Instructions . . or rather . . Directions

I went to LA this weekend. I had some business to take care of that I'd been putting off for quite some time. Since my ex-wife left me 2 years ago, I've been desperate for help of some kind. I've had kids for 14 years, but didn't realise how taxing it is to raise them until she was gone and I was all by myself. Its not just the work, which is substantial, but the burden of responsibility.

Saying that though, I did know how hard it was, as I remember being overwhelmed before she left me, but it was easier then to recover from it. Being a single parent makes those moments come more often and the recovery seemingly never begins.

Well, thats one of the reasons why taking little breaks to LA is so beneficial for me and why I always find an excuse to head back home for a day or two every couple months. Thing is, when I get there, I have this huge void or emotional cloud that envelopes me. I feel so alone and useless and quickly that turns into guilt for not being tough enough to deal with the responsibility better and not allow myself to be overwhelmed. I mean, I love my children more than anything, so why can't that satisfaction be enough for me?

After taking care of my business, I was in my mom's house in the living room, just relaxing. She was in the kitchen, as usual, cooking mountains of food for me as if I were a party of 8. Part way through her slicing and dicing she sat next to me and said "I need to tell you something". Shock and horror!!! What was she going to say? I knew in my heart what it was. I'd been denying it for a couple months as my own personal problems kept me from accepting anyone else's reality, but it was time for me to face something else and my mom deserves my attention so I listened as she told me about how Rubin, her boyfriend, had asked her to marry her and he was going to come over to ask me if that was OK.

She was so nervous. I could see it in her eyes as they welled up and nearly overflowed, but didn't tear as if in anticipation of my response. I told her that if he makes her happy then of course it was OK with me.

Rubin and my mom have been dating for about a year. She's known him since she was a child and after my dad died a couple years ago, she started seeing him more due to her new frequent trips to see my ailing grandmother.

Rubin seems like a good man. Nothing like my father in any way. Rubin is quiet and respectful. He blends in to a crowd and doesn't force his persona onto you. He's a hard worker and blue collar. The thing that strikes me most about him though is that his intentions seem so plain. When he is with my mother, she is the only person in the room. He speaks with her, not to her. He listens to her and doesn't just wait for his turn to speak but engages.

On Saturday I was recovering from a very good night out with my friend Bernie and woke up late. Normally, my mom is fluttering about like a bee cleaning or cooking, but I couldn't see her anywhere. I looked outside and saw her working with Rubin. She's putting a new fence in the front of her house made of brick and iron. Quite a big job.

The two of them were finishing off the job as the person she paid to start it wasn't doing a ver good job. So there was my mom and Rubin, making this wall. They weren't saying a word to eachother, but were working as if they'd been building walls forever, placing mortor on top of the brick pillars, spounging the asphalt white caps before placing them on top and smooothing the edges. So simple but so perfect. I was overcome with emotion.

I've been struggling for so long to find what I wanted in life. My identity has been attached to being a father, a provider and a husband for so long, with how well I measured up to others with those titles. When my ex left me, I didn't know who I was anymore or what I wanted, but when I saw my mom there, it was clear as day. I was so happy for her. She is at peace with herself and she spends her time with someone who cares for her and values her.

This is what I want. I've spent so much of my life looking for an event, symbol or marker that would prove that I had "made it" or reached some prescription of happy. Its not a list or milestone. I want happiness, but happiness isn't a place. Its not something that you can say "If I can just do this or have this or attain this, THEN I will be happy" Happiness is found in moments and is a realisation not a destination.

I don't have any instructions, but I hope now I have a direction. I have all the elements around me now for happiness, I just need to open my eyes and feel.

Why 9/11 means nothing to me . .

The tragedy of 9/11. Its such a hot topic right now. It was a tragedy. It was horrible, not just for those that died, but for so many people that continue to live with the pain of it, but . . . . I can't feel sad about it. I can't feel sad about it because everyday people die and starve and suffer and we don't seem to mind it because it isn't "celebrated" or memorialised or shown to us in revealing articles.

I imagine if I lost someone that day, it would mean something to me. But for the millions of people that didn't know someone personally who died in the attacks that day, its just another day on earth where people are abused or killed and even more tragic than 9/11 they are forgotten.











Everyday is a tragedy for someone, somewhere.

It makes you think about how lucky you are, or how quickly things can change.

It makes me think about what real suffering is. Is it worse to die or to live a life of suffering?

