Almost Dead

It happened in the blink of an eye and yet somehow it still managed to feel like it would never end.

It happened as I've always imagined that these types of things happen. Violently and without warning. Add a dimly lit parking lot on a humid dark summers night, a lone victim unsuspectingly carrying on about his business and you have the perfect four liner crime blurb in your local paper.

Except this time was different for me. This time I wasn't perusing through the Washington Post's crime beat section as I casually sipped my first cup of coffee at work. No... no... unfortunately for me, this time I was actually forced to live through the traumatizing real life experience.

As we walked our dog Emma through the apartment complex I thought to myself how nice it was to live in the burbs for the summer. It wasn't much passed 9:45 on a quiet Monday night and Matilda and I were on our way to the back parking lot to see if we could get Emma to do her business for the night.

After several failed attempts by Matilda and I to coax her into relieving herself we gave up and began walking back to the apartment. As we were walking back I noticed that Emma was finally ready to go do her business. I volunteered to walk the 250 feet or so back to the dog bag station in the parking lot and grab a bag.

As I neared the bagging station, about 500 feet away three dark figures caught my attention walking out of a foot path in the woods that connects the apartment parking lot to a large shopping center.

Even at this stage, I was fairly sure that trouble was imminent. Even though they were far enough away for me to outrun them, I considered all of my options. At this point I was under no immediate threat and I figured my best option was to get back to the middle of the well lit apartment complexwhere I felt confident that they would not dare to jack me.

As I walked as fast and inconspicuously as I could, the fear was too overwhelming to look behind me. At some point (and details are hazy at this point) I instinctually knew that they were behind me. Just mere seconds later I heard the fast pattering of running feet.

In a last act of desperation I opened my mouth to call out to Matilda to run and as my brain was crafting the words to roll off my tongue I thought better of the idea and decided not to tip them off to the fact that Matilda was ahead of me. And by this time she was well ahead of me.

"This is it" I thought to myself, my very first time ever being mugged. I wondered how would it go down? I had lived in Woodbridge for 5 years previous to this and knew that it was generally a safe upscale neighborhood. I was scared but not worried if you can even try to makes sense of that statement.

That all changed the moment I saw the small black pistol out of my peripheral vision and felt it make contact with the side of my head just and inch or two above my right ear. It was also at this time that I felt something sharp in my back as well as a clenched hand on the collar of my tee shirt.

My body was instantaneously overwhelmed by shock that I had trouble getting my legs to do what came natural to them. I could barely walk. Whatever chemical is secreted in your brain beyond adrenaline in high pressure situations is a god send. I immediately went into survival mode. As calm as watching the sunset I asked:

Me: "What do you want".
Robber 1: "Give me the money nigga".
Robber 2: "Give us money nigga or you gonna get hurt".
Me: "I'm walking my dog man, I have no money on me".
Robber 1: "You better get money nigga".
Me: "I've got money in my apartment, just chill, just relax".

As I tried desperately to reassure them that they were going to get paid, I saw a large object come towards my face, I reacted by falling into a yard as one of their fists made its first contact with the right side of my cheekbone.

As I laid in the damp grass I thought to myself that it's just a matter of time before I'm dead. What would my family think? What about the things that I haven't accomplished yet? It's amazing the things that run through your mind when you're life is in jeopardy.

I believe that I heard the distinct dry crackling sound of the high voltage stun gun before I first felt the current make its entrance into my rib cage and penetrate legs. I had never been stunned before and the only way that I can attempt to describe the feeling is that I can understand exactly why they call it a "stun gun". It wasn't exactly painful it was just was what it was.

Luckily one of these criminals had a fragment of a conscious and told the others to stop. As they grabbed me and pulled me up I got my first glimpse of the masks they were wearing. Apparently, the common run of the mill criminal ski mask has been replaced by the more stylish and intimidating scream mask.

As they walked me like a dog with the gun firmly pressed to the back of my head, I quickly scanned the area ahead of me to look for Matilda. She was no where in my limited scope of vision. Later on after the fact I learned she had heard an odd sound (the tazer) and saw them pounce on me. Knowing I had no money on me she ran up the stairs and into the apartment to get money.

After reaching the steps up to our apartment I began to cycle through a list of ideas for not letting them into the apartment. Them entering the apartment was an assured deal breaker for me. I knew that if they entered the apartment Matilda and I would b0th be found tied up and dead sometime the next day more than likely. However, as I tried to explain that she would get the money and throw it down, criminal one said he was going to shoot me. As I got three quarters of the way up the stairs the door opened and Matilda was holding onto cash, as one of them stepped a foot into the house Matilda told him that he was not coming in and I said he was not to make another step.

After an exchange of about $50 cash, I stood nearly face to face with him still with his scream mask. He said something to me that I do not remember. Something insulting but neither Matilda nor I can remember exactly what it was.

