Jay Cutler

Yesterday and today have been fascinating and eye-opening days for me. It started off with innocent intentions and transformed into something incredible. I, like a lot of other football fans, got up on Sunday to see which teams would make it to the Super Bowl. I am a huge Bears fan, so I had a lot riding on the Bears-Packers match-up in the afternoon. And what a game it was.

At first the game was quite depressing, with Green Bay taking an early lead and the Bears' offense virtually non-existent. At half time the score was 14-0, though it felt closer to 49-0 when you consider how well the Packers were playing and how poorly the Bears were. At the start of the second half I got past the point of utter hopelessness and just gave up. And that felt great.

I get way to emotionally involved in sports for no good, logical reason. Watching the Bears play just ignites some insane passion in my heart for the team and the city of Chicago. I go completely nuts. I swear, throw things, punch things, bitch, moan, fight back tears and contemplate why I let myself suffer like this pretty much on a weekly basis, unless it is baseball season and I subject myself to this daily (I should note that I only act this way when in private; when in the presence of others I remain calm so not to come off as completely psychotic).

Anyway, at halftime I just surrendered. At the start of the third quarter it became apparent Jay Cutler was injured and would be out for the rest of the game. And Todd Collins would be replacing him. Todd Collins. I am a better quarterback than Todd Collins. Sid Luckman's corpse is a better quarterback than Todd Collins. So I just surrendered.

And you know what? It was fantastic. No more worrying, no heartache, no pain. Just extreme cynicism and apathy towards whatever happens. In other words, a veteran Cubs fan. I could look at the game through a new lens, one where I could enjoy it with a sick sense of pleasure derived from the misery of watching your favorite team play at an awful level. No more expectations, no need to feel disappointed that the Bears would not be going to the Super bowl.

And then when Caleb Hanie came in and nearly led the Bears to a comeback, I did not have to feel let down when it ultimately failed. The whole notion that a 3rd string quarterback would lead your team to the Super Bowl was so farcical I thrived on the utter ridiculousness of it all. But we did not win, and the almost legend of Caleb Hanie nearly saving the Bears' season is not the real story of the game.

The real story revolved around Jay Cutler. At some point during the second quarter Cutler injured his knee and had to come out of the game at the beginning of the third quarter. Very little information was given by the Bears as to what the injury was or the severity of the injury. All that fans watching the game could tell was that Jay Cutler could still walk around, was not in any noticeable pain, did not have any trainers working on him, or looked as if he cared at all about getting back in the game and trying to win.

People on Twitter began to rip Cutler. From fans to current and retired football players to commentators and columnists, everyone began eviscerating Cutler for seemingly having quit on his team with a phantom injury. As it turns out (from what coach Lovie Smith said at his press conference TODAY), Cutler suffered a torn MCL in his knee and was prevented from returning by the coaches. Had Cutler gotten his way, he would have been out there, trying to gut his way through a painful knee injury against a blitz-happy defense.

So yes. Jay Cutler is a quitter. He is a pussy. He is a weak, pathetic, gutless, heartless, sissy. Because he has a serious knee injury. And because the coaches made the decision, not him. And because he has played behind terrible offensive lines throughout his college and professional career. And because he was sacked over 50 times this season. And because he never complained about it. And because he suffered the same injury that sidelined Troy Polamalu, one of the toughest players in the game, for several weeks without a single question about his toughness being levied at him.

And because he tried to play through it. And because he did not walk around with crutches, pretending to act more injured than necessary. And because he did not act like Paul Pierce, a basketball player who feigned a serious knee injury in the NBA Finals only to reenter the game a few minutes later without so much as a limp. And because he cannot take cortisone shots due to his diabetes. And because nobody outside Chicago likes him, so therefore the injury must not be that bad.

This is what I found so fascinating and eye-opening: how quickly opinions are made and spread through social media such as Twitter. The vast majority of tweeted opinions I saw were quick to judge Cutler's integrity and desire without any concern for finding out the severity of the injury or what the decision-making process was behind sitting Cutler. Almost everyone assumed that the injury was not that severe and that Cutler had quit.

