The Best Day of Your Life.

Today Is The Best Day of Your Life.

Any arguments?  Okay, one at a time.

The past?  Dead.  1 second ago, 10 minutes ago, 4 hours ago, 1 week ago, 10 months ago, 2 years ago?  All history.  All dead.  How can the best day of your life be one that is no longer with us?  The only thing that exists is right now.  However, the past is far from useless.  It is where all our lessons lie; everything we learned about everything.  We use that knowledge every second of everyday; until that time dies as well and we grow further.  So many of us spend the present running, chasing, being embarrassed about our past.  Erroneous.  How can we be hurt by something that no longer exists?  The past gives us memories to cherish and lessons.  A vital part of making today the Best Day of Your Life.

The Future?  Limitless.  An endless fountain of possibilities.  The key to unlocking those possibilities lies in yesterday.  The ability to achieve those possibilities lies in this moment.  The Best Day of Your Life.

Today?  The past is gone; it cannot hurt you, but has taught you.  The future is limitless; its possibility is endless.  The thing that lies between the two are this moment; this day.  The Best Day of Your Life.

Celebrate The Dead.

ACT ONE: HERE COMES THE FLOODWORKS.

Well good ol’ Benjamin Franklin said the quintessential quote to properly summarize life, according to popular belief.

“The only things certain in life are Death and Taxes”.

I’d like to add only one, single, revision to that.

“The only things certain in life are Death, Taxes, and a Beautiful woman will break your heart at one point.”

And make that “at a few points” for some of us.  Ain’t going to name names, however.  I find confidentially among us humanoids is a prized possession, though I don’t exactly know why.  It is a great irony that is actually quite hilarious.  But we’ll save that for another time.

So yeah, death is really the most certain thing of the two (or three, if you buy my revision).  You see, “tax evasion”, or the evading of paying taxes, is possible.  Some aren’t as successful at it (Sorry, Mr. Snipes), but it is still possible.  Except if you buy something from any store.  Okay, so it maybe isn’t so easy to evade.  Damn taxes.  It’s like a lost puppy dog, and you have bacon in your back pocket.  Your wallet, to be exact.

Anyways, taxes bore the revenue right out of me.  I want to talk about Death.  Sorry, didn’t mean to be so macabre so fast.  

Though, I am quite the fan of Edgar Allan Poe.

I think we have Death all wrong.  We treat it as such a tragedy, a thing to fear, the ultimate defeat.

Hell, I think death is the best thing that can happen to you.

Macabre.  Me.  Again.

Okay, Death really is tragic.  The first meaningful death occurred for me when we had to put the family’s cat to rest.  Sabrina.  I had just turned 14 years old 4 days before.  I loved her, she was around since I was 3 or 4 years old, and she was my sister.  She was a beautiful kitty; a prima donna who always made sure her fur was spotless.  I remember taking her to the veterinarian for the last time.  I held her as my mom drove.  I remember as she jumped up and looked out the window at all the action that was occurring.  So tragic, as it would be her last car ride, and as an animal she had no idea.  Then again, how many of us are ever prepared for when someone we love passes on?  Or, for that matter, we never know when it is our time.  When we will have our last car ride.  The last time we see the beauty that is truly inherent on this rock.

You see, Sabrina began to become senile, she didn’t always know what was going on all the time.  It could have been time.  But I still think she could have stayed around for some years.  We just would have had to been more patient.

It was worse when we got to the veterinarian.  And I still don’t know why we did what we did.  It haunts me.  Even now it produces tears.  We make it into the room; the veterinarian supplies the tranquilizer so Sabrina won’t feel anything.  He explains that she will slowly go numb, and then administer the drug, and Sabrina will go peacefully.  I remember watching as my sister had that shot injected to her, and her hind legs began to twitch, and gave way.  She would stand never again.  Now, when I think about how she laid there I think of all the countless days and years I saw her lay like that in any available sunlight that poured through our home.  But this was her final resting place.

This is the moment where I lose comprehension.  My mother and I, maybe the veterinarian dismissed us and I don’t remember that detail, but before Sabrina, my beloved, crazy, sister takes her last breath, my mother and I leave.  My last words to my dear sister:  “Goodbye, Kitty.”

What the hell?

I remember when we returned home that night.  My mother and I held each other as we both cried, a breakdown, for a long time.  It just hurt me so bad, struck me to my core.  But all I can think of now is how Sabrina’s last sight on this earth was some doctor she never knew in her life.  All I can think about what her little cat mind was thinking as she slowly drifted into an artificial sleep.

What am I thinking?  How is Death the best thing to happen to us?

