To flit about on the sultry air; to catch my prey in midair; to land on a branch and sing.

Sunshine on my feathers. Water from a bath.

To glide across the summer grass; to streak along a shaded path; fearless, peerless, a mighty king.

Married only to the currents. No need for validation. Oh, what a wondrous thing.

***
Jim Mitchem 

“All I’m saying is that you voted for the amendment banning gay marriage – and you’re an idiot.” Man One said.

“Ok, ok, you can be mean all you want, but you sound like a sore loser to me. Look, I get it, you want people to love each other. Right. That’s awesome. But I have news for you pal, it’s not going to happen. It’s never been that way, and it not gonna start being that way today. Reality doesn’t work that way. I suggest you wake up and smell the coffee.” Said Man Two.

“Why? Why can’t we all just accept each other and get along? Why can’t we all just move through life without trying to force our beliefs on people? I find it hugely ironic that the people who voted for the amendment to ban gay marriage are largely Christian. Jesus himself said for us all to love each other and take care of each other. I mean I’m not a bible guy, but I’m pretty sure he said that.” Man One said.

“He did! But you see, Jesus lived in a time before there were so many people. There weren’t nearly as many different kinds of people then as there are today. We need different laws.” Man Two responded.

“That’s fucking ridiculous.” added Man One. “That’s your justification for voting FOR an amendment that removes rights from people? That there were no gays in Jesus’s day?”

“Less gays. Maybe a handful. And I didn’t vote for the amendment as a way to remove rights from people – just gay people.” said Man Two. “Look, marriage is supposed to be between one man and one woman. It’s natural. It’s how other humans are created. I’m sorry, but two women or two men aren’t going to procreate together. Ever. No matter how badly you want that to happen. So yeah, God is pretty much on our side in this argument. Homosexuality is unnatural.”

There was a long pause as both men took forkfuls of food into their mouths.

“So just because homosexual love is unnatural, as per your definition, these human beings deserve to have their rights stripped from them?” Man One asked.

“Yes. The sanctity of marriage needs to stay intact. One man. One woman. Period.” Man Two responded. “Besides, we didn’t ‘strip’ anything. We just reinforced something that already existed in the constitution.”

“What about their children?” Man One asked.

“You mean the children that homosexuals have adopted? What about them?” Man Two responded.

“That they’ll lose benefits as the result of you protecting the sanctity of marriage?”

“Collateral damage.”

“You know this is all ridiculous, right? That over time, equality will prevail. This is America, after all.” Man One added.

“Perhaps. But yesterday we showed the world that the wants and desires of a few people can’t overcome the will of the majority in America. Or, more specifically, not in the South. Ever. And you want to know something else? Come November we are going to show up at the polls in force again and put this state back in the Red column where it belongs. I don’t care if they have 10 DNCs in our city. Because the fact is – your President hasn’t been able to do shit in the four years he’s been in office. We learned our lesson in 2008. We won’t get fooled again.”  Man Two pronounced.

Man One signaled for a check as the two men finished lunch. “You know what all of this means, don’t you?” He asked Man Two.

“That we won and that you and your cronies are whining about it?”

“No, it means that wrong is in control. And that it will one day be made right.”

“The scripture isn’t wrong, buddy. And yesterday we proved it. Besides, you know they call us The Right for a reason, don’t you? You’re not right, man, we are.”

And with that, the two men stood up and left the restaurant, then shook hands and parted ways. Americans.

***

Jim Mitchem

I paid my $50 and then sat down with my shirt off. “Yes, well, it’s cancer.” the doctor said after a quick examination. “We’ll have to do a biopsy, of course, but it’s a highly treatable form of cancer called basal cell carcinoma.” And then he pointed at a poster on the wall behind me. Of the four columns of data and pictures on the poster, mine was the least nasty looking. “When the lab results come back we’ll schedule you to…” and his voice faded off as my thoughts went to my wife. I was RIGHT! And I couldn’t wait to tell her.

But first I needed to confirm my thinking. “So this is a direct result of radiation from the sun, then, yes?”

“Yes,” He responded. “Most likely because you grew up in the deep south in the 70s. And you’re fair-skinned.”

“So it’s not hereditary?” I asked.

“Well, you say no one else in your family has had cancer. So it’s only hereditary because you’re fair-skinned and more susceptible to the sun’s harmful rays.”

Ten minutes after walking into the office, I was finished. “I’ll call you next week with official results and to set plan of action so we can take care of this for you.”

