50 bucks says it's another Birth Day Story

I haven’t been writing, and conversely I’m sure no one had been reading.
But I’m trying and I thought I should write today, tomorrow is a milestone, or so they say. No it’s not marking the day I got out of the loony bin, or swam/swum (I hate that) the English Channel it will be my birthday, the anniversary of the day I was born. I know… big deal, it’s not like we all don’t have them, we are all here so we all have birthdays, celebrated or not we have them.

But tomorrow it is my day, along with roughly 16,427104.72279 people [6 billion/365.25 (the .25 is accounting for those born on Feb 29th )]
This of course also assumes that the same amount of people are born on each day and why wouldn’t they be? And don’t bust my chops it’s a ballpark number, and the park seems to be very large, as is the number of candles on my cake. But as dad is always fond of saying, ”Beats the alternative”, and he’s right, it does.

I don’t have much to say about what I’ve accomplished with my time on the big blue marble, so I thought I’d tell the story of my arrival, which isn’t as normal as one would think.

As the story goes, or as told by my mom, it was sometime after 2:00 (I’d have to check the birth certificate to be exact), on a Sunday afternoon during a football game of which the doctor seemed to have an interest in. (Why can’t you end a sentence with a preposition?) My mom who had 2 kids previously both girls (yes I’m the youngest with two older sisters, and no they never dressed me up in dresses and put make up on me. I still have no idea why that is always the first question people ask when I tell them that, do other people really do this? I mean outside of Hollywood?). I mention my older sisters for one reason only, to show that mom had a bit of experience passing humans into this world, turns out this experience means nothing to a doctor; after all HE went to medical school, and what would my mom know of such things as birthing?

Turns out more then a doctor who likes his football games. (Are you picking up on something here?)

You see before they put moms on the table in which babies are passed, they used to keep the mom’s on a gurney. Now remember this was a few years back, long before the world went baby crazy. It was the late 60’s, the very late 60’s and no my mom wasn’t a hippy, I was not born at Woodstock. Remember I was the youngest of 3, not the oldest. My parents are not of that era, they were 30 by the time I came along, so basically they have no idea what ”Don’t eat the brown acid” even refers to. Instead I’ve seen pictures of my dad looking like a poor mans James Dean with his hair slicked back in some greasy nasty goop and my mom had poodle skirts, yup 50’s kids; but that’s another story.

Anyway, I was on a gurney inside my mom, and she was, as I have best interpreted this, Yelling.
She was explaining nicely to the nurses that I was coming, and the nurses, instructed by the doctor, assured my mom I wasn’t, and well if the doctor says I’m not coming he must be right; after all the game was on, did I mention the football game? As I understand it, it was a playoff game, and living in NJ which means everyone in the area follows NY teams and thanks to some information compiled by my R&D team it looks like it was the Jets, but who could know for sure. Whatever the situation, I’m thinking the doctor had a few bucks on the game, because that seemed to be more important then my arrival.

I know what you thinking, I thought it too, what could be more important?
I’d like to find the guy and ask him, maybe I should put my R&D team on that, okay it’s more of an R team then a D team, but there is comedy development going on.
Proof?
You want proof?
The newest product to come out of R&D was Munt. Yes Munt, neat word, rude word, but that word was created in a most elaborate team effort.

The conversation went something like this:
Me: “ He’s such a whiney bitch, you can’t trust him, he will stab anyone in the back to suit his needs, and acts like a little girl while doing it. He’s like a male C***!”
R&D Team: “He’s a Munt!”
Laughter ensues

Good resources are hard to find. You can’t easily replace comedy gold like this.
NOTE TO SELF: Give R&D Team a raise

So that’s my R&D team.

Back to my story.

We left off with mom on a gurney a pissy nurse, an absentee doctor (who may or may not have had a few bucks riding on a game he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from), and me who had just about had enough of being all pruned up inside my mom’s make shift Holiday Inn complete with room service.

