Category: Archived

Existential Angst and the Exploding Bagel Scene 1

Setting: A cramped, cluttered dorm room at the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee, 1977. Posters of Ingmar Bergman and Bob Dylan compete for wall space.

Characters:

• JEFF (O.S.): (Narrator)
• LEONARD: (Intellectual, neurotic, wears thick glasses)
• STANLEY: (Obsessed with Hollywood, prone to grand pronouncements)
• MARVIN: (Quiet, sarcastic, perpetually unimpressed)
• DEBORAH: (Earnest, idealistic, trying to keep the group on track)
• CYNTHIA: (World-weary, chain-smokes imaginary cigarettes)

(SCENE START)

JEFF (O.S.): The late seventies. A time of disco, disillusionment, and for five hapless souls crammed into a dorm room that smelled faintly of stale coffee and unfulfilled potential, the daunting task of collaborative screenwriting. They were, as a collective, a walking film waiting to happen.

LEONARD: (Tapping a pen nervously) So, we were at the protagonist’s existential crisis, right? He’s just discovered that his pet goldfish, Bartholomew, believes himself to be Nietzsche reincarnated.

STANLEY: (Grandly) Leonard, darling, this is cinema! We need stakes! Bartholomew can’t just believe he’s Nietzsche. He has to act like Nietzsche! Imagine, a goldfish delivering pronouncements on the will to power! We’ll get Brando for the voiceover!

MARVIN: (Dryly) Brando’s probably busy arguing with his agent about the proper way to eat a sea cucumber.

DEBORAH: (Trying to sound positive) Okay, okay. Let’s not get sidetracked. The core of our story is about alienation in a post-industrial society, seen through the… unique… lens of a philosophical goldfish.

CYNTHIA: (Exhaling an imaginary plume of smoke) It’s all meaningless anyway. We’re all just fleeting moments in the vast, uncaring cosmos. Might as well have the goldfish join a punk band.

LEONARD: But the symbolism! The crushing weight of existence reflected in Bartholomew’s tiny, watery eyes!

STANLEY: Symbolism sells art-house tickets, Leonard. Explosions sell popcorn! We need a scene where Bartholomew, in a fit of nihilistic rage, blows up the fish tank!

MARVIN: How exactly does a goldfish blow up a fish tank? Does he swallow a tiny stick of dynamite?

DEBORAH: Maybe it’s a metaphor! For the protagonist’s inner turmoil!

CYNTHIA: Or maybe the goldfish just gets tired of the water. I know I am.

LEONARD: I was thinking more along the lines of Bartholomew having a profound dream sequence where he debates Schopenhauer.

STANLEY: Dream sequences are boring! Unless there are laser beams! Bartholomew could have laser eyes! He’s a super-Nietzsche-goldfish!

MARVIN: We’re supposed to be writing a serious screenplay, not a Saturday morning cartoon.

DEBORAH: Can we at least agree on the protagonist’s motivation? He’s… he’s feeling lost, right? Like he doesn’t fit in?

CYNTHIA: Join the club, sister.

LEONARD: Perhaps his alienation stems from the fact that he’s the only one who can understand Bartholomew’s philosophical pronouncements. He’s trapped in a world of philistines who just see a… fish.

STANLEY: That’s too subtle! What if he’s being chased by a shadowy organization that wants to weaponize Bartholomew’s intellect? Think James Bond meets… Jacques Cousteau!

MARVIN: I’m starting to think Bartholomew should just swim away. End of movie. Everyone goes home.

DEBORAH: No, no, we need a resolution! A moment of catharsis! Maybe the protagonist finally accepts Bartholomew for who he is, Nietzschean tendencies and all.

CYNTHIA: Or maybe Bartholomew realizes the futility of philosophy and just wants a bigger tank.

LEONARD: But the intellectual journey! The exploration of free will versus determinism!

STANLEY: We can have a car chase! With the protagonist and Bartholomew – in a little water-filled contraption – being pursued by black helicopters!

