Aquifer

I recently used the word "aquifer" in a conversation. The person with whom I was speaking stopped me mid-sentence and accused me of making up a word. I was honestly puzzled, so much so that I had absolutely no idea about which word I was being accused of creating.

Aquifer.

Be honest, please. Consider this a scientific study. Do you know what aquifer means, and if not then do you think I'm an asshole for using it in polite discourse?

Life Is Short

Mortality has always been a fascination for me. My good friend Jeff's unexpected passing is yet another kick in the ass.

Y'see, my dad died at a relatively young age of 54. I had seen him just two weeks before he died. Interestingly, I beat him at a game of chess for the first time of my life that day. It was such a monumental occasion that we took a picture of it. A "Master" (not a grand master although close in the rankings), he made me play at least once a week since I was old enough to speak. My parents were divorced when I was seven years old, but the chess bug was well situated in my system. I've given it to my sons too.

I was with my mom as she died a couple of years ago. My grandfather and namesake, Don Sr., died when I was 14. I took care of my Nana as she died a slow and horrible death from cancer, colostomy bags and morphine and all that shit. I never knew my biological grandmother on my father's side. And I just can't talk about Papa. People who know me will give me a pass on this. He was for all intents and purposes my dad.

There's nobody left on the totem pole higher than me. With Jeff's passing I'm left without a person from whom I can seek sage wisdom and guidance. That's it. It's just me now. It's scary.

Getting back to my friend Jeff. I just spoke with him a few days ago. Things were well. He was kicking ass and taking names, starting up yet another non-profit organization. He bragged about his son Jarrod and how well he was doing in school. Business as usual with Jeff. He asked me to write a LinkedIn recommendation and of course I did so. All was right with the world.

Then he's gone in the blink of an eye at 48.

This blog post is wavering off point. Yes, mortality. It's always been fascinating to me. Here it is. We're all blips on the scene of history, and it makes me chuckle about those with whom I interact with an ego. Listen, I've been fortunate enough to meet lots and lots of celebrities, actors, athletes, and politicians. None of them will be remembered in 50 years.

Guys like Jeff won't be remembered either. Nor will my dad. Nor will I. And that's okay, it really is. My point is that we're all here for a short time, and nobody really gives a shit unless they love you.

So here's my unsolicited advice. Tackle your kid(s) and smother them with kisses until the pee their pants while trying breathlessly to beg for mercy. Donate blood. Let somebody merge ahead of you even though they're driving a BMW and being a prick by nudging forward. Have a drink at 11:00 in the morning just 'cause you want to have a drink. Look at the trees sway in the breeze and feel peace. Go to Punta Cana. Learn how to ride a motorcycle. Tell your co-worker that you appreciate what they do for the company. Engage in a conversation with somebody at Dunkin' Donuts this morning. Tell them that they look nice today and wish them a good day at work.

I already miss Jeff. A lot. Of course not as much as his wife and son miss him, but I'm talking about me. I'm being selfish here.

We're here for a very short time. Make it count.

Enough preaching.

An Everyday Hero of Whom You've Never Heard

Yesterday I received news that my friend, mentor, and a hero to countless others across the country passed away. Whether Jeff was launching yet another non-profit organization to help people in need, drumming up support for a cause with me by poking his finger into the chest of a corporate bigwig, asking his son Jarrod about the lessons learned in school that day, or letting loose with me for some well-deserved fun in Las Vegas or at an Ohio State football game amongst a throng of a hundred thousand college students ... Jeff did everything at 110%. Everything. That was Jeff in a nutshell. He was either sleeping or was full speed ahead.

He and I had many adventures together both in business and regular life. I miss him already. Godspeed, friend.

Jeff Hay
1961 - 2009

Arguing

I never fight with anybody. Ever. Ask anybody. It's the polar opposite of my nature. I tend to listen, say "okay," and then absorb it.

Well ... tonight I had some harsh words with someone I love. While everything ended up with the usual exchange of "I'm sorry," it left me a reeling, and I can't sleep.

Sometimes I wish I were a testosterone-laden asshole that didn't give a shit. But I think I'm a regular guy with regular feelings. And yes, I realize that saying that kicks me out of the Man Club.

The person with whom I argued tonight ended up saying that they simply were in a foul mood and struck out at me. [Olly olly oxen free . . . if the person with whom I argued tonight is reading this, then go f* yourself. This is my blog.] We talked about it after the fight, and everything is okay. It really is. I'm done with it and all's well.

Here's the point. Why do we strike out on those whom we love most? An example -- my sister and I have told each other many times that we hate each other, but don't for a second think that we are not each others' most ardent defenders in a time of need. Sometimes I hate her with a passion, but I love her with an inexplicable deepness -- unbreakable and until the day I die. I would literally take a bullet for her, but then tell her to go f* herself with my dying breath.

I believe we sometimes strike out against the ones we love because there's a big, fat, ugly zit on all of our backs. Someone we love (really love) has to be the one to squeeze it and relieve our discomfort. That's a very special person.

For those very very very few people for whom I have love, I'm happy to squeeze your big and disgusting zits.

You know who you are. All seven of you.