The hardest Death I’ve experienced was the Death of my Great Grandmother, Esther, in my first year of high school.  Words cannot describe how great my Great Grandmother was.  Problem is, everyone who has had the privilege of knowing their Great Grandmother would probably say the same thing, words cannot describe their Great Grandmother.  So poor Esther can doubly never be described.  However, my dear Great Grandmother was a saint; not once in the 15 years I was able to know her did she speak ill once of anyone.  In all of my Mother’s life, which bests mine by 32 years, my Mother heard her swear once.  One time.  My Mother knew Great Grandma for 47 years.  I swear every damn minute.

One of my favorite memories of my Great Grandmother was before I was even born.  In fact, it was when my brother was being born.  While my Mother was screaming and cursing through the battle that is childbirth labor with my dear brother, the one to always give everyone aches and pains, my Great Grandmother arrived.  As soon as my Great Grandmother arrived, my dear Mommy stopped the obscenities immediately, and followed good ol’ Great Grandmother in prayer.

That was Great Grandmother for you.  She brought upon a peace you could never fully explain.  The visits to her home never had any ounce of negativity, boredom, or triteness.  Perfect, beautiful, weekends.

Then like all elderly do at one time or another, she died.  

I remember getting to see her for the last time on her death bed.  So very sad.  She was so very sick.  So it was a relief to find out the day her suffering at the end could stop.

The lasting tragic memory of when it dawned on me Great Grandma was gone was at the funeral service.  I remember my Mother reading something she wrote about my Greatest Grandma, as I held my niece Ciara, 4 years old.  We both began to cry.  I held my dear niece close and cried tears of silence.  Tears for my Great Grandma.

My Great Grandma taught me one of the greatest things possible.  Her inherent goodness, to the point where it was saintly, has made me hold firm to the belief that goodness can conquer all.  Goodness is wellness of the spirit.  Because of Great Grandma, I know a soul surges within me.  I know a soul surges within us all.

Whew, this is getting hard.  But believe me, Death is the greatest thing that can happen in our life.

See, Death is only death of the body.  I’ve written before how nobody is lost forever in Death.  Once somebody dies, the people that somebody left behind lives.  And through their lives that someone lives on.  The lessons my Great Grandmother taught me with her existence exist in me, they are a large core of who I am.  And I guarantee I am far from the only one when concerning my Great Grandmother.  Each of us will spread those lessons through our own lives.  It will reach others, strangers to my Great Grandmother.  And 

through this, my Great Grandmother is forever.

END OF ACT ONE

ACT TWO: TURNING THE FROWN UPSIDE-DOWN

Death, truly, is the best thing that will happen in our lives.

In life, we are constantly miserable.  We don’t sleep enough.  We sleep too much.  We are too fucking fat.  School is boring.  School is expensive.  Work is boring.  I don’t have enough money.  Suzie is a whore.  John is an asshole.

Humans are so miserable they try to self destruct themselves!  World War anybody?

I figured out why.

Life frickin’ sucks.

Have you ever been hungry?  Hell yeah, you have.  It turns you into a fucking animal.  All you can think about is how you can totally go for a pizza, veggie burger, knuckle sandwich, so forth.  You stop focusing on whatever, probably more important, thing you were doing.  All you can think of is the hunger.

Then you satisfy it.  Then guess what.  You’re fucking hungry again!  It is a vicious cycle that never ends. 

Until you die!

What about shitting.  Yeah, you do it.  Me too.  And yes, girls do poop.  Believe me, I read Everybody Poops.  It implies, rather implicitly, everybody does the poop.  Yeah, it is disgusting, but we do it.  But you know what the worst thing about pooping is?  Convenience factor.  Your body’s pooping function never bothers you at opportune times, where you aren’t very busy and a detour to the bathroom doesn’t really interfere.  It always insists on being times where you don’t have the time!  About the only good thing is the ample reading time pooping gives you. 

Even worse is when you aren’t in the comfort of your own home.  Shit!  Quite literally.  So you go find the nearest restroom.  But of course as soon as you run in there and begin your business that is the time when the restroom becomes the place to be.  All of a sudden you got a parade of people going through your temporary shit sanctuary.  It is much like flies to dog shit.

Then you do your business.  Guess what.  Poop has another appointment booked in the next day or so.

Until you die!

Going to sleep sucks.  A proper night of sleep is 8 hours.  You know how much stuff one can do in 8 hours.  They can watch artificial life (i.e. movies and such) for 8 hours!  Or, you know, live their own lives.

