My Great Loves

Every man, in his life, has one Great Love, the love that causes the memories of his previous loves to lose some of their luster, and against which all future loves will be judged, and found wanting. Romeo had his Juliet; Darth Vader had his Padme; Bert had his Ernie, Hitler had his Eva, and so forth. And I think Hitler had the right idea, shooting Eva and himself in the head and then being dumped onto a refuse heap and set on fire. Now that I think about it, Hitler and Eva are really a latter day Romeo and Juliet. The world didn't understand their love, but their deaths brought an end to a cruel conflict. Godspeed, star crossed lovers.

A Great Love may come to us when we are but wee tots still in swaddling clothes, or in the twilight of our lives, and she (or...he...) may stay with us for the rest of our lives, or but a few fleeting moments. But you never forget.

I suppose I should count myself blessed, or perhaps cursed if you will, to have had MANY Great Loves. I know you may think it's contradictory that I previously claimed everyone has only one Great Love, and now here I am stating that I've had many. Well guess what, this blog is about me, not you, so shut up. I'll cut you. I'll fucking cut you.

I've had many Great Loves, toward each of whom I've directed the exact same amount of passion and feeling, no more and no less. Yes, it is both a boon and burden, for although I've had many Great Loves in my time, I've lost them all. Let me tell you my story.

Heidi Collins


Heidi Collins may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts. Ha, just kidding, she looks like a million bucks AND she's got it where it counts. So double deuce action.

Heidi and I met on the mean streets of Denver back in the mid nineties. She was an up and coming go-getter at the local CBS affiliate, I was a down on his luck construction worker with a bad nicotine habit I just couldn't shake, doing odd jobs for the urban renewal project. We were a pretty unlikely couple, but they often are, I guess. Yeah, like most of the guys, I spent my cigarette break yelling ribald comments at passers-by, generally women between the ages of 16 and 35. So at the time it wasn't a particularly notable event when I noticed Heidi walking down the street and I called out, in my slightly hoarse voice gruffened by years of smoking and inhaling construction related fumes, "You there, madam! Your legs appear long and shapely! As well, your bosom appears ample and well supported. I would very much like to have a sexual congress with you at some point in the future, possibly following a number of pleasant evening excursions and some heavy petting!" But unlike most of the other girls, Heidi didn't make an obscene gesture or threaten a lawsuit. She smiled that coy little half smile of her and kept walking.

Yeah, I have to admit that I was a bit of a misogynist back in those days. I thought women were just objects of sexual conquest, not real people with thoughts or feelings. Wait, I still think that. Anyway, as it later turned out, the construction site I was working at the time was smack dab in between the office where Heidi did her late afternoon broadcast and the gym where she worked out every Tuesday and Friday. My catcalls became a bit of a routine, and though she never really responded in any substantive way, I got this funny feeling that she sort of enjoyed the attention. Sure, I had a girlfriend at the time, but what was the harm in a little fun?

I won't deny that those 10 seconds interactions sort of became the highlight of my week after a while: I was going through some tough times with Samantha; she had moved out in November. I got pretty upset one Friday when Heidi didn't show up, I mean visibly anxious. Her absence had disrupted the carefully planned routine that I was using to avoid thinking about Samantha. Where was she, I thought to myself, my cigarette rapidly losing its flavor, tasting like ashes in my mouth. Well, I guess they always taste like that, but you get the idea. The next Tuesday Heidi didn't show up again, and by this point I was looking at a worst case scenario: I'd never see the leggy redhead again. Somehow, the thought filled me with a deep sense of dread.

But then, out of the blue, there she was the following Friday, walking along as if nothing had happened. I called out as per usual, "Hey," but I found my voice softening almost inextricably, "where were you last week?" I quickly attempted to recover by adding a "you perfidious temptress from the pits of black Stygia!" but I could see that she had recognized my surprising shift in tone. She pointed to her throat. "Cough," she said "sick." Then she provided a helpful demonstration of someone coughing. She kept walking.

By December, Samantha and I had completely stopped talking, and I was a wreck. I started smoking more, just to deal with my nerves. I wasn't doing too hot. One Friday, on account of us being behind schedule, the foreman refused to let me take my cigarette break; with that little indignity on top of everything else, it was all I could do to avoid laying out blubbery old Garibaldi on his fat ass. As it turned out, he had actually done me a favor, though I didn't realize it at the time. The next Tuesday, as I stood out near the curb taking a nice long drag on my cig when she marched straight up to me and demanded to know where I had been. I coolly explained that I didn't "think our relationship could continue to blossom based solely on these relatively superficial, impromptu interactions, and that we might consider exploring alternatives." I guess she took that as me asking her out, because the next evening found the two of us dining at a fancy Italian joint over in the downtown area.

I won't bore you with the details of our relationship. We went through what any hopeful yet ultimately doomed couple goes through. We got along great, we really did, but we were just from two different worlds. She was a beautiful, ambitious reporter with a sharp mind and boobs that just wouldn't quit, I was (still am) a no-good layabout with a bad back and short life expectancy. She landed that CNN job in New York around April. She asked me to go with her, but I knew I'd just end up holding her back.

Last I heard, she was with some fresh-faced print reporter at one of the big name newspapers over there. I eventually got back with Samantha, but I still thought about Heidi a lot. Hell, I still think of her every now and again. But even though things couldn't have worked out, I'm grateful for the time we had together. She was a really great kid, and I was glad to have met her. You can't take things like that for granted, you know?

America





















Apple pies and Fireworks. Baseball. Alexander Hamilton. What do all those things have in common? They're all American. They were all born right here in the goddamn United States of America. And I love America. I love her with all my heart.

