Kick the Can

When I was a little boy, I would daydream constantly. All I ever wanted to do was escape from the desolate poverty of the South Bronx and live in a place of wonder and magic. Stories drew me in, and I read voraciously as a result.

It was only appropriate, then, that I should fall in love with fiction in all its forms. First came books, then video games, and then comic books; and finally ... the umbrella genre of Speculative Fiction. So, in effect: anything and everything that had to do with the fantastical, be it science or in fact fantasy.

This is a photo I took of myself the other day. While cleaning my place, I came across a t-shirt I had forgotten I owned since 2004 when the Punisher film starring Thomas Jane first came out. I wore it a few times back in those days, then promptly shelved it because I thought I was too old for such silly things.

And now I've found the t-shirt again, and I'm even older! The difference this time, I guess, is that I just don't give AF about how old I am, or how silly I might look. I'm going to do only those things that bring me joy from now on.

That's the mood I'm in these days. I am reminded that all the things I love to do are not to be ashamed of, but to be embraced. What's the point of living in this world if you're not trying to appease number one, numero uno -- i.e., yourself!

About a year ago I dusted off my old Nintendo system and popped in one of my favorite video games from 1989: Ninja Gaiden:

This game I played from sunrise to sun down and beyond, until I had mastered it like very few people have ever been able to accomplish. It's one of my silly proud achievements in life, and I took the opportunity to record it for posterity. It took me around 2 weeks of "training" to recapture the mastery I once had over this title, but eventually I pulled it off. What makes this recording so special to me is that it finally presents irrefutable proof to all who've ever doubted me that I can defeat the game without my character, Ryu Hayabusa, ever dying! In fact, he barely even gets touched by the demon hordes and enemy ninjas sent to stop him in his quest:

This is considered one of the toughest old-school games around, but I tried to make it look like child's play. I hope I succeeded!

See what I mean? It's important to let loose and have fun. To recapture one's youth from time to time, if only to remind yourself of what you once held as the universe's paramount truth:

That we are here to have FUN!

And, hey -- to look good while doing it, no?

Why Spontaneity Pays Off (Sometimes)

I'm a creature of habit. Everyone who knows me knows this. Or, rather, I should say that I'm a creature of planning. I plan everything out -- my days, my clothes, my workouts, my expenses, my travels. Everything gets plotted out and charted down to the decimal point!

In general, I hate jumping into a situation completely blind. I need to have all my options choreographed first, with chances of failure appropriately weighed, and with plenty of back up plans or failsafes in place in case failure does occur. Only then do I act.

Yes, I'm serious. I do this for everything, and especially when important decisions need to be made.

But lately I've been thinking about the few times in life I have made important decisions out of spontaneity -- that is, without having my course pre-routed for me or any measurable back up plans to cover a failure.

One such time was my first job out of college. I hated that job. I had been at it for 19 months and really wanted to quit. Me being me, however, I couldn't do so until I first had another job lined up to land at when I jumped ship. It was tough being able to go on interviews and still do my day job, but I managed it. For months I went on several interviews in the publishing industry here in New York, but to no avail. I had no leads.

Then one day my difficult manager was being difficult as per usual. She pushed my buttons one too many times on this day, however, and I decided right then and there that I was done! I went to her boss and presented my resignation. I announced I would give them two weeks to find my replacement, but that I was out after that. When asked if I had another job lined up, I replied that I did not. The director seemed taken aback by this, and assured me that I could take all the time I needed to find a new place of employment before I left.

I resolutely held my ground and replied that, whether I found another job or not within that two weeks, I would still be leaving at the end of it. It was just a feeling I had deep in my core, that this was the right step to take and -- more importantly -- that things would somehow all work out if I give in to fate.

So I left the company after 2 weeks with nothing new lined up. I then spent the next 2 weeks afterward interviewing at various places. And just like that, I found myself starting a new job at a new company on the 3rd week. This place was better structured than the last, my reporting manager was the nicest person I had ever interviewed with, and best of all -- I was getting paid a LOT more!

I remember thinking to myself: Wow! Had you not gone for it and quit, you might never have had the free time to even go on this interview, let alone land the position!

It was a lesson that taught me not everything needs to be *safe* before you make a life change. Sometimes you just need to read the situation and understand that it's time to move on. You need to act when you feel that it's time to act.

Yeah, lately I've been feeling this again. Not just at work, but in my personal life as well. It's starting to feel like as if it's time to move on. Which scares the hell out of me, because I have no alternatives lined up. I do want to switch to another job opportunity, though. I just don't know exactly what to do right now. Do I simply look for a change of scenery within the same field? Or do I reinvent myself entirely and try for a field that is totally different from what I do now, but which would make me happier? Something involving photography, perhaps? Or freelance writing, maybe? Because I'm starting to feel the boredom of my current job.

Then, too, I'm wondering: Should I leave New York City? Where would I move? I would love to move back to Vermont where I went to college, but I would imagine my chances of finding work there would not be as favorable as they would be in another big city. Or should I move to Texas where my current company has its headquarters in the Dallas area? My brother lives in Houston -- should I move there, perhaps?

Honestly, sometimes I wish I could just take that blind leap of faith and simply GO! Leave everything behind in my current life and completely change my situation.

Who knows?

But on a much less serious, yet oddly connected note .... just recently an acquaintance of mine from years ago contacted me out of the blue. I hadn't heard from her since then, but she had been an aspiring actress and model at the same time that I had begun exploring photography. We had helped each other out back then: I taking her headshots, and she ... well, posing for 'em! Fast forward to earlier this year, and this same woman texted me wanting to know if we could meet up again and do another photoshoot. I told her "sure, of course!", although truth be told I wasn't feeling all that confident in my abilities to take good photos of anyone. I didn't want her to think of me as a *real* photographer, you see? Too much pressure on me! Because then her expectations would be so high, and the end result would not live up to the imagination.

Still, she had loved my headshots of her, and I did explain that photography is just my hobby and not my actual living. Trying to downsize her expectations, you know?

But then months went by, and I realized I just didn't want to put myself out there like that. To set up a meet with this woman, go over how I wanted to shoot her, and then execute the shoot.

