Lost my Vox-jo or Mo-vox, take your pick.

In the beginning of (Vox) time, excitement and wonder flowed around this new bloggersphere.  Postings were well-written and came often.  I think that the honeymoon is over.

For whatever reason, be it my life is kinda boring, writer's block, sheer laziness, I can't bring myself to post very often any more.  I still read a lot of posts, but any quality flowing out of these hands has seemed to dry up.  I thought that this exercise would help me with my writing, but it seems to have done the exact opposite.

How do I get past this road block?  More importantly, how do I figure out what caused it so it doesn't pop up again?

Grrrrr.  That's as good as it gets any more.

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Saturday night on South Beach

Over the weekend, we celebrated two years of dating bliss by going to one of our most favorite restaurants ever, El Rancho Grande.  You must realize the excellence of this place if it will bring us to South Beach on a Saturday night.  We had a pina colada and a mango margarita, followed by the delicious yumminess of queso fundido.  As neither of our hearts had stopped yet, we followed that up with El Plato Mixto for him and Tacos al Pastor for me.  To complete our piggishness, we downed Bananas Foster for dessert.  Damn, that was good.

And now, for the evening's entertainment, brought to you by the local homeless and the Miami Beach PD.

On our walk back to the car from the restaurant, we took in the sights and sounds of South Beach:

  •  A car (very new, very shiny Bentley) containing 4 young-ish African-American males from which the music could be heard from 2 blocks away.  Please boys, be realistic and don't complain that the cops are racist when you get pulled over. 
  • The ever-present stench of stale urine.  Mmmmm, mmmmm! 
  • The rantings of a homeless man attempting to get money from people stopped at the red light at Washington and Lincoln.

Within that last item, that's where the entertainment lies.  Apparently, said homeless man wasn't looking past the car from which he was trying to panhandle.  If he had been, maybe he would have acted differently.  As it were, he was leaning into the window of a truck when from out of nowhere we all hear:

"Get away from that truck, Robert Parker.  I told you I don't want to see you again tonight!"

For only three cars back, in her car, is a Miami Beach police officer.  I suppose she had had a run in with Bobby a little earlier in the evening and had warned him once.  By the way, she didn't yell that, she threw on her loudspeaker just in case Bobby had lost his hearing since the first time she saw him.

Bobby, grudginly, went on his way, as did we.  Entertainment for the evening, over.  If you are in Miami, make sure you check this place out.  The food is spectacular, the service is way above par for Miami, and our check stayed under $60 for all that food.

PS.  If you do come to Miami and you happen to park in the 16th and Washington garage, please don't urinate in there.  There are bathrooms available all over.  Thanks.

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PSA: Don't do crack

Just so you know, this is a sad story and if I manage to tell it right, it may be a tear-jerker.

I would imagine that most people, when growing up, have a favorite relative.  Mine was Uncle Ernie.  Ernie was my mother's brother.  When I was growing up in Pennsylvania, Ernie lived with his family in Ohio, about a 2 and a half hour drive from us.  Back when gas was cheap, that little bit of distance meant nothing and Uncle Ernie and the family would visit regularly.  I guess we were just kindred spirits: both being born under Sagittarius (his birthday was the day after mine) and both with some Madison blood running through us, him more than me, of course. 

Maybe part of it was that UE treated me like an adult.  Always.  Outside of his nickname for me (Sha Na Na), everything else was on an adult level.  It wasn't a 'hey, your uncle from far away is here, come sit down and be nice' type of relationship.  I was always first to the door when UE showed up.  When I was far away from home at Penn State, scared and a little depressed, I didn't call home, I called UE.  He was always my rock.

To be truthful, I never really knew what UE did for a living.  I know that he and his family had a nice house in a nice neighborhood, but at the age I was then, you didn't ask because you really didn't care.  What I do know is that at one point, UE was reaching out to the youth and doing some ministry work.  We had a black and white picture of him hanging on the wall.  He was standing in front of a brick wall full of graffitti with the most serene look on his face.

As close as we were, I never got the full story on how things fell apart.  I did know that he was now living in PA and when I saw hime, something was missing.  Unfortunately, UE had found crack.  Times were tough for him but they only got tougher.  My rock, my hero had been replaced by a crackhead.  That doesn't mean that we didn't still love him and allowing him and his "girlfriend" to move into our home was a testament to the fact.  Did I mention that UE was also a diabetic?  Diabetes and crack do not mix.  Between the drug and the disease, UE withered into a shell of the man that I adored.  He became weak to the point of most days, he would just hang out in his comfy chair and watch TV.  His bones became brittle.  My mother accidentally broke a bone in his hand just by putting her hand down on his.  It was scary.  More than that, it was sad.

