Filipino Front Porch Thieves (non-fiction)

I don't remember the ride home. I never remember the ride home. I hope to God there isn't a trail of casualties left in my wake everyday after I drive home. I've been commuting for twenty-one years. That would be quite a body count. At any rate, that day the only thing I do remember is stopping suddenly in the driveway. Something was wrong with the house. What the hell?

I did seventy from the the start of the driveway to the garage, a distance of sixty feet. Slam went the car door, slam went the back the door. In through the kitchen, out through the dining room and into the living room where I found Sven and Paul watching 21 Jump Street.

It is amazing how often 21 Jump Street was on the television in that house. I don't know why. We didn't even like the show. We were too poor to afford full blown cable. We were never sober enough to work the channel guide so four bachelors ended up sitting around, swilling beer and watching 21 Jump Street. Except for Sven. He could always find cartoons. Anytime of day, Sven could find cartoons. In a pinch, he'd settle for Spanish cartoons. 21 Jump Street in Spanish? Not so good.

So Sven and Paul were watching 21 Jump Street when I came rushing into the room in a panic. To them, nothing was the matter. All was well. What could possibly be wrong?

"Guys, what happened to the front porch?"

Paul replied, "Oh, you noticed that?"

I did a double take. I guess I knew I was being put-on but I pressed forward anyway.

"Seriously, where's the front porch?"

Paul again, "It's gone."

"Dude, this isn't funny. This is bad. We'll never get our security deposit back if we can't find the front porch. Where did it go?"

Paul pointed to couch, "I just got home. Ask Sven. He was here all day. Not me."

Nevermind the fact that Sven was sitting three feet away from Paul drinking beer. Always one to follow direction, I did as recommended.

"Sven, what happened to the front porch?"

"Some guys took it."

"What?! What the hell are you talking about? Who took the porch?"

Paul interjected, "That's what he said when I asked him. He said some guys took the porch."

Now I was getting upset. These guys were messing with me. Alright, I'll play along.

"Were you home all day?" I asked Sven.

"Yes."

"Where were you when you were home all day?"

"On the couch."

I could have guessed that, but I had to start out small and work my way up.

"What were you doing on the couch all day?"

"Watching cartoons."

Big surprise.

"Right, and while you were watching cartoons, some guys showed up and made off with our porch, is that it?"

"Yes."

"Wha-what?!"

"Some guys took the porch."

Paul spewed beer and laughed.

Pause.

"Well, why didn't you stop them?" I asked.

"I tried to stop them" answered Sven.

"What did you do to stop them?"

"I opened the front door and said 'Hey, stop that. Go away! Shoo! Shoo!'"

Paul was now doubled over and convulsing with laughter.

"What did 'these guys' do when you said 'Shoo! Shoo!'?"

"They just looked at me and went back to taking apart the porch. I think they were Filipino or something."

"You said 'Shoo!' Shoo!', that's it? That's ALL you did?"

"Well, what did you want me to do?"

I was stumped. I had no idea what to say. I guess I could never expect my house mates to fend off roving bands of Filipino Front Porch thieves. I went upstairs to my room, sat on my futon and looked out my window at the space that used to be occupied by our front porch.

Manifesto Part II

I'm in my forties. Marketers tell me I'm an In-Betweener. I am in between the Baby-Boomers and Generation-X. Truth be told, I feel more Gen-X than Boomer.

My grandparents were the Greatest Generation. I guess that makes my parents In-Betweeners too. They were in between the Greatest Generation and The ME Generation but I'm pretty sure they were well rooted in the ME Generation.

The Greatest Generation sounds like a challenge. I'm not a competitive sort but it sounds like the impact of a thrown glove when someone says "The Greatest Generation". You think you can do better? Not likely.

I'm bitter about the ME Generation. So bitter, that I relish that moniker. I love to look at my parents and think "Yep, indulgent and self-centered". I love my folks. I really do but, Jesus Christ, the shit they got away with? I mean, really? Our generation, in-betweener or Generation-X, we would never dare to be so self-indulgent. Ever.

Marketers say we are nourishers. We are reacting to the abandonment we felt while our parents were pursuing their whims and getting divorces. Yeah, I'm good with that...almost.

The nourishing can stop. It can end. We don't have to go to our graves as the "almost-ran" generation. We don't have to live in the shadow of our grandparents. There is no reason for us to fritter away our time making amends for the sins of our parents. We have plenty of time to sin for ourselves.

We are the first generation that knows it will live past seventy. There's a good chance a bunch of us will make it to one hundred. That gives us each eight to thirty-five years of unfettered, non-nourishing, time to ourselves. Think about it.

Here's my plan. Let's raise our kids to be the little geniuses we know they are. Once they are out of the house, once they land that post-graduate job or get married, or start a band or whatever they hell end game we're killing ourselves to get to, let's turn inward. Let's be more "ME" than "Greatest".

Being the first generation to know it will live past seventy is significant. We need to write our license to be indulgent. We need to express OUR selves after sixty-five. Hell, we should start now.

Oh? Should we be more "Greatest" than "ME", you might ask? Fuck no. That's what we're raising the little bastards for, right? Our little geniuses are supposed to fix the planet. You didn't listen to all of that Mozart while pregnant for nothing. Well guess what? We're done. We gave them all of the tools we could. We nourished them right into University and beyond. We're retired. We are RE-TIRED.

Beware passion! Don't let the snake oil salesman lure you away in pursuit of your passion. You don't need to pursue your passion to find happiness. It is enough to get through every day. It is enough that we have raised a generation of geniuses (and not serial killers). Let's not waste our time in pursuit of a passion. It is too easy to fail. "Oh, I didn't live my passion!" "Oh, I must be a failure because my passion has not been expressed". Fuck your passion. Don't worry about it.

Instead of pursuing a passion, let's do this, BE PASSIONATE. We shall live our lives with passion. We will die laughing. We will kiss with our tongues long past it being appropriate. We will dance better than the next three generations combined. When we die, our girlfriends will stuff our coffins with their panties. Ours will be the exit of a super nova. We'll leave the next generation to text "WTF?".

Let's be nourishers and then let's be done. And then the party will start. Who's in?