Mom told the nurse I was coming out, the nurse chose not to believe her, then after what I can only assume was an exchange of pleasantries not fit for a truck driver, the nurse finally checked on the situation only to find out that my mom might have had some insight of which she spoke.
Yup I was coming through. (Now remember mom is still on the gurney and not in the catching bed)
And with all her wisdom and medical knowledge the nurse passed onto my mother this great bit of advice “Wait till the doctor gets here”

Now I can improvise a bit here and use some four-letter words that I know my mother has on occasion liked to utter, but I won’t. I’ll leave that up to you. What I will tell you is that I was born right there on that gurney without a doctor and by a mother who had not had any access to drugs. Remember this was 1968, I’m pretty sure no one ever heard the phrase Lamaze Class, so I’m (and again I’m filling in blanks here) thinking instead of Deep Breaths, Mom was cursing out the medical staff in several languages (some still not known today).

And so that was my entrance into this world.
And a wee bit of insight into me, if not at least the ages of my parents and I. Maybe next week I’ll tell you about my death, of which I narrowly escaped.


END

Tired of the "Holidays", Merry Christmas

I’m tired.
Need sleep.
But there is no sleep for me today, I have to work and it’s 3 days before Christmas, for those of you who find it un-pc to refer to the date like that, it’s December 22

Yea I celebrate Christmas and I think Jesus was a groovy dude, not that I think anyone else should. I honestly don’t give a skunk’s pituitary gland what others chose to believe just so long as they don’t believe in killing, stealing, raping, pillaging, beating up iguanas or doing what is considered somewhat “negative acts” against others.

That’s what it is supposed to be about, acceptance. Not the removal of, but the acceptance.

I’m not big on the PC crusaders, never have been, in fact I believe they are ruining it for everyone, including themselves. The sterilization of cultures is not a good thing; too many amazing things are getting lost from all cultures. Don’t believe me? See how long it takes to find a descent bagel and not round bread being passed off as a bagel … Meatsticks!

I find it interesting that any specific group of people would have a problem with Merry Christmas, it’s not like it implies “and all of you who do not believe in Jesus can go stick your head in a bucket of monkey puss”.

I honestly don’t get it. Sure we can separate church and state, and take religion out of most things “common” but wishing someone a ‘Merry Christmas’ is not all that different then ‘Happy Birthday’, or ‘Happy New Year’ or ‘Happy Second Day After You Passed Your Kidney Stone Day’ for that matter. It’s just a well wishing for a day or time of year.

I understand wanting equal billing, that’s cool, I’m even a fan of making more holidays. Who doesn’t want more days off from work? Let’s celebrate more days of love and peace; I honestly think we (that is people everywhere; Meatsticks & Non-Meatsticks alike) need more of that. Honestly, society is sort of going to hell in a hand-basket (yea I have no idea what that means either but stick with me here). But why do away with things? Why not just add more to the mix? There is always something to be learned from cultures & religions not of our own.

Oh right, I forgot better to be closed-minded and be afraid to venture out beyond our comfort zone.
Would you like sugar with that sarcasm? (In case you missed it)

Where was I?
Oh yea, a few days left before Christmas and I still have lots to do and I’m tired.
Tired of shopping.
Tired of running around in the cold weather.
Tired of not knowing if someone is going to like the gift I bought.
Tired of dealing with people fighting over parking spaces and driving slow in the left hand lane.

Okay here is where you are expecting the speech about the true meaning of Christmas.
But I’m not going to do it.
Nope.
I won’t.
No rant about the birth of Christ and the celebration of a child who was to bring Peace on Earth & Goodwill towards men.

‘No’, you say?
‘Why not’, you say?
‘Isn’t that what comes after the bitching and moaning about Christmas Shopping?’, you say.
‘Well yes’, I say, ’normally, but not today’.

You all know that diatribe and you all know as well as I do that there isn’t any more peace, on the this rock we call Earth, then there was over 2000 years ago. But his words and lessons are good, unfortunately some Meatsticks got their mitts into the religion thing and bastardized what was supposed to be a groovy love fest for all men and women, and no not in the hippy Woodstock orgy way, you sick bastard!

I’m talking about doing onto others as you would have them do on to you … and eggnog of course.
I’m pretty sure Jesus would agree with the spiked eggnog. I mean come on, nothing wrong with a little holiday cheer. So we will do onto others and drink heavily spiked eggnog. Sounds like a plan.

That’s the spirit of Christmas, you need the spirit part.

No you don’t have to drink eggnog you can drink whatever you want, you don’t even have to drink, but with all this PC culture erasing (hmmm, wasn’t there a fellow who tried to do away with some cultures a few years back?) going on in the world, it doesn’t hurt to numb a bit of the ol’ Gray Matter.

