Margaret O'Flannery Ruined My LIfe

I've been an angel for about a year now, and over that time I've noticed some patterns emerge. I've talked about a few of them already, like the spike in depression over Valentine's Day and the sorrow drowning excuse that St Patrick's day provides. Now I've got some categories, and one that's especially prevalent in New York City is men age forty. It sounds like a demographic but what it really is is a trigger. Lots of men who hit forty feel like their god damn lives are over, like anything they haven't achieved to that point will never happen. This happens with both professional and personal goals. When I noticed this, I said to Archangel Michael, "We should form divisions, like have a Job Frustration Department and a Turning Forty Department."

"Oh, We tried that about 400 years ago. It was too structured, the angels didn't like visiting the same issues over and over again."

Makes sense. Nevertheless, my latest job can go in the Men Age Forty file. Ron, we'll call him, is forty, single, and lamenting a lost love. "I hadn't thought about her in years," he said, "then this guy at work asked me who I'd rather be with, a girl who's smart and ugly or hot and stupid. Right away I said, 'hot and stupid.' Then that reminded me of a girl I dated a few years after college. She was blond and beautiful, but she was also a summa cum laude at Columbia University."

"Brains and beauty," I said.

"Exactly. Great girl. She was perfect. But she was actually still in school at the time. She got a B on a paper and acted like it was my fault, like it was because she was spending too much time with me. Then I lost my job. It was a horrible job and it turned out to be a blessing, but at the time, I don't know. I was unemployed when I met her and she didn't care. But after a few months . . . I don't know, maybe she thought if her work was suffering, then it wasn't worth it to be with some unemployed shlub.

"You broke up?"

"Yeah, she dumped me. It was years ago, but I don't know. I'm still single, what if I was like, meant to be with her, and it got screwed up somehow, so now there's no one for me. You know what I mean?"

"That's an interesting theory," I said. "Don't think I buy it though. If there really was fate and destiny, we wouldn't have control over our futures. Look at it this way, if you had a destiny, it would have to come from somewhere, like from God, or some kind of supreme being. Do you think God would be so cruel as to condemn you to a life of misery because of some bad luck that happened fifteen years ago?"

"I guess not." He took a long pause and said, "If there is a God."

So his current state still left him with doubts about both himself and universe. Life can be hard on faith. But at least what I told him gave him hope that his soul mate was still out there somewhere. Michael told me there was no fate, so I felt good that my words were true. Then again, his problem made me feel relieved that I had someone to go home to. Is that ok?

Forget Tony Danza, He's The Boss. And Fuck Bruce Springsteen Too

When I was a kid growing up in New York, local TV station WPIX channel 11 was know for five things: local news, old movies, reruns, after school cartoons, and of course, Yankee games. I would come home after after school, watch cartoons and see the ads for the games, and before long I started watching. That's how I became a Yankee fan. Mom and dad were Met fans and I later became the black sheep of the family. But it was their fault. They didn't watch baseball when I was was kid. They had their chance and they blew it. It was a great move on their part though; for all the things I had in my life to be miserable about, their indifference saved me from the sorrow of becoming a Met fan. Thanks mom and dad!

And so it saddens me to learn of George Steinbrenner's passing. I'm hoping I'll get the chance to meet him soon, though I'm sure there's millions of people waiting for their chance, so better let it wait.

"You're an angel," said Sashial. "You ought to go first."

"Doesn't make me better than any other fan," I said. "It wouldn't be fair."

She patted my cheek. "You're such a sweetheart."

Some might say he's actually going to Hell, but trust me, he's here. As tough as he was on people, his drive to win truly brought joy to millions of people. I'm not saying a little colateral damage is ok, but life is balance and you can never please anyone. How many people have you pissed off over your lifetime? I'm betting the ratio holds pretty close.