Then one night a couple of weeks ago, out of nowhere, I sat up on my couch while watching tv and said: Hey, why not do it tomorrow?!

It was a crazy idea and totally spontaneous and on such short notice ... but I reached out to her and asked her if she would be willing to do the shoot within the next few days. She told me she was free in the morning if I wanted to shoot something quick; otherwise, it would have to wait until she got back from a trip out of town 10 days later.

I leapt at that and said: bet! So we set up a quick street shoot outside her building the following morning. Basically, in less than 12 hours from the time we texted until the time we saw each other face to face. Hey, that can be a lifetime in this city!

Anyway, I'm happy to say the shoot went very well. Far better than even my best expectations. It was a quick affair, and we made a quick decision on what she should wear. Something casual for sure since it was stifling hot and humid this July morning in New York City. At first she wanted to wear a summery dress, but then thought she'd rather wear something she would normally wear and feel more comfortable in. I dubbed it her "Boho chic" look!

And so, for an hour that morning while the light was still soft and dappled, I shot her on the front steps to her apartment building. These were just a few of the photos I made:

As I said, this ended up being a really great shoot for me. And best of all, my client loved her photos! She squealed with delight and high-fived and hugged me upon seeing them on the viewscreen. It was a great feeling.

And I was very happy for taking the chance, completely out of my comfort zone, and simply DOING IT rather than pre-planning and second guessing and talking myself out of it. Coming as it did while I'm in the midst of this current existential funk, I have to say it gave me a lot of food for thought concerning the direction to take my life next.

Maybe I really should just go out there and take the plunge. Make a change, and to hell with the possible risks. Maybe life is all about risks, no? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Hmmmm .... I wonder about that, though.

I Don't Remember Who I Bribed, But -- I'm In Print!!!

Yes so, as I alluded to in my last post, it's now official: My short story "The Collector" is appearing in the most recent issue of the speculative fiction magazine, Space and Time (Spring '18 issue #131).

This is indeed a big milestone. I've had a tough road these past 5 to 7 years ... lots of personal problems to deal with, mostly of the failed marriage variety and trying to piece together my life in the aftermath. I've mostly kept quiet about this aspect of my personal emotional makeup, especially on other social media platforms outside of Blogger, and with good reason. Yet perhaps the most regrettable fallout from all that was my lack of writing output during this time. I've tried to write, and in fact did pen several short stories from start to finish (with "The Collector" being one such result), but to be honest it's been like pulling teeth. I used to look forward to writing each night after returning from work, or on the weekends when I could truly devote most of my day to it. I was content, and gratified by the noticeable progress I was making. I had even sold a few stories to several token and online markets back when I was married. Nothing big, but I was still proud of that progress all the same. And when it all came crashing down around me, and my lost of self confidence -- and all that doubt -- would gnaw and eat away at me?

Yeah, I hate to say that I succumbed and just could not go on writing. And yet, that yearning to be creative and express myself was still there. Hence, why for a time all I wanted to do was get lost in my photography. Making pictures allowed me to get out into the world and walk around, clear my head, and see things around me instead of within me. More importantly, it allowed me to still create.

Does that make sense?

And in all that time in which my photography started to improve greatly, and I was getting more opportunities to shoot, I was still shopping around what stories I had already written. I've received numerous rejections, let me tell you. So many that I could say I've lost count. I haven't, because I actually keep a spreadsheet of all my submissions and when, where, and how they were rejected. But the point is: I still held on to that writing bug in whatever way that I could. And now something good has happened that I cannot let go to waste. After so many years, I've done it. I finally sold another piece. Why is this so important? Well besides the fact that it marks the first time my work will appear in a physical, solid printed medium that you can honest to god hold in your hands ... it reminds me that I haven't lost the ability to write something meaningful. Meaningful to anyone else? I'm not being that pretentious, no. But meaningful to myself? Yes. "The Collector" is a story I'm extremely proud of. I don't think that it represents the best of my talents, but it does illustrate to myself first and foremost that I can indeed write for what speaks to me. I can pull myself out of that doubt and self-pitying misery and write just for the fun of being creative, of expressing a poetry of the soul that hearkens back to the man I've always been. Before, back when I was married; and after, when I was divorced and had to find my own place to live. I'm still both people -- the same person. I shouldn't let external shortcomings affect that joy to be found in doing something fun and special and creative. I shouldn't forget to just write, dammit!

And that's what I intend to do. If I never sell another piece again, that's not really the point. If no one visits this blog anymore or comments on anything I put up here. That's not the point. The point is that I need to simply be me, that I need to shut up and. just. write.

And in the meantime to enjoy, however briefly, this one big moment that I will never forget. It's a small thing to most, but it's a milestone all the same. And I'm happy about it!

For those who have been asking me about where to purchase this issue of Space and Time, Issue 131 should be hitting magazine racks this week. I don't know for sure, but that's what I suspect. I've already received my contributor's copies, but I plan to visit a few Barnes & Nobles in the city over the next several days to see if I can spot any "in the wild." Having purchased the magazine from there before, I know from experience that the publication is often in the "Literary" category of B&N's magazine section. Most often it's grouped with other like-minded mags such as: Asimov's, Analog, and Fantasy & Science Fiction, but also other speculative rags like: Mystery and Romance. If you see these titles, then Space and Time will be somewhere among them. Right now, last winter's issue is still in good supply, so if you happen to see both that and the Spring issue on offer, do yourself a favor and pick 'em both up!

Alternately, you can simply go to the website's subscription page, scroll midway down, and order the current issue to be shipped to you in the mail. That's an option, too!

Impostor Syndrome

Over on his blog, Whatever, popular SF author John Scalzi talks about a phenomenon he's been experiencing a lot lately among fellow writers while attending conventions and other social-professional gatherings: Impostor Syndrome. In his own words, here's how he describes the term:

"Impostor Syndrome, briefly put, is the feeling that one’s achievements and status are a fluke, and that sooner or later one will be revealed as a fraud. Anecdotally speaking, it seems, Imposter Syndrome affects a lot of writers, editors and other folks in the publishing life. I think this is in part because the writing life is a precarious one, financially and otherwise, and also in part because people in publishing seem to be a generally neurotic lot anyway. Imposter Syndrome is just another log on that particular fire."

