A reminder that popped up in my phone today.
Don’t really have the heart to delete the occurrence, despite knowing that if I don’t, it’ll pop up again next month, and the month after that, to remind me that my sweet boy is no longer with me.
Tag: death
Happy trails, Chase the Face
I told myself to not write anything before the fact, because that would be time spent on myself and not hanging out with the Face. I still have no idea how people do this, where they schedule the euthanization of their pets, and then literally manage to operate their lives knowing there is a very real clock ticking down the remainder of their life.
Needless to say, the time between making the call to the vet and to the eventual saying of goodbye to my dog, has been real hazy, but fortunately for me, I’m the type of person who can throw themselves into work, just so that I don’t have to think about the anxieties of something like having to put my dog down.
Here’s a fun fact about me, Chase is actually the first dog that I’ve ever own, myself. Every pet I’ve had in the past was either inherited, temporary or technically belonged to someone else, but not actually mine. Chase was the first dog that I’ve ever adopted, paid for, and been solely responsible for in my entire life.
I adopted him on May 16, 2012, from the Atlanta Humane Society. My home had always had dogs in it, and when it stopped having dogs in it, it felt like there was something missing. I was single with no prospects at this time, so having a dog seemed like a no-brainer as far as unconditional companionship was concerned, and I wanted to adopt a rescue because I just felt that it was a more responsible thing to do, seeing as how the pet population is pretty out of control in general.
I had visited a couple of shelters leading up to eventually going to the Humane Society, and when I met Wind Chaser, I kind of felt pretty quickly that this was the dog that I wanted to adopt. Say what you will about my general preference in dogs, maybe it’s an Asian thing or maybe it’s just me, but this maltese/shih tsu mix just kind of spoke to me. So I paid the adoption fee in an Amazon donation, and shortened to Chase, was now my dog.
How does one schedule the ending of a life?
As I posted about a little while ago, my dog is not well. He was diagnosed with cancer a little over a month ago, and has a tumor that has been rapidly growing since then. I got a second opinion to see if this were something that could be operated on, but the combination of the growth of the tumor, his age, and his heart, it was a no-brainer that he was not a good surgery candidate, and that this was a situation to simply just try to keep him comfortable for however long he has left.
It’s been about a month, and the fact that I’m writing this at all should be enough to know just how well things have gone. The tumor has been growing and is protruding visibly. Chase’s appetite has been gradually decreasing, to which to me is the #1 thing to know when it’s time to start reflecting on mortality, and his physical behavior has decreasing. His hips have occasionally given out on him, requiring me to pick him up and put him in the grass to relieve himself, if he isn’t unloading where he settles in the first place.
One of the things I told myself when I realized that the clock was counting down was that I did not want to keep my dog alive for the sake of myself. Once his quality of life was starting to really not be so great would be the point where I would do him the courtesy of letting him bow out gracefully and with his dignity, and not when he was frail, immobile and already starving to death. This is a mistake I’ve made in the past, and it is something that I did not want to repeat, because it’s not fair to our pets to do such selfish things.
It’s been a lot of reflecting over the last few days, but this is where I think I am with my journey with Chase now. His appetite is dwindling, his activity is becoming more sedentary, and as noted, his legs are starting to fail him. In spite of his documented heart issues, his heart is not failing him, but the rest of his body is really starting to. He’s attentive and his mind is still clearly with us, and this would be a whole lot simpler to do if it weren’t, but that’s just the cruelty of life sometimes.
The thing is, in all the pets I’ve ever had or been a part of their lives, death has always been kind of a in-the-moment thing. They’ve never dropped dead in front of me, but typically things have occurred that made it very clear that the time was now, to say goodbye. No real time to think about it, just act, and do them the solid of not letting them suffer.
I’ve never been in a scenario where I’ve had the time to contemplate and make the decision, much less call the vet to schedule, the literal ending of a life, and it feels completely bonkers that this is something that people actually do all around the world. But here we are.
