Friday, August 31, 2012

republican solutions

By the way I sat in on a republican committee investigating the hurricane problem on the Gulf Coast. Trying to find intelligent and creative solutions.

I was impressed with the course of action taken.

They are going to build a wall.


I watched a lot of the republican National Convention.
I have a few observations.

There were two highlights for me.

One were the gutsy words of a political journalist, Karen Hunter, on an MSNBC talk show the day after Ann Romney's speech. The host of the show and another journalist were deifying Mrs. Romney as was everybody else. Karen  began her comments by sarcastically including "if she told us one more time how Mitt makes her laugh or how they met at a dance.........." and let it go at that. The others were talking about Ann relating to the crowd. Karen said the scene took her back to the fifties, that Ann was relating to a crowd that doesn't exist today. When Ann said "I Love You Women" Karen said she felt pandered to, called it a Sally Fields moment. She said  Mrs. Romney was trying too hard to relate to working people, trying too hard to connect with people she really can't connect with.
Susan Del Percio, the other journalist, said Ann was doing the hard sell when trying to connect with women. Said it as if it was a positive. Karen asked "wouldn't you rather get an authentic sell, a genuine sell, instead of a hard sell?"
As they closed the discussion they looked ahead to the upcoming proceedings that night. Karen said about Mitt "I hope he takes some Maalox, he didn't look too comfortable last night."
The woman is gutsy and she told the truth.

The second highlight was Condaleeza Rice. Professional, well spoken, commanding, intelligent. ALL political speeches should be built that way. She was not offensively partisan but she made her points. I cannot understand how a woman of that intelligence and knowledge can support Romney except to assume she is in some way staying loyal to George W. Bush. Rice could be a leader in an intelligent political climate. If she ever hooked up with President Barack Obama there would be more hope in this world.

More impressions:

Ann Romney. Plastic Ann. Horrible. Trying to come across as if she is one of us. A sister in arms with the women of the world. She has never been within six feet of a dirty diaper or a stove. A pathetic attempt to make us forget that she is supremely rich.
Women in the audience were crying as she spoke. This is one of the many things that is wrong with our political system. People will vote for Mitt Romney because Plastic Ann gave an insincere speech designed to manipulate emotion.
Spouses of political candidates should never be allowed to speak. Their words are meaningless. If I ran for office even Carol would say good things about me. And I am an insufferable rogue.

Rick Santorum. He stood up there with that look on his face that says Jesus touched my shoulder. I have been anointed. He lied and he hammered away at the family thing trying to demonstrate just how human republicans are.
He failed.

Chris Christie. He is a buffoon. A scaramouche. It's all about him. He doesn't care about Romney, he doesn't care about his party. He tries to come across as a tough guy, a straight talker. Instead he comes across as a mindless brute.

Clint Eastwood. What a shame. I was disappointed when Clint came out for Mitt. Sounds like a cartoon, doesn't it? I thought he was an intelligent, principled man. Apparently not. He threw us a curve with that halftime in America commercial.
Anyway last night he blew it. Tried for theatre but ended up insulting the President of The United States with rude innuendo. He is eighty two and came across that way.
He was so bad the republican party immediately came out with a statement separating themselves from his comments.

Mike Huckabee. Scum. His comments had a decidedly religious bent. Which should have nothing to do with politics but is unavoidable in 2012 because republicans make it so.
He also insulted Florida congresswoman Debbie Wasserman Schultz with a lame attempt at a joke.
He was pompous and pious.

Paul Ryan. So phony he almost wasn't there. He lied. Boldly and repeatedly. It was obvious he had practiced those ridiculous facial expressions and dramatic pauses at home in front of one of the probably 250 mirrors he must have hanging on every flat surface in his house.
The man disgusts me. He lies about President Barack Obama and hides the facts about himself that would alienate republican constituents.

Marco Rubio. Pretty boy full of himself. He is a rising star and he knows it. He said "Almighty God is the source of all we have." UNACCEPTABLE. This is not about God. It is not about religion.
It is about an entire class of people being lied to, manipulated and destroyed by the wealthy.
He was disgusting.

Mitt. Tried so hard to come across as sweet and lovable. As human, as accessible, as understanding.
He failed. He failed because he is none of those things.
He is an opportunist. An opportunist funded by the mega rich to protect their interests at the expense of the middle class, the poor, college students and the elderly.

When Ryan bounded on stage and raised hands with Mitt at the end I almost vomited. It was a snapshot of what could become reality in November.

Every one of these phonies had stories about immigrant relations, poor, hard working parents, tough beginnings and beating back poverty.
These fools are so far removed from that it is laughable. It may be their family legacy but they learned nothing from it. They are trying to CREATE poverty in America.

As the cameras continually panned the audience during the week I noticed a lot of people who looked uneducated and unrich. They sat there lapping up the empty promises and blatant lies of these politicians. Trusting that these people will protect them.
What a shame. Their lives will be destroyed if republicans win.
And the republicans will laugh about it over designer steaks and $250 bottles of cognac.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Oscar Wilde

Anyway I am reading Oscar Wilde.
I wish to hell I could have had a drink and a conversation with this man.
The book is as much a collection of amazing observations and a specific outlook on life,as it is a work of fiction.
"My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women are a decorative sex. They never have anything to say but they say it charmingly. Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals."
"My dear boy, the people who love only once in their lives are really the shallow people. What they call their loyalty, and their fidelity, I call either the lethargy of custom of their lack of imagination. Faithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the life of the intellect - simply a confession of failure."
"Most people become bankrupt through having invested too heavily in the prose of life. To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honor."
"People are fond of giving away what they need most themselves."
"Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear Basil."
"The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our neighbor with the possession of those virtues that are likely to be a benefit to us. We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account, and find good qualities in the highway man in the hope that he may spare our pockets. I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest contempt for optimism."
"To be good is to be in harmony with one's self. Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others."
"I should fancy that the real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but self-denial. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege of the rich."
"My dear Dorian, the only way a woman can ever reform a man is by boring him so completely that he loses all possible interest in life."
"Good resolutions are useless attempts to interfere with scientific laws. Their origin is pure vanity. Their result is absolutely nil. They give us, now and then, some of those luxurious sterile emotions that have a certain charm for the weak. That is all that can be said for them. They are simply cheques that men draw on a bank where they have no account."
"We live in an age that reads too much to be wise, and thinks too much to be beautiful."
The above comments are courtesy of Lord Henry in The Picture of Dorian Gray.
But of course they reflect the outlook of Oscar Wilde. Regardless of your opinion of his comments, they do provoke a response. They make you react. They make you think. And feel.
He was an outsider and an original thinker. Flamboyant and controversial.
Apparently Kettner's Champagne Bar was one of Wilde's favorite haunts.
I would give anything to have been able to sit on a stool next to him and indulge in conversation.

Riding The Rails

Riding the rails. Such a romanticized notion. It appeals to me deeply. The idea of stealthily hopping onto a moving train headed for warmth, unpredictable happenings, life molding experiences. The idea of rattling towards the unknown.
The rhythm of the rails must have been soothing as long as there were no mean spirited derelicts to keep an eye on.
Hopping off wherever the hell you wanted to, to grab another chunk of your life. New faces, new jobs, new surroundings.
Killing boredom with new adventure.

Damn Allergies

Allergies are annoying me today. The nose is running, sneezes are exploding.
Sitting in my recliner, sipping coffee, reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, and stopping to blow my nose every five minutes.
Do you realize how hard it is to concentrate on The Picture of Dorian Gray when you are constantly reaching for Kleenex?
By the way, I didn't say my allergies. I just said allergies.
Everybody is always saying my this, my that. I don't want to give ownership to these allergies.
They are allergies, pure and simple. A relationship between my body and the world surrounding me. They are random. They don't own me. I don't own them.
They are allergies.
Making the typing of these words challenging.

Flat Surfaces

When you live in a house for 26 years, every available flat surface becomes desecrated with clutter.
There are the obvious flat surfaces, tables, counters, out in the open and buried. There are more subtle surfaces, a small table with folded leafs sitting at the top of the stairs, that offer the possibility of artistic expression.
I shall endeavor to clear these surfaces as I can, and to decorate them with delicate, expressive, bold, and fiercely personal expressions of my soul, Carol's soul, and the soul that inhabits this home, born of a family that flourished here and still ignites into love and trust whenever we celebrate together.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Body Language

Body language. The way we walk, poses as we talk, hand gestures, eye contact or avoidance.
More armor against the world.
Survival modes. Survival codes.
I have an anti theory. People who act tough, are not. People who come across as know it alls, know nothing. People who try to impress, are unimpressive. People who try to intimidate, are cowards.
Don't accept surface impressions. Don't take anyone seriously.
Especially yourself.