As a struggling writer myself (struggling in that I'm constantly trying to improve my craft and "get better"), I'm certainly no stranger to crippling self-doubt. But I'm not sure I would classify myself under suffering from this particular syndrome. Then again, I have not yet reached the level of professional accomplishment within the field of SF publishing as the folk Scalzi is referring to in his piece. Yet I get the feeling that even when I do reach such a level, I probably will feel as if I worked my ass off to get there, and probably won't have much time to wonder if perhaps I am an impostor.

I mean, like I said before, I have my own level of self critique/doubt that is always in the back of my mind as I write. But I have a peculiar realization when it comes to that nagging voice telling me that I will never amount to anything, ever.

It's there, truthfully, only because I'm strong enough to have that voice there.

In other words, that self doubt does not trouble me. It is not my disability, because I cannot be harmed or hampered in such manner. That voice is more like that of an aggressive high school coach, or perhaps boot camp drill sergeant is more accurate. It berates me, it yells at me, it tells me that I'm no fucking good and that no one will ever love me, maggot! But it does so because deep down that voice just wants me to succeed. See? It wants me to develop a thick skin and to shrug off such negativity and continue pushing myself forward. To be the best me I can be because that's all I can be!

And because I'm actually very well grounded and come from an upbringing of constant positive reinforcement -- from, first, my mother; and then later, my grandmother and aunt -- that the opposite of such positivity really has very little effect on my ego. I hear the voice loud and clear, yes; but I never allow it to truly reach me.

I do, however, know a few people who are the opposite of myself. Who try their best to convince everyone else that they suffer no such voices in their heads. That they've always known they were meant for great things, and that it never once even crossed their minds to ever doubt themselves.

And, great. That's awesome! More power to you, sister. But, honestly? I suspect that most of them are quite delusional. At least one guy I know personally is most definitely full of his own shit. He likes to talk a big game about how good he is at his craft, but yet never really puts in the real work it takes to actually be good at it. How can that be?

Well, as they say: the BS is strong in this one!

This person never likes to hear me talk down about my own work. He gives me a look as if I'm committing artistic suicide. He claims that he never doubts himself. But, really? Never? How is that even possible? For me, self doubt is how an artist perfects himself. Or, at least, motivates himself to keep going and improve. A person who does not possess even a modicum of this self-critique . . . well, how can he ever get better at his craft?

No, what I suspect is that such a person is in fact quite insecure in their abilities. Ironically, he lives in constant, neurotic fear of failure. Moreover, he may even suffer from great personal depression. The type of person who truly *needs* to believe that he is the best thing that has ever happened to his field of practice, or else he has no reason for being. In his mind, that voice is quite crippling indeed! And so, to hide this perceived weakness, he protects himself behind aggrandized claims to greatness and braggadocio. By promoting a persona that is above such things as doubt and uncertainty.

And that to me, my friends, is the true Impostor Syndrome. It is not when one questions one's right to be in a position to receive recognition and accolades for one's artistic achievements. Perhaps, instead, the real impostor is the artist who feels he should be handed such platitudes based simply on the God-given genius he was born with, and to which he never really needed to work at.

Such people are the true enigmas; the doppelgängers, if you will, of artistic merit.

Previously Me

From around the ages of 5 to 7, my mother had this annoying habit of refusing us kids the chance to get out of bed in the morning on weekends when we were dying to get up and watch cartoons. The rule was that we had to wake her up and ask her permission first before we could turn on the tv. And if she said "no," then we'd have to return to our beds and simply lie awake there until she deigned to get up herself and grant us our freedom. Problem was, my mother was a very heavy sleeper and a notorious late riser. She sometimes didn't wake up until just after noon!

This was extremely frustrating to me, obviously, but it also allowed me time to sit in bed for hours and ruminate on life's big mysteries. No, seriously, I spent a lot of time in my head in those early years when my mom was still alive and oversleeping on weekends. At that time, I only just recently became acquainted with the concept of God, and that his scary long-haired, mustachioed son had been murdered and nailed to wood planks for something that was supposed to be good for all of us. 

Dudes! WTF, seriously? Jesus!

Seemed crazy to a kid like me in those days ... but then, I already knew by that point that the adult world made no damn sense! So I just filed this away among more crazy shit adults believed in that didn't seem to reconcile with my uninformed view of the world around me.

So, hence, while I would wile away the Saturday morning hours in bed, I would attempt to make sense of said world in my own precocious way. Many of my ruminations have long since been forgotten. Or, in some cases, my conclusions were too embarrassing for me to want to admit to nowadays. Such as the morning I thought to myself: Is baby shampoo made from real live babies?

But sometimes my mental wanderings lead to more ... philosophical territory. Such as the morning I tried to understand what happened to people when they died. Informed, no doubt, by the passing of my youngest brother a year prior; and also fueled by the recent indoctrination, on mother's decree, of us kids into the Catholic church (something we were not born into, since her own upbringing was Presbyterian) -- I can see now why it was supposedly so important to little 5-year old me to ponder this concept. Where did we go after we die, anyway?

In my little mind, I imagined a ghost like figure rising up from the deceased body it had just inhabited, and heading toward the sky where I believed God was supposed to live. I think I had seen this allusion once in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, and so the visual vocabulary was already imprinted on me. Up and up the ghost of the dearly departed would rise, and then an old man sitting on a cloud would lift up a finger to stop its ascent, before pointing back down the opposite end of the cloud to the Earth spinning below. And down that spirit would plunge ... down, down, down, returning to the ground where a baby was just being born. And into that baby the spirit would dissolve, and the newborn's eyes would open to the world for the first time.

Now, everyone I tell this story to these days think that I'm full of shit! That a little 5-year old boy, without any knowledge of other world religions, could have possibly thought up the theory of reincarnation all by himself.

