Janet and I met in real time. Although, even though I drove for six hours to get to Ann Arbor, she did all the work to make it happen. She drove two hours from her hometown just so we could meet in person and chat. For this I am grateful. Some people wouldn't do that for their first cousins...not to mention mother in the same breath. This is a testament for the wonderful gaian relationships I have formed with so many nice people.  And I loved our little meeting, and I encourage each and every one of you (if you haven't done so already)  to do the same. But, saying that, I also respect a person's need to stay anonymous...however....being real is more fun than being paranoid. I knew I was going to have to have my guard up with Janet (she's got two black belts you know) but I also knew enough to go with my gut feeling too. When she first arrived in Ann Arbor and I was walking down to street to greet her, I made sure I was ready to protect my mid section just in case she attempted to thrust a kick my way. I was tentative at first, but as we got closer to each other, she kinda gave me this little smirk and gleam, and I knew it was OK for us to hug. It was a very nice and warm gaian hug... but I got called for holding, and she pulled out a whistle from her back pocket, blew it hard...and I got a two minute penalty. Now, I'm going to say something that I dislike immensely (hate) when I hear other people use this phrase...but seriously folks..I mean, that's as bad as doing lol all the time or he he he, or even haha. So, the point is, Janet and I were finally able to transcend that hehe, haha lol kind of relationship. You can't hide the truth all that well when you're face to face. So in our chat, we learned a lot about each other. We inflected, we smirked, we listened, we allowed for our friendly vibes to bounce off each other, we broke bread...and it was in all the simple ordinary day to day, person to person stuff that we got a lot closer than our fingers hitting letters on a keyboard. And once again, I am grateful that she took the time, to drive my way. And, by the way, she can drive a stick shift. And she also has all these crazy sticks in her car to beat you up and fend you off...just in case you get too close. I love her dearly (actually dearly is another stupid word) (how about a lot instead) (you see how awkward this medium can get)   I hope she likes the picture I posted. And I also would like to meet with her again, just so we could continue our conversation about Babette's Feast and Portland, Oregon & her mom and dad & sisters too, as well as other stuff.
                                     

I would say that I'm pretty much a home body. As a kid, our vacations were never all that far away. I didn't get to Florida or California until I got out of the Army. I suppose the fact that my grandparents left Poland in the late 1800's and came to America was enough adventure for my bloodstream. But, I did travel to Poland in the summer of '72 just to see what it was that my grandparents left to come to America for. Roots. Who am I, where did I come from & why am I here. I don't know, although sometimes I care to know. My son Luke and I had this discussion the other day. We had this discussion about identity. He asked me what my response is when people ask me about my nationality. Since I was born in America, I always respond that I am a Polish-American. But, both my parents were born in America, so I really am an American. Nothing was watered down from my genetic pool though, so I must think that I am more Polish than American. I always say that my wife is Irish, but that's not really so. Her father, who was born in America, was the son of Irish immigrants. Now, the bride's mother was more of a mixed bag. Her grandfather was English...and her grandmother was German with a possible mix of Irish....although Gloria, my mother in law always seemed to identify herself as being Irish...possibly, through marriage. I would think, that within the next ten thousand years none of this shit will matter. We'll all be the color of beige.

Is that the same as flow through. Who cares. But, it may be something to think about. Flow through versus flowing through. One seems lighter than the other...doesn't it. But one seems sexier than the other. For example, see through versus seeing through. Transparency. Now there's a word that's surfaced lately in the political realm. I have heard politicians say that that government needs to be more transparent. Personally I think that's bullshit. I think government needs to be more opaque. So, let me tell you this tonight, in plain black and white, that there is no such thing as truth and if you want some form of epiphany, satori or what ever the fuck they call it...close your eyes and seek it there in darkness. Of course you know, if you have followed thus far, you're up to your chin in bullshit too. A man gets to the pearly gates of heaven and he appears before St. Peter... (this means nothing to jews, buddhists, hindi etc.) (although some muslims would probably be disappointed that peter was not seven virgins) and Peter says welcome, you have a choice of three doors...the room you pick, is the one you will have to keep for eternity. The man listened at the first door and he heard a lot of laughter...when he got to the second door, he heard a lot of groans and cries...and when he got to the third door, he heard absolutely nothing...and he thought to himself, this sounds peaceful. He turned to St.Peter and said...I'll take door # 3.  And Peter said, go ahead and enter. And, as soon as the man opened the door he saw thousands and thousands of people standing there with floating shit up to their necks and they began to murmur....welcome..welcome...but don't make waves...don't make waves. And the man looked over to St. Peter and said...you're a fucking asshole...and he took a half dozen steps backwards and bolted towards the room and jumped into the air and cannonballed his way into eternity. High fives and cheers abounded...

