I guess we leave traces no matter what. My big fat toad foot stepped out of some muddy slime slush of an ocean soup somewhere near the coast of africa. I don't know how anybody could figure this shit out, but here it is in print. All I had to do was mail in a pin prick of my blood and send a check or money order in the amount of one hundred and ninety five dollars made payable to cash. At first, I was a tad reluctant , but I was also a bunch curious. I'm not really pleased about this finding because I always thought my family origins came out of the baltic sea. But, here it is, on printed form, my DNA information....I'm out of africa. Although, I'm not so sure if this can't be challenged. One time I paid for a credit check and my score came back at 680. Now, 680 ain't bad, but at that time, I needed a score of 750 so I could get a loan for my son's tuition at a high priced school. I paid this guy 250 bucks to see if he could get me a better rating.. ..and he did, but the rate of the loan went up another one and a half percentage point. So I figured...what the fuck, it's a thirty year loan...it's only another 157, 308 dollars...I may not be alive another week from now...so why not take advantage of a good thing when it's presented to me. Besides, I'm somewhat desperate because I promised all my kids a good education. But, there's another concern...it's my youngest daughter. She thinks she's adopted. I don't know why the hell she thinks this way, after all, she does look just like her mom...but obviously, she can't see it. So, my little baby daughter begs me to prick her finger and get a DNA blood test done on her just like I had done on me. So I did. And when the results came in a few weeks later she said to me, I'm surprised, I thought we were Polish. But a week or so later, she said to me...I'm Ok with it dad, I'm just happy to be.

                                           


                                                    

Tonight I was at a picnic/fund-raiser for our majority leader. It was at the Riverside Park right close to the Niagara River that dumps into the Falls. I drank a couple of local brewed stout and had a couple of grilled hot dogs with mustard. I'm not a stout drinker, but I must say, that Buffalo makes one of the better hot dogs that I've ever tasted in all my travels.But of course...de gustibus non est disputendum...which means...of taste their is no dispute. In high school we used to say...Latin killed the Romans now it's killing us. God, isn't she gorgeous. Which one are you talking about there's about ten of them standing there. The one with the gardenia in her hair. Damn, she's gotta be a freak who the hell wears a gardenia in their hair nowadays. I guess she does, and that's what makes her special. I'm mean really...when was the last time you saw a gardenia, let alone in someone's jet black hair. Do you think it's real. Fuck yeah, I can smell it from here. But check out her tattoo, it's kinda gross. Yeah, I saw that damn thing...I don't know what it means. Excuse me, I'll be back in a bit...I have to get a closer look at her tat. What are you going to say to her. I have no idea, this is just a bullshit blog running amok as usual. Hi, I love gardenias and I was wondering were the heck you were able to pick one up here in Buffalo. I didn't, I'm from Toronto and I picked it up at a little florist shop on Yonge St. You must have either good eyes or a good nose. I would say that my nose picked it up because my eyes couldn't figure out your tattoo. So you're a dog. Yeah, but you definitely are not. Well, can you explain your tat. Sure, I did it myself. Wow how. It's really simple, but you need patience, indian ink, a clean needle, white cotton thread and an idea of what want your body to say. So, are you going to tell me. Sure, but first you have to tell me what you think it means.It looks like Popeye eating a can of spinach. What the hell are you talking about. I have no idea. Can you tell me the best way to get back to Cheektowaga. The easiest way is to take this road down to the end...can you see that building down there...take a left, make a quick right and then another left on so and so street and not too long afterward you'll see Vulcan street take a left and turn right at the signal and the thruway should be right there. Take the west bound which is the first right. Got it. Yeah I think so. Of course, along the way, I made a wrong turn...and this is what it's all about.

                                                                    

When shit is in perfect alignment with your foot on your path towards enlightenment you'll step in it. That is a good sign...a sign of good fortune. Stepping in shit is good, it's immediately brings you back down to earth. All lofty aspirations are immediately put on hold. Holy fuck, I just stepped in shit and I have a job interview in fifteen minutes. I knew that I shouldn't have gotten here this early. If I would have arrived five minutes before the interview I would probably have parked in a different spot on the lot and stepped on bubble gum instead of this mess. And, I'm not even sure what kind of shit this is. Why is it in the middle of a parking lot. I'm almost hoping it's dog poop. But, this is the parking lot of the medical center, and there is this weird possibility that some poor soul had to bring in a stool sample today to their doctor and they couldn't quite feel that they could go at home and they were nervous about it but figured they'd go in the bathroom of the doctor's office and everything would be fine. But, as we all should know by now....nature calls. I don't know about you, but if nature called and she didn't leave me a whole lot of options except for shit your pants or shit the parking lot, I'd probably look around ten thousand times in a mega second and whip my pants down and shit in the parking lot. Timing is everything. Excuse me sir, I'll have to write you up. For what? Public defecation. That's bullshit...would write up a dog? No, but we can according to oridance U812 arrest you. Are you really going to write me up? Yes, you're in violation. Can you do me a favor? What's that sir. Can you hurry up writing that summons...so I could use it to wipe my ass. OK smartass, I've had enough of you today...you're under arrest.
                           

