Got John Lennon on the Victrola this morning.
Waiting to go to work. Not feeling it this morning and this disturbs me. If I gotta have a part time job this is the one to have. But I have worked four shaky shifts in the past week and a half and my spirit is limp.
Yet I like the job. I like the people. No problema - I will shake it off.
Lennon was so fucking tough he had no problem being publicly vulnerable. This I love about the man.
He was who he was and he just put it out there. Ferociously. Unapologetically. Can you imagine having him around now with this fucking incompetent dictator in the White House?
Lennon would be in his face.
His music was so deeply personal that it traces the arc of his life and his emotions and his mistakes and his love and his inspirations; his thoughts, his philosophies.
"Whatever Gets You Through The Night" just came around. Love the story of this song. John recorded it with Elton John, who bet Lennon the song would get to #1.
It did and Lennon paid off the bet by making a guest appearance at an Elton John concert on Thanksgiving night 1974 in Madison Square Garden. Lennon had been out of the limelight for a while, indulging in his "Lost Weekend".
To top it all off, he reunited with Yoko backstage that night - they had been separated for 18 months.
Sadly, it was also Lennon's last live performance.
Anyway, I am sitting here wrapped in vulnerability and feeling the vibration in my soul. In my emotions.
I guess that is what I am getting at in here all the time - wishing people could be more openly vulnerable. More honest.
Christ knows I put all my shit out there in here. Of course maybe if I could do it in real life without getting devoured maybe I would not have a blog at all.
Anyway...................Mr. Lennon was a straight ahead, emotionally raw guy. Yeah, he had lots of problems, many weaknesses, he made a lot of mistakes BUT he kept on moving and learning and evolving.
And he put it all out there so we knew exactly who he was.
Man, that takes balls.
Monday, July 31, 2017
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Simple Pleasures, Baby - Really, Is There Anything Else?
Feeling kind of beat up yesterday so I decided to lie down on my bed with the iPod as my companion, ear buds in my ancient ears.
Honestly, I was beat up because I consumed a large amount of whiskey and beer Friday night in response to another tough night on the job.
I worked three shows the weekend before - one on Friday, two on Saturday - I had ticket printer problems for every show. Pretty stressful when you have a lobby full of people waiting to grab tickets and you have to stop to re-program from one printer to another. That holds me up, and the other person who is also selling tickets.
That was on my mind on Friday and sure enough - the place was fucking rockin' and the printers started malfunctioning. Back and forth - first one, then the other.
Although this time I reached a new high - both printers went down at the same time. Lobby full of people staring at me; the two people working with me staring at me. For a few minutes I could not print any tickets at all. Man, I got a sick feeling in my stomach until, somehow, I got one printer back up.
So I came home and got drunk. I have done that all my life when I have problems and it works so well. Definitely puts all your problems to bed. That is the secret to my enormous success.
Anyway I hit the bed and re-discovered my ear buds (one word or two?).
Are you fucking kidding me? The quality of sound these things provide is mind blowing. Sound right out of the middle of my skull, and sound that is so sensitive it transmits every little thing.
Very intimate; exceptionally beautiful.
I haven't used these things in years; I always jam the iPod into the dock and jam out (dance around the kitchen) when Carol is not home. I do this when alone because my dancing is so exceptionally amazing that it shames Carol and I don't want to hurt her feelings.
Listened to a double album by Jamey Johnson. He's that country dude I recently discovered and rambled on about in these very pages.
Perfect fucking moment. Heartfelt music beautifully delivered as I rested in supreme comfort on top of the bed, summer breeze leaking in through the screen door.
So yeah, I am going to start using the ear buds again. It is what I need.
That was Simple Pleasure #1.
Simple Pleasure #2 is Earnest Hemingway. I have actually been enjoying him all week but this morning the pleasure seemed to piggyback on yesterday's sweet joy.
Back when I was still Thrift Shop Boy, a young guy came in with a box full of books. His wife worked for a publisher in NYC so she accumulated a lot of books. They had just moved to NH and decided to lighten the load.