And yet, I say to this: where in all that did I just say I invented the concept? Given the fact that more than one culture on this planet firmly possess the belief system that our souls are engaged in a constantly moving wheel of birth, life, death, and rebirth: did it ever occur to anyone that a child with a significantly curious and open mind might just tap into something that, to him, is just an obvious forgone conclusion? That, perhaps, he was just awakening to a realization that should have been as natural to every other human being as the sun rising each morning?

For me, I thought I figured it all out. And it wasn't until some years later when I was a 'tween of about 11 or 12, that I discovered other, more ancient, peoples had already beaten me to the punch! And that this so-called theory of mine was in fact called "reincarnation."

Something quite like this.

Scary, no? It makes me think that maybe, just maybe, there may be some truth to all this.

And if so, then what about our past lives? Do we have them? And if so further: is it possible to remember them?

I honestly don't claim to know the answer for sure (heh, heh), but I suspect it might be true.

But I'm also crazily intrigued by the possible lives my particular "soul" has lived. I can't quite put the finger on why exactly, but I get this sense that my soul has been wandering this planet for a very, very long time. It's a feeling I've had since early in my childhood. I've always had this "world weary" heaviness in my heart, like as if I've been through the ringer and back again -- and this was clearly before even all the major bad shit that was yet to happen to the younger me in this current lifetime occurred.

So what have I done in my previous lives. Who was I, and did I lead mostly good lives instead of bad over the millennia? I do get the feeling that, before this life, my soul hadn't been in circulation for centuries. Like as if the last time I was human was back when the center of the world was still in the Middle East. Who knows, maybe I did something so bad back then that I had to spend the next 400 to 500 years as various forms of insect before I could eventually work my way back up to human form. Exciting, eh?!

Was I a feared marauder of villages?

Who knows? It's possible! And maybe that will be a blog post ... for another time, eh?

And what about you? Do you have an old soul? Or do you feel like a Spring chicken in this game of (eternal) Life?

Let me know in the comments!

'Cause I'm Close To The Edge ....

Looking back on my life recently, I startlingly came to the following realization:

I don't like doing what's expected of me, or taking the easy way out.

As I focused on this concept and really thought it through, it became increasingly clear just how much of my life has been dictated on this principle. It's actually scary, and it forces me to examine a lot about motivation, ambition, and drive -- or at least why I don't seem to have much of any of these things anymore. It's a sobering realization to come to, I must admit, and may even be my undoing.

Basically, it starts with my father. Yes, that old chestnut. Look, I really don't want to kick a dead horse. I've covered this subject many times on this blog already, so I won't be rehashing any of that. Most of you already know the most salient point, to wit: my father was a lazy bum who couldn't stay true to one woman, nor be there for the three boys he had with her.

Typical deadbeat dad scenario, no?

What does this have to do with me? Well, knowing this about my dad, from a very early age I made it my goal in life to never be like him. Where he was lazy and uneducated, I strove to be the best in my class and to always be a hard worker. I was quite good at my studies as a kid, even math. It was easy, actually. Whenever I felt myself slack off in school, I remembered my dear ol' dad -- and, boom! Suddenly there was my motivation to be different. And the thing is, growing up as a mixed Caucasian/Latino kid in the South Bronx, whose mother was on welfare ... see, no one ever expected much of me. In school I was the quiet, unassuming kid. I interacted with NO ONE! I simply did what was expected of me and went home to where I could just be myself and no one would bother me. I was the UNSEEN in class, and so this had the consequence of everyone around me underestimating me and writing me off.

A History of Violence

When I was around 4 years old, my mom stopped a friend on the street and began to chat her up for minutes on end. This friend had a much younger son with her, around 2 years old I believe. My brother and I walked off ahead, farther down the block, and this little boy followed us. Bored, and with no one paying attention to us, my brother and I decided to turn the corner and relieve ourselves against a nearby wall.

It's a boy thing.

And we were 3 and 4 years old apiece, remember. Laughing, the little boy tried to imitate us, but he had a hard time getting his pants down. I helped him, pulling them down to his ankles for him. And then I noticed that his shoelaces were untied. I honestly don't know what came over me next, but I suddenly got it in my head that it would be a funny prank to tie them together. Afterward, I grabbed my brother's hand and urged him to race back to our mom--knowing full well that this little boy would take off after us! He did, with his trousers still down and his shoelaces tied together. Laughing, he made it only a few feet before falling over onto his stomach. Next ensued so much crying and screaming. I remember thinking I would be in trouble for that; and sure, I did receive a beating from mom later on as a result. But in that moment .... the image of that annoying little boy falling flat on his face, scraping his knees and bawling? In that moment, for the oddest of reasons, the 4 year old me found it the funniest, most satisfying sight ever. And I *knew* that I had done that.

Yesterday, as I walked home from the subway after work, I came across two toddlers straggling behind an older woman who might have been their grandmother. A boy and girl, around 3 years old each. I assumed they were either siblings or cousins. The children were slurping happily on lollipops they held in chubby, balled-up hands, while holding each other's free hands as they walked up the block. It was the cutest sight! The very picture of innocence. And I thought to myself: wow, children really are beautiful. In their faces, and in the way they so sweetly held on to each other as they walked, you could not doubt the purity of their hearts and spirits. I knew that it was this very innocence that we adults cherish so much in children. Why we feel this instinctive pang to protect and shelter them, for surely children at that age are without guile, without malice.

Or are they?

Where does this concept come from, that all children are born innocent? Is this true? Or is it a construct we adults invent because we tend to read into our young what we ourselves wish were true? But just because we want it so, does not make it so.

When does innocence end? I'm not so sure innocence ever ends. We're all innocent in some way or another. Sure, we probably become more jaded over time as life's hard realities belt us to and fro on the battered winds of lost dreams . . . but not one of us is ever truly, wholly evil. Just as no one is ever completely good. We're human beings, and humans are a bewildering, grayish mix of both forces.

