Paddle Out

So, why doesn’t a movie studio make a Groundhog Day 2? But instead of actually making a new movie: just release the original Groundhog Day and don’t tell anyone. Put out commercials with clips from the old movie, get Bill Murray and the rest of the cast in on it (i.e., have them go on Letterman promoting the movie, but being very vague about the plot). And then just drop Groundhog Day, again. That would be the hardest part of the plan, of course, keeping the whole thing under wraps in such a media intense environment, but it might be possible. Don’t screen it for critics, make a quick release date, and go for it.

Then, when the movie finally hits screens and theater’s packed of people start getting a taste of the original 1993 version they all would think to themselves: “This is just Groundhog’s Day all over again”. There’d be a nation wide irony attack. And if anyone complained; just tell them that all you promised them was a 2nd Groundhog Day, and damned if they didn’t get it.

By the way, in the course of writing this, I discovered that it’s Groundhog Day, and not Groundhog’s Day (at least in the movie title). Didn’t know that, and it doesn’t really make sense to me (shouldn’t it be the Groundhog’s Day?). Anyway, these are my thoughts on these long days and nights along the choppy Atlantic shore.

Which brings me to what I was really writing about (see, a little shtick, and then a point); the paddle out for Mike and Pat planned for Saturday October 9th. It’ll be at Ocean Avenue and of course the entire community is welcomed and wanted. It’s taken a little while for a good weekend date to align itself, and unfortunately, because of that reason, we’ve kind of transitioned into a time of year where the ocean has a fair chance of being rowdy.

I’m not exactly sure what we’re going to do if we have large surf. We can postpone until Sunday if that looks to help, but that’s about as good as we could do. It needs to go off on a weekend. And we have many people coming from out of town for this, so, in a way it needs to go off. But on the other hand (the more reasonable hand) a paddle out is kind of like a shuttle launch: everyone may be on the coast, but if there’s a thunderstorm or that fuel tank is leaking a little coolant (or if a button is the wrong color) the dumb thing just isn’t launching.

Paddle out’s (obviously) work best when it’s about as small as it gets, or flat. Looking at some of the long range models I monitor feverishly for surf there’s a major Northeast wind event that’s going to be kicking up huge swells starting around next Tuesday. I suppose we can only just hope that the wind, and the waves, will mellow enough by the weekend to go for it.

I’ve never been so close to putting one of these together (and hope, but doubt, to not have to ever do it again), and so I’m not really sure what to do if the waves are big. There’s been some thought to just paddling out no matter the swell. Because if we have to get out; we’ll get out. But I’m just not sure how that’ll work, or if it would work (I get the feeling that barring VAC conditions, we’re going to launch this shuttle even if there’s some ice crystal’s on the pipes that morning).

Anyway, those are the details as I know of them now. I’ll keep you updated as I know of anything else. And thank you for the continuing love; know that it is still felt and real.





Paddle out is at 9 AM at Ocean Ave and all systems are go.

I Am the Highway

I don’t have much more to say (in this space, and by that I mean The Long Sunset, as I’m brewing terrible things to say about it elsewhere, but have little else to say in my blog) about the life and tragedy that crushed all of us five (five) weeks ago this Thursday. But I did want to write this, as hard as it is for me to do, and I cry as I try, because it expresses the strange bond my brother and I had (as many Brothers do). It’s a difficult thing to write, because there are few things that hurt worse then to explain the reasons your pain runs so deep.

But in the end, I feel sorry only for him and not anyone else, especially me, as I am just a drunken fool with many miles to go before I sleep.

One of my favorite memories of Mike in the past five or so years, as strange as it sounds, and it will only sound strange if you haven’t been with us in that time, happened one bold Wednesday night but a few years ago. We’d been drinking shots at Mainstreet Pub (lots of shots), with some local friends, pumping each other up. We used to have a thing where we’d intentionally run into each other going the opposite direction and we’d bump off ourselves and pretend we were looking for a fight (we did this everywhere, mostly at all the houses we lived in together, but often at bars, banks, Walgreens, anywhere that would offer a suitable path). I would always careen further away from Mike of course. As the key to the game was to catch the other brother off-guard, and to incur the maximum random impact at an odd unguarded moment.

Either way, my brother’s impact was always stronger then mine.

What was I explaining again, tightly wound within these moons, and sunken slowly in the tar of the deep night?

Oh yes, that night, with those shots, and love we had for each other.

Anyway, we were taking shots at Mainstreet before we went to see the Dark Knight. Which, with Mike’s death, and, in retrospect, for the rest of my life, was the single most important movie either of us would ever see, as the hype and brilliance Batman Begins had literally whipped us into a frenzy. I had, and have, a different taste of movies then Mike (for the most part, to this day if someone makes fun of True Lies to my face they are no longer my friend), but we agreed in the brilliance of Nolan’s version of Gotham. Perhaps, and probably, for different reasons.

But these things were of no importance on this night. We drank, especially Mike, with a few friends, ready for one of those strange moments in our lives that we would tell our children about at the same time (where were you when Empire first premiered?). And Mike did a solid job in getting hammered. The Dark Knight premiered on that static Wednesday night at midnight, and so we had the time to get properly ready.

And we were ready. The movie was being shown at the Oaks, but here’s the important thing to note: I had the Batman Begins soundtrack on my Ipod that I hadn’t told anyone about. And I stayed sober all night for this one moment. We packed into my little Hyundai, with Mike and a few of his friends, and we left Mainstreet heading for the Oaks Theater, and just as I was about to turn into the parking lot I had everyone roll down their windows down.