Today we learned that he suffered a torn MCL in his knee and that it was a coach's decision as to why he was not put back in the game. But yesterday afternoon it was all Jay Cutler's fault. Bears fans burned his jerseys. Commentators and analysts on television saw this as a golden opportunity to attack Cutler simply because he is one of the least popular quarterbacks in football.

Overnight he has become the polarizing figure in the NFL. And that it tremendously unfair. He should not have to be this position. Love him or hate him, there is no place in professional sports for painting a target on a guy's back and kicking him while he is down. And that is what happened Sunday night through Monday morning. Want to know about Cutler's toughness? Ask Brian Urlacher. He knows a little something about toughness.

The New Zodiac

I really do not want to be one of those people who goes to the internet to rant about subjects they have problems with but in this particular case I do not feel that I have a choice. I just need to get this out of my system and hopefully I will calm down. I need to get a few things off of my chest before I burst and explode at someone or post an extremely angry Facebook status.

I speak, of course, about the new news concerning a change in the astrological signs of the zodiac. Astrologers have decided to add a 13th sign that was once a part of the zodiac and later removed as a way to have a 12-sign system. This addition and shift of dates that may change people's signs has caused a frenzy amongst those who actually care about their zodiac sign.

My problem is not with the addition of a 13th sign or the shift of dates, but with astrology as a whole. My feelings about astrology can pretty much be summed up with this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w59boLMnrbU. Astrology is not science, nor should it ever be mistaken as such. Time and time again (informal) personality tests have been carried out which have consistently shown that people can be duped into believing that any of the zodiac personality descriptions can fit them.

The thing that bothers me the most, beyond the fact that people believe in astrology at all, is how much this announcement is important to them. Over 10 of my friends on Facebook complained about now having a new sign. Many statuses have mentioned that people refuse to accept the new zodiac and still consider themselves their original sign. Because...?

I also saw friends confusing astrologers with astronomers. They went on to criticize astronomers for their roles in changing their precious signs and not astrologers. I cannot stress enough just how different astronomers are from astrologers. Astronomy is an actual science, concerned with celestial bodies and phenomena. I have a friend who is studying astrophysics and he does not bother with learning the constellations because they mean nothing in his field. Astrology is a psuedo-science that "studies" the relations between constellations and dates that are both arbitrarily determined and then relate these connections with personalities.

Astrology is not science, and one of the greatest harms it can do is confuse people as to the differences between astronomy and astrology or link them together, resulting in less understanding of the role of astronomy and actual science. This misinformation can be incredibly damaging to people's perceptions of scientific reasoning, generating ignorance that is hard to get rid of. This is a cascade effect that must be dealt with if we hope to move towards a more intelligence future.

Why am I being quite vocal about this situation? Because I do not hold astrology in the same circle as most religions. When it comes to deity-based religions, I am very much against the militant atheist approach of challenging a person's belief in a deity in such a way that is confrontational or attempts to convert them to atheism. I feel that people's beliefs about deities should be respected, because neither side can disprove the other.

I do not believe that the same standard should be applied to astrology. Astrology is not a religion. It is a lunatic system that a bunch of people thousands of years ago thought up because they had no other way of making sense of things. Imagine taking medical advice from a text that is thousands of years old, or following an ancient caste system that establishes different levels of society for arbitrary reasons. Not a very appetizing thought, is it?

Thoughts On The Tragedy In Arizona

A few days ago a horrible tragedy occurred in the state of Arizona, as a gunman opened fire at a small political even in the city of Tucson. A young man named Jared Loughner attempted to assassinate U.S. Representative Gabrielle Giffords, a Democrat. Almost immediately, this story began to explode in the media, but for all the wrong reasons.

Almost right out of the gate fingers began to point as to what caused this person to try and kill over a dozen people. One of the initial reactions came from the fact that Sarah Palin had once put out a graphic that pointed out various Democratic members of the House, whose seats were up for reelection in 2010, via cross-hairs and the use of the word "re-load." Before anyone learned about who Loughner was or what his motive was, people were already attacking Palin, blaming her before any of the facts were known.

As it turned out, Loughner's motives appeared to have had nothing to do with politics. Judging from what friends, teachers and various online profiles of his say, he was a peculiar individual, not a political fanatic. We may never understand his reasons for why he carried through with what he did, but we can learn from how the media reacted to this.