It sucks because it feels like there’s a degree of convenience, of washing my hands of the responsibility and care needed, and I’m constantly talking to myself to remind myself that it’s for his sake that we’re doing this. Put a merciful end to the suffering of cancer spreading and taking parts of his body offline. Suppressing a once-healthy appetite. Making him unable to sprint circles around me while I held the leash with amusement at his energy and vitality. I’d be lying if I said that there wouldn’t be some relief of the absolving of some duties, but it’s never worth the ceasing of a life, but the flip side to that, is that I’d be forcing a dog to stay alive for my sake and not his, and that’s precisely what I’m trying to avoid.
All the same, I’ve made up my mind, and I have to stick with it. Short of the cure to cancer being released into the air and the discovery of the fountain of youth, applicable to dogs as well, there’s not much that’s going to turn this back, nor should there be. My boy has lived a lengthy life, been an unforgettable companion through a substantial chunk of my own life, and it’s time to let him go and sprint as many circles around the afterlife as he wants, before he abruptly stops to drop the biggest poop a dog of his size has any business dropping.
No laughing matter
TL;DR: MARTA CEO Jeffrey Parker dies by suicide after stepping in front of a MARTA train at the East Lake transit station
Honestly, I don’t even know what to write in regards to this. But I’ve said so many things about MARTA over the years that I just feel like I can’t let this go by without some effort to write something about it. It’s definitely not something that I can inject personal opinions into or try to spin this in a manner that makes MARTA look stupid or be something to laugh at.
Suicide isn’t something to laugh at, because although it may end the suffering from those who feel they are, they’re opening up a world of it for those who have to pick up the pieces from their abrupt departure. And as I’d be willing to wager, many of us who have no idea who Jeffrey Parker is aside from being the MARTA guy, this news probably caught a lot of people completely out of the blue.
Make no mistake, running MARTA definitely has to be one of the most thankless and seemingly fruitless jobs in the city. It’s a joke to many, endlessly handcuffed by bureaucracy and red tape, and intertwined with all sorts of racism, which leads to this hopeless package of a private company where people take the jobs primarily because they’re jobs, and not because anyone believes in the good and betterment of the agency and expects there to be any substantial growth; the entire Metro Atlanta area has seen to it already to ensure that such doesn’t happen.
But Jeffrey Parker hasn’t really done a poor job of running MARTA; granted, in one of those ironic twists, the pandemic and peoples’ general inclination to avoid crowds and crowd-inducing things like public transit has probably helped a little bit to reduce negative numbers, but Parker’s name hasn’t popped up routinely with some embarrassing MARTA or Atlanta-ey meme associated with. No news is good news when it comes to associating with MARTA, I’d theorize.
All the same, outside of those who actually knew the guy, nobody has any idea to the demons running around in his closet. To the point where they actually succeeded at getting the body to believe that it was a good idea to throw himself in front of one of the train that he and his occupation oversaw. It’s definitely something a little bit ironic, and a lot bit fucked up, and leads to little else than all bit sad. No news is good news, but this news is fucking horrible.
In the past, I remarked that Jeffrey Parker had a lofty task to live up to the bar that predecessor Keith Parker had laid down for him. But MARTA was running fairly comfortable since the transition, so all too soon, it will be time for yet another successor to step into shoes with dismal expectations, and hope to keep the ship steady and afloat, but for completely different reasons.
A 2021 year-end post
Looking back at all my old posts on a near-daily basis through the On This Day plug-in I use, I realize that I’ve written a whole lot of year-end posts throughout the years, which makes me feel somewhat obligated to write one for this year as well. Initially, my thought was “fuck, ain’t nobody got time for this shit,” but then I stopped to actually think about the year 2021 as a whole, and realized that making one, really shouldn’t be that difficult.
Seeing as how in my double dad duty life, I’m typically always in search of the path of least resistance, “shouldn’t be that difficult,” pleases me.
Although plenty of things happened both in my own little bubble, as well as the rest of the world, for me, the year really can be summed up pretty succinctly as a tale of two halves. The first half of the year was spent preparing for the birth of #2, where my job made me miserable and was sucking the life out of me. And then literally halfway through the year, #2 arrived, embarking on the second half of the year where my job still made me miserable, but it was compounded by the ever-living difficulty of parenting two under two with insufficient help.
