I enjoy writing for this zine, and even though I’m once again like 5 days late getting this done, I’m doing my best to put something together. Life in general has been up and down as of late, so I’ve had a hard time sorting out what I wanted to write about. There were a few things that I’ve noticed lately. For example, I was at the gas station I always go to (and I mean always…my mom has even been going there for as long as I can remember) a while back, and I went inside to pay for my gas (duh). The lady working was the lady that’s normally there, propped on her stool and looking bored but with a cheery disposition nonetheless. I gave her my money and took another look at the homemade tattoos she has that I see every time I go there. As always, she asked how I was doing and we made small talk like usual, but this time her son (or who I’m assuming was her son) was there with her. She went to hand me my dollar-something change back and for some reason I said: “Give it to him so he can get something to rot his teeth with.” Her son looked at me and lit up like a Christmas tree, fairly excited that he was being told by a total stranger to eat candy, I guess. So she said “alright…are you sure?” and I was, so I said so. She told him to say thank you and he did, and I told her I would see her next time, which I did. Now, I’m not saying that I’m some fucking amazing human being because I gave the gas station lady’s kid a buck for a candy bar. I’m fairly sure that he could have whatever candy he wanted to in the place, actually. But, for a fleeting second I remembered what it was like as a bored kid with my parents at some family function (or work or wherever) when an adult took the time to acknowledge that I was alive (like the time I had to go to some wedding reception when I was like 6 and the guys running the place let me watch wrestling on a TV in an office). It’s a good feeling…that’s all. I guess deep down inside I actually like to make people happy. Including myself, which leads me to my next thought…it stemmed from seeing the lady and her kid at the gas station that same night, really. I was like: “I’ve seen that same lady at the gas station for as long as my memory can serve me…I wonder if she’ll ever move on.” Her and her son just seemed so happy and content with the fact that they were in a gas station at like 9 at night and it bewildered me. So I thought: “Why can’t more people be happy with what they have?” I know that I need as many possessions as the next guy (mainly records) to be content at times, but it made me think. So not too long after this incident my parents went out of town for a week. I had nothing to do one night so I re-arranged my stereo components to better suit my music listening needs. After I was done, I took a look around my room and was like: “I don’t use half this shit, and I don’t wear half these clothes.” I got some big garbage bags and filled them with a bunch of crap that was just cluttering the area and threw it in the garbage. Then, I went through all of my clothes and donated like 3 garbage bags to Goodwill. Now, once again, I’m not saying I’m some fucking amazing person because I threw some crap out and donated some old clothes to Goodwill. It’s just that I am now just as happy (if not happier) without all that stuff than I was with it lying around. After all, you can’t take it with you (unless you’re a Pharaoh, I guess), so I hope one of these days I meet someone 20 years younger than me that will take care of my records when I’m dead and gone. No Goodwill is taking those and selling my first Los Crudos record on red vinyl to some schmoe for .25 that will use it as a coaster…no way…which leads me to my next thought. Death is pretty damn scary. Right before my parents left on that same vacation, my mom informed me that my Grandma had had some chest pains. Which, for an old person is far worse than it is for a young person (I suppose). My Grandma was on my mind a lot that week, and it made me think of how much I would rather stab myself in the face or light myself on fire rather than come home and find one of my parents dead. That same Grandma lost her husband to a heart attack and found him lying on the floor under the sink because he had died while trying to fix it. I clearly remember my dad being over at her old house many years back doing some work under her sink and she was so upset seeing him down there it was unbearable. Can you imagine that? Awful. Maybe it’s because of my whole “non-religious” thing. I’m not too sure that there’s an afterlife, so maybe I’m a bit scared that I’m going to Hell…but I doubt it (after all, wouldn’t you eventually get used to it like in a hot tub?). I think that it mostly comes from the fact that what happens to you after you die is totally unknown to all of mankind. Sure, there’s plenty of speculation, but that’s all it is…speculation. It’s one of the few things that I doubt science will be able to figure out in any of our lifetimes. Maybe we’ll all have to face the Sun-God Ra like the Egyptians thought, or maybe we’ll get re-incarnated accordingly until we reach Nirvana (or however that works) like the Krishna folks believe. Who knows? Like I said last time, I know I have the time I have right now, so I’m doing my best to have fun and make the most of it. But everyone has to kick the ol’ bucket one of these days, and that’s where the worry sets in. Then I start to think: “Will anyone even care when I’m dead? Will I have any friends? A wife? Kids?!?! Is anyone going to mourn me? Where will all my stuff go? Who will feed my dogs? Will someone buy me a nice casket or will they put me in a potato sack and toss me in a mass grave? I hope they don’t think less of me when they find that porno stashed in the vegetable crisper! And so on…I really don’t know where I’m going with this (and I obviously have issues), but all in all, death is scary to me, yet highly interesting at the same time. What happens to us? Do I get the opportunity to redeem my earthly sins at the last minute so I can get into heaven? Can I be a ghost and haunt people if I want to? Is it like “Beetlejuice” at all?! I sure hope so. Okay. This column was really lame and boring, and I’m sorry, but Durkin needed something, and this crap was what I was thinking about at the time. Chances are I’ll expand on the whole death-thing next time. Bye. Playlist as of late: Dying Fetus: “Destroy the Opposition”, The Beatles: all!, The Locust: “Flight of the Wounded Locust”, The Swarm: “Ol’ Blue Eyes is Dead”, Less Than Jake: “Hello Rockview!”, Blackstar: “S/T” (I think it’s self titled at least…that and the mos def/talib kweli solo records), I Hate Myself: all!, Terrorizer: “World Downfall”, Rainer Maria: all!, At the Gates: “Slaughter of the Soul”. Injury update: broken collarbone takes 6 months to heal to 100 % according to Dr. Guido Marra, 9 stitches in left shin (from walking into the corner of a coffee table) come out next Tuesday the 3rd of April courtesy of Dr. Jim Boblik, broken heart is on the mend, I think.

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