So I came away from the party my parents had for their Sunday school class the other night relatively unscathed. No bolts of lightning. No stoning. I did nearly choke to death while talking to one of the THREE pastors that was here. But other than that, it went rather smoothly.

Rock Star Moment #1
Prior to dinner, one of the younger pastors and I were standing around the bar (no alcohol – simply a term for that place where people normally keep and serve their alcohol), and we were talking about something or other. I was highly distracted, concerned with the hor d’oeuvres spread out before us, namely the little stuffed mini-croissants. Pigs-in-a-blanket. Mmmmmmmm. Not that I’m overly crazy about them, but they seemed like they would be so sinfully delicious that I had to get my hands on one.

Anyway, this fellow was talking, I was listening, and trying to work my way closer to the little porkers. He had advised I try the caramelized brie, but my eyes were on the prize. I would get back to the brie later. With a toothpick, I devilishly descended on the doughy delight. I bit in. The conversation continued.

And then I realized that I, at the age of 40, apparently haven’t learned to properly chew my food. I don’t know what inspired me to try to swallow the whole thing. But I tried. Actually, I just tried to swallow too soon. The hor d’oeuvre became lodged within my throat.

The pastor kept talking and, realizing my predicament, I put a finger up as if to say, “Hold on a sec, I’m choking. I’ll be right back.” Without a word, I bailed. I took care to exhibit social graces, not knocking anyone over, as I sprinted out of the room. Social skills: I has them.

At first, I simply went into the dining room, thinking I can swallow it in there because, well, there was nobody in there. Made sense.

Nope. So I headed for my cave in the back of the house.

Looked in the mirror. Throat looks normal. My visual assessment of the situation wasn’t stopping me from choking, either. Well, this isn’t good. Man, it’s going to suck if I go down because of a pig-in-a-blanket. I always pictured myself burning on a cross above a Walmart somewhere. Or something at least a little dramatic. Not choking on a pig-in-a-blanket.

I felt like I had an eating disorder for a moment. Decided that purple isn’t really my color. Moments later, I decided also that having an eating disorder really isn’t for me.

When I went back out, my father was talking with the pastor and another older fellow. “No, we already met,” I tell my dad as he tries to introduce me. I wasn’t sure if the pastor knew I had been choking so I went on to explain that that’s what happened. When I bailed. Choked on the pig-in-a-blanket thing. To my father, to the pastor, and to this other guy, I explained this. Not really as awkward a moment as you might think. As if they had all been there before.

Rock Star Moment #2
Later, I was on the phone with a friend of mine and had been outside talking to her for a while, comfortably smoking cigarettes and laughing. Back in touch with what I knew to be reality. The conversation carried on for a while and when I went inside, everyone was seated and eating dinner. Crap. I didn’t know what to do. Was I to just grab a plate and go to the back? My nephews were sitting in the TV room in the back corner of the house. My sister was sitting at the grown-up table (the main one, no less) and there were two empty seats there. Looks like I’ll be dining with the adults.

I had met most of the people at the table so I could pretty much skate by without having to say much. Then, an older woman (and I don’t know why I make that distinction since they were ALLLLLL older) at the far end of the table looked at my mom and said, “I don’t think I know that young man sitting beside you.”
“This is my son, Scott,” she said. “This is so-and-so,” my mom informed me.
“Hello,” say I.
“Oh, well hello,” so-and-so said. “And where do you live?”
“I live in Miami.”
One or two lines of conversation about Miami.
“And what do you do there?”

Crap.

“Well, I moved down there to do web development. Now, I… I do other things.” And I sit and hope inside (as I’m sure that my mom and sister do) that my response to her prying question sticks and doesn’t solicit any follow-up questions. Wait for it… wait… In the clear!!!! No follow-up! Good answer, Scott! Good answer!!!! I wanted to high-five my mom and sister. A tense moment indeed.

Rock Star Moment #3
At some point before dinner, my sister and I were standing around that same table talking about the crowd as they mingled out of earshot in the great room and kitchen. She was laying out silverware or filling up water glasses. Not sure. I mentioned to her the prospect of cougar hunting in this group comprised mostly of septuagenarians.

“You are wrong on so many levels, Scott.”

I love my sister. Keepin’ it real. Of course, I was only kidding. Most of the women were married. (I’m kidding, people! Jeez.)

Rock Star Moment #4
After dinner, my nephews were sitting in the TV room in the back section of the house. Sis came in. My nephew, for some reason, mentioned my computer. (I brought with me my laptop, a separate monitor, and four external hard drives, all of which are set up in my cave back here.) I told him that he shouldn’t go near my computer. His mother reinforced the issue. I said, “Yeah, if you look at my computer, you’ll turn to stone. It’s like Sodom and Gomorrah, that computer.”
“Oooooh, look at you,” sis says. “Making a Bible reference! Mom and dad would be so proud!”
“I know, right?! We should call them in here!”

We didn’t. But I was pretty proud. They taught me so well.

Today, my youngest son turned 15. I talked to him on the phone. He’s one-hundred and some odd miles away. He was happy. I was glad to hear it. It bums me out that I didn’t see him today but I’ll see him soon. My mom’s birthday is also today.

