I remember this old song that went something like this: some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in between. I'm glad there is such a place as somewhere. Not that being where I'm at now is all that bad and not that I should seek out another place to hope that things will get better, but somewhere period. In between having a period or not? Something like that, but not exactly. Anyway, this is not exactly what I wanted to talk about tonight. I want to tell you about this art auction I went to last night. I didn't feel like going because I had a stiff neck. My prick was flaccid. I would never stoop so low as to take a drug to keep me responsive for four hours. Dangerous to be stuck for so long. And for a moment I think so, and there I go again, stuck in something longer than a moment.Tricky dick. I remember when we had a president by that name. The art auction was a benefit for Autistic Services here in western new york. By now you know I'm buffaloing you. I can't think of another word for regardless or anyway. The digital photo shown today was snapped by Elizabeth. click, the shutter snapped who knows when and now capture this...imagine you smiling somewhere in between this blog and your ass plopped down in front of a computer screen. Me, right now, I'm annoyed because something is stuck between my teeth. I'm looking around for something that could act as a piece of dental floss. I take a sheet of paper out of the printer. I tear off a piece from the end, I fold it once & I fold it again and I wedge it between the two teeth where the culprit food particle is lodged. I feel much better...for now. I wonder what's next. btw...Elizabeth titled her digital snapshot: "the good, the bad, and the annoyed."  I think I got the point.

Autism is the new ADD. That's quite bold. My wife snapped the picture that I'm using today. She nanny's Cammi and she drops her off at pre school. This picture reeks of why school sucks. How unsubtle the shift is from freedom to regimentation. Kids cry because they know they are going into the gas chamber that will ultimately destroy their innocence. They can smell the school's stink as soon as the door to enter is swung open. I have no pleasant memories of pleasant scents from any school I ever attended. Well maybe one, the scent of the ink drying on the mimeographed sheets being passed out by the nun. I wasn't alone because I caught a few others quaffing the sheet when it landed on their desk. I hated tests,but I loved the smell of the questions.For some reason, I survived school. Probably most of us do in a sense, but some really got so absorbed by the system they were able to achieve awards, plaques and honors. Me, I missed getting an award for perfect attendance in high school by one sick day. It was my mother who said....you're not going to school today because you have a fever. I was a sophomore at the time. None of this mattered to me at the time because I never realized there was such a thing as a perfect attendance award until graduation day. Some kid in my class got the perfect attendance award and had to go up on the stage and receive it from our smiling principal. So today I'm bragging that I came in second. But there was no second place award so I got none....none for anything. But you know what, I really had fun in those four years of high school and I had fun in grammar school too. I don't know where I learned this (probably wasn't any school) but from a young age I knew, that no one was going to break my spirit and stop me from having fun. And I'm sensing that this little cammi girl that my bride nanny's may not ever have perfect attendance, but already seems to have a grasp of the importance of her spirit.

Oh ok. Or I say fine a lot too. And a lot of times I have thought did I just hear what I thought I heard. I'm not really paying much attention to this blog because I've got a pot of soup stewing on the kitchen stove for my daughter who requested thick creamy cauliflower soup to soothe her aching throat from her yanked out tonsils operation soreness and fucking yes I said because I love you, I will do that. & I would do the same for you. just ask. And sometimes you don't even have to ask because I am fortunate to know enough to offer before you have to humble yourself. At times I wish I was double jointed instead of disjointed, but really, I can't help the way I fucking am and either can the boogey man. Although, who the hell am I to speak on behalf of the boogey man. I'm a nobody just like you are a nobody somebody too. It's for many as though we're sacred onto ourselves. I think I may have dropped my guard on some of the words I have used tonight...misplaced a few here and there. So why did you take the vow. You're a lying sack of shit. You were bequeathed honesty and innocence & yet you decided to go your separate way, For this you are despised and loved. I love you. Will you become a stowaway with me on a ship that's bound to sink anyway. We'll be in the bowels having fun giggling recklessly. I promise romantically.   