UE stayed with us for a while and yes, I think a few things went missing.  We overlooked this as our love for him clouded our vision.  He stayed with us most times and we protected him as best we could.  He came in and out a lot.  We thought our house was crack-free.  We were wrong.  One day my mother came to me with a light brown piece of glass.  She told me it was a crack pipe.  It was the first time I had ever seen one.  It was the last.

At that time, I was working about an hour from home.  On one particular morning, I had forgotten to tell my mother something, so when I got to work, I called home.  UE picked up and I asked to speak to my mom.  We chatted briefly and then hung up.  I cannot put into words the feelings that arose when my mother called me back a few hours later, noticably upset, telling me that UE had died the night before.  I said it couldn't be.  I had just spoken with him this morning.  She had to be wrong.  But she wasn't.  It turned out that it had been my brother that picked up the phone and I mistook for my uncle.  The shock was unimaginable.  Tears started pouring from my eyes before I could even try to stop them.  I didn't know what to do with myself.  I was so sad that my best friend had died.  I was so angry because I knew it was the crack that killed him.  I was still too confused to wrap my head around the fact that I didn't just talk to UE this morning.  I had to leave work.

All people deal with their grief in different ways.  Some of my family (read my brother and myself) drinks.  And that's what I did.  I called my lifelong friend and drinking buddy, who knew UE and was like family to him also and let her know what happened.  We both left work and went to grieve, to try to make sense of things, to comfort each other.

I didn't get to say goodbye to UE, none of us did really, but I know that he wanted to say something to us.  He wanted us to know he was thinking of us.  He wanted us to know that he was okay.  He did.  It doesn't matter who believes what, but he did.  The photo that we kept on the wall of him, that I looked at every day, changed.  The area around UE's head in the photo now had an angelic glow.  It was like someone was holding a bright light right behind his head.  It was amazing and it was comforting.  I knew UE was in a better place without pain and more importantly, without drugs.

Funerals happened (not only UE, but in the span of less than 2 years, him, both of my paternal grandparents and my father), time passed, wounds healed.  I look back with warm smiles on times gone by and I rage on.  I rage on because that's what they would have wanted.  I rage on because I know that they're all looking down on me at this very moment and they're proud of what they see.  I rage on because it's important for people to know what drugs can do to you.  I rage on for my family who has passed and my family who still lives.  I rage on.

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QotD: Best Practical Joke

What's the best practical joke you've pulled or had pulled on you? 
Submitted by Mike Schwartz.

I'm not much of a prankster, but this one was the best.

Way back in 6th grade, when I was a tiny thing, my classmates and I thought it would be funny if they "hid" me for the entire day.  This was a group effort, you see, because said classmates had to sneak me lunch and make sure the coast was clear for me to get to the restroom.

My 6th grade teacher loved science and social studies but wasn't really into the fun stuff like art.  Figures that the day we pull the prank he decided to have art, but whatever.  Since I was, basically, the only one small enough to fit in the space where I hid, I got nominated for the job.  I crawled into a tiny cubby under some shelves and stayed in there till the end of the day.  Mainly, I slept.

When the end of the day rolled around, my classmates told our teacher that they had a surprise for him and they pulled me out.  He actually found it to be pretty funny.  Several other teachers in the school did not.  Luckily, they weren't my teachers. 🙂

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Don't Forget the Nepotism

Late last week, while perusing Craigslist, I saw an ad.  I opened it to see what it had to say.  It went a little something like this:

Casting a new $1,000,000 Game Show for unnamed network called "Here's The Name of Our Show!!" hosted by a fairly popular comedian! We're looking for 18+, FUN and INTERESTING contestants who love to KARAOKE and know the lyrics to the biggest hits. This is NOT a talent contest. However, you must be willing to SING YOUR HEART OUT! We are going to be in Miami this weekend running auditions. So if you or any of your friends would be interested in auditioning, please come meet us on: date, time, place.

I had seen a commercial for said program and thought at the time, "That would probably be fun."  So, for shits and giggles, I sent them an email and scored a VIP pass.  Hooray!

There were no set times, just that they were starting at noon.  I've never been to a casting call, but I've seen enough reality television to know that people line up around blocks and stuff for things like this.  I decide that I'll show up a little before noon since I am so cool that I have a VIP pass.  Upon arrival, I was shocked to see no line around the corner, just maybe 15 or 20 people milling around.  They split us up into VIPs and commoners and then escorted us into the venue.

We filled out some paperwork and took a quiz regarding our knowledge of music.  After that, we were separated into groups yet again, and gathered around a table where we took turns introducing ourselves to the group and the casting guy.  I believe there were 10 people in my group and I was next to last to go.  The enthusiasm level was sub par, let's say equivalent to how excited one would get if a dust bunny had just hopped by.  Now, like I said, I've never been to a casting call, but I'm bright enough to know that networks don't want people who will act like a log on their new show.  As we go around the semi-circle, the casting director looks as though he may fall asleep soon.  That was how I knew it was time to let out the alter-ego. 