And, I hate to break it to you, but: children are human beings, too. They're not little godlings flitting about on glowing white wings. They are born with the potential to be the humans we all are. Flawed beings with our many, many bad moments. On that day when I was 4, I had a very bad moment. A moment when my little inner masochist came out and showed his face. As an adult now, I'm horrified by my actions in that one moment of weakness and wretched bemusement. It's haunted me all these years, actually, as I strive to be a moral person in this world. But yet I have to live with the fact that in my past there is a moment in which I was a horrible person to a happy, adorable little baby who didn't know any better than to follow me around like a puppy looking for a friend. It breaks my heart now thinking about it. Why on earth would I have done such a thing? Am I just the lowest of scum for not only inflicting such pain on an innocent child once, but from gaining so much satisfaction from the act as well? I could see someone like Hitler maybe having a story like this from his childhood, but surely not me? I'm a GOOD person!

But, nope. We all have this capability in us. Perhaps I'm being more honest about it here on this blog than most people will ever be, even to themselves. The truth of the matter is: not only do we all carry the seeds within us to do both harm and good, but we were born to this dichotomy.

Seeing those two adorable children holding hands as they ate their lollipops and tried to catch up to grandma, I had to doubt this, though. Could either one of those little cherubim ever do such a horrible act as what I did not more that one year in age away from them? Perhaps not. So then, what made me do it? Who even taught me to do something so radical as to pull a malicious prank on a child more helpless and innocent than myself? Is it something taught, or something innate? Nature or nurture? The world may never know. I certainly never will.

But I wonder: is it really important to find out? Or is it better to take the generalized approach and simply accept our bad natures as being just that -- natural! As I get older, I'm beginning to realize that it's not so much about bemoaning the bad things you've done in the past, but about learning from those moments and doing better not to repeat them.

The more you accept the bad within you, but strive to rise above it and do good, the more of a complete person you will be.

I truly believe this. Don't you?

The Bimillennial Man's Top 10 Posts of 2014

So it's that time of year again . . . the start of a new year, that is! Historically, with my mother's passing on this date 29 years ago, New Year's Day has never been a time for celebration on my part. There have been years where I've tried to go out and have fun, sure, but usually this is a somber time for me in which I hole up at home and play things very down key.

And yet, the New Year is always a time of hope and renewal. I'm not immune to the changeover, and can honestly say that I'm very much looking forward to a brand new year. 2014 was not really the best of years, but it was not the worst. And it was definitely a step up from the previous three years before it, which were terrificly shitty years in my life. Probably the worst ever!

But with 2015 upon us, I thought I would continue with this little tradition at The Bimillennial Man of reflecting on the blog posts of the previous year. I started this tradition last year, as some of you may recall, in which I listed the Top 10 most successful posts of 2013. And by "successful," I mean the threads which had received the most views. So let us see how 2014 faired, shall we?

To set the scene, I just want to briefly mention that 2014 saw a huge explosion of new visitors and traffic to the site. I don't have the exact numbers on hand, but by my estimation this site had FOUR TIMES as many visitors as the previous year, despite the fact that I only published half as many posts in 2014 as compared to 2013. It's true I didn't have much to say this past year, apparently, but I'm happy that this hasn't stopped the site from becoming even more popular and very searchable on Google---which is still the number one search engine being used to find this blog. Thanks a bunch, Google!!!

So then here is my list, in chronological order, of popular posts for the year, followed by tally numbers of total unique visitors to each post as of this date:


My Top 10 Threads of 2014

1.  State of the Batista Union.   (114 views)

2.  Top 10 Crushes From Hollywood's Golden Age.   (356 views)

3.  Game of Thrones: Season 4 Anticipation Begins . . . NOW!   (154 views)

4.  Living Single.   (1,370 views)

5.  What Girls Don't Know We Know They Know.   (205 views)

6.  Dream Come True -- I'm An Actor Born!!!   (140 views)

7.  This Kid Is A'iight!   (134 views)

8.  Dear Dad: A Letter To My Father.   (149 views)

9.  Model Spotlight: "Nazneen Contractor".   (234 views)

10. My Quick(ish) iPhone 6-Plus Impression.   (167 views)


Click on any link above if you're curious to see why a particular post proved to be as popular as it was. Hint: the ones with lots of pics are usually the most viewed. Hmmm, I wonder why?

Because I'm Happppppppy!!!

*Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof*

I'm overcome with a sudden feeling of, oh, I don't know what it is: happiness, euphoria, optimism ... zest for life? Whatever you want to call it, I have it. And the weird thing is, there's no specific reason for it. In fact, I've had a pretty shitty last couple of days where one bad thing after another keeps happening to me. Small things, to be sure, but small things add up to one big, steaming pile of shit-for-feelings if you're not careful. And I'm almost at my threshold!

And yet ...

And yet, I don't know why exactly, but I'm just so happy. If I could sum it up, I seem to be overjoyed just to simply be alive. That no matter what else is happening, I am alive. And being alive is GREAT! This got me to stop and think: why am I generally so optimistic? It's a mystery to me. While others have had far shittier lives than I, and continue to have them, I've had my fair share of hard knocks throughout. Some pretty horrific ones, actually. And yet I can honestly say I've never suffered from depression. Real depression, I mean. As in clinical. No, that's just not me.

But why not? I have actual real world friends and family whom I know for a fact suffer from clinical depression. And, yes, they've had shitty lives (for the most part) to perhaps justify such depression. Although, to be honest, real depression is not caused by the simple fact of bad things happening to someone, but with that someone not having the tools to cope with those shitty happenings. And by all accounts, I suppose I *should* be in that boat. And yet, I am not.

But, again, why not? Why do I love life so much? Why, despite being knocked down so often, do I pick myself up, dust off the dirt, and keep on keeping on? I think it comes from the fact that I believe in good things around the corner. That I have ... optimism that things will always be better. It's something I strive for, and I think so long as you have that drive -- that push to reach for something bright and good, whatever it may be -- despite any and all things bad happening to you at any given moment, that this is what makes for happiness. A satisfaction with oneself that things will be all right. That's called harmony, or being at peace with oneself. If one is at peace, despite being surrounded by negative forces, then one can truly be in balance with existence.

Or am I full of it?

Who knows! In the meantime, I will do as the song below says and clap along. Because I *do* feel like happiness is the truth!