 

I often misunderstand something I thought I once understood and now I'm thinking that's good. And then I go back and say wait a minute, that was really pretty good to begin with, so why not stick with it. This morning ad nauseum and ad infinitum surfaced simultaneously. It may have been part of a dream where I was searching for my lost dog beeshoo who died in my wife's arms way back when on martin luther king's day of 2009. This may have been precipitated by a question yesterday morning from a woman I see most mornings for the last several years. She's a brisk walker. And she usually comes this way while I'm going that way. That morning however she came up upon me from the other direction. It was odd that she was behind me. And she asked, what happened to that little dog you used to walk. And I said....she died months ago. Thus the reason for my dream. Where have you gone my darling little doggy. I was calling out for beeshoo. And I kept on thinking....how am I going to explain to my bride the fact that I lost her dog. So that's something you amateur psychologists have to figure out for me. Actually, you don't have to figure it out for me because I already know the answer. But, I don't know all the answers. Or all the possibilities...or all the variations...the twists. The subtleties. The innuendo, the what the fuck are you really talking about. The parable The babble of babel. The coiner of the phrase...figure it out. Yep, I love it that all this shit can be construed and misconstrued in almost equal amounts. Define almost. Define infinite. Define you make me sick. Define I love you. Too! Two to tweet choo choo.

I'm notorious for burning my tongue. I forget that spoons and forks stay hot. I'm glad that tongues heal fast. My tongue has been good to me. I bite it once in awhile and so far it hasn't bitten me back. Except for a lashing here and there I've been pretty lucky. Lickings can be nice with the right tongue. I've eaten tongue too. Beef tongue. With gravy and mashed potatoes. Back in 1972 while I was in Poland backpacking my way through, I stopped in a little village on the outskirts of Warsaw. I went into the fields with the men to cut tall grass with a sickle. I don't really know if it was grass, wheat, alfalfa or whatever...but I do remember it was hot that day and I was sweating. When me and the Polacks got to the end of our day, we were near a well and a wooden bucket attached to a rope. The one man that was with us (let's call him Walenty) picked up the bucket and threw in down the well. Walter (Walenty) (actually Valentine) (maybe not, I'm never quite sure) (so much gets lost in  translation) and pulled it back up from down under. The bucket was the bucket, but the content was shimmering from the reflection of the sun and our collective thirst. Since I was a guest I was given the bucket first. My lips hit the rim with gratitude, I slurped with joy and passed the bucket over to the the man closest to me and from there on and on it went until the bunch of us were sated. And the last man placed the more than half full bucket on the ground and the cows came out of the field too to slurp this drawn up elixir. That night, no one butchered a cow, but we drank some milk and cookies and then slept well for the morning trek to the fields for more sickling. In the morning I was awakened by a tiny sandpaper feeling on my slumped arm over the bed I was sleeping in. It was a kitten from the barnyard cat that someone from the house thought was appropriate to bring home. And thus, this kitty that my daughter rescued recently (pictured above) ....has a funny tongue too.....but I'm glad she found a home  Lick.

I like unusual combinations and I also like unusual perspectives. The abstract is like a koan to me. I remember many years ago during a slow day at work I overheard someone say "I'm bored."  Since I'm so easily amused, I said to the person who made the comment....why don't we play a game. What kind of game? And I said, why don't we play...imagine people fucking. How do you play. Simple, in your mind pair up  what you consider the two most unlikely people and then imagine them having sex. How about Freddy the frog faced nerd hooking up fat Betty the former nun. Anyway this ended up getting so silly and absurd that after a while people were giggling all over the place and were probably less bored. Then, it got busy at work and the game was forgotten. I heard that a few weeks later some of the women in the office did a variation on the game and they called it...who wouldn't you blow for a million bucks. And when I asked this woman who she wouln't blow and she told me Joe Blow I said to her...Jesus, I'm not gay...but for a million bucks I'd even blow him. Anyway I think Robert Redford did a movie on some variation of that theme. The idea actually came from our office. So maybe boredom is a catalyst for creativity. When people tell me that they're bored I say consider yourself lucky. And when they ask...why's that, I say it's an opportunity to talk to god. I would imagine god is pretty fucking boring. And my god is the fucking going on between Betty & Freddy. My god never says to me...excuse me Tom I have to go to the bathroom...brb.
Funny though, there are times when I act like there is no god. And my god doesn't get bored with my thinking. My god shows me the forest.
 

