I have always had run of the mill experiences at Lifetime Vision Care and with Dr. Bergeron; until my latest visit. It started with me dropping by the office at 0900, either Monday or Tuesday, 25 or 26 July. All I wanted was a pair of sunglasses, like the clear glasses I had in my hand. Same frame, same prescription. Just another pair of glasses, just like the ones I had in my hand, which I also got from LVC.

I made my request clear. I stated that it was near the end of the month, I had no money left from my VA Compensation check. I had no cash. I told them that I needed it to be covered by my insurance, under my wife’s eye care policy. I needed it not to burden me financially. I was clear about that.
I was ushered into the “Frames Room”. The girl in that room opened up a file folder and said, “Here are a few frames that would normally be covered by your insurance, but your prescription expired and we can’t really give you a new pair of glasses.”

I told her that I didn’t want new glasses. I was happy with the old prescription. They didn’t have to bother going through all the trouble. Just take the glasses I had in my hand and make another pair, exactly the same, except as sunglasses.

Once again I was told that they usually don’t make new glasses once the prescription has expired. I asked when it expired, why was it a problem and what were my alternatives? The girl said that she could make me an appointment to see the doctor and then I could get new glasses.

I plainly asked, “Will the insurance cover it? I have no more money for the month.” I was told that it would, so an appointment was made for me to come back the very next morning.

The next morning I was ushered in. I was given a few eye tests. Then I was asked if I would like some special test that the doctor likes to do. I reiterated my cash concern and asked if the insurance covered this other test. I was told that it did not, so I declined. I was then lead into another room where another assistant did some other testing before Doctor Bergeron came in.

The doctor did some “This one or this one” testing and then asked me about my visit. I mentioned that I was broke, came in only for sunglasses, but was kind of forced to take this appointment. He asked, “You’re completely broke?” And I answered that I don’t get my compensation check, as a disabled veteran, until the first; so at the end of the month, I am always out of money for a week or so, before the next month’s check arrives.

He then asked me something that I thought was kind of personal, unless he was planning on giving me a price break, and asked how much money my compensation check was. I didn’t feel like telling this stranger how much I get; it’s not like he’d tell me how much he made each month, but when he guessed a fairly wide margin around the right dollar range I acknowledged that he was close. He then said, “So you make between (such and such) and (such and such) a year?” I again acknowledged that he was in the right ballpark, but I was still uncomfortable telling an outsider how much my check was for when this information was not being used on a financial hardship application.

And then the doctor said, “You’re not disabled. Anyone who can ride a motorcycle isn’t disabled. You’re not disabled.” All of which I found very offensive and insulting.

This man does not live in my skin. He does not walk (or should I say, “Limp”?) in my shoes. He doesn’t spend countless hours a week having to be taken care of by his wife because he can no longer put weight on his leg towards the end of the afternoon; or be helped in and out of the shower because his back is burning from a normal day’s usage.

This man did not have my surgeries; did not go through my rehab; did not have to put a prosthetic devise on his left leg that morning in order to make it to a doctor’s appointment. But I remained polite and simply stated that indeed I was a disabled veteran of the United States Armed Forces.

Finally it was time to look at frames. The young lady from the previous day came out to assist. She again took out a folder and she let me know that my insurance did cover a whole line of frames. I chose a frame similar to a pair of glasses that I already had, which I had gotten there, as well.

When it was all said and done, I asked again, “And the insurance will cover these?” Again I was told that it would. So I sat back and watched her write down the size and the frame and the insurance coverage and some other information on a piece of paper; and then she said, “Do you want them (something to do with shatter-resistant)? It would add $39.00 to the cost.” I said, “No, I’m broke. I’m going to have to skip that this time.”

Then she ushered me over to the counter to check out; and the girl behind the counter said, “Your final cost will be $149. (Or something like that)” And I said, “I thought this was covered by insurance?”

The girl behind the desk answered, “It is. Insurance covers (this part) up to (this amount) and (this part) up to (this amount) and (this part) up to (this amount) and your co-pay for this is (x dollars) and for that is (x dollars), so your total is (whatever it was). “

I said, “I don’t have that. I won’t have that until the first.” She answered, “Then you’ll just need to pay the co-pay for today’s visit which is (whatever it was).”

I said, “I don’t even have that. I am broke until the first. I thought I mentioned that.”

She answered, “In that case, we won’t be able to order the glasses until you come back on the first with at least a deposit in the amount of (whatever).”

