A friend of mine always jokes that she’s losing the will to live.  It could very well just be her sardonic sense of humor, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire.  And there are many reasons to lose the will to live these days.  

The ecological rape and plundering of our earth ignited by last century's industrial revolution and sustained by the myopic greed of the ubiquitous corporate goliaths has left us with a wretched, polluted planet choking like a brain-dead Centenarian in intensive care, while the ever-expanding, lying, conniving government of our crumbling country has reduced our once prosperous, free and proud nation to a mere shred of the utopia it was founded to be, an ugly, intrusive bully and worldwide embarrassment.  Add to that the widespread genocide occurring in Africa and other parts of the world, the burgeoning population which will only increase the demand of our vanishing resources (I realize these may cancel each other out but it does not soothe my soul to know of the abhorrent and unjust death and destruction of innocent victims and communities), the useless dying of our soldiers in our misguided and unnecessary war in Iraq, the coming economic meltdown and the constant foreboding threat of almost certain biological and nuclear terrorist attack, and I fully comprehend why someone might lose the will to live.

However, we only get one crack at life, and since ours has been granted during these tenuous times, rather than just succumb to the above and forlornly wither away like a delicate lily in the desert because our lives are deteriorating and could end on any unexpected given day, instead I choose to live life to the fullest. We must make the most of every moment and live for today and not for tomorrow. We must take joy from the physical and emotional pleasures in life, not matter how small or inconsequential. We should masturbate, consummate and celebrate. We should live like hedonists yet not be wasteful and give of ourselves so that others may share in our joy. We should think positively and pray and do whatever we can to make a positive impact, because you never know, you just never know what might happen. Maybe, just maybe, if we all give a little, we can change the world for the better and turn this thing around.

At the beginning of the summer, I was in the market for a new pair of flip-flops. After perusing through some mail-order catalogs, I had my sights set on this awesome new pair of Reefs called the "Fanning", named after professional surfer Mick Fanning. These gems of footwear were bright green and yellow in homage to Brazil and had -- get this - a bottle opener in the bottom of the sole. Totally rad. But the fuckers retailed for $40. As one who does most of his shopping on e-Bay and at thrift shops and who will hates to pay full price for anything, I adamantly refused to spend that kind of money on a pair of flip-flops. That's about the ceiling for what I'll spend on sneakers, let alone near-disposable beach ware.

So instead of bucking up, I bought my second choice, a pair of camoflauge ones that had a rippled bottom for comfort. But when I ordered them online, they didn't fit. I found out there was a store in my area, so I went to the mall to exchange them. When I got there, I saw the Reefs I wanted and tried them on and they were sooo comfortable. Even better than I expected them to be. I told the sales guy that I coveted them but that I felt $40 was a complete rip-off for a pair of flip-flops and the dude said "Yeah, they might be $40 but they should last you a couple of seasons, whereas (he didn't actually say "whereas," I'm paraphrasing here) the other ones are $20 but might not even make it through the summer." That was a fair point, and I was having a good sales month, so I said fuck it, and bought the Reefs.

And so I was the rave of the Memorial Day party with my bottle opening flip-flops and I wore them proudly for a couple of weeks until....

At the Jersey "shore" (as we say, or beach) it is custom to leave our flip-flops at the edge of the beach and then walk barefoot on the sand. That way your flip-flops are not flinging sand in every direction into sunbathers' faces. So where the pavement ends and the sand begins, you can find a hodgepodge of flips-flops of all shapes and sizes and styles. Then,, at the end of the day, you come back to your flip-flops eagerly waiting to shield your feet from the hot pavement on the walk back to your house.

Suddenly I found myself reluctant to leave my sexy new $40 flops at the edge of the beach, so I opted to take them off and carry them with me and keep them safely by my beach chair with me. But I felt pretty silly doing that and after a few weeks of that, I said to myself, "Who the hell is going to steal a pair of flip-flops?"

