Adam "Mania" Wyatt

I met a guy last November 17, who called himself Adam Mania.  His real name is Adam Wyatt, but the moniker fit.  This guy was high energy and fun.  You could see he genuinely loved life!  Ten days after I met him, he was gone as the result of a tragic motorcycle accident.

Back to the night I met him.  I was at Sean Bolan's Irish Pub in Bel Air.  They have an open mic night every Thursday that is hosted by a local musician whom I respect and admire greatly, Julie Houtz.  Anyway, Adam did a raucous set, and I got a killer photograph of him in a classic rock-and-roll pose, his hand up above his shoulder and ready to wail on his electric guitar.  When he was done I showed him the picture, and he asked me to send him a copy on facebook.  I did, and it was to become his final selection for a facebook profile photo.

The bigger part of that evening wasn't about the photograph, though.  After the brief introductions - "Hi; I'm Mike.  Hi; I'm Adam" - he stood there and talked to me for a good - no, make that a GREAT - 45 minutes.  Now mind you, this was the first time I'd shown up for this open mic night thing, and I knew only the host, and I knew her in very limited fashion, having seen her perform only one other time at that same venue.  Adam, on the other hand, was clearly a regular, and a popular one at that.  For those of you old enough to remember the tv show Cheers, this cat was like Bolan's "Norm".  Everybody knew his name, and everybody loved being around him.  He reiprocated that love in spades.  So, here I am, this socially awkward (at that point) guy still trying to fight my way back to being generally accepted among a brand spanking new group of peers, and the most popular guy at the bar is hanging out getting to know me for, like, 45 minutes.

I'm trying to make this sound like it is not about me, but what Adam did for me, and for my social confidence, is so incredibly amazing to me, that it has stuck with me since that night.  At that point in my life, I was content to be the guy stuck safely and anonymously behind the camera, and satisfied if one or two people asked to look at the pictures I took.  All my life, I was the kid who got picked last for kickball on the school playground, right after the poor, crippled, blind girl with no legs and a bad cough.  That night, the coolest kid in school could have chosen anybody to be on his kickball team, and he picked me - first.  My aspirations at that time in my life were set low.  My goal was to one day be not chosen last, and then this guy with popularity larger than life itself chose me first.  A few people came by to say hi to him and he acknowledged them, but he kept right on talking to me.  He got some of my story, and I got some of his.  He had, in the space of 45 minutes, become one of the most influential people I had ever met.

I learned of his passing at work.  I was heartbroken.  His photograph haunted me.  As a photographer I feel a sense of responsibility to those whom I photograph.  Adam had a purpose, and I did not feel right "keeping" his picture to myself.  I would find out in the aftermath of his passing that he was good friends with someone who is equally influential in my life, Erica Bragg.  Adam was well-known among Erica's circle of friends, many of whom have since become my friends, too.  So, fast-forward to last week, which would have been Adam's 30th birthday.  Trish, a good friend of Adam's (and Erica's and now mine, too) threw a party to commemorate this significant milestone in Adam's story, and there was no doubt it was to be primarily a celebration of his life and how he lived it.  The photograph was too light-hearted and jocular to be given in an appropriate way at the time of his passing; but, the birthday party provided an event that was perfectly suited to the mood of the image.  So I printed and matted the picture and gave it to Trish to have signed by his friends who attended the party.  I will frame the image tomorrow night.  I can't wait to see how it looks with all those kind words befitting such a kind soul!

Adam, it sucks that I got to know you for only 45 minutes, but my life would have sucked a hell of alot worse if I hadn't.  I'm glad you like the picture; it no longer haunts me because it's your's now, in a real and tangible way.  Thank you for helping me see that it is enough to be just who I am to deserve great friends like you.  You're the best, Adam; and, someday we're gonna pick up that conversation where we left it last November. 

Love ya, brother!

A Comedian Walks Into A Bar...

Funny men are often some of the saddest and most miserable people around.

If you've followed my blog for any time, you know that I have made tremendous strides in expanding my circle of friends this year.  I've made friends by the dozen, and I count each one to be a tremendous blessing in my life.  I am having fun for the first time since leaving photo classes about ten years ago.

Unfortunately, some people insist on sucking.  Case-in-point, I made a friend at one of my regular open mic night venues.  This friend is loud and boisterous, but, seemingly, a decent person also there looking to enjoy a comradery with the other bar patrons.  This person is well known and well liked.  I considered this individual a friend.  I shouldn't have been so quick to judge.

It was recently brought to my attention that this person tells people about me, "don't trust him", and "you gotta watch him".  Apparently, this individual considers me some sort of potential narc or rat for the police.  The truth is, its none of my business what any individual decides to smoke, inject or ingest, and I am under no obligation, and most certainly of no predisposition, to inform or report to anyone either my direct knowledge or any potential suspicion.  I could if I wanted to.  The point is, I don't want to.