                        

In today's paper it has been reported that a famous rock star was found dead of an overdose. In china today part of the great wall has fallen. As we speak, a seagull is leaving a white chalky looking substance on a rock off the shores of Cape Hateras. Gustav has left for now. People were given permission to come home too soon. So much of what we are asked to do is done in the dark. Ouch, I just stubbed my toe on a rock. Yuck, I just stepped on a dead rock star. And on and on it goes making one wonder how much is to be believed that is covered in the paper. When I was a kid, paper was essential to wrap garbage in...especially chicken bones. But actually most everything was wrapped in the paper before it hit the can. Any fruit or vegetable you peeled had to be wrapped. Coffee grounds were wrapped in paper too. It was the first line of defense against stray dogs, cats and rodents. Our trash cans were of galvanized steel and they also had lids to them. Mondays were our garbage days. It was my job to hose down the cans before I put them back in the garage. Weather permitting of course. No use being super anal during the freezing winter months. Although, one of my other chores was to bring in the milk from the milk-box when I got home from school...and of course there were times when I fucked up (and it was winter) and the milk froze, expanded & broke the glass bottles it came in and I caught the heat of the wrath of my mother when she found out I was remiss in my duties. But she was cool, because she never mentioned it to dad. Anyway, I'm looking for a pair of scissors so I can cut out the article from the paper about this dumb rock star who overdosed on similac...thinking it was cocaine. How stupid, but it has to be true...it was in the paper.

                            


                                                                

The pace at which everything moves makes me dizzy while I am sitting still thinking I am being still. I don't meditate, which probably means I do. I don't follow anything...which must be a lie. How would I know if I didn't hear from someone...this is the way I do what I do. I mean, to sit quietly and do nothing had to come from somewhere. Hey, what the fuck are you doing...the break's over. I'm sitting. You can sit all you want, but we don't get paid for sitting around here. OK, then I'll go begging. Fine with me, just get out of my (work) site you lazy piece of shit. Knock knock! Hello, is that you Tommy, from meals on wheels. No, It's me, Sensorji, a simple beggar who would like to know if you have any tidbits or morsels you could put into my little bowl here. Come on in, I have a pear, a half of a baloney sandwich  and some 2% milk...but, your bowl looks pretty small. You're absolutely correct ma'am, so if you don't mind, I'll just take the pear. Well, do you have any friends that would care for the half sandwich and milk. No ma'am I'm alone on this path. Well, could  you put the sandwich and milk in the fridge...I may have an appetite for them tomorrow. Gladly. Step, step, step shuffle shuffle...ma'am...there's not a whole lot of room in your refrigerator, where should I put these. What do you mean there's no room in there,I haven't grocery shopped in months. Well, you have months of half baloney sandwiches and little cartons of 2% milk in there. Could you do me a favor. Throw them out. Yes, that may not not be a bad idea. But please make sure you check the dates on those cartons before you toss anything in the garbage. A monk is thinking: holy fuck, I wonder if I wouldn't be better off working. The old woman is sitting....outside a dog is chasing its tail...and water is falling on the Canadian side of her view.

                                         

The bride was at the mall this afternoon and she purchased a tin of caramel popcorn from a kid that she thought was really cute. She paid thirteen bucks for that tin and even while she was paying for it, she thought...my, this is mighty steep...but...it's for a good cause.  And, I must say, the popcorn is really good, even though it's not worth 13 bucks. But, it's not about the money as it is about the cause. The cause is the boy scouts of america. As a kid, I was a scout. I got to be a life scout...which is the next step before one becomes an eagle scout. I quit scouting because I was ready to. Sometimes I wish I would have stayed to make the eagle rank, but mostly I know I made the right decision to not. The other day, there was an article in the paper about a 93 year old man who went back to high school and finally got his high school diploma. I wonder if any troop would welcome me with open arms if I went their meeting and said that I would like to become an eagle scout. I would hope, that they would throw my ass out. But, this may be something to consider now that their enrollment has been dipping these last ten to fifteen years. Recruit those that really wanted to be, but decided not to, because they had to find a girlfriend, get a job and drive a car.  So, who are our eagle scouts out there. I wonder if Obama is an eagle scout..or McCain or Joe. I almost think Sarah was a Den mother at one time, but if I would say that she spat out way too many kids right after one another to have any time to do so, I would be considered a sexist pig etc. And yet, we had women just like that who were den mothers at our local cub scout troop. They wore these spiffy yellow shirts with hand sewn emblems and red numbers on their shoulders only to assist their precious sons to become patriotic...and if need be (God forbid) good citizens and soldiers. Former President Ford (in his clumsy way) was an Eagle scout and he made me proud because of all the wrong reasons. And I apologize if I am pissing off scouters with this blog...kids (all  kids..white, black, green, yellow and orange too) need to learn how to be kind, generous, trustworthy ... and to be able to pitch a tent and tie bow lines and slip knots...but, also be given credit when they realize they are being tied down by a philosophy and have this need to slip away. Hey you.. yes you...the pudgy kid with the orange hair and the albino body...how the hell are are you going to make the rank if you're not willing to take that little old lady across the street. Sir, I tried, but she said....if you don't get your fucking hands off me, I'm gonna blow your fucking head off with my walther ppk.

