“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…”
― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!
Dr. Seuss forgot one part.
Unless of course, you get a snoot full of meth.
Its not as flowery or even comes close to rhyming like the legendary prose of the good doctor, but there is a nasty little snatch of truth in it.
So why am I trotting out the wraith of Seuss?
Because the tv show Cops is real.
Let me explain.
I got a an activity tracker a few months ago.
It has gotten me into the guilty habit of coming to the end of my day, realizing that I have not done anything for my health, made me feel bad that I refuse to go jogging, so I go on 5-10 mile walks.
But where do you walk to, you ask?
Somewhere to write.
I pick Starbucks that are a good stretch of the legs and hit the road.
And it worked.
In a couple of months, I have logged 1 million steps.
What does that have to do with Dr. Seuss?
Be patient, I am getting there.
I also suffer from ADD.
I get bored easy, so going to the same Starbucks all the time goes stale pretty quick.
Which leads us to today.
I have been walking for over an hour and I am now less than a mile from my chosen destination.
And I am sitting at the side of the road on a low wall watching the decay of modern society.
The cameras are not here, but this is an episode of Cops, I am sure of it.
Mom is in a bathrobe, chain smoking and alternating between screaming at the cops and crying and trying to comfort Joey. (Not my mom, of course. She stopped smoking decades ago, and you could not get her outside in a bathrobe without makeup unless you put a gun to her head. Even then, she may just take the bullet, mom likes things just so.)
Back to Joey.
Joey, is her little pride and joy.
At least, he was about 25 years ago, now he is a drugged out mullet wearing handcuffs and sweating like he is in a sauna.
And if you really wanted to wrestle with the police, why would you wait until you are handcuffed and surrounded.
Joey loves a challenge, evidently.
I really love police dogs.
They are almost always German Shepherds, one of my top 3 favorite breeds. (The other 2 are Irish WolfHound’s and Shih tzu’s)
The police dog is really wanting in on the fun here, but he is being barely restrained by a large cop no doubt with a heart of gold.
[[ADD SIDEBAR]] The Starbucks I am in stopped playing self indulgent Lillithfair crap music and played a 4 pack of Run DMC. They were the shit. [[END]]
Where was I?
Ah, my disappointment that there was no meth head mauling by the big puppy.
Now, you can screech at me all you like about this next line, but you are still wrong.
Joey did this to himself.
Meth and ignorance are a personal choice.
You’re goddam right I said it.
Its a disease, you whine.
Polio is a disease.
Meth is a personal choice made up of equal parts ignorance, lack of faith (In God and self) and poor parenting.
Personally I feel there is a lack of Irish genealogy here, but I cannot find the science to back that up.
“Are you happy now, mom?!?!” Joey yelled this as he was leaning across the hood of the patrol for the pat down.
Let me answer for mom.
No, no she isn’t, probably hasn’t been happy for a long time.
I read somewhere, “At any moment before you enter the gates of hell, you can change your luck.”
I have always felt there was a part of that missing.
You can change your luck, but only if you know you can.
I am going to jump out on a limb here and say that mom and Joey have no clue.
More’s the pity.