Mistaken Identity Theft...

I stole somebody's identity once. It's true, it happened a few years ago, not as a means to something sinister or for personal profit, or for anything untoward at all for that matter.  It all began as a joke that somehow went awry. But the joke now seems to be on me as this person I ended up deceiving, seems to think I'm somebody they really know...or knew at some point in their life.

This all began when a couple of years ago, I received one of those party evite invitations through my Yahoo email account. I'm going to refer to her as Sheryl Dee.  So I get this evite to to a summer pool party for this person, Sheryl, whom I believe was celebrating her 50th birthday, or something.  The name did not immediately ring a bell, so I thought I would peruse the list of other guests.  Not only did none of the guests' names on this list sound even vaguely familiar, but I noticed that this pool party was taking place in a few weeks, in some small town in Sonoma County, California. When I did a search, I discovered that it was nearby Santa Rosa, just north of the wine country, near the coast.

Well obviously this Sheryl woman had mistaken me for some other Jim Farina, not the most common name, but there are more of us around than I would've guessed. So I did what most anybody would do in such case...I ignored the invitation and went on with my life. Well a few days later, as these evite services are wont to do, I received a follow-up reminder for this party. Sure, I could've simply deleted it, as most normal people might. But my curiosity got the better of me. I opened the evite once again and began reading the responses from people who accepted the invite. There was also a list included on the evite of suggested items to bring - mostly liquor. There were a lot of comments from acceptors along the usual lines:  Can't wait!, I'm there!!, How could I miss this!!!. some of the comments lead me to assume that this might've been a reunion of sorts, or from people who'd not seen each other for some years. One person seemed to suggest that they had some cosmetic enhancements done. A strange thing to put in a response, but hey, it is California.

I was intrigued.  I couldn't resist. So I accepted the invitation and said something along the lines of:  "Count me in!  I will bring the Vodka!"  And then I said something like, "I've had some work done myself, but will wait till were at poolside to unveil - you might want to have a couple drinks first!" So now that I responded, I received an email each time anybody else responded, either accepting or declining the invitation.

This was too much fun. I shared with some friends what I had done and we followed the prank up until the party date had eventually come and gone. I thought it interesting and mused at the fact that famous film director, Alfred Hitchcock, who had produced many works around this theme of mistaken identity, loved this area of northern California. Hitchcock, in fact filmed two movies: The Birds, and Shadow of a Doubt in the areas of Bodega Bay and Santa Rosa, respectively.  And here I was stealing another Jim Farina's identity and playing out a true, at least in my own head, Hitchockian drama.

Well many weeks had passed and I'd all but forgotten about this silliness, when I received an email from Sheryl Dee, the host and honoree of this pool party.  Thankfully, I was not the sole recipient of this sad message. There were about a dozen others who were receiving this same message. Sheryl wanted us all to know that her father had just passed away after she'd spent some days at his bedside as his life slowly ebbed away.

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to this news. I couldn't just ignore this and continue on like nothing happened. It's just not in my nature. Obviously there was the "real" Jim Farina someplace who needed to know about this tragic passing of Sheryl Dee's father. I decided, pretty much on the spot, there was only one thing to do, and that was to immediately come clean with everything. The proverbial jig was up!

So I sent Sheryl a message telling her everything. How I was having fun with her evite and assumed the identity of some other Jim Farina, I lived in Chicago and had only been in her area once on vacation to San Francisco. I then expressed my sympathy at the loss of her father and told her that I hope I didn't cause too many problems and that hopefully somebody else brought the vodka.  Sheryl was very understanding of everything. She thanked me for my honesty and told me that I was a very nice and sincere person. End of story? Not really.

Some months ago, Sheryl Dee sent me a LinkedIn request to join her network. I have this weird rule, like many of my quirky rules that govern my life. I NEVER send friend requests on either Facebook or Join my Network requests on Linkedin. If you are connected to me by any of these means, it is because I accepted a request from you. So if you are somebody who abides by the same rule as I do, chances are we will never be connected via social media. Does Sheryl continue to think I am the Jim Farina that she apparently knew from someplace else in her life?  And then a few weeks ago, she endorses my expertise...

Can she not see my profile picture? I don't know you, Sheryl Dee!!!!  Is this some kind of a twisted payback for how I duped her with the whole party thing?  I'm not really sure.  One thing I know - two can play at this game. I took a break about midway through writing up this blogpost to endorse her work in Vancouver, Canada...  And so the drama continues...   

Here comes the ?