Of course I went through the box before putting them on the shelf. I am no fool - I am #1, baby.
Came across "The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway". Snatched that son of a bitch right up. Just got around to reading it this week.
Christ, when you read good literature you know it. Very tasty. And it is the complete experience for me. Beautiful hard cover book in pristine condition. I worship hard cover books.
Even the pages are printed on quality paper. Thick, luxurious paper.
I am simultaneously reading and loving this book, and enjoying the physical sensations that come from having it in my hands.
My nirvana.
Simple Pleasure #3. Whipped up scrambled egg tacos for breakfast. Onions, peppers, ground beef. Carol and I devoured them in Sunday peace in front of the television machine.
Simple Pleasure #4. This just occurred to me. I am writing on the screened-in porch. For the first time this summer. Can you believe that shit?
Gorgeous day. Maka curled up on the table next to me. Lakota curled up in her private bed on the couch. Bottle of water to my right.
Simple pleasures, baby. Little things that make my life extraordinary. Been tuned in to them in a more focused way over the last couple of years.
Why not? I ain't never gonna be no fucking billionaire. Might as well keep my eyes and the rest of my senses open to the beautiful things I do have in my life and just dig 'em.
Enjoying the day in a right peaceable way.
Honestly, I was beat up because I consumed a large amount of whiskey and beer Friday night in response to another tough night on the job.
I worked three shows the weekend before - one on Friday, two on Saturday - I had ticket printer problems for every show. Pretty stressful when you have a lobby full of people waiting to grab tickets and you have to stop to re-program from one printer to another. That holds me up, and the other person who is also selling tickets.
That was on my mind on Friday and sure enough - the place was fucking rockin' and the printers started malfunctioning. Back and forth - first one, then the other.
Although this time I reached a new high - both printers went down at the same time. Lobby full of people staring at me; the two people working with me staring at me. For a few minutes I could not print any tickets at all. Man, I got a sick feeling in my stomach until, somehow, I got one printer back up.
So I came home and got drunk. I have done that all my life when I have problems and it works so well. Definitely puts all your problems to bed. That is the secret to my enormous success.
Anyway I hit the bed and re-discovered my ear buds (one word or two?).
Are you fucking kidding me? The quality of sound these things provide is mind blowing. Sound right out of the middle of my skull, and sound that is so sensitive it transmits every little thing.
Very intimate; exceptionally beautiful.
I haven't used these things in years; I always jam the iPod into the dock and jam out (dance around the kitchen) when Carol is not home. I do this when alone because my dancing is so exceptionally amazing that it shames Carol and I don't want to hurt her feelings.
Listened to a double album by Jamey Johnson. He's that country dude I recently discovered and rambled on about in these very pages.
Perfect fucking moment. Heartfelt music beautifully delivered as I rested in supreme comfort on top of the bed, summer breeze leaking in through the screen door.
So yeah, I am going to start using the ear buds again. It is what I need.
That was Simple Pleasure #1.
Simple Pleasure #2 is Earnest Hemingway. I have actually been enjoying him all week but this morning the pleasure seemed to piggyback on yesterday's sweet joy.
Back when I was still Thrift Shop Boy, a young guy came in with a box full of books. His wife worked for a publisher in NYC so she accumulated a lot of books. They had just moved to NH and decided to lighten the load.
Of course I went through the box before putting them on the shelf. I am no fool - I am #1, baby.
Came across "The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway". Snatched that son of a bitch right up. Just got around to reading it this week.
Christ, when you read good literature you know it. Very tasty. And it is the complete experience for me. Beautiful hard cover book in pristine condition. I worship hard cover books.
Even the pages are printed on quality paper. Thick, luxurious paper.
I am simultaneously reading and loving this book, and enjoying the physical sensations that come from having it in my hands.
My nirvana.
Simple Pleasure #3. Whipped up scrambled egg tacos for breakfast. Onions, peppers, ground beef. Carol and I devoured them in Sunday peace in front of the television machine.
Simple Pleasure #4. This just occurred to me. I am writing on the screened-in porch. For the first time this summer. Can you believe that shit?