Lots of complaining; as this was a humid southern summer night. But I promised it would be worth it. And with all the windows down, and a few drinks in us, I blasted track 10 on that disc, Molosass, and blew through the front part the Oaks. If you don’t know the song, and you shouldn’t, and you won’t, it’s basically the dramatic music used whenever Batman is chasing anyone. We horrified everyone, and Mike loved it. In fact, we regretted not dressing up for the occasion, and it pains me that we’ll never have another shot at it.

And really I don’t even know why this is worthy of writing; other then it being one of those moments between us that I look back on and just bawl. As I’m doing now. Mike was stitched so truly to the book, weaved seamlessly, not like me. I'm a man who is rarely even aware when I’m alive. Mike was alive. Especially this night. Right before the movie began, after I’d calmed him down from yelling the slogan Blue-and-White-Ignite (it was Orlando Magic playoff season, but that’s a whole ‘nother story), he leaned over to me and said: “ Can you believe it’s finally here,” in a quiet but true whisper.

At the time of course I could, but looking back I can’t believe it’ll never come back. And during that movie, during the Dark Knight (which Mike was just enraptured in, and had been since the original Batman movies, from West to Kilmer) the main thing I remember seeing was the Joker, Heath Ledger, and his face moving silently in death between the filaments of the black screen (which he does a few times in the movie, and especially when The Batman begins interrogating him), and thinking how strange it was to view celluloid in death. Tragedy powered parts of that movie, and tragedy powers every part of my day, even when it doesn’t seem that way.

And even more so, tragedy taints every part of my nostalgia, and of every piece of beauty that made up the first now unfairly hurtful quarter-century of my life.

Selfish. Because it’s his hurt, his inability to never see the third installation (it’ll probably suck, but don’t doubt Nolan), that hurts me the worst.

It is all things random that sting us the strongest, and it is all moments of separation that leave us feeling the most helpless. But in this pain that we can not recover from, we can only accept that it is fleeting, as all things are, towards the path that we’ll all find ourselves at in the end.

And a few noticed, but I actually slipped a line from the Dark Knight in my eulogy just for Mike. Because I know damn well he would have wanted it that way. Not that it matters, not that it ever mattered. But that night, when we rolled past the Oaks, drinking, yelling Batman quotes, seems so distant, and now, dark. We were there though, and maybe we will always be, as my memory does not fade, and our pain only pretends to recede. I’ll be here for you, although I have very little to give, and the film will keep rolling, even though we know it is not real.

Thank You

Drew Carey is pretty damn funny on the Price is Right. Guy deserves some credit. Seriously. Watch the Price is Right the next chance you get (for what I assume will be the first time in years, and you know that they know this because the show gives away like 40 cars every segment now), and prepare to be oddly surprised. Bob Barker (as much as I loved him) was basically a creepy starter at a local hack golf course, who only gained true fame for the funniest three minutes in movie history and didn’t really give a shit about making the Price anymore then it could be. He just held the place.

But Carey really gives it his all. He’s honestly trying to make you laugh and he doesn’t even need to. It’s 11 AM, and all we really want is prizes and reactions! He does it anyway. And that’s what we’ve been doing. Giving what we have even though we may not need to.

And that’s what everyone did Wednesday night at Mainstreet Pub. They gave even though they really didn’t need to. And we appreciated the hell out of every second of it and every penny donated. There was some laughing, some crying, some shots taken, some ghosts seen and some incredible bands and people. It was everything that we needed. So thank all of you. It was a great night and I can’t even begin to tell you how much it meant to our family and many others. We’ll stay afloat as long as you do, both because we need to, and hopefully someday, because we want to.

By Twilight

I wish I had the talent to express the overwhelming loss I feel, and by twilight I’ll miss you. But I must say, I can’t even fully express the condition I’m in. I can put on a good front, but my days are mostly misery. Every night that I seem fine on the town ends in a night of tears, and I can guarantee you of that. Every night. We have seemed to hold it together, seemed to take this well, but that’s only because we are pretty tough. Fact is, we're a very close family that will never fully function again without missing our piece. Wherever it is.

And you have to realize, Mike and I haven’t been more then 50 miles from each other for 20 years. More often then not, we’ve been 20 feet from each at most.

And I still think he’s coming home. But he’s not, somehow, and the pain I feel is something that will never be solved. I’ve heard plenty of people say that they've been impressed with the steadfast nature that I’ve shown though all of this. In reality, it’s just because I’m foolhardy. I’m in a zone. It’s because, I’ve always known we all will die, but I could only hope that the pain of death would come to me as it is supposed, on schedule, arriving like a poorly written Eddie Murphy movie. But it hasn’t, it’s stung me hard and randomly (although, as I’ve told a few people, I actually was very concerned about Mike’s trip before he went, although I could never expect it).

So everyone has been impressed with my how tough I’ve seemed through losing my other half. The fact is, I’m barely hanging on. And the only thing that keeps me going is my belief that all our deaths should never be premature. We most soak every ounce of existence of this probably miserable life, and teach along the way if we have the ability to. But that belief has put sorely to the test, and I only hang now because I have to, and because there must be some reason for me being the one that is still here.

And even though every memory is another shot of pain, and every piece of my history now feels like a searing and lost piece of life (I mean, why would you spend every second of your life with someone only to have them taken right in a time for the them to miss out on everything they were about to teach you? And how can I take this life seriously if it’s that random? And why should I even try?)

Well here is why I will try. Because Mike wouldn’t have quit and neither will I (although I’m close). But more importantly I won’t give up on this life because there is no alternative, and if nothing else I’ve always been a scrapper. And I’ll fight for every inch I have, and hopefully, every shred of talent I may have won’t be buried under a shocked slime of disbelief. Because although I may have it, I’m not sure I want it.

I can’t live without him, and I can’t even believe I could write this. And literally, everyday this whole thing makes less sense, which makes me wonder how I'll surface from this disaster, and if I ever will (or even want to).