This all sounds well and good but it doesn’t get the gifts bought and wrapped, and as much as I hate doing it, and I really hate doing it, I have to admit there is a really cool feeling that comes over me when I find a gift that has the extra bit of specialness about it. (Yes, I invented that word right now, deal with it) It doesn’t always happen, and sometimes it backfires, we’ve all given gifts that we thought the recipient would love only to see a look on their face that could best be summed up as “UGG”. But when the planets align and the gifts are perfect and you see a look of “WOW” on their face, it sort of al comes together.

You see, it’s not about the gift but the feeling that comes with the gift, and not the feeling of getting a really cool gift but knowing you put a big warm smile on someone you care about receiving the cool gift. Maybe it’s a greedy thing, sort of in reverse, but it feels good none the less. A warm feeling, much like the spiked eggnog, only with a hug.

Problem occurs when you can’t find that special gift for everyone on your list, then the pressure is on. I know I know, I mean how many shirts and socks can I get my dad? (note to self: he asked for black this year with some sort of blend)
Hmmmm….

Ummmm….

Oh yea.

I wondered where I was going with this very long look at my life in the next few days, Jesus, Christmas, eggnog, gift giving, PC people trying to wipe it out and skunk’s pituitary glands. I don’t know.

I’m too tired to tie it all together.
I really am.
I’m tired.
I need a nap, and when I wake up I’d like to see people coming together and actually practicing peace love and understanding (although they don’t actually have to listen to Elvis Costello) instead of the warped crazy ass shit they are doing now, where there is this idea of us and them and intolerance.

I know I’m dreaming big, but when I see Santa this year (and I will) I’m going to ask for a little piece and then a nap.

Stupid thought 1

I haven’t had time to write so I thought I’d allow myself to post stupid thoughts.

I have them all the time, and why should I have to take the time to turn them into long diatribes, and maybe get lost forever before they materialize into anything.

So with that said I bring you ... (making trumpet sounds)

Stupid thought 1:

Why can’t I live in a world that pays you to sleep?

Snowflakes and Screws

Saw something new today, a snowflake.
Yup a snowflake.

Not that I have never seen one before, I live in New Jersey, no shortage here, and although it’s late October and too soon for snowflakes, it’s not completely unheard of. The NEW part is that this flake was INSIDE my car.

I guess I should explain.

You know that theory about the fluttering of a butterfly wing causing a hurricane, or that if you had just been 5 minutes earlier your whole life could be different. Well same idea, smaller scale.

A couple of months back I was having a good day, the sky was blue, the air was hot but I had cold air pumping through my car so who could care? Not I, in short life was relatively spiffy. That of course was soon to change. All it takes is just a little twist of a screw to change your life. Sounds like a corny set up to a movie, or trite words of wisdom from a friend who watched a corny movie two days ago, but it’s true. And it did.

The screw belonged to a 10 year old car with about 135,000 miles on it; the car of course belonged to me.
The car. This car. My car, as it turns out is a bit lazy and spoiled. It likes to know the temperature and although it has a computer, it can’t seem to find the time to look it up on the NOAA website like the rest of us. Noooooo, it needs its very own thermostat and apparently a new one. Seems simple enough, right? Before I go any further I should mention the car is 10 years old with 135,000 miles on it, did I mention that already? Well in case you missed that, those stats seem to matter, if you don’t believe me go look it up, I’ll wait, I have time.
Back?
Okay. As you now know, a 10 year old car with 135,000 miles is worth about as much as a bucket of wet cement. And unless your name is Jimmy the Nose and you have an associate who needs to disappear, it isn’t much worth. However, none of this bothered me, I have to drive just about 120 light years everyday back and forth to work and as we all know now, cars seem to lose all their value under these conditions. Needless to say I wasn’t really thrilled about spending thousands of dollars on a future bucket of wet cement. Fixing the car seemed like the way to go.

This of course was a mistake.
You see, cars with 135,000 miles on them tend to have other issues, like oil leaks.

Mechanic: "Hey this is really leaking oil."
Me: "Yea I know, can you tighten up the bolts on the pan."
Mechanic: "Again?"

