You cannot change the past; you can only hope to change the future, and then only a tiny bit.  You can learn from the past, but you cannot change it.  The past becomes immutable the instant a moment transforms into a memory.  If you had hoped to maintain some degree of control over that moment, the instant it passes all hope ceases and you should then look ahead rather than backwards armed with the new knowledge you possess.  I realize all this may sound glaringly obvious, yet that does not address the fact millions and millions and millions of people spend the bulk of their lives staring backwards—ruing what they might have done differently that might have changed the trajectories of their lives in a way that would have ensured more happiness.  And that is probably the most germane point which can be taken away from this mini-discussion.  Namely, there are fundamentally only two types of people who populate Earth’s surface:  Those who look to the past for solace, and those who look to the future for inspiration.

The huge crowd booed the man in the arena, booed him lustily.  Truth is, he was stinking up the place; his performance, if you could even call it that, was pitiful and personally humiliating.  The guy was physically overmatched.  He was weak and emasculated.  He didn’t belong out there, was way out of his league, so far out of his league that he couldn’t have reached it with a cannon shot.  And so the people who were gathered—who had come hoping for and expecting an exciting, closely contested tilt–booed long and loud.

The man in the arena heard the booing, knew the crowd was disappointed in his performance.  But even as he absorbed a brutal blow to the body and subsequently stumbled backwards with blood streaming out of his nose, contentment reigned within his heart.  There was nothing more he could do; he was already doing his best.  The other man was just better than him today.  Quite frankly, the other man would always be better than him in this particular athletic pursuit.  But that didn’t make him a better man.  That didn’t make him superior as a person.  The man in the arena knew this.  The crowd did not.

The man in the arena took yet another ferocious blow, this time to the head, and began tumbling backwards off his feet.  The crowd stood as one and cheered crazily as the contest moved near to its obvious and foregone conclusion.  The man in the arena smiled inscrutably as he hit the deck with a resounding thud, knowing that he had given his all and done his utmost.

He was at peace with himself.

The crowd?

They had done nothing, attempted nothing, nor would they ever attempt anything of substance for the entirety of their lives.  These people lived their lives vicariously.  They were kingmakers, creating heroes as well as villains, but, ironically, not one of them possessed the requisite courage to ever darken the entrance to the arena him/herself.   They loved to watch other people try and oftentimes not succeed, yet an acute fear of failure paralyzed these individuals into a permanent state of lethargy.  They would never take that crucial first step and try anything challenging, because with trying comes the possibility–however miniscule–of failing.  And these lifelong spectators could not deal with failure, couldn’t deal with it at all; to them it was toxic and a thing to be avoided at all costs.  Their psyches were much too fragile and their self-esteem too shallow and fleeting to handle aborted endeavors; a result had to be guaranteed well in advance in order for them to cautiously proceed.

The huge crowd of people assembled for this week’s martial arts event was one big glob of maggots, a conglomeration of blood-sucking parasites, a potpourri of amorphous slime.  They were not to be counted…..they were nothing.

…..she says “I love you!” so often and to so many people that it has completely lost value as the ultimate expression of affection.  You can talk about the Law of Diminishing Returns all you want, but Prime Exhibit #1 will forever remain her ludicrous overuse of what should be a sacred mantra.  In her case what she says and what she means obviously aren’t the same thing; there’s no possible way they can be.  No one—And I mean positively NO ONE!!!!!!!!!—has that much room in their heart for authentic love.  “Like”, maybe, but not an emotion so sacrosanct and seismic as love.  She blurts out “I love you!” to virtually anyone who temporarily occupies more than five minutes of her life, and that’s as crazy as it is sickening.  Get a grip, Girl!  You can’t possibly love someone you only met five minutes ago.  And to insist otherwise is the very apex of disingenuousness…..

Best Friend Ever

By Frederick J. Blahnik

God, how I’m gonna miss him when he’s gone!!!

Miss ‘im, miss ‘im,  MISS ‘IM!!!!!

Impossible to fathom.  Impossible to comprehend.  Impossible to even imagine right now…..