I love you. No you don't. How do you know you love me. I just know. I have a disease. Oh? Is it serious? Yes, I will be dead fourteen seconds from now. Wow, we better hurry. Hurry for what? You said you love me....poof. I love you. I love you too. I mean really, I love you so much I could kiss you in the morning before you brush your teeth. You're such a fool, I have no teeth. My teeth are in a cup over there with water. If you could be so kind and plop an alka seltzer in there and I'll slug it down and be on my way. Holy shit, you mean to tell me , this was nothing more than a one night stand. Do you want it to be more? Yeah, maybe we should marry and have some kids. Well, I'm not so sure I want kids. Well, then why bother fucking. Can't we just fuck for fun? We sure can, but I'm not on anything. Well, why don't I just pull out when I'm ready to come. You have that much control. Oh yeah, trust me, I'm a pro at this. oops. There seems to be a flaw in progression of thought tonight..I'm not sure if I care to correct it. I love you. No you don't. Call me. Yeah, we should talk more. What an idiot. What a moron. I hope I never get a call. Hello. Do you remember me. Holy shit, I can't believe this is happening. yes. And later that evening they pulled each other close to each other and said yes. And yes in unison is a spectacular feat. And yes, there was pitter patter of baby feet. And yes, they live happily ever after. And no, this can't be true. Don't be silly...you know it is. Shame on me.

                                   

Do you ever wonder who they poll out there. Every day we see the results of a new survey conducted. And when I read this, here I am sitting on my fat american ass wondering, why the hell haven't I ever been surveyed. And yet, a lot of us have the audacity to say things like...it's in the bag for so and so...butter's ok for you, thin ties are in...I read where they corrected the problems with tampons. May I interrupt with an old bad joke. What's the definition of a cotton picker? A woman who lost her tampon string. Groan. What the fuck is wrong with me, can't I ever be serious. My personality used to piss my brother Al off a lot because he was a lot more serious than me. He could be silly, but it always had to be on his terms. I don't believe in term limits. When it comes time for your shit not to be funny or useful anymore, you'll be bumped out of the scene. Hey you. Who you talking to. I'm talking to you, the guy with the beard trying to fall asleep on a discarded appliance piece of cardboard. Ah man, are you here to shake me down...I didn't steal nothing. No, I'm here to take a survey. If you were to vote today, would you vote for McCain or Obama. Better yet, take this to the other extreme. Try ringing the doorbell at the wrigley estate and tell the guard at the gate that you're doing a survey and would like to have a few minutes to talk to the owners. Sirens. And this is what we're up against folks...bullshit. Manipulation. And even if your person got elected it's still bullshit...especially if they claim they have a mandate. Then, you have to ask yourself what mandate. Suppose for a second that 50% registered voters did come out and cast their vote and suppose that one candidate got 50.8% of the vote and was declared the winner. And suppose you're about ready to camp in for the night on your piece of cardboard and dust and crap is falling on to your bed space and you say to the woman with a shopping cart full of plastic bags, paper and stuff and say to her...I thought they were going to fix this bridge years ago...one of these days it'll all cave in and we'll be dead. Nah, in my opinion everything will be just fine. Are you sure. Yeah, I've never been let down yet. Crash...boom.. . A bridge collapsed today 8 people died...it's unsure if there were any more casualties. Holy fuck I'm pinned...will someone please help me.... are you ok...lady...are you ok....

                                    

                                   


 

by a computer. And I'm not even talking about the real thing. The soft feeling of gushy gushy. The warmth of two folks embracing and going gushy gushy gushy. But before we get into that tonight I had to think about the word two. Most of us take it for granted. I mean, how in the hell did  two become 2. Just the twough of us. Sorry, I just made that up. Language is quite fascinating that way. It's quite arbitrary. Yo man, you did a yeoman job. Thank you sir. Yo gal, you had the gall to come in here and ask for a raise. Would you want one for a little gushy. I'm not sure I understand.It's like this. He takes his left hand and stretches it out. He then takes his pointer finger and curves it downward towards the tip of his thumb to form a circle. Then, he takes the middle finger from his right hand and projects it straight out. From there, he moves the middle finger from his right hand and moves it slowly towards the hole he created in his left hand and proceeds to poke his middle finger from his right hand into the hole created by his left hand  and he begins to make this thrusting motion, as almost a lure for your attention. Not long afterward....the letter z comes to mind.

             

Once a month I write an article for our town newspapaer, and before I send it in for publication, I email it to my son for an edit. After he edited it he commented ....see below...

                                          

 

take your zoloft archie bunker....(Luke's comment to me) 

This is not a joke. About twenty years ago my wife and I had a few
couples over to our house for a marriage preparation seminar. We
volunteered for our local parish – now closed. Anyway, I usually found
it interesting when I would ask the young married wannabe's if they
attended church. Generally their response was no. I then asked them if
their parents went to church, and they mostly said no too. And finally
I asked them, well why the heck do you want to get married in church?

Now, here's the real shocker. One time I asked this young woman how
long she thought her marriage would last. I intended only to be funny,
and not to receive a response. But she looked at me straight faced and
replied, five years. Today I'm not so shocked by that comment. We live
in a society where we assume things are not meant to last. Or at least
we've been duped to think so. Nowadays no one expects to hold onto
anything for a lifetime. Companies are hiring and firing; young folks
are jumping to new jobs for fifty cents more an hour. Gas prices are
killing us and the US dollar has collapsed. And yet, instead of saying
stop, hold on for a minute, we jump onto the next idea.

There's an old saying that goes: all politics is local. Local to me
would mean proximity. Wouldn't our lives be much simpler if all our
basic necessities where within walking distance of where we lived? The
credit union (forget most banks, they're not local), the bakery, the
butcher, the poultry store, the candy store and the bicycle shop.
Sound familiar. It's the way a lot of us grew up.