His drive and guidance brought seven championships. I didn't see all of them, in fact I waited most of lifetime to that point until I saw one, but in a lifetime of misery and dissapointment, to be responsible for one thing gone right that brought emotional euphoria to my life (or five things if you want to look at it that way), I will be eternally grateful. And don't tell me the 90's championships were set up when he was banned from baseball; those were the seeds, and he came back in 1993 and put the final pieces in place.

The Yankees announcer Bob Sheppard died this week too. "You think he announced George's arrival?" I asked Marley. "'Now dying . . . The Boss . . . George . . . Steinbrenner.'"

She gave me an amused smirk with a hint of surprise. "That's kind of morbid."

"Well I am dead," I said. "And you know I already had a morbid sense of humor.'"

She said, "I'm dead too, I don't mind. And I know this saddens you. I think the humor helps."

She always knows.

Goin' Back To Cali, I Know So

Sashial wanted me to thank everyone who voted for Nick Swisher. As you can imagine, she's absolutely thrilled that he won the vote to become an All-Star.

"So where are we watching the game?" she asked.

"Let's go to Anaheim," I said. "It's an American League town, I think it'll nice to actually be cheering with crowd this time."

"Fuckin' A, let's rock that place! And I'm impressed with you too, wanting to embrace instead of hate."

"You think there might be hope for me after all?"

"I always knew there was hope for you, and you made the team. But now you're turning into an All-Star." She had kind of a proud glow when she said that.

"You goin' soft on me?" I asked.

"Shut the fuck up and get to work. There's a guy who just found out his crush is getting married."

"On it." Gotta run.

Swishalicious IS A Word. Because She Said So, That's Why.

"Sometimes it fucking sucks to be good." Not a surprising sentence coming from Sashial, but it still begged an explanation.

"You're not thinking of doing something bad, are you?" I asked, with confidence but caution.

She smirked and shook her head. "Don't be stupid, of course not. It just makes me mad. You know who my favorite Yankee is, don't you?"

Without taking a beat, I said, "Nick Swisher."

"Good boy. Now that he's in this final vote to make the All-Star team, it started me thinking. You can vote as many times as you want. If I wanted to, I could just create a computer and ring up a jillion votes. I could do it with a thought."

"And you're worried about the temptation?" I asked.

"Are you even fucking listening to me? No! The very idea of that is sickening. To bend the limits of fairness, how fucking greedy do you have to be? And some people live their lives that way. I just hate to think about it, you know?"

I know. Please vote for Nick Swisher. This is Sashial in a good mood. You don't want to see her angry.

VOTE NOW

TIM, SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

Yesterday, I found Marley staring at the big LCD TV in my living room with a worried look on her face. "Do you like TV more that people?" she asked.

That I did not expect. "What?"

"I mean, is a TV, like, a substitute for a person, or human contact? I've never had my own one."

I saw where she was going with this. "It can be. But not by choice, at least for me it wasn't. When you're lonely it can be a good distraction, or an escape. And sometimes, I don't know, when things are at their worst, the people on tv might be the only ones you see or hear."

She frowned. "That's really sad. Then again, when I think about all that time I spent in that tiny room . . . I mean, I don't want to think about that. Maybe it would have been good to have something to focus on."

"What about your drawings?" I asked.

"That's about all I did," she answered. "But I didn't always have the stuff to do it with."

I tried not to reflect on that too long, so I just asked, "Is this about that guy Suzanne's working on?"

"Yeah. He got the big screen TV last week, now he hardly does anything but watch it and go to work. And of course he'll never meet anyone if that's all he does. She's afraid he's trapping himself."

"Well, I wouldn't panic yet," I assured her. "He just got it, it's brand new, he's gonna go through a period of initial amazement. Tell her to wait it out for a week or two, it should be easier for him to tear himself away from it by then."

"OK. I just he's not too far gone by then."

"He'll be fine. No one can replace human contact with a TV forever. Seeing and hearing people on a screen never is enough. If he starts talking to them, that's when I'd get worried."

"What about when you yell at the announcers when you're watching a game?" she asked.

"Um, that's different."

"How?"

"Just humor me, please?"