He’s undoubtedly been my best friend  for, like…..for, like…..FOREVER!!!!!

                My gosh, when I stop to think about all the glorious things we’ve done together over the years, just me and him, well…..my heart starts pounding and my eyes begin to tear up!  Jeff has been more dependable and more loyal and more trustworthy than any friend I’ve ever had, and that’s saying quite a lot too.  Yet it’s the truth, absolutely the truth!  Whenever I needed a calming presence to settle my nerves or a shoulder to cry on when I was feeling downcast or a free ear to patiently listen to my litany of complaints at the end of a stressful day, Jeff was unfailingly there for me.  Always my welfare first, never his.  Always faithfully following just to my stern, never pompously leading just to my bow.  Always the allegiant wing-man, never insisting on being bombastic Maverick.  Always me, never him.  Just a gem of a friend, the true embodiment of a dependable companion.  Jeff would literally do anything for me and not stop for even one second to consider its inconvenience or potential dangers involved. 

Let’s face it:  I love him, I love him a lot; I really really do!!

                My oh my oh my, the innumerable great times we’ve spent together over the years!  Those times can never be edited or reconfigured or replaced…..

                Yeah, just the two of us, me and Jeff.

                Connected by an invisible tether for all eternity.

                But why am I telling you this now and spilling my guts out to someone I can only reach coldly and impersonally through an electronic keyboard?

                Because tomorrow it all comes to an end for the two of us…..

                Yes, that aforementioned transcendent, decade-and-a-half-long relationship will be coming to an end in the space of just one grievous, compacted day on the calendar.

                In one tragic, unimaginably sad morning, to be more precise.

                And I just can’t stand to think about it right now; the thought is hideous; the thought is overbearing; the thought is incomprehensible!

                You see, Jeff is going to be euthanized at 9:00 tomorrow morning down at the veterinarian’s office.

                WHY?!?!?! 

I can graphically envision the horrified, quizzical expression on your face as you incredulously read the previous sentence.

                Well, as is generally the case, Jeff’s physical decline didn’t just up and happen overnight.  His health has been slowly failing for several years now, but its rate accelerated greatly over the past few months—one could compare it to a giant boulder gathering more and more momentum as it screams down an alpine mountainside and not be too far off the mark.  I kept hoping for the best, kept my head firmly buried in the sand akin to a frightened ostrich, kept turning a blind eye to what must have been plainly obvious to everyone around me:  The fact my beloved dog was now fifteen years of age and his overall health reflected this unalterable fact; it was failing precipitously.  Old age was not just slowly catching up to Jeff; it finally DID catch up to him and in a big way too, and this next thought probably goes without saying but I’ll go ahead and state the obvious anyway and blame it on the emotionally compromised state in which I currently find myself entrapped:  There is no cure for old age—not now, not in the future, and not in some hidden enclave of my wildest, most wishful dreams either.  If only there was, I would gladly flip open my checkbook right this instant and write out a check in any amount just to gainfully extend Jeff’s life.

                But no deal; no such luck…..

                That sort of fantastical stuff only happens in cheesy Hollywood movies that are made for kids.

                Anyway, Jeff’s rapid deterioration in health left me with but two stark choices:  Put an end to his awful suffering right now in a humane manner, or allow him to live out his “natural” life to its predestined conclusion while asking my best friend to endure the godawful spate of physical maladies which have made his existence so miserable and unbearable over the past few months.  And, really, faced with these two clear-cut choices, my decision in the matter wasn’t difficult or time-consuming at all.  I love Jeff unconditionally, and in this instance forcing him to put up with excruciating pain on a full-time basis for weeks or even months on end when the means readily exist to swiftly terminate that pain would be cruel, heinous, and serve no useful purpose.  Euthanizing Jeff is the obvious thing to do as well as the only logical route to pursue. 

But just don’t tell that to my heart!

Oh no, don’t try telling that to my aching, grieving heart right now!!!

Because my heart is busting wide open at the ventricles even as I type this.

Yeah.