(SFX: Clatter of typewriter increases, then stops abruptly)

MARVIN: I’ve got it. The protagonist is making himself a bagel. He’s feeling particularly angst-ridden. He puts it in the toaster oven…

DEBORAH: Okay…

MARVIN: …but he forgets to take out the foil-wrapped cream cheese he’d stashed inside for later.

(SFX: A loud, unexpected POP followed by a splattering sound)

LEONARD: What was that?!

STANLEY: Did the goldfish finally achieve sentience and detonate?

CYNTHIA: Sounds like reality intruding on our pathetic little drama.

(SFX: Muffled groans)

DEBORAH: Marvin, what happened?

MARVIN: (Deadpan) The existential crisis just got a little… messy. Seems my bagel experienced its own form of explosive disillusionment.

LEONARD: (Sighs dramatically) Even inanimate objects are rebelling against the absurdity of existence.

STANLEY: This is brilliant! We can incorporate this! The exploding bagel is a metaphor for… for… the sudden, chaotic nature of truth!

CYNTHIA: Or maybe it just means Marvin shouldn’t try to toast cream cheese.

DEBORAH: (Wearily) Can we please just go back to Bartholomew?

LEONARD: Perhaps the exploding bagel is Bartholomew’s subconscious cry for help! He’s overwhelmed by the weight of Nietzsche’s philosophy!

STANLEY: We need slow-motion footage of the bagel exploding! With dramatic music!

MARVIN: I just need a sponge.

JEFF (O.S.): And so it went. Five college students, trapped in the amber of their own intellectual pretension, wrestling with grand ideas and exploding breakfast foods. The screenplay, much like their futures, remained a nebulous, slightly sticky mess. But in that cramped dorm room, amidst the angst and the bagel shrapnel, they were, for a brief, fleeting moment, artists. Or at least, they smelled like they were trying to be.  

(SCENE END)

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WRYL – The Voice of the Great Up North

Yesterday I received a package from an old friend I went to religion class with. Back then every Tuesday afternoon we would walk to Mary Queen of Heaven Church and sit for an hour with Sister Fatima and learn how to make ourselves better Catholic boys and girls.

In honor of Sister Fatima and all the nuns at Mary Queen of Heaven who had to put up with all our jokes and pranks . . . I present the following as suggestions to parents who have to deal with the everlasting energy of children:

Considerata — or what goes around, comes around.

Step gently over the legos and crayons and rest assured there is never enough toilet paper.

Speak clearly and directly. Accept the truth that your kid’s hearing is subjective and random.

Never compare your childhood to your kids. It is a vain and futile discussion.

Enjoy your accomplishments as well as your dreams.

Exercise caution with homework assignments, for your kid’s teachers know more than you. But let this not depress you. You are not the weakest link.

Be yourself. For you are heroes to your kids. Even after all the disagreements, they will come running to you when they are hurt.

Do not joke about boyfriends and girlfriends – nor be cynical about the gossip at recess. For it is as perennial as Parent/Teacher conferences.

Take kindly to growing old for your kids will remind you countless times. Gracefully surrender the things of your youth – free time, the phone . . . the car.

For whatever your dreams or aspirations in your life are, always remember you can freeze Girl Scout cookies.

I am the father of angels.
Not unlike the kid I was.
And whether or not I can open the door.
Your room is still a mess.

Therefore, be at peace with your kids — no matter how long they hog the bathroom.

Amid all the noise and confusion, their answer is always the same…

“I dont know.”

To be continued . . .

It was the knock out punch that did it. The next thing I remembered was all these strange people looking at me as I was fluttering my eyes open. They just stared in amazement. No one said a word. But I could hear a lot going on in my head. I was confused. I tried to sit up but the people held me down. The only message I could understand was a voice telling me to just lay down and wait for help to arrive.