I've been thinking a lot about marriage lately.  I'm one of the fortune few who have navigated a rocky path and been rewarded with a rich robust satisfying marriage.  It has taken me completely by surprise.  I had thought that there would a separation of ways, a division of assets and a sole path taken by both of us.  We were lucky enough to meet a wonderful woman who, although being picked by random, seemed tailor made to sew back the pieces of our marriage.  She taught us a lot about who we were, how to set expectations and the stupid arrogance we both suffered from.  But that isn't really what I want to chat about.  Yea, I'm sure many are delighted that we are frolicking through the heather, eating strawberries and drinking champagne while listening to an old Carpenters tune but all of this brought a serious issue to mind.  Same sex marriage.

Gay rights has been one that I've been a champion of ever since my first time on the dance floor at "The Transfer" in Santa Monica.  There is something about being surrounded by hot sweaty men, dancing to a disco beat and not once getting inappropriately grabbed. While not always the best for a young woman's self esteem,  it does make a good basis for some life long friendships.  This group of people were my core family when I was living 2000 miles from home.  They celebrated my ups and my downs, my life tragedies and my personal successes.  They cooked for me, cleaned for me and yelled at me when I needed it.  They rescued me from anorexia, bad relationship choices and most importantly, boredom.  The sense of family among many of these couples seemed more real and intense to me than most of my married heterosexual friends.  Why on earth would anyone care if my gay friends got married?  I certainly didn't. Come one come all (or as my brother says "sure, let everyone be miserable...").

And now the irony........some on the conservative christian right use the argument that gay marriage is a threat to heterosexual marriage.  I'm not sure I understand this. If gay marriage is legal, does that mean all of a sudden all the men and women in hetero marriages will leave their partners for members of their own sex?  Are us heteros really as uncommitted to each other that men marrying men and women marrying women will break our bonds of matrimony?  Just don't get it....and the irony I spoke of earlier??? A gay woman saved my heterosexual marriage.  That's right.  My therapist is a lesbian.  Ironic huh?  I hardly think that if she can legally marry,  on our next visit she'll do everything she can to ensure we split up.

So folks, I don't get it.  My thought?  I think its jealousy.....us hetero's know, there is no way that our weddings can match up to our gay brothers and sisters wonderful soiree's that will join them as spouse and spouse.  Bring on the fabulousity!!

That Fleeting Sense of Winter Solitude...

Living in the Chicago area once meant that you could count on about 30 inches, or roughly 76 centimeters of snow during a typical winter season. Thinking back on my grade school years, I can't recall a winter where there was not a blanket of snow covering the ground between the months of December and mid-March.  it seemed like back then it was unusual not to have snow.  We never saw the grass, generally, till around the first spring thaw.

Things are quite different in recent years. Everybody  is talking about "global warming" and erratic climate changes all over the world.  Places in the south, where snow was more uncommon are now finding themselves buried to their waists. I remember last March, the temperature in Chicago had the mercury rising over the 80 degree mark for a couple days in a row.  I distinctly recall going to the Lincoln Park Zoo on March 15th, with my family and wearing short sleeve t-shirts and shorts. My kids were grumbling about being too hot! 

Experts at the Climate Prediction Center, said about that phenomenon, to give a hearty thank you, in part, to something called the Madden-Julian Oscillation. Like the proverbial butterfly flapping its wings in Africa that helps to cause a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico, far-flung climate patterns hundreds or even thousands of miles away were helping fuel the nation’s bizarre, record-shattering March heat of last year.

Who's to say where this is all going. I received a pair of cross country skis several years ago as a Christmas/birthday present.  This was one of the best gifts that I can recall. Since then, I always looked forward to grabbing my boots, skis and poles and heading to the nearby woods, spending a few hours each weekend gliding across the neatly groomed trails. Often I would bring a camera, my iPod and I would just have an amazing time, alone in total solitude.  

The exercise is always an extra bonus - being so caught up in the act of skiing through pristine woodlands, conquering the sometimes challenging terrain, I never realized how hard I was working all of my muscles until I got back to my car. Once I stopped, I realized that I was quickly getting chilled, soaked to the skin with perspiration. The late afternoon was always my favorite time of day to ski. I'd typically finish my circuit as the sun, hanging low in the sky, would cast some long shadows - orange-crimson shades lending an ethereal, an almost timeless feel to my being. It is difficult to put into words - something bordering very closely to the spiritual realm though. 

I generally would go home, peel out of my damp clothes, shower and get into something soft. I would next build a real wood fire in our fireplace, pour a good glass of wine. I'd bask for a time, holding on, as best I could, to that wonderful sense of euphoric bliss. But these impressions quickly pass as surely as peaceful slumber erodes as we fully wake to the many obligations of a new and busy day in the life.

Yesterday, March 2nd, 2013, I donned my skis for the first time this winter. The snow less common these past years than it has been. There had not been much activity on the trail at Volo Bog Natural Area, so the trails were not well-groomed, the going was not as sure. It almost seems as though others who once shared this passion with me had given up - perhaps not making the effort to uncover their ski gear for these few short weeks preceding spring. Somehow, it wasn't quite the same yesterday - it felt like something is off. So was that it? Has winter abandoned me?  Have I abandoned it? I'm not sure. Maybe I'll have another go at it - maybe not.