But, not getting enough sleep sucks even harder.  It makes everything a drag, your essence is just nowhere to be found.

The whole bullshit about sleep sucks.

Until you die!

School sucks.  You learn in classrooms for 12+ years for what, you have somebody look at a piece of paper that tells them you learned something, therefore, conceivably, they can hire you to do whatever mundane tasks they need you to do.

Until you die!

Work sucks.  They pay you to bust your caboose or noodle; you spend more time doing it than anything else, most likely with people that make your skin crawl.

Until you die!

Bills suck.  They are much like pooping and being hungry.  An endless cycle.

Until you die!

See, when somebody dies they don’t need to deal with this bullshit anymore.  Death is the best thing that can happen to you.

END OF ACT 2

ACT 3: CELEBRATE THE DEAD

When someone dies, they leave us behind.  All the lessons, all the memories, all they stood for, it stays behind.  It stays with us.  We carry on these things in our own hearts, and we spread the joy and wisdom they bring to others.

We are the sole reasons for anyone to reach immortality.  And it is possible for each and every one of us to become immortal.  But first, we need to leave that mark on others.  And we need to decide what mark it is we want to leave.  But always be aware what you do in this life will be remembered, it will last longer than you ever possibly could.  That is the greatest thing to know, but also the scariest.

So when we say our final goodbyes to somebody, there will no doubt be tears.  Sadness.  It  can be looked at as a tragedy.  However, I feel there are worse things than Death.  Living a life that never reaches its potential.  Taking life for granted, sprinting far too fast towards Death.  But those that were aware the time we have here is vital, spent it wisely on those that mattered to them, spent it wisely on the things they found important to improve, when Death reaches them, we shouldn’t feel such sadness.  We should smile because they left this place a better one than they found it, they will live on forever, and now they need not feel pain.

We need to Celebrate what we learn from others.  We need to Celebrate life, and how fleeting it will always be.  We need to Celebrate each other.  We need to Celebrate why we are the way we are.  We need to Celebrate that there is still much work to do, so Death needs to wait its turn.  But when it is someone’s time, we need to realize that they deserve the gift that is Death, when they can finally rest from all the pain that comes from a life truly lived.  Through Life, we need to Celebrate the Dead.

The Presence of Without.

It’s not the presence of, but the presence of without, that yields the highest lesson.

This is most true when it comes to the people in our lives.

Our whole lives are centered on the other people that help make it our own. We learn everything from them. Love, Strength, Humor. We learn these things from their examples, in turn, they learn from ours.

However, we’ve all experienced loss off friends and family, for a multitude of different reasons. Why is it that this is when we most notice what they really meant to us? Sometimes it doesn’t occur right away, especially if the loss was the result of turmoil and parting ways. However, when time heals the wound, that’s when it painfully becomes clear, the void they left behind.

The presence of without is constant.

I remember when some of my closest friends left for college. I still have/had kept contact, but its worlds different from actual contact. I catch myself often, usually while conversing with others, missing people in certain situations.

The presence of without speaks volumes.

This seems to suggest that our relationships are not merely social interactions, but something more. Everybody has friends they feel certain ways around. I have friends I feel smart around, funny around, wise around, and so on. Those I’m closest too I feel all these things when I’m around them; in essence, I feel as myself. To me, this suggests that when we do lose relationships, we aren’t merely losing somebody we knew, we lose a piece of ourselves, our identity.

I think this happens with even small friendships. How many times have you run into somebody you’ve known as a friend, spent some time reminiscing, and said something to the effect of, "I miss having them around" or "I forgot how motherfucking-kickass-as-all-hell-that-motherfucker-son-of-a-bitch was"? That shows a void was left when ways were parted however when, it just wasn’t noticed until you were reminded of it.

The presence of without effects all.

I believe this happens too when somebody is still physically present; you just feel they have "changed". I believe this has some way occurred to everyone as well. This probably happens for a number of reasons. It might be that their dispositions truly have changed. However, it might also purely be an "eye of the beholder" issue. Maybe your own position has changed in a way that this person is made to seem different to you, when it was actually your own change you aren’t accounting for. Never the less, when your relationship changes with someone for the worst, it’s almost as bad as losing them entirely. You are constantly reminded of what it used to be like, and it’s a rarity to adjust to the change.

The presence of without invokes change.

The presence of without isn’t anymore stronger than when you lose someone so close to you that they are piece of your essence itself. Struggle follows. The steps of grieving commence. These things happen in so many ways; everyone one of them dramatic and painful. We’ve all experienced losses like this. To have is to live. Like death and taxes. And by death, it doesn’t only pertain to the physical. Sometimes, the fact that you live on without them and they live on without is you is the harder death to bear.

