I have to admit that I bought a pair of earth shoes in the 70's. They made me feel like a pinball machine gone tilt. I just made two mistakes while addressing an internet-wide audience....earth shoes and tilt. Let's make it three,,,stilts. Let's make it four, rotary phones & finally, let's make it ad nauseam. Vomit. For some it's a fad. I almost wish there was a word for that regurgitating gag sound that's made before some being is about to puke. It's recognizable, but differs from person to animal. By that I mean, I can tell immediately when this particular stray that has made our house her home makes this...we call it the nummy sound...when she's about to cough up a hairball. Foamy slime first...and with luck, a wad of licked up hair. I'm not sure if this description would want to make someone get queasy, but for a moment think about a stench or a taste that would gag you. & then, try to describe the sound that's emanating from your belly...into a word. If you are unsure, please use your spell check. If you're like me, you still use a dictionary. OK, like our cat...I've strayed a bit. But for as long as I can remember....getting back to the original topic... I think khaki pants are built for comfort as are cotton tee shirts. I always regret ever putting on a pair wide bell bottom pair of jeans...and splashing on a dab too many of english leather cologne in the hopes of getting the soul sucked out of my lips by some groovy chick.

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Both are unbelievable. And yet we enjoy certain things regardless & recklessly too. I seem to like carelessness the most, because selfishly I am. I like the feel of it until the hard rock of empathy sets in.I like the feel of many things...how about you...can I feel you. Sensuousness....thinness...fatness...grossness & for me...playfulness. And an over abundance of ellipsis... etc.  Allow me to ask a question. The dog...does it sleep with you? & yet the cats don't. It's not about me really, I just think that cats have something better to do during the night. I'm also just thinking that if most beasts are fed well enough there won't be any need to prowl for food regardless of the time of day. And yet, there's this little pea part of the brain that seems to exist from the moment god crept out of the ocean & actually way the hell before that, I'm not really sure...most days I have trouble finding my keys,,,and yet, I always seem to find my way...even in a bad dream. Maybe I should name this blog and yet...and yet that would be more than redundant. And yet, I believe we do that daily with the fine grain of love. And yet, sometimes I have to force myself that I should. And no matter what I do to make a living...remembering that I must love unconditionally is more difficult to remember than where the hell I placed my key to heaven.  

or plain old dumb. I learned how to post pics on twitter from my cell phone. And I even figured out how to add a caption to the tweet. But lately I've been having a heck of a time editing photos and posting them to this blog. And I may have resolved this issue after a mini conversation with the future son in law Eric. Eric is somewhat of a computer geek/ nerd or whatever word you care to give someone who has more fucking patience than you do to putter with something. But, since it's well known that Eric has this geeky gift that many folks overbearingly rely on his expertise...and since this expertise is always done gratis, my daughter Malina suggested that Eric tell the people that he will come over to their house and fix their computer for a meal. And because it's most friends that call for Eric's geek service, Malina often will tag along. Since Malina is somewhat frugal and doesn't always like to mess up her kitchen she figures that she'll end up getting a free meal out of Eric's expertise. (I'm wondering how long will it take for Malina to comment on this blog...and if she will be pissed at my assessments) Anyway moments after I got off the phone with Eric...a call was coming in from Malina's cell.(eric & Malina live together)  ( btw remember those days when one phone was used for the entire family) (we had the christmas celebration at our home yesterday and I was surprised at how many of the younger ones kept on checking their cells) (I suppose it's better that publicly playing with your dick or twat) (sorry...I couldn't resist) But back to Malina...she asked me...dad, what kind of leftovers do we have. I said we have ham, turkey, swedish meatballs and a whole bunch of other stuff. Good she said...Eric and I will be there shortly...you can make us something to eat.

another btw...I got this susan boyle cd I dreamed a dream as a gift yesterday...I just let it play over & over until I overheard one of my daughters ask another one....hasn't dad got sick of that thing yet

I'm not really blogging tonight, I'm just fucking around. But since I'm here, I may as well say something. I don't much care for christmas the holiday lately. And certainly, I don't wish any ill will on anybody either. Although, I have this inkling that what I wish for may never come true in my lifetime it may happen eventually in some incarnated from of myself. I may be you right now after many years of going back and forth trying to get things right once and for all. (beings) Rocks and wood too. Mud and water. Forget the air because that's just a by product of what we do here on earth, And fuck fire too. Ok, so now I'm sorta sorry I stopped in here tonight. I'm struggling to figure out a way out of this non blog. I may even be your father. I've been told that buddha hated his father. Fat buddha was taken advantage of seamlessly agelessly by male patriarchies ,,,,but, it was on a saturday that buddha's mother was cleaning house and she was pissed at her son for not helping her with the stuff that needed to be done on that particular day. She said to him, "what is it about..chop wood and carry water that you don't undersatnd?"  And it was then where he had his first glimpse, but it was possibly ages later that he realized, I need to adios and find a tree I can rest upon.

