My Best Friend

My best friend died last night/this morning at 4am, in my arms. He had been suffering for about a week and a half with either some sort of digestive problem or a less-severe version of canine bloat. He had been unable to digest any food and any time he ate, he was restless and whimpering in pain. Taking him off solid foods worked for a day or two, but then even soups started causing him severe discomfort. He was bellowing in pain all night last night, and after a while I got the sinking feeling he was dying. Around 4am I heard him fall against his house and he let out a couple yelps. When I got there, he was leaned over the front of his house with his neck caught against the side wood. It looked like his neck was broken. I jumped out and laid him down, cradling him in my arms. As soon as I did his bladder released and I knew what was happening. For about five minutes I watched his breathing dissipate, until he finally breathed his last few breaths. He wasn't whining or whimpering during this time so I kind of wanted him to go. He was truly my best friend and the smartest dog I'd ever come across. If you watched his eyes, you could see him thinking.

Rest in peace, King.
December 1999 - November 29, 2009

The Misfit Crew

Let me tell you about these guys I knew. Back when I was about ten, my parents had this liquor store. I would go there every day after school and help out, but mostly just hang around and watch people play any of the three video games located at the front of the store. This was around 1987, so there was a fighting game, an airplane shooting game, and a driving game. There was also a group of guys who I got to know as video game "regulars," but they almost always trickled in one at a time.

Bobby.

Bobby was the first of the group that I'd met. Bobby was white, about six feet tall, still in high school(they all were), and your prototypical 80's/90's headbanger-type. I remember when he first came in, I watched him play from a distance, mainly because he was scary-looking to a ten year old.
Bobby had curly, dirty-blond hair that he always stuffed under a backwards black baseball cap. He had a permanent semi-sneer on his mouth, never spoke much, and walked in a kind of slouched strut. He was always wearing black jeans, combat boots, heavy metal band t-shirts, a flannel, and a big, thick, black leather jacket covered in small spikes.
When I would watch him play from behind the counter, occassionally he would turn around and notice me. He would give a thumbs-up or some sort of gesture after beating an enemy, then go back to his game. In time, I would venture closer and closer to Bobby, eventually ending up right beside him.
"What's your name?" he once asked me.
"Charles," I said.
"Alright, Charlie," he'd say. "Watch me beat this guy."
From then on I was "Charlie" to these guys. Bobby would later say "what's up, Charlie?" or "this is Charlie," when he'd come in with his friends, and from then on I became Charlie, the little kid whose parents owned the store. I'd wander out from behind the counter whenever any of them showed up to play and stand right beside them, watching.
Bobby never cussed in front of me, at least not to my recollection. I recall that he was always a bit more rowdy when he came in with his group, but when it was just he and I in front of those games, he was a well-behaved guy. He'd always say something to try and make me laugh, and I'd laugh. He'd spend maybe an hour or so on the games, dropping quarter after quarter into the machine and then going to the counter to get more change. When he was done he'd say "later on, Charlie," and strut out the door.

Kenny.

Kenny was the second one I'd met, but he wasn't as friendly as Bobby. He wasn't unfriendly, though. He just wasn't into paying a kid as much attention as Bobby did.
Kenny was short and small and extremely pale. Looking back I wonder if he was an albino or just one of those guys who doesn't tan. Kenny had really long, thick blonde hair, and he didn't dress all in black like Bobby. Kenny always wore a surf or skate t-shirt and blue jeans, but there was no doubt from his hair that he was a "headbanger."
Like Bobby, Kenny would come in and stick to the machines and I'd wander out to go watch him. All of Kenny's attention would be on the screen, and he would yell and curse at the enemy whenever they managed to beat him. Occassionally, he'd indignantly say something to me like, "aw, man, did you see that?" and continue cursing out the machine, but never really payed me no mind. He'd say "later, Charlie," when he left, most times angry, and I'd wave bye.

Matt.

Matt was shorter than Bobby but taller than Kenny. He had really thin, long brown hair that kind of parted down the middle and flowed down in a 70's style cut. He always wore tank-top undershirts that are now commonly referred to as "wife-beaters." Like Kenny, he didn't dress in all black either. His tanks were always light blue or grey and he matched them with blue jeans.
There was a Circle-K franchise mini-mart directly across the street from us that my parents always considered direct competition. I remember Matt came in one night holding a joystick from an arcade video game not unlike ours and gave it to me.
"Here, you want this?" He said, holding out the joystick.
"What's this?" I asked.
"I broke it off a game over at Circle-K 'cuz it got me mad," he said, smirking. Matt had kind of a devious-looking face. He was also pretty thin but pretty muscular.
I remember I kept that joystick behind the counter for a long time, explaining to my parents who had given it to me and why. They laughed. I appreciated that Matt never did that to our games. Matt was friendlier than Kenny but not as friendly as Bobby.