Gorgeous day. Maka curled up on the table next to me. Lakota curled up in her private bed on the couch. Bottle of water to my right.
Simple pleasures, baby. Little things that make my life extraordinary. Been tuned in to them in a more focused way over the last couple of years.
Why not? I ain't never gonna be no fucking billionaire. Might as well keep my eyes and the rest of my senses open to the beautiful things I do have in my life and just dig 'em.
Enjoying the day in a right peaceable way.
Saturday, July 29, 2017
Sometimes.............
when I drink coffee out of my Three Stooges mug, some of the coffee dribbles over the edge onto Larry's forehead and dries there.
It looks like blood.
It is quite disturbing.
It looks like blood.
It is quite disturbing.
Thursday, July 27, 2017
Truth In The End
Gregg Allman finished recording his last solo album shortly before he died.
It is called "Southern Blood" and will be released on September 8th.
NPR premiered the first song from the album yesterday. It is called "My Only True Friend".
Dig these words:
It opens with the line: "You and I both know this river will surely flow to an end".
Later:
"Still on and on I run,
Feels like home is just around the bend
I got so much left to give, but I'm running out of time, my friend
I hope you're haunted by the music of my soul, when I'm gone
Please don't fly away and find you a new love
I can't face living this life alone
I can't bear to think this might be the end
But you and I both know, the road is my only true friend"
At some point in the recording process he knew he was dying. So he said good bye in the only way he knew how - honestly, through song, with soul deep bluntness.
This song is haunting; it faces the truth head on, it is soulful, it is deep. And it is gorgeous.
If you care about Gregg Allman at all, if you care about his legacy and the legacy of The Allman Brothers Band, you have to listen to this.
You will shed some tears the first time you listen to it. After that, your soul will come around as if it were jolted by lightening. You will lose yourself in the bluesy soulfulness of this man who lived a life like no other.
And who made music like no other.
We deal with a lot of bullshit in our lives, some a product of just being alive, some we heap upon ourselves. We get lost, we get unsure, we get afraid. We waste a lot of the precious time we have here on this earth.
But no matter what you do or don't do, no matter how you feel about your life, one day you will come face to face with death.
It hangs out there from the minute you are born, waiting to claim you. From the moment you are old enough to be aware, it is in your mind in one form or another. And when you come up on it, you gotta deal with it - there is no running away. It is as real as it gets.
You can avoid a lot of shit in life, you can fake it in so many ways and in so many situations, but death is the one thing you cannot outrun.
Creating beauty when you face death head-on, is the ultimate fuck you to mortality.
It says so much about the creative spirit that, when faced with death, you choose to create one more time. Most of us would curl up in a ball and cry.
It says that creativity is who you are and you have no choice but to express yourself in your own way, to let your soul breathe and, hopefully, to connect with others who need your words and your music - which is the ultimate fucking gift.
Gregg Allman does it with power and class and emotion in this song. Fucking amazing.
Bowie did it too. He too died from cancer; he knew it was coming. His last album was called "Blackstar", and on it was a song called "Lazarus".
With these lyrics: "Look up here, I'm in heaven, I've got scars that can't be seen; I've got drama can't be stolen, everybody knows me now, look up here, man I'm in danger, I've got nothing left to lose, I'm so high it makes my brain whirl, dropped my cell phone down below, ain't that just like me?"
The video for Lazarus is haunting.
By the way - FUCK CANCER.
I worship the creative process in any form or format. I believe creativity comes closest to capturing what it means to be human.
I especially appreciate it when it expresses hard truths head-on. No bullshit. Because that is what we all avoid.
I am glad to get a taste of Gregg Allman's final solo album. It will be mine on September 8.
My life will be better for it.
It is called "Southern Blood" and will be released on September 8th.
NPR premiered the first song from the album yesterday. It is called "My Only True Friend".
Dig these words:
It opens with the line: "You and I both know this river will surely flow to an end".