On my way out, I texted my wife, tweeted and facebooked. I had fucking cancer. Empathetic feedback immediately poured in via little 1s and 0s flying through the air from all over the world and into my phone as words.

My wife called. She couldn’t believe it. ”We’ll get through it.” she said.

“Oh I know, honey. It will be fine. I have absolute confidence in that. But here’s the thing – I was RIGHT! I knew it!”

She paused. “Yes, you did.” she said. “I love you.”

I drove home thinking about it. I felt like I was now part of an exclusive club. A club I wanted no part of. Friends from around the globe started sharing their own experiences and sending me well-wishes. I immediately thought of the blog post I wrote on Saturday morning following the death of Yauch who was my age. In that post, I wonder out-loud whether cancer is even supposed to be solved, based on the great mystery of it. Then I thought about irony – and how God has a wicked sense of humor. Then I thought about how my form of cancer was caused by someone fixing a magnifying glass on my chest waiting for it to burn a tiny hole before moving on to someone else.

I went through the rest of my day thinking about it. I mowed the grass. I got on the roof and cleaned the gutters. There was no escaping it. I have cancer. You only hear that once for the first time in your life – and you never expect it. But now I’m over it. I have cancer. I love my wife. I love my kids. And I want this thing cut off of me right now – because even though it’s small, it wants to spread malicious code to other parts of my body. Like a foot soldier of death working its way up the chain of command.

***

Jim Mitchem

Tomorrow in North Carolina, we vote on a proposed amendment to the state constitution that further defines marriage as the union between one man and one woman. You see, it’s already in our state constitution that legal marriage is between one man and one woman. And as far as I know, there aren’t a lot of polygamists out there screaming for equal rights. No, this amendment is aimed at gay couples. Only. Why? Because they’re different. To some people, they’re like monsters, they’re so different. The proponents of this amendment point to the bible as the primary source of their argument. Which means that this is a Christian referendum. Except, it’s not. Because I’m pretty sure Jesus preached love and tolerance for all humans. So to clarify even further – the people who want to ban the idea of gay marriage are old testament Christians. Which means they’re not really Christians at all, since the old testament occurred before Jesus. It’s all quite confusing, really. You’ve got to be in the right frame of mind to understand. On the one hand, we need to look at one part of the bible for guidance, but not the other part of the bible. I fully expect that during the next election cycle, we’ll have to vote on whether or not we can legally kill our disobedient children (Deuteronomy 21:18-21), or ban all religions except Christian. I mean, why not? They’re different, after all.

No, on May 8th, we have to vote to further reinforce that marriage in NC is restricted only to one man and one woman because gay people are different and they don’t deserve the same privileges of legal marriage that normal people enjoy. Here in the South, we really don’t like people who are different. Sexual orientation. Nationality. Skin color. We’re a proudly stubborn people who don’t take to change easily, and who sometimes use the scripture to justify our actions.

I am not a racist. But I could have been. Hell, I likely, should have been. But my mother’s love helped me to see things differently. Black people weren’t monsters. They’re just black. I’ve since learned that gay people aren’t monsters. They’re just gay. If you ask me, the real monsters are the ones driven by fear and who force their agendas on the rest of us.

Just because your father was a republican, or a democrat, or even a Yankees fan – doesn’t mean you have to be. Think for yourself. Rise above your fears. Vote against fear on May 8th. Vote against Amendment One. What’s the worst that can happen with more married people? More weddings? Think about it this way – what fabulous weddings they’d be.

Click here to read “The Stupidest Fucking Vote in America.”

Click here to read “Confessions of a Recovering Homophobe.”

***

Jim Mitchem

I am 47. Cancer doesn’t run in my family. My grandmother had it, but as far as I know she’s the only one. Her son, who is 75, smokes two packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day. No cancer. I grew up in Florida. We didn’t have SPF sunscreen, we had cocoa butter. So a few years ago I went to a dermatologist for a thing on my face and was told that it was nothing and that based on their thorough examination, plus all the other variables, I will likely never have skin cancer. *But Monday I’m going back to a dermatologist for a thing on my chest. When you get to be a certain age, you don’t take chances. Especially when you grew up in Florida. Especially when it comes to cancer.

