on tv and was happy for him.

So after MM and I spoke about sharks at lunch today, I came back to my office and Googled 'Mark Marks sharks'.

Remember the last time I googled an ex? I was hoping something better had become of Mark than had happened to old Bill.

Turns out Mark is okay himself but had some recent tragedy. Some of you may recall seeing news of a plane crash off the coast of Florida a few weeks ago. A charter plane heading to the Bahamas had inexplicably crashed at sea and all 20 people on board were killed. Sadly, when I Googled Mark, I learned that his wife was the pilot of that plane. Here's a link to the story. I feel pretty sorry for Mark because, based on the article, it sounds like they were a great pair.

Looks like he's starting a foundation in her name. I think I'll send a donation and some cous cous when it's up and running. I also think I'd better quit googling exes - it seems to guarantee trouble.

Isn't that just how life works?

Woke up early yesterday morning to a call from my mother. The is-she-up-yet 6 am calls are always my favorites.

Seems my troubled brother walked up to their property at about 3:30 Monday morning. The thing is, my parents live in the middle of nowhere in the high desert. At least a mile from pavement or marked roads. He had run out of gas and began walking looking for their house. But he had only been to the property once - a few years back before there was anything more than a shed on it. He spent a few hours wandering the desert and then I guess he followed the smell of reindeer and camel dung to find their place.

Of course, when a strange man comes wandering onto your ranch in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night, you get nervous so my father met him on the porch with a shotgun. It took a few minutes for all the parties to calm down. Luckily, no one was shot. We are, after all, a trigger-happy bunch.

Turns out my brother is out of money. I know what you're thinking - 'Didn't he get $95k from selling his house a few months back?' Yes, he did. Apparantly he put $40k into a CD and blew the rest. Yes, that's $55k in five months. And yes, he has something to show for it - a 1970's Chevy Nova, a new Gibson guitar and a knocked up crack whore. I don't know about you, but I could probably do a bit more with $11,000 a month. He spent his last $18 on gas trying to get to my parents' house, ran out of gas a few miles down the road then just started walking. Oh, and he left his girlfriend and dog in the truck while he wandered around. She finds it difficult to walk long distances in her sensible stripper platform shoes.

My folks gathered them and a gas can together and everyone crashed at their place for the night. Not wanting them at their place (probably my father speaking), they took him up to my mountain getaway and told him he and the whore can stay there until he gets his act together. No, he hasn't called to ask me if it's okay. No, he doesn't plan to. Yes, my family seems to think that it's acceptable. I think its enabling since the two of them will probably go pawn the few possessions I have up there, use the money to score some drugs in Mojave and hole up in my trailer and either kill eachother or burn the place down.

So I guess the moral of the story is that if you ignore your family, lie to everyone who cares about you, go on a drug binge, blow more money than you make in a year in a few months, and bring along the convicted felon who is sending you to jail in a couple of weeks (trial next week), you get to live in peace on five beautiful acres in the mountains, rent free, with no responsibility, have your mother bring you food and supplies, and have $40k waiting for you in the bank to use if you get your act together.

Yes, that was the first rant of 2006. Don't worry, I'm going to take a vacation soon and we'll get back to our regularly scheduled programming and antics. Sans tequila shots, of course.