I tried to turn my head from side to side to see where I was but the strangers standing around me blocked my view. And the pain in my neck was intense. So I just laid there looking upward into nothing. The strangers seem to be fading away. I felt like I was floating. Almost as if I was on a calm lake. I could feel the small ripples move under my body. I was moving. But to where I don’t know. All I knew was that I was content and happy. I smiled and closed my eyes and floated away.

The phone rang and it startled me. My eyes opened wide. I felt like I fell twenty feet smack into my office chair. I looked around. I was home. I was in my office. I still felt disoriented. I felt like I was torn away from someone or someplace. The phone was still ringing. I answered it. It was a reminder of an upcoming doctor’s appointment. I was angry and hung up on the pre recorded message.

What just happened? Was it a dream? I tried to recall all the details. I took some paper and jotted down some notes but my memory faded faster than I could write. All I could remember was floating on a lake and voices whispering in my head. I couldn’t remember what they said. All I remembered was that I was happy. Happy beyond any happiness I encountered in my lifetime.

And I wanted to go back. I really wanted to go back.

I decided to go for a walk. The cool fall air felt good. And the sunshine warmed my soul. I do love a nice autumn day. The leaves were changing color. The bright red maple leaves provided an amazing contrast to the drabness of some of the houses on the block. I kept walking. I tried to imagine the interior of each house I walked past. I know that sounds weird. I have talked with several of my neighbors and just said hi in passing to a few others as they were walking their dogs. From their personalities or just a gut feeling I had, I visualized what their homes looked like. Why was I thinking like this? I don’t know. Maybe I was justifying the way my house looked. Why would I have to justify that? My house is my house and the way I want it to look is nobody’s business but mine.

Wait what has this got to do with my experience? What has this got to do with my dream? Where was I and who were all those people looking at me? I stopped at the corner. I looked in both directions before crossing the street. I felt the breeze on my face and looked up at the sky and smiled.

It was the knock out punch that did it. The next thing I remembered was all these strange people looking at me as I was fluttering my eyes open. They just stared in amazement. No one said a word. But I could hear a lot going on in my head. I was confused. I tried to sit up but the people held me down. The only message I could understand was a voice telling me to just lay down and wait for help to arrive.

Then I heard the siren. I didn’t see the ambulance, but I did recognize the paramedics. I couldn’t move. I was on a backboard. I tried talking but was told to be quiet and that everything was all right. So I just laid there looking upward. The strangers seem to be fading away. I felt like I was floating. Almost as if I was on a calm lake. I could feel the small ripples move under my body. The ambulance door closed and I was headed to the emergency room. The next thing I remembered was waking up to the sound of a phone ringing.

To be continued…

You could say we were destined to meet. I knew this day was coming. Slowly I could feel my sixth sense or my inner sense telling me to look for someone or something incredibly fantastic. Little did I know what I was getting into. And little did I know how much my brain would fight me.

I still can feel my brain telling me it is not worth it. I could be doing other things that would be much more fun. Remember all that we did a few months ago. You were so relaxed and content. Life was easy. Life was good. Your life is fine. There is no need to search for anything.

Yes those were the messages in my head. And I was listening to them. And even today I was listening to them. The voices were slowly creeping forward trying to take over my life again. And I almost let them win.

I made a mistake. I accepted what I did in the past was still ok in the present. But where I am at right now I don’t need to take a trip down memory lane. But I did. I justified this to myself. Or let’s just say the voices justified it for me. Telling me that it was ok for me to do the things that I once did. I could still do everything else. It will be ok.

But it won’t be ok. Those voices in my head are like weeds in a garden. They choke the life out of other plants. The voices were choking all the wonderful things I was doing. This week has been a pretty good week. I have been researching and writing. It is amazing how easy it is for the words to flow. When I write my head feels clear and centered. I haven’t felt this way in a long long time. And I like the feeling.

Instead of writing my thoughts and feelings I could be in a chat room looking for affirmation. That “ding” of a notification that someone wants to chat with me. I exist because I received a chat notification. That is so messed up 

I have said this in the past. I like being by myself but I don’t want to be alone. I do need the affirmation. Everyone needs to be recognized. I exist! I am here! Why is it so hard to talk with people? No that is not the question. Why do people leave me alone? 