At its core, cancer is the reproduction of malignant cells. Or rather, cells that contain bad code. When the bad code reproduces, it overtakes cells with good code. As this process accelerates within the body, very bad things happen. According to the World Health Organization, cancer, as a concept, is the leading cause of death worldwide - accounting for 13% of all deaths on the planet each year. Since the 1970s, our species has spent 200 billion dollars trying to cure it. And while we have made great strides in prevention and the actual cure of some forms of cancer, the disease is still a great unknown.

If you’re read this blog with any frequency, you know that I quit drinking 21 years ago. I also quit smoking a few months back. Both times were the result of divine intervention. Whether you believe in the idea of God doesn’t matter to me. I do. Still, I don’t push it on anyone. God has always been a personal thing with me. Yes, some religions preach that you need to spread the idea of God in order to do His will. But I don’t. If you want to believe, believe. If you choose not to, great. And frankly, I don’t care if you silently judge me for being a weak person because I do believe. You see, the idea of God is mysterious. It’s as big as the universe, and as small as a strand of DNA. In fact, if you look up the word ‘omnipotent’ in the dictionary, there’s a picture of George Burns. So recently when my daughter asked about God, I talked to her about the universe. Try talking to your kid sometime about the idea of the infinite. It’s not easy. Hell, it’s not easy for most adults to wrap their brains around. Anyway, we talked about the far reaches of the universe and how humans can’t even see the edges – even with our most powerful telescopes. That we can’t even imagine how big the universe actually is. Convinced that she was good and confused, I told her that God holds the universe in the palm of his hand. End of discussion.

God is a mystery. Cancer is a mystery. No, I’m not suggesting that God is cancer. Nor am I implying that God wants us all to die of cancer. But the thought that cancer isn’t meant to be ‘solved’ has definitely crossed my mind over the years. Look, I get it, we humans are pretty dang smart. We’ve learned to fly without wings. We’ve turned infertile people into parents. We are good at diagnosing and solving problems. But cancer? Cancer is still a great mystery. It seems like since I was a boy we’ve been pouring money and resources into figuring out how to keep malignant cells from reproducing. And yes, I realize that we have – to some degree. We can cut cancerous cells out of our bodies and then pound our system with chemotherapy – and that sometimes keeps cancer from returning. We’ve also learned a ton about how to prevent certain types of cancers from occurring at all. Prevention is a wonderful thing. But when I was smoking a pack a day back in my early 20′s, I always figured that we’d have a solution by now. I also figured that the world would be a lot more like the Jetsons by now too. So there’s that. But despite our cumulative brain power as a species, and billions upon billions of dollars, we still can’t solve the great mystery of cancer.

Why?

Maybe because it’s not supposed to be solved. Maybe. You never know. And if you say you do know, then you’re saying you understand the mysteries of the universe – and I’m going to call you delusional.

Does this mean that we should stop trying to solve cancer? Hell no. America is the land of fighters. We’ve proven time and time again that despite our sea of differences, whenever there’s a common enemy, we rally. So when we’re talking about a common enemy to the entire species – well, Fuck Cancer. Of course we won’t quit trying to find a permanent cure. Nor should we.

But I do wonder whether cancer is so big and mysterious that we’re destined to keep flailing our fists in the dark. That we want it to be solved so badly, we refuse to believe that it can’t be.

To Adam Yauch and the other eight million humans who will die of cancer this year, you put up a good fight. We gave it our all. Now rest. In peace.

UPDATE: Today I was diagnosed with basal cell carcinoma, a form of skin cancer. Prognosis is great. God, what a kidder. 

***

Jim Mitchem

Don’t dilly dally.

Don’t forget to brush your teeth.

Don’t talk to strangers.

Don’t give me that look, mister.

Don’t cross the street without looking both ways.

Don’t throw it right down the middle of the plate!

Don’t cry over spilled milk.

Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.

Don’t turn your back on me, young man.

Don’t cheat.

Don’t do drugs.

Don’t screw this up.

Don’t have unprotected sex.

Don’t lie.

Don’t steal.

Don’t give up.

Don’t taze me, bro.

Don’t mix whiskey and beer.

Don’t you get it?

Don’t fear the reaper.

Don’t mention it.

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Don’t drink and drive.

Don’t jump.

Don’t shit where you eat.

Don’t fall off the wagon.

Don’t pursue a married woman, Jim.

Don’t piss off the accounting department.

Don’t you remember when things were different between us?

Don’t judge.

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.

Don’t tread on me.

Don’t go.

Don’t jump to conclusions.

Don’t be late.

Don’t work too hard.

Don’t worry about it.

Don’t quit before the miracle happens.