All while the coronavirus pandemic that plagued most of 2020, still raged on throughout the entire 2021, regardless of how stupid, arrogant and ignorant the rest of the world seemed to become because we’re all a bunch of selfish fucks who can’t understand the importance of quarantine and distancing, and have to be out in public events and crowded restaurants. Vaccinations came into fruition, and smart people got them, but it didn’t make everyone suddenly invincible, as much as it dulled the fatality capabilities of coronavirus. But that was good enough for everyone, and I stopped pondering which was worse between the unvaccinated and the vaccinated who thought they were bulletproof.
On that description alone, it sounds like 2021 may have sucked, and I’d be the first to admit that I did have a tremendous amount of time with dark clouds over me and inside my head. But none of it has any bearing for the love I have for my children, no matter how hard they’ve made my life in this current juncture, and no matter how much I bitch and write pissy brog posts, they are still my happiness and the greatest things to have happened to my life along with mythical wife.
This isn’t to say that the year was entirely a wash. It’s just pretty easy to sum up in very broad strokes, that make it sound negative. Aside from the birth of my second child, she brought baby luck into play, and despite thinking I wouldn’t ever see it in my lifetime, the Atlanta Braves won the World Series. I mean if that isn’t the very embodiment of baby luck, I don’t know what was, the Braves had 88 wins and had no business making the playoffs, but they did, got hot, and rode the momentum all the way to the Commissioner’s Trophy.
I also got the NXT UK Tag Team replica blet, that I’ve been waiting to come into existence for three years. That pleased me greatly and was a good way to wind down the year.
Oh, and the new job I secured with the year winding down. A substantial raise, elevated job title, and for the inevitable future where I have to report back into an office, a shorter commute. Plus, it gave me the long-awaited departure from my toxic current boss, and I can’t wait to get the fuck away from her. That shit is really fantastic news too.
But because I’m a nerd that takes general notes on the happenings that interest me, the following things also occurred in 2021:
- Baked potato worshippers basically tried to throw a coup and invade the Capitol in Washington DC in defiance of the failed 2020 election
- I took a UX course to try and pivot my career path
- Got vaccinated, had it kick my ass. Got a booster later in the year, which kicked my ass again
- Tried the Dr. Now diet from My 600 Lb. Life of eating 1,200 calories a day; I lasted a week before throwing in the towel, but still lost 3.1 lbs.
- The housing market in America went completely bonkers, and I capitalized on it by refinancing on my house to help ourselves financially
- Alabama won its 52nd National Championship
- Tom Brady won his 43rd Super Bowl; but first with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers
- The Milwaukee Bucks, yes Milwaukee Bucks, won the NBA Finals
- My upstairs HVAC died in the middle of summer and had to be replaced, causing a very uncomfortable week in August
- And finally, speaking of deaths, notable passings in my world included: Hank Aaron, Larry King, Screech from Saved by the Bell, Jessica Walter, New Jack, Norm Macdonald, John Madden, Betty White, and most tragically, Sonny Chiba.
But let’s not end this post talking about deaths. As droll and depressing some of the tone of this post might’ve read, there is absolutely no reason for me to not be optimistic about 2022. I have a new job that pays better and gets me away from the toxic situation that shit all over my 2021, and as my girls grow and develop, life should become a little simpler, and pave the way for me to get bits of my own life back, gradually, little by little.
Those things alone carry great weight, and as long as those things can progress positively, not even the dismal state of the world’s handling of coronavirus can drag me down. And with that, I close the brog book on 2021, and hope for nothing but the best going into year 22 of fairly consistent brogging.
I hope the afterlife is ready to get their asses destroyed
By now, I would wager that just about everyone has someone they can name off the top of their heads as someone whom they think has been the greatest casualty of the coronavirus. Whether it’s a family member, or family of a friend, or a friend of family, a celebrity, regional personality, or what not, at this point it’s probably not a stretch for people to be able to have been affected to some degree of sadness at the death or someone they cared about.