Do I need a constant human connection? No. That would drive me crazy to have someone constantly with me. Someone who is always talking to me. Someone who has to be a part of everything I do everyday.

But where is the balance? I don’t have that yet. I crave attention. I am not like a spoiled two year old. And God forbid I am constantly the center of attraction. That would drive me up the wall. But I don’t want to be alone. 

And I am finding out that I am not ready for a relationship. I can’t share my life with someone. But isn’t that what I am looking for? Maybe it is not the sharing. Maybe I just can’t open up to someone. Maybe I don’t want to reveal who I am. Maybe I am afraid to reveal who I am. Maybe I don’t know who I am. 

Wow… I don’t know who I am. All these years I have been living a lie? That doesn’t sound right. If I have been living a lie and I was basically happy, then what was the trigger? What caused me to question my existence? 

To be continued…

As the sun set over the harbor, the lights of the city came on one by one. Wanda and I stood on the pier watching. It was an amazing sight to see. It was like the city was coming to life. The heartbeat of the city pushes the electrical power through the myriad of cables and wires. We both stood in awe as we watched.

Wanda was the first to speak. Her voice floated out into the atmosphere. “What is this all about?” she asked.

“I don’t understand.” I replied.

“Why are we here? Why do we exist? I don’t understand.” Wanda said in a frustrating tone.

“I exist because I am here. You exist because you are here.” I answered.

“I agree that I exist, but what’s the point of existence?” Wanda stated in a very straightforward way.

Wanda is not alone. There are many people in this world that exist but are unhappy with where they are. They think in the past and always question themselves “If only I could go back in time.”

Time is a constant that always moves forward. There are no second chances. You see and hear on the news of individuals who cheated death. And nine times out of ten you hear that they are given a second chance at life.

There are no second chances.  Time keeps moving forward. You keep moving forward. What you encountered in the past is just an event in time. You choose your path, You choose your destination. You choose who you are and what you do. The events you encounter along the path you choose are just that. They are events. You use them as you choose. They can be a learning event. Or the event could be a trigger of future events. That is your choice. That is your life.

Some people believe in predestination. That your whole life is determined prior to your birth. That you have no choice but to follow the path that was pre chosen for you.  And as much as you think you are changing your life,  you are actually following the path that was given to you.

Where is the fun in that? I mean I think I am getting better. I am trying to improve myself. But in all actuality this was all planned out for you.  This was your path to follow.

The same people believe in reincarnation. That is you just don’t go around once in life and that’s it. You have many past lives. And each life was predetermined. Each life was and currently is a lesson for you to learn and experience. And each experience gets you closer to your innermost self. Nirvana for lack of a better term. 

So in one life you were a mass murderer. In another life you were a gifted actor. In another life you were a simple middle class wage earner just trying to survive in this crazy world.

What’s the point then? If my life was predetermined, then I will just sit back and coast. What is the point of doing anything if that is what you were predetermined to do all along? Just let it happen. 

Just let it happen.

That sucks…

Sitting back and watching and waiting to see how it all acts out is just too depressing for me. I enjoy my life. I am totally enjoying rediscovering myself. If this is something I was predetermined to do, I don’t give a crap. Life is too short to just sit back and think of “What If?”. Life happens so just enjoy the ride. 

People say the world sucks these days. I don’t want to be around those people. I am seeing the world in a whole new light. My world is fantastic. It is fun and exciting. And I so look forward to each and every new day.

To be continued…

Seventh grade. The middle of middle school. One year away from supreme leadership (eighth grade) and no longer being hazed and harassed (sixth grade). It was kind of like middle child syndrome. Seventh graders were basically left alone to fend for themselves.

It was the Halloween dance at Mary Queen of Heaven school. It was decided by Sister Fatima and Father Bernard that the middle school should have some type of mixer. Something where the boys and girls would interact. Little did they know I would find my first girlfriend and my first love at the Halloween Dance.