Dean.

Dean was the last of the "main core" of the group. The other two I'll mention after him I always considered somewhat fringe members because they didn't come around as much as Bobby, Kenny, Matt, and Dean, and because they weren't really friendly to me at all. They weren't unfriendly either, they just didn't pay me any mind.
Dean had kind of a cherubic face. He wasn't pale, but often times parts of his face would break out in redness like he was really embarrassed or drunk. He was quieter than the rest of the guys and though he wore combat boots, jeans, and a leather jacket, his face counteracted any scariness to him. He had short, brown hair and braces on all of his teeth, which made his baby-face appearance even less daunting.
I think my parents liked him best because he never cursed, yelled, or slammed the machine when it beat him. I'd always wander out and watch him play but he never really spoke to me. He'd just play, get red, and play some more. He was as tall as Bobby with an average high school boy's physique.
I probably wouldn't remember Dean so much if it hadn't been for the fact that a couple years later Bobby or one of the guys told my mother that Dean had died. They said he had jumped in front of one of the trains that passed through the city a few blocks away. I didn't really understand it at the time, and I guess to be honest I still don't. I guess his quietness was more than just shyness. Who knows. I remember after that, when the guys would come in, there was something missing in them. It was never as fun or friendly as when Dean was around.

Archie and Jessie.

Archie and Jessie were the "fringe" members that I remember. I remember Archie because a few times the other guys would say that I reminded them of their friend, Archie. When Archie finally came in I realized it was because Archie was Asian. I remember the first time he came in, he was with all the others and they started joking with him that I reminded them of him. Archie looked embarrassed or uncomfortable, and maybe because of that he was never really friendly with me. Or maybe it had nothing to do with that at all. Maybe he was just a high school kid.
Archie dressed like Dean and Bobby, with combat boots, leather jackets, and tore-up t-shirts. He had long, thin, black hair and rarely ever played. He just came in with the group and hung around. I never really got to know anything about Archie because he never came in alone.
Jesse was the scariest of the bunch. Jessie was as tall as Bobby and Dean, was Mexican, had short, curly hair, a sneer worse than Bobby's, dressed like them, and was super loud. I remember he would yell and curse and push and often times my mother would yell out for him to be quiet. He would turn around smiling that evil-looking smile he had. The one thing I remember most about Jessie was his jacket. He had a leather jacket with a white denim cover over the middle that read, "CORROSION OF CONFORMITY" across his back. I think it was a band but I'm not sure. Everything about Jessie scared me but if he was part of this group, it sort of appeased my fears.

I don't know why I remember these guys so well but I do. It's not like any of them grew up to become famous rock stars or headline-makers in any way. None of them really did anything spectacular or memorable except come into a little, local liquor store to play video games and humor this little ten year-old kid who liked to watch them play. I guess because of that, I feel like they deserve acknowledgement. Maybe that's enough to be recognized. They were never mean to me or exploited me, they just came in and treated me like a ten year-old who liked to watch them play. Sometimes, even better. I think it speaks volumes about their character. Here were these misfits of society, these guys who stood out as weirdos and anti-social demons handling this child with a soft, teddy-bear paw. I think they were great, and I will probably always remember them. I hope it's enough.

How To Write a How To on How To'ing

First, get a pen or a pencil. Next, achieve a paper or napkin or something flat and light to write on with said pen or pencil. Next, place sharper end of said pen or pencil onto paper, napkin or said flat and light thing. Begin pulling or pushing said pen or pencil in varied directions to illicit ink marks or lead lines onto said paper. Using hand gripping pen or pencil, move pen or pencil in directions to write desired letters of the alphabet. Link various letters of alphabet together to create "words." Allow spaces between words by lifting said pen or pencil momentarily only to bring it back down onto paper approximately one inch from last letter written. Utilize punctuation marks like periods, exclamation points, question marks, and commas at the end of sentences.

I'm Not Dead

I'm not dead.

At least not physically.