I went back. I paid my co-pay. I paid for the glasses. I made sure that I didn’t owe them anything. I made sure that we were square. I got my glasses. And I still have a bad taste in my mouth.

Back in the day, as they say, problems like this would have me breaking tables, throwing chairs, and going home and getting loaded. Today, I write a little letter, tell my story, and go on to the next obstacle on my journey!

I love this program.

As seen in Biker Living Magazine:

I know I’ve discussed this before, but it merits a rewrite. Remember me telling you the story of why I chose The Lone Star as the State I wanted to retire in? I was sitting on my couch, watching late night TV; contemplated where I wanted to spend my retirement; sent away for all the different “Come to my State” videos; and then there was, “Come to Texas”. Texas’ DVD said, “Seventy-eight degrees all year long”. Now you remember?

Well, the reason I tell this story is because lately, it’s not been 78 degrees here. Well, maybe on the way up to 100. And don’t count on a winter to cool you off. Texas winters consist of about four days. One in December, one in January and two in February.

It’s hot here. It’s very hot here. It’s so hot that when I first moved here, I had the electrician add a special setting to my thermostat called, “Blizzard”.

And with the heat, comes its own very special set of heat related problems. The three most common heat problems are heat cramps, heat exhaustion and heat stroke. So, I’m going to tell youse how to prevent those things from happening, so they don’t ruin your rally, and you won’t need to call me.

First, heat cramps are muscle cramps that occur because it’s hot. The muscles spasm or jerk involuntarily.

Cramping can occur immediately, during or after use, or even be delayed up to a few hours. Heat cramps usually occur in the toes, calves, biceps and abdomen. Usually.
Heat exhaustion can develop after spending time in the Texas heat and inadequate fluid replacement. Heat exhaustion is most likely to strike people with high blood pressure and people spending long hours in the sun.
Heat stroke occurs when your core body temperature becomes dangerously elevated. It can also trigger physical and neurological symptoms. Heat stroke is a medical emergency that can be fatal if not properly and promptly treated.

The body is normally able to shed heat through the skin. In extreme heat, high humidity, or vigorous exertion, the body may not be able to shed the heat and the core body temperature rises.

Another cause of heat stroke is dehydration. If the body can’t produce enough sweat to shed heat through evaporation, the core body temperature can also rise.
Signs and symptoms for heat cramps include muscle cramps and spasms; heat exhaustion include heavy sweating, paleness, weakness, dizziness, headache and nausea; and not treating the early signs can lead to heat stroke which tends to end with vomiting, fatigue, and death.

Other symptoms may include the absence of sweating, difficulty breathing, erratic behavior, hallucinations and disorientation. Same thing you see in the mirror after a long Saturday night.

For mild cases of heat exhaustion, put the person in a cool, shaded area. Give him or her fluids such as water or a sports drink – or, preferably, a mixture of ½ water and ½ sports drink. Salted snacks can be given, as tolerated, to help replace the salt loss.

Loosen or remove clothing, apply cool water to the skin, especially under the arms and between the thighs. If you’re having trouble or feeling embarrassed working with women in that way, give me a call. I’d be happy to help.
Do not use alcohol rubs or give any beverages containing alcohol to anyone suffering from these symptoms. If you can move the person into a cool area or get a fan to help blow water across the person’s body, that would help.
More than anything else, in order to try and avoid these symptoms, stay hydrated; drink plenty of water and try to stay out of the heat as much as possible. Avoid alcohol and caffeine. Well…try to avoid alcohol and caffeine.

A neat trick in judging your hydration levels is to check the color of your urine when you pee. The darker the color, the more water you need to drink. The lighter the color the lower the chances you have of getting heat cramps.

Stay safe out there.

I know I’m getting old, but this should have nothing to do with age. I don’t know how it works, but confusion and a short attention span seem to be the rule of the day these days. So each day I make myself a little list of things that I would like to accomplish today.

Today’s list included shoring up the framing around Terri’s garden, building a small one-shelf unit to go on the work bench in the craft room and move the freezers in the pantry so that they’re away from the back door, so the back door can open all the way.

Well, it started out easy enough. I walked out the back door pushing past the freezer, knowing I was going to get to it, and headed to Terri’s garden. I saw what she was talking about, where it needed to be shored up and planned the attack. So I went back in the back door, pushing past the freezer that was keeping the door from opening all the way, making a comment out loud, knowing that I would be getting to that later.