Later:
"Still on and on I run,
Feels like home is just around the bend
I got so much left to give, but I'm running out of time, my friend
I hope you're haunted by the music of my soul, when I'm gone
Please don't fly away and find you a new love
I can't face living this life alone
I can't bear to think this might be the end
But you and I both know, the road is my only true friend"
At some point in the recording process he knew he was dying. So he said good bye in the only way he knew how - honestly, through song, with soul deep bluntness.
This song is haunting; it faces the truth head on, it is soulful, it is deep. And it is gorgeous.
If you care about Gregg Allman at all, if you care about his legacy and the legacy of The Allman Brothers Band, you have to listen to this.
You will shed some tears the first time you listen to it. After that, your soul will come around as if it were jolted by lightening. You will lose yourself in the bluesy soulfulness of this man who lived a life like no other.
And who made music like no other.
We deal with a lot of bullshit in our lives, some a product of just being alive, some we heap upon ourselves. We get lost, we get unsure, we get afraid. We waste a lot of the precious time we have here on this earth.
But no matter what you do or don't do, no matter how you feel about your life, one day you will come face to face with death.
It hangs out there from the minute you are born, waiting to claim you. From the moment you are old enough to be aware, it is in your mind in one form or another. And when you come up on it, you gotta deal with it - there is no running away. It is as real as it gets.
You can avoid a lot of shit in life, you can fake it in so many ways and in so many situations, but death is the one thing you cannot outrun.
Creating beauty when you face death head-on, is the ultimate fuck you to mortality.
It says so much about the creative spirit that, when faced with death, you choose to create one more time. Most of us would curl up in a ball and cry.
It says that creativity is who you are and you have no choice but to express yourself in your own way, to let your soul breathe and, hopefully, to connect with others who need your words and your music - which is the ultimate fucking gift.
Gregg Allman does it with power and class and emotion in this song. Fucking amazing.
Bowie did it too. He too died from cancer; he knew it was coming. His last album was called "Blackstar", and on it was a song called "Lazarus".
With these lyrics: "Look up here, I'm in heaven, I've got scars that can't be seen; I've got drama can't be stolen, everybody knows me now, look up here, man I'm in danger, I've got nothing left to lose, I'm so high it makes my brain whirl, dropped my cell phone down below, ain't that just like me?"
The video for Lazarus is haunting.
By the way - FUCK CANCER.
I worship the creative process in any form or format. I believe creativity comes closest to capturing what it means to be human.
I especially appreciate it when it expresses hard truths head-on. No bullshit. Because that is what we all avoid.
I am glad to get a taste of Gregg Allman's final solo album. It will be mine on September 8.
My life will be better for it.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
Oh How The Mighty Have Fallen (But What The Fuck - Life Is A Fuckin' Roller Coaster Ride, Is It Not?)
Say good bye to The Big Ride.
Say hello to Black Beauty.
How the story ends: On this past Wednesday I traded my 2004 Lincoln Continental Town Car in on a 2011 Hyundai Sonata.
By the time Wednesday rolled around I just wanted to get The Big Ride up to the dealer without the fucking thing breaking down. Had two cars in mind - the Hyundai and a 2011 Jetta. Had no intention of doing any type of inspection/comparison/investigation, and I did not. The Hyundai caught my eye and I went with that.
I did not even test drive the thing. Why the fuck should I? These people - Phillips Auto Sales - this is the fifth car we have bought from them. They are easy to deal with; the cars are reliable. Besides I just didn't give a fuck.
These people are so cool. I called Wednesday, told them I wanted to drive the Lincoln in and leave with another car that day. They made it happen. As far as I know our financing had not even been approved. No temp registration; he put dealer plates on it. We didn't even make a down payment.
I actually drove the car for two days before I technically owned it. Did not finalize the financing until Friday morning.
I wanted to hate this car. I mean, for Christ sake, I loved that damn Lincoln so much I committed objectophilia with it.
I can't hate the Hyundai. It actually leans toward stylish. Nice lines. And it is black. Black on the outside, black on the inside.
Black Beauty, baby.
78,000 miles. High/low, know what I mean?
I don't love it but I like it. It ain't no fucking Lincoln, I can tell you that.