I was, however, able to use my professional connections to help this person out when they got into a bit of a tough spot about a month ago.  I was the one who went out of my way to vouch for this person's character.  So, this individual thanks me by trying to throw me under the bus, and in the process make my new circle of friends wary of me.

Hopefully, this is just a set-up for another bad punchline; but, if it is some sorta joke, I just don't get it!

"The Joker", Steve Miller Band.

Ohm My!

Of all the java joints, in all the towns, in all the world, I walk into hers...

First things first, though.  Two weeks ago, Kerry the therapist suggested I check out a local meditation group.  I'd never tried meditation before, but I figured, "what could it hurt?".  I went tonight for my first meeting.  I was surprised by how long it took me to release my tensions and uptight posture.  When I did, though, I was able to begin purging visual memories of some traumatic events that occurred in my childhood.  I found a place of peace in the meditative state where I could center and, really, recalibrate my own feelings with regard to the internal versus external loci of control.  Because, through prayer and God's grace, I have found the capacity to forgive in relation to these traumatic events, none of this was particularly upsetting; it was just nice to begin to fully dismiss the memories of those unpleasant events from my mind.

On the lighter side, after the meditation session I decided to reward my breakthrough with a sweet treat.  Now, I know I needed that slab of coconut cream pie like I need another hole in my head; but, sometimes, ya jus' gotta...  Anyway, that calorie crammed confection ended up being merely the second sweetest thing on tonight's menu.  My server, Ashley, was gorgeous!  She is another one of those anomalies that Erica tuned me into noticing when we were all down in Atlantic City back in May.  Ashley does her hair and make-up in a vintage 1940's style.  The 1940's style is hot!  She had the walk to go with a 40's lady-like appearance and countenance; the only thing missing was the stockings with the seam up the back.  I love the stockings with the seam up the back...yeah, buddy!  She is young, and I am not expecting there is any kinda connection, but daddy-o is she ever cool!  I was happy, too, to be in the diner when my regular crew were not on-hand.  I had to get myself over with some just barely, passingly familiar faces, and I succeeded with flying colors, and, in the process, have again significantly broadened my circle of friends!

Havin' fun!

"Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive", Johnny Mercer.

Love For $ale

I have been propositioned by a prostitute.  I posted a personal ad (simply seeking someone to talk to) and have had a myriad of responses, most of which have directed me to different internet porn and/or dating sites.  My most recent response was from a woman who is for hire and marketing her services.

I am looking for a relationship, not just sex.  That said, in a different situation (i.e. not a business arrangement), if I had a social offer of just sex without any possibility of establishing a romantic relationship, I would probably indulge.  There was a time, and not so long ago, when I would have sworn that the answer to such a business proposition would be an unequivocated and affirmative no.  Now, I'm not so sure.  While sex is not ALL I'm looking for, it is part of an adult relationship that I do enjoy deeply.  Do I enjoy it to the point of being willing to pay for it outside the parameters of a commited, romantic relationship?  I dunno...maybe.  Would it fulfill the entirety of the need that has been troubling me since getting my own act together, psychologically?  Absolutely not.  Because it would not fulfill a greater, farther reaching need, I think its not a good idea to accept the offer.  However, when considered on its own merits - to wit:  You want sex.  I want money.  Let's trade. - it seems more worthwhile. 

The morality argument is not gonna work here, either; because, if Judeao-Christian religious morality is the ultimate barometer of right and wrong, than not one of us would be having sex outside of marriage.  Just a guess, here, but I'll bet not one of us (at least among my fb friends) haven't done so.  So, then it becomes an issue of the sexual mores of society.  That never much concerned me, anyway.  I have always had a good number of people in my social circle who do things a little differently from what some good, church goin' folk might expect.  I definitely do things differently.  The possibility that we will all end up in the same Heaven scares the hell outta the good, church goin' folk.

The point here, I guess, is never assume your response to a hypothetically presented situation to be iron-clad when facing that same situation in reality.  I am going to wait for my real, loving, soul mate and life partner to come along; but, I cannot by any means claim society's moral high ground on the other issue.  I think fewer would be able to than the number who think they could.

"I Want Your Sex", George Michael.

We Are The Two Percent

Ninety-eight percent of me wants to give up...throw in the towel...just say it ain't worth the heartache of tryin' to meet the right woman.  Still, there is that remaining two percent that just won't quit me.  I'm beginning to think that two percent might be my inner-idiot and that I can't read the writing on the wall, even though I am otherwise highly literate.  Oh well, never meeting the woman for me is only guaranteed by not trying, even if actually meeting her seems all but impossible.