I went into the garage, and grabbed a few pieces of scrap wood that I still had lying around, my screw gun and a box of wood screws. I put them all in a bucket and came back in the house through the laundry room.

At the laundry room I realized that there was laundry in the washing machine, still unwashed, and laundry in the dryer, already dry, but just sitting there. So I grabbed a laundry basket, put the dry laundry in the basket and headed to my bedroom with the basket.

I placed the basket on the bed, and went back to the laundry room to start the load of laundry that was in the washer. Then I figured that I might as well go and get the rest of the laundry from my room and the baby’s room and do all of it at once instead of at three different times. And I headed off to the baby’s room to get her dirty laundry.

When I got to her room I saw the crib and remembered that I wanted to remove the outer panel and turn it into a day bed so the baby would feel like she were sleeping in a bed like the big people and not a “baby’s bed”. So I headed back to the garage to get my screw gun.

On the way to the garage, I saw how full the garbage cans were, so I detoured into the kitchen and grabbed a few garbage bags and decided to take the garbage from the baby’s diaper pail, the kitchen and the garbage from my room out to the trash bin.

After grabbing two of the three bags I was working on, I saw that there were dishes in the sink and dishes in the drain board and I realized that the dishes in the drain board needed to be put away and the dishes in and around the sink needed to be washed, so I stopped and washed the dishes.

While washing the dishes I dropped a glass and it broke. As I bent down to pick up the glass pieces, I muttered that it had been far too long since this floor had been properly cleaned and mopped, so I grabbed a bucket and a mop and the floor cleaning liquid and got to work.
When I had gotten finished with the mopping, I was feeling rather hungry, so I left the mop in the bucket and headed to the fridge. I grabbed a few items that are on my diet and brought them over to the table and sat them down.

I looked around for napkins and a plate and saw that there weren’t any napkins in the napkin holder and there weren’t any paper plates next to the napkin holder, where there should have been; or at least, usually are. So I left the table and went back into the pantry and grabbed the bag of napkins and took a handful out and then looked around until I found the paper plates and took them down and grabbed a handful and then realized that the pantry should be in a little better order so that like things were with like things so that you could easily find and get to the things you use the most; so I put the paper goods down on the freezer, which I muttered to myself that I would be getting to later, and began work to rearrange the pantry.

Well, that was going kind of well, I suppose, until I got to a couple of empty milk containers that I had saved and put there, so that one day I could make this milk carton sail boat for the baby to play with in the bath. And what better time than now, I thought, so I grabbed the cartons, went back into the craft room, got out the scissors and sat down and started creating.

Next thing I know, it’s 1800 hours and the front door opens and Terri and the baby are home.

There’s a bucket and mop in the middle of the floor; a bucket with wood blocking the laundry room door; the back door is ajar; the freezers are still blocking its opening; there’s lunch food on the table; I haven’t fixed her garden fence; and Terri wants to know, if I’ve been home all day and I didn’t do anything I started out to do, why is everything in disarray; and what have I been doing all day?

I saw a funny sticker. It read, “Yes, I have ADD, but it doesn’t…oh, look, a squirrel.”

I’m just sayin….

When we first moved in here, I really liked that there were two sinks in the bathroom of the master bedroom. I took the sink on the left, near the wall. In the corner, where the wall met the mirror, I put my stuff; a bottle of cologne, my underarm deodorant, & razor.

On the right of my sink I had a small jar with cotton swabs, a small cup with my toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and depending how far before or after my Locks of Love contributions, there might be a hair brush on the counter; otherwise it would be in the bottom draw between the sinks.

Between the sinks there were three drawers. I got the bottom one. In it I had my extras: Deodorant, cotton swabs, sometimes a hair brush, extra razor blades and my shoe shine kit. My wife, Terri, got the top two drawers and every other free space on the counter between the sinks and all the way around the right sink.

In addition to that, she added a cabinet between the sink and the tub, about three and a half feet tall, for everything else that wouldn’t fit in two drawers, across the counter, and around the sink. And all this suited me just fine.

However, something happened. I don’t know when it happened, but sometime between then and now, something changed. I didn’t see it; I didn’t hear it; I don’t know how it happened, but something changed. You see, this morning, when I went into the bathroom, I realized that my wife was standing at my sink.