Don’t force the issue.

Don’t swim with hungry sharks.

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

Don’t take it personally.

Don’t pull the cord too early.

Don’t let the bastards get you down.

Don’t pick a fight with someone who has less to lose.

Don’t give up on your dreams.

Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.

Don’t cut the red wire.

Don’t be afraid of the dark.

Don’t feed them after midnight.

Don’t keep my daughter out late – or else.

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.

Don’t believe everything you hear.

Don’t panic.

Don’t cross the streams.

Don’t believe your own press.

Don’t think I haven’t heard that one before.

Don’t swim against the rip current.

Don’t call me Shirley.

Don’t Stop Believin’

Don’t piss me off.

Don’t stare at the sun.

Don’t underestimate the power of the dark side.

Don’t eat oysters in months that don’t have an R in them.

Don’t beat yourself up.

Don’t assume anything.

Don’t give me that line of crap.

Don’t forget to write.

Don’t burn bridges.

Don’t settle.

Don’t stop learning.

Don’t lose hope.

Don’t let time slip through your fingers.

Don’t stop looking out at the stars with wonder and curiosity.

Don’t let opportunities go by to show those around you how much you love them.

***

Jim Mitchem

I’m not going to write about which people this proposed amendment discriminates against, because, unless you live under a rock, you probably already know. But the fact that North Carolina is now in the business of identifying certain citizens as unworthy of basic rights makes me embarrassed.

Everyone I know is against the amendment. But then, I live in the largest city in a southern state. A state that voted Democrat for the first time in a million years in the 2008 Presidential election – largely due to the turnout in Charlotte. However, the sad fact is that even if we get the entire population of Charlotte to vote against Amendment One, it’s still likely to pass. And the reason will be a combination of ignorance and power.

When NC went to the Democrats in the 2008 Presidential election, a lot of people were angry. Not in Charlotte, mind you, but in most other places. This is the South, by God, and we like our politics conservative. Just like how we like most every other thing in our lives conservative. We don’t need any fast-talking Yankees telling us how to do our business down here. 2008 was an anomaly. And one way to prove that is to rise up against one of the common enemies of conservatism and remove the rights of people who aren’t like us. It’s a harbinger of what will happen in November – despite the DNC party in Charlotte.

Look, everyone wants to think they’re right about most decisions they make in life. Me, you, everyone. So when things don’t go our way, based on what we believe is right, it feels like we’ve lost control. Another term for this is powerlessness. Powerlessness is not an easy concept for most of us to accept – and power (or fear of losing it) is a major reason why almost all (ok, all) politicians undercut each other instead of working together. Vote for me because I’m more conservative than the other guy. Vote for me because I’m going to battle the other party tooth and nail. Vote for me because I’m just like you and share your views on the world. I’m sorry, but NO ONE you vote for is like you. They’re all rich kids who learned how to game the system and say the right things to get you to vote for them. Sorry, but that’s just the way it is. It’s a power play. And for the most part, these political power plays are here to stay in America. We are not a nation of compromisers. We’re a nation of fighters – so when we don’t have a common enemy, we turn against each other. And on May 8th, we are going to turn against a minority of the population to ensure that the sanctity of conservative thinking remains intact. We don’t care about how it will affect the minority; nor do we care what removing the rights of certain people could do to a workforce that may be on the fence about coming to this state to contribute to our mutual livelihood. We don’t care. We just want power. And we want to know we’re right.

I’m voting against this bullshit on May 8th. I can’t believe I even have to do this.

***

Jim Mitchem

You could argue that by keeping our nose to the grindstone we’re helping each other out by contributing to the commercial engine – but really, haven’t we learned that greed gets the best of men and that most corporations (even hospitals) can’t really be trusted? No, there’s virtually no equity in the distribution of wealth in America for good reason. We live in a system that teaches us to go hard after what we want. Only, we never really get it. And if “it” is the accumulation of wealth and material possessions, then we really have failed as a nation. As a result of going to work every day to help pay bills, our commitment to ourselves in this country has changed. It’s no longer about actually taking care of one other – it’s about being part of a machine. In the end, the best thing we can do with our lives as Americans is get out there on that oil rig and sell our time like everyone else – avoiding what is really important in life to focus on profit and financial security. And if you do this really well, you can take a helicopter back to the mainland for two weeks. Obesity, as it turns out, is a side effect of the failed idea of the American Dream.