As a kid growing up in the Bailey and Delavan area, my mom used to
send me the poultry store to pick up a chicken for soup. The chickens
were alive and squawking and in their cages from the farm. When I told
the man behind the counter what my mom wanted, he would grab one out
of a cage, take it in the back room, chop its head off, pluck the
feathers, wrap it up and send me on my way. The walk did me a lot of
good. Today to achieve the same end, I jump in my car, zoom over to
the supermarket three miles away and spend about a buck in gas to buy
a chicken that only takes 40 days in a dark and crowded shed to get to
our table. And the worst part of this story is that the chicken tastes
like rubber. (Gosh, a rubber chicken. Do you remember when that used
to be funny?) I don't know about you, but if we started to think
locally again, I think it would create a lot of decent jobs. Mom and
pop shops where people would be too busy working to think of much else
– including how long their marriage will last.

I've been lucky, I've always been amused and amazed by this existence. I won't say that I haven't had my down times, but mostly it's been a fine trip....thus far. Don't you just love it when dread hits unsolicited. Standing in a bookstore during my lunch hour copping a few free words from some existential hardcover book that I was too cheap to buy and I read a few lines that rung some inner bell and stopped me in my tracks. It happened to me once in downtown Buffalo at a Walden book store. The book was Easy Death...by Bubba da free Jones...if I can remember correctly. I eventually bought the book  when it became a paperback, but bubba had already changed his name a few times by then. Same thing with my pal Osho. I always knew him as Rajneesh. Why the fuck these gurus want to keep changing their names is beyond me. Maybe to attract a new audience. Imagine this at a book signing. You look familiar, you look like this guy bubba who signed my book a couple of years ago at Media Play in downtown Pittsburgh. You signed it....Be free Tom...love bubba. How many days are you going to be signing books. Only today. Shit, that's too bad...I was going to bring my book back to you so you can sign it again. I don't think that's necessary, when I wrote that book, I was bubba so that should suffice. It may suffice for you, but in a few more weeks I will be undergoing a sex change operation and I'm going to change my name to Tammy. Well, I'll give you the address to my ashram in India and I'll sign it and send it back to you Tommy/Tammy....C.O.D. Would "whatever" be appropriate here?

This morning I went to a wake with my legislative assistant Virginia so we could pay our respects to a dear older gentleman friend of ours...Mr Bill Robinson. Bill and I served together as legislators back in 1988. Bill was young then....74...and I too was relatively young...41. He was a saintly man back then...God only knows what place he'll have in heaven now...and for eternity.  Bill was not only a gentleman, and a legislator, but he was also a baseball player in his younger days. During the 30's he was a catcher in the negro league. A damn good one at that...his knuckles showed for it. But he was the most soft spoken man I ever met...and his smile was the bright spot of my day when I got hit by it. I don't worry about him resting in peace because he was peace while he was alive. But, I have to tell you about this weird thing that happened to me and Virginia early this morning. We walked into the Edward's Funeral home on Genesee St in the east side of Buffalo. When we approached a woman I told her we were here to pay our respects to Bill Robinson. She directed us to the parlor at our left. When we approached the casket I said: damn, that doesn't look like Bill and Virginia says...doesn't he look really good. I approached the woman closest to the casket and I said...I think I'm in the wrong place...I'm here to pay my respects to  Bill Robinson. And she said.. yes, that's Bell. And then I said...well Bill was 94 years old...and this man looks much younger. And she said, Bell was 49 years old. Finally, a woman from the back of the parlor came up to us and said...Bill Robinson is in the other parlor down the hall. What made this whole damn thing so confusing was that when I said Bill and she said Bell we both thought we were talking about the same person. Please give me credit for recognizing the fact that I didn't recognize Bell as Bill. So Virginia and I finally got our chance to see Bill. And there Bill was all alone in the room. I went back out to the front and asked a man if any of Bill's family was around. And he said, no, they won't be here, they'll be at the church this evening at 6pm. Bill will also be waked at the church for services, song and celebration. I finally caught on...but at first I was thrown a few knuckle balls. May Bill and Bell rest in peace.

                                

Don't you just love it when you're asleep on the couch or your most comfortable chair and someone gives you a jolt and tells you to go to bed. Excuse me, this was my bed for now. Go to bed. I'm just resting my eyes. Bullshit, you'll be asleep in seconds. So leave me alone. If I leave you alone you'll bitch at me that I didn't wake you up. And this scenario makes sense to me because I'm not alone. But when I was alone, I'd wake up in the middle of nowhere and wonder where the hell I was at. It wouldn't take long for me to realize that I was in my favorite chair in the living room with a test pattern on the tv screen. I would imagine it would take me much longer to figure out the date and time because test patterns are now obsolete. They're so obsolete that I would think a lot of folks today wouldn't even know what I was talking about. Go back to bed Tom. But actually, it is past my bedtime. I usually like to slink under the covers at around 9pm to watch some dumb thing on tv and fall asleep to allow the blinking light and banality of it all creep into my brain as I think I'm peacefully asleep. Bleep bleep, flicker flicker, stand back, hands up above your head, bleep bleep whirr flicker if your erection lasts for longer than four hours flicker flicker flicker and if it doesn't licker licker licker wake up you silly fuck fuck I must be watching hbo rem oh sweet jesus I can't believe you're with me flicker flicker beep whirr bleep this is serious and I don't think I can remove his spleen whirr flicker bleep the yankees came from behind but damon busted his wrist what does denmark have to do with this om tare tu tare ture soha here's johnny good night and god bless nice icon eh what's up doc..hey honey... (nudge) ...do you want me to shut the tv off....huh...sure, did the yakeees win, no. but they're bombing Iran holy fuck I hope I'm dreaming.