The more pressing matter is this Christmas party that is about to take place here in this house. My parents are having a number of their school mates over. Sunday school mates. Twenty-five to thirty of them. We talked about it earlier and I’m just going to stay through dinner, after which time I’ll saunter off to this back bedroom like Igor. Although, I am dressed snappy in my Sunday best. Minus the coat. And tie. And button-down shirt. However, I am rather dapper. It feels good to look good.

I don’t know how I’m going to manage this exactly. I’ll need to smoke cigarettes. Which I’ll need to go outside to do. So I’m thinking I’m just going to cut through the laundry room, through their closet, into my parents room and then out through the garage. Of course, if I want anything to drink, I’ll have to go into the kitchen. I’ll go in through the dining room. Or maybe just straight in. I’ll have to scope it out and see where the least amount of traffic is.

Did make the decision that I’m not going to do any of my “work” tonight while I’m listening to the soft hum of Christmas music and warm voices coming through the walls to my quiet my room back here. That, and the fact that the entire Sunday School class might just decide to stone me if they have enough egg nog, what with me being El Diablo. You know. I’m a known pornographer.

They probably wouldn’t. But I’m not taking any chances. Just going to lay low tonight.

The doorbell just rang. I guess I need to go make an appearance now.

UPDATE.
I’ve included a drawing of my escape route below for your convenience. (XXX is, of course, me.)

I left South Beach earlier today. Flew to the Carolinas to spend some of the holidays with my parents and my kids. It’s night and I haven’t been out among the peoples so I kind of forgot about it, but it crossed my mind a short while ago how much I hate this town. Expect bitter posts for the next couple of weeks. Hey, at least I’m around family.

Crap. This is going to be a long holiday.

I kid.

(And here I’d like to say that I miss the days when the parents didn’t read the blog and I didn’t have to put in disclaimers like “I kid.” Obviously, I kid. I love you, guys, Mom and Dad. You know, they’re just words. Throwing them about and whatnot. I didn’t mean anything by it. And you can read ma blog alllll you want! I love you guys! Hey, how about this weather? Jeez it’s cold here! Getting colder by the minute, in fact. Definitely going to be a long holiday.)

The “official” trailer.
Photos, video, music all done by yours truly.
The website will be filled out over the coming month.

Feed people, direct link here.

Accomplished today:

• Got up, worked.
• Picked up surprise gift for friend.
• Got a haircut.
• Scootered to Lincoln Road for photos.
• Ran into a friend, always a pleasure.
• Got a psychic reading with her from a woman who happened to be passing by.
• Came home, worked some more.

Left to do:

• Buy six lemons, cut them in half, bathe in them, put them in a plastic bag, sleep with them under my bed tonight. This is the advice of the psychic. This is to help me get rid of the darkness in my life. I asked her, “Can’t I live with a little darkness?” She said no. Mostly, though, the lemons are to help me find love, because apparently, it’s my time.
• Incorporate.
• Oh, buy conditioner. Should probably make a list before I go to the store. Almost out of milk again.

On a side note, I’m going to be rich. And famous. Pretty happy about that. No really.

I think my life is driven by a flux capacitor because my entire existence always seems to be in a state of flux. Lately, everything’s been funky. Not having my camera, things were weird. And now that it’s back, things are a little weirder. I need new stuff. I want a Canon 5D MKII. And new lenses. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.

Just putting it out there.

Thought I was going to South America in December. Now I’m not quite sure whether I’m going or not. I don’t think I am? Don’t know.

My neighbors have been giving me crap for the past few weeks about my pseudo-girlfriend (their term, not mine). She’s not my pseudo-girlfriend. We’re just friends. It’s mildly amusing, the way they give me grief. My pseudo-girlfriend is mildly amused by it as well. All part of the shenanigans of South Beach Social.

(And here, I was going to include an embedded youtube video of Super Troopers where Farva says “Shenanigans.” Only, I couldn’t find a normal one. So here’s a link to Fountains of Wayne singing Stacy’s Mom. Also, here’s a video shot entirely by the Canon 5D. But you should listen to Stacy’s Mom because it’s awesomeness.)

(Feed people, link here.)

One of my favorite models was to move back to the beach but I haven’t heard from her yet. I need to call her.

Another thing, I’ve decided I’m going to start writing/composing music for videos. Probably not all, though. I’ve got the technology. And I’ve got the skillz. And it’s good for me. Back in the day, that’s what I was going to be. Originally, I was a music major. I was studying classical piano. Everyone always expected that that’s who I would be. That’s what I was known for way back when. I was going to be Trent Reznor. Although, I was more like Thomas Dolby or Jean-Michele Jarre. But I had the racks of keyboards, drum machines, sequencers, rack mounts, cables running everywhere and little blinking lights in pitch black rooms.

Headphones. Mixing. Sampling. Tweaking sounds. Finding that perfectly sublime groove.

So, yeah. I’m going to start doing that again. Photography’s been my creative outlet since I quit music. Now with what I’m doing, I can see where I can do everything. I ran some samples by my neighbors and they’re okay with it. Anyway.