I left my ski gear in the car though, just in case...

                

The Perfect Blog Storm...

It's been some time since I've posted a blog here at The Whine Press.  I need to get back into a regular rhythm again as I have been faithfully maintaining two blogs up until the new year. I'm not sure what happened to cause this lapse.  My other blog, Arkenstone, which is dedicated to my journey in creating, marketing and hopefully one day, selling or optioning my award winning screenplay, Martin Eden has been fun to watch the following from all over the world.  You see, I need to blog again if only to keep my name and work active in the search engine realm.

I've had nearly 1000 page views on Arkenstonenow. Perhaps my clever strategy to choose a name which I knew, at the time I launched the blog, was likely to be searched out more after the release of the film version of The Hobbit.  I read Tolkien's book and thought the Arkenstone, which was a long lost gem of the dwarvish protagonists in the tale, and key element to the story, was sure to get some search engine action once the film was released. It seems to be working as my posting to Arkenstone has lapsed along with this blog, but somehow is getting a good amount of traffic.

Well as it turns out, I have been charged with possibly starting a 3rd blog on the website of The Orchard EFC. This is the church where I attend. I have just returned from a mission trip to Haiti and was asked, if I would be willing to promote, generate and solicit interest in awareness for our work in Haiti. How can anybody say "no" to church folk?

So I need to get back on track and get more disciplined about the practice of writing. I want to continue The Whine Press along with my good friend Zep, as a means to express whatever is on my mind. I feel the need to maintain the Arkenstone blog as a professional tool and means to promote and showcase my screenwriting accomplishments. And once I decide to launch my next blogging initiative, it will be a space where I can express my passion and share with my Christian family - promoting work relating to spiritual and eternal significance.

When I consider it, I have an outlet for the personal, professional and spiritual aspects of my embodiment.  It's an ideal balance, a perfect trinity of mind, body and spirit. Amazing! Not my plan.

And to think, when I began writing this post, I had fully intended it to be a piece about how I really like the fact that snow storms are now given names, like Nemo.  So weird how the writing process can hijack your mind...

The Pros and Cons of Christmas Birthdays...

JIM

I am a Christmas baby.  That's right, out of 364 other days in the calendar year, I am one of the lucky souls that made my way into this world on December 25th. In my experience this is both a blessing and a curse. Now this may not be true for all people who happen to share their birthday with Christmas, but for me, I can say overall it's been much more a blessing.

It's funny, whenever it comes up for the first time in casual conversation that my birthday is December 25th, I generally get one of  three different reactions. Some people react with something like, "Wow! how cool - you're a Christmas baby?!"  Then there is the second group who look at me sympathetically and say something along the lines of,  "Oh how awful for you, having to get cheated out of birthday presents and parties all your life".  The third group is made up of women, specifically mothers, whom I can just barely detect an underlying tone of contempt: "Oh your poor mother - I'm sure that's one Christmas she'll never forget..."

I love that one. As if it's my fault that my mom suffered through several hours of labor on Christmas Eve and into the following day.  I'm sure it was no picnic for my father either, but I've learned it's NEVER, EVER wise to mention a father's ordeal during delivery (no matter how horrific) in the same context with his wife giving birth. If you said, I know this man who was on his way to the hospital as his wife was in labor and on the way there he was robbed and beaten with a bat. While struggling to get to the hospital he was then hit by a truck, but somehow managed to be there for his wife, who'd been in labor for several hours...  I swear a mother will just ask, "How many hours was the poor thing in labor?".

What always strikes me as a bit strange is when a complete stranger such as a government clerk, pharmacist, loan officer, or any number of soul-less bureaucratic personnel, whom we frequently provide our date of birth, does not react at all when I so matter-of-factly state my date of birth. Come on! You don't have to be all about it. It is somewhat extraordinary though.  Give me something!

I confess, that I do feel a bit special, even privileged having a birthday on Christmas.  And I love the fact that I've never had to work or be in school on my birthday. True, I have never had a real party for my birthday, but anyone who knows me well, also knows that I am not very comfortable with crowds and shy away from any spotlight. So this is a fitting day for me to celebrate with family and in my own manner.  If I choose to stay in sweats all day and start drinking champagne with my breakfast, who's to judge me?  And how many others on their birthday can look forward to having the music of joy, the lights, the candles, the wonder of the season, the amazing aromas coming from the kitchen, the crackling fire.  But most important of all...

I celebrate this special day with all my Christian brothers and sister worldwide as we recognize the special significance of Christmas... The One who gives us the most amazing gift of all.  The One who has brought us back again into a right relationship with God, creator of all there is and all that will be. The One who has given us an eternal destiny where we will one day reign forever with Him. It is about celebrating the birth of our Lord and redeemer, Jesus Christ!