Her name was Holly. Holly Kowalczyk. Her dad was the owner of Pinky’s bowling lanes and pizzeria. Holly was a loner. She was teased a lot by the other girls in seventh grade. Holly was very quiet and sort of a wallflower. She was very smart in school and the nuns would always compliment her and point out to the other seventh grade girls, “Why can’t you all be like Holly.”

That didn’t make her life any easier.

Holly was always under pressure to be the best at everything.

Costumes were required for this party. And my mom being good with a sewing machine planned on going all out. I had no say as to what I wanted for a costume. I would wear what my mom would create for me.

I was Gumby.

After looking at myself in costume I figure I could run away from home and work at a circus. I knew I could never go back to school again. Even the sixth graders would haze and harass me.

I was doomed.

After a gazillion photos and costume adjustments my parents drove me to the dance. My dad was not happy with the choice of costume and I think he understood how I felt. Before my parents left me at the school hall, my dad said “This too shall pass.” Whatever the heck that meant. And with that sage wisdom, my parents left.

Duck and cover. No this wasn’t an air raid practice. I needed to find a place to run and hide before I was spotted. The doorway to the classrooms was open. I made a mad dash down the hall. I found an open classroom and went in. It was dark. I kept the lights off. I figured if I kept quiet, I wouldn’t be found. It was perfect. No one would find me.

Then I heard someone crying. 

It was a girl.

Now what? Should I say something? Should I just keep quiet? I don’t think she knows I am here. But why is she crying? Why is she in the dark? Who is she?

My questions were answered with a flip of a light switch. I looked and saw Sister Catherine. This was her classroom. She stared at me with amazement. Maybe she has never seen a Gumby before. I turned to the left to see who it was that was crying.

It was Holly.

She was dressed as a bowling pin.

Before I could say anything we were both quickly escorted out of the classroom and into the school hall. There to my horror my parents were standing along with Holly’s parents and Father Bernard. 

Before anyone could say anything, Sister Catherine said, “I saw them walking up and down the hallway talking to each other. I told them to get back to the dance.”

I looked up at Sister Catherine and she gave me a wink. She had my back. Maybe she was a Gumby once too. From that day on I had total respect for Sister Catherine and would help her every time she asked.

“Why don’t you two go out there and dance”, said Father Bernard. I looked at Holly and she looked at me. Her hand kind of reached towards mine. My dad coughed and I looked at him. He motioned that I should take her hand. I did. We walked together onto the dance floor.

A Gumby and a Bowling Pin.

I noticed most of the girls dancing with other girls and the boys were all at one side standing and watching. I looked at Holly and we started dancing. It really wasn’t all that bad. Holly looked at me and smiled. I think this was the first time I ever saw her smile. I think she was having a good time. I know I was having a good time.

And then we heard Sister Fatima’s voice, “Why can’t you girls be like Holly and dance with a boy!”

I looked at Holly. I thought she might run away. But she didn’t. She smiled at me and held me closer and we danced the night away.

To be continued …

I never wanted to be President. I really never wanted to be much of anything. Anything important that is. I always felt at home being by myself and doing my own thing. I never really wanted anyone to take notice of me. I was happy and content in my little world. My own little world. My world of imagination and fun. I could be anything I wanted to be if I put my mind into it. And I did that a lot. I would daydream of being rich and famous. I would daydream of being a published author. I would daydream of accepting the academy award for best screenplay. Yes I did want people to notice me but I never wanted to be much of anything. I enjoyed sitting on a couch or chair and just looking and listening to all the people at a gathering. I would listen to their conversations and study their body language. But I would never participate. I would never want to express my thoughts and opinions. That would be too personal. That would be too close to who I am. And I really never wanted to be much of anything. 