Besides being bad beach etiquette, who would want to wear something on their bare feet that have had my sweaty and calloused feet on them all summer? So I left my hot new flops there with the rest of them and went off to my spot in the sand and had a wonderful day on the beach. I felt a little bit like an anxious parent leaving their child at nursery school for the first time, but once I hit the waves and got into my novel, I put the welfare of my lovely green foot ware out of my mind.

When I returned, however, to my horror, my flip-flops were gone. GONE. DESAPARECEDO.

Some a-hole actually stole my flip-flops. Which meant that I had to scuttle back on HOT pavement in bare feet, culminating in a painful trod across the sharp rocks of my yard. But even worse, I was out my $40 flip-flops that were going to last me a couple of seasons after only a few weeks. And now some thieving flip-flop whore was going to be the stud with the eye-catching and ultra cool Reefs....MY eye-catching and ultra cool Reefs. Bastard.

I was shocked and extremely irate. This fuckery and insult to beach code was unforgivable and if I ever find out who stole them, I'll surely slap that bitch around.

And to this day, a couple months later, I still look at everbody's feet on our street as I walk to the beach and back....

Yesterday I “competed” in our annual company softball game. What fun.  We get to leave our fluorescently-lit cubicles early to enjoy the sunshine and a little gamesmanship in one of America’s oldest past times.

The last time I put on the glove was last year's softball game. Claiming right field as my responsibility, I played very respectably - catching everything that came to me. There were a couple of line drives that found the gap but I don't consider them catch-able.  Except one hit could have been played better.  The centerfielder and I took a look at the ball sailing horizontally between us and before either of us moved, we looked at each other as if to say, "That ball is going to roll a long way….That one is yours, dude!"  I think at that point the heat was getting to us.

At the plate, I had a couple of nice hits and a couple of fly outs. Possibly the hardest ball I hit one-hopped to first, but amazingly the ball bounced right into the first basewoman’s mitt.  I don't even think she was watching the game. She felt something in her hand, looked down and found the ball there. In fact, she was so shocked that she forgot to step on first, instead throwing to second to get the fielder's choice. Getting the lead runner was not a bad play, but if she had the presence of mind to first take a step to her left, she could have turned a double play.

But I really enjoy playing in these games because they boost my ego.

Throughout my life, I have always been a decent athlete. As for baseball, I was an average hitter, but I had fantastic speed which made me a valuable base runner and a great fielder.  My arm was never strong but over the course of my career, I made some really incredible catches in the outfield which I’ll never forget.

One year in little league (I think I was about 12) I really excelled.  I was selected to try out for the traveling all- stars. During tryouts, I killed it!  I played awesome, crushing the ball and making running catches in the field.  I thought I was a lock for the team. But to my major disappointment, I didn't make it.

I was shocked and heartbroken. It would have been the first time in my life that I was viewed as a superior athlete and I would have been so proud.  During that awkward stage of my youth, I was sort of shy and lacked self-assurance. Making the all-star team would have given me a much-needed shot of confidence.   Plus, I loved the game and wanted to keep playing all summer.

One of the kids who made the team was a far inferior player to me. However, his father was one of the coaches.  That's when I learned that it's not always about talent, ability or heart, it's also largely who you know.  It’s a lesson that most people (that is, the less gifted and less connected) learn at some point, but it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

As things turned out, the next season I got injured and only played a few games. After that came high school.  I went out for the freshman team, but tryouts were in early March and so we were forced to practice either in the gymnasium or  outside on the ball field in the SNOW.  In these conditions, I was unable to showcase my greatest asset, my speed. I did not perform well in the cold  and I failed to make the team. By sophomore year I pretty much had other interests (beer) and that was the end of my hardball career....

And so, the company softball game is my one chance to relive the baseball glory in my past. 

Maybe publishing companies are not a hotbed of athletic talent. Either that, or my firm has an uncommon dearth of athletic ability for a 175 person corporation. But every year at these games there are only a handful of people that even look like they have swung a bat, thrown a baseball or worn a glove at some point in their lifetime. Coordination is extremely lacking. A groundball to shortstop inevitably results in the batter standing on third base. An infield fly is as good as a double. These people make catching a grapefruit-sized softball look like walking the trapeze.

And they make me look like Johnny Damon.