I remember, when I was 10. I was a cub scout for a year. My parents didn't have enough money to really put me in properly so I never had the right things to bring with me. Used uniform, dues always in late, field trips missed because I never had the money to pay for things.

One time, I paid to go on a waterslide trip with some money I made passing out flyers and running errands at a local lawnmower shop. Not much, just 10 bucks I think.

A couple days before that, a Mexican kid had joined our scout troop named Javier. He barely spoke English and when his mom saw that my mom was Mexican, I was the defacto friend of the kid. I hated it. I had to translate all the time and all the kids made fun of him and me because of it. Like my life wasn't already hard enough!

When we went to the waterslide, Javier was there. We all changed and went up to the slides, everyone but Javier. He didn't have any money so he was just standing there watching all of us with his dirty jeans and used blue cub scout shirt on all by himself.

I asked him why he wasn't coming and he just lowered his head. I felt awful. I was torn. I couldn't leave him there, but I so wanted to finally participate. I walked away and went to the top and saw him just watching everyone. I thought "Why the hell didn't anyone pay for him?" There were other parents there. They didn't do anything. NOTHING. I couldn't believe it. It was one of many experiences I've had of racism, but this time I was more horrified in the lack of humanity in these people.

I got so pissed off. I asked one of the scout leaders to help and he said, "his parents should have given him the money, he's not my son." What??????

I went to the video arcade attached to the building and jimmied the door of one of machines and took some money out and paid for him. I felt no guilt at all. To this day I don't believe I stole, well maybe I do. It haunted me though. How can people see suffering and not do something about it?

This to me is tragedy. Not that Javier couldn't go on a fucking waterslide. Not that 3000 people died on 9/11, but in how everyday so many of us can make a difference and don't do a fucking thing.

Javier ended up in prison, armed robbery and killing 2 people in a shop for a lousy 100 bucks in the register. What a goddam tragedy.

Playing with my babies

I come in the door weary and fatigued
another grain of sand drops with a thud
three smudged faces greet me

play with me, play with me, play with me
a deep groan swells within
play? whats that?
does it have a cushion?

play with me, play with me, play with me
their cries begin in unison
then break apart like chirping birds

down goes the briefcase
fling go the shoes
swish goes the flown off tie
off goes the phone

OK, lets play . .
screams of joy
sharp pains in my throbbing head

one hour turns to three
stealing a moment mid giggles I see
the next grain of sand is hovering
how lucky I am
why don't I play more?

Make every moment count . . as we never know which grain will be our last.

English love . . .

I got to work Monday and sat down as I normally do. Checked my email, voicemail and began my usual job of comic relief for the poor techy geeks here at "Techy's R Us". Simple things really, but usually revolved around making fun of myself. I find it makes me approachable and more importantly lowers their expectations of me. I play the simple boy "gosh really . . wow" shucks and all that jazz.

Its quite a good act. All relationships are based on expectations and all arguements stem from the basic ideal of "expectations do not match reality". I have found though that good things like surprise, awe and astoundment also come from this premise. This is why I constantly try to lower people's expectations of me. Then when I perform at a marginal level, I look like an Idiot Savant . . how lovely!

Well, the freakin thing seems to have backfired on me as one of my staff here in New York decided to play a bit of a prank on me, in cahoots with apparently legions of others, as I soon found that the prank in question was one of several options available. I'd hate to see what the other less attractive versions looked like.



The evidence speaks for itself (I am the one on left in case you were wondering), which was presented for all to see and I've had sooooo many god damn people coming my desk since then its unreal. As if I didn't already have a flood of the comicly-deprived already at my doorstep humbly requesting the clown to dance, now I have ads????

This got me to thinking of when I was working in England. No matter where I was, the abuse I received was relentless. Luckily for me it was rather similar. American this and George Bush that . . . I was willing to take one on the chin for Uncle Sam . . shucks . . ain't I swell? There were a few that got personal, but I'd take it in stride. One day I just had to ask, "Why the fuck am I the only one who ever gets picked on, then someone told me "Don't you know If we didn't like you we wouldn't pay you any mind at all".

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh that's it. I must have been the most popular guy there. Who would have thought?

So given my education in English affection, I am not bothered at all by the photo and thought I'd share it with you. My boss came by my desk to mention it to me. He never swears, but said "Fucking funny picture, I love warped humor" or something like that. I didn't even have anything to do with it and I am getting all these props, which goes to show that funny people don't even need to try . . . . .

oooo and Hi Kerry!! Love you baby!!!

