Tag Archives: #life

The Day the Orange Penny Dropped

If I was a musician I be composing a song, as an artist my hands would be covered paint, but I write so this is how I express views and opinions to anyone willing to listen.

November 9th, 2016

It’s official. For the next four years the United States of America’s SEO will be a near-billionaire, reality TV star businessman. The world watches in horror as they witnessed their countless jokes on dumb Americans being proven true before their very eyes, and it’s no longer funny. Those of us with a common sense of decency and ability to think freely are waking up this morning with paranoid uncertainty towards the future.

It’s not that we are disappointed that Hillary lost; we are angry that Trump got away with winning the way he did. As if this world was sucked into an alternate reality in which many Americans decided to put their trust in ideas straight out of 1937. We are scared because of all the things a Trump presidency means.

It means that even in 2016, an era where we have the answer to every question in the universe in the palm of our hand, the majority of people are still misinformed. It means that the voice of the people is easily swayed by opinion-based journalism and non-factual statements in the media. How did a man who acts like a parody of everything a leader shouldn’t be win the highest office in the land? More idiots believed his bullshit. Period. Which is what shocks me the most. KKK endorsement, sexual assault court date, and hate speech are bad enough, but the fact that he won by literally not saying anything at all is what crushes any hope I had for humanity in this country.

Working in marketing has taught me to read between the lines and distinguish speech from buzz words. “God” “Great” “Patriot” “Best” “Islamic” “Terror” “Insider” “Bless” are all examples of buzz words which are burned into our brains so that when we hear them in a speech it catches our attention. I ask all of you Trump supporters to please tell me 1 plan Trump has said to “making America great again”, besides building a wall and deporting millions. An actual plan. Can’t think of one? Yeah, that’s because he fucking didn’t say anything! His speeches hold the same weight as a used car salesmen’s pitch.

What most failed to realize is that we all know Hillary is an example of everything wrong with our political system. They call her crooked and corrupt, fine, who do you think is stuffing her pantsuits with dollar bills? Non-political insiders like Trump who have deeper pockets than him. You picked the representation of why we hate politicians in the first place to run our country!

But what hurts the most is that in an era that was once looked at as the bright future of tomorrow is just a déjà vu of yesterday. How is it possible that in 2016 we still have people who think its 1963? How can we be this divided in this country? A country with the power to offer the absolute best to its people in order to truly be the best in the world. This election proved two timeless lessons: greed is the root of all evil and ignorance truly is bliss. It’s the only way a sane person can put this election into some form of reality.

So what’s next? Those who know will tell us soon, but until then we have to view this for the learning opportunity it is. “You have to go away before you can comeback”, “The night is always darkest before the dawn”, “It has to get worse before it can get better”, pick whichever one sounds best for you and roll with it. I feel that if this Trump presidency is going to happen then we have to take it as our rock bottom wake up call and get ready for rehab in 2020. We have to stop letting the majority uneducated people of this country pick our leaders for us.

Whatever happens over the next four years, we will endure as we have throughout the history of this young country. Maybe life’s sick sense of humor will deliver a twist ending for the better, you never know. Having that flicking light of hope is necessary to keep moving forward through this valley of orange hate that lays ahead. As many other authors, writers, and journalist will tell you. Don’t feel defeated, don’t feel depressed, and don’t feel sorry for yourself. We don’t have that luxury anymore. Now, more than ever, we need the voice of common sense to finally disturb the sound of ignorance that is ringing in our ears. It’ll be tough, annoying, and probably tragic, but time will soon sort this out in the past and we will have something else to catch our attention.

Good luck fellow Americans.

1970 Chevelle SS: Garage POW

The Story of a 1970 Chevelle SS, told by the car itself.

I don’t remember the day I was born, but I have a faint image of the moment they slapped these shiny SS badges on me. Sitting center stage on the showroom floor can give any car a massive ego. I sat there sporting my arrest me red paint, and black racing stripes, just day dreaming of the day I get to strut my stuff on the sunset strip. Then one day the call came in that I had been purchased over the phone, which made me a little sad. I always felt that whoever was going to buy me was going to walk into the dealership and stop dead in their tracks when they say me and all my muscle car glory. Then they would open the hood to stare at my 454 cubic inch heart, and the salesmen would utter my favorite phase, “most powerful muscle car on the market for 1970.”