Last night after we had dinner at a restaurant to celebrate my wife's birthday we went to a local bar with a live band to indulge in the music and a few beers. My daughter's fiance Eric shares the same birthday as the bride. As does Lisa Egle and the deceased Osho and probably many others.It was a fun night. Not only did Eric join us for the dinner, his parents George and Sara did as well. But, at the bar later on, we were sans George and Sara. I felt a tad goofy and out of context at the bar, but after the first pint of ale,age didn't come into play. And then, the band started playing and I got lost in the reverie of the tempo. In front of where we were standing was a pool table and I enjoyed watching mostly bad pool players playing eight ball. I'm not a very good pool player myself, but I've tended bar at enough dives that I got pretty consistent playing on the smaller tables. And when I would go to a pool hall at times with my friends and they had the regulation size tables my whole perspective was off. I can remember one of my friends saying this to me: too much green for a city slicker. And that was the truth. I probably need a compact situation in order for me to see the angles. Close encounters. I like bars and dives and even though I seldom go anymore, when I do I enjoy the energy. I enjoy watching the game go on. The graduations of behavior changes from beer after beer. Or dirink after drink. The poison doesn't matter as much as the shifts. My friend Richard used to call bars purgatory.And so last night my stay in purgatory was quite pleasant. We got home close to midnight. Had I stayed there until the 4am closing time, I would have descended into hell. (ha maybe)  So today I must say, that most of my memories of yesterday are more akin to heaven than any other realm.

I wrote this the other day for my monthly article for the Cheektowaga Bee. This is just to say, that there's story upon story to share,

When I was growing up and Steven Pankow was mayor of
Buffalo, you could go to a gas station parking lot and pick up a Christmas tree
for three dollars. Otto’s, the saloon at the corner, would arrange so thatSanta Claus arrived in a jeep and gave out toys to the neighborhood kids. Thenone foggy Christmas Eve, Otto decided that too many kids from otherneighborhoods were coming over, and he scaled back. Santa gave out brown paperbags full of oranges and walnuts. It was a disappointment not getting a toy, butthe oranges were sweet and the walnuts were fresh. And the next year lesspeople showed up and we local kids got toys again.

 

 

Every home I visited had nuts and nutcrackers andcandies out in the open that we kids could enjoy. Ribbon candy and chocolatecandies with hidden treasures (and at times a treasurewe didn’t care for, butwe had to eat because we took it in our hand) and dates and figs too. Oddly enough,our family never got into fruit cake, but my mom would buy one just in case. Eventually my brother Al would open it up and I would reluctantly try a piece to see if I
could determine why people liked fruitcake. Maybe it’s a lot like scotch?

For days, our kitchen was the hub of activity. Dad would be in there cranking out fresh homemade kielbasa with marjoram and then Mom got in there to bake and bake and bake those goodies that we ate only once a year. And when the dough was rising we knew enough not to bustle about, creating anything resembling a draft. Of course things have changed, as indeed they must. But as bleak as things seem, some old joys are silently creeping back to
me.

This week end I picked up our tree at the Clinton Market. And to our surprise, my wife and I  click of a finger on Google, I have found items that I thought were gone forever
– with free shipping too. If you don’t have time to bake a pie I’ve noticed
that Wegmans is offering a pie made from scratch. Or they’ll hand you a recipe
so you can step by step bake one yourself.