Also, I think I’ve decided to start dating. I’ve been sufficiently single for a while. I think I’m going to run an ad. Here. I’ll work on it and get back to you. I’m a pretty good catch. I talked to the last girl I dated about a week or so ago. She told me that it was kind of a shame that I wasn’t dating. It kinda is. But I haven’t been ready. I think I’m ready now. Dating would be nice.

That’s really all I have. I just wanted to make an appearance since I’ve been really incognito.

I’ve been more than a little out of it for the past week or so. I’ve been so sick, two days ago, I didn’t even leave the second floor of this building. Yesterday, I barely left my bed.

I’m on the mend, though, I’m sure. I’ve let a lot fall to the side which kind of reminds me about how much stuff I do. My camera broke last week. From what I can tell, the sensor is blown. I’ve been without a camera now for a week. A lot of negative stuff seems to have happened which is unusual for me.

I’m not really stressed about any of it. But I’d like to feel better. My roommate and neighbors have been so good to me. P, Alejandro, Miko, Jessie, Mayday, Giselle. Oh…. they’re such good people.

I just need to get energy now. My body is entirely wiped. I’ve been drinking lots of fluids. And I’ve been putting food in my body. By Monday, I’ll feel superb.

So, here’s the deal: if you’ve contacted me and I haven’t responded, call me again today. I have two-hundred and some odd messages on Facebook, so you can send me another one if you want. I’m alert today.

I’m going to be making updates across the board today on stuff.

Today, Veteran’s Day, is my day. I’m a disabled veteran. Of the Navy.

I didn’t do anything when I was in the Navy. I went to boot camp. I got sick (“Cough due to cold,” asks Forrest), and then that was that. After boot camp, I spent nine months in medical hold in Bethesda, Maryland (with a little time at Naval District Washington). I was poked and prodded, sampled and scanned, and now-lets-go-with-a-higher-dosage and okay-maybe-a-lower-dosage. And then I was honorably and medically discharged.

I went home to my wife at the time and children. I went back to school on the GI Bill and got a BS in Math. I came back to the civilian world.

When I was in Bethesda, I worked about 40 hours a month. I stayed in barracks with other young men who were there for one medical condition or another. One friend of mine had a Napoleon thing going on: whenever he was put into a position that he didn’t want to be in, he began to act like Napoleon. I played a lot of cards with Napoleon in the common room. Watched a lot of Matlock.

I remember there being a gaggle of young men there that I referred to as the Lithium God Squad. They were all on Lithium, and they were all devout Christians. Although, they were all pretty mellow about it.

They were pleasant. You know.

My life as a veteran? For a long time, I felt guilt for being a disabled veteran. Really guilty. But I used to really enjoy guilt so it was okay. I don’t feel guilty any longer.

I’ve been sick. For decades now. Every single day, I deal with my sickness. Every single day, I bleed. Every single day, I’m in pain or discomfort. The ocean isn’t helping any longer. I spent weeks and weeks swimming out to the buoy. But I’ve been over this before and don’t even like mentioning it because I’m not looking for sympathy. Sympathy is not for me. However, I am dependent on you.

There are no doctors that can tell me anything beyond, “You have a blood disorder of unknown origins.” There are no hospitals that will make me well. There are no medicines that will heal me.

Nada. Nothing. Zip. (Unless something comes up.)

So I depend on you. Not for the government disability check that comes every month. Not for the free medical care. I depend on you for the emotional and mental support which helps keep me sane (although some might argue that it’s too late). And I can never thank you enough for that. I’m lucky to be surrounded by such beautiful people. I’ve come to realize lately, and not through this, that we all depend on one another.

I heard a story on the news tonight of a guy that was being mugged. When his assailants found his military ID, they stopped. They gave him his things. Then they gave him one of those “we’re cool” hand bumps.

Early in the evening tonight, my neighbors and I lounged for a while in the breezeway as we’re sometimes prone to do. Half had the day off from work. Some (yours truly included) were sick with whatever’s going around. So we sat around and had a small Veteran’s Day party for me. They don’t know it was a party. But that’s what it was. Even though we were just sitting around talking.

“Which war were you in, Scott?”
“The Great One.”

“You were in three days, weren’t you?”
“No, eleven months.”

“Did you get me a card?”
“We get you a card each month in the form of a check. Be happy with that.”
Another chimes in, “In fact, we’re only keeping you alive so that you’ll blow you’re government cheese on us.”

I don’t understand why nobody got me a card. But god, did they make me feel good. Their warmth.

I know my place in this life. I’m not military personnel. But there are plenty who are. And each and everyone of them depend on us. Service men and women are out there trying to do right (hopefully most are, anyway). They’re out there doing good stuff. And the ones that already went out there and did stuff, trying to make the world a better place? Yeah. They need you. Veteran’s Day should simply be a reminder of that.

I hope you did something extra nice for one of them today. Don’t feel badly if you didn’t get them a card, though. Apparently, it’s not really a card-giving day yet. But maybe get them a cake next year. Like Red Velvet.