You get the picture.
Turns out you can only tighten a screw so much, before it gets so pissed off at you that it decides to strip, and not in the really cool Pin-Up girl sort of way. Have you ever had a car that needed a quart of oil a day? It’s not good. It was time.

I could go into the trials and tribulations of my car shopping but I know you’re sitting on the edge of your seat waiting to find out about the snowflake.
Remember the snowflake?
This is a story about a snowflake.
I’ll get to the snowflake in a minute.

So after what seemed like a lifetime of car shopping (which I will get into at a later time), I bought a new car.
It doesn’t leak oil, that’s the good news, but it does like to know the temperature. (I don’t get it either) Every morning when I get in it, it tells me what the temperature is outside. So not only does the engine want to know the temperature so it can open and close a valve, it has this need to show off and tell me the ambient temperature also. Which by the way, is really exciting stuff when it’s 72 degrees, however this has a reverse effect when it’s 36 degrees, especially in October.

This morning I wasn’t too excited, in fact I was fucking cold, and to let me know just how damn cold I was, the car decided to rub it in. That’s right, not only did it display the temperature, 36 (if you forgot) but it put up a little picture of a snowflake.

Just what the world needs, a smartass car.

Broccoli Killer

First some fun logic:

Animals have life forces because they are alive.
Plants are alive therefore they have a life force.

I think therefor I am.
Broccoli doesn't think so broccoli isn't really there?
... I see a flaw already

With that I would like to present the last days of Mr. Broccoli.

Earlier........ Broccoli: “Please don’t cut me down, I like it here with my family"
Later........... Broccoli: “ Holy crap it’s cold in here”
Later still... Broccoli: “ Holy crap it’s getting hot”
And finally . Broccoli: “ No not my head, Please don’t do th……..

I know what you’re thinking, ‘that can’t happen, broccoli has no lips’.
Broccoli doesn’t care if it lives or dies, and neither does anyone else, in fact we prefer it dead, on our plate, like Chicken Little, Bessie the Cow and Wilbur the Pig. Oh right, not those, they were special like Bambi, but other nameless animals not clever enough to go into show business.

Hell, even the Jolly Green Giant turned on his own kind, even took sprout with him down the path of betrayal. It’s a dog eat dog world out there kids, even if you’re a vegetable.

But really what can broccoli accomplish in it’s life?
Besides of course something as trivial as photosynthesize.
But other then converting raw sunlight into life giving energy, what can broccoli do?
I mean really, can it program an Ipod?
Not even on it’s best day, lets kill it!


What’s my point this time?
Not sure I even had one, just something to think about on a dreary Wednesday

The Sponge Bob Syndrome

I’m sitting here watching Sponge Bob dance.
Bob’s a balloon, hovering above the office keeping a vigilant watch on the place. He’s sort of corporate, he’s wearing a tie; so no one questions his attendance.

He’s a happy little sponge, nothing seems to get him down, but I’m sure in time, like everyone else who has joined the rat race, that too will end soon enough.

Sad really, I’m getting used to SB, as he now likes to be referred as, he most likely won’t be here much longer. His arms have gone limp, his legs flat and he’s looking a bit thin in the waist. Still he’s dancing and smiling, a trooper to the end.

I wonder if we’ll talk of him when he’s gone. Others have left this place and no one seems to mention them much, people who have been here for years. It’s funny, no matter how irreplaceable you think you are, soon after you’re gone, you’re forgotten. It’s business as usual. That’s the cycle of life, always has been, always will be.

People are born, people die, even balloons come and go. To be honest, I haven’t put much into my relationship with SB, in fact I’ve never even really said hi to him. I just see him around, like so many others hanging about the place.

Sure I know his face, he may even know mine. But we never talk; I mean what would we talk about? We have so little in common. He’s a poriferan and I’m a human, probably not much middle ground. I should at the very least give him the number to good dentist, that would be nice of me. Maybe a conversation could start up there, well it might if he could talk. Then again, it could be insulting to approach him and start off with “Good morning SB, would you be needing a dentist?”

But talking to a helium filled Mylar balloon really isn’t the point, is it?
That’s just nuts.