 

Dear Dad (A Letter To My Father)

Dear Dad,

I know you speak very little English, and can perhaps barely read it. I wouldn't normally knock someone for that, but let's be honest: you've been in this country for over 38 years -- the fact that you cannot communicate with your sons is your fault, not ours. Perhaps someone will translate this letter for you someday.

I'm writing to let you know where you went wrong. Apparently it might be some mystery to you, and perhaps you have some misconceptions surrounding the current state of our relationship. Or rather, the lack thereof. So let me set some things straight. If it's okay with you, I'll like to start from the beginning.

Living Single

This is just one of those general how-am-I-doing and current events updates rolled into one.


Love Is In The Air:

So, Valentine's Day came and went this past Friday, and the amount of F's I gave remained at an all time high of: zero. That's right, zero F's. I actually went to see the new rebooted Robocop in theaters after work. Oh, young naive me. I remember remarking to a friend earlier that day that V-Day is the perfect time to go to the movies. What with all the young couples feeling all romantic-y and googly-eyed for each other, the theater should be quite empty, right? I mean, not only is Valentine's Day when you should be out at some candle lit dinner gazing into each others' eyes, but it's a Friday to boot! I would have thought you couldn't find an empty seat at a New York City restaurant on such a night.

Bzzzz! Wrong!

The Bimillennial Man's Top 10 Posts of 2013

This list is a little late. I had meant to do this around New Year's, naturally, but plumb forgot. Mea culpa.

Some statistics first. In all of 2013, I only managed to write 48 posts. An all time low for The Bimillennial Man. Before that, 2012 was the lowest with around 65 posts. For those of you who know me, and who know what I've been through the past 2 years, you know the reasons for that.

That being said, despite having only 48 posts, 2013 generated a total of 63,227 unique visitors. Making it an average of around 5,269 visits per month. I've had much better numbers in prior years, so I'll attribute this to the low post count again. Still, those numbers are not entirely terrible.

As for the posts themselves ...

Below are the topics I blogged about in 2013 that received the most unique views. Meaning, for one reason or another, they were apparently more popular than all my other posts last year. I'll leave it up to you to decide why that was the case for any particular thread.

The list is in chronological order starting from Jan. '13 onward. The number of views each received come after the title, and you can click on each title to read the article in full.

Got it?


My Top 10 Threads of 2013


1.  Disappearing Act   (155 views)

2.  My 5 Most Influential Books   (121 views)

3.  So . . . Celebrity Wife Swap, Anyone?   (136 views)

4.  Thank Heaven I Was Born A Man   (602 views)

5.  Game of Thrones: "Valar Dohaeris" Review   (281 views)

6.  Can You Hear Me Now?   (279 views)

7.  Miss Crush 2013   (248 views)

8  Tiny Apartment Is Tiny!   (241 views)

9.  Model Spotlight: RIYA RAY   (371 views)

10.  Top 10 TV Crushes Of My Youth   (188 views)


It becomes apparent fairly quick that the articles with the most pics and pretty wimmins in 'em get the most views, so unfortunately I cannot assign most (if any) of the credit to my superb writing skillz. Still, as long as they keep coming!

What do you think? Any surprises up there? Disagreements? Sound off in the comments section below.

Sometimes ... What's The Point?

No, I'm not depressed or at a low point in my life. I'm not going emo on you all--ha!

But, seriously, I was wondering ... just what IS the point to a few things in life. What is the point when these things almost always end up in disaster?

Model Spotlight: RIYA RAY

Yes, it's true. I have a thing for Middle Eastern and South Asian beauties. What can I say? It's no secret . . . everybody knows. A while back I posted this spotlight on the Persian/Dutch model, Asal Soltani. This time I move on over to the sub-continent to introduce Ms. Riya Ray. She's someone who, like Ms. Soltani, also perfectly exemplifies my personal litmus test of physical beauty.

In other words, I think she's pretty damn hot! Oh yes I do, indeed. I think she's a big deal, actually. Rising up through the ranks rather quickly. I've seen her in a few rap videos and a commercial or two, but she's also done quite a few magazine covers as well and has wrapped up production on a couple films she has roles in this year. Here are some of my favorite photos of Ms. Ray:

Breathtaking. Resembles Kim Kardashian
a little here, no?

That come hither stare gets me
EVERY TIME! Rawrrrr!

Beautiful long, dark hair compliments an oval,
angular face. Gorgeous!!!

That sweet, girl-next-door look.
Nice dress!

Those eyes!!! (faints)

Riya Ray is a Bengali gal who hails from Assam in northeast India. She's based in the States now, but still has strong roots in her hometown and visits every chance she gets. She's also not a fan of the "size zero" trend in modeling, and feels models should be allowed to show their curves. And although she's a naturally slim gal herself, I must say Riya definitely does have the curves where they count!

Just more proof that Indian women are super fly in the summer time! Or any other time of the year, for that matter. My own opinion, of course (heh, heh). Don't hate me if I just happen to be right.

Moving. It's A B----!

So, that time has come.

As much as I dreaded the actual mechanics of it all, I somehow went through the motions and managed to get most of my stuff squared away in boxes and suitcases, and prepared for the big move. Which is tomorrow, people!

Holy shit!

I've rented the U-Haul and have some of the world's bestest friends helping me out. I can't believe that, after nearly 13 years in the same spot, in less that 24 hours I will be moved in to an entirely different spot. Albeit a much smaller spot, and all by my lonesome, but a major change nonetheless.

And how do I feel about it all? A bit depressed, yes. But moreso excited. The prospect of eventually being all unpacked and settled in, of being able to kick my feet back and know that I am in my VERY OWN personal space with no one else to answer to but myself . . . well, I admit it's pretty damn enticing! Probably that sentiment alone has gotten me through the worst of it these past 6 weeks. If I allow my mind to do so, no doubt it would sink into a well of misery and self-doubt. But I won't allow it to do so. I'll keep forging ahead and doing what needs to be done. Even when it seems like one shit revelation follows another, still I'll soldier on.