100 things. . . by mandate . .haha

I've been asked to write a list of 100 things i love . . . not an easy task really. I am sure I am going to leave something out and quite honestly, I have far more things that annoy me lately, but then that makes this exercise even better as it should help me see how lucky I am.

No anniversary for me and after making this list I am strangely hungry for bananas and peanut butter . . mmmmm peanut butter . . haha

Feel free to send me comments and I'll expound on the unfamiliar.

Here we go, I love:

1. my babies
2. a beer with my friends
3. mexico
4. warm winter evenings
5. breezes
6. a captured crowd with a mic in my hand
7. making people laugh
8. the next day ache after a good workout
9. learning something knew
10. banana ice cream
11. my new short hair cut
12. the moment before a first kiss
13. a neat and tidy desk
14. playing games with my babies
15. unsolicited affection from someone you love
16. post that doesn't ask you for money or to spend money
17. philosophy
18. philanthropy
19. heroes (not Rambo)
20. films that make you completely forget where you are
21. anything that makes you reflect
22. the moment right after a first kiss
23. hearing . . you got the job
24. single option restaurant menus . .
25. clean laundry
26. clean kitchens
27. maid service
28. my laptop
29. tools . . a garage full of shiny tools!
30. convertible cars
31. the statement "let's go to bed"
32. my health
33. my plump tummy
34. a good suit
35. a good smelling woman in a lift (elevator)
36. leaving the subway when there's a bad smelling person
37. my mom
38. new wizzy gadgets
39. scar on my cheek
40. that I have hair!
41. passionate shagging (stolen from Suze)
42. my cats . . even though I don't like cats
43. helping people
44. any Laker victory
45. sailing
46. the thought of owning my own boat
47. writing
48. singing
49. saying goodnight to my boys
50. Santa Monica pier
51. Corona
52. my sand collection
53. whistling
54. latin dancing
55. tiny English villages
56. peppercorn
57. weymouth
58. The Channel Islands
59. new potatos
60. soft clothes
61. Las Vegas
62. making out (snogging)
63. well ironed shirts
64. good report cards
65. Josh's curly hair
66. Liam's imagination
67. Danny's sense of humour
68. new school clothes
69. watching my babies rip open presents on Christmas day
70. driving down PCH
71. big bonuses
72. knowing someone loves me
73. when there's no bad news to report
74. comedy clubs
75. live bands
76. Laguna Beach
77. Mexican / Spanish style homes
78. Pho
79. Batman
80. Hollywood endings
81. eating my grandma's homemade tortillas
82. the San Fernando swap meet
83. reading or hearing inspirational words
84. my new blog
85. days I don't smoke
86. standing outside a bar after 3 or 4 drinks and having a cigarette in the cool air. . sorry but its true!
87. The Thames south bank area in London
88. Carvel's ice cream birthday cakes
89. open air seating at restraunts
90. chocolate cake shots . . ask me about them, they are delicious
91. tabasco
92. friends
93. marmite sandwiches
94. a successful non smoking day
95. my girlfriend
96. peanut butter
97. a full nights sleep
98. dogs
99. zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance by Robert Pirsig
100. My mexican heritage

Is it just me???

So much has happened to me in the past 2 years. I moved to New York (which I never wanted to do). I am getting divorced (thankfully, but a total shock) I am a single parent and I found that there is more to life than working, eating and playing games with my kids. Not that any of that is bad at all. I love playing with my kids and believe work is good for the soul. I try to teach my children the value of hard work and the fruits of honest labour as often as I can.

I was an electrician ages and ages ago while I was at University. It was a strange job for me as I hate being dirty and construction is solidly tied to mess and dirt, or so I found. Something I miss though is the satisfaction at the end of the day, when I could see a completed project. My hands and effort made something that people would depend on and use for years. I haven't felt like that about traditional work for quite some time . . .

Anyway, since those long gone days and my fairly recent days of singleness (slightly past tense as I have a wonderful girlfriend now) I've been forced to look at myself in a different way. When you are with a partner for so long, 14 years of marriage in my case, you tend not to see yourself as a marketable commodity.