The United States of America is the greatest country on God's green earth. From the shores of the Pacific to the shores of the Atlantic, America stretches as a shining beacon of hope across the continent, bringing freedom and enlightenment to the benighted peoples of the world. Since its inception, the U.S. of A. has uplifted the less fortunate, browner races, first granting the American Red Man the secrets of fire, farming, and smallpox. Ever since, America has battled to bring civilization to the swarthy peoples of the world, including Mexicans, Filipinos, and Iraqis. And each of these peoples has, in turn, expressed their undying gratitude to America, saying, "Thank you for lifting us out of our barbaric ways, America. In gratitude, we open McDonald's franchises in your honor."

America is where I was born. When I die, a low-flying prop plane will soar across its breadth, scattering my ashes into good American wind and across good American soil.

But, as of late, I feel as though I've lost America. I no longer seem to be first in her thoughts. She spends much of her time dallying with those who don't have her best interests at heart, who intend to use her to achieve their own selfish ends. Just the other day, I heard of gay people getting married in San Francisco! And they're letting women drive and vote now, I understand! They don't even let us invoke God in the public schools! This isn't the America I used to know. I don't blame her though. It's not her fault. She's been dazzled by the fancy showmanship of Hollywood and Bill Clinton into abandoning her principles. She's just a naive young kid in a world she never made.

One day, I'll win America back. Right now, she's going through a self-destructive phase, but at heart, she's a good kid, and I know she'll do the right thing. With some hard work, dedication, and faith, I know I can turn America away from the latter day Soddom and Gamorrah of modern media, and back onto the faithful and wholesome path of righteousness. Until then, America, know this: I love you, but I won't sleep with you.

Edward James Olmos

Not many people know this, but Edward James Olmos is not actually human. He's a robotic life form, an android if you will, built by the Pachucos during the Zoot Suit Riots of the mid 1940s to battle the United States Army. He was eventually captured and re-programmed as an actor, but not before he ravaged Vandenberg Air Force Base and destroyed an entire armored division.

Ironically, he currently portrays Captain William Adama on the hit sci-fi action series, Battlestar Galactica, wherein he battles against robots. The time they are a changin'.

Olmos, or Olmos Fuzzy Cuddle Bear as I like to call him, and I first met on the set of Stand and Deliver. I played one of the lazy Mexican students to whom he tried to teach calculus. Our puny minority brains couldn't comprehend differentiation and integration, however, but EJO taught us how to tattoo the Extreme Value Theorem to the backs of our eyelids, so everything worked out for the best.

EJO and I never actually had an actual relationship per se, but I did ritualistically murder several of his cats and nail them to a tree near his house with my mystical symbol carved into their bellies, so I think he got the message. He had a funny way of reciprocating my love though; I mean filling a restraining order and pressing animal cruelty charges? Oh well, I guess it was just his way.

EJO and I broke up when he legally changed his name and moved away suddenly without telling anyone where he was going; all the mail I sent ended up getting returned unopened. I still get to see him pretty often, whenever I watch Battlestar, but somehow it's not quite the same. It's pretty similar though, since we never actually had a conversation that lasted beyond, "Get off my property or so help me God I'll shoot," but I think overall I've gotten past everything. It was fun while it lasted, Olmos Fuzzy Cuddle Bear, but eventually you just have to move on, y'know? I mean, I have.

Sarah Guterman

Sarah Guterman is a mystery. An enigma. She's a ghost, a phantom, existing somewhere on the peripheries of our memory. She's there at the edge of the mind's eye, but try focusing and she vanishes. Who was she? Where did she come from? Where was she going? Did she even exist?

Sarah Guterman entered our lives, oh, somewhere around the end of our senior year at old Capistrano Valley High School. You know, that's a strange time, the end of high school. One epoch ending, another beginning, and right then, second semester, everyone's just holding their breaths...waiting. Yeah, by that time, pretty much everybody knows what the future holds: 4-year university, community college, McDonald's, whatever. But everyone's waiting. Not surprisingly, motivation declines rather precipitously. We call it "senioritis," which I think a lot of us actually contracted sophomore year. I still have it, actually.

It was into this strange environment that Sarah Guterman first emerged into our lives. Was she a temporary guidance counselor? An interim Vice Principal? I can't remember. What I do remember is her face. Fiery orange-red hair, long, past her shoulders. Unblemished pale skin, alabaster white. Cute little ears, stuck out slightly. Delicate nose. And her eyes...were they blue? Green? I can't remember. It bothers me that I can't remember.

I did love her. I remember that.

Who the hell was Sarah Guterman? By the time my brother started at Capo, the year after I left, she was long gone. She doesn't show up in any yearbooks. Searches of the school district's database turn up zilch. At our graduation, a friend of mine took pictures, but they somehow got deleted. As far as empirical evidence is concerned, she's a ghost. She didn't exist. Did we dream her? If we did, it was a collective dream a lot of us had, all at once.

My last memory of Sarah Guterman is of her walking along, eating ice cream at Disneyland. Yeah, see, we had our senior year Grad Nite at Disneyland. They bused a bunch of schools down there the night of graduation, and let us run around the park. Well, most of the rides were shut down, the idea was you danced the night away at a bunch of open air dance floors. But I didn't have too good a time, on account of there were a bunch of dirty Mexicans from other schools, and I'm way too uptight and self-conscious to dance. Anyway, at some point I came across Sarah Guterman, walking along and chatting it up with some calculus teacher. He was married, that calc teacher, but I bet he was sweet on her. Hell, I don't blame him, we all were. It's funny though, because now that I think about it, I'm not so sure she was eating anything at all, let alone icecream. Did I dream that up after the fact? Memory's funny like that, fantasy and imagination all rolled up with reality. I'm pretty sure that's the last time I saw her, Sarah Guterman, walking along, maybe eating ice cream. But maybe I just imagined it.