                                      

yeah, my socks and your breath. my ass and your face. aren't you glad no one asks for a match nowadays...except for a dna match. Yep, it's your baby. This match definitely put you at the scene of the crime. What are you talking about. The sock you stuffed in her mouth ...we tested it and it lead us to you. Do you know you have a fungus between your toes. But it wasn't the fungus that got you, it was your perspiration. But I don't get it....I have no previous record. Yes, we knew that, so we were following you for a long time. Remember that 10K race you ran in October of '81. Yes. Well the runner directly behind you was one of our agents and she was able to catch a few droplets of your sweat while you were attempting to make that hill. That's bullshit because there were five thousand people running that race...how can you be sure that you got a sample of my sweat. Simple, you were the second last runner in the race and of course, our agent was directly behind you with a gauze pad cupped in her hand. We also have a video of it too. So Romeo, put your hands behind your back. Click. Watch my head...ouch. Any word you use can be used against you. Fuck you you assholes, this is entrapment. You're gonna regret those words. Ouch...hey, be fucking careful. Ouch. You better tone it done boy. These cuffs are cutting off my circulation...I've got my rights you know. Hey, quit pulling my hair. Ouch. Did you get any hair. Yeah. Put it in this plastic bag. We got the mother fucker now for sure. Your sister will be happy now. Yeah, justice will finally be served.

Isn't it weird how attraction works. One person may be attracted to buddha and the other may be attracted to the power of crystals. I would love to think that I'm attracted unconditionally to everyone and everything but that's not always true. Some folks just carry with them an energy that my energy doesn't seem to want to get too close to. I think that happens for a reason. And when that happens, I seem to suspend my penchant towards this notion of unconditional love. But, suspension doesn't mean I'll totally block out love, it means, my love is always there, but held in abeyance until either my energy turns itself around or the other's turns itself around. A connection must be made. The chief operative for me  is always love. And unfortunately I forget about it. But that's OK...because I always remember it too. And the beauty lately has been, that I have been forgetting less. Which is a switch because I would think that as I age, I would be forgetting more. But, it's become less of a chore to remember. I've become a well oiled champion of love. I can't say it's become effortless, but I'm getting close. And I love it.
I'm coming into my own. I'm getting more attractive as I age. And, none of this, has anything to do with me.  

                                      

The sun came out this afternoon in its full glory and flocks of folks headed downtown to partake in the annual Taste of Buffalo. It's an event where local restaurateurs showcase their fare. One year not too long ago it rained the entire week end on and off for the entire festival. Crowds kept away but those of us with hearty appetites enjoyed the fact that we could partake in some very fine food without nudging through throngs of  hungry folks just to get a taste. Today was different, for a few hours it was elbow to elbow. The sun signaled...hey get off your ass it's time to taste Buffalo. We usually get there early...but Julie our daughter had to work until 2, so we got downtown at approximately the same time every one else did. But it didn't matter. All the scents of food cooking and wafting through the downtown air created a relative calm. But I was hungry as a bear, so I had to act quickly. I didn't look for my favorite food...I looked for a concession stand with the least bit of confusion. Last year's award winning cajun barbecued chicken wings with a piece of corn bread must have become old hat because the line looked rather short. Next, a stuffed banana pepper followed by a crab cake with a side of toasted bread and bruchetta. A couple of cold beers here and some desserts inter mixed. The cool thing about this affair is that we go as a group...which means we all share what's going on within each other's plates. If you don't like what someone has on their plate and they want to share...there's no pressure to say no thank you. I only had one taker for the oysters I ordered....but hey, I simply sucked them down and said...here's to you. I'm not much a sweet eater so I passed a lot on the crepes and the oreo ice cream milkshake and the mango slushie. It all evens out. And it really is quite simple....people gravitate to what the enjoy the most . And the sun always helps bring out this enjoyment. Which reminds me of my mother's golden rule....no drinking until noon. And there were a few times in my life when I have broken that rule...and raised my glass in the air and said...here's to you mom....it's noon somewhere. And the same goes for the sun.


             

For me while the kids were growing up it was mostly Wizard of Oz and the Willy Wonka's chocolate factory movie that had the most play in our living room. I'd come into the room, plop down on a chair,  look at my kids engrossed belly down with hands propping up chins  with no other care in the world. And every time I would say the same dumb thing...I think I saw this movie before and I think I know how it's going to end. But I also know that every night when I sit down to blog, I wonder if I told the story before. I do remember talking about anthems, but I don't remember if it was in a blog. But this hey jude song tonight....I'm thinking, this should be an anthem, no matter how many times it has been heard before. I've listened to this song countless times, but interestingly enough, I never watched a video of it until tonight. And I was fascinated what was going on during the video. I was able to catch every one of  Beatles personalities. So, even though I've listened to this song hundreds of times before, something new was discovered tonight. And it was not just the Beatles that made me glad or sad during the song, it was the faces in the crowd too. There was a great rendition of this song on an a Maynard Ferguson album I had years ago. It's jazzed up and wild and I used to play it at full volume. But even the Beatles couldn't stay harmonized when their enthusiasm and frenzy took off where there song directed them. Which makes me believe that there is this huge reservoir of music, words and feelings that we all tap into and every so often we express it in such a way that it's recognized as vaguely familiar. And then, it becomes an anthem of sorts.