Magic Elixirs

1) If you already have enlargement of your prostate gland, your symptoms can get worse while using............
2) Possible increased risk of prostate cancer
3) In large doses it may lower your sperm count
4) Swelling of your ankles, feet or body, with or without heart failure
5) Enlarged or painful breasts
6) Problems breathing while you sleep
7) Blood clots in the legs
8) The most common side effects include increased prostate specific antigen, mood swings, high blood pressure, increased red blood cell count and skin irritation
9) Signs of puberty that are not expected have happened in young children who were accidentally exposed to testosterone through skin to skin contact with men using topical testosterone products
10) Women and children should avoid contact with the unwashed or unclothed area where it has been applied. If a woman or child makes contact with the application area the contact area on the woman or child should be washed well with soap and water right away
11) Stop using and call your health care provider right away any signs and symptoms of puberty in a child, or changes in body hair or increased acne in a woman, that may have occurred through accidental exposure to

These are the possible side effects and warnings associated with AndroGel 1.62%. Think I'll run out and buy up a couple of hundred gallons.
This stuff is a topical gel men apply to their skin to boost testosterone production.
I'm not sure I want to try this stuff. I can barely contain a thinly veiled aggressive bent as it is. Rub this on and I might starting hitting happy people.
I find all these commercials disturbing. The list of potential side effects is longer then the benefits. And you see so many of them you start to ignore them. And I'm sure there are plenty of people lining up to use this stuff.
The potential for side effects is minimal, but the point is somebody experienced these side effects when the drug was being tested. It ain't fantasy, baby.
Amazing that drug companies are so profit oriented that they rush this stuff out there regardless of the risks or potential backlash.
Amazing that we don't rise up and say "What the hell are you doing to us? Get these ads of the air, get these drugs off the market."
Part of the problem is that many of us believe or at least hope that drug companies would not put something on the market that they know is dangerous. We also believe the FDA will protect us.
We are naive.
Here's the scary part. Certain drugs are viewed as necessary. As safe.
I have prescriptions for Advair and Crestor.
I'm actually addicted to Advair. It scares me. If I skip a couple of days, I wheeze. This makes me very uncomfortable. What if they take it off the market? What if it stops working for me?
Potential side effects for Advair: An increased risk of death from asthma problems, allergic reactions, increased blood pressure, irregular heartbeat, effects on nervous system, changes in blood (sugar, white blood cells), lower bone mineral density, and eye problems.
Potential side effects for Crestor: headache, muscle pain, abdominal pain, weakness, nausea. That is not the complete list. Their website directs you to another page that I didn't have the guts to look at.
I use both of these drugs every day.
We are a strange society. The things that are sold to us, the things that we willingly use. Quick fixes, miracle drugs, magic elixirs.
Better off to stick with the natural cures. The solutions with proven track records.
Like whiskey.

Body Blows, Baby

How much pain can a human withstand? How many body blows over the course of a lifetime?
It's the body blows that wear you down. Relentless.
A rhythmic pounding that punishes the kidneys, bruises the ribs, punishes the stomach muscles.
We are not talking about twelve or fifteen rounds. We are talking sixty years. More if you drink your OJ.
Of course there are plenty of left hooks to the jaw that make it through to rock you, wobble your knees and blur your eyes. But they happen only occasionally; enough to keep you off balance and confused, ultimately guarantee that you will lose the fight, but not enough to do you in immediately.
It's the body blows, baby. Day in, day out.
You do what you can but you are not Muhammed Ali.
It ain't the rope-a-dope when it's your life we are talking about.
Everybody said "Muhammed, what the hell are you doing? Absorbing all that punishment. Barely fighting back." He was letting the elasticity of the ropes absorb some of the blows, he was conditioned to take the hits, he outsmarted Foreman and when George got tired, Muhammed beat him.
Rumble In The Jungle, baby.
Life does not get tired. Life keeps coming at you with the body blows.
Pump you up, shoot you down.
It's probably a good thing that 103% of all Americans are out of shape. You wear down quicker that way. Imagine if you trained like Ali; you might have to endure seventy five years or more of this punishment.
Ah, what the hell. It gives you something to do.
Something to focus on. Pain keeps you sharp. Makes you move.
But as you rotate from corner to corner you continuously come face to face with new opponents.
I guess all you can do is crank out your sit ups. Cover up as best you can.
You never know. Some benevolent overlord might change the script.
I hear the bell.
Time to get up off my stool.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012


I have been railing against the New Hampshire State Liquor Commission for some time now.
Many of you think these are the empty words of a disgruntled employee.
They are not.
On Thursday, August 23, NH House Speaker William O'Brien appointed an eleven member committee, The Special Committee to Review and Reform the NHSLC, to investigate a number of recent allegations.
The allegations include illegal lobbying, illegal oppression of state officials, warehousing product of local manufacturers, bootlegging, hiding documentation from lawmakers, misallocation of $100,000 in wine and improper bid documents for a liquor warehouse contract.
Bootlegging? You have to love that.
In one of my rants a while ago I said this business is similar to prohibition days except booze is legal and the gangsters wear cheaper suits.
Apparently I was not far from the mark.
The fact that they are accused of all these things does not mean they are guilty of them but where there is smoke there is fire. Previous scandals, along with the deeply disrespectful way they insult, exploit and lie to their employees make the charges easily believable.
These people are thugs.
What I like about this is that O'Brien is one of those sleazy, idiot republicans who wants to destroy all freedoms in America. I have had a blog entry stewing over him for a long time.
The indiscretions he is accusing the liquor commission of are precisely the type of things republicans worship. Lying, cheating and stealing.
Either he is grandstanding, or he feels these violations are even beyond the type of immorality republicans endorse.
Either way he is motivated to ride this thing to the end. These scurrilous dogs have created too much negative publicity for themselves.
The heat is on....................
I was recently screwed for yet another job opportunity. Never interviewed for a job I was qualified for, and beat out for the job by someone who is eminently less qualified than me. I was also blatantly lied to by the low life human resources department.
This time there is backlash. There are a number of unfortunate liquor commission employees who have been screwed and lied to by human resources. The situation is being looked into on a couple of different fronts.
The New Hampshire State Liquor Commission is under attack from within and from without.
They have brought it on themselves through hubris.
They are criminals who are robbing the taxpayers of the state of NH and robbing employees by unjustifiably denying them the chance to earn more money in an economy where people are suffering.
No retribution can be harsh enough for these pond scum.

Monday, August 27, 2012

A Low Tech Dude

I am a dinosaur desperately trying to keep up.
I spend a lot of time in front of the computer but I use it in the most basic of ways; as a glorified typewriter.
I am not knowledgeable of all the twists and turns and magic available at my fingertips.
Every time I try to do something remotely creative or exciting I get hung up, lost, aggravated and confused. This connects to that, that relates to this, all you gotta do is......WHAT?
Google, Bing, yahoo, all the networks, friends this, friends that. Every time I try to make sense of it or connect with it, something shoots off to the left and I am befuddled.
See that picture of me as a follower of my own blog? I don't even know how I did that. I was trying to find a way to contact my followers so I could thank them for their interest, which I did not succeed at, but I did succeed at making myself my own follower.
It looks silly and now I can't figure out how to delete it.
I'm sure everyone is thinking "Wow, how vain is this guy? He needs to get notified of what he has written so he can read it again?"
The Smithsonian has contacted me and asked me to donate my cell phone when I trade up. This thing is a relic.
So much so that I only use it in dark alleys so people won't mock me.
It is light years away from what is currently available, and the funny thing is even this phone came with about a three hundred page booklet, of which I read three pages.
The goddamn thing can probably exercise for me and I don't even know it. Think of the energy I could save.
I would love to snag a smart phone/handheld computer thingy/amazing magical device. I think they are cool but I would use even less of its capabilities because they offer so much more.
Does that make sense? It does to me.
I imagine these things must come with a companion book the size of the Merriam-Webster dictionary.
It's not that I don't try or don't want to try, it's just that my brain is starting to slow down just at the time when technology is speeding up exponentially.
And I don't have a lot of patience.
I wanted to go WiFi or wireless or whatever the hell you need, to get magic movie downloads from Netflix.
I am a movie maven. Love them, need them, dig them. I love to get lost in a movie.
And the idea of having that library to choose from and to be able to access it instantaneously is the perfect equation for me.
Before its availability I would get so pissed off browsing through hundreds of On Demand movies on cable, 99% of which I didn't give a damn about. I used to say that what I needed was the world's largest movie library and instant access. I need to be in control.
Now it is available and I can't make it work.
I'm going to keep banging away though. I like having all this technology to make my life easier.
The key is to stay married.
Carol has infinite patience. Obviously, she is still married to me.
When I screw up at the computer and can't figure it out, I yell "Carol!!!!!!!!!"
And she fixes it. And explains it all to me.
And then I forget what she told me.

Dig This

"That's the problem with drinking............if something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen."

Charles Bukowski

Dig This

"I like persons better than principles, and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world."

Oscar Wilde

Riding The Wave

Riding the wave. Conjures up tumultuous visions of water walls, hanging on to a thin edge between mastery and failure.
Life should be about catching the wave and riding it with furious intent, an insane glee and a stranglehold on the dream that propels you.
The waves fly by too fast, or they slip through our hands when we are distracted.
Tough to catch the wave.
But you can ride the ripples, one after another, preparing for that life moment when, if you are lucky, a tsunami of your pure essence rises up.
The trick is to learn to appreciate the ripples. The sun's rays and hope that glances off their surface.
The ripples are gentle and make up most lives.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Eight Seconds

Ride it out. Grim advice when you are considering your own life. I am much closer to the finish line, MUCH closer, than I am to the starter's gun. And what I have is not even close to what I wanted.
But I have to ride it out. Too much invested to give up now.
Like sitting on a bull trying to hang on for the full eight seconds.
Broken ribs, missing teeth and bloodied hands.
And eight seconds to prove myself.

Two Days To Think (Lucky To Shake Bobby's Hand)

I spent the last six days swimming in the cesspool created and maintained by The New Hampshire State Liquor Commission.
Today I am free. Today I can come up for air and actually live my life.
What the hell should I talk about today? I have not written in two days.
When I don't write I disappear.
Today I am re-forming myself.

