Careful, Now

Tequila is not harmless.

Nor is it innocent.

Nice Moves

You have to earn the right to be depressed.

If changing your life is a critical need, but you have done nothing to help yourself, you have no right to be depressed.

(Pretty harsh, huh? What if you have done nothing because you are depressed? Nothing's simple, people - nothing is straight forward.)

Ultimately, life makes no sense at all, so if you are looking for logic, you might as well grab a bottle and dance naked in the street.

Hell, Things Are Not So Bad

 Aye, laddie, if a beloved dictator is working hard to destroy your life, if your landlord is working hard to destroy your life, if you are over 70 years old and feeling a financial crunch, if the only jobs you can land are menial with meager pay, your body aches unforgivingly  - one day this hurts, the next day that hurts, then what are you to do?

As Monty Python advised, Always Look on The Bright Side of Life:

"Some things in life are bad, they can really make you mad, other things just make you sweat and curse, when you're chewing on life's gristle, don't grumble - give a whistle, and this'll help things turn out for the best, and always look on the bright side of life................................

For life is quite absurd, and death's the final word, you must always face the curtain with a bow, forget about your sin, give the audience a grin, enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow, so always look on the bright side of death, just before you draw your terminal breath.............................................

Life's a piece of shit, when you look at it, life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true, you'll see it's all a show, keep 'em laughin' as you go, just remember that the last laugh is on you, and always look on the bright side of life....................................

I mean, what have you got to lose? You know, you come from nothing, you're going back to nothing, what have you lost? Nothing.

Always look on the bright side of life"

Now don't you feel better?

I feel positively ecstatic. 

It Is Always Much Later Than You Think It Is

 If it's late in the game and there is a voice in your head that says "I can still pull this off. I can make something of myself. I can put a stamp of authenticity on my life" - there will come a moment, inevitably, when you will be forced to differentiate between fantasy and reality.

Your dying breath is the worst possible moment to do that.

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.