Merry Christmas and God Bless

It's the small things....

There is something to be said for living in the moment.  Enjoying each minute as it comes, seeing the joys of nature and humanity.  No where is this more evident then on my train ride into the city each morning.

A few stops after I get on, a man and his toddler daughter hop on the train.  They take a few moments to get settled; he adjusts his backpack and hers, takes off coats, brushes her hair with his fingers, all the while this little voice saying "dad! dad!".  They settle in to yogurt, juice boxes and the morning paper.  The conductor comes into our car yelling "Tickets! Get your tickets ready!" She squeals in excitement, jumping up and down.   "Dad! Tickets! Tickets!" grabs the ticket from her dad's hand, proudly waving it in front of the conductor.  As this is a monthly ticket, there is no need for the conductor to stop, he normally waves at you and moves on.  However, each morning the conductor bends down, takes the ticket and pretends to put a punch in it.  He has a brief conversation with her (I call her "The Baby") and smiling moves on.  "The Baby" has a way of lighting everyone's mental load.  Throughout the train ride she sings, repeats the same sentence in a sing song voice, discusses topics that only make sense to a 3 year old and occasionally will whimper or whine (Only to be jollied around by her loving dad).  She entertains a trainful of curmudgeony commuters who are half awake and trying to focus themselves for the day's tasks. No one can help but smile and feel there is more right than wrong with the world.

The 7:11 train is a creatures of habit route.  Most of the people on this train sit in the same seat in the same car.  You can always tell when a "newbie" rides on the 7:11.  They have the audacity to frown and roll their eyes at our "The Baby" while looking to other passengers for confirmation on what a pain it is to have a toddler along for the commute.  We, the people of the first car of the 7:11, stare down this interloper making it painfully obvious that this is a treat, not an endurance.  This is the effect "The Baby" has had on us all.

The end of this tale is the most heart warming. "The Baby" and her dad collect their belongings and get off the train.  Her dad settles her into a stroller, adjusting her hat, mittens and boots.  She waves at certain people and says "hi" in that perfectly perky voice that only the very young or very old can get away with.  She lightens up all of our paths including the two older men, beaten up by time and circumstance, who ask for spare change outside.  Every morning, the father and "The Baby" approach the men.  "The Baby" greets them, waves and exchanges some words of wisdom. Immediately the two men break out in beaming smiles.    Anyone who witnesses this small kindness cannot help but be touched by it.  The simple act of a child and the startling consequence is a lesson in humanity.  It is not what you give, but how you give it.  It's not the wealth of your presents, but the wealth of your presence.

So thank you "The Baby", every morning I am reminded to the beauty of life and the importance of generosity of spirit.

Billy Goat Breakfast - Don't Butt In!!

Living and working in Chicago definitely has its perks.  We have a beautiful lakefront, great sports teams, world-class museums, classy old theaters and opera houses, Wrigley Field, Michigan Ave. and lower Michigan Ave.

Lower Michigan Avenue is mostly comprised of concrete supports, truck delivery docks, parking garage entrances and roll away dumpster ports. But there is a hidden gem that most every Chicagoan and many tourists worldwide know about. I'm talking about the famous Billy Goat Tavern and Grill. The Billy Goat Tavern is not much to look at - it's neon cavern, dark and dank and emits a steamy, rancid greasy plume almost 24/7.

Billy Goat Tavern is known mostly for their burgers. Most popular is the double cheese burger - two thin patties of beef, shrunk well on a hot griddle with onions and a couple squares of American cheese slapped on by one of the friendly Greek fry-cooks, just before adeptly tucking between a kaiser-style bun. Salt, pepper, mustard, ketchup, raw onions, pickles and relish are all on you to determine just the desired ratio for your taste. What many people, both tourists and city denizens alike, have missed out on is the amazing breakfast sandwiches that the Billy Goat has to offer. And the 50 cent coffee is unbeatable!

Think for a moment... it's Friday morning, the city is just coming to life, empty beer bottles and other remnants of the previous late-night's revelry are still evident near the underground, sparsely lit entrance. Think about taking a half an hour just before going to work and having a ham, egg and cheese breakfast sandwiched between the kaiser roll bun. Or bacon, sausage...even salami, bologna or any variation of these. Imagine for a moment raw onions and pickles on the side as a garnish. All this for $5 at 8:00 am in the morning! And imagine sharing this experience with the same circle of very good and trusted friends.

This wouldn't be something you would (or could) do every day, or even every week for that matter. But say you had a standing appointment once a month, let's say the 3rd Friday of each month as a scheduled ritual. Now that's something you could never put a price on. This is something to look forward to... something to savor, this special time with friends, greasy sandwich, coffee and conversation. This is Billy Goat Breakfast (BGB).