I stood there and proudly took it like a bitch. You want to know why?...

Because Matilda and I were both still alive at a cost of only $25 a piece.
Because this kid risked 15 years in prison for what I make in 1 hour. That's .0003 $ per hour.
Because statistically speaking this dumb son of a bitch will most likely never live past 30.
and lastly...
Because no matter what I think of that I could have done differently I can smile and think to myself that I know we did everything right and the fact that we are both still alive proves it.

The Thunder Rolls

June 21st may be the first official day of summer but Memorial Day weekend is the "unofficial" kick off of to the summer season.

Officially or unofficially, whatever your persuasion may be, the start of summer couldn't have started nicer than last Saturday afternoon in suburban Washington, DC as the sun was shining bright and the air was warm to the touch.

Matilda's brother Ara and his fiancee Lucy who were in town for a wedding hopped in their rental car (a PT Cruiser none the less) and headed southbound to Richmond for a rehearsal dinner they were invited to.

As for me, well I had my sights set on attending the annual DelFest bluegrass concert for the evening. Nestled in the Cumberland Gap region, DelFest attracts several top bands in the bluegrass circuit. Visions of sipping beer, banjo pickin, and slapping my thigh to some bluegrass music occupied my mind for most of the day. In preparation, I decided to clean my motorcycle for the festival and of course the Rolling Thunder Memorial Day motorcycle parade the following day.

Later on that evening after I had cleaned the bike, done the laundry, and performed a host of other chores for the day I simply could not muster up the energy to drive the three hours out to Cumberland Maryland on my motorcycle. I was dangerously low on fuel and no amount of Red Bull was going to top off my tank.

As tired as I was, I still managed to find enough energy to be disappointed in myself for not making the effort to go to something I had been looking forward to for so long. Mentally torturing myself I couldn't help but think about how tonight there would be no dancing, no thigh slapping good times, no sipping of beer... (well lets not get carried away here)... of course there would be sipping of beer and perhaps even some of my own banjo pickin but it would be done in the comfort and safety of Matilda's living room.

Later that night after having a few beers with my friend Bryan I happened to catch the eleven o'clock news while flipping through channels. One of the lead stories was concerning Del Fest.

Apparently, a violent storm had passed through the area resulting in the main stage being destroyed by wind. Four people had also sustained minor injuries from lighting that had struck the festival.

I thought to myself how ironic it was that my own pure laziness saved me from a torrential downpour and the possibility of being struck by lighting.

Lucidly dreaming but soundly sleeping in my own bed that night I was awkwardly comfortable that I did not make it to the festival that evening.

The next day was great. I woke up at 11:00 a.m. and rushed to the shower in order to make the twelve o'clock motorcycle parade going on downtown. Driving on my motorcycle downtown there was car and motorcycle traffic everywhere.

After driving down several side streets and getting denied access I ended up attaching myself (uninvited of course) to a group of about seven Harley's.

As we pulled up to a police barricade for no reason that I could discern, the officer moved an orange barrel and let us directly into the parade completely circumventing the Pentagon staging area.

Deciding not to immediately jump into the parade I ended up parking my bike on the side of the street next to about fifteen other riders from an Ohio chapter and watched the parade for a good two and a half hours.

I could not believe the shear volume of motorcycles slowly moving down Independence Avenue. This was the largest Rolling Thunder parade I had ever witnessed. The name "Rolling Thunder" was the name given to one of the most intense operations in the Vietnam war. Rolling Thunder was designed specifically for intimidation purposes against the Northern Vietnamese by dropping massive bombs on several disbursed targets throughout the country.

It was hard not to see the symbolism in the name "Rolling Thunder" as hundreds of thousands of eclectic cycles and cyclists took the the streets to bring attention to their cause. With engines revved in rebellion, they slowly crept down Constitution Avenue all the while knowing they were just a stones throw from the White house.

Some of the bikes were rigged out with the most random decorations. A personal favorite for me was the large Buffalo head (yes it was real) mounted to the sissy bar on the back of a motorcycle.

How random I thought to myself. I could not think of any significance of a Buffalo head to the Memorial day holiday. Maybe he was from Buffalo?

In any case, the day was great and my summer has officially begun. Now if mother nature would just cooperate!

Cannonball Run

Five hundred and fifty miles, four states, three beaches, two days, and one hell of a ride.

It all started Friday evening when I hopped on the bike and drove up to Baltimore to see Larry Keel with Natural Bridge perform at Baltimore's equivalent of Iota... The 8x10.

As much as I typically enjoy drinking a beer and spacing out to the Keels, this was one show I just could not get into.

I'm going to chalk it up to the performing environment since I am more accustomed to seeing Larry and Jenny perform on a stage outdoors while under the influence of alcohol.