My days would always start the same. I would get up around the same time every day. No sleeping in for me. I had my routine and I followed it faithfully. God forbid if I had to deviate. That would totally ruin my day. And then where would I be? I would be in limbo. I wouldn’t know what to do. I couldn’t be myself. I had to become someone else. Who would I become? I would panic and pace around the house. How dare my routine get interrupted. I wouldn’t know what to do or who to turn to. I never really wanted to be much of anything. And now here I am standing out there for all to see because my routine has been interrupted. 

Panic attacks are not much fun. And they are very real. It feels like your heart is pounding so fast that you feel it is going to explode through your chest. You feel light headed and clammy. Your breathing increases and your emotions go off the chart. First you’re angry and curse at everyone who has been a part of your life. Then you are sad. You cry because of all the lost connections. The friends that have come and gone. You ask yourself what if I did things differently. Where would I be? What would my life be like? Who would I be with? Who would I be?

But I never really wanted to be much of anything. All of this thinking is contrary to who you think you are now. And this conflict rattles throughout your head. And the panic increases. And then…

The voices start. They pick at your mind. They taunt you. They make you want to be something you are not. And something you do not want to be. You struggle to clear your mind. You start the breathing exercises you remembered the last time a panic attack happened. You pray for the voices to be still. You just wanted to be left alone. I never wanted to be much of anything. I just want to be left alone. Please leave me alone.

It is not working. The voices continue to hound you. What is wrong? Why can’t I be left alone? I never really wanted to be much of anything. 

But what if?

But what if I am supposed to be something. What if I am supposed to be doing more than just daydreaming?  Are these panic attacks just my thoughts screaming to get out of my head? Do I need to do more than daydream? It has been so long since I did something for people to read and share. How do I start? 

Wait, I have started. I have started by admitting that I need to do more. Wait, let me change that last sentence. I have started by admitting that I WANT to do more. There is a big difference between need and want. If you need to do something you still have the out of not doing it. If you want to do something, there is no out. You do it because you want to.

And I want to.

I want to get back to all that I have been dreaming about. 

I never wanted to be President. I just want to be me again.

To be continued…

Pastor Dzeff was the associate pastor at Saint Helga’s Church, a non denominational church and the only church in Royal

Pastor Dzef grew up in southern Wisconsin. As a boy he was always the odd kid out. Dzef did not love sports or fishing or camping. Dzef was a bookworm and if you were looking for him, the first place to check was the public library.

Dzef had a love for animals and any stray animal he found he brought home to the family farm. After doing his chores he would care for his animals. He would set them free or find homes for them.

After high school, Dzef volunteered for the Peace Corp. He was sent to Central America where he worked with missionaries helping the poor, homeless and hungry. This is where and when Dzef discovered God. He knew what his calling and purpose of life was to be.

He entered the seminary and several years later was ordained a priest. His first assignment was as chaplain for the only active MASH unit in the VietNam war. He served there for about a year before returning home.

His next assignment was as associate pastor at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in the northern suburbs of Milwaukee. The parish was very conservative and the parishioners came from well to do families. Father Dzef saw how the parish and school was trying to conform all the children into “Little Soldiers of Christ”. There was no chance of being an individual. Father Dzef was always at odds with the Pastor.

At a family reunion held in Royal one summer, Father Dzef attended service at Saint Helga’s. He felt so at peace listening to the Word of God. He enjoyed how all the families at the church participated in the service. God was calling Father Dzef. Royal was to be his new home.

Father Dzef talked with the Pastor and was offered the Associate Pastor position. Father Dzef accepted the position and was ordained Pastor Dzef. With church finances as they were, the position was unpaid and the new Associate Pastor Dzef needed to find a place to live. Pastor Dzef was able to find a job at a local restaurant called “The Lunch Stop”. He worked at the counter and in the kitchen. It was there where he was able to meet and talk with the families from Royal and from other small towns nearby. Pastor Dzef was able to rent a small apartment above the restaurant. It was there he wrote his Epistle to the People of Royal.

Pastor Dzef remained at Saint Helga’s until the church closed and is currently on a walkabout across the United States