So get out there and do your part. Because when you earn money, you’ve got money to spend. And when you spend, you are contributing to the welfare of everyone else who is willing to put aside real priorities for contrived ones. You’ve only got so much time. So much usefulness. Contribute and prosper. Stop contributing, and be cast aside. This is why vagrants and nomads are looked upon with such disdain. We don’t see them as a symbol of a broken system, we see them as a symbol of what happens when you’re not doing your part. They choose not to sacrifice. Not to contribute. And they deserve their fate. You’ll throw them some change from the ashtray every once in a while, but because you see the same guy every day at the same intersection, you know damn well he’s driving a Mercedes. He’s just drilling for oil like everyone else.

***

Jim Mitchem

“You know why I like baseball? Ken asked. “Because I don’t have to watch it on TV.” He took at swig from his mug and continued, “It’s like this game here,” he said pointing to the screen above the bar, “I hear it, but I don’t have to see it. I can look at you and talk and still know what’s going on.”

“But what about the announcers?” I asked.

“Whadda you mean, ‘what about the announcers?’”

“The TV announcers. You know, they’re….they’re different.” I said.

Ken scratched his chin and looked up at the screen. “Oh yeah. Yeah – because they talk in a different language on TV. Sure. Yeah, I get it.” He took another swig and smirked at me from the corner of his eye.

I continued, “No, you know – like how these guys are all non-athletes. The TV guys, I mean.” And with that I started down a road with no clue as to where it might lead. Maybe a even fight. I barely knew this guy.

He continued to stare up at the screen. I could tell that he was now listening intently for some sign that there indeed was a vast difference between radio and television on-air commentary.

I pulled up closer to him, elbowed him on the elbow, and pointed up at the screen. “So you really didn’t know about the TV announcer thing? Dude, it’s maybe the most well known difference between the two mediums. No jocks on TV. Period.” I took a long drink of my beer. And waited.

Ken Burbank was perplexed. Though he didn’t want to show it. Showing it would be a sign of weakness. Real men never play their hands quickly. So instead, he smiled at me and then looked back up at the screen. And he was just about to acknowledge that he indeed was well aware of the ‘no jocks on TV’ thing. Of course he was. He wasn’t an idiot. But suddenly there was a flash of electricity in his eyes, and he started think-talking, “Hey…hey wait a minute, what about Phil Rizzuto?” He turned to me with wide eyes, “He was on TV and he was a Yankee! Are you fucking with me, yo?”

I let out a laugh. “Well, yeah – sure he was. But only after he was on radio.” I laughed and slapped the bar. “Really? I mean, the damn rule was the result of Rizzuto. The ‘Scooter’ rule, they call it. No jocks in TV. Period.”

Ken smiled. “Fuck you.” he mumbled. “Anyways, it don’t matter because what I was talking about was how I can hear the fucking game being played just like if it was on radio. I don’t need the TV. It’s ‘the spirit of the mind,’ or something like that.” And with that, he raised his hands above his temples and waved them around like sea fans in a current. “I can visualize shit. It’s like a gift.”

“Come on fucking Fernandez – you can’t throw that same goddamn pitch to this guy again. You gotta be fucking kidding me.” The bartender screamed at the television. 

“Ha. A gift you say?” I finished my beer and put the mug down with a thud. “Some gift pal, if you can’t even tell the difference between the inflection of radio and television. Dude, the guys on TV rely on the visual to call a game whereas the guys on radio have to paint a picture in your mind. They’re totally different kinds of broadcasts. No way you hear the game the same way. No way. And yeah, I am fucking with you.”

Ken turned back to the television and then slowly turned his baseball cap backward on his head. I wasn’t sure what the hat thing meant, so I took a step backward just in case it was bad. But the truth was – I really didn’t want to mess with this guy. He was on this job for a reason. And it wasn’t his brain.

After a moment, I cleared my throat and spoke, “So, yeah, we should probably get going then.” Ken downed the last of his beer, pushed back his stool, and stood up – then he lunged at me stopping just short of making contact. We were nose to nose, but I didn’t flinch to the much larger man. He smiled. “Yeeaahh biioooch.” he said taking a step back and laughing. “Haha – let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“We good?” I asked the barkeep. He nodded. I put another bill on the counter. Then we swung open the padded door and stepped out into the sunshine.

It was time to go to work.

***

Jim Mitchem - this is an except from a short story and is not connected in any way with any other chapters on this blog.

You’re welcome.

***

Jim Mitchem