Commodity . . . What a terrible way of approaching it, but in the single world its exactly the way its seen. How do I measure up? What is expected of me in a relationship? What am I looking for in a partner? What do I have to offer or am willing to offer? These things are categorised, weighed and analysed . . . ARGGGGHHHHHH, it was terrible.

While the "single person" scene leaved much to be desired, I did get something out of it. I had a lot of soul searching to do when my ex left me. The questions above lead me to deeper questions: How much of this was my doing? What can I learn from this? Even more importantly Who am I? I saw a lot of things I liked and far more that I didn't and I made steps to make me happy with me. Its a journey I am still on, but I am pleased with the progress so far.

An interesting thing I found out during this discovery is how different I was from other men. I always knew I was a bit odd, but who doesn't think that about themselves really? We are all unique. The feeling is still there . . I am not like these guys. And when I was dating, oh my, the same reaction came from the ladies I took out. Anything from "You are kidding, right?" to "don't all guys like to watch porn?" was said to me and I had to set them straight on who I was all the time.

One interesting thing I find is the inability of most men to see beauty in all things. This seems to be offputting to both women and men. My last girlfriend would say, "you are scaring me". Is it really that bad? I won't be forced to say I am not gay, which I am not, but is being objectively aware of beauty really that odd? I sure found out.

I can very easily say a man is attractive. I can see the aesthetic superficial view of attractiveness as well as the next person and am amazed how so many men aren't able to either admit to it or just aren't able to see past the homo-phobic dogma that limits them.

Well this is all well and good, I can't blame them, but it made me think of why I am like this. I mean my dad was a real perve. I hate saying that but its true. My male friends weren't joining protests for women's rights or anything. So why do I think like this? There must be a reason. I don't claim to have the answer, but then I got some insight from my spiritual advisor Karen.

I met Karen at work when I moved to New York. She sat next to me and we instantly became close despite her barking and tough outward demeanor. Karen helped me through this past 2 years, the toughest time in my entire life. She wasn't a shoulder to cry on or a nodding head to tell me it would all be ok. She matter of factly stated what she saw, helped me see my part and where my part ended in terms of responsibility, not just for my failed marriage, but for me as a person.

The other day Karen was telling me about a book she was reading and thought I might like called THE WAY OF THE SUPERIOR MAN by David Deida. In the summary of the book read this line:

"It is time to evolve beyond the macho jerk ideal,
all spine and no heart, " writes David Deida.

"It is also time to evolve beyond the sensitive
and caring wimp ideal, all heart and no spine."

I was shocked. I am definitely not the "macho jerk", but am I the caring wimp, all heart and no spine?

If you heard me yell, you'd say . . umm NO . . but then everyone gets upset. I am not saying I am the definitive geek getting dirt kicked in his face, but it scared me. Could it be that in my determination to not be my father that I became his alter-ego, the spineless whimp? Wow . . tooo deep.

The fact is I do have a spine, deep under a padding of jelly and marshmallows, and the fact that I am sensitive, care what people think and can honestly say that Brad Pitt is very attractive, whilst not in any way thinking of him sexually, is alright with me!!!! But it is something to think about . . . . .

As a side note, I've always known that I enjoy the company of women. I've been called a flirt on more than a couple occasions . . SOOO UNTRUE . . . I would always get along better with my ex's friends than their husbands and in high-school nearly all of my friends were women.

I tried to tie this fact into the above "whimp theory" and came up with something, I think. . . . .

Male conversation is boring . . . generally

You get a group of guys together, with no women, and it seems that IQ and time go down by 80, leaving you with several foolish people in the 1940s. Racial jokes, degrading women and cock wagging. Its just not for me.

My 2 best friends in the world are men. We don't do that . . often . . . haha . . kidding. The generality is true and sorry to say this, but it happens far more often in England. Sorry, but thats what I experienced.

I could easily be wrong, but it seems that when women get together, its different. It can be catty shrew-like attacks, bitchy backstabbing barbs (haha alliteration . . weeeee), simple stories and anecdotes or even lovely heartfelt chat about old times, dreams goals and hugs. Guys just don't do that, unless they are drunk, at which time there are far too many hugs for my liking and the shrew-like attacks are replaced with haymakers . . ouch . . haha

So what does this all mean? As usual, I don't know! Perhaps it means I should give men more of a chance and steer them into the 21st Century, not mind that I have a sensitive soul and be happy when ladies allow me to participate in their conversations . . . What do I know???