As I was driving to work one day this week I avoided a turtle laboriously crossing the road. He was already close to the middle of the road. He was not one of those big dudes, he was quite small yet still determined.
It was obviously going to take him quite a while to complete the trip. I wished him well.
And got to thinking.
He was probably thinking to himself "who are the a**holes who put this road here to allow all these cars to go whizzing by, making my life all the more difficult?" Pre the dawn of man, this turtle would have been free to roam as he pleased.
Enter mankind and his life is a crapshoot.
I am guessing that he had a destination in mind. A reason to put himself in such jeopardy. He made a choice.
We are turtles without choice. We are pushed into the middle of the road whether we want to be there or not and before we are ready to handle it. We look to the left and to the right bewildered by the things whizzing by us that could so easily do us harm.
Even worse we do not have a destination in mind. We have not made a choice. Life has made the choice for us.
We begin the trip armed with the delusion that we have made a choice, that we have a destination defined. At some point we realize that we are completely lost. Stranded in the middle of a very busy road contemplating the possibility of getting crushed before we even get close to the other side.
I sadly believe that most people do get crushed before they get to the other side.
And we consider ourselves superior to turtles.

Driving to work yesterday morning and I passed a woman walking around her yard with a cell phone pressed to her ear. At 8:15 a.m. Wasting her life with another meaningless and trivial conversation that she feels compelled to participate in because she has the technology.
Further on down the road I passed a group of joggers. People engaging life, making a commitment on a beautiful summer morning.
Towards the end of the ride I passed a guy walking down the sidewalk with a cell phone pressed to his ear. Actually I was sitting at a red light and I heard him coming. Effectively talking to himself and announcing his arrival.
Watching The Sox, painfully, last night, and noticing all the idiots staring at their hand held devices instead of the field. Texting. Wasting time and brain power and technology. Not participating in the event they paid to see.
It is easy to do this because baseball is slow moving and The Sox suck.
But you still look stupid doing it.
You could never get away with this at a football game. There is too much going on and every play, every game is important.
If you miss something spectacular at a football game while texting, you deserve it. And there should be attendants roaming the stands with blind folds so you can't watch the replay on the gigantic, Hi-def, plasma 3D, clearer than life jumbo tron. Just as you look up an attendant wraps a blind fold around your vacant eyes.
Of course as soon as the attendant walks away you will just dial up the replay on your magical computer/phone device and snicker contentedly at your unstoppable genius.
Living life in replay instead of living life in the moment.

Got to work too damn early yesterday so I sat in The Peace Mobile listening to Leonard Cohen and looking around. It was early. The Booze Emporium wasn't open yet, other stores were closed as well.
I was parked directly in front of a Radio Shack.
As I sat comfortable and content, absorbing peace through beautiful music and intelligent, creative lyrics, the neon lights in the Radio Shack flickered to life. An employee wandered to the front of the store and adjusted the floor mat on the inside of the door and walked away. He had fifteen minutes to opening time.
The image of old timey mom and pop businesses sprang into my head.
Hosing down the sidewalk outside the store, unrolling and lowering the awning above the open air stands, the proprietor wearing an apron, shirtsleeves rolled up. Fruits and vegetables presenting themselves like hookers in Amsterdam windows hoping to be picked.
There is a lot less soul involved in opening up a Radio Shack today. In fact there is no soul involved at all.
That is how things have changed.
Yeah there were crooked merchants back then and rude, ungrateful customers but there was a sense of pride and a sense of community as well.
Radio Shack is staffed with used car salesmen who make you want to take a shower after shopping there.
I use Radio Shack as a metaphor for business in the 21st century.
Ironically the song I was listening to was Closing Time. As it ended I killed all semblance of sensitivity and humanity that makes me who I am, and walked slowly across the parking lot, inserted my key into the door and prepared to participate in the ritualistic opening of yet another day of slinging booze.

Three quarters of the way through my shift, Eric, a sensitive, loving and loved guy and close friend, gestured to me to step outside.
Sitting in a car by the curb was his wife and his daughter.
And his grandson. His first grandchild. Bobby.
He sat in his car seat wide eyed checking me out.
I said hello to the wife and the daughter. I talked to Bobby. By the way I am not one of those people who talks baby talk to kids. I talk to them. Maybe kids wait a while to talk to us because they realize that most conversation is a waste of time. I do my part to smooth out that curve.
Grandpa shook his hand and got Bobby to let me shake his hand.
Standing there in brilliant August sunshine holding the hand of a life that is not even one year in.
It was precious.
Today I am wondering what kinds of things will capture his attention when he gets older. What will his interests be. What will the world be for him, what will life be like for him. What will he do with his life, providing he is lucky and intelligent enough to actually DO something with his life.

Yesterday was quite a day.

The Last Marker

I fixate on a number of landmarks on my commute to work to keep me focused, engaged during the beautiful ride. Gorgeous back road 30 minute respite.
The last marker I focus on before I begin the descent to hell is a graveyard.
I believe there is great significance in that.

Thursday, August 23, 2012


I am uneasy. Enormously uneasy.
I always feel that way at this time of year. Summer is almost dead and I am about to be plunged into ten months of cruel New England winter. And even though this time of year signifies death for me, I am motivated to run faster. It's that whole "Fall" thing. Cooler, crisper days, an urge to do, to make something happen.
I want to go on record as saying that one winter, sometime in the last ten or so, I tried to embrace winter. I honestly gave it a try.
I had a desk job then. Joe The Accountant. Dutiful good boy enduring corporate condescension on a daily basis for the privilege of earning a semi-reasonable paycheck.
On breaks I would go outside and take a walk and deeply breathe in the cold. At lunch I would take rides, leaving my window down a crack to let in the crisp air.
It didn't work. My body, my soul and my mind screamed "What the hell are you doing? We are freezing. This is not natural. Move to Arizona immediately."
But I digress.
I am more uneasy than usual this year.
I feel like a soul must feel upon leaving the host body and looking for a new home.
Vibes of change have intensified on all fronts but there is nothing concrete to hang onto. I feel like I am treading water and believe me, I cannot afford to tread water.
I am looking for my very own deus ex machina. Deus ex machina is an approach used in the literary world to resolve seemingly unresolvable conflicts. As you are wondering how the story is going to end, an artificial or improbable device or event is introduced into the story which resolves all conflicts.
I am squirming along like an inchworm. Bring on my very own deus ex machina.
I need it NOW.
I am uneasy. More so than usual. So much so that I am uncomfortable in my own skin. Distracted and wondering.
Goddamn New England seasons.

At Some Point

At some point in the history of politics in this country, politicians must have decided that the voting public is uninformed, uneducated and easily manipulated. So they can be lied to.
As I monitor this campaign I am disgusted. You would think that with President Barack Obama involved, the discussion would be elevated. Even just a little bit. And truthfully his comments are sharper, funnier and more to the point than R&R.
But he is still forced to defend himself against lies, which pulls him down into the mud. I won't give him a free pass; he could probably do better than he is doing campaign-wise. But as with his entire presidency he is forced to deal with the republicans.
And these are not intelligent or moral people.
It is generally assumed that The Founding Fathers were exceptionally intelligent men. The Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, are amazing documents. Their vision for this country was astonishing.
Did they look down on "average" Americans?
I don't want to believe that. I want to think they actually had our best interests in mind as today's politicians don't.
I believe at some point this country began a long slide downward into mediocrity which probably had at its source greed and condescension.
Then again when you consider how we made this country our own, you have to acknowledge that there was no honor in that.
But maybe condescension is a function of intelligence. Maybe George and the boys laughed together over a not so civilized whiskey  at night, licking their chops considering how they were going to get rich at the expense of the working stiffs.
Political campaigns in this country are an embarrassment. Not only do politicians not do anything about the enormously dangerous problems threatening to destroy the lives of the wee folk, they don't even talk about these issues on the campaign trail.
They act like immature teenagers. They lie, they point fingers, they exaggerate.
They treat the voting public like morons. They manipulate opinions using fear and emotion and prejudice as triggers.
I think politicians should be held to standards of truth. There should be independent organizations set up like the super pacs, whose function it is to identify blatant lies. And then publicize them in TV ads which the lying politician is forced to approve.
This campaign is a sideshow. It has enormous consequences but it comes across as reality TV.
I guess in actuality it is reality TV. Because this is the reality of politics in America.
We have nothing to be proud of.

Prescient Comment

Overheard an elderly gentleman talking to one of our talented Booze Emporium employees yesterday. He was talking about his son and he said "Of course he's not the son anymore, he's the father."
I know you are saying come on Joe, you're such a drama queen, you heard what you wanted to hear.
Nope. Heard it clearly.
He's not the son anymore, he's the father.
What a heavy duty comment. Life flips around on you. You roll down the road pushing forward, thinking you are making progress and at some point, some point that is inevitable and a place you don't want to get to, life starts moving backwards.
I hope I have many more years ahead of me before I become the son again.
But as I think about it, what is my definition as father even now? My sons are 32 and  28. Living their own lives, pursuing their own futures.
I'm certainly not a role model, they are both doing better than me. I don't teach them anything at this point, I learn from them. I don't see them anywhere near as often as I would like to so I am not a constant presence in their lives.
The slide has begun.
It occurs to me as I fight for a spec of decency in my life before it's too late, that I am also fighting to remain a dad.
I guess we are as much friends at this point as we are father and sons. And I am happy about that. We laugh together a lot when we are together and I'm pretty sure they don't leave me and say "What a pain in the ass the old man is." Not all fathers get to say that, to experience that.
I am 58. Still seeking, still searching, still defining and redefining. Eternally trying to understand.
Better than watching Beverly Hillbillies re-runs with a blood stream full of oxycontin.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Phyllis Diller

Alright I gotta lighten things up here.