But you know me. I am a positive guy. Cheery as fucking hell. Glass half full and all that shit. Always looking for the silver lining.
What I sacrificed in comfort I gained in technology.
This car has everything.
First of all the AC works. It did not in the Lincoln for the last two summers. I enjoyed the hell out of that since Wednesday.
This baby has a hookup for my ipod. A hookup for my phone. A navigation system. Access to Sirius XM (which you know I am going to activate immediately; I'll be drowning in the blues and The Beatles, baby).
It has 237 other technological marvels as well. Who cares about comfort, who cares about performance, who cares about reliability - I got the toys, baby - I got the toys.
I am just going to enjoy this car.
And I learned a lesson. I am not going to drive it into bankruptcy, like I did with The Big Ride.
In two years I will be looking to trade Black Beauty in. I am too fucking old to deal with automotive fuckology.
I do not want to sink three million dollars into a car again for the rest of my life.
So here I am. At least I am not holding my breath while I drive. This car feels good. It looks good. Its blackness matches the blackness of my soul.
Life is one motherfucking unpredictable son of a bitch.
Say hello to Black Beauty.
How the story ends: On this past Wednesday I traded my 2004 Lincoln Continental Town Car in on a 2011 Hyundai Sonata.
By the time Wednesday rolled around I just wanted to get The Big Ride up to the dealer without the fucking thing breaking down. Had two cars in mind - the Hyundai and a 2011 Jetta. Had no intention of doing any type of inspection/comparison/investigation, and I did not. The Hyundai caught my eye and I went with that.
I did not even test drive the thing. Why the fuck should I? These people - Phillips Auto Sales - this is the fifth car we have bought from them. They are easy to deal with; the cars are reliable. Besides I just didn't give a fuck.
These people are so cool. I called Wednesday, told them I wanted to drive the Lincoln in and leave with another car that day. They made it happen. As far as I know our financing had not even been approved. No temp registration; he put dealer plates on it. We didn't even make a down payment.
I actually drove the car for two days before I technically owned it. Did not finalize the financing until Friday morning.
I wanted to hate this car. I mean, for Christ sake, I loved that damn Lincoln so much I committed objectophilia with it.
I can't hate the Hyundai. It actually leans toward stylish. Nice lines. And it is black. Black on the outside, black on the inside.
Black Beauty, baby.
78,000 miles. High/low, know what I mean?
I don't love it but I like it. It ain't no fucking Lincoln, I can tell you that.
But you know me. I am a positive guy. Cheery as fucking hell. Glass half full and all that shit. Always looking for the silver lining.
What I sacrificed in comfort I gained in technology.
This car has everything.
First of all the AC works. It did not in the Lincoln for the last two summers. I enjoyed the hell out of that since Wednesday.
This baby has a hookup for my ipod. A hookup for my phone. A navigation system. Access to Sirius XM (which you know I am going to activate immediately; I'll be drowning in the blues and The Beatles, baby).
It has 237 other technological marvels as well. Who cares about comfort, who cares about performance, who cares about reliability - I got the toys, baby - I got the toys.
I am just going to enjoy this car.
And I learned a lesson. I am not going to drive it into bankruptcy, like I did with The Big Ride.
In two years I will be looking to trade Black Beauty in. I am too fucking old to deal with automotive fuckology.
I do not want to sink three million dollars into a car again for the rest of my life.
So here I am. At least I am not holding my breath while I drive. This car feels good. It looks good. Its blackness matches the blackness of my soul.
Life is one motherfucking unpredictable son of a bitch.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Jesus Hates Me, The Fucktard
Jesus hates me. He fucking loathes me.
That is the only thing that has prevented me from driving an ice pick directly into my brain all these years.
My toughest swear, the go-to of all go-to's, when I am really fucking over the top pissed off is Jesus Fucking Christ.
If there is a Jesus guy lounging around in the sky, I guranfuckingtee you he does not appreciate it when I cut loose like that. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain, and all that shit.
I am sure I have uttered that phrase approximately 16 trillion times in my life.