I'm sure eventually it will all catch up to me, though. One weekend in the not too distant future I will be miserable and reflective on all that I have lost. I will shutter the windows in my new apartment and hunker down on the sofa under a mountain of blankets. And much bad tv will be consumed. And much good wine will be imbibed (I don't do beer outside of social settings).

And then . . . and then I will be better. The sun will still shine and the birds--those blasted birds!--they shall continue to chirp happily outside my windows. And I will one morning find myself expectant, hopeful: reflective on all I have yet to accomplish! For I am only 36 years old, not 66; and the world is yet my oyster.

By the way, what the fuck does this saying mean, anyway? I hate shellfish!

So, this is so-long for a short while, my friends. I will try to establish an Internet connection at the new place as soon as possible, but who knows when next our paths may cross on Blogger? Once I'm settled in, for sure. But whether that takes 2 weeks or 2 months, only the Old Gods and the New can answer.

'Till then, stay frosty.

David J. Batista
Bronx, New York.  May 2013.

Thank Heaven I Was Born A Man!

A few months ago I wrote this piece specifying all the qualities, both physical as well as intellectual, that I found attractive in the opposite gender. Some of you may remember that, on the physical side of things, I tended to favor women with oblong faces and high cheekbones, with long dark hair and smoldering almond-shaped eyes. I mentioned how these traits naturally drew me toward the Asia Minor and Subcontinent parts of the world, as this is where you'll most likely find ladies embodying this particular classification of female perfection.

And then, the other day, I beheld this Aveda commercial for some hair product or technique I wasn't paying too much attention to, because it felt like a thunderbolt had struck me from the sky:



(You can find a longer, more detailed, version of this commercial by clicking here.)


And I think it's pretty clear why I was not paying so much attention to whatever the hell this commercial is selling, right? I mean, WOW! I had to rewind the DVR several times to behold the wonder I was seeing. Who was she? Why is she only doing Aveda commercials? By god, I must rush to the Internet and learn more!!!

And learn more I did. Well, sorta. It turns out that this very lovely woman is a relatively unknown fashion model from the Netherlands named Asal Soltani. She is of Persian and Dutch descent and, I believe, is currently working in Milan. Unfortunately, that was about the extent of all I could find out.

*Sigh*

However, all was not lost. I did come back with some pretty hot pictures of Ms. Soltani, which I will share here of course. Since the majority of my readers are female, you must bear with me and allow me this one male indulgence. You all know me. I don't do this very often.

So, uh . . . yeah. She pretty much rocks my boat. I mean, hard! In particular her eyes are what really captivate me. She's not your typical looking runway model, which is a nice change. I'm so tired of the blonde, Nordic look. Aren't you?

Where are the Asal Soltani's of the world? If you're out there . . . call me, maybe.

Because, Sometimes

I'm a grown man, I know. But sometimes I can't help but revert to the way things used to be once upon a long time ago.

Because, sometimes . . .

I still like to stomp through puddles after a rainstorm.
I miss my mommy when the world is scary and life uncertain.
I'll pretend to have super powers, like flight or invincibility.
I must have milk with my cookies. Right. NOW!!!

And sometimes:

I still like a good bedtime story.
I get shy around pretty girls.
I don't care if I'm dirty.
I'll chat with my li'l bro for hours about video games.
I believe in happy endings.

Because, sometimes . . . I'm still 4 years old, and Summertime never ends.

Batista's 6 Golden Rules For Staying Out Of Prison

You know, there are times when the actions of my fellow human beings on this planet alarm me. I mean, I have to sit back and wonder just what is going on in people's heads when they do things that are just asking for trouble. Now, I'm no saint. I've made my own share of boneheaded mistakes. Hell, they've made me who I am today: a cautious, careful, law-abiding citizen. But when I look at the news, or listen to some of my friends detail the ails of their own lives, it becomes apparent that perhaps not everyone has learned the same lessons I have.

So I thought I'd write them down. These are generalized, grand sweeping rules I've adopted to govern a lot of what I do in life. Or, to be more accurate, how I go about ensuring that I avoid incarceration. As such there aren't many to list, but the few I have below are cherished chestnuts I maintain in my day to day dealings in order to ensure my cherished chestnuts remain out of the fire  . . . and out of the hands of some big dude named "Bubba."

So, let us proceed:


RULE 1 -- "Mind your damn business."

This should be pretty obvious. We all know it's true, after all. And yet, why do so many people ignore this sage advice? This is one I've been guilty of before in my youth, although usually for altruistic reasons. I was always that guy -- well meaning, but usually sticking his neck out too far for someone else when they don't really require his help. Yup, that was me. Too good for my own good. I got burned one too many times on this one, though, and so generally these days I very rarely help a stranger or acquaintance unless they ask me specifically for help. Because sometimes what you think is a solicitation for assistance is in fact just someone looking for another set of ears to vent their frustrations upon. And all that's required of you in such a situation is to simply listen. Things have the tendency to get much more complicated if you stray from this plan. This also includes breaking up fights and/or trying to referee an argument between two heated individuals. Take it from me, just stay out of it!

RULE 2 -- "Never lend friends money."

I would include family in this one, too, but for me family is different. You have just the same or even less of a chance of getting that money back from family members as you do with friends, sure. But the difference is that you're kinda forced to stay family with these people. Shared DNA, you know? Not so with friends. I swear, nothing sours a friendship faster than a buddy who promises to pay you back and then never does. For me, having to then ask said friend to pay me back is twice as bad and really infuriates me. I've had it happen before; suffice to say I no longer speak to these people anymore. It sucks. I can only recall once lending a good sum of funds to one of my best friends, and only because he was in such dire straits at the time. Happily, this friend wasn't a douche nozzle and actually paid me back. But, no, as a general rule I don't tend to risk this behavior often. I value my friendships, and would like to stay out of prison even more, thank you very much.

RULE 3 -- "Never speak aloud in public your opinions on politics or religion."