                                           

Sit. Stay. Heel. Give me your paw.Fetch. On and on. Good doggy. Domestication sucks thinks the dog. I was so fucked up and lonely at the pound and what happened, I got adopted by these control freaks. But, I must endure, this has to be better than being tied to a chained link fence like I was before as a junkyard dog. I'm actually lucky they didn't put me down, because I bit that guy  trying to climb over the fence with an armful of copper. How he got in there to begin with I'm not sure. I suspect it was an inside job. But this guy hired an attorney and was able to convince a judge that he was attacked by a viscous dog...and my owner, not willing to pay an attorney, copped a plea and paid they guy about three times the amount he would have got for the copper he was about to steal. $375.00. So, the guy walks away ok because he doubled his pay for the day. His attorney got one third. His attorney actually got screwed on this deal because he initially thought he could get 3 to 5 thousand dollars as a settlement. Little did he know that he would get Judge Margaret Murphy who sits on her bench with her teacup french Pomeranian poodle mix. I wasn't there, but news trickled down from other dogs who were thrown into the pound with me. I wasn't sure if I could trust the information...but I must admit, it sure made me feel good. Please don't get me wrong, I'm not unhappy, I am glad that I was adopted, but being chained to the junkyard fence...(it was a long chain)....I was able to roam here and there... and I loved it when I would lunge towards the fence and show all my teeth and either hit the fence or not have enough slack in the chain and have my neck yanked back and almost pulled out of its socket...but to see the look of fear on the faces of the passers by...damn, that made my day. Now, I'm not so sure if my new home is going to be all that much fun. I already hate obedience school.
                                     

to be or not to be. Or, who the fuck cares. Or whatever. As much as I like to read the responses from any question of the day forum, I generally don't care to participate. Unless of course someone sticks a microphone in my face and a bunch of lights from a movie camera and pops a crazy question at me...like, what's your favorite color ...into my brain's aura  & I will respond somewhat spontaneously and half assedly...the word purple. Why purple? Well ahhhh, when I was in high school I had to read this book the color purple by this black woman...and I can't for the life of me remember her name...I think it was Willa Matthews...or maybe, it was Geneva Brooks...irregardless, ...where was I at....oh yeah, anyway, after I got done reading that book, I started to wear the color purple a lot. Funny thing about that color though, it began to change my life. People started to notice me. They would say things like...nice blouse...and I would reply...no, it's a shirt.  And they would say...nice skirt, and I would say...no, it's a kilt. And they would say, nice underwear, and I would say, no, it's my balls...I have gotten laid in so long, they turned purple. Now, if you don't mind, ask me another question. And if you laugh at this you sick fucker you, I hope you choke on the hot dog you are eating, and your face turns purple. Why are you such an ass? I'm glad you asked. Why is your thumbnail purple? I was hanging a picture of my great uncle Henry when I missed the nail and hit my thumb instead. Did you say fuck? Fuck yes...it hurt like a sonofabitch. Good, we have a lot in common. Thank you for your response. By the way, did you know that there's no such word as irregardless? Yes he said, pulling her closer to him and yes she said, do you have a condom (good question) and yes he said (a fucking liar) and yes, yes, yes. This is so cliche...but I'm smiling...yes. Is it new for you?

(btw this was written for a lady who dropped me a while back...she knows who she is...forgive me, and come back) ....who is she?   now, there's a question. (hint, she's gaian)

It's obvious she doesn't.....what should I do next?
                                                            


                         

It's just the way language lays in my head, but often, I find myself asking the question....what do you mean? I mean, I even ask that of myself. I suppose, in an indirect way, this blog is for vicki tonight. And yet, these words can't be limited towards one person because they hail from a limitless soup of wiggles, squiggles and sloop. Sloop? What the fuck are you talking about, there ain't no such a word as sloop. Actually there is such a word, but it just din't fit in where it was placed. Where should it have it been placed? On a boat in a river.Or is that in a boat on a river.  Oops, I made this vow that I won't manipulate the language anymore. To whom? no one. sheepishly. wow, where did that come from. can you say baa? abba. Yes, I hear a song in my head. I'm a black sheep and I have no wool. Me, I'm a goat, I love to lick the glue off tin can labels....too bad they don't do that anymo'.  Are you the black sheep? No sir, 3 bags full. Oh ok...me I'm just gonna pull the wool over my own eyes. I'm too tired to count sheep sohummm maybe I'll just dream of lamb chops and goat stew. I hate going to bed hungry, but I think, that's just the way it's got to be tonight. Damn, those little sheep look so sweet and juicy jumpimg over that fence. But, who's counting. Maybe if I build a fire.Yum. hummmm

                                    

I want to share a poem that I enjoyed reading in the New Yorker magazine this week. I love reading poetry but not all poems hit home. This one did. It made me feel as though I was there with Mary. And so does the Hendrix song. So if you see a mary today...give her a hug.