So if I did decide to put the ice pick to good use and had to stand before Jesus' dad to be judged, his kid would be on the sidelines whispering "stick it to him good, Daddy - send him to hell for nine eternities".
Finally fucking picked up The Big Ride yesterday. Timeline: Car breaks down on July 7. Car gets fixed on July 18. Finally get it back.
I'm driving home and I get a little melancholy; I am going to trade it in this week - period. I fucking love this car.
Low on gas; stop at a gas station five minutes from my house, put in just enough gas to get me to Concord, where the dealership is located that I plan to visit today.
The car won't start. Did you fucking hear me? THE FUCKING CAR WOULD NOT START. I had the car back less than half an hour and it broke down again.
Of course it couldn't be something simple like a dead battery. Tried to jump start it - no luck. Had to get it towed right back to the place I just fucking picked it up from.
Timeline: I had to wait 45 minutes for the first AAA guy to show up (neither me nor Carol has cables) to try to charge that puppy up. That didn't work so now he has to call for a tow truck. I originally called around 4:30. Around 6:00 Carol and I finally went home, leaving my car and the keys behind. The car did not get towed until 8:00. It was a whole fucking comedy of errors and miscommunication on AAA's part. A few phone calls back and forth between me and them.
I just called my mechanic this morning. Told him I do not want to spend one more dime on this car. Please just get it started so I can drive it to Concord. PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!
I have an appointment to see a urologist this morning. The PSA count was up a bit at my physical a few weeks ago. You know, the supposed indicator of potential prostate cancer.
I am not that worried because Dr. Feelgood did the manual check while I was there and did not find anything alarming. It ain't the size of a grapefruit yet.
But I woke up this morning - somewhere around 4:30 ( I got up around 5:15 because I am so fucking irritated) - remembering the only other time I saw a urologist, he stuck a cue tip or a piece of fucking lumber up inside the tip of my dick.
It was the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced. Except for the twenty some odd years I spent as an accountant.
I am hoping that does not happen today. That would just be the fucking icing on the cake this week.
So I gotta see the doc this morning, then check the status of The Big Ride, then make a trip to Concord to buy another car. Carol took the day off so we can get this shit done.
I have family members who have lost spouses. I have family members who have lost children. So lately when I vent in here I realize that my problems pale in comparison to the suffering of others. So I try to lighten up a little bit.
So here we go. I am the kind of guy, when I get furious, I need to break things. I need to punch, I need to express myself violently. But society dictates that when you have a spouse, you should not disturb said spouse through violent action.
So I kept it all in yesterday. As all this was going on and my anger built and grew and just fucking metastasized to gargantuan proportions.
I went to bed shortly after 10:00. Couldn't sleep. Tossed and turned. At one point I rolled over on my back and spontaneously started to bang my fists into the mattress. I beat the shit out of that thing. It came out of nowhere. I just exploded. Must have looked like a drooling madman.
Or a child.
Fortunately, we have one of them fancy foam mattresses. That thing took a beating and just bounced right back. No harm done. To me or the mattress.
Shit, man it is pure joy to be alive in 2017.
That is the only thing that has prevented me from driving an ice pick directly into my brain all these years.
My toughest swear, the go-to of all go-to's, when I am really fucking over the top pissed off is Jesus Fucking Christ.
If there is a Jesus guy lounging around in the sky, I guranfuckingtee you he does not appreciate it when I cut loose like that. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain, and all that shit.
I am sure I have uttered that phrase approximately 16 trillion times in my life.
So if I did decide to put the ice pick to good use and had to stand before Jesus' dad to be judged, his kid would be on the sidelines whispering "stick it to him good, Daddy - send him to hell for nine eternities".
Finally fucking picked up The Big Ride yesterday. Timeline: Car breaks down on July 7. Car gets fixed on July 18. Finally get it back.
I'm driving home and I get a little melancholy; I am going to trade it in this week - period. I fucking love this car.
Low on gas; stop at a gas station five minutes from my house, put in just enough gas to get me to Concord, where the dealership is located that I plan to visit today.