Phylis Diller was a hell of a broad. She was a broad in the old fashioned best sense of the word.
The old guard is thin and fading away. People my parents dug. Amazing that some are still around.
She was a pioneer for women in comedy and show biz.
And what a laugh. Heaven just got noisier.

Some of her quotes:

"Whatever you look like, marry a man your own age - as your beauty fades, so will his eyesight."

"There's a new medical crisis. Doctors are reporting that many men are having allergic reactions to latex condoms. They say they cause severe swelling. So what's the problem?"

"Housework can't kill you, but why take a chance" Which reminds me of my very cool Aunt Lydia who had a poster prominently displayed in her house that said "F**K Housework. She too was and is still ahead of her time.

"Health - what my friends are always drinking to before they fall down."

"The reason women don't play football is because eleven of them would never wear the same outfit in public."

"My mother-in-law had a pain beneath her left breast. Turned out to be a trick knee."

"Burt Reynolds once asked me out. I was in his room."

Hank 2.0

In 2011 Hank Williams Jr. said that President Obama and John Boehner playing golf together was like Hitler and Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu playing a round.

Recently at the Iowa State Fair he said "We've got a Muslim President who hates farming, hates the military, hates the U.S. and we hate him"
His comments were received with cheers.

The man is an irresponsible fool. He has a huge audience which he knows is easily incited and he deliberately incites them with incendiary words.

He's at the Iowa State Fair, for Christ sake. Farming is a pretty sensitive issue. So is the military and I bet there are some interesting opinions about Muslims there as well.
Most of these people will not take the time to figure out if Ole Hank Jr. is telling the truth. If Hank said it, it must be right.

I am tempted to go on a rant about how stupid, immoral, uninformed, prejudiced, idiotic and irresponsible HW Jr is but I won't. His words speak for themselves.

I heard a comment President Obama made about comments Mitt Romney made. He said "You can't just make stuff up. That's one thing you learn as President of the United States."
It's a simple comment. A simple and powerful truth.

And it applies to Ole Hank.

The problem is that in this country you can make stuff up because people are looking for reasons to hate President Barack Obama.

I have done some research. I found out that Hank Williams Jr. is gay, he hates guns and beer, he respects women and enjoys knitting, he is a Democrat and a Rhodes scholar, is well respected in intellectual circles and has a close personal relationship with his pet pig Florabelle.

Rape Me, Baby

When it comes to women, men are incredibly stupid. And uninformed. We don't understand them in general and we definitely don't understand their biology.
Most men think a zygote is a minor league baseball team.
republicans in office and running for office have a history of saying ignorant things about rape and the female body's response to it. I think they will say anything to justify their consistent track record of trying to strip women of the right to make decisions about their own bodies. But I do believe there is a lot more ignorance in those comments than there should be, coming from people we trust to run this country.
Men don't take rape seriously. "She was asking for it. Look at the way she was dressed. Look at the way she acts." How do you make the connection from the way a woman looks or acts to deciding that it is OK to rape her?
Men will tell you they would love to be raped. "Man, I wouldn't mind if she knocked me down, ripped my clothes off and burned off the first three layers of my skin."
Of course they are imagining Jennifer Aniston. I guarantee you they are not imagining a 300 pound woman wearing knee highs with Spam on her breath and gallons of sweat in her fatty creases.
Todd Akin is a moron. A moron who said that in cases of "legitimate rape" a woman's body springs into action to block the unwanted pregnancy. A moron who once co-sponsored a bill with PAUL RYAN. Bill H.R. 3 - "The no taxpayer funding for abortion act." This was the first bill that changed the term from rape to forcible rape.
Meet your new republican vice presidential candidate.
President Obama said it succinctly: "Rape is rape." That's it. That's all you need to know. You don't need to redefine it or condone it in specific circumstances. It is a horrific act, an invasion of someone's body, it is a violent act.
These men are dangerous. They don't believe a husband can rape his wife. They believe most women fabricate rape stories.
These are caveman points of view. They have no place in the 21st century.
The whole argument revolves around a woman's right to abortion. I understand the sensitivity here. But to try to make abortion illegal even in instances of rape and incest is immoral, inhuman, and insulting.
These men don't have the capacity to imagine being pregnant. Let alone being pregnant with a monster created through an act of violence by a sweaty, pig.
You cannot legislate morality. On the grounds that morality is an individual concern and on the grounds that the men making these decisions are not qualified to do so. Because they have agendas. Because they are vile.
Romney/Ryan said they disagree with Akins' comments. They did not condemn them. They did not say they are flat out wrong.
Akins has been condemned by all republicans. Not because they disagree with him but because he has shined a light on one of their core beliefs. They do not want people focusing on the fact that they do not consider women equals. They don't want people focusing on the fact that they treat rape lightly and that their opposition to abortion is largely based on questionable religious beliefs.
This is just one horrific example of how dangerous these men are and how important this election is.
Pay attention.
They are trying to take this country back to the fifties. A time when an illusion of domesticity and equilibrium existed. Until the sixties came along and reality reared it's ugly head.
republicans don't deal well with reality. They are more comfortable with lies. Like trickle down economics.
And the belief that the odds are greatly against a woman getting pregnant through rape because the traumatic experience of rape causes a woman to "secrete a certain secretion" that tends to kill sperm. That last comment is courtesy of republican state rep Stephen Freind, spoken in 1988.
You might argue that is ancient history.
I say it supports the opinion that this has been a republican point of view for a very long time.

Foggy Early Morning Thoughts

In this blog I have written about Gary Sinise, who does extraordinary things for disabled American veterans.
I have written about vets coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan and the extraordinary things they do in politics, in business, in any walk of life because they are extraordinarily qualified to do whatever they want to do.
I have written about family members who are fighting disease with bravery and a resilient positive attitude.
I have written about family members who are dealing in amazing strength with horrific issues regarding a son that tear their hearts and their family apart.
These are the things I can look to, and many more, when I whine.
And as much as I would like to think that I am the only human being who is petty, I know, based on the millions of meaningless conversations I have been sucked into in my life, that I am not.
Human beings are petty.
I don't understand it.
How is it that we take this thing called life - which is a precious gift, an unknown and unknowable thing, a mystery relative to origin and ending, and piss it away with complaints and backstabbing and agendas and pettiness.
We live as if we will never die.
You have to keep focusing on the inspiring things to keep your perspective. And they are all around you. You can read about them, you can see them on TV, in movies, in life.
Most important you can see them in your own family.
We are all touched by suffering or tragedy in some way. Like time bombs going off all around us. Things happen to people you are related to or know or they happen to you.
Ideally you need to grab control of your life and steer it down your own road, although few of us do that, but even if you are lucky enough to pull that off, things still happen to you and around you that you have no control of.
You have to deal with these things or learn from how others deal with these things.
Because this is the real stuff of life.
These are the weapons you need to fight pettiness.
I don't understand myself and absolutely do not understand other human beings and I am blown away by our casual approach to life.
The mountains we make out of molehills and the real mountains we ignore.
I woke up with these thoughts in my tiny brain just a few short minutes ago and had to get them out.

Monday, August 20, 2012

I Fear You More............

I'm gearing up to do a six day stretch at Lompoc. When I raise my head up on Sunday for a one day taste of freedom it will be August 26.
Summer is on the operating table and the vital signs do not look good.
It was fifty two degrees when I got up yesterday. It was fifty today.
Sweatpants, flannel shirt. Already.
Scrooge said to the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come: "I fear you more than any spectre I have seen."
That's how I feel about this week.
Because I will be distracted by meaningless reality while summer fades and begins to slip away.
I tried this year. Really tried to grab summer by the throat and squeeze every ounce of warmth out of it. Every ounce of summer fun.
And in retrospect it has been good. Stretching the definition, summer began for us on Mother's Day. A day made spectacular by my sons, their magnificent women and my incredible brother.
We have done a lot.
But not enough.
Comes down to money. Always does. And we don't have any.
I'm tired of this game. I can do better. I am trying to do better but I have not been rewarded.
It has been two years of not being rewarded.
I get antsy at this time of year. Summer is dying and with it the heat I so crave. But football is starting up, which is my religion. Jesus digs The PATS. He told me. Over an ice cold Blue Moon and a couple of Crown Royals. Neat.
Fall (if you believe in that season) is a time of change.
My phony baloney job is going nowhere thanks to the gutless, inefficient and immoral fools who run the New Hampshire State Liquor Commission.
However hope has materialized on the creative side. Support. Encouragement. Possibilities.
I continue to exercise and exorcise. Whiskey consumption has been drastically decreased.
2011 and 2012 have been years of enormous trying on my part. Enormous change.
And yet I still get down on all fours twice a week to eat cat food with my precious pets to save on the food budget.
I am trying to evolve spiritually and I realize money ain't got nothing to do with that.
But it has a hell of a lot to do with life.
I want some breathing room.
As I say this I am thinking about my brother and his ex-wife who are going to court this morning one more time to witness the fate of their son. I am putting out the most powerful positive vibe I can to influence a reasonable outcome. And my heart aches to think about how my brother's heart aches.
As I say this I am thinking about my incredible brother-in-law who has begun radiation treatments on a cancerous spot in his brain. Five days a week for the next four weeks. Carol talked to him yesterday, and even though he has headaches and is nauseous, he remains positive. Even though he has had a lung removed, even though he has endured surgery to remove another cancerous spot in his brain.
So I sit here on August 20 with confusing and contradictory thoughts swirling around my tiny brain.
My own selfish wants.
The suffering of those I love.
Life is this thing that exists on so many levels.
So hard to make sense of. So hard to maintain a reasonable perspective.
I can't make today about me. It's just not right.
Today is about Jonathan and Eddie and Kathy.
Today is about Sarge and Cori.
When I started to write this I felt large. Like I am some sort of presence in this world who deserves more.
After the words came out, which I have no control over, I feel small.
But I am not defeated. And part of my strength comes from Eddie, Kathy, Sarge and Cori.
I am lucky to call them family.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Dig This

"If winning were easy, losers would do it."