The highlight of the show for me was when I met a married couple from Buffalo. I later discovered that the woman and I had both went to Fredonia just one year apart from each other. Her for Comp. Sci and myself for Media Arts. After rattling off several names we failed to connect to Kevin Bacon.

Later that night I crashed at Matilda's cousins house in Canton. Early the next morning it was off to Wilmington Delaware to watch my niece play soccer. The drive up to Delaware on 95 north was the worst part of the entire trip.

I think they should amend the death and taxes proverb to include the fact that you can always count on some douche bag with Jersey plates riding 6 inches from your bumper on Northbound 95.

Anyhow, eventually after making it to Wilmington Delaware I spent the next two hours driving around in sunny 85 degree weather with a leather jacket on desperately trying to find the school where Brittany was playing. After stopping to ask at least six people for directions it occurred to me that people in Delaware seemed to live in their own world. I think they call it Space Case ville or something to that effect.

Not one single person had any idea where I could find River Rd. Eventually, I did find 122 River Road but to my horror I realized my sister had given me the wrong address when 122 River Road turned out to be a modest residential house.

Fuming at myself for not printing directions beforehand, I met up with my sister and her family at their hotel room in Newark Delaware, drank my two beer motorcycling limit, and devoured some greasy pizza.

Shortly thereafter, I was headed southbound down famous Route One in search of my overnight destination - Rehoboth Beach. Endless rolling tobacco farms, bridges over narrow ocean inlets, and the smell of the salty sea characterized my trip down the Delmarva peninsula.

About fifty miles deep into an eighty five mile drive with the sun setting to my west my bike fizzled out right before an eerie looking bridge in the middle of nowhere. Slightly panicked, I realized I needed gas, I switched the gas line over to my reserve and prayed that my bike would start. Thank god it did and I was scrambling to the nearest gas station.

After arriving in Rehoboth Beach with grand visions of a crazy night out, I would say it was around the time I took the first sip of a Dogfishhead beer when I realized that I needed a motel room STAT because I was about to pass out from exhaustion. The Seabreeze inn would suffice. After washing the road grit out of my eyes, I laid down in bed for just a minute when I heard voices from outside the door and realized it was morning.

After getting some breakfast and strolling along the beach, I hit Route 50 West to DC. The initial part of the drive was uneventful. About three quarters of the way home I came to the Bay Bridge. While driving over the bridge I had to remind myself to take deep breaths. Being that high up on a motorcycle over water with no pull off lane is somewhat intimidating to say the least. However after a few adrenaline filled minutes I was back on solid ground.

About 25 miles outside of Alexandria I was ready to throw in the towel. My butt was numb, I was sweating profusely, my arms were sunburned and I was dehydrated. I had to pull off and pretend I was shopping inside a 7/11 to cool down. When I made it home I checked the temperature and it said 96 degrees. The rest of the night I was in a relaxation mode.

My Own Mile High Club

As we made our final decent towards the massive Denver International Airport the view was absolutely astonishing. Snow covered mountain peaks sparsely decorated with vegetation smoothly flowed into seemingly empty abandoned valleys. We were at the start of the Rockies.

It's been a long time since I have had the privilege to visit Denver. I remember when I was younger my mother and father took me to Denver during one of my fathers many business trips. I do not remember much from that experience except for an odd random Abraham Lincoln ice sculpture in some ritzy mountain resort.

Matilda and I met up with her younger brother who picked us up from the airport and promptly drove us to the nearest watering hole (a biker bar none the less) to quench my alcohol craving and satisfy Matilda's blood sugar level. Bikers --check--, a thick haze of cigarette smoke --check--, dirty bathrooms --check--, and cheap beer made the Piper Inn the perfect dive.

After the long flight and the subsequent feasting on wings and drinking cheap beer we elected to stay in and relax that night.

Later the next day Matillda's brother took me up and into the Rockies to a ski resort called Keystone. As it turned out, we got a fantastic deal to snowboard all day for only $32 in observance of Keystone's customer appreciation day.

We pulled into the gravelly parking and as I glanced towards the crest of the mountain I could already feel my helpless lungs trying to acclimatize themselves to the lack of oxygen.

Tickets paid for with snow boards in hand, we stumbled into an enclosed gondola and made our way up to the summit of the mountain. I was in absolute awe of the scenery the entire ride up the mountain. I thought to myself how inferior the bunny hill ski slopes I had previously experienced in the Mid-Atlantic area were in relation to this goliath of a mountain.

The conditions on the top half of the mountain were beyond our expectations. Fresh powder took most of the laboring work out of boarding. However, half way down the mountain the conditions became something less than accommodating. The previous day had been about 72 degree's and sunny which made the bottom portion of the mountain feel like I should exchange my snowboard for a pair of ice skates.