Several things happened as the mystery behind the shooting unraveled:

1. People made assumptions. The target was a Democrat, so therefore the shooter must have been a right wing extremist. Giffords was one of the targets Sarah Palin had hoped to defeat in the 2010 election, so therefore the shooter must have been influenced by Palin. The assailant used a gun, so therefore greater guns control is needed.
2. People politicized the shooting. Liberals began to go after the likes of Sarah Palin and Michele Bachmann, who have used rhetoric that some felt went too far. One of the Tea Party affiliates sent out a fund-raising email in which they claimed that Loughner was a liberal and warned of impending danger from other liberals.
3. People began overreacting. There were calls to tone down political rhetoric, address gun control and address the Westboro Baptist Church, which plans to protest at the victems' funerals. Yet none of these suggestions are necessary.

I see nothing wrong with the speech and rhetoric used by Sarah Palin and other recognizable political figures. I do not at all believe that Palin wished harm to anyone she put on the map of politicians who were highlighted with cross-hairs. While to some cross-hairs may come off as violent, I have no problem with such a map. It was not intended to incite violence. It had a clear meaning that in no way was meant to be taken to such extremes as has been claimed.

Nor do I believe that she should receive any blame or criticism for her rhetoric or have to tone down what she says. I am an extreme advocate of free speech and do not believe that anything should be off-limits. I do not think there should be any limitations on what a person says (except for fighting words, which Palin, to my knowledge, has never engaged in) when trying to speak publicly to an audience. While often times I do not agree with what she says or how she says it, I will defend her right to say it.

The same goes for the Westboro Baptist Church. Legislation is quickly being passed in Arizona to try and distance their protests from the victims' funerals. Now don't get me wrong, I think the Westboro Baptist Church is one of the most vile things on this earth, but again I will defend their constitutional right to protest (at least until they are finally shown to be using fighting words and thus inciting hatred, which is not protected under the 1st Amendment).

There are also concerns being raised that have to do with gun control. Rather than to continue to argue back and forth without getting anywhere, I think it would be more beneficial to focus on things that can be remedied easier that are not as fiery an issue as gun control legislation.

I would like to quickly address Sarah Palin's response to the unfair media attacks on her, in which she claimed to be a victim of blood libel. She seems to be unaware of what connotation that phrase means (anti-Semitic claim that Jews murdered Christian children to use their blood in rituals). She probably (hopefully) had no idea what the term actually meant but she missed an opportunity to put herself above the media circus.

Until next time, Orange Hat Guy

The Next Door (3/3)

“And what about the next room?” David said, ignoring the man’s last sentence. “What’s in it?”

“Whatever is in the room, it is where people reside permanently after they die. What is in it is their business, not mine. Whatever is there for you is there because that is the order of things. My business is in this room. Is God in any of the other rooms? I don’t know. Maybe He is, maybe He isn’t. But it’s not my place to know. My business is in this room. And as you can see, God’s not here.”

“How do you know all this?”

When David asked this the man reached down and opened up a drawer beside his leg. He pulled out a wad of papers stapled together and set them down on the desk in front of David.

“These are my instructions.” There was no warmth in the man’s voice as he said that. “They were left here on the desk when I first got here.”

“Left by who?”

“I don’t know. No one called me into the room. I simply saw the door and opened it to find this,” he gestured to the room itself, “and this,” he pointed to the instructions.

“Couldn’t that mean there was someone here before you? Someone who created everything and set it up for you?” David asked.

“It’s like I said earlier. Yes it is entirely possible that someone created all of this. But I doubt that.”

“Why?”

“Well there are a couple of ways to look at it. Where you came from, you have these ‘laws of nature,’ as I believe you call them, and they’re considered inherent to your universe. You believe they’ve existed since your universe began, but that doesn’t necessitate a creator. They’re just recognizable patterns found everywhere. It’s just the way things flow.

“Would they still exist whether you were aware of them or not?” the man asked. “How do you know there is a natural order if that’s the only way you see things? Think about it,” the man continued, recognizing the confusion on David’s face, “what if all the laws of nature only exist because you made them? What if there is no inherent order to the universe, and instead we perceive order?”