Our 25 year old daughter Malina had her tonsils removed yesterday morning. Me the bride and the fiance sat around the waiting room for hours. We waited to see a smiling doctor's face poke out the door and yell out our mispronounced name and inform us our Malina"s operation was a success and that she'll be in recovery for the next several hours. Thus the snapshot of Malina in recovery. I wanted to take a picture of her saying AH, but she wasn't in the mood. Malina opted to come to our house after she was released and she also brought along her  fiance and kitten. I am wondering if that is what the term "whole kit and kaboodle" means. Anyway, I think home is the best place to heal and we are glad to have her back. The worst part of the ordeal was the waiting, and the best part was of course the  outcome, but the in between part of the waiting room was the most fun.I sat around and talked about gall bladders, kidney stones, shingles, stints, and colonoscopies .People not only like to share what's going on with their loved ones bodies, but a lot of people love to talk about what's going on in their own bodies too. I've actually said this in conversations: the prep is a lot worse than the procedure. Anyway, what was really weird this morning was the fact that I got a text message from Malina at around 7:30 am. I just let Putnam (her kitty's name) out of the room...pls watch out for her. We have this crazy stalking vizsla "Linka" and Malina was just making sure our Linka wasn't going to make a meal out of Putnam. But, the dog and the kitty bonded immediately and all is well at the Mazur household. Putnam is an odd name for a tiny female kitten, but the kitty was found by a friend of a friend on Putnam street in Forrestville , NY. ..so that's her name for now. Already this morning my bride who loves to use diminutives has referred to this kitty as putty. I'm of the opinion that cats don't pay attention to any name you give them, but putty seems kinda cute. Malina is doing well this morning too.

for I have sinned, it's been way too many days since my last confession

22, sorry you're over. Please try again.Sucker. Why don't you just quit. And be a quitter? No fucking way, I'm going to play until I win. Earlier today I was in the local convenient store and suddenly the line that I was in seemed endless but for some reason the lotto line opened up. The line that has a sign above it that says, "for lotto only." I scooted over and asked the clerk how much the mega million lottery is up to, and she said 146 million dollars. I handed her a buck and said, I'll have a quick pick and then I handed her my big bottle of beer so she could ring that out too....which is entirely ok to do if you play the lotto too. So I was quite legit in my swift move from one line to another, but I probably ended up paying an extra buck for my beer. But, along with that buck, I also have a dream, The dream of what if I were to be dumb lucky enough to win 146 millions dollars. I told the girl that plucked my quick pick out the the machine, that I would pay for her schooling, buy her a new car. buy her mom a new house, and buy this store she worked in so I could pay her fifteen bucks and hour to put up with jerks like me. She looked at my ticket and said, this might be pretty good, I have three sisters and one's birthday is on the 6th of July, the other one is o the 13th of February and the other one is on the 17th of October. And I said to her, how am I going to cover 22, 27 & 19. She smiled and said, it's up to me to find a way. I couldn't chat about it any longer because there was already three people standing in line behind me and a bunch more coming through the door. I'm enjoying the beer right now and even the thought of winning that kind of money makes me feel empty inside. But, even if I should be dumb lucky enough to win such a sum, I always have the choice of not handing it in.

Orange you glad I didn't do the joke.I think my all time favorite one was boo...boo who...don't cry. But you have to cry, and when you can't maybe it's a good time to laugh. And there might be stretches when you can't do either or. And there'll be some wise person who comes along and says...this too shall pass. (I've even said it to myself and to others) (but I have stopped doing so)  Something that trite and true shouldn't be spoken anymore.By now, everybody should know that this too shall pass. It is no longer reassuring to hear those words anymore. And yet, it's true and not true at the same time.Is it true that on (make up a date and time and event) that you said, this is unforgettable. I've heard people say...I can remember exactly where I was at the time. Me too, but I also know I embellished a few things here or there as the years passed. I embellished the best days I ever had thus far and maybe even in my past lives and I've also done that with my worst days too. Today is Wednesday...have you ever heard someone refer to it as hump day? Can I hump you and then both of us try to forget it. A bomb goes off at noonish on Wednesday August something...you lose an arm while you were sitting in a cafe, there is mass confusion and you are dazed and an ambulance arrives. You are put on a stretcher & as sirens whirr whirr you go to a hospital .In the morning, there's a knock on your door....you respond by asking....who's there. Your worst fears that you can't seem to shake loose. You fall asleep. Another knock wakens you, You know better than to ask who's there. And yet you wonder if it may be joy returning. Who's there? Joy. Joy who?  And so it goes, you allowed for joy to pass and yet you yearn for her return. This too shall pass.