                          

But I promise it will never be the same again. Right now will never be the same again. And that's what it's all about, chasing last night's high. Or last night's low. Or last night's in between if you were lucky enough to get there or lucky enough not to get anywhere close to that place, especially if you had taken some vows. Never again will I say never again. Well, never again, in  this time and place, with these particular clothes on and a stupid fucking bug buzzing about and me, attempting to wave it away like it really wants to buzz off from this computer screen it's attracted to. What now. Maybe a spiffy quote from Eckhart Tolle. Nothing comes to mind. That's a good start. And it was a good finish too. Who said so. Me. because it's my blog and I can say what I please. So, here's how you do it. Throw out all the books and the therapies and bend over and begin to pull up your boot straps.If you have begun to question this advice because you don't wear boots, good for you, for you know this news is more stale than ageless. But, if you want to get with it, you better start browsing the internet for a good pair of cowboy boots. Please, there's a lot of imitations out there so this is not the time to be impulsive. Red is OK, but remember, what's really red in real life. You might think licorice...but no, that's a dye. Also, I would seriously consider a pursuit of red because I've been told that mustard is the new ketchup. You should pursue the color mustard with relish. And remember, as your mother's grandmother used to say...don't get caught with mustard on you face. And if you do...get on with it...after all, you're only human.

                                                                     


                                           

I love it. Last week my wife called me and asked if I could come over with  a camera  to where she was watching Cammi, the almost 3 yr old she nanny's for. And I asked what for, and she said, to snap a picture of a face Cammi just drew on the chalk board. The bride said she loved it and wanted to save it so she could do something with it and surprise Cammi's parents with it. Yes, that would be neat, a rendition of a three year old imagination of a face placed on a coffee mug for dear old mom and dad. Honey, can't you just snap a shot of this with your camera and text it to me and I'll check it out and make a determination if it could be used for a coffee mug. Yes, but I'm not sure if I'm doing it correctly...you're the one who likes to diddle with cameras. Yeah, you're right, but I usually like to diddle on my own terms...just give me ten minutes to jump in the shower and I'll scoot right over. Vibrate, vibrate, vibrate coming from the pocket of the pair of pants lying on the floor near the tub. A towel is grabbed off the rack and a vigorous rubbing motion is used on the hands to ensure that they will be extremely dry when they will be used to pick up the pants and dig through the pockets to pluck out a delicate cell phone that should never get wet. Excuse me sir, we can't replace this phone, even though it's still on warranty because of the moisture...and as according to the stipulations you signed last year almost at this time, it clearly states that any moisture is a no no. That was an episode from a year before, so I really knew now, how to handle my pants and my cell phone while my palms were more than damp. Anyway, when I got to my pants and pulled out my cell with my extremely dry hands I noticed I had text message from the bride. She had sent me this pix and I thought, good, now I don't have to go down to where she was at to snap a few more shots...but I did so regardless...not to take any more pictures of this magnificent little drawing, but just to get an opportunity to catch it in real life, with the artist right there, available for commentary.

                                       

your fly is open. Well if that fucking fly is so open I wish it would fly out while I am standing here with the door open wide so it can have some old found freedom... familiar turf....so to speak.(it's tough being a buddhist...you know) (bullshit)  One day, not too long ago...possibly 20 or twenty-five years ago while I was working as a mortgage tax examiner at the county hall, there was this pretty young woman attorney doing a real estate closing and she was in my line and I noticed her zipper was down.(pant suits were just coming in) And I don't remember how my eyes got that far down because generally I like to maintain eye contact. But, that doesn't much matter because I happened to catch this view and I was obsessed with it...oh my god..oh my god...how embarrassing...how can I alert her in a kind and proper way. That's easy enough to do with a loved one...hey jerkball, where are you going unzipped...you better zip it up before you look like a complete fool out there.However, with a complete stranger, I think you have to be a lot more discrete & diplomatic. Mind you, this occurred long before political correctness came into vogue, so I know (if you are old enough) you can appreciate the dilemma I was in. I was thankful that she had silk underwear on, I think I would have been a lot less comfortable if I saw some bare skin and a few hairs coming from that opening. However, as she finally approached my window, I knew I had to tell her about her zipper being down. Maybe the little lock on it had busted...I mean, this was at the time when a lot of our clothing was made overseas. Shoddy goods is what I think they were referred to...but, this was no time to pass judgment. Ma'am, the total tax for this deal is 375 dollars and I love the smell of your strawberry douche. Oh my god, my zipper is down...thank you.  Now of course I know, this is not funny and if by chance you want to do a lol in your mind you will one day be caught in some public situation with your barn door wide open. (and the flies will be hanging around)    jeepers...when the fuck will you grow up?

