Dogs have good hearing and smelling, but they can't see worth a shit.  A lot of time I can't recognize a whole lot of stuff either. It's rather funny  when it happens to the dogs and me too. Bark, bark bark, woof woof. What the hell are you barking at. That fucking thing over there that looks like a raccoon. That's not a raccoon you silly fool, that's a plastic bag in the middle of the road. It sure looked like a raccoon at first...I mean, I even saw that little bandit mask too. You need help. Help my ass, what about the other day when you yelled yipes because you thought you saw a big fat ugly (subjective) spider on the counter-top. Well, I was startled a little bit, but I would never have uttered the word yipes, so, I think you stand to be corrected. No, you said yipes. No, you're wrong...I've never said yipes in my life..except for  maybe today. I don't even think I ever said yikes either. I mean really, why would I say yipes or yikes when there are so many bolder and nicer exclamations. Do they both mean the same. No, yikes is used more out of fear, while yipes is used out of surprise. For example...yipes, I can't believe this cake is for me...what a pleasant surprise... versus... yikes, there's a fucking spider on my counter-top, somebody please come in here and kill it. Hey...hey what...slow down a bit...I'm not here to cause any harm, I got here quite by accident...and I can't even say it's because of all the dust in your house, but before you whack me with a rolled up piece of newspaper, scoop me up in some plastic cup and then throw me outside so I can battle another portion of our elements.

                                  

Tonight we all piled into a tiny one bedroom apartment to help our daughter move in. She had two pizzas, a large order of chicken wings and beers and wine coolers in the fridge to serve us little helpers. There were thirteen people there to help her out. I liked the coziness of it all. But now I'm glad to be back to the little corner of my world, where life is even a little more casual and comfy than that apartment. I have to be back there tomorrow because some bedroom furniture is being delivered anytime between 11am-2pm. and the daughter has to work and I was asked if I could be available. Of course I said, I would be glad too. It won't be all that bad because the furniture store said that they would call her a half hour before the delivery. I didn't time the ride down their tonight, but I would think it took us about 17 and a half minutes to get there. But, you can't really trust delivery time. It's too nebulous. Not that there's such a thing as exact time. But I would say that these last ten years, it's gotten a whole lot more difficult trying to pinpoint someone to even give you an approximate time. Now, I don't consider a 3 hour window a good approximation....but, ten to fifteen minutes...I can live with that. However, when I see a handwritten sign in a window that says....Be Back in 10 minutes...I immediately get wary. I start asking myself...did they just put up that sign a minute ago...should I wait at least five more minutes..maybe his toilet isn't working and he's across the street at McDonald's taking a shit. Maybe he put this sign up yesterday and got hit by a car walking across the street to McDonald's. I'm sure you get my point, the scenarios are endless. Not too long ago I went to my favorite neighborhood Kwik Service for an oil change. It was 8:55am and the place opened at 9. I waited for a bunch of minutes and decided the place wasn't going to open on this particular Saturday. I drove home and called them just to see if someone finally made it in. I got the answering machine. I left no message. A couple of days later I was in the neighborhood and still the closed sign hung in the window. I ended up going to the Delta Sonic car wash and got an oil change there. About a week later, I drove past the Kwik Service place and I noticed a piece of paper taped to the closed sign with these two words...For Good! I was glad they had the decency to notify me. It was a casual way of setting me straight.  ttfn...brb...

