On a Young Man's Funeral

I'm going to be honest here. This event has been sloshing around in my mind, begging for some sort of treatment ever since it happened, and I've found it extremely difficult to put it into words in a way that does it justice. It's difficult to really look at this scene and try to make something out of it without running the risk of belittling its significance and tragedy or becoming overly dramatic. With this in mind, I will cautiously convey to you a moment that has left a permanent impression in my mind and soul.
I've been to four funerals in my life, and only one funeral was for someone to whom I had no relation whatsoever. He was a young man (close to my age, give or take a year or two), and his father had long been friends with my father. He had hung himself, finally succumbing to the suffocating weight of depression after years of struggle.
I had never met the young man; I only knew his father by association with my own. I didn’t even view the body. But what reverberates with me to this day is the overwhelming sense of despair that permeated the air that day.
Most of the deaths in my family have been older people or those who lived dangerously. Losing them, while painful, was still something we were prepared to deal with at any moment.
This was a young man in his early twenties. It was something else completely.

There was an inconsolable mother. There was a father who, after years of trying to get closer to his son, suddenly saw it all vanish in one night. There were countless other friends and relatives who thought they’d see the young man again the next day, the next week, or at the next family get-together. Instead, they suddenly found themselves doubled over in infinite grief at the sight of his lifeless body. There was uncontrollable sobbing. There were expressionless stares that hid hearts crushed by one man’s decision to take his own life. There was a priest, standing before those closest to the deceased, delicately trying to convey to them that there was a real possibility that this boy could go to hell.

I witnessed the total collapse of the human spirit that day. All of its dignity, all of its grandeur, crushed like an ant beneath the formidable weight of despair.

I certainly shed tears during the funeral, but not entirely for the deceased. I also cried for his family and friends, who now and forever will have to carry with them the scars from young one man’s passionate act. This is knowledge that still haunts me on occasion.

Branded like an animal

Don't write checks your ass can't cash.

Super Bowl XLV: Reflections

I've been trying to take a crack at this since the game was over without sounding like a crybaby, but it looks like that's not going to happen.
That was an ending that was very, very painful to accept. Having come back from a 21-3 deficit to make it a one-score game with less than a minute remaining, it seemed like everything was destined for yet another big Steeler comeback in the postseason. As we all saw, that was clearly not the way things panned out.
This was particularly painful on a personal level for me, having lost my grandmother last August. She was a huge Steeler fan, through and through. When she was alive, I'd call her after every game to talk about her hometown Steelers, among other things. After the Steelers won close games against both Baltimore and the Jets to clinch a trip to the Super Bowl, I was convinced against my better judgment that they would win it all just for her. It's kind of a slap in the face knowing that Pittsburgh was that close to sealing the deal. But that's life. No such thing as destiny, it seems.
It's funny; in all other walks of life, I'll scoff at superstition, but when it comes to sports I somehow lose all ability to think rationally. Case in point: I've opted not to shave or cut my hair for weeks on end, all the while keeping my mouth shut in an effort not to jinx 53 men who have no real-world relation to me whatsoever. As I kept my mouth shut and my appearance unkempt, I heard nothing but cocksure predictions that the Packers would stomp Pittsburgh. The only stomping that occurred involved my heart, of course, but it would have been satisfying to see the trash-talkers get their due.
The straw that breaks the camel's back in all this, however, is the foolhardy bet I made with one of my buddies, a big Packer fan. He, being an avid fan of body art and tattoos, proposed a bet in which the fan of the losing team would have the winning team's logo shaved into his head. Suffice to say that I'm not looking forward to hanging out with my friends tomorrow. At least I'll get a free haircut. Here's a "before" picture, hideous beard and all:

The "after" picture will come tomorrow. If anything, the mutilation I will endure tomorrow will be a marked improvement. I've already shaved the beard.
All in all, it was an excellent year of football loaded with excitement. Parity is surely the theme in the modern NFL, which is good news for all fans. Consider this factoid: only three different teams have represented the AFC in the Super Bowl since 2003: the Patriots, the Colts, and the Steelers. All three of those teams have been knocked off in the Super Bowl since 2007. The Pats and Colts have yet to return. This may be a sign of major change in the AFC, especially with the Jets leading the charge to upend the three powers holding the conference hostage. I'm not completely happy about the prospect of not seeing the Steelers back in the mix, but it will certainly help the NFL as a whole if every team truly is on an even playing field.
Having sobered up a bit, I can take a little more solace in the fact that Aaron Rodgers and Desmond Bishop, two former Cal football players, have won rings (with Rodgers being the first Cal quarterback of all time to win the Super Bowl).
Now that this whole mess is done and over with, I think now I can finally kick my own ass enough to leap into the job market (the sooner I score an interview, the sooner I can get the damn Packer logo off of my skull).

What to expect

Most of the time, these things get started up with one thing in mind and usually fizzle rather abruptly, so bear with me as I try to find an identity for this blog. It'll probably be a long, excruciating process for both the reader(s?) and the blogger. In fact, there's a distinct possibility that this blog will remain in this stem-cell like state, knowing nothing but growth and no real purpose. But that's okay. We'll have fun while this tumor of directionless thought grows.
This blog will, for the foreseeable future at least, be about a great many things. For one, I am a rabid sports fan, supporting mainly my local Los Angeles Angels and the not-so-local Pittsburgh Steelers, along with my athletically-challenged alma mater, the California Golden Bears. There will be ramblings and rantings with regard to these entities, ranging from the incoherent to the maniacal. Sports fans are like that. Consider yourself warned.
But first and foremost, I am a man of art. I majored in English in my tenure at Cal, so be warned that my mind has been so warped as to see nearly everything in a pretentiously significant light. Do not be surprised if you see one thousand words dedicated to the simplistic beauty of, say, a streetlight.
With that said, also know that I may throw a complete curveball here and there. This is my blog, after all.
So, if you have either the patience or lack of good sense to sit down and have a read, I invite you to do so. And please, provide your feedback when you feel the urge.