                    

Do you ever wonder where patience goes. I usually don't, but tonight I just did. Excuse me Tom, I have to go to the bathroom. Sure...take your time...should I order you a cocktail in the meantime. Sure, I'll have a raspberry vodka and tea. She's been gone a long time...I wonder if she's ok...the ice is melting in her drink. Christ almighty, I didn't expect there would be such a line to get into that crappy little shithouse of a hole they call a bathroom around here. Well, it is Friday night and a lot of folks are here for the fish fry. Fuck them, fuck their religion, fuck their pope, fuck their rabbi...guru...and fuck you too. You mean me. Yes you too. Here, take a sip of your drink. I need more ice. Excuse me, could you please put a little more ice in this. Sure. Here...are you folks ready to order. Yes, I'll have the fish fry...and what about you honey. I'll have a tossed salad, no tomatoes, ranch dressing, and a pita pocket on the side...and will you throw this lame excuse for a cocktail down that smelly toilet over there (she points)  you labeled as a ladies room. Yes.  ( she's thinking...what a bitch) Gosh, I'm as hungry as a bear. I wish I could say the same. Here's your fish and here's your salad. Thank you. Where's my pita. Oh I'm sorry, we're out of pita...can I bring you a sub roll instead. Umm, no thank you. Is everything fine with you sir. Yes, but can you bring me some tartar sauce. Sure. Sir, I'm sorry, but we're all out of tartar sauce. May I speak to the manager please. Hi, I'm Patience..how may I be of assistance to you tonight. A tug is felt on my shoulder and I am gently pulled towards my bride's whisper. Let it go I hear...this woman before you had nothing to do with this debacle. Well Patience...everything was just fine...except for the ladies room...which is a tad foul.I apologize for that sir and because of this inconvenience we'd like to offer you a free dessert with your dinner tonight. Did it work. Yeah...what do you want. I think I'll take the strawberry shortcake supreme. (this is almost tragic....do you think there are people who really think this way)  ?  yeah, and some may even vote this November.

                                                    

Scooching is cool no matter what time of year it is. I'm mentally scooching with the bride right now. She snapped this photo last winter at the zoo. She told me she really liked the photo and I thought ok and that was the end of it. Tonight I was thinking that I better get off my ass and snap some photos because my memory card is almost empty. I'm not much of a saver when it comes to snapshots. As soon as I use a photo for a blog I generally erase it the next day. Because I like to toss stuff out so much this has caused some arguments in an otherwise blissful marriage. And 95% of the time when the bride can't find something she's looking for, whether it be in the attic, cupboard, basement, medicine cabinet, closet, garage or trunk of the car she accuses me of throwing it out. And, as much as I have learned to respect stuff laying around that I consider useless, there are times that I must lose my mind and just unconsciously throw things out. (this I believe I inherited from my mother) (she used to lose her mind over dumb shit too) Anyway, I have entered a 12 step program to help rid me of the bad habits I inherited from my genetic pool. I don't much care for the program because I don't care to listen to all the other babbling people who inherited bad habits from their parents. I usually just sit there and listen, but the group leader is always prodding me to join in. I'm going on my own accord, so I suppose I could stop anytime I desire...but I've heard my wife say to me so many times ...why can't you just leave things alone...that I've decided maybe she's right...maybe I need to go somewhere and hash this thing out. Besides, this program costs nothing and I figured if I went to a professional I wouldn't be able to afford to go to the Michigan-Illinois game in Ann Arbor next month. It should be fun...they'll be seven of us going...and we'll be renting a van. I'm just hoping that my wife won't be poking around for that one valise that I thought we no longer had any use for. I love driving so I'll be behind the wheel...which is selfish on my part...I don't enjoy scooching for any more than an hour at a time. And, I'd love to tell you about this one guy the other night and this habit he acquired from his dad...but I'm thinking...I better not....it'd be like throwing him out to the wolves...naked...on a cold winter day.

                                                      

I may have blogged about this dumb experience before, but I will do so again. I remember anniversary's a lot but I don't understand the significance of why certain events are worth remembering. On this day, 42 yearsago I entered the U.S. Army. I was a young 19. I wonder if there is such a thing as an old 19. I think I may have heard someone say that another someone was old beyond their age. Anyway, it doesn't much matter, the Army got my ass way back then and I din't have enough sense to say fuck the war and go live in a place that's loonier than the place I call home.  Another war is going on and I'm still stupid enough to stay put. But, I can say officially...fuck the war. At a young 19, I didn't know a whole lot about war, and what it was good for. Back on this day in 1966, it was somewhat odd  to all of a sudden get some new parents. Well, let's just say, that I got adopted by my uncle sam. I didn't know my uncle all that well and I found out real soon that we were not even remotely related. And, this was the first time in my life that I no longer revered the title of uncle. I started to believe in aunty samantha. But it was way too late to change persuasions because I was in the army now and not behind a plow and digging ditches besides. But, I was going along with it because I thought I was doing it all for us and our silly ass freedom which lately we seem to have given up on.Or maybe it's just me. But, I'm glad I went in the army, I must say I became educated. I think we should draft more people so like thinkers can infiltrate the process.