I wuz gonna but I was so stuck in awe that I lost my mind. I am generally pretty good at letting folks know where I'm at, but I must say , that I've had a few screw ups too. Unintentionally of course. I sometimes leave my phone at home, or I leave it in my car. I consider a phone a shackle. Seldom will I answer our home phone...and when it goes off in the middle of the night it gives my heart a start that doesn't know there's such a thing as rest again. Discourtesy call...what the hell is that. I think I possess a form of phone courtesy though. I never have my phone on ringer ...I'm a perv, so I like the vibration in my pants. I will seldom take my phone out of my pocket even while vibrating unless I'm anticipating a senseless call from someone immediate to me asking a simple and direct question like...did you get there ok. But now that I know how to text because I got a phone with qwerty I can always excuse myself, go to the bathroom, and instead of looking in the medicine cabinet...text my wife. Oh fuck, my phone just fell in the toilet. Are you OK in there. Yeah yeah, I'm alright, I just forgot to put the the toilet seat up and I dribbled a little bit on your seat. Use the tissues by the sink. Vibrate, vibrate, vibrate...who the fuck is calling me now. Bonk! Oh fuck, I just hit hit my head on the medicine cabinet. Do I dare open it up to see if there's some peroxide in there. Nah, tough it out. What the hell happened to you...it looks as though you may need some stitches. Give me your cell phone so I can call 911. Why call, let's just drive there. I don't drive, and you won't either with that gash. Well, call 911 with your phone. I can't, it's been disconnected. Shit like this happens every 3 minutes and 58 seconds..longer than it takes to make a soft boiled egg.

                    

Put yourself in Jesus' shoes or Kwan Yin's too or the plumpy Buddha's, and imagine what they're thinking now. I have no idea where these former deities perch when they are looking over the doings of us sentient beings, but I would think they may be a tad dismayed. I would, if I were a transmission. The first thing I would ask myself is holy moses, how did this place get so darn screwed up. How could so much get lost in translation. But then again, as a deity, I would know. Or, at least I hope I should know, but I'm not a deity. I'm playing pretend. And I'm asking you to do the same. No way in fucking hell will you suck me into this game. Whack...the sound of a bamboo stick hitting the side of a human temple. Hey you fat son of a bitch I'm gonna kill you. No you won't, not until you turn the other cheek. Whack . Now, you're going to get it  for sure. Simmer down you. Wow, who the hell are you. Why does it matter...shouldn't it suffice that I am here. Yes, you're a lot prettier than the other two I just had to deal with. Well, quit trying to spread yourself so thin...there's really only one of us. Oh, how boring. Yes, she's here too, and much cuter than I am. Whack. Hi, I'm Tom...what's your name. Whack . Mary and I'm pregnant. WHACK. . A deep masculine voice from the sky...DON'T ASK,  DON'T TELL. Whack! And the dream continues. Whack...chirp, chirp, chirp, cockadoodledoo Yes, I'll have two eggs over easy, sausages and one piece of wheat toast and coffee, half decaf with a shot of cream. Whack. Jesus, will you cut it out...that fucking smarted. Whack, whack, whack. Damn, I can't wait until the cock crows. Whack. And here's one for good meassure...WAP!
What language was that?

                                              

I thought the time driving back from mimi's home to to my home across the border would suffice for me to collect my thoughts on the marvelous time we had together. But there was so much going on this afternoon that there will probably be a dozen blogs on this experience. What a lovely thing it is to go from virtual to real in a short 40 minute trip down the road. Mimi lives in Canada and I live in the USA...no big deal usually, until 9/11. I dread trekking over the bridge. The lovely Liza came in from Toronto, so it was no bridge crossing for her, but her hassle was much simpler...how do I get there from here. Mimi fielded a bunch of phone calls from Liza just attempting to redirect her to the cozy caterpillar place. I don't know how mimi does it, but she grows caterpillars on parsley plants.  Ding Dong. Oh God...I can finally eat. And oh god, did we ever have food. But before we ate I kindly excused myself, I had to pee. Her bathroom was very clean, but I'm pissed I didn't check out her medicine cabinet. There will be a next time, but now that I'm blogging about it, I'm sure she'll be prepared. Dear Liza who looks as though she's 25 brought along her lovely daughter Victoria who's 14. I would imagine the grandmother looks as old as 42. Anyway, mimi and me did meld. We were able to immediately move from virtual to real time in no time flat. We chatted and chatted about this and that and before long, she was showing me family photos hung in her bedroom and she showed me her appendix operation scar from when she was nine years old (13 stitches and in an L shape too)  Ding Dong oops...(but what was the other ding dong all about) (I'm not sure..I think it was an attetion grabber)Liza must be here...wow...and it was true. In came Liza with a wheelbarrow full of food, a smile that never stops and a daughter that I thought I knew from a former life. We all hugged in a warm and genuine way. I sat down shortly thereafter and crossed my legs like I generally do and was feeling pretty damn good about the afternoon. And we ate, and we talked and we looked at one another in awe and adoration and we sucked into our souls all these goddamn positive energy vibes that more than likely we'll be smiling from the inside out forever. I mean, what else could I say about this afternoon...you just had to be there. But, what I'm feeling right now...I'm sending it your way...and if you feel the slightest bit of twinge...you are feeling what I felt this afternoon with Mimi, Liza and Victoria...and you. I am a lucky man. And yes, I'm smiling because mimi had her hand down my pants, and Liza had her hand on my bootie...and Victoria snapping the pictrure said...how gross.