And it wasn’t just that she was standing at my sink, she was brushing her teeth, with all of her tooth and hair paraphernalia gathered around her, and the rest of her stuff stretching from the left side of my sink to the right side of hers, and beyond, to the point of blocking access to my stuff.

Her sink was filled with nail polishes and cotton balls and other glass bottles. Her area around the sink was cluttered with creams and lotions and moisturizers. The drawers were partially open and overflowing with brushes and hair bands and other hair doodads. Every ledge around the tub had numerous bottles of various shampoos and conditioners.

I stopped dead in my tracks at the threshold of the door, staring in disbelief and wondering when that takeover took place. I even went so far as to ask my wife, “Honey, you know there are two sinks in this bathroom, right?”

And she answered, “Yup”, without batting an eye, and kept on with what she was doing.

So I did what any self-respecting man-of-the-house, king-of-his-castle, domineering, alpha male, husband would do: I shoveled my way to my toothbrush, slowly backed back out the door and went into the baby’s bathroom to brush my teeth.

The fact is, that if that is the biggest challenge I face when I wake up in the morning, my life is pretty good.

I love this program!

I just got done broadcasting my half hour radio talk show on Blog Talk Radio for CaimanHunter.com.

What makes this seem silly to me is that I was almost going to complain that I was in pain and very tired and wanted to skip it this week – who would know!

Then it dawned on me. First off, I would know. Next, the 2 listeners that tune in and the 3 or 4 who listen to the show from the archives would soon know. And furthermore, I always feel good about my show, even when the show sucks! (Not that it ever would suck).

The reason I always feel good about my shows is that I got the show because some fancy reptile group gave me the title of “Expert in His Field” for my work with caiman.

I’ve had a couple of articles published about caiman in prestigious reptile magazines; I run a caiman rescue; I was a guest host on a prestigious reptile radio talk show; and then there’s CaimanHunter.com.

And that’s not all I do. Besides for my work with caiman, I write an article for a biker magazine, up until last year I was a guest instructor at Texas A&M Fire School, and I write for this blog every once in a while.

What makes all of these things so special is that until I got in the rooms the only thing I was an expert at was, well, nothing. I couldn’t spend enough time at any one thing because getting loaded was my main priority. And if I was any good at that I probably wouldn’t have gotten sick and tired, or later, sick and tired of being sick and tired!

I joke sometimes that I lead the life of a male lion. I eat, protect my women, mark my territory, and sleep. And it’s partially correct. But today, people ask my opinion – and some of them actually listen to my answers or read what I write.

I think I’ll keep coming back.

I love this program.

When I first came In The Rooms I went through a period of listening to everything and soaking it up like a dry sponge. I shared when I needed to, and always to my Sponsor, but took heart to what people were saying and why they were saying it.

And one of the first things I learned, no matter where I went for recovery, was that I needed to identify with the people who I wanted to help me recover.

What I mean is, if I went to a “turkey” meeting and everyone identified as a “turkey”, and I said that I was a “chicken”, I guaranteed that I would have enough of an excuse, which kept me just different enough, which I could use as my justification to get loaded. If I was at an NA meeting and everyone identified as an “addict”, and I identified as a “junkie” (or anything else), I guaranteed that I would have enough of an excuse, which kept me just different enough, which I could use as my justification to get loaded. If I was in an AA meeting and everyone identified as an “alcoholic”, and I identified as a “drunken slob” (or an “addict”, even, or an “alcoholic and an addict”, or any of the hundreds of different ways that I could make myself just different enough from you, so that I didn’t have to admit that I was exactly like you), I guaranteed that I would have enough of an excuse, which kept me just different enough, which I could use as my justification to get loaded.

The first step started the lesson, and the fourth and fifth step drove it home, that I am to find the similarities, and not the differences, in order to stay clean. Because we are alike; we all did what we did and went through what we went through to get where we got; and we all got here.

And then, recently, something else happened. I started hearing people making themselves different again. They would say, “I am a gratefully recovering addict (or alcoholic) by the grace of god, who I choose to call …” and they would give a religious name to their deity, or they would spout off their religion’s name, or they would sing praises to their religion.

Sometimes I try not to let it bother me. But sometimes it does. And sometimes I couldn’t really be sure why it bothered me, except that I am Jewish, and I don’t believe in their religion or their deity. And that’s when it struck me.