Nostalgic musing . . . and fluff

I don't remember much of my childhood, just snapshots intertwined with emotions and black holes. I do remember a longing, a dull desire for more, but I couldn't pin point what was missing. I grew up and discovered, with the help of a therapist and my sister, that it was a father I wished for most.

I have one vivid memory, where my mother sister AND FATHER, were outside in the front of our house on a sunny afternoon after school. I think I was 8 or 9 and my dad was playing catch with me and some of my friends, showing us different ways pitches (curve ball, slider, knuckleball, splitfinger fast ball and such). I can't remember how to do any of them now. The whole time he was out with us, I was aware of his every move, I was happy as he was normally very angry and sullen unless he was entertaining friends, but on that day it wasn't about him, it was about the family. I couldn't help being sad though. I knew it was an anomaly, I knew it wasn't reality so I held back how happy it could have made me to be spending time with my dad.

Since then, I've found it hard to live in the moment. I don't allow myself to believe I deserve or belong in happiness, yet I know full well that I make my own happiness. The battle of conscience and knowledge is constant for me.

I have this idea that all artistic people are confused, pained or abused somehow. The medium of art doesn't matter. Musicians, painters, writers you name it. The connotation applies to all, in my warped idea. I have never thought of myself as artistic. I can't draw a straight line and while I can sing, I am not accomplished in any instrument other than the drums, which I label as "rhythmic noise".

I have, however, always loved to write. I started short story writing when I was 10. My friend Bernie and I had dreams of writing novels and would make up adventures, with the 2 of us and our friend Mike as the heroes of course. We saw ourselves as "intellectuals", without the credentials or demeanor of other so called "book worms".

I never sent my stories off or had places to keep them, just odd bits of lined "college rule" paper that eventually were thrown away at the end of every school year. I wish I had more time for it, but the majority of my non-school life was spent thinking of how to make money. I did everything I could, I sold term papers, book reports, science papers and whatever else I could. I had several "jobs" by the age of 16 all with the main goal of "getting a buck".

At 17, 2 amazing things happened. I had an English teacher who both took me seriously and also harshly challenged me. I loved it. He didn't see me as the "math geek" most others thought, or the "wanna-be Rock Star" that many did. He found the writer in me and challenged me to develop it. Just at this time I had a girlfriend, Dori, who was lovely in every way and she gave me my first Journal. I am not sure why. It was a strange gift for a 17 year old boy/man, but I loved it. I filled it within a month and couldn't stop. Pages and pages of dribble and thoughts and stories. Together with my professor, I saw a glimpse of what could be ahead of me.

Why am I mentioning this? Who knows, I am just writing and my thoughts are pouring onto this screen, thankfully provided by JP Morgan . . haha. I am hoping that from this blog and reading all the wonderful other things from others, which I must say are amazing, that I'll find my voice.

My first entry . . . need to make this one count . . haha

Never thought I'd be a statistic, fall into an easy category, but here I am divorced with kids and in my 30s . . go figure. I am not a statistic. I am not a peg. I wish I had some interesting artistic or inspiring item to add here, but I don't. What I do have are my thoughts and insights, which hopefully in the grand scheme of things will be meaningful or at the very least amusing to someone somewhere.

So who is Darrin? I am a father . . first and foremost. It's still hard to believe that I am responsible for the lives and nurturing anything more than the lizards and rattle snakes I used to catch when I was a kid, but I have the privilege and honour to care for 3 of the loveliest young men, my babies.

Josh, Liam and Daniel are more than I could have dreamed. I am in constant awe of their talent, character and ability . . plus they are rather handsome as well!!!! Who'd have thought??? haha

I am also lucky to have Samuel, my step-son, as a member of my family. One of the most talented people I have ever met in my life. I can honestly say there is nothing he can't achieve, nothing. I wish I could say the same of me.



Hmmmmmm what else? I am still finding myself. I have a scream inside me that is waiting to come out, but it needs to stay caged until my kids get a bit older. I let it have a day pass when I was in England for a couple years in the form of a band. Backyard Jam (I didn't name the band!! haha) I've wanted to do everything, write, sing, right wrongs, solve problems, serve the masses. I plan to do all those things . . hopefully this is just the beginning.

OOOO . . . one more thing . . you never know when or how your life will change. Mine has recently. Out of the blue, a beautiful lovely person has come into my life. I am truly blessed. I hope to be worthy of the time those around me give me. . . Here's Kerry!!!