NASCAR commercial

Dig This

"Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing."

Oscar Wilde, from The Picture of Dorian Grey

Bear in mind that Oscar Wilde died in 1900. Not much has changed, eh?

Are You Kidding Me?

Paul Ryan says he likes Rage Against The Machine.
Yeah, I can just picture him flying around his living room in a rage, pumping his fist in defiance and rebellion, violently bumping his head up and down, wearing leather gloves with no fingers, sporting his Free The Rich tattoo prominently displayed on his privileged calf, rocking out to Rage.
What an a**hole.
But Tom Morello had the perfect response.
"Paul Ryan's love of Rage Against The Machine is amusing, because he is the embodiment of the machine that our music has been raging against for two decades."
Morello said Ryan has plenty of rage in him but it is misguided - "A rage against women, a rage against immigrants, a rage against workers, a rage against gays, a rage against the poor, a rage against the environment."
Perfectly said.
But then again Tom Morello is a man of conviction who stands up for those convictions.
Ryan is an opportunist who will rape and pillage America's middle class and the elderly and laugh as he does it.
I guarantee you he couldn't name one Rage Against The Machine tune. If knew anything at all about them, he wouldn't have picked them to try and make himself look hip.
Ladies and gentlemen of the republican party - meet your brand new vice presidential candidate.

What Did You Do Yesterday?

I spent part of my day with President Barack Obama yesterday.
What did you do?
Carol volunteers one day a week doing data entry for the re-election campaign. She drags her tired ass to campaign headquarters after working all day and puts in another three hours. She got tickets to the event. We got to hang with The Prez.
It was a surreal day on so many levels.
We put in an nine and a half hour effort to listen to the man speak for thirty minutes.
It was worth it.
Up at 6:00 a.m., out of the house at 7:00, one hour drive to the high school he was speaking at. We were on the grounds at 8:15, inside at 11:00, he made his appearance at 1:05.
One hell of a lot of waiting. In the car. Outside the building. Inside the building.
The car was swept with detection devices, looked into and under with mirrors, sniffed by bomb  sniffing dogs.
There were men on the roof of the building with binoculars. And guns. There were men cruising the perimeter of the woods surrounding the building with dogs. And guns.
There were stereotypical secret service guys - everywhere -  with black suits and ear devices. Police, firefighters, emergency rescue personnel from Windham and surrounding towns.
We walked through metal detectors and were wanded.
Standing outside in line, beginnings of boredom, and suddenly three military helicopters appear over the horizon and land close by on school property. Goosebumps. Followed thirty seconds later by a different type of helicopter which everyone assumed was The Prez. Turns out it wasn't, but we didn't know that and there was applause and excitement.
Almost in the building now and there was a noise eerily similar to a gun shot. Everything and everyone froze. Thousands stood in complete silence. Nervous. We never found out what it was. Security people went over to a rescue vehicle and took a look at it and were not concerned.
But that gives you a feel for the oddness of the whole atmosphere.
We walked into the gym and an aid tried to steer us to a section in the bleachers diagonally behind the podium where nobody else was sitting. All the other seats were taken. I refused because I did not put in all that effort to look at the back of the President's head. We were there early enough to stand within twenty feet of the podium, directly in front of it. I could not pass that up.
One hour and forty five minutes later, standing in stifling heat with sweat literally rolling down our backs and tall people in front of us, I was convinced I had made a fatally stupid decision. I felt so bad for my lovely wife who had wanted to take the seats.
Five minutes later we did not care. None of the hours long inconveniences mattered. The decision was the right one.
Because President Barack Obama stepped up to the podium and worked his magic. So close to us you could practically reach out and touch him. And we maneuvered around the tall people and got clear lines of sight.
Carol took a bunch of magnificent pictures, straight on to the man, which will forever commemorate our historic day.
I do not participate in mindless applause, mindless cheering. I applauded when I felt emotionally moved. I reserved the rest of my attention for the experience.
I stared at the man and was blown away by the fact that I could be so close to The President of the United States of America. Blown away by the magnitude of the office, the magnitude of the responsibility, the magnitude of his intelligence.  His unwavering commitment against all odds.
I marvelled at his speech even though I have listened to him thousands of times on TV. So much more powerful in person.
I made eye contact once or twice and expected him to recognize my passion, intelligence and verbal acuity and invite me up to say a few words. He didn't. That's the only time I questioned his judgement.
He was done half an hour later and I hung around with the futile hope of touching the man. He came down off the stage and shook hands with the front row. We couldn't get that close. But I stood on my toes and watched him work the crowd and I was like a kid at a rock concert desperate for contact with my group.
Even walking out of the gym I kept looking back over my shoulder to get one last look as he continued to shake hands.
When he was out of sight I felt a little down.
President Barack Obama is the first president in my lifetime that I feel is MY president. I have never felt this before. I feel a connection with him and a respect for him that makes me feel involved.
We got home at 3:30. I couldn't function. I tried to write and couldn't do it.
I was in bed at 9:30 and slept until 8:00 this morning.
That's the kind of day it was.
Carol and I stood twenty feet away from The President of the United States. I don't give a damn what your politics are, anybody would have to be blown away by that opportunity.
For us, as committed, informed, and passionate supporters, it was overwhelming, gratifying, emotional and lifetime memorable.
So what did you do yesterday?

Friday, August 17, 2012

What Am I Going To Do With Richard Simmons?

I never know what is in my head.
I think I do but I don't.
Probably not much different than you.
I'm driving to work a couple of days ago listening to NPR, and they do a feature on Richard Simmons. I almost changed the station. Actually I almost shut the damn radio off because there are no options.
I don't even try to find good music on the radio anymore because it has become so corporatized. There are approximately 60 trillion great songs from "my era" that are ripe for the plucking, but classic rock radio chooses to play the same fifteen songs over and over and over again.
This is because some corporate a**hole has done the research and has determined that these songs strike a chord with their targeted demographic.
I thought we were talking about music. Emotion, response, memories, reaction.
I miss the days when DJ's did what ever the hell they wanted to. Playing the entire first side of an album or going off on a tangent suggested by the music that had them mixing jazz with classical with rock with poetry.
That was radio.
I listen to NPR in a vain attempt to keep my brain flexible and to try to stay informed and to have some company on the days when I need it.
Richard Simmons drives me nuts. Those shorts have to go, the glittery shirts, the over the top enthusiasm, the high pitched voice.
Have you ever seen him on Letterman? I want to slap him and I think Letterman does too.
Simmons saved up a year and a half worth of tips while working as a waiter to open his first aerobics studio in 1974 in Beverly Hills. The focus of the story was that even after all this time and all this success, whenever he is in town he still leads the classes himself in that very same studio. For $12. It has become a cult experience.
An NPR reporter participated in a class. He described Simmons' pep talks as "part AA, part church testimony service." Simmons himself describes it as a Broadway show.
He chants, he sings, he jokes, anything to keep the mood light and keep his people motivated.
When I first heard his voice inspiring the class I cringed. But I listened and learned.
He cares about these people. He cares about their emotions. The self consciousness, the sadness that comes with being overweight and failing every attempt to shape up.
The way he talked to them blew me away. He gave them hope. He made them laugh. He made them feel good. The sensitivity in his voice was not contrived. It was real and it got to me.
As he was interviewed in the empty studio after class, he softly wept as he talked about what this all means to him. He takes it so seriously that he said he actually cries more than he laughs.
I tell myself that I am an open minded guy. I continually prove myself wrong.
Once again I judged a person on superficial criteria. I am drawn to weirdness, I worship it, but apparently I am selective about it.
I believe Richard Simmons is sincere and I believe he brings empathy and caring into a lot of lives. Lives that need it desperately.
That is a rare and precious beauty in this cold world.
I'll tell you right now if I am ever in Beverly Hills when Richard is, I will shell out the $12. And hope that he singles me out during the class for mock ridicule. Because I know he will make me laugh and force me to not take myself so damn seriously.
According to NPR, Richard Simmons' message for his entire career has been "work hard, take care of yourself, and you'll be just fine."
That is a simple message. What makes it powerful is his sincerity. His caring.
Another lesson learned, baby.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Keeping Elvis Alive

Elvis died 35 years ago today.
Carol wore her Elvis shirt to work today. I love the shirt. It is a button down white shirt with a bold Elvis graphic across the bottom.
She does this every year and I believe she also wears it on his birthday.
She is a lifelong Elvis fan and I think that is very cool.
I was able to get tickets to a concert in 1976 or 1977 and we saw him live. It still makes me feel good to know I was able to do that for Carol.
He was overweight and his voice was not that powerful but it didn't make a bit of difference. Women were hysterical, the vibe was unreal and it was a mega event.
I looked around the theatre and tapped into the vibe as an archaeological excavator. I like E a lot but I am not a fanatic like Carol so I was detached enough to be able to absorb what was happening.
Absolutely amazing.
Artists with that kind of star power, that level of talent, exist on another plane and they put out a vibe that knocks the earth off its axis. Just a little bit.
And it never stops. His vibe was too powerful, too original to ever die. I know it is still zinging across this and many other universes as we speak, bringing smiles to the faces of any creature who comes in contact.
And I know that Elvis Aaron Presley is looking down on my lovely wife today with pride and appreciation for her infinite loyalty and her boundless joy at having his music and his legacy in her life.

