Like Having a Tooth Pulled

Working this afternoon, working a show tonight.

I am not pleased but, as Tony Soprano often said, "Whaddya gonna do?"

Having a tooth pulled tomorrow.

I will enjoy tomorrow more than today.

Trash Can Willy

Swung by Dunkin' Donuts this morning. (I just can't get into the habit of dropping the Donuts).

Had to get my fucking car out of the snow suffocated driveway, so Trash Can Willy could back his truck in. We can't even fit a matchbox car in the driveway now, because we have snowbanks the size of Mt. Everest.

If you have mountains of trash, call Trash Can Willys Junk Removal Service immediately. They are fucking spectacular. In fact they are so good, even if you only have one dixie cup to dispose of, call them immediately. 

We have availed ourselves of their services 3, maybe 4 times now, over the past couple of years. As we try and try and try to make this house alluring to some unsuspecting rube willing to part with hundreds of thousands of hard-earned dollars.

We really taxed Willy up front - the first time we had them over, they cleaned out our basement, our solarium, our porch. Mountains and mountains of trash and refuse, built up over our 37 year residency in this mausoleum. It took them 3 and 1/2 hours, filling bag after bag after bag of trash, carting them out to the truck.

Every time they have been here they were polite, personable, efficient, and they worked their asses off.

We account for 55% of their gross income since 2020.

I'm sitting in line at Dunkin' Donuts, it's 8:45, and I see one employee ending her shift and slinking back to her car. Pocket book over the arm, some clothing draped over an arm, looking a little ragged, shuffling off to imaginary freedom. A couple of minutes later a fresh employee arrives - walks across the parking lot, pocket book hanging on the arm, carrying whatever else she needs in the other hand, looking a little fresher (that won't last), shuffling in to another dose of involuntary suffering.

Neither one of them was dancing.

Scenes like this kill me. Working sucks, unless you love what you do, which accounts for 1/2 of 1% of working stiffs in the world. No way around it - you gotta work. But the harm that working does to people is immeasurable.

The death of dignity, the psychological harm, the physical harm, the slaughter of the psyche - it is a brutal thing that shortens lifespans. Without the requirement to work, life expectancy in this fucked up country would be 230 years for women, 180 years for men.

No work today; today I live. Work tomorrow; tomorrow I die.

Three-fingers whiskey, baby - the only way to fight back.

A Perfect Life Approach

 "Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see"

From Strawberry Fields Forever, by The Beatles

Bye Bye, Pasta

Just got around to flipping my Bruins poster over to March.

I didn't want to do it - the February picture is David Pastrnak. I love David Pastrnak. Incredible hockey player, loads of personality, and one hell of a wardrobe.

He just signed an 8 year, $90 million contract with the Bruins. Yesterday at work, I formally requested an 8 year, $90 million contract. Bossman said: "Take the trash out to the dumpster, won't you?"

March is Derek Forbort. I don't know much about him, but he'll be keeping me company for the next 24 days up here. We'll be good buddies by the end of the month.

Two of my favorite athletes currently have nicknames of Pasta and Rafa. Pretty cool, huh?

I shudder to think what nicknames people have for me.

Give Me (and Everybody Else) a Break!

 "A nap can give you an hour's break from needing to be right all the time, an affliction leading to blindness to the natural world, not to speak of your wife and children."

Jim Harrison

Even My Taste Buds Are Bored

Friday night we treat ourselves.

No cooking. I pick up supper. I work in Concord, so there is a multitude of choices. 

This past Friday we did D'Angelo's - we like that joint, plus I'm always getting 20% off online orders promos on my phone. We are paupers - we can't afford food otherwise.

Except Spam. Spam is a delicacy. $2.99. Affordable and versatile. Four meals a week for $11.96. The rest of the time we eat flax seeds in chocolate sauce. We know how to live.

I had a Korean Rice & Grain bowl Friday night. Fucking delicious. Lately I have been opting for more exotic stuff - food I don't normally get, food that is spicy and boldly flavored.

Because I am fucking bored with everything and I'll take any kick I can get.

Grilled chicken, Korean barbecue sauce, cilantro, sriracha cole slaw, American cheese, served over long grain brown rice, sprouted brown and red rice, colusari red rice, and wild rice. Those are the ingredients.

I don't know what makes up Korean barbecue sauce, I don't know what sprouted rice is, I don't know what colusari red rice is. I don't care.

My taste buds were dancing. I was dancing. I felt so alive, it felt so good to get a jolt of life, I was dancing like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Back and forth across the living room floor, driving Carol crazy as I intermittantly interrupted her view of The Office.

Somehow the neighbors became aware. They gathered outside our picture window, clapping, hooting and hollering. A raucous crowd cheering me on. Drinking beers, sipping whiskey from flasks, holding up Bic lighters and cell phones. I turned up the intensity, doing back flips, moonwalking, break dancing. 

They were howling in delight.

Mad in frenzy, I whipped off my t-shirt and circled it around my head. Suddenly there was silence. The neighbors ran like a panicked crowd fleeing a marauding pack of wolves. I also noticed vomit on the snow.

Sometimes I go too far.

But shit, man - I was feeling alive! From a fucking Korean Rice & Grain bowl.

If only my soul was as easy to excite as my fucking taste buds.

This Is Important

 What will my happy ending be?