Grab Me A Moosehead Between Innings, Eh?

Last weekend, Sashial asked me, "Don't you ever get tired of seeing the Yankees in New York?"

"Not really."

"Oh yeah, Mr. Ethno-fucking-centric. I think we should branch out."

"We did that," I reminded her. "In Anaheim. It was sickening."

"That was the fucking playoffs," she snapped back. "That was tense. For fuck's sake, let's just go to a fucking game!"

As much as I maintain my New York City arrogance and prefer not to leave, I do enjoy traveling every once in a while, especially to places I've never been. "They've got a series against the Blue Jays."

"Then let's go to Toronto!"

Unfortunately, the Yankees lost the game we went to on an extra-inning walk-off base hit. Sure, it's not the playoffs, but I tend to intensify everything emotionally. On the one hand, that's what makes me a good angel. On the other, for things like this which should be insignificant can seem like the end of the world. Every time the Yankees lose, I think it's the beginning of a downward spiral that will lead to complete and total failure. I must have thought that forty times last year and they won the damn World Series. It's no wonder I spent my lifetime in misery.

But at that moment, it was hard to see my overreacting anxiety from the outside. "Listen to them cheering," I said with a healthy dose of venom. Then I lightened up and added, "I mean come on, what do they really have to get excited about? They're still just Canadians."

It'd been a while since I'd seen Sashial that mad. "HOW the fuck could you say something like that? That's ignorant, prejudice bullshit! Can you really be that fucking vain to degrade an entire country?"

I defended myself with the calm that comes from familiarity. "Sashial, it's just a joke. Canada's kind of like our little brother to the north. We Americans may take a jab at them every now and then, but it's only because, on sort of a global scale, they're kind of like family." One such Canadian who overheard that gave me a little smile and nod before walking off.

Sashial put her hand on my my neck. "Yeah, I figured it was something like that, honey. I know you well enough to know you don't have ignorant hatred like that." Then she held my head in her hands, gave me a gentle shake, and with a smirk, said, "Just don't ever fuckin' do it again," and still smiling, gave me a light but firm upward slap on the side of the face.

I said, "See? I'm like your Canada."

She thought for a second, grinned and said, "Fuck. You always have to be right, don't you?"

Well, Since Your Life Sucked . . .

Much to my surprise, I got a call from Suzanne the other day, saying she wanted to pick my brain about something. She asked me to meet her at this place called the Prairie Grass Cafe in Chicago. "I know you love burgers," she said, "I'm telling you, BEST in the state!" Not that I needed much prodding to help a friend, but it was clear she knew how to guarantee my participation.

"So this guy I'm working on," she said, "I'm having trouble helping him, because he doesn't seem to want it. It's like he doesn't care, like he's given up."

"What's his problem?" I asked.

"Well, he's in his early forties and he's, like, you know, single. And he's all, 'I'm past the point of no return, I missed my chance, how can I find anyone, how's it gonna happen, I'm gonna live alone for the rest of my life.' He even bought this huge hi def big screen tv he can barely afford. I asked him why, and he's like, 'Well if I'm not gonna get pleasure from anything else in life I might as well have a great tv, I'm here all alone watching tv most of the time anyway, might as well make it the best experience I can.' It's so sad. It's like he's too bitter to even try anymore."

I knew where she was going with this. "So you need the advice of someone else who was just as bitter."

She seemed ashamed of the truth, but relieved she didn't have to come out and say it. "What would you say?"

"Well, he's not gonna respond to basic words of encouragement, like, 'Oh, I'm sure there's someone out there,' or, 'It'll be there when you least expect it.' It's gonna sound like an empty promise, or since he's like forty already, he'll think if that was true, it would have happened by now. You're better off doing this anecdotally, stories of people it worked out for. That'll make him more likely to think that it's actually possible. It's worth a shot."

She smiled. "I'll give that a try. It's a start at least. Oh, THANKS! How's the burger?"

I shook my head with delight. "Outstanding."