Airstream Dream

Airstream dream. I fantasize about gypsy life in a silver cylinder. On the road, on the move. Kerouac in rolling luxury.
Shackled as I am to The Mortgage Vampire and a vile employer, weightlessness is an aching need that, once tasted, would become an addiction.
Lunch break is over; I am forced to pull out of the lot where I feed my fantasy. The sun ricochets off the silver, forcing me to close my eyes for a second.
To dream my Airstream dream.

Dig This

"A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance."

"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, - and, in spite of True Romance magazines - we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely - at least, not all the time -  but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness."

Hunter S. Thompson

Queen Myrina and My Cinnamon Chipotle Rubbed Boneless Pork Chops

You never know where information will come from. I'm reading The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest and there is a one page in between chapters chapter that references the historian Diodorus from Sicily in the second century B.C.
He wrote about the Amazons of Libya. This Amazon reign was a gynaecocracy,a government by women. Only women were allowed to hold high office, including in the military.
According to legend, the realm was ruled by Queen Myrina who along with 30,000 female soldiers and 3,000 female cavalry, defeated a number of male armies as they rocked their way through Egypt and Syria all the way to the Aegean.
These women rejected marriage as subjugation. They were granted a leave of absence to copulate with randomly selected males from other villages in order to have kids.
Only a woman who had killed a man in battle was allowed to give up her virginity.
I love this. We need us some of that in the good ole US of A.
I went online to read up some of Diodorus's words and was not disappointed.
"Now there have been in Libya a number of races of women who were warlike and greatly admired for their manly vigor..." I love the manly vigor thing, everything defined from the point of view of a man. What is womanly vigor? Probably more terrifying than the manly version because it would be flavored with intelligence and sensitivity.
He talks about how the women practiced the arts of war and were required to serve in the army and afterwards to administer the government.
"The men, however, like our married women, spent their days about the house, carrying out the orders which were given them by their wives; and they took no part in military campaigns or in office or in the exercise of freedom of speech in the affairs of the community by virtue of which they might become presumptuous and rise up against the women."
I absolutely love that.
Why not give this social system and form of government a try?
Men have essentially destroyed this planet and created an order where the rich rule and the rest struggle. Where corruption and graft and back room deals and lying, cheating and stealing are the accepted norm.
Because men are so goddamn ego driven and competitive that they limit their potential through tunnel vision.
In these times when basic rights are being challenged or regressed or destroyed, it would be fun to witness a revolution that turns everything upside down. I think we humans are so far gone as a race that the only thing that can save us is nuclear change.
But hoping for the rise to equality of women in power is about as realistic as hoping for an end to racism.
Because the order of everything was established long ago and those in power have the money and resources to fight any attempt at change.
I overhear ni*ger jokes and condescending comments about women much more than you would expect in 2012. They will always be there because we humans are petty and think we are defending our turf by demeaning others.
The next joke or comment I hear should be the last. The first ever made was too much.
Anyway I just think it would be cool to reverse the order and see what happens. My gut tells me women would do a much better job. Then again you have to consider that absolute power corrupts absolutely.
If that turned out to be the case it would be a final judgement on the human race and a very negative one.
I'm ready to give it a shot. I love to cook, I dance to my iPod while doing the dishes, and I love being home with our cats. Don't even mind cleaning the kitty litter box.
Carol is stronger than me anyway. She's the one who has held it all together over the years as I zigged and zagged indulging my poetic sensibilities to the detriment of anything resembling a career.
Bring it on, baby, we got nothing to lose.

Dig This

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect."

Anais Nin


I am going to throw myself into today with complete and wild abandon. Attack viciously and with a purpose. A laser like focus that will cut through the bullshit and get to the core of my quest, my drive, my journey.
By the way, I used the word journey sarcastically - I have come to hate the word because it is overused. Everyone is on a journey today. People use it because it makes things sound more important than they are. Mystical, magical. People pick up code words that they think make them sound cool and they beat them to death.
I am going to skip and dance and write and write and write. Feel the hot August sun and kiss my cats repeatedly.
I lean my shoulder against convention, my own misdirected status quo, as I try to change direction, and stagger directly into the headwind with teeth bared against a soundtrack of manic laughter.
I am fighting for my life.
I am fighting for my life at this late stage with everything I got.
It is 6:23 a.m. on an August morning and my brain is burning up with heat.
The heat of passion, the heat of want, the heat of commitment, the heat of friction resulting from my fight against this life.
Got a big day ahead of me and I intend to gobble it up.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Cold Hearted Orb

"Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watchlights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament,
Another day's useless energy spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
Lonely man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white.
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion???"

From Nights In White Satin. The Moody Blues. The poem was written by Graeme Edge, drummer for The Moody Blues and read by keyboardist Mike Pinder, inserted into Nights In White Satin..

I have heard this a million times. You have heard this a million times. The song and poem were written in 1967. And yet my brain chose yesterday, forty five years later, to take notice.

Powerful, beautiful stuff. We are tortured by music on an eternal loop at The Booze Emporium. As employees we hear the same stuff over and over. Surprisingly enough it is not complete torture for me because there is a lot of Allman Brothers on there. Even heavy duty blues like Stormy Monday. There is even some Johnny Winter included. The liquor commission had to make a mistake in authorizing that stuff; they have proven conclusively that they have no taste whatsoever.

Anyway, I am in a vulnerable mental state at the moment and Late Lament punched me right in the face yesterday.
This morning I dialed it up online and read the lyrics over and over again. There is a lot more to it, you should check it out and fertilize your mind.
One thing that occurred to me was the sensitivity and poetic attitudes and grasp of reality that so many artists exposed in the sixties. Attributes that were overlooked by some in dismissing the music as amateurish, unprofessional, too loud. You name it. Pick whatever close minded critique you were exposed to as a teen and run with it.
They were looking at life from a different angle and they dared to expose the truth, to mock it, to reveal the fragility and tenderness and pain and irony of life.
The poem knocks you down with harsh reality expressed in tender words.

Just those thirteen lines quoted above, which end the song, sum up life for millions of people. People who waste their days, people in love, lonely people, new life, and elders wishing for youth. Reality blurred, forcing us to decide what is real and what is illusion. Given the handicap that we are not equipped to make that distinction.
How much more real can you get?
That is the beauty of poetry, of lyrics and music, of any artistic expression. To take powerful emotions, mind blowing reality and express it concisely. Most people can't even ask for a Big Mac in thirteen lines.
What is even more powerful is the opportunity to shake you up, make you realize that your life has just been described and that you don't like it and you want to change it. Or make you more resolute in making damn sure that your life never becomes what the poem describes.
If you read those words and you FEEL something, then your heart has been touched. Parts of you that you thought were dead have been brought back to life.
You need that feeling, that life, that uncomfortable emotion to make your life worthwhile.
Dead automatons are what the world requires to function smoothly. They make up a sickening per centage of the seven billion.
Living, breathing, emotionally alive people are what is required for change.
I'm glad Late Lament invaded my mind on an August nothing day in 2012. You are ready to receive inspiration when you are ready to receive inspiration.
Another weapon to add to my arsenal.


