by Gabe Berman – the author of Live Like a Fruit Fly

Archive for the tag “Star Wars”

Wham! Bam Thank You Ma’am. 

George Michael – 53 years old.

Carrie Fisher – 60 years old.

What could be more tragic?

Maybe the 18,000 children who die from starvation on this planet of ours.


No, daily.

Eighteen thousand. Kids. Dead. From not eating enough.


Day after day after day after day after day after day…

And we don’t hear a single squeak about it, do we?

That’s six 9/11’s. Everyday.

But just keep giving us our football and our name brands and our “lock her up”, and we’ll continue to keep our compassion reserved only for the rich and famous and friends and family.

So, what should we do about this?

I have no idea.

I just do what I can, when I can.

But I can assure you of two things:

1. If the majority of the world’s leaders wanted to end world hunger, it would be over before the rooster crows. I mean, c’mon – we put a man on the moon in 1969 for Christ’s sake. With less computing power than my goddamn iPhone. Trust me, we can figure this out. Today. If we only wanted to.

2. Electing a hate-group endorsed, silver spooned, self serving, elitist to lead the free world will not help a single soul who’s currently experiencing complete cellular failure due to malnutrition – i.e. starving to fucking death.

Thank god for you dear reader.

Thank god for you.

– gb

“Vote Republican,” said Jesus Never.


Star Wars Opening Night! (No spoiler – I promise)

Stupid teddy bears.

That’s what my dad called the Ewoks.

And just because they were on screen for few minutes of Return Of The Jedi, he hated the entire movie.

Hated, like poison.

And if anyone ever mentioned this third installment of the Star Wars saga, he’d contort his face as if swallowing the aforementioned poison and would say, “Stupid teddy bears.”

Once, I think I even heard, “Fucking teddy bears.”

But between you and I, although he always said he hated it, I knew he loved it.

My dad and I saw Jedi together about a billion times throughout the years and every time, like me, he was riveted.

And stupidly, every time he’d make his teddy bear remark afterwards, I’d verbally get angry with him.

First of all, don’t blaspheme against the holy trilogy.

Secondly, and more importantly, I despised my dad’s stick-in-the-mud mentality when it came to certain things.

Ewoks, pizza not being well done enough, unwillingness to watch cartoons with my nephews when they were tiny, not wanting to use his cell phone except for nights and weekends, predictably unpredictable episodes of volcanic anger over nothing, and did I mention those squooshy Ewoks?

And now it’s all meaningless.

Just memories I can laugh and/or cry about.

With that said, the new Star Wars, as everyone in the galaxy knows, opens tonight. Thirty-eight years after my parents first took me to see the original one when I was five. A long time ago…

I’ll miss him more tomorrow morning, when I see it with my mom at 10 am, than I will for all of the holidays combined.

The Force was our football. When it was on TV, there was absolutely no talking to us. We were fully focused like X-wing pilots in the Death Star trench.

We wouldn’t even eat. And for my dad, Captain Constant Consumption at your service, that was unheard of.

So, now what?

Like Luke, I am my father’s son. And I will continue to be strong. And continue to be loving.

Because my dad was the epitome of both.

may the force be with you, always,


Pawns and Padawans

My dad sat on the other side of this old chess board since he taught me how to play when I was a kid.

I got better as I got older and eventually, as Vader would say, the apprentice became the master.

He’d only beat me if I got cocky and moved a piece too hastily, or if he was able to get under my skin with a barrage of intentional annoyances to throw me off my game.

He’d either eat tuna fish loudly or ask me ridiculous questions or tap his fingers relentlessly.

God, I’d get so angry.

He’s been gone for awhile already, but I felt his absence stronger than ever when my nephews got home from sleepaway camp the other day. Maybe because it was the first barbecue I’ve been to
without him.

Although I’m a super strict vegetarian, I filled my gut with hotdogs, hamburgers and slices of steak. For him.

I feel him so overwhelmingly present right now. I felt him as soon as I found this old chess board in the back of my cabana today. And as soon as I saw the numbers he wrote next to the squares in order to teach my nephews how to play.

This table I’m writing on would be covered with every section of The New York Times. He’d get up to rummage through the fridge for blueberries or a piece of chicken and he’d always ask, “Do you want something cold to drink?”

I can still hear his voice as clearly as if I heard it yesterday.

Although I’m now typing with tears in my eyes, I am grateful to feel more grateful for these memories than sadness.

In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success


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