These people are all making themselves a little different. And by doing so, they are making me a little bit different. They’re giving themselves (and any confused newcomer who is forced to listen to them) an excuse. They’re laying the groundwork for someone to use as an excuse that he’s different than the rest, to get loaded. And at any time, since we really are pretty much all alike, that someone could be me.

My meetings are important. It’s how I stay clean. It’s how I learn. It’s how I make it another day without having to use.

And my Program is is important. My “spiritual, not religious” program! It’s how I live. It’s how I can take what I Learn in meetings and use it to stay clean another day.

And I really don’t think I should have to be subjected to someone else’s religious station. I go to shul every Friday night. I have a relationship with the god of our understanding. Do you wanna hear about my prayer sessions? How about my Shabbos mornings when I don a tallit? What about during the week when I wear t’fillin and shuchle when I doven? Do you wanna hear about it in a meeting? In the meeting that you go to when you’re trying to stay clean?

There’s certainly a place for religion. It’s just not in my meeting. I love this program.

The following commentary is an edited version of a ‘Note’ I wrote for my Facebook page.  Although the initial information is basically the same, but in a condensed way, I have added a few words at the end for this venue.

You see, I have this neighbor who calls the cops on all of her neighbors, every chance she gets.  She has never knocked on anyone’s door and said, “Excuse me, can you fix (this or that problem)?

She’s called the cops on her neighbor to her right because his dog was barking (which it wasn’t).  She’s called the cops on that neighbor because leaves from his tree fell in her yard.

She’s called the cops on her neighbor to her left and said that he was sexually harassing her, because he glanced her way on his way to drop a bag of garbage in his trash can. She called the cops on that neighbor because she said his dog was barking too loud (it doesn’t!).

She’s put traps in her yard, and baited them, and caught neighborhood cats; and calls animal control to take them to kitty jail. Never telling anyone where their pets have gone to.

If you park your car facing the wrong way, she calls the cops to have you ticketed.

And just recently, she says that she heard me use a curse word and wanted to have me arrested for “assault by obscenity”.

One of my neighbors got a copy of the police 911 call sheet from our block. It appears that Mrs. Seeker (sic) has called the cops something like 81 times in 3 years.

Back in “the day” I would’ve handled things a little different, that I can assure you.  When I was using, I was an angry, spiteful person with no qualms about doing bodily damage or property damage if I felt that I had been wronged.  I didn’t even hafta be correct.  Just feeling wronged was enough to rev my engine.

Don’t get me wrong, pardon the pun, but if someone actually attempted or succeeded in harming my wife or daughter, I can assure you, I could remember how to inflict pain on another human being.  But the thing is, these days, that sticks and stones may break my bones, but asshole neighbors will not live rent free in my head.

One of the greatest benefits I have received over these past two decades is that I have learned that I can write about something, talk about something, think about something and even dream about something; but just for today, I don’t have to act on that thing.  In fact, the dream part is usually its own best reward, because when I dream about doing a “thing” I don’t have to think it through or worry about consequences.

And in this day and age of cameras and video phones, if I real-time did do something, it’d prolly end up on YouTube just minutes before a warrant for my arrest would arrive at my door.

I love this program!

Have I ever told you about my last week using?  Yeah, I thought not.  Recovery is not about the using.  It’s not about the ripping and running.  It’s about the recovery!  But sometimes, like today, there is a comparison to be made from that week to this.

I ran out of friends, ran out of money and I ran out of dope, so I ran out in front of a truck.  Couldn’t even do that right!  But I got home and got to a meeting and I’ve been working the steps ever since.   Sometimes not so easy, sometimes by bare knuckles, sometimes by the skin of my teeth; but always staying clean means it’s always gonna get better.

So I saw my general practitioner, and I saw the kidney doctor; and I saw the nutritionist; and I saw the surgeon; and I saw the orthopedic doctor.  I guess it’s time to put on the saddle.

I need to stay off my feet, eat better and lose more weight.  Someone once told me that nothing tastes as good as being thin feels; but I’m sure they never had a piece of that Boston Crème Pie sitting on my kitchen counter!

But then, admitting that I need to make more changes, I remembered that I couldn’t do it alone, but more importantly, that something like this has happened before.  “This has all happened before, and it will all happen again.”  (Who caught that? Speak up.)

During a commercial I got up and walked to the refrigerator.  Habit, I think.  I opened it, looked in, and thought, “I really don’t need anything right now.  Maybe I can wait another set of commercials; (or another hour; another day).  Just for today I can do without a snack.  And I don’t hafta finish everything on my plate.  And I don’t hafta snack on candy or popcorn while watching a movie.

