The King of Pain

King Of Pain lyrics, by Sting

There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
There's a flag-pole rag and the wind won't stop

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a little black spot on the sun today
That's my soul up there
It's the same old thing as yesterday
That's my soul up there
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
That's my soul up there
There's a flag-pole rag and the wind won't stop
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall
That's my soul up there
There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
That's my soul up there
There's a blue whale beached by a springtime's ebb
That's my soul up there
There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
There's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread

King of pain

There's a red fox torn by a huntsman's pack
That's my soul up there
There's a black-winged gull with a broken back
That's my soul up there
There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

King of pain
King of pain
King of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain

I was just reading some comments to my previous blog, and I was fascinated by the comment that behind great humor there is always a great sadness. That provided me a strong connection to my late brother David's blogs, since his blogs could be hilarious, but also at the same time could be cruel, depressing, or infuriating.

I think of the song by Don McLean, "American Pie," where he speaks of "the day that the music died." When David died, in many ways, it felt like "the day that the blog died." I think of Jim Rome on his sports shows, where he always admonishes the listener,"to have a take and don't suck!" David always had a take, and his takes never sucked, since they were always honest, perhaps almost too honest, although they could be gross, dark, and relentless in their impact.

In our family, we all "tuned in" to David's blog, almost as if it was a weekly or semi-monthly TV show. David's TV show has been suddenly yanked off the air, and all of us former viewers have been suddenly left feeling a great void.

David's blog was many things, but dull was not one of them. My first reaction to his latest installment could, on the one hand, be as if someone had poured a hot cup of coffee in my lap, as his comments could be cruel and shocking. Alternatively, his blog could be like an extended cold shower, with a chilling dose of the sad reality that he felt was his life.

David was truly alive when he was blogging, playing his guitar, and recording his You Tube videos. David's mantra was that he was "the king of pain," and that he felt like "a butterfly trapped in a spider's web; That's my soul up there."

I recently watched a documentary about the film director, Sam Peckinpah, in which one of the commentators spoke of the sadness about how Peckinpah died at a relatively young age, due to his drug usage and alcohol abuse. The commentator spoke of how society values great artists because "they spend their lives dancing on the edge of a cliff," but when artists like Peckinpah fall off the cliff, like many artists do, they find that difficult to accept.

David, too, was an artist and he clearly relished the opportunity to dance on the edge of a cliff, throughout much of his life. Remembering the intensity of David's dramatic dances, and the emotional impact of those dances upon all of us who watched, makes it easier to accept that we will be deprived of the opportunity to see any more of his performances.

My Academy Awards Ceremony

Circle of Life” lyrics
Music by Elton John, lyrics by Tim Rice
Performed by Elton John

From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to be seen than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done

Some say eat or be eaten
Some say live and let live
But all are agreed as they join the stampede
You should never take more than you give

(Chorus)
In the Circle of Life
It's the wheel of fortune
It's the leap of faith
It's the band of hope
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle, the Circle of Life

Some of us fall by the wayside
And some of us soar to the stars
And some of us sail through our troubles
And some have to live with the scars

There's far too much to take in here
More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps the great and small on the endless round

(Chorus repeats)

On the path unwinding
In the Circle, the Circle of Life.



I would like to take this opportunity to have my own Academy Awards ceremony, in honor of my appointment at Scripps Clinic in San Diego, on Friday, April 10, for my first echocardiogram. Envelope please.

And now, the lifetime achievement award for: Best Actor in a Leading Role, Best Picture, Best Screenplay, Best supporting actor, Best Set design, Best Direction, Best Animation, Best Performance in a comic role, and Best Performance in a dramatic role, goes to:

My aorta and my heart. The room erupts in applause. The acceptance speech: “You like me, you really like me. (Sally Fields, for either Norma Rae or Places in the Heart, I can’t remember which).

I must admit that I have never really paid much attention to your years of hard work, your devotion to my survival, your tolerance of my good moods and my bad moods, as well as the stress I put you through in my athletic endeavors: my years in Little League (probably the highlight of my athletic career), my years of playing tennis (and endlessly annoying my parents in all of my misplaced shots bouncing off their heads and arms), my walking, running, sitting, sleeping, and all of the many activities I have engaged in where you, never, pardon the pun, “missed a beat.”

As I lay on the table, on my side, I had the pleasure of watching my heart on the monitor in glorious three-dimensional color, top view, side view, and other views, as I looked at the four chambers in thumping, head-pounding sound blasting through the speakers. I have heard hearts before, but only the baby hearts of my kids. To hear my old heart still pounding away was quite surprising and amazing. It certainly was nothing that I took for granted, after my brother’s tragic passing two weeks ago from congestive heart failure.