                Yeah, it really is and that’s no lie……

So the endgame is here now, I suppose, staring me squarely in the face like a coldblooded killer.  Checkmate is inevitable.  It’s all gonna come to an end for Jeff and, by extension, our cherished relationship tomorrow morning—all of the memories, all of the love, all of the fun times we had together, all of the highly treasured comradeship—and, ironically, that in itself will represent yet another unforgettable memory associated with my irreplaceable canine friend.  But this guaranteed indelible “memory” from tomorrow morning will be diametrically different from all the others. Truly, it will be one I would give anything in the world to stifle and forget, although unfortunately the idiosyncrasies of our Homo sapiens’ memory-making process will undoubtedly render my desire mere wishful thinking.

                Thus I guess I might as well begin emotionally preparing myself for life without…..

                Jeff……Jeff……Jeff will be dead and gone in fewer than twenty four hours now, and those memories—both the overwhelmingly good ones together with that final heinous one—will then be all that remains of my best friend ever.

…..it’s actually plain and simple:  We want builder-uppers on our team, not tearer-downers.  We want uniters, not dividers.  We want people who support their teammates, not undermine them.  We want luscious apples, not rotten ones that contaminate and toxify everything around them. We want good teammates, not shitty ones.  So how do you know if someone is a good teammate?  Quite simple, actually.  Does a person make you feel comfortable when they’re around…..or do they put you on edge?  Do they open their arms to you whenever you’re right…..or merely point an accusatory finger in your direction on those occasions when you are wrong?  Do they galvanize…..or do they habitually rip asunder?  Do they build bridges…..or build walls?  Bad teammates are a malignancy on any team; their negativity and unsavory influence spreads insidiously and ultimately rips a group apart at the seams.  Good teammates uplift their colleague’s spirits; bad teammates work capriciously, albeit maybe not always intentionally, to drag them down.  If you can definitively identify a bad teammate on your cohort—And don’t get me wrong here; it isn’t always as easy as it sounds!!—then kick those assfucks off your squad immediately.  IMMEDIATELY…..did you hear me?!?!  Bad teammates are immanently incorrigible.  Despite periodic protestations of innocence alloyed with feeble apologies—some seemingly sincere, others less so—selfish miscreants can never be permanently reformed.  Irrespective of how much talent they may bring to an endeavor, you are much better off without these proverbial rotten apples contaminating your barrel.  Their continued presence is radioactive and will siphon much-needed energy and enthusiasm from teammates in their immediate vicinity who are otherwise struggling to concentrate and perform well and contribute.  Once again, rid yourself of bad, selfish, finger-pointing colleagues at the first opportunity.  They are a cancer that, left unchecked, will ultimately and most assuredly wind up killing the entire organism—Namely, your carefully constructed team!–regardless of how plainly healthy said organism may have been at the outset…..

…..quiet is the night.  Oh, yes, so very very very quiet!  Totally opposite the day, which is loud and grating and bawdy.  Hubristic and overbearing.  And that is what I love so much about the period of time when the sun is absent from the sky and crickets are chirping in synchrony and most apex predators are on the prowl and diving bats take over the troposphere while their chief prey the repulsive mosquitoes desperately seek refuge from their mammalian nemeses.  The night is ingratiating and a soothing poultice for the human soul, unlike the daylight hours which move much too frenetically and sap one’s patience and energy without consciously trying to.  One can easily lose yourself in the nighttime hours, but never in the day; light trails you everywhere, is indefatigable, and is a notorious tattletale to anyone with a sharp eye and an ear for gossip…..

She honestly believes there is a higher purpose to life than chasing simple pleasures and benignly pursuing happiness.  A greater, nobler purpose for humanity.  A metaphysical calling.  So be it then, but I obviously do not agree with her pretentious assessment.  A higher purpose to life may indeed exist, but so too may UFOs, Dark Matter, and parallel universes to our own.  Which is to say I don’t know for sure and neither does she.  It is all conjecturing, positing, postulating, theorizing, or any other word you can come up with that signifies sophisticated thinking sans any proof to support a point of view.  The whole idea is subjective in nature, thus let’s leave it at that.  But a problem arises when individuals of her ilk vaingloriously attempt to inject objectivity into an innately subjective equation.  The two are obviously not compatible and never have been.  That is wrong and should never be tolerated, yet expecting her to graciously accept this logical explanation would be as futile as trying to fend off an enraged, charging bull elephant with a pea shooter.