Off with your head

Off with your head

Seems innocent enough, if you’re a queen (drag or otherwise) and you just don’t like what a subject has done. I have no problem with this sort of rash disciplinary action. Let’s face it, some people are better off without their heads. You see, heads contain brains, and some people really haven’t used their brains to the best of their ability, and wouldn’t they be better off without the cumbersome task of carry them around?
I thought so too.

I was going to leave this as is.
It sums it all up in a nice neat package don’t you think.
It implies all the necessary information, right?
For those who chose to not use their brains they just may end up without, sort of the use it or lose it rule. This hopefully will encourage people to use their brains for fear of losing them.

I know, I know, there are times we all shut down and use other parts of our bodies to operate heavy machinery. And that’s ok…. sometimes.
I’m focusing in on the times when using a bit of the ol’ gray matter might not be such a bad thing.

You know, like deciding that fresh air and water may be more important then a 50foot sailboat. Logic dictates you need both of the first to appreciate the second. But I digress.

Trying to accomplish something so insignificant as the preservation of life isn’t going to happen here, so lets tackle a smaller subject.

Lint
Yes you read that correctly, lint.

The stuff that was once your shirt.
It clogs your dryer, fills your bellybutton, and makes you dust your house, lint. For everyone it’s pain in the ass that is never going to go away. Every time I clean out the dryer lint catcher I look at particles of my shirt, my socks, my pants, even my un-mentionables which by the way are mentionable, they’re called underwear, (Boxer-briefs if your keeping notes), and say to myself or at least think in a pondering sort of way, damn that’s a lot of lint.
And it is.
It’s a lot of lint.

Makes you wonder if the shirt companies are doing this on purpose, sort of a planned obsolescence to bolster shirt sales. Bastards!

But what can we do, we are small, medium, and x-large but we are no match for them they are giant, and shirts just don’t come in that size. Sure you could go couture, but if we had that kind of cash lying about we wouldn’t be the ones cleaning out the lint trap and noticing our shirts committing suicide in the tumble cycle. It’s a catch 22 and we’re at the blackjack table coming up with a hard 16 and nothing but low cards filling up the table, we know a ten is a coming.

Lint seems insignificant, but so does the preservation of a habitable Earth, or so it would seem. I mean no one seems to really take the time to do anything about either one. Sure a few strides have been made, things like lint brushes, and vacuums but their not really cures are they? Nope, just ways to clean up the mess after it’s been made.

Doesn’t seem to be sensible use of the brain now does it?

Pull-tabs

Anyone else beside me miss the old pull-tabs on soda cans?

When I was a kid I made a really cool chain by linking pull-tabs together. Sometimes I miss the little things that get swept away because of safety issues, things like: Lawn Darts, Kabangers and those neat little pull-tabs. Okay I don’t really miss smashing my fingers with Kabangers all that much, but pull-tabs were great.

It was a different time in America, we roamed the neighborhood helmet-less on our bikes, played with a ball and jacks that were swallow-able, (don’t you love these words I’m creating) and sometimes we were even found lying on that shelf up against the rear window of a car.

Pseudo hippies wanted to buy us all a coke, Schoolhouse Rock taught a generation about the loneliness of a bill, and we all knew the song of Woodsy the Owl:

Give a Hoot don’t pollute
Never be a dirty bird
In the city or in the woods
Help keep America looking good
Hoot! Hoot!

Yea the past times of America were just different, I wasn’t the only one who made chain links out of pull-tabs,lots of people did it. Who knows where it started, doesn’t really matter, it was fun, sort of like catching fireflies only without the needless death of innocent bugs. It was just something kids did to pass the time.

For those who don’t remember pull tabs and why they became extinct, I’ll try to explain.
Pull-tabs were detachable covers for drink cans, unlike the ones today, that when opened stay attached to the can. They sort of looked like big bubbly zipper pulls. The concept was easy enough to grasp, you grabbed the tab and pulled it off of the can. But here’s where the problem came into play, after you pulled the tab off, you had to get rid of it. Sure throwing it in the garbage makes sense, but everyone got so used to kids taking the pull-tabs to make chains, that when there were no kids around they didn’t know what to do with them. So they dumped them back into the can so as not to litter.

‘Wow’, you are thinking to yourself, ‘that Woodsy must have been a very persuasive owl.’ And you’re right, he was, as far as owls go. But let’s remain focused people, pull-tabs.