I also greatly enjoyed the instructions from the technician. He became frustrated at my taking in deep breaths and exhaling in big breaths. His choice was to tell me to take in half a breath, and then exhale half a breath. I work in accounting, so I tried to visualize what he was saying in numeric terms: each breath in would be equal to .5 times breaths (B), or, in algebra, .5B. Similarly, each breath out would be equal to -.5B, so, for each round of this excitement, the calculation would be .5B-.5B, or zero. Therefore, my entire session probably came out to be something like (30) (.5)(B)-(30)(.5)(B), or, put simply, zero. (Dad, I hope you are reading this, because I remember how you taught me algebra for Mrs. Champion’s class in 7th grade at Malaga Cove Intermediate School, and your asking what it would take for me to think in algebraic terms).

The most puzzling request from the technician was the one where he said “don’t breathe.” He said this repeatedly, after my engaging in the half breath in and the half breath out routine several times, in order to get a clear reading on the screen. I seriously pondered his request, and although I deciphered his true intention ("please breathe more quietly"), I thought about what it would take for me to truly quit breathing. I could try holding my breath, although I am not sure how long I could do that (one minute or two at most, although probably Michael Phelps could hold his breath a lot longer, not counting, of course, when he commits that great sin of using a bong). I also thought about getting one of those large plastic bags in the office and pulling it down around my head, just like you see in the gangster movies, where they cover up a bad guy’s head, pull down on the bag, and he dies seconds later). I decided that was not practical either, because I would have to unhook myself from the echocardiogram machine, which would really annoy the already irritated technician.

By the time I was through pondering these existential issues, the technician was relieved to tell me that the procedure was over. I pumped him for information, without success, but he finally relented and admitted that he was not wheeling me into the emergency room nor bringing in the cardiologist for an emergency consultation, so I am presuming that meant that the results were, at least, decent.

Seriously, 2009 has been a year of incredible highs and lows for me. In my personal life, in March, I have been up and down with one brother’s wife giving birth to a beautiful baby girl on March 9, and then, about two weeks later, my other brother tragically and unexpectedly dying. At work, in one week, one of my coworkers lost her husband and another one lost her mother-in-law. Two of my co-workers have been operated on for cancer, and suffered through chemotherapy and radiation since then. And yet, on the other hand, this week, two of my male coworkers were given showers for the upcoming births of their baby sons.

As Elton John says, we experience a "circle of life," as we suffer through illnesses, death, world starvation, war, et al, and yet we also get to experience the many joys of life, such as being with family and friends, and the many wonders of life, such as the births of beautiful children. (As any parent will tell you, there is nothing more beautiful than a newborn baby.)

Today, as I get to experience another day, I have an attitude of gratitude that my body allows me to be here. Suffering the shock of a loss of a family member has made me even more thankful for what I have. I will do my best to "accept the good," as was said in the movie, "Things we Lost in the Fire," with Halle Berry, and try not to dwell on the inevitable sadnesses that we all suffer though in our lives.

My eulogy for David ("Zook") , my brother, 9/19/65-3/27/09

We got the call from Rich at 2:49 AM that David had passed. I fell back to sleep after that and I dreamed that we had gone to Nevada for the funeral. We were looking for David’s house and I was not sure where it was until we found a big purple house: purple lawn, purple trees, purple lawn, and purple mailbox. We parked in the driveway and there was David, doing the laundry in his purple garage, with his purple washing machine and purple dryer. I walked up to David, and said, “David, I drove up here to go to your funeral. You are supposed to be dead. What is going on, you died at the hospital.” Then David, with that typical smirk on his face, turned to me, laughed and said, “Well, guess what. You heard wrong, I’m alive so, get over it!” And after that, David walked away, picked up his purple guitar, got out his purple video camera, and started recording a new song called, “My Brother Phil is an idiot. He thinks I’m dead, but I am alive.” David put out this song on You Tube, got 100,000 hits, and then made the cover of Rolling Stone. As usual David, had told me the truth, whether I wanted to hear it or not.

Randy Pausch, in his book, The Last Lecture, said, “Tell the truth all the time.” That is how David lived; he always told everyone the truth, whether they liked it or not. It started at a young age, when we were living in Bethesda, Maryland, outside Washington, DC. A diplomat, from Canada, was visiting the house, and Dad was holding David in his arms, when David was about four. The diplomat said hello to David, and David’s response was: “You have yellow teeth.” I am sure that the diplomat was overjoyed that David had given him such valuable dental feedback.

David always told the truth, whether in a face to face conversation, in a letter, in a blog, or in a song. Or, put another way, as Jimi Hendrix said in his song, “IF 6 was nine,” “I’m gonna wave my freak flag high.” That flag was always flying high, even though there were times where it would have been easier to see it at half mast, because the truths David told were not always pretty, and could be difficult to hear.

David, in his blogs, used some incredible passages to talk about his spirituality, his life, his dreams, and his regrets. His truths that were told are things that were intimate, personal, perhaps embarrassing, and often unpleasant. But telling the truth takes courage, and David always had courage to do what he thought was right. Like the 12^th juror in the film, “12 Angry Men,” David would hold fast to his beliefs, no matter what anyone else thought.

He recorded many original songs and put them on You Tube. Some were pleasant, some were hilarious, some were unpleasant, and some were controversial, such as ones he did on religion, which inspired some spirited responses from my kids, who have all been to Israel and who attend an orthodox synagogue.