To this end, I have joined the Baltimore Area Singles MeetUp group.  They are having a function at Mountain Branch tomorrow - or, uh, later today, I suppose.  There is a well known local cover band playing there, and a group of a baker's dozen from MeetUp showing up.  So I go, have a few iced teas and leave...at worst.  I gotta try.  It's either that or continue dying what feels like a slow and lonely death.  Kerry the therapist thinks I should take a break from trying to meet people for awhile, but I am not content to leave my chance of meeting someone to chance; it hasn't served me well, so far, and God seems to be not on the same page as what I feel like my need is with regard to this issue.  Or, maybe this is one of those areas of life where He just lets us fend for ourselves while He takes care of disease and natural disasters, and such.

Yesterday had been exactly three months since Vickie left her practice.  I still miss her terribly!  We agreed that I could e-mail her every three months, or so, with an update of my goings-on, and find out how she is doing, too.  So, while everybody else was oohing and ahhing over the fireworks, I was authoring my e-mail to Vickie.  It would be great to hear from her.  As therapists go, when they made Vickie they broke the mold.  She is amazing, and her influence in my life is what most likely accounts for that two percent of fight left in me.

After Sunday night's debacle, I'm just hoping to not have to take another proverbial kick in the nuts.  That was not fun.  It has taken its toll this week.  It's funny, too, in many ways Independence Day has that same kinda feel to it as New Year's Eve, and all a single person can see is how it seems that everyone else is paired off with a significant other, seemingly happily.

"Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", U2.

At Odds With Being

Apparently, the Rule of Ugly dominates the Law of Attraction.

Last week, Kerry the therapist suggested I get involved with a local woman, Cynthia K Johnson, who hosts a weekly(ish) meditation/self-help discussion group.  I'm not a joiner, but I'm also not managing my own feelings very well; so, I deferred to her suggestion and signed up.

After last night's episode with the vanishing date, I was gonna try to hit the reset button tonight at the group meeting.  Just got an e-mail that Cynthia's air conditioner broke down, and that the meeting for this week is cancelled.  Even the Universe doesn't seem to like, accept, or want me around right now.  WTF!

Anyway, the group is reading and discussing a book called The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle.  So, I am going to go out tonight to try to find the book and get working on it.  I hope it helps.  I am beginning to feel like my own lost cause.

"Fuckin' Perfect", Pink.

Less Than Nothing

It's one thing to feel like you are grotesque and repulsive; but, when someone goes to the trouble to confirm it for you, it just takes it to a whole different level.

All of this polishing and refining I've been trying to do seems to be for naught.  For whatever reason, I am unacceptable as boyfriend material.  I'm ugly and fat and horrible in some uniquely intangible way.  Lucky me!  I had a "blind" arrangement to meet someone for a drink last night after work.  When the gal showed up at our meeting place, she wasn't two minutes into our conversation when she said, "I'm gonna go.".  How fuckin' hard would it have been to suffer me through one drink of her choice which she wouldn't have had to pay for anyway? 

If you feel worthless you're supposed to shake it off - redirect your thoughts, people say.  If people tell you that, you're supposed to ignore them - "who are they, anyway?", folks admonish.  But, what do you do when someone shows up in your face and slowly and methodically spells it out for you in clear and unmistakable terms? 

ugly  U-G-L-Y  ugly

grotesque  G-R-O-T-E-S-Q-U-E  grotesque

repulsive  R-E-P-U-L-S-I-V-E  repulsive

Really, REALLY?!  What am I supposed to do with that?  It leaves very little to build on.  Tired of the whole damned thing!

"People Are Strange", The Doors.

Loneliness Is A Constant Companion

It's coming up on three months since Vickie left her practice.  I didn't think it was possible for me to still miss her this much.  Kerry has been great, but Vickie was my sanctuary from my own darkness.  I've honestly felt lost without her.  Honestly, I still feel lost.  Vickie's guidance was pure, white light.  Advice I get elsewhere - be it from Kerry or family or friends or my facebook family - is comparitively a voice in the darkness of my own affliction.  I cannot find my way through the darkness to these voices.  Vickie always showed me clearly visible direction.  With Vickie's help, I knew where I was going; now, not so much.  I miss her.

I'm floundering.  I'm trying to keep myself distracted and succeeding well and failing miserably.  I'm sad.  I want things to not have changed.  I want Vickie to not have left her career.  I want what I can never seem to have...the unconditional love and acceptance of a special woman.  Vickie is not that special woman.  She is not even a representation thereof.  But, Vickie was the one woman who was gonna ride shotgun on my journey to meet this special lady.  She "got me" like no one else gets me.  Now, it feels like Vickie bailed, and then somebody stole my ride.  I'm lost, scared, tired and alone.  I'm also getting tired of the journey.

At the end of the day, what I really want is somebody there at the end of the day.  For whatever reason God and/or fate have determined that I am neither worthy nor deserving of this.

Solitude.

"Population: Me", Dwight Yoakam.