Great. Another damn rant about me and my life. First off, you'd think I would have learned by now. Every time I post one of these, I get an e-mail from someone wishing to point out that I'm wrong in every assumption, every memory and every opinion contained within said rant. So why do I keep setting myself up for that? Well, for starters, I'm a fucking moron. Secondly, I'm an egotistical bastard, enough of one to think that you, my dear reader, would even give a rip about me and my little life.

In the grand scheme of things, we were little more than respective blips on each other's radar screen. Ships in the night, if you will. Even though this ship had nice hair. I was the Titanic to her Californian. But sometimes this isn't very clear at the time. And you get what we have here -- several badly written rants about a blip on a radar screen.

Well, I ran into that blip tonight at Wal Mart. I played it off as not recognizing her. You know, because I'm one cool cookie. It was a strange situation. She was there with her ex; I was there with my ex, the mother of my son and the woman I am about to remarry. (Just so we're clear on this. These are all the same person. I don't want you to wonder if I'm starting some sort of strange cult or anything. Although, now that I think about it....)

For some reason, as I walked the long way around her, picking up a 12 pack of Cokes that I didn't really need, all I could think about was the first rants on this board. I guess I was imagining her going home, getting online and coming to my web site. And seeing that those rants are still up. You may know where I'm coming from. You see someone from your past, you want to make sure they think that everything has gone great since the last time they saw you.

Of course, some of these rants have been on here since December, 1998. And, in truth, they're not that badly written. Well, some of them aren't. OK. One of them is not badly written. Well, not all of it, but part of one rant is not badly written. So I kept them up there. Even when I began thinking it was time to take them down. But then I thought two things: 1.) I don't have a lot of rants written. If I take two or three of them down, I'll have even less. 2.) In the past when I have written a poem about someone, it would never occur to me to discard the poem after the relationship ends. In truth, sometimes the creative product of the relationship offers more than the relationship ever did.

And then I began thinking about the rant, So That Was Christmas (12/26/98). Do I take that one off? Well, no, I don't, because it was not about her, but about my sister. And then I thought about the first one, Don't let your past dictate your future. (12/22/98). Well, that one stays too, because the ultimate truth of it, no matter who influenced it, is still, well, ultimately true.

These are not things we had to consider in the past. We live in an age where everyone walks around naked in their glass houses. And sometimes those that throw rocks at that house are within those walls. We share everything with the world. The world is, in fact, our therapist.

And then we live in a world where if we don't like what we see, we turn our heads. Or we flick the remote to the Cartoon Network and work on trying to forget the images CNN just showed us. We do this in our personal lives too. Something that makes us uncomfortable can be easily forgotten or glossed over. Or, can be deleted from the web site server. Thus, it never happened.

The world moves so fast. If we wanted to, we could keep putting it out of our minds. Listen to talk radio, keep driving and remember to think about whatever issue it is that is gnawing at you later. I've been there. I've lived that life. And I'm talking about yesterday.

Don't let the past dictate your future. But don't try to change your past either. Don't be ashamed of it. Even if it makes you look like a fucking moron. Embrace it. Wrap your arms around it and give it a great big kiss. It's part of who you are.

With that said, I'm taking a few of my old rants off line. Sorry. It was just too embarrassing. And way past time to move on. It is time to move on.

Joe

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