Unfortunately that lazy disposal technique had some pitfalls. You see a few meatsticks ended up guzzling their refreshment so fast they gulped down the pull-tab right along with it, choking on that sharp little cover. Although most people didn’t choke on them, there was another problem, sooner or later you were bound to cut your finger on the edge of one of those tabs, especially if you were trying to make a chain out of them, what can I say, nothing‘s perfect.

This was bad: bad for the people, bad for Coke, bad for the hippies, bad for the defense lawyers, and even potentially bad for Woodsy. So they pulled the tabs for good and replaced them with those punch through things we have today. Pull-tabs are gone forever, leaving future generations chainless.

It was a one of those neat little things you could do for free in your spare time. Sure it was a little dangerous but a bit of common sense would keep you alive, and there were always plenty of Band Aids lying about for those pull-tab chain hobbyists.

So what’s my point?
Is there a point or was this just a trip down memory lane?
Sure there is a point, and a question.

Was it better to live in a time when people could choke on sharp metal objects?
Well…
maybe.

You see, we are creating a world were we feel it’s better to get rid of dangerous things then to teach people how to respect those things. That’s sort of like putting up a fence around the pool instead of teaching your children to swim. Sooner or later those kids will find themselves in deepwater.

Life is messy. Life is dangerous. And yes we should make it a safe place where we can, but at the same time we shouldn’t be escaping the responsibilities of teaching people responsibility. I could go into a rant about this but I won’t.

Instead I’m just going to wonder...
besides those cool pull-tab chains what else is being lost everyday.

A Bit of a Disclaimer, a Bit of a Cause

Why don’t people care that the world is going down the proverbial rat hole?
(No disrespect to any of you who, in fact, may be rats)

I sort of get fed up about this on a regular basis, and my instinct is always to laugh at the obvious follies of man. And I’m not just talking about idiots who adorn Nikes and try to get a free ride on interstellar debris.

I find myself laughing at things that should turn my stomach and make me pissed. I used to get mad, really mad, but one day when I found myself yelling at a loaf of bread I realized, Hey butt munch (I’d like to take a moment to thank my nephew for bringing that word back into my vocabulary, 13 is such a cool age) it’s a loaf of bread, sure it’s highly processed but not highly evolved, it’s not like it’s whole wheat. So I stopped shaking my head and feeling shame for being part of a race that truly believes individually wrapped mozzarella cheese is a good thing and started to see comedy in the destruction of the human race.

As once so elegantly put by a friend of mine and practiced and endorsed by both of us Life is all about the punch line.
So with that mantra I face the world and smile.

Now it’s only fair to warn you what that actually implies. It means everything is fair game, and I mean everything. Nothing is off limits for a joke.
Now here’s where you think to yourself surely he doesn’t mean everything.

YES Virginia there is a Santa Clause, and Yes I mean EVERYTHING.

There is comedy in everything, there really is. I realize some things are in bad taste and not for all forums. I also realize that if the subject matter hits too close to home it may not be funny to some. Is short comedy can be a real tricky bastard.

Yup, it’s a fine line.

I wrote a piece about the Black Death, hopefully it was funny. Mostly it’s safe to laugh at the Black Death because no one knows anyone who had it. Comedy about Cancer isn’t so funny. Why? Simple, it hits to close to home it’s a real threat in our lives. But does it make it less funny? Should it make it less funny? There is nothing funny about Cancer, but we may laugh at Leprosy.

Healthy guy: “Can you lend me your ear?”
Leper: “Here you go.”

I’m pretty sure no one is going to be offended by that one.
Basically what I’m saying here is that, I never mean to offend, I probably will cross the line a few times, but everyone’s lines are different and so it’s inevitable to cross some at some point.

The other point is that I never mean to be malicious, it’s about entertaining, it’s not about hurting someone, it’s not about knocking people down a few pegs, it’s not about prejudice, it’s about laughing at ourselves. I learned a long time ago, better to laugh then cry.

So I thought it would be fun to do a bit of narrating and observing as we circle about on the big blue marble we call home.

Capturing Light

I’ve never captured light, nor have you.
We can’t, it’s not ours to covet.
We’re not supposed to capture many things that we somehow manage to do. It’s not right, but then the concept of right is ambiguous at best.