I don't pay much attention to the word bittersweet because it is overused.
Last night I realized that it is an excellent adjective.
Had dinner with an old friend. One of The Magic Five. I have five solid friends that I would trust with my life (one of whom is my brother, which takes the whole thing to another level).
I met Dave in 1977 when the wife and I were taking dance lessons in preparation for our wedding. At least that's when I think I met him. Could be wrong. But that's how I remember it.
So we have been friends for 35 years.
Dance lessons were a tip off to the kind of guy he is. He took them seriously and he excelled at it. He excels at everything. He throws himself into everything he does and is never half assed about it.
He can build anything, fix anything, and is an automotive expert. He is intelligent and above all else he is decisive. And confidant. He cannot be defeated.
He is in complete control of his life.
He gave me a taste of freedom back then by teaching me how to ride a motorcycle.
We were very close for many years, then Carol and I moved to NH and the friendship slowed down. But it is still deep, it is still significant.
We get together from time to time for dinner and pick up right where we left off.
He retired last month. He is fifty six years old. Was a firefighter for thirty two years.
He is living well and deserves it. He earned everything he has, earned the right to enjoy life as a free man.
As we compared notes it was almost comical how differently our lives have unfolded.
Anxiety mixes with pleasure as I drive to meet him.
He is a living blueprint for how to live a life. For success.
I am a living blueprint for confusion.
When I talk about how The New Hampshire State Liquor Commission has boldly and openly screwed me, it sounds pathetic. When I talk about how the bar tending dream died, it sounds pathetic. When I talk about my financial struggles, it sounds pathetic.
It is like I am a boy sitting across from a man.
The killer last night was that the conversations have been going like this ever since we started meeting for dinner. And now he has retired. It was like an exclamation point, a warning shot, there was a finality to it that brilliantly illuminated just how much time I have wasted and just how little time I have left to right the ship.
We were together for two and a half hours last night and the conversation never stopped. We laughed a lot.
My mind bubbled and struggled on the ride home. He is a class act and never makes me feel judged. In fact I would bet anything that he doesn't look down on me or consider me a loser. He picked up the tab, which always bothers me, but it didn't last night. Other people will say "I'll get that" and it makes me feel small. Dave looked me in the eye and asked if I would be offended if he picked up the tab.
As I said, he is a class act.
But as an intelligent man and a concerned friend he has to wonder where I went wrong. Knowing that makes me uncomfortable.
I so want to impress him with achievement, I want to tell him something positive that will make him smile as only a true friend can smile when he knows in his heart that his friend has arrived, has figured it all out, has taken control of his life.
I feel empty today. Absolutely hollow.
Timing, in life, can intensify reality.
In the last two weeks it was made painfully obvious that I am at another dead end job-wise. Forced to decide once again what the hell I should do. That knowledge has been festering in my brain and combined with the image of my retired friend last night to hollow me out.
But I am still trying. That's the best I can say. I am still trying.
I cannot give up.
It is a bonus in life to have a friend who can inspire you. Inspiration is a precious commodity.
Dave is such a friend.
It was a good night. It was a summer night. It was beer and sandwiches and conversation. It was easy driving with my windows down and my hair flying.
It was a night spent with a friend in complete trust. No agendas, no holding back, no lies, no phoniness.
Like oxygen.
On top of everything else he gives me, he gives me that.
I love the man and respect him enormously.
Pretty cool to have a friend like that in my life.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Mechanical Pencils

When I walk into Staples I want to buy notebooks and computers and folders. Get organized. The feeling overwhelms me.
Mechanical pencils are a smaller component of that. I have wanted them, I have owned them but, ultimately, they prove to be a pain in the ass.
The romance between us has died and I have moved on.

Dig This

"Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords."

Richard Brautigan

Monday, August 13, 2012

Dig This

"I remember thinking I just want more. This isn't it. Fame is not the goal. Money is not the goal. To be able to know how to get peace of mind, how to be happy, is something you don't just stumble across. You've got to search for it."

George Harrison

Paul Ryan

Paul Ryan is the perfect choice for Romney.
Romney is a weasel, spineless, without direction or conviction, dedicated to kissing the ass of the wealthy and destroying the lives of middle America.
Ryan COMES ACROSS as a sincere, hard nosed, decisive guy. It's like Bush/Cheney 2.0, except Cheney really was a tough cookie.
Ryan is the perfect choice because he has the tools to sell a regressive policy that will destroy the middle class and America financially, strip women, gays and minorities of their rights, destroy the lives of seniors and sabotage the promise of higher education ( further weakening any chance for America to make a comeback) to his rabidly uninformed, unintelligent, and racist base.
Romney cannot even wipe his own ass without directions.
I was in the kitchen doing kitchen things this morning but Carol had Morning Joe on and I overheard the Romney/Ryan thing at a rally. Romney savagely attacked President Obama for negative ads which is so hypocritical it is beyond belief. He made it sound like President Obama is slinging mud and avoiding substantive discussion when in truth it is Romney his own goddamn self that is doing just that. You cannot pin this weasel down on one important point.
And that is because he has only one point - take care of his rich devotees and screw the middle class.
Someone at the rally apparently shouted out at Romney - the guy was escorted from the event - and Romney waxed eloquent on how his supporters are respectful and they listen politely and they do not disrupt.
Like the guy who shouted at me "F**k that ni*ger" when he saw the bumper sticker on my wife's car. Or the people who answer phone polls with "Someone ought to kill that ni*ger". Carol works one night a week for the re-elect President Obama campaign, inputting info from phone calls, and they have gotten this kind of response a few times. And these are calls to INDEPENDENTS - they do not even call republicans.
I didn't hear Romney criticizing anyone when a member of Congress called President Obama a liar or when a member of the press rudely interrupted him during a press conference.
Romney is a dangerous phony but an obvious one.
Ryan is an accomplished actor. Much more dangerous.
At the same rally the attendees started chanting USA, USA, which is what mindless people do as an expression of patriotism. These same people think Born In The USA is the ultimate expression of patriotism.
Ryan's magical budget and his policies would: lower taxes on the rich, raise middle class taxes, drastically reduce funding for higher education, scientific research and clean energy investments, turn Medicare into a voucher program costing seniors a significant amount of money, and move the country backwards on womens' rights, civil rights and gay rights.
Ryan is extremely dangerous because these are his positions and he has the demeanor to defend them eloquently. republicans squirm when they listen to Romney but they will chant USA and sing Springsteen when Ryan lies. I mean speaks.
The rich irony is that these same bozos who cheer wildly are the exact same people Romney/Ryan will gleefully screw if, God forbid, they get into office. And they don't even know it.
But Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan do.
Which makes them the lowest scum on this earth.
The Ryan choice sets up the ultimate presidential election cage match. There will be blood.
R&R represent the status quo - the status quo that has destroyed your life and your hopes and your dreams and any chance of ever getting them back.
President Obama represents an opportunity to reverse the vicious, greed filled history of this country, or at least to fight back hard against it.
I will say this over and over again.
If Romney and Ryan win it will mark the darkest day in this country's history (and there have been many). Years later a broken, hopeless, suffering populace will say:
"What have we done?"

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Dig This

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."

Anais Nin

Making Adjustments

Life is about making adjustments.
Which is another way of saying that life is about change. That's what makes life so hard because we humans don't like change. We try to make things predictable and comfortable, to establish routines. Because it gives you a sense of control. It makes things easier.
But life is a pain in the ass because it is a constantly changing thing. It is relentless, like the honey badger.
You dig your kids and you want them to stay young and laughing forever but they grow up. They were this huge part of your life that everything revolved around and then they are gone.
You have to adjust.
That is a large example that occurs over decades but I think life changes almost daily. We don't notice it in part because of our routines and in part because we choose not to.
Nothing is permanent.
You got a job that you love, it won't last forever. Or if it does, if you are that lucky, there are still things about it that will change.
You got a job that you hate, it won't last forever. Even though every single day feels like forever.
As you get older your body begins to betray you. You have to adapt. There are things you can no longer do, things you can't do as well and things you shouldn't do but, out of stubbornness, you still attempt.
Your mind accumulates vast amounts of information and experience which gives you more weapons to work with. It also develops the maddening habit of forgetting things instantaneously. A fascinating back and forth competition, the outcome of which defines the quality of your life.
If you are flexible enough, your personality changes, but this is a tough one. We get locked in to an approach and hold on tight even if it isn't working. Gets us into a lot of trouble.
But even if you decide you need to change who you are, it is a serous challenge. Because of your mind, because of other people's resistance.
You are affected by the people you deal with every day. This is a tough one because you are dealing with fragile humanity. People come and go, they have different personalities, you adjust, they change or they leave and you adjust to the new guy.
Even the people you deal with every day change day to day depending on mood, level of self abuse the night before, perceived or real injustices, failed plans and revised plans, agendas.
Technology is the perfect example. Especially now when change occurs at exponential rates. You do the best you can to figure it all out but is uncomfortable because you are slapped in the face with 4G LTE before your mind has had a chance to understand 1,2 and 3.
The economy changes, the housing market changes, the political environment changes, the climate changes, your health (both mental and physical) changes.
I think this is just one more source of stress for us wee humans.
It's a big one.
Change is good, though. It relieves boredom , it exercises the mind, if used correctly it can improve your life.
We really should embrace change but it is a slippery devil. I never believe people who say they love chaos, they love anarchy. I think for the most part they are just trying to impress you with their wildness.
The way you handle change directly impacts your life. If you fight it, you lose. If you figure out how to adapt to it, you at least have the potential to win.
The past six years of my life have been all about change and I have fought it like hell even though I initiated it. I haven't really fought the change but I have fought the results and I have fought my own reactions to the results.
Doesn't make sense but it is deeply human.

Angry Eyes

His demeanor was odd, there was anger in his eyes, and the visit seemed contrived. A fact finding mission uncomfortably disguised as coincidence.

The angry eyes are meant to intimidate but cannot possibly be taken seriously.

The question was repeated three times.

On the surface, a concerned inquiry. In actuality an accusation. Confirmed through repetition.

The most transparent humans are those who consider themselves intellectually calculating.