I prefer to bake a pie on my own from scratch. The recipe I use is probably the same one handed down to my mother by her mother. It’s not written down anywhere anymore because over the years I’ve learned by heart. Which reminds me – when I once asked my father how much salt I should use when making kielbasa, he pretended to scoop his hand into a bowl and then to sprinkle it over the pork mixture. It wasn’t a hit or miss sort of gesture; I
immediately knew what he was getting at.  What you put into your season, especially if it comes from your heart,
will suffice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was at a posh private club the other day. I was invited to have chat and breakfast with two mucky mucks from one of our local hospitals. The food and conversation were delightfully good and on my way out as I was admiring the festive holiday decorations, I decided I wanted to snap a picture of this large tree in their foyer. Immediately one of the fine gentlemen I was with told me that picture taking is not allowed at the club. I said fine, snapped the picture, and put the cell phone back in my shirt pocket. Today while looking at the snapshots stored in my cell phone I thought that I better erase this photo of the tree because technically and morally it's wrong for you to see it. But more so, it was initially wrong for me to not obey the rules. Who the fuck am I to say that a rule is stupid and then disregard it. Disobey it. It was no big thing at the time, but now I'm feeling pretty chipper about my sneakiness. Unfortunately though I'm now worried about the possibility that the club has surveillance cameras and shortly someone will be knocking on my door and asking me to release the picture to them, But, I've erased it from my phone, and I believe I am safe. But of course, before I erased it, I posted it on this blog. Five seconds after you finish reading this...it will disintegrate. And yet, I know there's always a possibility it will show up somewhere. Oh well. Can you keep a secret?

At times I get annoyed when I think something is becoming cliche. But pound for pound can anything ever stay stuck in time. Seriously folks,is there really such a thing as old. Make it new coined by me now.Translations are pretty fucking amazing. But not so  when someone gets a meaning anyway.(through mime maybe) (through a mass in latin?) Is there such a thing as being stuck. I don't even think the dead are stuck. That's why god made stench. I went to church today and there was a piss smell coming out of somewhere & it wafted probably from this young man with some sort of disability. I noticed him when he first walked in and in my glance I thought...how rude, he's talking to someone on his cell phone as he's entering the house of god. And then I realized, he's simply cupping his hand over his ear. Why... I didn't know, for it was quite quiet. And even later, when I was coming forward to receive the blessed sacrament of our lord squished into this unleavened host... and then making my way past this gentleman in the front row....it was at that moment I realized...yes, it must be him...that pissed his pants....possibly even a day ago. I can only surmise how lazarus must have smelled after x # of days. It would depend on the translation. But how the hell would I know, this is only my account of what may have happened earlier. I may have been the one who pissed his pants. Should I be grateful that I didn't or should I pray that I never will.

I went to the open air farmers market this morning and I picked up some brown eggs and and maybe a half a peck of apples & almost a xmas tree. I called home and told the bride about all the nice trees and see said go ahead and pick one out & immediately a little red light light went off that said fuck no, if you pick out a lousy tree your wife and daughters will berate you until the feast of the three kings. We will go tomorrow for a collective tree pick out. Which is a crazy thing we do, because collectively we seldom agree on a tree. But it's a kind and nice thing to do and it makes us feel like we're doing something together. So anyway when I got home with the eggs and the apples, the bride & daughters were off to Ikea in Canada and the house was quiet and ripe for some pie baking. So I baked a pie & took a picture of it and texted it off to the bride & daughters with this little note..."upon your return."  I like baking pies. I think the act of baking helps lower one's blood pressure. And it's such a simple thing to do. It's probably every grandmother's recipe passed down from generation to generation. Although I have my variations and of course my own chemistry going into it, ... over all the pie comes out ok. A preoccupied dose of bad energy can fuck up a pie in a heartbeat, but generally, the very act of baking seems to put any bad energy into abeyance. I just received a text message from the bride...mmmm looks good. And so it goes...some simple moments from a simple life. Although, one must be careful of what apples are chosen....some may be full of temptation.

A long time ago when I was in the military I learned there was a world much different and larger than my neighborhood of bailey & delavan. I met my first jew personally, I found out that soda and pop were the same to some folks, I got to talk to a black person for more than the niceties of hello and goodbye and I found out that some of the southern boys referred to pussy as cock. One evening a guy from south carolina said to me...let's go downtown and get some cock. And I said...excuse me, I ain't no fucking homo...and of course...he looked at me strange as though I was...and after a bit of conversation we confirmed our differences. But the point is, cock, pussy, cunt, dick, twat, wang, hole etc. are not really nice words to use to begin with (as well as gazillion others) ie. n word, b word and maybe even s.o.b. but who knows nowadays a sob may be acceptable. When I was a kid, you wouldn't dare call a nun a fucking cunt, or a priest a cocksucker, but as light has shown on some of the past practices, one could possibly think of words much worse than the above mentioned. Thank god for hefty lawsuits. I still hate that bitch...or that prick, but at least I'm living comfortably now. I have a pool in the back yard. God forbid any of my bastards drown in it. I need a cigarette. I love you too honey. Got a match. Yeah...my socks and your breath. Asshole. Suck my cock.