                                       

Sam & Dave Soul Man

 

A bit earlier Kellie (our 20 yr old) was cutting through the dining room and she was singing these words: I'm just a soul whose intentions are good...and I said whoa, are you listening to the oldies station...and she said no...lil wayne has a hip hop version of that song (that I know you love from way back when) (of course this was unspoken and surmised by me) (I mean, I know my kids a little...but I won't ever claim to know their secrets) (why would I even want to)   and that's where I picked up on it today.  Well I said, I think I'll plug it into my blog tonight. And she said...I don't know if a lot of your friends will like this version. So, here we are. Play it if you wish, comment on it if you wish, or, take your fucking clothes off right now. Pour some coffee in your little belly button hole. Now what? Who asked that question? I did. Who are you? I'm Mike from three doors down. So, what brings your here? Well I was just walking by and I noticed a naked woman on a couch pouring what I thought was hot tim horton's coffee in her belly button region and since I'm an explorer going for a merit badge I thought it would be good to pop in and see if I could be of service. You can only imagine what happened next. I tossed Mike and his ass out the door. Not too long afterward Mike's dad showed up at the door. And not too much long after that...fists were flying. I caught him good a few times in the side of the face, but he didn't go down because he was pretty drunked up. He was flaying away like mad and eventually I got hit on the top of my nose with one of those slugs. It stung and brought tears to my eyes...I wanted to kick him in the balls and cut his throat wide open, but sirens and pounding on the front door had stopped us in our tracks. Someone somewhere had dialed 911. Of course shit like this happens all the time, unfortunately not every one is privy to it. This blog is to let you know, that shit does happen...and if you see it happening, please call it in. You may save a life or two. uh huh.

                                  

The other day I was behind a school bus waiting on the light to change and I noticed this little sign in the rear window that stated that: this vehicle has been checked to ensure that no child was asleep in the back seat of the bus. Actually, those weren't  the exact words, but close enough to make my point. The point is...and I blogged about this before... my first thoughts were...when was this little sign placed in back of the bus. Could the person who was supposed to take the sign down after the bus was brought back from the final routes simply have forgotten to take the sign down and could the person who was taking the bus out the first thing in the morning simply could not have noticed the sign was up... and then, did not check to see if all the kids were off the bus and none were left sleeping in the back. Dumb shit like this can go unnoticed for days and I wouldn't even consider this as shit happening. To me shit happening is a a metal fuselage falling form a boeing and hitting someone smack dab on their noggin. And the woes that follow are shit happening too. God, it was all my fault. He was already almost in his car, when I yelled out...honey, you forgot to kiss me ...and he was making his way back to house when suddenly as he was puckering to give me a smooch, bam, he got hit hard by some object falling from the sky....and...I must say, I have no idea what happened next. A couple of days later after the wake and all, I began to think more clearly about that morning. And I can't shake it off...I still blame myself for his death. And I am beginning to put together more and more of these final moments of our marriage.  At first, when he got out of the car, he looked a little angry, and then in his smart ass little way he said, this better be fucking good, you better give me a blow job in the driveway...and I said...one of these days you're going to get struck down for that foul mouth of yours. And that's when it happened...and it's all my fault.

I mean if it doesn't why would the French come up with deja vu. If you thought that Crosby Stills etc came up with that term...I'm sorry to say, you may be incorrect. I was going to say wrong, but wrong is so wrong. Wrong is harsh. But, not as harsh as...sorry you dumb little ass...don't ever raise your hand in class again. Now let's hear from Jessica. Three Jessica's stand up. Sit down girls...let's hear from Sarah instead. And no, I won't do this to you tonight. I'm actually tired of hearing from Sarah too. So you over there...half asleep with the baseball cap turned around backwards. What is your name again. Demetrius. OK Demetrius, what does deja vu mean to you. Not a fucking thing. A large uproar of giggles, guffaws and snortles occur along with a few cat calls (possibly from the jocks) and a couple of groans. OK class simmer down...simmer down before I give a call to the principal's office and Mr. Bumgartner will have to come in here and settle you down with his offensive breath and rhetoric. Of course, this doesn't happen in schools anymore. Kids all know what deja vu is all about...especially because they have listened to their mums and dads. (or moms only...or step dads or step uncles too)  (or talked to their friends...or caught it on the internet) (or) or what? You know what, I was never able to understand the proper use of parentheses. So, I would say, tonight I just may be a tad loose with the proper use of punctuations...and forgive me, for I'm not even sure if a parentheses is a punctuation mark of sorts. Jessica, you have your hand up...what is it you want to say? Groan. Are you OK? Yes, I'm pretty OK...I'm just having my period....I have cramps.