However, I feel nothing is more essential than going through experiences such as these in life. These bear the hardest lessons, but the greatest rewards. When someone close dies, you are left behind as a piece, a legacy. Your life carries more meaning; you are living for you, but also them as well. Their essence becomes a piece of you.

When you lose a relationship, a different struggle ensues. How do you fill a void within yourself? The only way is to struggle through it. Through struggle, comes experience. Through experience, comes knowledge. Through knowledge, comes wisdom. Sometimes the void is never truly filled, just covered. The only solace you receive is that it made you stronger somehow, and you can learn from the mistakes. Sometimes, people never recover and are distrusting of bringing anybody close again. Unfortunately, this seems to be the more common case in life.


I’ll never forget any of the people that have shaped my life, whether they are still with me today or not. In recollection, I can say I miss everyone in some way or another. However, this is how it should be. After all, the truth is, you can never go back.

The presence of without yields the highest lesson.

The Highway of Life.

I listen to the hum, the soft purr, of the engine. I listen to the stereo blare its sonic styling. The heater billows its kinetic comfort. I feel the power, the speed, underneath my palms. I feel serene as man and machine merge as one. Worry melts away. I reach the top of the bridge, and the view fills me with wonderment, ambition to become a part of the city’s living, breathing self.

I love driving. Alone. When I’m with others, I prefer to be the passenger. As a passenger I’m the DJ, the conversationalist. I like that. But when I’m alone with the road, I just love to drive. It’s a great time to listen to music, think, and reflect. I think about what I’m excited about, and pure excited energy compels me to put my foot to the pedal, pushing me towards my destination. I think about frustrations, and I personify the road as an adversary, I punish it with the wheels and steel of my vessel.

I feel life mirrors the highway sometimes. You have your companions, your fellow passengers, along with you on the ride at times. Other times you’re on a journey alone. Others zoom by; others trail as you leave them behind. There’s the courteous, the selfish, and those that are just so full of rage. Some easily let you into their lane; they understand we are all neighbors. Others selfishly hold a death grip upon their lane, they don’t understand how the Highway of Life has many exits, many destinations, and it isn’t a race, because there are speeders and there’s the leisurely, and they all eventually make it somewhere.

I feel sometimes like I’m speeding towards a destination, gunning it towards my destiny. Other times it feels like I hit every red light possible. Everything gets in the way. But it is important to not get too agitated, don’t be a victim of your own rage and impatience. Sometimes the ride is the best part of the whole journey.

So I cross this bridge once again, the good old Hoan Bridge. I ascend it at a racing pace, I feel the wind doing battle with vehicle, but my vehicle continues to hold its ground, prevail. I look out at the lake, and think how beautiful it really is, despite all the pollutants that lurk within.

I arrive at the top of the bridge, under those yellow arches, and see the lights of life that make the city, a beacon of beauty. I think about all the lives contained within it, how everyone is always headed towards something, and how I too want to be a part of that.

At this, my foot slams down.

Pedal to the Metal, Baby.

Progress on Autobiographical Comic

I started work on the autobiographical comic we have due on Monday. The part I found the hardest to get started was to pick a particular story from my life that would either: A) Be worth telling for 8 pages or B) Be possible to be shrunk down to 8 pages. So I have a few ideas that work, be each one either runs into one of these difficulties. I decided since I write better than I draw, I tend to write out what I want to say in the comic and use the images as a compliment to my writing. So I find mapping out 8 pages of panels in a "rough draft" and dividing my narrative between the panels is what works best for me, and will probably be how I tackle this particular assignment.

A Moment of Clarification.

I get teshe seddun motenms wrehe a tsate of raw noslatiga bnurs on my tnogue lkie a hot caol. Mnay tgnihs are the cusae for tihs seddun felenig of lgniong. Semomiets its a slmel. Semomiets I see soemihtng taht rmedins me of dyas psat. Semomiets I get an eomotin wshoe oirgin is from a psat lfie. Semomiets I haer a snog wchih tkeas me bcak. Eevn a tstae can rmenid of a tmie wehre my tognue had the smae tsate cnoatenid.

Most recently, it was the low hum of my car, the smell of freshly fallen rain and a certain song that took me on a trip to a time past...

A combination of senses created my visceral, out-of-body experience.

When I came back to, I saw how far I've come. How I grew. How things around had changed. I was proud, but at the same time, I began to long for a simpler time. For, at this moment, I felt a small hole in my heart. A void gone unfilled for what seemed to be from a different lifetime...