Higher Education

They were a blast, those lunches. College. Three morning classes..........................and one more at 4:00. An elective. British Novels.
So we killed three hours eating sandwiches out of plastic baskets piled high with chips, and drank beer, lots of it, and played pinball.
Accounting majors showing up drunk at 4:00 to glares from English majors.
And they call it higher education.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Smoky Bars

The world is being cleansed.
When I see people rubbing sanitizing gel on their precious little hands I want to slap them. It amuses me that we have to keep dispensers of this stuff at our registers. It amuses me that people use it.
I handle 60 trillion pieces of money every day. I wonder how long the lines would be if I stopped to caress sanitizing gel into my skin after every transaction.
A lot of the money I handle is wet, it is crumpled, it is suspect. What do these people do with their money? I don't really want to know.
Sometimes when I sneeze during a transaction, into my hand, and then continue the transaction, I can just sense the disapproving glare of some prissy little wine snob. A prissy little wine snob who will walk out of the store, slide into the textured leather seat of her Lincoln Navigator and drive home to her country club husband and say: 1) I have to take a shower IMMEDIATELY because I just got waited on by the grossest liquor store clerk in the world, and no you cannot join me and 2) Can I have my weekly $1,000 allowance honey?"
You can't massage purity into your life. You are being assaulted from every angle by things that will disturb your equilibrium. Suck it up.
But I digress.
When smoking was banned in bars I knew the world was close to Armageddon.
Smoking belongs in bars. Especially in blues and jazz clubs. Smoking and booze and music co-exist quite naturally. They are the perfect menage a trois.
I don't smoke. Never have. It is a foul, disgusting habit. Much more sensible to pour gallons of whiskey down your throat.
Tried smoking once as a teenager and immediately moved on to other vices. I especially despise smoke around food. In the old days when selfish idiots were allowed to smoke in restaurants I wanted to drag my steak knife slowly along the base of their throat.
In the old days when I walked into a smoky bar, my body and mind became one. I breathed in the smoke and enjoyed it.
I lived at The Rynborn, the greatest blues bar in the history of the world. Twenty minutes from my house. A blues bar whose death I still mourn many years after its demise.
It was my world. The music, the people, the vibe, the smoke. It felt right, it felt natural it was a balance of things and attitudes that worked perfectly. Aristotle said "The whole is greater than the sum of its parts."
Everything revolved around the music because it was  so exquisite and professional that you were never let down. High standards were set and high standards were met.
But when you factored in the crowd, the booze, the bartenders and waitresses, the physical appearance of the club and the smoke, the thing became gigantic. It took all of these things and became its own life force, a life force that blotted everything else out and made your soul smile.
The first night I walked in there after smoking was banned I felt off balance. Something was wrong. Something was missing.
Actually smoking wasn't banned, they just created a smoking room for the addicts.
If I remember correctly, I spent the first hour walking around in a daze. Bouncing off the walls, tripping over chairs. When a talented and hard working waitress asked what I wanted I requested a ginger ale.
That's when I knew my essence had been compromised.
It's possible I am misremembering that night. But you get the picture.
I still loved the place, worshipped it and worshipped in it, the music continued to invade my bloodstream and inform my heart and brain into ecstasy, but the smoke was gone and the do gooders had taken another piece of me away.
It's all in the perspective, though. I worked as a bartender in a smoky bar as recently as last year. Private clubs are exempt from no smoking laws.
I hated it. Hated the smoke drifting up from ashtrays and fingers into my face. Hated cleaning the goddamn ashtrays.
Some of these smokers were meticulous about having their ashtrays dumped every so often. This amused the hell out of me. They would suck smoke into their lungs non stop, but the goddamn ashtray had to be clean. As if they believed that when a lung failed it could be replaced with an ashtray.
Anyway, when my shift was over and my ass hit a bar stool, with a whiskey and a beer in front of me, the smoke didn't bother me at all.
Going to work every day is certainly not increasing my lifespan. Especially when you consider the weasels I work for. Lots of things are bad for you, technically, if you look closely enough.
As a blues lover and a consumer of a civilized whiskey from time to time, I miss smoky bars.
I'm willing to trade a few years of my life for the joy of experiencing a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

Embrace The Blue

It has taken me a lifetime to realize the worthlessness of trying to get beyond the blue.
Blue is life.
Stand up, they knock you down. The human body is deranged in its ability to take punishment.
Embrace the blue. Take it into smoky bars, cultivate it in your brain.
Let it craftily, lazily escape your eyes.
It will keep people at a distance.

Friday, August 10, 2012

You Never Know

I learned the meaning of the word scaramouch today. Digging the Merriam-Webster Word of the Day website.
Scaramouch. A cowardly buffoon.
I have been singing the word for over thirty years. Scaramouch, scaramouch will you do the fandango?
Even decades later it's always cool when pieces fall together.
I like the word. I can use this word.
I can address liquor commission managers as scaramouch and I guarantee you they will not know the meaning.
It's more than two syllables.

Dig This

"From the ashes we will build another day."

Quote from every single former New Hampshire State Liquor Commission employee.

I Am A Diseased Man

I watched the entire first half of THE PATS first pre-season game last night.
What the hell was I thinking?
With 8:00 to go in the 2nd quarter I was looking at Ryan Mallett.
Didn't matter. As usual I was as giddy as a school boy.
THE PATS are a quality organization. I was vibing to the opening hype - you know the first minute of the broadcast when they show clips from last year and cool highlights, you are getting pumped out of your skull - and they slipped in a tribute to Junior Seau.
I wasn't even thinking about Seau, haven't in a while - and yet THE PATS chose to remember him, appropriately. Got me thinking about him and the latest mass killing. I couldn't even tell you how many people got killed this time. Haven't paid attention to it.
It is sad that we have to swallow so much grief in this world that we can process it and forget it in a heartbeat. Even ignore it.
But I digress.
Chandler Jones. Defensive end. FROM SYRACUSE. I liked the looks of this guy. Looks like a fast moving, nimble, tough defensive dude - somebody who can reduce opposing quarterbacks to tears.
Brandon Lloyd. Really had me pumped. Looked like he and Brady are clicking already. Looking smooth and confident. Saw him interviewed pre-game and it was obvious he had swallowed the cool aid. Talking animatedly, excitedly about playing for THE PATS. Catching what Brady throws.
I love this about this organization. Players are honored to play here and the system is one that promotes genuine team camaraderie.
Other teams try to fake it and they come across that way. THE PATS are real, baby.
Didn't see enough of Dont'a Hightower. Linebacker. FROM ALABAMA. Apparently he is another highly touted prospect but he didn't show me enough. We'll have to have a talk.
Stevan Ridley. Running back. FROM LSU. He looked good last night. Shucking and jiving, dodging and aliving. Spurred my adrenaline.
One guy on the offensive line scared the hell out of me. I think it was Nate Solder. Tackle. FROM COLORADO. If he doesn't shape up the only thing he'll be protecting is his ego.
Look at the receivers Brady has to choose from at the moment. Deion Branch, Julian Edelman, Donte Stallworth, Brandon Lloyd, Jabar Gaffney, Gronk, Hernandez, and Welker. Whatever the final configuration is, it will be stellar.
OK I am ready to go. I'm even ready to give up on summer. Carol and I have tried valiantly to make the most of it but the scum at the NHSLC have conspired to limit my financial flexibility. And as always it comes down to money.
Football is back. Football transcends all other professional sports. It is a spectacle.
I f***ing love it.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Definition Of Irony

Years ago, if you had told me I would have a key and the alarm code to a liquor store, I would have been ecstatic.
It would have been a dream come true.
I could NEVER have predicted that it would be a F***ING nightmare.

Dig This

"Some changes look negative on the surface but you will soon realize that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge."

"You find peace not by rearranging the circumstances of your life, but by realizing who you are at the deepest level."

Eckhart Tolle

5:46 a.m.

I do not know why I am sitting here at 5:46 a.m. talking to you.
Actually I do. The wife's alarm goes off at 5:30. I usually roll over for another hour or so with the cats, and then drag my ass out of bed.
But I knew I wasn't going back to sleep this morning.
I have created a lot of turbulence in the last two years of my life. And turbulence brings consequences.
This has been positive turbulence. Turbulence of change.
Typically I am a negative turbulence guy. Lashing out in anger against my life - consistently - for decades - screwing things up and brewing things up reacting in the worst possible way to make my life even worse.
2011 and 2012 have been different. Exercising like a fiend. Shedding one job, taking on a job that I hoped to give me hope. Finding out my employers are very definitely not in the hope business. Fighting back and deciding what to do. Huge mind changes - studying, examining, thinking, evolving. Writing about 60 trillion words, flexing my creative muscle and discovering my worth in that area. Becoming the greatest chef in the Western hemisphere. Recently cutting down alcohol consumption by 90%.
That is my personal resume over the last two years.
I'm proud that I can muster up the energy to fight back at my ripe old age. To change. Because change is not easy. That's why bar stools all over America are decorated with no vacancy signs.
The brain is constantly engaged and sometimes I cannot mute it. I have created so many vibes that they are pinging around the universe at an astonishing rate and at an astonishing volume.
When you TRY as hard as I have, you set wheels in motion. And when you pile change on top of change it multiplies and grows and morphs into a living breathing thing.
Something has to happen.
If I stop right now and retreat into the nearest neutral corner, something will still happen. I can't stop it.
But I am not looking for a neutral corner. I am going to get bigger and better and fight harder and push until The Big Joe Bang.
I am not naive.
The Big Joe Bang could be the most negative thing that has ever happened to me. Life is not so easy and not so fair. The vibes might converge to crush me. Nobody wants me to succeed but me.
The Big Joe Bang could be the sweetest reward I have ever tasted. This is what I seek.
Either way it is going to be big. I am not going to slither into the grave as Caspar Milquetoast.
With all its ups and downs, my life has still been too even, too predictable, too consistently disappointing.
So there you have it. I keep pushing and listening. Hearing nothing, I push some more.
So I'm sitting here at 6:08 a.m. thinking about everything I have done and mulling over more that I can do.
I haven't even brushed my teeth yet.
Lucky for you computers don't have smell-o-sensor.
Ciao, baby.