         

Do certain sounds grate on you too. Something as simple as people clipping their nails can annoy me. If I would have to determine which sound annoys me the most I would have to say (at this moment) auto alarms that go off in the middle of the night. Auto alarms are a concept that I totally misunderstand. I always drive a car that's pretty much theft safe. And ever since my little brand new 1969 Volks was broken into by having a window smashed in, I have refused to lock any vehicle I drive. That philosophy pisses off my wife and kids only when I happen to take their car for a spin and then  I bring it back &  I get out and leave it unlocked. But, they return the favor when they happen to take my car and they lock the doors when they park the damn thing.  And then in the morning when I'm zipping out of the house to get to my destination thinking my door will be open, I get a little pissed that I have to use a key to gain entry. Years ago, b.w. &k. (before wife and kids) I always left the keys under my seat. This worked fine for me because I didn't have to run around looking for my keys before I made off  to work, all I had to do was jump into an unlocked car, grab the keys from under the seat and zoom off to work. But, once I got married and my keys got locked into the car, my screech was a sound my new bride didn't much care for. But let's get back to the middle of the night incessant car alarm going off. I think there should be a mechanism installed in those alarms...that if someone doesn't respond to that noise within 12 minutes and 37 seconds a little bomb will go off and destroy not only the alarm, but 1243 dollars worth of innards that will not be covered by any insurance. I mean really...people should be held responsible for their noise. It is a pollutant. And tell me...do you get annoyed when people are speaking a foreign language in front of you and you can't understand what the hell is going on. There should be a law against that too. After all, this is America...fuck the fact that our grandparents couldn't speak english.

                                                           


                      

I don't feel like talking about a damn thing tonight but I will regardless. That feeling of not wanting to talk/blog  just went somewhere else. It's like when Pema Chodron says to you in her words in an article ...take three deep breaths (stopping & seeing) and then go on. I'm lazy so three is a lot of work. In times like writer's block, one deep breath should suffice. But, if you want to take it beyond your fear of spiders, maybe two or three deep breaths will work better. And, if you're extremely scared shitless possibly the best thing you can do is breathe in and out as fast as you can until you pass out. The breath is the most easily accessible tool we have out there, but I like to rely on beer. Sometimes I use breath and beer in tandem. No, I don't snort beer,I just make a conscious effort to sniff it's marvelous aroma a little bit before I slug it down. A lot of folks do that with brandy. I'll drink brandy once in about every thirteen years, but beer is my staple. My mother always kept a bottle of blackberry brandy in her hutch. She seldom touched it unless her bowels were a little loose. Folklore says, blackberry brandy should bind you. I seldom get loose enough to rely on having a bottle of that stuff in our hutch, but I wouldn't mind a shot of that stuff right now just to say, here's to you mom, I'm thinking of you. And you too dad. Although dad was not much of a blackberry brandy man. Good whiskey is what made him frisky. But I'm thinking about these two lovely characters in my life because today is their wedding anniversary. They were married on this day in 1930. Dad ended their marriage in 1977 by his death. And I don't believe they have ever caught up again in heaven. But that was the thought of my last breath...now I'm thinking...well maybe...and now....mom is saying, shut up and go watch the olympics on TV...and dad, is not saying much, but I know what he's thinking. I'm swimming in my thoughts and that's fine with me because soon I will be hopefully watching the US swim team do something special on TV tonight....just as special as when I watched the Ed Sullivan show with my mom and dad.