I didn’t get to go out much after I was delivered to my new home. I mostly stayed covered up in the garage, I didn’t even know who my owner was. During my first week, as I was sleeping in the garage when I was awoken by lights coming on and felt the cover being brushed across my panels to expose one of my headlights – I could see a small boy looking at me. He must have been maybe ten years old, still wearing his PJ’s as he stared at his reflection on my chrome bumper. “When my big brother comes back from his tour we are going to have so much fun going fast. He said he would teach me how to drive a 4-speed with you.” The little boy said as he ran his little fingers across my flawless paint. I wondered if the boy’s big brother was my new owner, I couldn’t wait to meet him.

At least once a week the little boy, who I overheard his mother call Johnny once, came to visit me at night. Sometimes he would sit in the driver seat and pretend to steer or turn on the radio, and once he fell asleep in one of my bucket seats. On weekends, Johnny’s father would come in and turn the key to start me up. It was one of the few times I got to hear my own voice and every time Johnny would stop whatever he was doing to listen to me. His eyes would widen in sync with my throttle. Whenever the father juiced the gas pedal and my 454 gave out a roar, Johnny’s eyes widened in excitement.

Johnny must have been very persistent because one day his father took me out of the garage and drove us around the block a few times. I never seen Johnny so happy and I felt so proud to be the reason for his happiness. The father even ran me through the gears to show Johnny how fast I was and I felt my tires get hot and sticky for the first time. I felt like I could catch, eat, and spit out anything on the road that dared to go wheel to wheel with me at a street light. A memory to last a lifetime for Johnny and his father.

I was getting attached to my family, and I hadn’t even met my real owner yet. Even though I wasn’t on the road as often I liked I was still able to gaze out in the afternoons and weekends when the garage door was opened and Johnny lifted the cover so I could see out and he could stare at me while he played out in the yard. Life was good during these months.

It was winter when I saw Johnny’s mother go to the mail box and opened a letter that made her drop to her knees in tears. Johnny and his father came to her aid, but soon they too fell to the ground in uncontrollable tears. That night, Johnny came in to the garage and covered me up. “I’m sorry”, was the last thing he said before he shut off the light and left me alone in the dark.

Johnny stopped visiting me after that night. His father stopped opening the garage door and instead started to use me as a shelf to put his tools and boxes. Over time I felt the oil in my system begin to run down into the bottom of the pan, and my tires begin to lose air until I was sitting on my magnum 500 wheels. After a few years you couldn’t tell a car was sitting in the garage for I was completely covered in stuff. The depression was unbearable so I decided to just go to sleep.

I had no idea how much time had gone past when I was woken up by the sound of a commotion in the garage. I couldn’t see what the sound was but I started to feel weight being lifted off my hood. Someone was removing stuff looking for me! It took probably a whole afternoon of moving stuff around before the cover was removed and I could see day light once again. A young man stood before me wearing a black T-shirt with some kind of monsters drawn on it and had the word “KISS” written across it. He had long hair and smiled when he saw me. “Sorry it took me so long David…I’ll watch over it for you. I promise.” He said. It was Johnny! He was grown up now.

It took Johnny a few days to completely clear a path so I could be pushed out into the driveway. Out in the daylight I was treated to fresh gas, oil, battery, and a much needed detailing. Soon I was brought back to my younger years. Thankfully, being trapped in a garage for nearly a decade can retire the aging process.

The first time back on the road I couldn’t believe it, I thought I was going to wake up in darkness again. The other cars on the road looked a lot different from the last time I was out. Seeing cars with wild paint schemes and wearing huge fat tires with chrome side pipes. They looked wild! The gas tasted different as well, it had a very nasty aftertaste that I didn’t like at all but at least it kept me running. I was itching to stretch my wheels.

I soon got my chance when we stopped at a stoplight and a cousin Pontiac rolled up alongside me. Least I think it was a Pontiac, I wasn’t quite sure because it had an ugly gold bird painted on its hood and half of its roof was missing. My ego took a hit when I spotted a 455 Super Duty badge on its hood. “One cubic inch bigger than me, should I be nervous?” I thought to myself. Johnny gave the Pontiac’s driver the signal – the race was on.

I was amped up as I revved past 3,000 RPM wanting to launch into outer space. The light flashed green and I threw Johnny back in his seat as he tried to hang on to the shifter to change into second gear. Tunnel vision was setting in as I ran hard up to 60mph and I couldn’t see where the Pontiac was but I knew he wasn’t ahead of me. I didn’t want to stop and a gear change into fourth meant I was finally running flat out. I was doing what I was built to do all those years ago, go fast and look good doing it.

All these years of never knowing my real owner when all the while it was Johnny who was there, and even though he left me, he was the one who came back to rescue me. I was not left behind.