Mary at the Tattoo Shop

by Marcus Jackson July 21, 2008

                                                                    

I don't know about you, but my phone never rang off the hook. As a politician I hear that bullshit phrase all the time, especially in regards to an issue. Just yesterday I heard this legislator say in caucus that his phone was ringing off the hook. How many phone calls does it take for that damn thing to jump off the hook...three or four. And more than likely the legislator himself was not there to witness it.  Some time after this barrage of calls...possibly two or three days later there's a little post it note on the phone on his desk that says something like this: if the phone isn't working properly it was because the other day it was ringing so much it fell off your desk. Don't worry, it was mostly your mother calling. Actually, to tell the truth, there was about five or six little post it notes...mostly from his mom. One said, I hope you haven't given up on undershirts, another said, if you're anywhere near the market on Thursday I could use some beets for borscht. But here's the dilemma folks...phones on hooks have become obsolete. So maybe we should change the phrase. My phone was ringing so much it jumped out of my shirt  pocket. They don't make phones like they used to. Years ago a phone could take a fall, but not now. I've gone through three cell phones already this year. My phone was ringing so much (and I was at a meeting) (and I had it on vibrate) I had an orgasm. And then, much later when I was at the psychiatrist I explained what occurred because I wondered if I was having any oedipal issues because most of the messages that were left  on my phone were from my mom. He was about to explain, but his phone rang, it was his wife...(she's a loud mouth bitch...I heard every word she said) and by the time he got back to me we started to talk about something else. When I got back to my car I said ...oh fuck, I never got an answer to my question....and my phone rang...it was my mom....were you able to get the beets?

                                                   

I was once told that symbols play a large part in my life. I'm not a flag waver, I don't wear religion around my neck, but I do believe that some of the other stuff I do put on here and there should make some sort of subtle statement every now and again. I love spontaneity, but I also love a little purpose too. I don't wear colognes, but I will soak in a tub  while relaxing and reading a magazine with a few drops of patchouli oil tossed in to make it sensual. And, about once a year, someone will pick up on it and comment...you smell like a hippie. It's mostly women who pick up on this, but one time this young man picked up on it and asked...what cologne are you wearing, I really like it. I told him and he said I never heard of it before. And when I told him, he asked, how do you spell patchouli. And, if the kid was anything like me, he wouldn't remember the word...let alone the spelling. I've done that a lot of time with scents myself...especially when I was out and about to pick up the bride a new fragrance. I'd go into the mall and the first thing I would do is walk up to a perfume counter and spray a few samples. A shot of this one on the forearm of the left hand and a shot of that one on the wrist of the same hand. The process would be repeated on the opposite hand with two other fragrances. A fifth fragrance would be sprayed on a little card and placed into my shirt pocket. And then, I would walk the mall and do all my other shopping. This was usually done around christmas time. As I walked through the mall going from store to store I would take a sniff here and there of a fragrance. Nope, don't like this one....hmmm, this has potential...yuck, this gags me, nah,and etc. Since I always wait until the last moment to do any form of shopping I usually don't have enough time left to go back to the first store I stopped in. But, I always make sure that I have another day or two left to go back to exchange sizes and pick up something I forgot. So, a lot of times when I wake up the next morning I catch a scent of something exciting. But, the problem is, I don't remember which bottle the scent came out of. So after I shit shower and shave, I go back to the store and I go to the perfume counter. I smell my left forearm and I can still pick up a faint scent of the fragrance. Excuse me ma'am...I was here last night and I fell in love with this scent It's very faint here on my forearm...do you think you could recognize it and point me in the right direction. Sniff sniff...all I can smell is Ivory Soap. Shit...well, can you give me some of that Estee Lauder over there in the perfume and the body lotion too. Do you think you may like the powder too. No thanks, it makes my wife sneeze.

                                    

This is in response to Nicole's blog the other day. She gave out a general tag to any person wanting to participate in the game. I bit. And the same goes for anybody out there. Play if you wish. The last time I attempted to play tag I touched this woman's boobs and she got pissed. I always say...why play if you're gonna get an attitude.
 

I HAVE  a beautiful life

I WISH  Obama wins and I wish I just didn’t jinx him

  I AM tired of seeing people state I am. I mean really now…they can’t be serious.

I THINK way too much, but it’s like a toy for me.

I KNOW how to cook.

I HATE when I slip and I use the word hate.

I FEAR  something silly everyday…it changes.

I MISS  peeing in a diaper.

I HEAR  OK! But I DON’T LIKE SHOUTING.  

I CRAVE  until I catch myself craving 

I SEARCH FOR a lost fountain pen

I WONDER  if there is a god

I REGRET  not becoming an English lit teacher  

I LOVE  beer

I BELIEVE IN  god, even though I wonder if there is one

I SING  when I feel like it

I LOSE patience, until I realize there’s no place to go

I ALWAYS find humor

I AM SCARED that one day I will shit my pants while farting and sneezing at the same time.

I AM HAPPY because I do not think that I am

Please forgive me...I know I already posted this song.

 

 

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Poor Ann Coulter got cut up today on this loving gaian universe. Someone even referred to her as a "c" and that doesn't mean conservative. When I was a kid, C always meant cancer. Now, if I said, gee, I wish cancer on that conservative cunt coulter bitch, I'd be a real fucking asshole cocksucker. But I won't say it. It wouldn't be kind. I really don't know anything more about Ann than what I read in the newspaper. And what I read is not much...I shut down the reading process when I don't enjoy what I'm reading. I've even done that to the world's greatest novels. And the same goes for stuff on TV. I even stopped watching the constant barrage of 911 reportage after a couple of days. It's not that I was insensitive, I just feared I was going to get numbed. And by shutting down, it doesn't mean I'm closed minded, it just means that I need some time to ponder this shit alone. Even Buddha and Jesus did that. I don't know if Joan of Arc did that because she became the fire of the trees that once used to be the forest. I'm smiling a mile wide. On the west coast tonight valiant men and women are still in the process of putting out forest fires. It has been determined that some careless fuck started the whole goddamn thing. A zippo lighter and a kool cigarette butt were found in lip of the charred remains of an individual (possibly a male) (we're awaiting reports of further testing) and also the remains of what looks like somewhat of a sheep. That's it for tonight tonight folks...we'll be back at 11...with the cunt Ann (you know her last name...let's be kind)  doing the weather. After that, stay tuned for Jay Leno doing his sophomoric crap.
                                      
p.s. if you read this far and are still offended by what you read...I apologize          


btw...can you guess which chaka I like the best?