“But if that’s all we can understand, wouldn’t that make it just as real if the order existed without us creating them?” David asked. “Would that really matter if we can’t look beyond our own perception of the universe?”

“You’re an inquisitive fellow,” the man replied.

“I’ve been told I think too much,” David said, cracking a small smile.

“Nonsense. Thought is the essence of being. In fact, my best guess about what is beyond those doors is a meld of the two. Thought and being as one.”

“I thought that wasn’t your business,” David pointed out.

“There’s a slight difference between what one will find in there, and what it will be like in there. It’s a fine line, I know, but sometimes I have nothing better to do than wonder. But back to the question at hand. You argue that order has to come from somewhere, and that it’s not something that’s just thought up. I can understand your skepticism: how can something come from nothing without a creator?

“What if there never was nothing?” the man countered. “What if there only ever was something? There would be no role for a creator to play; nothing to create. All things exist because they never had the chance not to exist. You can’t create something from nothing. Thus there never was nothing. Existence has been eternal.” At this, the man paused and asked, “Does that make sense?”

“I can tell you’ve had a lot of time to think this over,” David responded.

“True,” the man said, nodding. “I have been here quite a long time and in that time I’ve done a great deal of thinking.”

“Did you ever die, then? You make it sound almost as if that never happened to you. And if that’s the case, how did you end up here with this job?”

“Again with the questions,” the man said quietly, a hint of sadness in his voice.

“You did say you were here to answer them,” David reminded him.

“I know, I know,” the man said slowly, almost to himself. “I never died, to be honest. I also never lived, so I guess you could say I never had the opportunity to die, you see.” David looked utterly perplexed. “I remember only standing in front of the door, opening it, sitting down at this desk and finding my instructions in one of the drawers. I have no any previous memories. No previous existence or anything.”

“Then how do you know there was no one before you?”

“I just know. Nothing came before me.”

“You’ll forgive me if that doesn’t completely convince me,” David said.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to take me at my word,” the man answered. “It’s a feeling I have that I can’t explain. I just know that there was nothing before I came along.”

David then sat silently for a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts together. “There’s no clock,” he said finally. It was true; the room had no clock. And before David could catch himself he glanced at his watch out of habit. It was still stuck on 2:21am. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know how long I’ve been in this room. I wish there was a way I could keep track of how long I’ve been doing this, but so far no dice. It is a bit of a pain.”

“Can’t you count how many people you’ve talked to?”

“Nope. I tried to keep count at one point but it was useless,” the man sighed. “You end up counting so high you can’t go on counting. Or you run out of paper or your pen stops work or something. And you can forget about keeping track of peoples’ files.

“Once their paperwork is done and they’re ready to go through their door it gets shredded,” he pointed to a large machine on the desk to his left and the garbage can on the floor in front of it. “So you definitely can’t retrieve their file after they enter their room.”

“Why is that?”

“Once they go through their door there’s no coming back. What’s done is done and should be left alone. So there’s no point to keeping it around.”

“Then what are the filing cabinets for?”

“I don’t know,” the man answered. “I’ve never bothered to check.”

“That’s odd. Why wouldn’t you check them?”

“I’ve never had to. And besides, I think they’re locked. Do you have any more questions?”

“How do you handle babies? How does abortion work? Or the mentally ill? Or people such as child molesters or murderers?” David was bursting questions, eager to learn everything he could.

“I couldn’t possibly tell you about any of those things,” the man said sadly, sensing David’s disappointment. “I’m afraid such matters are private. Those dealings are between said parties and myself only. But I understand your curiosity. You are not the first to ask these questions, and you will not be the last. Is there anything else?”

“What about you? Will you ever get to leave this room and move on to the next one?” David asked.

“There is no next one for me. I was only given one door,” the man said sadly, looking at the door behind David. “There’s nothing else beyond the door for me.”

“But if you lead people to their doors, who led you to yours? Even if you believe no one made this place, someone did your job before you did by leading you to your door, right?”

“I don’t know.”

And after that the two of them were silent for quite a while. How long exactly? It might have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millennia, eternity.

A door arrived.

“Is this real?”

“I never said it was.”