but fuck you cyberspace...I'm not a quitter. I was going to smash my mouse against this laptop screen, but fuck no, I'm above that.  I had a whole blog written about candy corn. And the title of the blog was: why are you here. It was a little ditty about a guy sitting at his dinning room table writing in his daily journal. He was pondering why there is such a thing as candy corn. He would write a few words in his journal, lift his head up off the page in contemplation and notice the glass bowl of candy corn. The candy corn became the object of his thought. He began to wonder...who eats this shit...originally he used the word stuff. The writer's anger has taken over...please forgive him. Head drops down back to journal. Head pops back up. He wonders....if the glass bowl is around for Thanksgiving because he remembers that's it's not around for Christmas. Where does the glass bowl go he wonders...but not only that...the stuff inside too. I'm here because I ate the whole bowl. I don't know what happened to me, I was home alone, writing in my journal when suddenly I lifted the glass lid off the glass bowl. I wasn't drinking or doing any hallucinogenic substances and I wasn't even being curious, I just felt like I needed a nibble or something and I was maybe too lazy to go to the kitchen cupboard to pour myself a little bag of potato chips. Well, and I really can't tell you a whole lot more, but before long, everything around me started to get fuzzy and the whole room was spinning around. I was loopy as hell, but fortunate enough to be able to dial 911. Well Mr. Mazuree you are a very fortunate man, you ingested a very toxic substance today and you are lucky to be alive. I'm surprised you didn't know that candy corn is toxic. So, why isn't there a warning. There is, but it's in very small print on the package. But my wife buys these in bulk section of the grocery store. She may have in 2001, but since then, the laws have not allowed for candy corn to be sold in bulk. I don't understand any of this...why doesn't the surgeon general step in. I suppose you have something there, but what's next....should the government post a warning on the red berries of hollies and on mistletoes dangling from archways. No, but how long before my stomach gets pumped.
                   

Did you ever have a day like this: where you did not a whole lot more than watch dumb sports on tv and dumb HBO B movies too. I almost had a day like this, and it was a perfect type of weather day, but somewhere early on, I decided I wasn't going to do much of anything today. Well, it's a few minutes past 7:16 pm EST and I decided to move form one screen to the another. Around 8:30am (same zone) I decided I'm not going to do a fucking thing today. There was a moment earlier where I almost got rattled off this train of thought when my bride was about ready to leave to do the things she was supposed to do for today and she asked me the simple question of: do you have any plans for today. And my immediate response was...what do you want? And she says...why do you immediately respond that way to that question. And I said, it's a defense mechanism. A lot of times you ask me to do dumb stupid shitting little things and that just fucks with my inertia plans. I can't believe you actually plan to be inert. Well, it's not actually a plan, it sometimes comes across as an epiphany. Mother Mary swoops down from her heavenly loft somewhere and whispers to me...Tom, don't do a fucking thing today...hey, it's Saturday...you worked hard all week long...you need a little break. This actually didn't start until later because I had to drop off our Rose for work at our local supermarket at noon. And, from there I popped in to visit my friend Richard and then, I made a nice sandwich at 1:30 and then, holy shit, I wasted my life away in front of the tv. I did sneak in a nap, but I was fortunate enough to catch the ending of the B movie I was watching. Drew Barrymore was in it...as well as that English guy who got arrested for some form of sodomy. For some silly reason I am infatuated with Drew and I must say that she acted a lot better in my dream during my nap than she did during the tail end of the movie that I caught....but, really now...what is real.
This is.  Almost I suppose.

I remember not too long ago that I said I would never go digital. Zoom...fast forward. The snapshot today was taken from a digital camera in my cell phone. The roll of unused film has been in the top drawer om my dresser for years. And no, I'm not going to get nostalgic on you tonight. The other day in my blog, I said I was not a quitter. That too is a lie. This afternoon I was watching the Bills and Raiders play and the Bills were down by 9 points with less than six minutes to go in the game and I walked away from the tv thinking...the BIlls suck. When the bride got home from picking up our daughter from work she asked who won the game, and I said, not the Bills, they sucked up the field today. A little later she walked past the tv and saw the scores on the bottom of the screen and said....I thought you said the Bills lost. It just showed that they won 24-23. Holy shit, quitter Tom missed a great game. And that tells me something about me...I love playing the odds...and the odds were in my mind, that the Bills were cooked so there's no use getting aggravated watching them lose, so why not walk away from the tv and do something else. And really, if I would have sat and watched the thrilling ending I probably would have felt great vicarious triumph and fist in the air joy. Yeah baby...we kicked their fucking asses today. Instead, I was a boob and I gave up on the home team. And yes, I gave up on roll film too. And I gave up on slide projectors and my trusted eight track player. I never really wanted to give up on the betamax, but the rest of the world did instead, so I reluctantly switched to vhs. I hope to be cremated in a pair of khaki pants even though the rest of the world would reject  the wearing of khaki. But, if you happen to notice me dead one day and I'm in a pair of dungarees, forget what you know of my love for khaki pants and toss me in the nearest incinerator. After all, you already know I'm a quitter...because I told you so...and there must have been a reason I wasn't wearing khaki's on that day of my demise. I would love though, if you took a polaroid of the scene and place it on my urn.