                                                             

I'm competitive so I'm always rooting for someone to win. If I'm in the game, I'm in it to win it. But, I won't pick a fight with cancer, simply because I don't like the fucker's reputation. I'm not sure about this, but is cancer a guy or a girl. I'd say it's masculine. Pneumonia and kidney disease are more feminine. Diabetes is asexual. Yesterday (and I have no idea if this has any connection to any of this) (and yet...) I was looking up the dodo bird and how it became extinct. Simply put, it was a rather large plump bird who couldn't fly but had this uncanny fearlessness around human beings...which translated quite simply by us thinking humans...as easy game. Which is really weird because from what what I've read, their meat was rather tough and didn't taste all that good. But hey, I suppose it was good to talk about around campfires. Yeah man, today was good, I bagged fifteen of those fat dodo's in about fifteen minutes. Geez, you broke my record. Yesterday I was able to bag 13 in 17 minutes. Wow, that makes me the leader. Well, records are made to be broken, so before long, someone younger and spunkier than you will be able to bag 17 or 18 in 12 minutes or less. How the hell can that be possible? I developed dodo dope. I just sprinkle this white powdery stuff on the food they like to eat and it makes them perky at first but after a minute or two it makes them walk slower. Bang, bang, bang and in no time you've bagged a dozen. Isn't that cheating? I don't know, I don't see it written anywhere that we can't dope the dodo birds. But, at this rate, we'll wipe them out of existence. Eh, that will be years from now...besides, we'll be dead by then, why should it matter. And, if they should be wiped out before we die, we can always make clay pigeons. And to make the game more exciting, we can toss them up in the air and then try to shoot them with our arrows. Oh wow.

                               

Home at last. It may take me a few days to figure out my former habitual life in front of this computer. For me the whole notion of a vacation is a very weird phenomena. I could have easily gone away in my attic for a week and I would probably be a lot more rested than I am today. Airline travel is not what it used to be. And I almost hate to admit it, but I do think I really do miss those meals they served years ago on most flights. I don't understand the peanut, cookie, cheese cracker and pop deal that they have going on nowadays ...especially on a 32 minute flight from Atlanta to Charleston. I suppose it's fine if you're a peanut lover. The stewardesses are in such a hurry to  get up and down the narrow aisle they toss a bunch of those bags on your lap and scurry back to their cart so they can pour you a shot of pop. And what is it about stewardesses these days, they don't make them young anymore. I thought they saved the senior ones for transatlantic flights. And the pilots even look a little ragged around the edges, not to mention the overworked air traffic comptrollers. It's almost difficult to fathom that one would be safer in an airplane than in a car. But then again, there's way too many cars on the road and way too many distractions going on while people are driving. Cell phones, movies, books on tape, make up, newspapers to name a few. Years ago it used to be seeds popping from joints, but I think they now have produced seedless smoke and why not, if they can do it to watermelons, I'm sure they can do it for weeds. Anyway, I'm glad I'm back home. It's about 60 wet and cold degrees here in Buffalo this afternoon. Compare that to the 100 degree hot salty sand humidity in South Carolina I don't know which I enjoy more. I'm not crazy about the salt water of the ocean, but just in case I somehow get to miss it, I saved a little bag of those salted peanuts from last night's flight from Atlanta to Buffalo.
                                      

I'm not so sure that's an easy thing to do. No matter where you go there you are.....that's an old one. This morning I was sitting on the ocean deck and I was looking out across the Atlantic. When we first arrived I asked...what's on the other side of this...and someone said Africa. And for a moment I thought...it is true, we are all connected. We are connected via this cyber stuff, the cell phone miracles, and garmin sattelites that help point our way and of course, the ocean soup.A butterfly flapping in Africa caused yesterdays thunderstorm, me having a flap with my family on how we should proceed to leave this vacation spot tomorrow is not only creating a hurricane over here, but I'm thinking, something nasty must be happening in Africa because of it. All this shit is so awesome that I now feel close to some god out there. And if this creation was some big accident or some godly calculation I'm feeling at peace with it. And I think it's because of all this water out there. This liquid that's always seeking some form of equilibrium even during its tumult. OK...I'm out of here. I am well and doing fine...but missing you folks immensely.