I was out with my three daughters tonight for supper at a downtown pub. Eric too was with us, he dates our eldest Malina and he's been a regular lately. The bride was out with her sister and her aunt Fanny, so the rest of us decided to try out this pub for some sup. And it was an almost perfect evening except for it being minus mom. And when situations like this occur when one or more of the immediate family cannot partake, we call it cheating. If I took the gals to a local fast food restaurant, that would not be considered cheating. When my son is home and we sneak off to a thai or vietnamese restaurant, that is not considered cheating. Tonight, this downtown pub was considered cheating...simply because the gals were saying stuff like mom would like this...or mom would like that...while scanning their menu. So, when we all hook up later on when the bride comes home from her dinner with her sister and aunt and we tell her of our fine food and our good time, she'll call us cheaters. Mostly because her aunt Fanny loves this local restaurant that none of us in our household really care for and that's where she supped tonight. Which is a very odd thing, because the restaurant is generally jammed packed with a nice group of folks waiting in line to get in. We as a family have been there before, but we can't understand the draw. Which is weird because we're not the least bit stuffy or high brow...but there's something about this restaurant that didn't turn us on. But then again, choosing a restaurant for us is not always an easy task. Lately it's gotten easier with Luke being out of town and Malina having an apartment on the west side...but still, with what's left of us, there's always a dialogue about where we should go out to eat...and  at times, not cheat. And, I'm not sure what my point is tonight. We don't go out to eat all that often, and we are grateful that we can, we leave a generous tip and we always bring home something for the dogs. And most important of all, we are aware of the word cheat.
                       

This is for me for me here on in...not you. I personally will not use the word ego anymore. Or should I say annoymore. Anyway. I overuse the word anyway too. But fuck it...it's less annoying than ego. Lately the word ego has seemed to become more of a scapegoat than anything else. Blame my ego. Hey, I'm sorry I was such an asshole last night...my ego got in the way. I would've danced with you...I actually ached to dance the tango with you, but something was telling me that I was way much better than you...and you didn't deserve to be on the same dance floor with my ego. I mean...I really wanted to dance with you, but this damn ego kept on saying...hey man, wake up, she's not your style. I just love reservations. I want to call it the filter. So I said...what do you think ego...can you live with filter. Yeah, but be careful, this is alter ego speaking. Well, what does super ego have to say about all this. I don't know, it's bad enough I have an ego to begin with, but now I have an alter and super one too. Nah, that was forty years ago...nobody pays attention to Freud anymore. Why's that? He always had his finger up his ass. Was it an ego thing? I think it was more of an id thing. Id, what the hell is that? I'm not quite sure, but I think id is short for libido. Yeah, that makes sense. But really it doesn't....that's why I simplified everything lately by attaching all significance to the ego. I had to simplify my world. And I only have me to blame if it goes wrong. Who are you?     ......     isn't she a bit like you and we. I make my words and meanings as I go along. ......           ..........    Yes, I agree.

Around here I'm usually the cause of the mix up. Not too long ago I was sitting at a meeting in the evening. About a half hour earlier I had kissed my wife good bye (so long for those that don't like to say good bye) and told her that I would probably be back in a couple of hours. And she said, have fun at your meeting...in about a half hour I'll pick up Julie (our youngest) from her friend's house and then we'll stop in at Target to pick up a few things. OK, I'll catch you in a bit. Not long afterward, I was nestled in my chair for the neighborhood revitalization meeting and my phone began to buzz. It was my wife calling. I thought damn...she knows I'm at a meeting, so I pressed the ignore button. Moments later there was another vibrating buzz...this time it was a text message from my wife: it read, by any chance, do you have my keys. I looked at the table where I had just plopped my phone and stuff and atop of my yellow legal pad next to my pen, sat my keys. I immediately thought phew, I'm glad I have my keys instead of hers and then immediately following that phew I placed my hand on my right side and patted my pants pocket. I felt a bulge. I silently said oh fuck, these must be my wife's keys. I stuck my hand in my pants and pulled out the bulge. (smirk)  Sure enough, I had my wife's keys. I stood up abruptly and said...excuse me folks, I have to leave. I have my wife's keys...along with my keys and she needs her keys to pick up our daughter. I'll be back in about fifteen minutes. In situations like this, a spare key would have come in handy. Unfortunately the spare key to her car was on my key ring and the spare key to my car is on her key ring. I am not going to buy a third set of keys. In fact, I don't want any keys at all in my life. I don't like having anything that I need a key for. I like to leave everything open so I don't have to fuck around with a key. Now that to me would be utopia. For a few moments...ponder a life without keys.