Sunny, my not-so-evil twin, only comes out when provoked or I need her for something.  She's the happy, bubbly, really annoying girl that is continuously smiling and has a joke for everyone.  I had put her away when I left Club Med, but decided to let her out for some air. 

Suffice it to say that at least the CD woke up when I spoke.  After everyone was finished, he looked at us all and said that some of us would have some more paperwork to fill out and others may get a call later in the week.  You know what that means: if you get paperwork, you have a chance, if not, thanks for coming, have a nice life.  He went around the table and when he got to me he told me that I did horribly on the quiz.  I already knew that.  But, he liked me so he gave me another quiz and told me to "do better".  And that is exactly what I did.  I only missed one on the second quiz.

After they checked the quiz, they came over and told me that I was invited to the callback.  It was happening the next day.  They threw out a time and I said I would be there.  Look out world, here I come!

DAY 2

Today I actually have an appointment time of 2:30.  I figure it can't take too long as yesterday I was already back at home by 2pm and it was an open call.  I arrive at 2 just to give myself extra time though.  Upon entering the building, I am greeted by a girl who says that they're running an hour behind so just have a seat.  Okay, whatever, shit happens.  I made a new friend of the girl whose appointment was to be before mine.  They had this crazy "line" that snaked through some tables, along to a couch and then to two different stools right before the door behind which was the CD.  We sat around watching television, reading magazines, and patiently waiting our respective turns.  After an hour, I ventured over to the table where some of the casting folks were sitting.  I asked if I could get an update on where we were in the process.  Meanie said that we were in the same place as an hour ago.  I wanted to slap the curls right out of the bitch's head, but I refrained as I figured it would hamper my chances of being on TV.  Nicey, a new girl, gave me a much nicer and more helpful response.  Dummy, he just sat there looking well, dumb.

I went back to the table to report my findings.  About 10 minutes passed before Meanie came over to our table all kinds of apologetic with explanations and such.  I dismissed her with the same attitude she gave me.  By this time, it's nearing 5 o'clock, but I had made it over to the couch which equalled the last stage of the line.  I went to visit the ladies room, because after all, you can only hold in all the Coke for so long, and when I returned, I was informed that someone was placed in front of me in the line.  Okay, whatever, it's only one person.

So, I'm getting excited, it's almost my turn.  It's down to only two people left in front of me.  This, dear reader, is the point in which the powers that be (or the powers that wannabe as the case may be) decide that they're going to take a new approach to the process.  Meanie comes over to the couch and points out a few people and tells them to get in line, but to me she says "You hang around a little while."  Excuse me?  What exactly have I been doing for the last <watch check> 4!! hours?!?!  I watched people who certainly arrived after me get launched into the line before me.  I have now gone from 2 people in front of me to at least 10 people in front of me.  If my math is correct, I've gone from another half hour or so of waiting to a minimum of another hour and a half to two hours of waiting.  Call me crazy, but my miniscule shot at winning one million dollars is no longer worth another two or more hours of my weekend.

I went over to wish my new friend luck and I sat and chatted for a few minutes with her mother.  I then approached the table where the casting people were sitting.  It went something like this:

Me:  Do you need this stuff back? (Application, paperwork, quizzes)

Meanie: Why?

Me:  I'm leaving.

Nicey:  Oh no.

Dummy: Why?

Me: It's a little disconcerting to sit here and wait patiently in line for four hours and when it gets to two people in front of me to have you change up the line and put people in front of me who just arrived.

D:  Well, I hope that's not why you're leaving.

N:   Please don't go.

Me:  Goodbye.

I headed towards the door, full of complete and utter disgust for the entire process and the waste of my time that it was.  I was almost to the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder.  Mind you, not the best idea to go sneaking up on people since that's how people get hurt, but I turned around and there stood D.

D:  Look, I know it seems crazy, but we're doing it this way to (and this is a direct quote) make your wait shorter.

Me:  You're making my wait shorter by putting 10 more people in front of me?

D:  I know, it might not make sense, but it's true.

Me:  Ok.  Goodbye.

And out I walked. 

So, I tend to think I had gotten good vibes from the CD both on the first day and when I had seen him on the second day.  I am 99% sure that the CD is the guy in charge of the "entertainment company" that was running the casting call.  Other people have to have gotten tired of the crap and left, but I didn't witness it.  I thought it odd that they tried to make such ridiculous excuses when I was leaving.  I guess that's the way casting calls go though and now I know.  I know not to go to another one.  My only question is do I just let it go or do I drop the CD a line and let him know how disappointed I was with the way everything was handled?  I'm open to suggestions.

PS. On the application, they asked if I had a website.  I gave them my Vox address.  I hope they read this.

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