The Next Door (2/3)

“There’s another door?” David asked, his voice a mere whisper. “I didn’t see another door.”

“Oh there will be. It’ll show up when the time comes, when I’m finished and you’re ready. But you’ll know more about that door in a bit,” the man said. “Let me begin,” he cleared his throat and continued, “First off, I can’t answer every question you have. Let me apologize for that. You’re going to have to figure some stuff out on your own.

“I can’t tell you why you ended up here after you died. I can’t tell you where here is or even what this place is. I can’t tell you because I don’t know. I wish I did. It’d make everything a whole lot easier for me, and a whole lot easier for you to understand. I’d like to know who made this room. And where the doors come from. And why I’m the one doing this. But I’m afraid some things just don’t have answers or explanations.

“Kinda makes my job more difficult, don’t you think?” he asked, smiling wryly. “Anyway, what I do know is that when people die, they’re supposed to come through my door and talk to me and then I show them their door. Everyone has his or her own door. Yours will be right across from this one. But it’s not here yet. It’ll only be there when you’re ready to go through it. Do you understand everything so far?”

“No. No I don’t,” David said, having regained some of his composure. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the man in the room,” the man answered simply.

“And that’s it?” David asked, angrily. “What does that mean?”

“I told you. Everyone who dies has to see me before they can go open the door to their room,” the man explained calmly.

“And what is this death bullshit? I’m seriously dead?”

“Yes,” the man said simply.

“Deceased.”

“Yes.”

“Gone to meet my maker. Breathed my last breath. Kicked the bucket. Dead as a doornail.”

“Or a doorknob,” the man replied. “You are most certainly dead.”

 “Oh,” David said, feigning relief, “well thank goodness. You know, for a moment there I was really afraid I was still alive.” Sarcasm coated David’s every word.

“I can see this is going to be rather difficult,” the man said with a forced smile.

“Really?” David asked sarcastically. “‘Rather difficult.’ And what gives you that impression?” The man did no respond, choosing simply to let David continue. “Because I didn’t feel anything. I don’t remember a car crash or a bright light or the cold hands of death or anything.” Frustration began to build in David’s voice.

“Well then how did you get here?” the man asked rhetorically. “If you didn’t die, then perhaps you can explain how you got from your car to this room.”

“What the fuck kind of game are you playing here?” David said, his voiced heated.

“This is no game. I can assure you that you’re quite dead. This is always a problem,” the man paused. ”A person can never truly experience the sensation of death. One may, while still alive, come to understand that their life is rapidly ending, but not the ending itself. That’s why it’s always a surprise to everyone.

“You’re alive one moment and dead the next. There’s nothing between life and death. You go from one to the other instantly, without having the chance to acknowledge that it actually happened until after you’re dead. Which comes when you’re here, afterwards. And there are also doors. They lead to rooms, rooms that open up to a new place meant specifically for each person and for them alone to spend eternity in. ”

“Eternity,” David repeated.

“Indeed. There are two stages of existence: life and death. Life is the first stage, and thus must end at some point. Death is the second, and continues on and on and on. Like a day that never ends.”

“Then this place is like some sort of afterlife or that purgatory place.” David said, still not entirely sure what to believe about his surroundings.

“A lot of people ask about that or say things like that, about this place. People are always wondering if this is even real, or if it’s Heaven and I’m God.”

“Are you?” David said, sarcastically.

“I told you who I am. I’m the man in the room.  Are you religious, Mister Harris?”

“Sometimes.”

The man chuckled. “When it’s convenient? Or when you don’t know where to turn in times of hardship?”

“Something like that,” David answered, shrugging. “Looking for answers and stuff.”

“And did you ever find any?”

“Not really, but never did look that hard. But I suppose I will now, right?” David asked.

“All this is,” the man said, motioning to the room, “is simply taking the next step; a waiting room, if you will. Some people view it as a religious experience. Some don’t. Some see me as God. Others don’t. To me, this god appears to have a thousand different faces. Like a character in the same story a lot of people have read different versions of.”

“They say a picture is worth a thousand words,” David answered. “You could say the same about God.”

