Hello It's Me

Popped out to see Quinn Sullivan with my brother last night.

But before that I was a whiny weakling. Hard to imagine, eh?

I slept like shit the night before and was mucho tired. Planned to leave the house at 6:30. Before that, I took a nap, but didn't feel any better. Self-pity kicked into high gear. All I wanted to do was stay home, and lounge luxuriously in the recliner with both of my cats. Like I do every night.

Now dig - Quinn Sullivan is a blues dude who I love, playing at a music venue that I love, and I was attending the concert with my brother, who I love. How fucked up is my brain to not want to do that?

I got my ass up, I got my ass moving.

We got there, grabbed premium whiskeys, and settled into our seats. Quinn walks out with his sparse lineup - bass guitar, keyboards, drums, and, of course Quinn on guitar. As soon as the first note made its presence known, I was me. Just like that. Like a ghost reuniting with its host body. In fact, when the lights went down, I became me. I have experienced that so many times in my life that it triggers automatic excitement and anticipation in my tiny brain.

Endorphins stormed the gates of apathy and my brain screamed "This is who you are." It's what I live for. I was alive, I was excited, I was happy. I was supremely content. Who wouldn't want that?

Great concert, great night. Wish I could do it every night. However, I am not wealthy, I am not free. But I can certainly do it more often than I have been.

I'm hell bent on enjoying this summer. I pissed last summer away and was then punished by a brutal winter. Last night was an excellent beginning.

But April and a good chunk of May were cautionary tales - unseasonably cold, not enough sunshine. I DO NOT NEED THAT.

So......................I am obsessed. I am going to live this summer. Gonna grab every opportunity for fun and not look back.

Come along for the ride.

Old People Have Fun Too

Just ran out to do errands.

Gas up the car, buy whiskey, etc. Stopped at the mailboxes on the way back in and felt the......................................quiet. Not just absence of noise, but absence of people. You know the feeling?

When no one is around you just feel it.

Now, our community is not exactly a hotbed of activity; the average age is 113. People call Carol and me "The Kids." But people are always around. Hanging out, plodding along, showing some life. Weeding, feeding and pleading.

So hopefully, our neighbors are out enjoying the weekend. Barbecues, orgies - whatever makes them happy. A break from the routine - especially the boring and predictable routine of people with no jobs, no commitments, no money, no youth.

This makes me happy. Memorial Day weekend is a big deal - kicking off the summer. It carries with it a feeling of freedom, independence and individuality. You are suddenly more than employee #188 with a time card. And us old folks dig it too.

Long weekends have a feel. Memorial Day - the hope and promise of another summer. July 4th - Insanity. Labor day - depression, the death of hope, but still - a desperate last opportunity at unfettered fun.

So rock on, Ancient Ones - hope your kids spoil you and your grand-kids fill your soul with pride and love. Hope you buy a winning lottery ticket. I hope a stranger treats you with respect.

Grab yourself some good conversation and a lot of laughs.

Feel younger.

Klarg The Achiever

A hot Thursday in May. What a gift.

Klarg was considering his options. He called in sick to work, a dangerous move considering all the other times he did that but, what the hell, when you work menial labor there are a million jobs available. Employers everywhere are happy to offer shit jobs at shit pay, while telling you what a great opportunity you are getting. 

So what to do. Go to the beach? Good option. First of all there'll be a lot of hot chicks wearing tiny bathing suits. Ogling is an Olympic sport and Klarg has all the medals. And when he gets hot from that, and hot from the sun, into the ocean he goes.

Still, you gotta pack up, drive, find a parking spot, accumulate sand, sweat, rinse off, drive home...........a lot of effort. Troubling.

A sip of whiskey will help the decision process. It's only 8 in the morning but, drinking is natural and rules are not. If you restrict yourself to only drinking at night, well, you are missing out on large chunks of fun. And possible inspiration. 

Klarg grabs his handle of Ten High and inhales a gulp, more than a sip, but he knows he can handle it.

Stop by the library? Klarg loves to read. You'd never know it by looking at him; he looks like a fucking Neanderthal. Nothing sticks when he reads. He could read the same book over and over again and be enthralled every time. He's an avid reader, not an avid rememberer. 

But if he goes to the library he has to deal with the librarians. Actually talk to them. Fuck it - librarians are boring, man. Absolutely nothing interesting to say. Maybe some other day. 

Another shot can't hurt.