I don't chew gum. Many years ago I used to but I must have chewed too fast because before long it lost its flavor and I would end up swallowing it. One time, an adult had asked me what I did with my gum and I said I swallowed it and they gave me some convoluted reasoning why that was not a good thing to do, so I stopped chewing altogether. But even when I did chew, and I didn't swallow it, I never took it out of my mouth and stuck in some place, like under a table at a diner or under a chair or anywhere, except wadded up and placed in a piece of paper and tossed into the garbage can. Even spitting it out a car  window is a pretty fucking inconsiderate and gross thing to do. And forgive me for saying so...especially if that is something you may have done...or, for that matter continue to do. (you ignorant fuck) And if that is the case,  I hope sometime tomorrow you innocently step in a wad of warm gooey gum and get annoyed. And I hope you get annoyed at me, because I'll be the guy three steps behind you, clicking his fingers to the beat of your annoyance. And I'll be smiling, clicking my fingers and singing the bubblegum song. And I hope you will hate the sound of my clicking fingers and you will grab me and attempt to punch me out...but unfortunately for you, ... a cop walking the beat (to the bubblegum song) places you immediately under arrest for your actions. Later in your cell, while waiting to be allowed to make your phone call, you are unsettled because your cellmate is chewing their gum and making very loud snapping sounds and clicking their fingers to some imaginary sound in their head. You want to find a way to politely ask your cellmate to please stop making all those clicking and clacking sounds but you realize, that you have been tossed in with someone who's as foreign as you are to them as they are to you. The gum that you have been chewing excessively since your incarceration has lost its flavor a while ago. And you begin to wonder...why am I here...what should I do. At this moment an opportunity arises for an epiphany. Yes...for all of us.

                                            

yes, it's a lot better than the other day when you told me to get off my lazy fucking ass and flip the light switch on myself. Please, don't start about the other day...can't you just let dead dogs lie. That's sleeping dogs. See, there you go again...correcting me. Can't you just leave well enough alone. It's never been well enough having you as the provider around here. Asshole. Click. OK fuckhead, flip the light back on. Footsteps. The comment that is bottled up and about ready to spew from this keyboard should be typed out in bold capital letters and however crude and immature it's intended to be...it's not going to happen tonight. Wimp. Pussy. Pussy. Wimp. Asshole. Fuckhead. (from afar)  Actually I must stop. I never know what the hell I'm going to blog about but I blame all the words that preceded this....what do you mean this?....I mean this, like the stop....like the realization, like wondering what the fuck is going on, I'm supposed to be meditating, and all this other shit is surfacing. And, who the fuck are you barging into my room like this while I'm sitting on my cushion with eyes comfortably closed, and ass in a relaxed position on cushion and breath ....and breath...oops...thinking. Breathing in I'm thinking I'd love to smash your face in for barging in on me like this. Breathing out, I'm praying to free those that are living under oppression. Thinking. Holy shit, no matter what I do I think thinking is involved. Breathing. Thinking about returning to breath. Breathing. Thump, thump, thump. Yes, this is good, but better than what...I don't know. Breath. An itch. A fart building from somehwere. Peace. Thump, thump thump....breathing.
                              

You know, I don't even feel like blogging about what I'm thinking because it's old hat. I have talked about it before. But, it's up to me and you to make it new. Tonight, while driving home over the winding road through the park I saw these three elderly men sitting and chatting on a bench in one of the shelters. Actually, one gentleman was looking away and not actively engaged in the conversation. He may have heard the story before and was not interested. The man that was telling the story was quite animated while the listener looked intent. It was a passing moment in my life that I thought needed some attention. Now it's our moment. I miss the moon a lot. Only because I'm not out to see it. The moon might be out now, but here I am, blogging about a moon I don't usually see. The other morning when I caught the moon hanging around a little bit before it tucked itself away for the day, I felt this need to snap it up with my camera. So I did. And I thought ....oh how I love the harvest moon in the morning. And why not. If I love the moon, I should love it both night and day. I should love it when it's hovering near Haiti. I should love it when the wolves and dogs are howling and the vampires are prowling to suck my blood. I should love it like the first night that it was pointed out to me. There's the moon, can you see the old man in the moon. I never could, but now I am the old man...I am the moon...and I'm seeing it in a different light. Of course I will love you at night....and tomorrow....
                         

Yes, let's dialog. What do you think is the best it could establish. Now listen up, here's what I want from you. What. I think  I need for you to tell me what goes well with these two colors...red and blue. I think you could use some separation there. How about some white. Yes that will do so the red and the blue can bleed into it and it won't turn into purple. Good idea. But, what's wrong with purple. It looks too much like blood, like a purple heart. Yes.