The car won't start. Did you fucking hear me? THE FUCKING CAR WOULD NOT START. I had the car back less than half an hour and it broke down again.
Of course it couldn't be something simple like a dead battery. Tried to jump start it - no luck. Had to get it towed right back to the place I just fucking picked it up from.
Timeline: I had to wait 45 minutes for the first AAA guy to show up (neither me nor Carol has cables) to try to charge that puppy up. That didn't work so now he has to call for a tow truck. I originally called around 4:30. Around 6:00 Carol and I finally went home, leaving my car and the keys behind. The car did not get towed until 8:00. It was a whole fucking comedy of errors and miscommunication on AAA's part. A few phone calls back and forth between me and them.
I just called my mechanic this morning. Told him I do not want to spend one more dime on this car. Please just get it started so I can drive it to Concord. PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!
I have an appointment to see a urologist this morning. The PSA count was up a bit at my physical a few weeks ago. You know, the supposed indicator of potential prostate cancer.
I am not that worried because Dr. Feelgood did the manual check while I was there and did not find anything alarming. It ain't the size of a grapefruit yet.
But I woke up this morning - somewhere around 4:30 ( I got up around 5:15 because I am so fucking irritated) - remembering the only other time I saw a urologist, he stuck a cue tip or a piece of fucking lumber up inside the tip of my dick.
It was the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced. Except for the twenty some odd years I spent as an accountant.
I am hoping that does not happen today. That would just be the fucking icing on the cake this week.
So I gotta see the doc this morning, then check the status of The Big Ride, then make a trip to Concord to buy another car. Carol took the day off so we can get this shit done.
I have family members who have lost spouses. I have family members who have lost children. So lately when I vent in here I realize that my problems pale in comparison to the suffering of others. So I try to lighten up a little bit.
So here we go. I am the kind of guy, when I get furious, I need to break things. I need to punch, I need to express myself violently. But society dictates that when you have a spouse, you should not disturb said spouse through violent action.
So I kept it all in yesterday. As all this was going on and my anger built and grew and just fucking metastasized to gargantuan proportions.
I went to bed shortly after 10:00. Couldn't sleep. Tossed and turned. At one point I rolled over on my back and spontaneously started to bang my fists into the mattress. I beat the shit out of that thing. It came out of nowhere. I just exploded. Must have looked like a drooling madman.
Or a child.
Fortunately, we have one of them fancy foam mattresses. That thing took a beating and just bounced right back. No harm done. To me or the mattress.
Shit, man it is pure joy to be alive in 2017.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
Fractured Hip, Broken Car
Say good bye to The Big Ride, ladies and gentlemen.
My amazing car blew up on me. July 7 was the day. A day that will live in infamy.
Got it towed on July 8. Today is July 18. Still don't have it back.
How do you feel about that?
Needs some air bladder thingy, which apparently is being walked over to the U.S from Australia. Or maybe it's like getting a liver transplant. Maybe I have to wait for somebody else's 2004 Lincoln Town Car to expire before they can remove the bladder, pack it in ice, and ship it to good ole Henniker.
Doesn't fucking matter. I'm just waiting to get it back so I can trade it in.
When I bought this beauty I made the assumption that, because it is a Lincoln, it will last forever. Figured I would drive it for a bunch of years and when it finally gave up the ghost I would run right out and buy another Lincoln.
I was wrong. The car has not been a pain in the ass but the pace of repairs has accelerated over the last two years.
I don't want to deal with it anymore. I'm tired of it.
Breaks my heart.
I am not in the position to buy another Lincoln. My dream of riding in luxury until I am laid in a luxury casket is shattered.
Now I just don't give a shit. Just want a car. Any car. Preferably something that runs.
I'm thinking of making an ironic statement. Thinking about getting me a Ford Pinto. The one that was famous for bursting into flames in the seventies. Gotta be some fucking low life criminal that has one or two of those hanging around just looking to sell it to a guy like me.
I will drive it like a madman too. Tempting fate. I'll set it up with a secret compartment that can hold a 1.75 liter bottle of Crown Royal. With a hose. A hose I can suck on and easily conceal if the coppers come around.