“I could describe a picture in five words: it’s only a fucking picture,” the man said, laughing. “That’s all it is. That’s all anything is. But if it takes a thousand different ways to see something, there’s probably nothing to look at. You ‘d think people would come to a consensus onto who their almighty is, but I digress.”

“So you’re saying there is no God?”

“Well there isn’t one here.” The man proceeded to look under his desk comically and peeked into a few drawers. “But who knows what you’ll find on the other side of your door.”

“And what does that mean?” David asked.

“I don’t know. I told you I only know what’s behind my door. And God’s not in my room.” The man continued to search around the room comically.

“But that doesn’t negate the possibility of His existence,” David pointed out. “Where did all this come from? Where did life and death come from?”

“Now sure someone might have made all that,” the man responded, “but that wouldn’t necessarily make that person God. And it’s entirely possible no one made that. It could’ve just always existed just as things have existed since the beginning of time. There’s also no mention of God in my instructions. And you and I being here came as a complete surprise to you. Were you expecting me to have a long white beard and pass judgment over you?”

The Next Door (1/3)

“Come in Mister Harris,” said a voice from behind the door. David Harris looked at the door in front of him. It was white with a gold polish handle. Looking around he could see nothing else. There was only the door. And whiteness. He couldn’t distinguish if there were walls or if the space he was in just kept expanding forever and ever.

“Please come in,” the voice repeated. David looked at the handle, noting his distorted reflection in the gold polish. He took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob, grasping it firmly in his hand. But he did not open it right away, instead choosing to rest his hand on the knob, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on. Finally, after a third cry from the voice behind the door, he turned the handle.

“Take a seat,” said the man in the room. “I’ve just been going over your file. Everything seems to be in order.” The man was sitting behind a brown wooden desk that had some pencils and papers laying on it.

“Where am I?” David asked slowly, looking around the room.

“Close the door and take a seat,” the man said, motioning to a chair facing the man’s desk. “I’ll explain everything if you just sit down,” he said in an upbeat tone.

David closed the door behind him but still did not sit down. Instead he remained standing and began to take in the layout of the room. Like it was outside, the room was also white, but a slightly off-white. David could see that there were walls, unlike in the hallway outside.

Behind the man were several dark-gray filing cabinets. A small trashcan sat beside the desk, filled with a few scraps of paper. The room was a little small but not too cramped and lacked any decoration. This was the thing that struck David as the most odd: there were no photographs, pictures or even potted plants of any kind. Just dull blankness.

“If you’ll just sit down, we can begin,” the man said, beckoning again to the chair in front of David while smiling kindly.

David looked at the chair. It looked to him like any regular office chair: black with four legs and some padding that had a slightly worn down look to it.

“It’s not going to bite,” the man joked.

David took a seat.

“Thank you. Now let’s just double check some things,” the man said, speaking quickly. “You are David Nathanial Harris, son of Robert Nathanial Harris and April Samantha Harris, nee Sanders, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Date of birth January sixteenth?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Well then, let’s get started.”

“Started with what?” David asked. “You haven’t told me where I am. Or why I’m here. What is this place?” David demanded, speaking quickly.

“Relax, relax! I was just about to get to all that.” The man paused and then said rather dramatically, “you’re dead.”

A few seconds of silence filled the room before David could utter something. “What?” David said, in a tone of disbelief.

The man looked at the file in front of him and went down the page with his finger until he found what he was looking for. “Here we are! Time of death: April eleventh at two twenty-one am.”

David just looked at him, opening and closing his mouth but no words came out.

“Go ahead, take a glance at your watch,” the man said, with an air of smugness.

David looked at his watch; it had stopped working, stuck on 2:21. David shook it and then tapped it, as if hoping that the hands would suddenly spring back to life. Defeated, he looked back up at the man, lost for words.

“Yes you are very much dead, Mister Harris,” the man continued. “Car accident, I’m afraid. Though you should be happy to know no one else died. I guess I’ll have to wait a while longer before I see them in here.” The man chuckled to himself and checked something off on the paper in front of him and turned to the next page. “Ok moving on now­–“

“Wait,” David interjected. “How do you know I’m dead?”

“It says so in your paperwork.” He held up the papers he had in front of him. “And you walked through that door behind you. Everyone who walks through that door is dead.”