Like sorting your socks. Yes. Like flushing a toilet more than once after use. Yes. Like leaving your garbage out on the wrong day.Yes. Like listening to a young rock star making silly ( what do you mean silly)  (uh, I'm not sure...I apologize) profound statements in a song and sitting there noddling & bopping along with head bobbing bop bopping along while ignoring the sense of the words accompanying the song but somehow enjoying the rhythmic association to soul. My soul actually. And yes, the universal. Are all really included. Huge question mark. ?  Yes. You weren't included until now. What happened to the last now. Last now wasn't very inclusive....I apologize. And this now. This now can last as long as I care for it to last. I am so excited that I actually have a little bit of control. It's so fragile, I love what I think I have. So, can we talk. Yes, I think that would be nice. You talking to me. Yes, as always. Smile.
                          

I love flirting. Mostly it has no where to go beyond the flirt, but it has an energizing effect on me. (yes, it's all about me) A good flirt is an art. It's a study. And possibly I may be giving a good flirt way too much credit. Is a flirt a cry for hope...like, hey, maybe I can keep the species alive...or maybe a cry of despair...like please have sex with me because I haven't had any lately. So, what sort of sex are you talking about tonight....the perpetuation of the species...or some sort of frolic kind of stuff. Well, I'm not into a romance kind of thing tonight, but having a kid would be kinda cool, so maybe a casual relationship for starters may work well. Are you clean. Well, I'm not as skanky and drunk as you. Are we beyond flirtation. What the fuck are you talking about. There's always these thin lines out there. A good flirt is subtle. And yet at times, it has to be direct. Unfortunately for some folks, subtly doesn't work all that well. Hi, you look so nice in that light blue blouse that accentuates every minute detail of your proportions. Hey, I'm a guy, do you want me to punch your fucking lights out .(please don't be so touchy)   So, no matter where you go, there you are with your silly ass possibilities of misinterpretation. But damnit, if you think about it, flirtation really doesn't have to go on. Cut to the chase. Fuck the person you're flirting with and move on. Respect consensus though. Respect is tantamount. After that, any mount is fine, if an agreement  was tantamount. This can't be true. Of course not. But it happens every moment innocently. But hey, I'm a gal. Blow me a kiss. Whoa, that was a little bit high...I would prefer much lower.

                    

I love going grocery shopping...I must be as gay as clay. That reference may no longer be a stretch, because he's out. I saw it today waiting in the check out line at our local supermarket. But if he's gay, why is he pictured with that baby, which he claims is his baby, and really probably is, because the baby looks just like him. The smaller print on the cover speculated that the surrogate mother is probably Jodie Foster through artificial insemination. I was almost tempted to pluck the magazine out of the rack and read a little bit further into this interesting story, but I noticed a huge gap on the conveyor belt and as I glanced behind me I noticed a few people behind me and they all had full shopping carts and two with semi obnoxious toddlers and one person (pretty hefty) sitting in a motorized cart with a full basket in front of it, so I decided I best get the stuff out of my cart and on to the belt before a small riot erupted. After all, it was game day....and the BIlls would be kicking off in an hour. I usually chit chat with the clerk doing the scanning, but today, the woman behind me was making editorial comments on the stuff I was pulling out of my cart. She liked the fact that I brought my own totes, but she really liked the fact that I had some really nice cat food and litter in there too. I find that cat lovers are more conversational than dog lovers...don't you? This doesn't really bother me all that much, because I know that once I swipe my card....every beep, beep, beep of the scanner is storing every purchase I make so I can be compartmentalized and generalized according to some fucking corporate marketing strategy. But, knowing this, I fuck with the computers every week and throw a few odd ball things into my cart. Condoms, douches, extra stinky limburger, the national enquirer, borax, 12 packages of airplane glue....help me out on this will you....RID...etc. Today I bought a halloween plate for the bride and bread and butter pickles for Kelie and some rose nail polish for Julie.  Oh, btw, I enjoy making this comment every so often when I have a chatty editorialist behind me and I'm gently placing a bundle of feminine napkins on the belt....God, if I would have known that I would have a bride and three daughters...I would have bought stock in Proctor and Gamble.

This is for Dawn O'Brien and she's alive and well. This is for you, because you are alive and able to read these words. This is for me because I am alive and well and free to use these words. This is for you, who can't. This song is for the freedom fucking fighters of the world who think that the only way to gain freedom is to eliminate those who don't think the way they do. This is for those who don't think, or at least for those who think they aren't thinking. This is for all those that disagree. This is for all those that could give a fucking shit less. This is for the queers, cocksuckers, pimps, cross dressers, and baby rapers out there. It's for the ass sniffers and cheats too. It's for those who believe in their own sense of justice. It's for those whose life has been one injustice after another. It's for the self inflicted. It's for the free. It's for our pets...cats, dogs, snakes and our zoos too. It's for the little bitty baby that slipped through the hands of god. It's for the god who slipped through the cracks of all knowing. It's for the late bus and it's for the bus you just missed. It's for you pacing not knowing. It's for you hungry. It's for you so full you are uncomfortable.This land was made for you to vomit. This land was made for you to be healthy and eat fresh foods and stay alive a long time. This land was made for infant death. This land was made for accumulation and it was made for sharing. This land was made for misunderstanding and it was made for you and me. So here were are...I'm glad to meet you...my name is Tom.