I go back to so many different times. Happy, sad, mad. I long, I smile, I laugh, I get mad, I get sad. I think about what I did right. What I wished I did. What I should have did.

But then I realize why I didn't. I'm not a perfect person, nor will I ever be. Yet, it all leads to being the best possible person I can be. I learn. Every experience is a brick that goes into the building of something great. Sometimes this thing is torn down, and I'm forced to build it back up. The best part is, I always start with more bricks than the last time. And I always have those I love to lend a hand, assist me as I assist them in the building of our lives. Sometimes you have more help, other times you have less. People come. People go. Sometimes, They Come Back.

A study discovered people can still read a passage if all the letters of a word, except the first and the last, were scrambled.

Why did I write the first passage as such?

So many times in life we don't know what's happening. We question why we do it at all. We begin to wonder if there's a point.

When you are in the midst of all of it, it can seem like chaos. Everything is scrambled, and you don't know what to make of it.

Then you finally begin to see the big picture, but only a part of it, because it is always growing. The questions from days past all lead to answers which formed the questions we have today. The unfinished projects. And the answers we find tomorrow for the questions we have now will only lead to more questions. All we have for support is each other.

So let the battle rage on. We all fight different battles, we all have an assortment of causes. We have allies and enemies for each of these. We fight using a multitude of different weaponry. When it comes down to it we are all searching for answers, the mortar to our brick. To build our little Slice of Paradise, our little Piece of Heaven. To create our Chronicle. Out of all, I find the greatest weapon, the greatest answer, to be...

Love.
Find what you love and do it always. Love those who mean something to you always. Do what you love, and do it honestly.

This is when things unscramble for me. I realize I must follow my heart, and I will find the answers.

Once Upon A Time...

...I had a blog. On Myspace. Yeah, I know. I enjoyed posting on my blog, and having my friends comment on its awesomeness. Then once upon a time, Myspace sucked. So I forgot about my blog. Well, I decided this would be a good time to start that hobby up again while I use this blog for my class, English 240 (Thanks Andy!). I'll most likely repost some of my old schtuff, in addition to adding new schtuff, just to show I'm not going to be lazy and just ride off my old workings. Cool? Cool. Hopefully my friends (*cough* hint *cough*) will find time to read this schtuff like they use to. If they want to stay my friends, at least.

On Understanding Comics...

I find Scott McCloud's book Understanding Comics a completely appropriate text to conquer the task of attempting to explain comics to the reader. After all, the presentation is done in comics. So as the reader follows along, they are able to see all the different methods, ideas, and devices put into action. Page 26, where McCloud introduces "the world of Icon", I find especially important. This page would hardly be effective if it was merely written about, instead we are able to see how all the different icons in comics inspire the reader to automatically process certain information. It is much like the term in psychology called automatic processing: once literate, we are unable to not read whenever we see words. When we see certain icons, like the sound "splat" or the picture of the cow, we automatically think of the sound or the animal, even thought it is not actually either. I find the presentation of "The Gutter" starting on page 66 as another vital piece to McCloud's book. Once again, this presents another instance of automatic processing, where there is a passing of time, however short, in between the panels, and the reader "fills in the blank" to what happened in between the panels. Sometimes it's something simple as the passing of time, or in McCloud's example on page 66, where we assume something sinister happened. While I find McCloud's explanations on the conventions of comics (pun intended) vital and interesting, his exploration of comics' history and its struggle today is just as important. Such as on page 140, when he addresses the idea of comics as a juvenile form of literature, "real" books being ones with no pictures at all. it reminded me of the comic strip "Cheerleaders for the Cause" found in the Introduction from McSweeney's Quarterly Concern, that comics is just a bridge between simple entertainment and "real reading". I found McCloud's graphic textbook a great way to start the semester because it is a great starting point for people new to the idea of comics, and is inundated with so much information that even those that feel as if they are veterans to the genre probably could learn a few things.

English 240 - First Class/Introduction.

Hello All!

Reflecting on the first class, I heard a number of different thoughts and ideas as to what comics were, which is what I expected. Comics seems to be an exhaustively expansive medium with a multitude of styles and genres, mostly because it tends to be the combination of two other exhasutively expansive mediums: Art and Writing. I thought about how I already read Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics: The Invisble Art, and how much there really is to pay attention to, discuss, and evaluate in basically any comic. Additionally, when Watchmen was brought up, I definitely remembered making the same comments Jeff made about the movie after I had seen it: there was definitely things from the novel that could not be recreated in another medium. This is because Comics brings a different form of expression to the proverbial Artistic Table.