Even though my kids had not spoken to David since last summer, they communicated with him on a regular basis about music, politics and videos, just as they do with their own friends. In fact, my kids have told me that they intend to carry on David’s legacy by performing their music on You Tube and writing their own blogs.

David was a pioneer in many ways:

1. He was the first person in our family to go to UCSD, a science and math-oriented school, where he ended up majoring in economics, and graduated, despite some formidable hurdles he overcame.
2. He was the first person I knew who moved to San Diego. We visited him several times in San Diego, while we were in LA, and I was impressed with how San Diego was such a nice, small town compared to gigantic LA. The impression I got of San Diego from David was one of the reasons we ended up moving to San Diego.
3. He somehow found out about a career in insurance claims adjusting, switched into that, went to get trained in Atlanta, and then stayed with the same company for over twenty years.
4. While in San Diego, he got married, and had a daughter. As much as he loved raising his family in San Diego, he was offered a great opportunity in Nevada, and he had the courage to move out there, and start over once again.
5. In Nevada, he again took on new challenges, by purchasing a single family home, and providing a middle class existence for his family.
6. Once again, David had the courage to take on new challenges, and he moved to another company, which required that he travel all over the country. He recently was on the road over 75% of the time, and working 80 hour weeks.

Point made: David always had the courage to go into uncharted territory, and he did it again and again, with great results.

Music: another key part of David’s life. He mastered the guitar, played many original songs, and used music as an important creative outlet, in addition to his writing. He saw the Grateful Dead a gazillion times, around the country, and seemed to love every minute. In many ways, he was a 60’s child, always willing to hang out with people, and explore the mysteries of life. He recently passed onto to my kids an old Doors chord book, which my kids are enjoying. In fact, just as David enjoyed the Doors and Hendrix, my kids still listen to that type of music all the time.

David sent me countless cassettes when he was in San Diego of music ranging from the Dead and the Doors to Jaco Pastorious jazz music and other esoteric types of music. I played these cassettes over and over until they quit working.

Sports: David was a true sports fan, starting, at a young age, when I took him to many UCLA football games, as my sport buddy, just as my father had taken me to college football games, years before that. In San Diego, courtesy of the San Diego legal profession, he went to many Padre games, including the year they went to the World Series, 1998.

David turned that background in football into a love of San Diego Chargers football, and he started going to the Charger games in the 90’s. He had some great seats close to the field. In fact, his daughter was born on the day of a Charger game in December 1998 during the Ryan Leaf era when they were destroyed by Seattle. David by then had stopped going to the games because, as he correctly pointed out, “the Chargers really sucked.”

David stories: Where do I start? I remember so many of them, which still make me laugh:

1. Once David’s car had been wrecked, while he was going to UCSD, my car was getting old, and I had gotten one of Dad’s cars that was off lease. After getting our car, David called up and said: The car is OK, but I love what is in that envelope. It turns out that a big reefer had been left in an envelope (I have no idea by whom), and David gave it some very positive reviews.
2. One day, when I was visiting from college, we got an envelope sent to the house. It was for a Terry Bradshaw $1 rebate, and I had filled it out very quickly in my crummy handwriting. It came to the house addressed to, not 2129 Via Estudillo, but “2129 Via Futville.” David laughed and laughed about that. He was right, my handwriting sucks.
3. My son Josh still remembers how David and a friend visited us in Torrance, after seeing the movie, “Interview with a Vampire,” apparently in an altered state. David and his friend had said they were both so unimpressed with the movie that they ended up vomiting in their hats.

Dylan Thomas said:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

David was always tough, up to the end. He even sent out a blog on the way to the hospital, where he said he had refused an ambulance, and instead was driving to the hospital…with an oxygen tank attached to him. David never gave up, and he never gave in, no matter what. David always did what he thought was right, and that is what we all can learn from his life.

Thank you.

In memorium, David G. White, 9/19/65 - 3/27/09

This is my first blog, and, fittingly, it is in honor of my brother, David (Zook), who put out so many amazing blogs throughout this decade. Zook was passionate about life, and loved exploring the mysteries of the universe, in songs, poems, and many insightful blogs, sometimes with humor, sometimes with darkness, sometimes in pain, but always with dignity and a zest for life.

His last You Tube Video was recorded, with him singing and playing guitar, the night before he died, on Friday, March 27. He knew that he was ill, with pneumonia, and that he was scheduled to have surgery to repair his aorta, which was abnormally large, within a few days. In seeing his video, it is evident that although he was quite ill, he was determined to let all of us know that that he had accepted that his life could end and that he was ready for it. He pushed himself to the limit in order that he could leave us with such a beautiful song, I am Going to Fly, even though his body was rapidly failing him.

His courage and dignity in the face of such pain and suffering is an inspiration to us all. In fact, he comforted all of us in knowing that although we will never be able to speak to him again, we will always have the pleasure of viewing his many videos and reading his many blogs.

Thanks to the wonders of technology, Zook, it is as if we can always be with you. Zook, we miss you and love you, rest in peace.