I lost 40 pounds, but stopped losing; like I hit a plateau.  When I hit that plateau I started snacking again and adding “white food” to my diet again.  “White food” like white bread, pasta, baked or mashed potatoes, long grain white rice, and other carb filled starches.  Just for today I don’t hafta eat those things.

I don’t hafta eat sweets today.  I don’t hafta have a snack today.  I can eat two vegetarian meals a week, it won’t kill me.  In fact, it’ll probably do the opposite.  I can take advice.  I can listen to other people’s experiences.  I can forge a program that works for me.  I can use all of those silly adages that worked for me before – One day at a time, I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired, just for today, if I don’t pick up I can’t (eat it), think it through, if it doesn’t get better in 90 days I can always get my misery back, you hafta be willing to put in the effort – and then I know I can lose more weight.

Not a diet, but a change of eating habits, along with getting back to the gym and the pool and staying off my leg as much as possible, and I can recover.  It works if you work it!

I love this program.

With 3 grown boys and an infant daughter, Terri and I have grown pretty good at adapting, inventing and improvising.  So every once in a while it amazes us both that we are both free at the same time, with some free time, and we know just what we want to do with that time – go grocery shopping.  Okay, maybe there’s something else we do, too, but this story is about grocery shopping!

So, as it goes, we get the baby, head to the truck, strap her in, settle in, put on our seat belts, and get the hell away from the male child-lets!  Anyway, we’re in the grocery store, pushing the cart, laughing with the baby, tossing some necessities in, and I see a young man, standing in front of the milk refrigerator, looking at the prices, checking his wallet, looking at the prices again, checking his wallet again, looking at the prices of other size milk containers and then just staring and standing.

It wasn’t all that long ago that I was a hate-filled, cynical, selfish, OCD, SOB, who cared little about people I passed in the real world, who I never planned on seeing again.  But it was painfully obvious that he wasn’t interested in milk for himself.  This young man, wearing a local store chain staff shirt, was there picking up milk for someone else; my bet, his pregnant or breast feeding wife or his infant or toddler baby.

And I realized that I had a few dollars in my pocket; that my wife and I were eating just fine; and it wasn’t all that long ago that I was a dollar short, a day late or in desperate need; and someone grabbed my collar and helped pull me up.  I asked my wife to watch our daughter and the cart and told her I would be right back.

I walked over and asked the young man if he was a little short.  He looked puzzled.  I pulled a five out of my pocket and handed it to him.  He looked at me, even more puzzled.  He said, “But….” and nothing else came out, as he stared at me and then the fin in his hand.

I told him that it was fine.  I said, “Get what you need, and one day, if you ever have the chance, help someone else and pay it forward.”  And I walked back to my wife, who was watching the whole thing, and she just smiled, without saying a word, and pushed on down the next aisle.

My life was not always a bowl of cherries.  Hell, even the pits would have been a welcome uplift, sometimes.  But my wife and children have never seen me loaded.  I’d been clean for a good number of years before I ever met my current wife, or my boys were even born.  They never knew me, except for the occasional ‘father-being-an-asshole’ routine, as that mean, angry, SOB.

When we finally got out to the truck and packed the groceries in the back bed, I said something silly like, “I needed to make sure I was all even up on my chances to get into heaven.”  And again, Terri just smiled and said, “You have nothing to worry about, dear.”

I love this program!

Once again I see how my life today is so much different than it was back when. F’rinstance, thirty eight years ago, I would get on a subway train, each morning, going from home, in Jackson Heights, Queens, to the 205th Street stop, in the Bronx, in order to go to school, at the Bronx High School of Science, wearing a yarmulke and a talit katan (with the fringes sticking out of the bottom of my shirt) in subway cars that also held the anti-Semitics from Jerome Avenue and Clinton High School. And I guess avoiding getting jumped by more assholes than I can handle by myself was my biggest problem of the day.

But that only lasted until I woke up one Saturday morning, dying for a cheeseburger, grabbed a handful of change, jumped on a bus, and went down to Hamburger Express for a “Bacon-Double” with cheese.

Then, twenty-seven years ago, I couldn’t keep a relationship with a woman that wasn’t sick and twisted (and even those didn’t last long); and my problem of the day was how to convert energy into cash, so I could cop, and get loaded.