…..given the immense, smoldering anger I was feeling deep inside me, I knew I had to move expeditiously to distance myself from the hideous moment with as much speed as I could muster or otherwise I was liable to do or say something rash that I would almost certainly regret later.  What happened has happened and it now resides squarely in the past where it belongs, and the only element of the travesty I can currently control is my reaction to it.  That’s right, I exercise a picayune bit of control over the present and maybe I can wobble the future on its axis a barely discernible speck too, but I definitely command no leverage over the past.  The past is a million ton monolith; it is immovable, implacable, and unalterable.  So just move slowly away from this abominable moment at hand and put a little distance between you and it, Fred, and in time that smoldering anger burning uncontrolled within your breast will start abating before beginning to flicker, thereby signaling its death throes not unlike a campfire left untended overnight.  Only then are you safe, although surely not advised, to look backwards to assess the damage that was inflicted on your person.  Looking backwards is never a good idea, understand, yet this advice comes with a massive caveat:  Gazing into the past is almost instinctual behavior and beyond one’s ability to control……

If you decide to take a “day off” from life, know that you stand in imminent peril of losing that time forever; days are classically precious and irredeemable.  Sand that flows downward through a hourglass doesn’t then magically and in discordance with all the known laws of physics flow back upward through that tiny orifice separating the two glass chambers—the isthmus in this case representing the highly dynamic present, the bottom chamber the past, and the top chamber the pluperfect future which manifests as our remaining time on Earth.  Remember, there are no rainchecks on life.  Once we allow a day to pass, however productive or unproductive the rascal may have been, there is zero chance of returning to that day again in the future.  And of course such is the way things should be.  Appreciate what you have now; don’t struggle maniacally to thwart the advance of time or pompously seek to deposit units of time in a temporal piggybank for future usage.  The Laws of Physics don’t work in this fashion and neither does life.  Celebrate and rejoice in the present for all it’s worth, but understand that once it’s gone it’s gone.  You can’t unscramble an egg, you can’t undo an avalanche after it’s begun, you can’t scrunch a genie back into its host bottle, you cannot reverse the result of oxidation and wish away a roaring fire once a match has been lit, you cannot undo the Big Bang, and you likewise cannot relive events from the past irrespective of desire.  This is not to say you have to make every day that you’re alive a colossal, monumental extravaganza, but I’m merely suggesting that taking any day off completely without attempting a key initiative or a laudable physical action amounts to a giant sham and a shameful waste of time.  There were probably a thousand different ways you could have utilized said time that would have provided you with more overt pleasure than just lying around contemplating what you’re gonna have for supper as you listen to a clock ticking on the wall, but you nonetheless “chose” otherwise.  Granted, the preternatural gift of free will affords everyone such a lifestyle “choice”, but the simple existence of free will surely doesn’t constitute evidence that sloth is a prudent, defensible manner of living.  Water flowing into an ocean can never be undiluted and returned exactly as before to the river wherest it originated, and by the same token days that have sailed by arbitrary benchmarks on the Arrow of Time can never be returned intact to those same benchmarks. The past is immutable; the past is inviolable; the past is fixed in concrete; you cannot go back there unchanged from before.  The present and hopeful future?  Those are different creatures altogether; change is possible and even a suggested course of action for certain people in glaring need of same.

The day is good.  She is not.  Therefore, I will pass on her and opt for the day ahead.  Nothing too profound about this decision, is there?  Fact is, it is one of the easiest I have ever been asked to make.  Feminine wiles are treacherous things and oftentimes hard to resist, but not in this instance.  She is bad news and that will never change.  She was born bad to the bone and her skeleton has remained intact since that tragic day.  But the day ahead is looking good and my outlook on life excepting her is positive, so I will be okay.  Yes, I will be okay and promise to be a responsible steward over the life I have been gifted with so long as she remains apart from my orbit.  Oh, and on a permanent basis too.