“Everyone? You mean there are others?” David asked. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of what he had just been told.

“Well sure,” the man said, smiling. “Everyone dies, don’t they?”

David could barely manage a single nod.

“So they all come through the door. Once they’re dead, of course.”

“How do you know everyone who shows up here is dead?” David’s voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke.

“There’s just no other way of getting here.” The man spoke as if what he was saying was nothing new to him. David had the sense that the man had answered these questions before. “I’d hate to think of what I’d do if someone showed up who wasn’t dead,” the man said, laughing slightly.

“You knew when I showed up and was just on the other side of the door,” David stated in a confused manner. “How?”

“Your file,” the man said, once again holding up the papers he had in front of him. “They appear in my inbox,” he said, gesturing to the plastic tray on the corner of his desk. “That’s how I know when there’s someone who’s waiting outside.”

“Who puts the file there?”

“No one. There’s always another file. It’s empty right now, but once you exit through the door there’ll be another one. There always is.”

“But people die all the time,” David said. “Shouldn’t there be a great line of people outside or something? I mean, how could you possibly deal with every single person who dies in a one-on-one setting like this,” David spoke, feeling his confidence beginning to rise, believing he had found a way to trap the man, “without getting horribly backed-up?”

“Maybe you should look at your watch again,” the man answered. “As you can see, time has no meaning here. I know that sounds corny, but this isn’t your world anymore. We’re not bound by its linear restrictions.”

David looked stunned and tried to search for something to ask or say but couldn’t.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the man said. “You’re confused; you have questions. You’re asking yourself ‘why?’ You’re asking ‘what is this place?’ and all sorts of other questions you want to know the answers too. ‘Is this real?’ Is that right?”

David could only nod, barely.

“That’s part of why I’m here. To try to explain everything as best I can. And to lead you to the next door.”

Once Upon A Time

So I finally finished writing a short story that I started nearly a year ago and I guess I should introduce it first before just putting it out there. It is a story about the afterlife, or at least one possibility concerning what happens after we die. I should make it clear that the afterlife I came up is not one that I actually believe in (I do not believe in any afterlife at all) but I thought it be an interesting jumping off point for a story.

I got my initial inspiration from a movie called The Lovely Bones which is based on a book of the same name (I have not read the book). In the movie a teenage girl is murdered, and from an ethereal heavenly place, observes her family as they try to comes to grips with her death and search for her killer. Not the happiest of movies, but it was written and directed by Peter Jackson, who happens to be one of my favorite filmmakers. Anyway, an idea popped into my head concerning the afterlife: a man in a room whose job was to deal with the deceased. No pearly gates, no old man with a big white beard, no judgment. Just a man in a room.

Although initially conceived as an interaction between a taunting, malicious gate keeper and an innocent, recently-deceased person, when it came time to actually writing the story the character of the man behind the door changed to a much kinder, helpful man. The change from malevolent antagonist to caring protagonist came about because I was interested more in exploring the philosophical questions such a scenario would raise and less in having a fun villain.

As I mentioned earlier, it has taken me almost a year to finish. A lot of that has to do with because I am lazy, but also because it evolved quite a lot from the initial story I worked out after watching The Lovely Bones. The first draft did not have much philosophical banter. Instead, it was a lot of Q-and-A between the two characters. While I found this personally interesting because I was having fun with determining (my own) rules that made up the story's universe, I realized this did not make a very good story.

As I was editing and rewriting, I found that I had not actually given much thought to many of the philosophical issues the two characters discuss, and I had to discover for myself what views and opinions I had about existence. Though that was challenging, the hardest part was actually coming up with a name for the story. For a while I went with "The Man in the Room" but I decided to change it because ultimately the story is about more than just the man in the room. I ended up going with "The Next Door" though I still am not completely satisfied. But so far it is the best name I could come up with.

Because the story is rather long for a single blog post, I will be dividing it into three entries. The first part will be post later tonight, the second on Friday and the third on Saturday. I would love to get some feedback, so feel free to comment/critique. And yes, there will inevitably be grammar, punctuation and spelling errors, so I would prefer a bit more constructive criticism beyond that.

Until next time, Orange Hat Guy