Steven Hawking is a fucking amateur.


Where's your God now?

Friends,

As many of my close friends and family would tell you, I obsess over the idea of time travel. This is obviously nothing new in our fairly short history as evolved and cognizant beings. I’m probably (definitely) not breaking any new ground here, but I don’t care. This is my (our) website and I can do whatever the fuck I want.

A couple of months ago the CDO and I were sitting on the couch. I had come home on my lunch break to hang out a little bit, pet the dog and try to pet her too. Before anything like that could take place, we somehow got on the topic of differences between then and now. What I mean exactly is the differences that have taken place in us as people, over the years. Specifically speaking for me, between the ages of 17 and 31.

I’m going to paint a picture here. My goal is absolutely to NOT come off as bleak or whiney, but to give you proper perspective of where I came from. Trust me. My problems are probably no different or worse than any other middle-class white kid from Southern California.

White People Problems

I was born and raised in central Orange County, in a city called Santa Ana. I was born to two very loving parents, two loving grandparents and a couple sets of awesome aunts, uncles and cousins. Food was always on the table. I was always clothed. I think you get the idea.

In my fifth year of existence my dad decided that fucking some single mom in Atlanta and helping to raise her kid (his excuse, if you can believe it, was “I just feel so bad for them. I feel like I need to help.” you gotta be fucking kidding me, right?) was a better gig than sticking around to do the exact same thing for HIS OWN FAMILY. Needless to say this sucked, and it sucked bad. I was too young to understand anything; I just thought he was going to be away on another business trip and eventually come back like he always did. He never did. My mom did her best to fill both roles, and I am forever greatful for that.

The one person who was supposed to be my saving grace, that was supposed to hold things together, was my grandfather. He was in his early 60’s at the time and was all about hanging out with his grandson. The few memories I have of this period are some of my most cherished.

So things are going along fine when, and I shit you not, Grandpa gets bitten my a mosquito carrying one of those rare mosquito diseases (please accept my apology, the exact name of it escapes me) and gets rushed to the hospital with a 104 degree fever. He worsenes into a coma. He doesn’t last but a few more days. Moment of silence please. I’m not even fucking kidding. Moment of silence.

The guy was an opera singer in Switzerland, a Navy Cross recipient while a Marine in WWII, etc…I’ll write another post on just him another day. I could write a whole book on the guy, and I only knew him for 5 years.

These series of events, primarily this one, sent my entire family into a tailspin. We had tragically lost our patriarch, and it was not OK. The next few years were rough while my mom fell deeper and deeper into debt, while my grandmother fell into alcoholism…and oh yeah, two grown motherfuckers in the apartment complex my mom and I were staying in decided it would be awesome to sexually molest the shit out of me.

What I’m trying to get at is this: These events, compounded with other things, helped to morph me into a bitter and angry person. When you’re younger, in your teens, things are hard enough. I used to cope by using narcotics and alcohol, and did so until not too long ago. My situation did leave me with a fighter’s mentality, and that’s how I have to look at it. My mom and I are very close and I don’t mind fighting to get what I want/need, and I’m very proud of that.

So…back to the story.

My Chief Domestic Officer and I were talking about what the new, improved sober Mike Apathy would say to the younger, more boneheaded and pessimistic 17 year-old Mike Apathy. This is where the time travel comes into play. Believe that just once, you could go back to any period of your life and speak freely with who you were. Kind of cool, right?

17 year-old Mike Apathy was in a punk rock band with an opportunity to tour. He had just been expelled from high school, he had a BIG mouth (and could use it well, which is why his skinny ass used to get the shit kicked out of him on a daily basis by jocks, preps and assholes at his VERY 90210-style school) and knew everything. What would I tell him if I only had 15 minutes or so? There are serious implications here. Big ones:

  • Would he try to kick my ass?
  • Would he see me drive up in my BMW and my work suit and be disgusted?
  • Would I try to kick his ass (could I kick his ass? hell yeah, and I got three words as to why: Old Man Strength…which is another theory I have that may need its own post)
  • Would I see him in his torn camo shorts and Operation Ivy t-shirt and be disgusted? (hell no, by the way…)

It goes deeper than just asthetics though. There is a HUGE fundamental divide between 17 year-old Mike and the new clean and sober Mike.

1997 Mike wanted to drink, use drugs, play music, talk to girls and hopefully die by age 27.

2011 Mike is very happily married, with a good solid job that pays well, a dog, his own place and the resources to get the things for him and his family that he never in years would have imagined…14 years to be exact.

I think the conversation goes one of two ways. The first way is young me sees the old me and is in “awe.” He sees the Beemer, sees that I have a lot more tattoos than he does, sees that my skateboard is still in the backseat and sees how fucking hot my wife is. He listens to me, and looks up to me like I’m the cool older brother/father figure that he’s yearned for and needed for so long. He takes my advice to stop drinking as much, and to never scam his doctor for opiates in his early 20’s. He cleans up his act a little. He goes full, blinders-on, dedication-mode into his music and is serious about it. I let him pet my dog. I let him know that on the path he’s on, he’ll get where I’m at eventually, but it could be a lot sooner. I tell him to be more humble and to be more open. I get back into my BMW, that is apparently part Delorian, and magically vanish. My life changes immediately upon my return, and for the better. Hopefully my wife is still there. Of course she is. This is my story and as I’ve previously mentioned, I can do whatever I want.

Sounds wonderful, right? The following is what more than likely would have went down (and it does create somewhat of a paradox, but screw it, the last scenario did too):

Young me is polite, he listens, he is appreciative. We enjoy a cup of coffee. I think to myself, “Damn, what a sharp, good looking young man. He’s gonna make it. I should be a counselor or something…I’m really good at this.” The minute I go BACK TO THE FUTURE, I’m fucked. I vanish into thin air. I never existed in 2011 to begin with (I told you it created a paradox…try to suspend your disbelief, it helps with the story).

After 2011 year-old Mike Apathy vanished, 17 year-old Mike Apathy got mad. He got real mad. He was pissed that he never made it in rock ‘n roll. He was pissed that he got married and landed an “evil” corporate job. He thought that the pathetic old piece of shit from the future came off as condecending, patronizing and pedantic. He did everything in his power to fulfill his plan of being dead by 27. Hell, now he probably would’ve shot for earlier…might as well get on the hard stuff quicker and take more of it. Might as well have as much unprotected sex as possible with as many that are willing, because the future is BLEAK.

Quite frankly, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it at the time. This brings me to the next point.

Good. You can’t live in the past, nor can you change it. In my sobriety (I really hope I don’t come off as cheesy right here) I’ve realized that humility and openness are two of the most important facets of life. You can say that everything happens for a reason, or you can say that everything is chaos and without meaning. That’s all good and fine, but I can tell you one thing I’ve learned in my life on this planet. It’s that the man in the room who knows everything for certain, in absolutes, is the biggest fool there.

My wife helped me come to this conclusion that day. I’ve since shared this story with Tyler, Stizzle, my mom, and I would’ve shared it with Grandma if she were still here (she eventually got sober btw…). Everyone agrees with me for the most part. In a way, I feel like I came late to the party. In a way, I’ve been shot back in time (metaphorically speaking) to become the 14 year-old that got way in over his head before he knew it. That’s where the growing stopped.

Well anyway…I’ve just opened myself up more than I ever thought I would on this thing. You know what though? Who cares. Not me. Not the Mike Apathy that you read today.

Not the Mike Apathy that you read today.

For all the characters in the cast,

This is Mike Apathy signing off.

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