It's 10 o'clock? How the hell did that happen?

He could go for a walk. Klarg likes his walks. Birds chirping, sweet, gentle breeze, time to think and space to do it in. Not sure, though - he's feeling kind of lazy - slept like crap last night. It was hot and he doesn't have AC. Sucks being poor. The weekend's supposed to be nice. Maybe take a walk on Saturday.

It's getting close to lunch time. Close enough, anyway. Better to make a decision on a full stomach.

German bologna, couple hunks of Velveeta, Wonder Bread, Gulden's Spicy, a Coors Light, shot of Ten High. Now we're cooking, baby. Time for The Young and the Restless; his favorite.

Thinking about Vivian, the next door neighbor. What a babe. Maybe after lunch he could do a Seinfeldian pop-in. He looks out the window and sees her on her lawn chair, reading. Not good. Last time he interrupted her reading, she asked him to leave. Rudely. Although, now that he thinks about it, she's never really been nice to him. More like tolerant. Chilly trending towards cold. He can't understand it.

Maybe some other day.

Klarg pops on to his laptop, looks around for afternoon activities. An outdoor concert maybe? Downtown block party? Market Days on Main Street? Nope. Don't people do anything anymore?

He calls up Bologna Bob. Bob works from home, and has a relaxed attitude about deadlines. No answer. Is he out or just ignoring him? Klarg is paranoid. He feels like he's an easy-going, likable guy, but it sometimes feels like his circle of friends is about the size of a pencil point.

It's 3 o'clock. Fuck it. He pours a sizable slug of Ten High, pops another Coors Light, and decides to watch TV until 6 o'clock, when he knows there is a concert in the town gazebo. Always a pleasant experience.

He wakes up at 8. He cannot believe it. Calls McDonald's and orders up a double cheeseburger, Quarter Pounder with Cheese, and large fries, for delivery. While he's waiting his ex-wife calls.

"Where's my fucking child support check, asshole?" More Ten High.

He wakes up the next morning with a massive hangover but goes to work anyway. Everyone tells him he looks like shit.

"Yeah", he says, "I'm really sick. But a paycheck's a paycheck, right?"

His co-workers laugh and walk away, not for the first time.

Klarg shuffles to the men's room, sneaks two nips of Smirnoff from his cargo pants, downs them efficiently, and gets right back to his work station.

He's a responsible employee.

For Sure

 You can be sure that anyone who is actively engaged in banning books anywhere anytime................is illiterate.

When they aren't involved with taking books away from other people, they can be seen staring at their phone - the only source of knowledge for them -  with what appears to be a blank look in their eyes.

I could be wrong.

But I'm not.

Not Just One Man's Voice

 Marc Maron, talking about the people who made America what it is in 2026:

"...........here we are on the cusp of a military dictatorship, with a rabid, fascist culture war, .......and so many people are compromised and in pain, ...........just seeing so many people ripped apart, seeing all that pain, feels good for you guys, this is what you wanted, half the population in fear and in pain, and unable to live a free life in America, just so you guys aren't uncomfortable with people that are different from you......."

Two Cats and a Widow

Ivan, my next door neighbor who died on April 15 at the age of 73, once told me his wife Judy was glad we have cats.

She is a cat lover but Ivan was allergic, so she was denied that precious and simple pleasure. He told me she loved to look out the window when she was at the kitchen sink because she could see Patsy and Emmy Lou in our picture window, which faces their house.

One of the cats is very often sitting there, and many times they are both sitting there.

This morning, as I was reading, both cats got up in the window, which is right next to my chair, sitting up as pretty as can be. Facing directly towards Judy's house.

I was hoping she was in the kitchen. I am hopeful that Patsy and Emmy Lou give her some comfort now that she is alone. I truly hope they fill her heart with love or happiness or sensitivity every time she sees them. Something to make her feel alive, something to re-connect her with the world. More importantly, something to mend her heart and feed her soul. 

These are the little things in life, the things people don't talk about, things so small and so simple that other people don't need to hear about them. But they are the things that make a person feel human in a world that works hard to take that away from you.

Two cats. Two innocent, loving lives, bringing happiness to a broken soul, just by being.

I hope Patsy and Emmy Lou do that for Judy.

I think they do.

Turning The Tables (If I Still Have The Time)

 "Give me the strength to be what I was, and forgive me for what I am."

El Mariachi, from the film Desperado.

I am trying to flip that phrase around as it pertains to my own life.