For me, short of anyone in my family, the news of the passing of actor and martial arts legend, Shinichi “Sonny” Chiba is without question, the one death that stands out above all others in my personal little world, and it upset me tremendously to have learned of the passing of this icon.
At 82 years old, it’s not like he hasn’t lived a full and fruitful life in his own right, but the fact that he passed due to pneumonia associated with coronavirus says to me that he still died in a pointless, unfortunate and completely avoidable manner. I won’t sugarcoat the disappointment that I felt to learn that he also wasn’t vaccinated, but given his age, I’m hoping he was more of the type to be concerned over a vaccine of such nature to a person of his age, versus someone who was just anti-vax, and flat out refused it, but this is something that I guess we’ll never know.
I don’t even really know where to go with the rest of this post. I wanted to make sure that even in spite of my complete lack of any time to do any writing, that when I started writing this, I wanted to be clear headed, and relatively available to gather my thoughts and write, because most anyone who knows me probably knows that I’ve always been a die-hard Sonny Chiba fan, and that I saw him as more than a martial artist and an actor, and more like an icon and a personal hero, that started kind of as a joke, but really grew into something genuine and meaningful.
Continue reading “I hope the afterlife is ready to get their asses destroyed”
Happy trails, New Jack
To be perfectly honest, the news of New Jack’s passing didn’t really impact me beyond the unfortunate feeling that at just 58-years old, he probably left a lot of life on the table when he decided to check out. I can’t say that I was really that big of a fan of his ever, and I was a fan of ECW during their heyday when he was a member of the Gangstas and all his rando team-ups with Spike Dudley and John Kronus.
All the same, I still felt like writing out some words on account his passing, because I’m still a wrestling fan, and I do have memories of New Jack myself.
Honestly, I actually remember New Jack doing the job more often than not, especially towards the last few years of ECW. Granted, he would always remain “strong” in terms of optics and perception, because along with his trashcans of weapons he’d always bring to the ring, he would punish and beat the fuck out of his opponents for 12 minutes before he’d inevitably overextend the beatdown by going up high, and after whatever dive, fall or slam off of often times, multiple stories, he would be just as in a position to lose the “match” as his opponents were, and he did, a lot.
Towards the end of ECW, I remember him in many matches often opposing the Dudley Boyz, and those were some savage, brutal affairs, where most spectators whether they were wrestling fans or not, would often bring up the “well, that’s got to be real” comments when New Jack was snapping crutches and other objects on the backs and heads of his opposition. Frankly, the finishes to these matches were probably the safest parts, when the inevitable 3D through a table probably felt like jumping on the bed versus having a 230 lb. man dropping on you from above, since one of the staples of every New Jack match was an insane dive or fall.
I bet there were some intense rock-paper-scissors or straws drawn to decide who got to have Spike Dudley drop on them versus New Jack.
Above all else though, if there was one core, key element that New Jack brought to the table, and in my opinion, the thing that will truly be lost with his passing, was the sheer element of insane-terror-fear that he brought into whatever room or arena he walked into. Make no mistake, New Jack was one of the most terrifying and intimidating performers of an entire generation.
As much as guys like Haku brought an air of toughness, the Undertaker commanded respect, New Jack brought an air of homicide with him that the people he worked with might actually have been fearful for their lives when they knew that they had to work with him. Guys like Jack Victory and of course, nobody can talk about New Jack without mentioning The Mass Transit Incident where he basically almost killed a minor who had lied about his age to get in the ring could attest to the sheer brutality that lay in store when working with New Jack if he just felt like it, it must literally have felt like Russian Roulette when stepping into the ring with New Jack.
Although I can’t say that I was particularly a fan of his, or the hardcore style in general, it would be inaccurate to say that New Jack wasn’t a legend in his own right. The whole package of the brutal, hardcore punishment he brought to every match the Natural Born Killaz track that played continuously throughout all his matches, and the sheer violence and shock value he brought are things that simply cannot be emulated or recreated in this day and age, and it’s probably for the best.
Regardless, happy trails to Jerome Young, AKA New Jack, and respect for the wild and crazy shit he brought to the industry while he was in it.