Twenty-six years ago, it was how to stay clean “just for a few more hours”, or “until this overwhelming desire goes away”, or “until I could get to a meeting”, or “until I could stop sweating and puking”.

Today, my biggest pet peeves involve traffic. I hate stupidity; I hate erratic drivers; I hate those who would fail my “Nerf ball test”; and I loathe people who talk on their phones or worse yet, text, while they’re driving from here to there (I just want to mention, too, that I just used “their”, “they’re” and “there”, in one sentence; and I’m fairly certain I used all three correctly. Although that peeve doesn’t involve traffic – but could be considered part of my peeve of stupidity).

Stupidity is self-explanatory. If you miss your exit, go to the next – don’t stop in the left lane and try to cross three lanes of traffic so you can get to your overpriced cup of coffee on time. And asshole moves like that.

Erratic driving, the way I see it, happens when you’re going the speed limit, put on your cruise control, set up in the middle lane, and start cruising down the road; then you come upon a vehicle in your lane, driving slow enough that you’re seeing their rear bumper coming up fast, so you put on your signal, move left into the passing lane, and as you’re about to overtake their rear bumper, while you are still set on your cruise control, they speed up so you can’t pass them. Assholes.

Or the car in front of you slows down below the posted speed limit, in a curve that you know you’ve taken every day for the last five years at the posted speed or above (but only by an mph or two, Your Honor, I swear), so you move around him, continue through the curve, still set up on your cruise control, but as you exit the curve, they speed up, pass you on the straight-away, and get in front of you again.

Assholes.

My “Nerf ball test” may sound a little funny, but stay with me; you’ll appreciate it. I believe that every person who goes for a driver’s license must take my Nerf ball test. And if you’re over 70, you need to take it every year. What happens is, while you’re standing in line at the DMV, the officer behind the desk, as one of his duties, needs to take a Nerf ball, call on a person in line, and toss the Nerf ball at their face. If their reflexes are so bad that they can’t catch the Nerf ball, or at least block it from hitting them in the nose, they are not allowed to get behind the wheel of a four thousand pound vehicle on any road that I may be driving on while on a motorcycle or while in any other vehicle that I may be using to take my daughter to school.

Listen, a Nerf ball can’t travel that fast; it won’t hurt you if it hits you; and there is no reason that anyone, no matter how uncoordinated, should not be able to at least block it from hitting them square in the grill. The elderly people that I see getting in cars at the supermarket, the JCC, or at Walmart, should not be driving. They can barely walk, they can’t hear, their reflexes are non-existent, and they have arthritis so bad that they can’t grasp the steering wheel. But they’re allowed to get behind the wheel of a car? Not in any land where I would be king!

And last, but certainly not least, is using a phone while driving. I read an article that said that texting while driving was 2000+ times more dangerous than drinking and driving. I can believe it. At least when I was loaded I “tried” to pay attention to the road. Texters are actually moving forward, in traffic, with their eyes on the seat to their right, where their phone is, with one hand completely off mission, along with their brain. That’s not a typo. 2000 times more dangerous. Not just, “there were 4 close calls today involving drinking and there were 80 involving cell phone use”; no, not even 800; it was 8000 (plus) close calls, accidents or fatalities attributed to cell phone use while driving.

Almost always, I would see a car zipping down the passing lane, all of a sudden slow down, and when, while set up with my cruise control at exactly the speed limit (I swear, Your Honor), overtake them in the middle lane, glance over, and find them using a cell phone. Hey asshole – get off the phone and drive!

We watched a lady, trying to do the right thing, trying to use her voice actuated hands free phone, talking into the phone, and then looking down at the phone, making adjustments with her right hand, then talking into her phone, again, three or four times before giving up. Need to keep our distance from that one.

Hell, I can have both hands on the wheel, pay attention to everything in front of me, and because of my past jobs and businesses, having put 36-40 thousand miles a year on my vehicles for over 20 years, giving me at least 3-4 times more experience behind a wheel than most Americans; like having 60 to 80 years of experience rolled into 20; be using the OnStar hands free, voice activated, built in sat-phone that came with my truck, and still miss my exit if I’m talking to my wife. Get off the phone and drive. Or get off the road and phone. And pass me a Nerf ball.

This is my problem today. I’m not interested in getting loaded; I wanna be allowed to slam a 25 pound sledge hammer into the front bumper of any car in which the driver is using their phone, so the air bag will slam it smack into their face.  How times change!

I love this program!