                              

As much as I like to think I'm spontaneous I'm probably not. I may even be quick witted at times but I'm probably more scripted and deliberate than I wish to me. So what. End of blog. Oh yeah, fuck you, tonight you're going to be spontaneous whether you like it or not. OK muse, I seem to think you have an edge so I'm going to follow you. Start all over. I actually started this an hour ago, I left to pick up something for the bride at the convenience store and  when I got back I sat down and I was summoned up by our daughter who wanted me to get a bee out of her bedroom. So here I am muse, I finally am here to do your will. Nothing. More nothing. Are you pissed at me. Nothing. Is silence the same as nothing. Hmm I wonder. More nothing...and a little bit of silence. Don't you love it when people say they have writer's block. I've never had writer's block because I've never claimed to be a writer, but I've had many episodes of blank. I somewhat like it when my mind goes blank. I didn't always used to. It used to frighten me. Holy fuck, what am I going to say...like my next word was going to change someone's life. Lately I'm comfortable with not even finishing sentences. But that's not true, I will generally finish a sentence, even if it takes three days to do it. And that's fun too. Especially when someone asks...what the hell are you talking about. Anyway, I think I'm comfortable again and the muse has returned and she's sitting on my lap and my wife is watching me squirm and she asks what's wrong with you tonight can't you get comfortable in your little corner of the world. And she scared the muse who's now  on my back and I shrug my shoulders and wonder if there's a remote chance for redemption. And a slight voice is heard...whose redemption. And I look over at my wife, and she's busy putting the magazines back in the magazine rack. And I look over my shoulder...and there's nothing there. And I look back up on this screen and there you are. I'm so glad you didn't desert me. And now what? Maybe after three days I'll tell you.

                                    

Actually twice already this summer I've gotten a stiff neck from air conditioning. The damn thing bothered me so much last night I couldn't even sit down by the computer. I feel much better today..thank you. But I'm still going to whine about something. I just began my preparation  for tomorrow morning's colonoscopy. I figure if Katie Couric can have hers done on TV...I  certainly can blog about mine. It's only taken me about ten years to actually schedule one. My doctor actually stopped bugging me about it for a long while...except for my yearly visit about a week ago. He was very direct. He said...I've got your numbers where I want them...your pressure is fine, your cholesterol is great, your heart and lungs sound good, you haven't smoked in years...so take this script and get the damn colonoscopy done so I can tell if something is beginning to rot your ass. So, I did listen. I am twenty minutes into the two bisacodyl tablets I swallowed with water. As soon as the first bowel movement occurs I have to drink 8 ounces of this halflytely fluid every ten minutes until I finish the container full of it. And this my friends I am going to despise. I'm already uncomfortable because I missed lunch, not to mention the forthcoming supper I am going to miss later on. But, I will attempt not to go back and forth with this issue, I will attempt to be as much as possible into the now of this entire process. But it's tough, because I'm already thinking about 3pm, the time I generally take our dogs out for their afternoon walk. Do I dare today take them out for their walk. I have no idea how these chemicals will react in my system. But I know me, I'm willing to bet that I'll be out there walking. But that's me thinking now. I'm also willing to say that the bowels will end up having a mind of their own.
Well, enough said on this unappealing topic...I better go.

                                                      

No, if I can remember correctly, it was she who handed me the apple. And it wasn't a delicious one, it was more like a jongold. Bullshit, they didn't have them back then. Yes, you're correct...you caught me. Do you want to do that ala mode thing tonight?  Hmmm...that's tempting. Where?  In the garden. Yuck, the last time we were in the garden the mosquitoes were biting like crazy. Well, just spray some off on you. It's not that easy. I always get some on my lips and I hate the taste of that stuff. I hope you're talking about the off stuff. Yes, that's what I'm referring to. You're lucky, I thought you were talking about me. Well, it could be you too...I mean if some of my off rubbed on to you and I kissed that particular part, I wouldn't like the taste of it. It would be like masking the original. You're being devilish tonight aren't you. Call it what you want baby...I'm just hungry for you. Here, have a bite of this apple. I'm sorry...I can't. I can't eat any solids until sometime tomorrow after I'm through with my colonoscopy. Yuck...you can be so unromantic at times...I think you need a good hosing. Ooo baby, I love it when you talk that way. Go to bed jerkball and pray that the doctor doesn't have both hands on your shoulder while he's doing that procedure in the morning. I made sure of that...I have a woman doctor. Well, don't be so sure buddy...you'll be out cold while it's happening. Yes, but won't you be there holding my hand. Maybe, if you take a bite of this apple.




                                                

Being put out is a small wonder. We're going to inject something to relax you a little bit and ZONK. The next thing I knew, I was looking up at a ceiling and after the initial thought of where the fuck am I, I wondered if the procedure had even taken place. Everything went well. Wow, that's great can I go home and eat. First you'll have to sit up for a little bit. How are you feeling now. Pretty good. OK, now sit on that chair and take your time getting your clothes on. Did you call my wife. Yes, she said she'll be here by noon. What time is it now. It's 11:30. Here, I'll pull the curtain over so you can change into your clothes. When you're finished changing just pull the curtain open so we can get you into a wheelchair. Damn man, where the hell have I been. I do remember talking to the doctor when he came in. It was somewhat funny. He was being serious and so was I until he asked me what finally prompted me to get this procedure done. And I said, my primary doctor told me to quit fucking around and get a colonoscopy. And the nurse and the doc where shocked and smiley. And the doctor asked...did he really say that to you. And I said nah...but I knew that was what he was thinking. Shortly thereafter everything went dark. I could have been dead for a half hour for all I know, and for all I know, the seeing of the ceiling was a near death experience. But, saying all that, I know it's all debatable and I must say that today I did experience a miracle. My wife arrived at 11:45 and she's usually the type of person who will get some place about a minute before she tells you she'll be there. On the other hand, I'd hate to tell you how long I had to wait this morning because I wanted to get there 15 minutes before I was supposed to. Good night...I think I need some dreams.