So I'm just waiting. Not waiting on a friend, as The Stones sang about. Just waiting. Just fucking waiting.
Waiting to see some goddamn specialist dude about the hip. Got an appointment for this coming Thursday.
Fucking medical community. They get all up in arms. Holy shit - you got a fractured hip. We gotta get you in here. You gotta get a cane. You gotta be careful. You gotta ride in a car with a luxury air bladder in it.
Then they keep me waiting three weeks.
Meanwhile, unfortunately and disconcertingly, the pain has increased.
I am riding a bubble of negativity. Unfortunate. But that's the way it goes. You know the feeling. I know you do.
But I am a very positive guy. Always looking on the bright side. Cheerful and encouraging. With me the glass is always half full. Especially when it has whiskey in it.
I know that in a couple of weeks I'll be riding around in my Pinto and the hip will have been dealt with.
I will win Powerball to the tune of $675 million bucks, I will buy a second home in Arizona, a third in Hawaii. I will join a health club, lose twenty pounds and get a call from Johnny Depp asking me to co-star in his next flick. I will finally take Carol to Niagara Falls. I will be invited to tour with The Stones.
Yeah, baby, life is a thrill-a-minute joy ride, ain't it?
My future's so bright I gotta wear shades.
My amazing car blew up on me. July 7 was the day. A day that will live in infamy.
Got it towed on July 8. Today is July 18. Still don't have it back.
How do you feel about that?
Needs some air bladder thingy, which apparently is being walked over to the U.S from Australia. Or maybe it's like getting a liver transplant. Maybe I have to wait for somebody else's 2004 Lincoln Town Car to expire before they can remove the bladder, pack it in ice, and ship it to good ole Henniker.
Doesn't fucking matter. I'm just waiting to get it back so I can trade it in.
When I bought this beauty I made the assumption that, because it is a Lincoln, it will last forever. Figured I would drive it for a bunch of years and when it finally gave up the ghost I would run right out and buy another Lincoln.
I was wrong. The car has not been a pain in the ass but the pace of repairs has accelerated over the last two years.
I don't want to deal with it anymore. I'm tired of it.
Breaks my heart.
I am not in the position to buy another Lincoln. My dream of riding in luxury until I am laid in a luxury casket is shattered.
Now I just don't give a shit. Just want a car. Any car. Preferably something that runs.
I'm thinking of making an ironic statement. Thinking about getting me a Ford Pinto. The one that was famous for bursting into flames in the seventies. Gotta be some fucking low life criminal that has one or two of those hanging around just looking to sell it to a guy like me.
I will drive it like a madman too. Tempting fate. I'll set it up with a secret compartment that can hold a 1.75 liter bottle of Crown Royal. With a hose. A hose I can suck on and easily conceal if the coppers come around.
So I'm just waiting. Not waiting on a friend, as The Stones sang about. Just waiting. Just fucking waiting.
Waiting to see some goddamn specialist dude about the hip. Got an appointment for this coming Thursday.
Fucking medical community. They get all up in arms. Holy shit - you got a fractured hip. We gotta get you in here. You gotta get a cane. You gotta be careful. You gotta ride in a car with a luxury air bladder in it.
Then they keep me waiting three weeks.
Meanwhile, unfortunately and disconcertingly, the pain has increased.
I am riding a bubble of negativity. Unfortunate. But that's the way it goes. You know the feeling. I know you do.
But I am a very positive guy. Always looking on the bright side. Cheerful and encouraging. With me the glass is always half full. Especially when it has whiskey in it.
I know that in a couple of weeks I'll be riding around in my Pinto and the hip will have been dealt with.
I will win Powerball to the tune of $675 million bucks, I will buy a second home in Arizona, a third in Hawaii. I will join a health club, lose twenty pounds and get a call from Johnny Depp asking me to co-star in his next flick. I will finally take Carol to Niagara Falls. I will be invited to tour with The Stones.
Yeah, baby, life is a thrill-a-minute joy ride, ain't it?
My future's so bright I gotta wear shades.
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