After two quick runs down the mountain I felt as if my legs had been crafted out of jello. The ice was doing its damage and I was unsure how many more runs I could make in these conditions.

Several times with mild embarrassment I had to stop to catch my breath and massage my calves. The good thing was the mountain was so enormous and contained so many different trails that we would go several minutes without seeing anyone else.

It was during one gondola ride that we met some Australians who had come half way around the world to ski the great Rockies. They told us that these were the best mountains in the world for skiing and that they made the trip annually.

All in all we made about ten runs down the mountain before we surrendered our aching bodies to the two hour ride back into Denver. Along the way we stopped at bbq joint and choked down some pit beef subs like two emaciated savages. The vacation was off to a good start.

Balance of Life

What a hell of a Winter. It is safe to say that at any given moment from the frame of late October through early January you were most likely to find me in one of three places: laying on a couch, in a random doctors office, or slumped in front of my work computer desperately trying to act productive.

As you are probably aware, during the latter part of October I sold most of my belongings and I moved out of my house and into Matilda's house. The moving process was undoubtedly stressful to say the least, and as a result the process must have taken its toll on my body's immune system.

My admiration over completing the moving process was violently terminated one day while at work when I was casually talking to a colleague. Out of nowhere my eyes began to feel out of focus, I began feeling quezzy and soon thereafter objects in the room began to spin. Not too long after that came the nausea and vomiting.

Dismissing it as something that I must have eaten, I worked the rest of the day and came home and basically collapsed onto the couch. When I awoke the next day things were slightly better. Instead of the merry-go-round feeling I had a feeling of being on a small ship battling six foot sea swells.

After about two weeks of this feeling with little to no improvement I went to my first Ear, Nose and Throat doctor. This would kick off what would turn out to be a long series of doctors visits, blood tests, brain scans and CT scans. With the initial absence of a definitive diagnosis came the talks of being screen for the possibility of cancer, multiple sclerosis, HIV, (insert several other scary diseases here).

Many anxiety ridden sleepless nights followed. I could not help but wonder how many tumors or MS induced brain lesions would be found on my MRI scan. Or what blood born pathogen might have decided to take up residence in my blood stream and help itself to my white blood cells.

After being tested for every invasive microbe known to mankind my original diagnosis of vestibular neuritis seemed the only diagnosis to make sense. Yet, since vestibular neuritis is a diagnosis of exclusion and since I have always been a bit of a hypochondriac, this was painful for my anxiety level.

Slowly but surely I have recovered most of my balance. My blurred vision has gotten significantly better and I have completely quit smoking and I did not take a single drink of alcohol or caffeine for about four months. I now take daily vitamins and try to exercise daily.

The impact that this has had on me is immeasurable. Never has my health been threatened to this extent. I have sincerely learned the value of good health and will cherish it from this point forward. While the severity of my ailment isn't nearly as bad as other life threatening diseases, in the moment it still felt overwhelming.

Moving on up

Well, once again I apologize for my extended absence and the resulting lack of new blog entries.

This is a hard time of year for me. The deficiency of Fall sunlight and the cooling temperatures each contribute in their own way to my somber, lethargic frame of mind. I have to keep reminding myself that snowboarding season is just around the corner.

To be fair, I have been in the process of moving and as a result I have been overwhelmingly busy for the last few weeks. I sold what I could and threw out most of what I could not. It's absolutely incredible the amount of "stuff" you can accumulate in the course of just a few years. The rest of my possessions deemed "worthy of keeping" are now neatly packed into a 5x5 climate controlled storage locker.

What once served the purpose of being my primary residence is now a rental property and long term investment. About the only good thing that has come out of the current state of the housing market is that the renters market is in a frenzy since people are cautious about buying.

I am going to use the next few months to save cash for some exciting vacation plans that I have in Spring.

28 Days to Make or Break a Habit

Since I have not been actively participating in any outlandish excursions as of late, I figured I would digress a bit from the traditional theme of this blog.

Recently, I decided to abstain from drinking for 28 days, and to quit smoking indefinitely as part of an annual birthday time get healthy initiative.

Here I am and proud to say that after a long and sometime stressful 28 days, I still remain alcohol and nicotine free. A major feat for myself.

Even though I smoked cigarettes primarily after drinking, I began to find that they became mutually complimentary of each other. It was hard to have a smoke without a beer in my hand or to have a beer without lighting up a smoke.

So 28 days later; goal accomplished; I stand at the decisive decision to either take the chance and test the waters or maintain my abstinence. On one hand, I feel like I can handle alcohol while still making the conscious decision not to light up. However, on the other hand it's become a personal challenge to me to see how long I can go without alcohol.

Will let you know.