When I say "in public," I mean in front of a good sized crowd of people you don't know personally. Like on the subway or at some function you've been invited to speak at. First of all, to those who agree with your views -- you're simply preaching to the choir. What a waste of time! But, for those who do not agree with you . . . you could be risking a huge fight or, worse, your own life. See, you can control what you say. So exercise that control! What you can't control, unfortunately, is if Fred sitting in the third row five seats from the left remembered to take his psych meds that morning. Some people (i.e., MOST people) cannot stand when someone else has a differing outlook from their own. At best, they'll roll their eyes and hate your guts in silence. But at worse, Fred decides your right arm might look better lightly seasoned and sauteed with a nice side of buttered parsnips. Do not feed the lunatic, people! Keep your opinions to yourself.

RULE 4 -- "Never look for easy money."

There's no such thing. Honestly. Easy money is almost always illegal money. Case in point. A good friend of mine recently came into a great deal of dough. His live-in girlfriend--always looking for a good thing--convinced him to invest all that cash in a new development scheme her best friend was cooking up. This friend, not knowing much about real estate and investing, took her word that it was a sure-fire thing and agreed to go along with the plan. He had no idea what he was getting involved with might not be all that legal. All he focused on was that he would make tons more money back on the returns--and quick! Lo and behold, it ended up in the news and is now a huge federal lawsuit in the making. Lesson to be learned? Never trust "easy" money. It's never a sure thing, and is almost always guaranteed to send you to the big house.

Rule 5 -- "Don't commit a crime."

Well, duh. I know this goes without saying, but here's what I mean. Even if you are all but guaranteed to get away with it--don't do it! In my book, even a 0.05% chance of getting caught is too great a risk. A few years ago, a construction worker friend of mine tried to convince me to rent a truck so that we could drive over to the construction site he was working at and load up all the spare spools of copper wiring that were lying around. According to him they were surplus, and if we didn't pick them up quick the rich contractor would, and keep all the money from selling the excess to the scrap yard for himself. This friend swore up and down that there was nothing criminal about the enterprise at all, just a matter of beating someone else to the punch. The site was not guarded or surveilled, and he had the keys to access the grounds nonetheless. It would have been a quick in and out operation, netting us roughly 5 grand apiece! As tempting as it was, my common sense of course kicked in. I just knew this could not be legal. And sure enough, it wasn't! Had I given in to my friend's insistence, who knows where I might have ended up. But it's not all that difficult to guess . . .

Rule 6 -- "Don't be a gossip."

Seriously, no one likes a false witness. Or a rumor monger. Talking about someone else behind their back is probably the lowest form of human social interaction there is, and yet it is the most popular. I guess it's hardwired into our little primate brains. Something our ancestors did to pass the time while picking out gnats and fleas from each others 'dos. But it's just not cute. Not only does gossip have a tendency to quickly escalate to the passing of untruths and wild speculation, but it can end up really hurting the target of said gossip. And if we're dealing with the likes of poor, unstable Fred again . . . You remember Fred, right? Forgot-to-take-his-meds, Fred? Yes, well, you get the picture. I think in the annals of human history more fights have been attributed to he said/she said shenanigans than any other activity, save "yo mama" jokes. And as my man Yoda was once heard to remark: Fights lead to handcuffs. Handcuffs lead to jail. Jail leads to . . . (anal) suffering!


And there you have it. While this list is certainly not exhaustive, it does encapsulate the very rules I try my best to live by. Most of these are fairly obvious, true. And yet, I see them broken time and time again by folk who should really know better. Have you checked your local news lately? Exactly!

But of course, because I'm such a kind and gracious host, if you can think of any more rules of wisdom to live by and keep yourself out of the slammer, please post them in the comments section below. I'll be more than happy to add them to my list!

Sometimes, Life Throws You A Rotten Lemon

. . .  And just you try making lemonade with rotten lemons!

Was watching a tv show last night where this boy gets reunited with his mom after 18 years, having not seen her since he was just a toddler. And I thought what a sweet moment that was, and how it gives one hope. And then it hit me: I'm never going to see my mom. Like, ever. And that hit me pretty hard indeed. See, there won't be any tearful reunions. No "sorry I missed out on most of your life, son." I will never have that. Ever. My life won't resemble a Lifetime movie, or a Hallmark card. My mom is gone from me forever.

Forever.

Now, sure, I've known this all along. But something about that moment, watching it happen on the tv screen, just brought it all home at once in a way that twenty-seven years of mourning have not. I mean, it struck me with such clarity and force that -- HOLY SHIT! I will *never* be with my mom again. I think somehow, some way, deep down inside . . . I think I actually had this feeling like I would see her someday. Like this nightmare would one day end and all would be well again. I would have my mom back, and this lifelong empty hole of loneliness inside me would somehow fill up and make me whole.

But, nuh-uh. Not happening, buddy. This is life. What, you thought it would have a happy ending? Fuck that shit!

Needless to say, I don't believe in heaven and angels and harps 'n' clouds and all that bullshit. I do believe that none of us on this Earth have even the foggiest real notion of what happens to us after we die. So, with that in mind, perhaps there is still a chance I will be reunited with my loved ones someday. Because, who's to say that I won't be, right? I sincerely doubt it, though. Something tells me that what you see is what you get with this life we have to live. So, I guess the message is: make the best of it when you can, while you can. This Earth is meant for living life to the fullest and getting the most out of such a corporeal, tactile existence.

Because we might not know what happens next, but it damn sure won't be like this.

She Drives Me Crazy!

"... Like No One Else! She Drives Me Crazy, And I Can't He-elp My Se-elf!"

So, it seems that article I wrote earlier last week discussing the dangers of judging people based solely on their looks went over rather well with followers of The Bimillennial Man. And not just among the usual commenters, I might add. Someone contacted me in response to that post and posed the following paraphrased question:

"So, just for kicks, what do you find attractive in a woman?"

Oops! Forgive me. I suppose in all that writing I forgot to cover this particular base. Although reading between the lines it becomes rather apparent what I don't find attractive in a woman, right? Still, I've given the question some thought. And though I don't actually live by a do or die list of qualities she must pass in order to earn my undying devotion, there are certain physical and intellectual traits in a woman that turn me on immensely. To make things easier, I'll separate them into those two categories: