(A young Army Private was once asked while standing in formation by his Drill Sergeant, “What is the hardest thing to find.” The Private sounded off loudly, “To find happiness Drill Sergeant.” The Drill Sergeant immediately called him a faggot and made him do push ups. The Drill Sergeant’s answer was to be a leader. He was obviously insulted by the Private’s answer. Strangely the whole formation didn’t laugh at the Private’s answer, as they were miserable and happiness seemed a distant dream in their current setting. As that Private came down the next morning for formation at 5:30 A.M. he noticed someone had written on the chalk board in the barracks front lobby, Happiness is Elusive. It seemed someone had been listening.)

Not knowing. Not knowing what the future holds. Where you will be tomorrow? Where you will live for the rest of your life? Wanting the best for your family. The best schools and social environment for your children. The least stressful environment for yourself and loved ones. Trying to surround yourself with family and friends that support you, love you and help you to grow mentally, spiritually, and creatively.

This should be easily attainable. You will need a village. A village where your friends and loved ones live. A village where your skills and talents are needed in order for the village to prosper. A village where you can find happiness without taking medication. Where you don’t need a pill to level you out. A village that naturally levels you out.

Where you can depend on and trust your neighbors. A place where you don’t have to lock your front door at night. A place where you aren’t worried about your kids playing outside. A place where you aren’t worried about retirement, because you know you will be supported and not abandoned.

Find this, and you will find happiness, Drill Sergeant. If you find this, then come find me. I will be the first to follow.

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The revolution is upon us, and it started with this bloke named Billy. Billy realized he had a voice. Realized that his life spent working for the power plant, and his time spent at Off Track Betting was interesting. That his 25 year old tiger tattoo really did mean something and that the pain was real. That it talked to him when he got it, and it talked to others at the bar when he showed it off. Even though, he picked it out of a book and it very closely resembled clip art.

Billy realized he had a voice. He might not be special, but he is Billy, and there is only one of him. So damn. I guess he’s special. And in collecting his thoughts and writing a sentence or two of English, although it be broken and bastardized, he feels validated. And somehow it all becomes worth while for a while. His mark can be made. One word at a time. And the interesting thing is, that he has a following. That there are a thousand folks like him reading his blog while sitting in their trailers using their mom’s old 400Mhz Dell, cursing to themselves because they are still using dial-up.

As they read, they realize that they are not alone. That they too, have a very similar tiger tattoo, and that they picked it out of a very similar book at a very similar tattoo parlor. The only striking difference is, that their tiger tattoo has a very different story and it too, is just as significant.

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Do a little dance. Do a little song. American Idol is on tonight. Human combustion machine seen on boob tube glossy miracles of I believe in the dream of I can get the record contract. Of I can be famous. That I can be rescued from my meaningless pointless repetition of 9-5 constants. Of winning the lotto. Of my ship coming in. Vote for me America. Vote for my bleached smile, and surfer haircut. Vote for my boyish good looks. I want to be talked about around water coolers and coffee machines in company break rooms for this entire T.V. season. I want you to tune out your everyday repetitive life and focus on me. I can be your savior. I can be your idol placed on ivory pedestals holding up your 50 inch flat panel, next to your plans of expanding your Florida room because you don’t have room for the jacuzzi . . . and the pool table.

You can talk of me when your family gathers for Thanksgiving. We can reminisce about times spent huddled around having family time while you saw my shooting star and grabbed it. And for one moment we were all united. George Washington was watching tonight. He was proud of us as we came together for a moment to see that the roads really are paved with gold. That the roads really are paved with opportunity. Of there being wonderful things here in this country for believers. Our cup does runneth over. Tonight we had the chance to unite and combine our hopes and dreams into one person’s future. One person’s dreams. We can make them. We can break them. We have a choice. We have a vote. And this time, it does make a difference.

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Click. Click…..Click. Phone ringing. Layered sound. Air conditioning whining. Coughing in distance. Someone cursing to themselves. Phone ringing. Outlook alerts you to another email. Click. Click…..Click.

Car goes by outside. Air conditioning is whining. Bellowing. Typing all around. Forced, angry typing. Click. Click…..Click. Laughter in distance. Mouse clicking. All mouses clicking. Another car goes by outside on the interstate. Lunch time is near. Papers being shuffled. Click. Click. Click. Typing. Deliberate thoughtful clicking. Someone cursing in the distance.

Phone ringing in the distance. Car goes by on the interstate. Air condition is whining. Someone drops their pen. Someone uses their stapler. A piece of paper is being crinkled up to be thrown away. Another piece of paper is being crinkled up to be thrown away. Someone is talking about a new job order they just got in the cubicle next to you. Laughing about a story about when they were in school. About how good it was back then. Someone is ripping a piece of paper out of a notebook.

This is your life. Listen….

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Crowded into a lunchbox that has fleas, maggots, and the occasional smoke alarm detector not going off with smoke filling your room, filling your throat, filling your lungs, while you are taking a nap and trying not to think about your problems. This is my apartment.

Sometimes it is best to pay a little extra for quality. That would be a good idea for Wal-Mart shoppers to remember as their purchase puts out another mom and pop shop and pushes more of the American dollar’s overseas. I am laughing. Laughing at the cheapest price point. Me, I’m a slave to the cheapest price point. How can one really pay more when you are living paycheck to paycheck, and your baby girl has fleas on her face that have snuck inside from wild dogs that run around in the backyard alley?

We woke up today with our kitchen sink overflowed from the upstairs neighbors mop bucket being dumped into the sink above. Maggots were all in the water, and they began to crawl up the kitchen wall. However, our lunchbox is covered in vinyl and has wonderful character. It’ a Spanish lunch box with red trim on a really interesting street. We wake up some nights and can’t breathe due to mold being pumped from the walls after years of growth. It’s a feeling like drowning. Breathing liquid. Breathing water. Breathe in your life. It is all around you.

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