"...HOW 'ABOUT I BUY YOU CAN ICE CREAM CONE INSTEAD?"

After a brief respite from the last job I had, I inherited a HUGE problem concerning the company water bill and the very old building in which the business was headquartered. The voluminous file had been playing "Pass the Buck" for months until my return, so, being the mensch that I was, I assured my boss (let's call him SKEEVE CHUMPUS) that I would take care of the entire mess. He looked amazingly like Ebeneezer Scrooge as he gleefully rubbed his hands together gleefully, snorting "Oh, I know you will!"

Then I said "Okay, whatever MY writing brings back, we'll split it.." and he said YES.

Letter #1 brought a response and a paltry amount. Indignant, I re-wrote letter #2 and managed to get Mister Republican Cheapskate a $1,400 credit. He called from Manhattan, on his way back to the office, and when I informed him of the results, I could hear him salivating at the prospect of GASP! *more money!!!!!* When he returned, he made a beeline for my office, read the letter, smiled and then I reminded him of our little agreement.

"Uhh, but you don't pay all the other expenses here.....how 'bout I buy you an ice cream cone instead??"

This, from a 'man' who was sitting on $20+ million at the time??!

HOW 'BOUT YOU JUST STAB ME IN THE BACK INSTEAD, YOU MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING??

Well, Skeeverino, you may recall that I promised, one day, to write about this charming memory of just one of your too-many-to-count despicable "boss decisions" and so that day has arrived.

And if, by some chance, this wends its Karmic way to your beady little eyes, it might also interest you to know that your employees had a nickname for you: think the Rolling Stones' GOAT'S HEAD SOUP and you'll get the idea. Except that's an insult to goats because your Dorian Gray portrait is EVER so much uglier than that.

If I were you, I wouldn't go anywhere near your attic...

"MANIC DEPRESSION IS CATCHIN' MY SOUL..."

Jimi Hendrix sure knew what he was talking about when he wrote that song. And may I add "catchin' my soul and wringing it out like a fucking dishrag on a regular basis."

Manic depression, or bi-polar disorder, is one of the most debilitating and devastating mental illnesses one can ever not hope for. I dislike calling it a mental illness since it is simply a chemical imbalance in the brain that is now treatable; but if you happen to be a creative person (which the majority of those who suffer from this disorder are) it's a choice between losing the roller coaster of emotions and becoming a walking zombie (along with disabling the creative part of your brain) or retaining the creativity and going through an endless cycle of hell on earth. I don't know about others, but I would rather suffer the mood swings, as horrific as they are, than give up the only thing in life that validates who I am.

And it's a bitch to diagnose because it's only when the not-so-great depression hits that afflicted people seek help so it's usually first identified as major clinical depression, sometimes for years or even decades, until a qualified professional begins to see the pattern of highs, lows, and everything in between.

When people discover that I am an artist/freelance writer, it's usually greeted with awe..."Wow, you're lucky to be so talented!"  Little do they know the steep price one pays for being so awesome and talented...

The early days, when your own family accuses you of "being moody" and "just doing it for attention" and their frustrating, infuriating cure-all to just "SNAP OUT OF IT!" (If I COULD, why the HELL wouldn't I??) The multitude of broken relationships because of the "motherfucking moods" (as one oh-so-sensitive moron ex-boyfriend described it,) the lost friends, jobs, even apartments because of this mood disorder.

After a while, you just begin to retreat to a little corner of your mind because it's just not worth the emotional upheaval of going through it over and over and OVER again. Lonely? Sure. But what's worse, dealing with the loneliness by yourself or hurting (and being hurt by) yet another human being? Animals become your sole source of comfort, their unconditional love taking precedence over any human relationship. And nature, her beauty, stillness and perfection, the best antidote for a soul in pain.

Many people ask "What does it feel like?" and all I can say is picture yourself on a sunny day at the beach, eyes closed, just basking in the warmth. Suddenly and without warning, you're cold and extremely uncomfortable...and when you open your eyes, a massive cloud has blocked the sun and you have no other choice than to just wait for the cloud to pass. And until it does, grab on to something or someone dependable because it's going to be a long, dark, horrible period of hopelessness and despair.

"SNAP OUT OF IT!!" If it were only that easy...

OLD RABBIT EARS vs. FLAT SCREEN TV?

I'll take Old Rabbit Ears, hands down.

I am the proud (if reluctant) new owner of a "flat-screen" TV, the result of my 1997 boxy, 500-lb. Zenith's recent nervous breakdown, and some truly wonderful friends who came to the rescue with a "state-of-the-art" (dahling!) Toshibi television wonderland. (I'm still wondering why a simple INSTRUCTION MANUAL wasn't enclosed so I can figure out what the hell I'm doing.) 

So I called Toshiba-USA (answered in India...) and this is what I heard. "Oh, we are an eco-friendly company! You can go to our website, download it and print it yourself." Say what?? I must really be behind the times since this is the 'new way' of doing things. Oh, and another great way for corporations to save money by placing the burden on us ~ the customer who used to come first ~ to finish the package. 

Hey Toshiba! How about you sending me a ream of paper and an ink cartridge so I can afford to print out your FORTY-SIX PAGE online instruction manual? 

Getting back to the subject matter, Old Rabbit Ears didn't have the best reception, so some resorted to sticking 'tin foil' (pictured) on one ear, or installing rooftop antennas. Those of us who lived in apartment buildings had to scream out the window up to the roof, as the appointed family member moved the antenna around to clear up the picture. "THAT'S IT, HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" 

The TV itself had 3 or 4 buttons and a cute little compartment that you could open to adjust the horizontal/vertical picture. And that was IT. Except for the occasional tube replacement, no big deal. (I must admit, I do favor color over black & white, which I still think is a miracle, but after that milestone I couldn't care less.) 

These days, you have to work for NASA just to figure out the TV remote/cable remote (I don't DARE use the DVD-player, or all three remotes would be hurled out the nearest window) and just what is this remote business, anyway, part and parcel of the new Fat America? I mean, REALLY...is it that difficult to just get UP and change the channel??

But, as Bob Dylan once observed, "the times they are a-changin'" and I certainly don't want to be one of those people who refuse to get out of the way. So I'll try to enjoy this bizarre new science-fiction world of FLAT SCREEN television and not long for the past...but I gotta tell you, it was a WHOLE lot more fun in those black-and-white days than it is today, crummy reception and all.

"On the roof it's peaceful as can be....." (Gerry Goffin, Carole King) 

Yup, just me and a plain old television antenna.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" I only wish I could have...