People will argue that point, but it’s true, there is no right, it’s a moving concept based on time, location and the interpreter. Sometimes in history you can get a majority to believe in what’s right, but there is not one thing you can get everyone on Earth to believe to be right. Not even something as basic at life. Turn the other cheek, or an eye for an eye, the bible can’t even remain consistent. So what we have is conditional ‘rights’ that suit the need of the person and maybe even a mob (and we all know that mentality).

We create laws: laws that are enforced, laws that are broken everyday, laws that have absolutely no consistency or provide stability to maintain what is the perception of order. And yet we as a society keep a relative balance but then wonder how mayhem ensues. But this is a conversation for another time.

Many things we desire are intangible, these are the fun things we like to qualify and quantify but we can’t. More importantly we shouldn’t. Things like happiness and love. You had to know that was coming, it was inevitable.

You can’t hold love & happiness. There is no scale or measuring device, no matter how many millions of dollars scientists spend trying to do so. Every now and then you get some well funded meatstick making some ridiculous claim that he can not only measure but has defined classifications of love and happiness. They start off with mice and work their way up to humans. They isolate the gene and look for a chemical releases in the hippocampus and cross match that with socio-economic well being of the test subject and then interview everyone who has had contact with said subject, then they divide by the square root of the number of times spent in the waiting room of the doctors office and plot it against 73 other test subjects and a control group. This of course will tell you within a 49.8273% margin of error how happy you are. (Please make note that a coin flip will give you about the same amount of accuracy)

No, there is no meter, no matrix, no swami, not even a crystal ball that can tell you this. But this isn’t the best part, the best part is not only can nothing tell you what you are feeling, but you yourself may not know. Things like love and happiness have a way of sneaking up on you without any notice what so ever.

There are many (and by many I mean millions) of theories, viewpoints, and musings over the subject, some are insightful, some humorous, some an idiots delight that makes you wish you had chosen to bang your head into a cinderblock wall for 38 minutes straight. Whichever the case, believe what you will at your own peril. But my advice is to never let any outside influence color your decision in the slightest way. I should repeat that, never let any outside force influence your decision in even the slightest way. Yup that about sums it up.

You won’t listen to that advice.
And I don’t blame you. It’s your life, you will do what you want, and why would you listen to me, who am I, and who are they. Surely you can ask peoples advice and not be so feeble minded as to not be influenced by it. What harm could asking do? Maybe those people have experiences you could benefit from. Well I’m here to tell you, no one, absolutely no one has more experience being you, then you. Yes, that means you are on your own with this one. Sounds daunting doesn’t it? Well don’t be scared yet, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Turns out you are an expert on you, whether you know it or not.

Oh maybe a quick caveat about that, just because you are an expert on yourself, doesn’t mean you figured out what’s best for you. Of course you may be brilliant at it. Then again maybe you should go seek help, but that’s not the point.

The point is you shouldn’t try to hold light, you’ll burn your hand.
Or was it that you can’t covet love, but you can rent it for 250 a night?
Hmmmm, maybe it was that over educated meatsticks shouldn’t be given so much grant money.

I forget, maybe it wasn’t all that important after all, maybe I never had a point, maybe some things should be left to just be…

Anyone got a light?

What about the Black Death

What about the Black Death, you never really hear about that one anymore, sounds like such a cool disease, as far as names go.

Lets face it, if you have to go, wouldn't you rather be taken down by something called the black death, as opposed to something called the whooping cough.

Vladimir : “How did Jim die?”
Philo : ”Oh he had the whooping cough.”
Vladimir : ”So he coughed and whooped a lot and then what? He died?”
Philo : ”Pretty much”
Vladimir : ” Died whooping did he?”
Philo : ”uhuh”
Vladimir : ”Wuss!”

OR

Vladimir : ”How did Jim die?”
Philo : ”The Black Death got him.”
Vladimir: ”Wow, the Black Death you say?”
Philo : ”Yes the Black Death.”
Vladimir: ”Well, no one can really beat something called the Black Death, he must have fought brave.”
Philo : ”Yes he did, we should honor him. He fought the Black Death.”
Vladimir: ”Brave Soul.”


It’s all about image, how we define things. Everyone knows this, it’s why people root for teams like the Bears and not the Chickens. Well not everyone knows this, somehow it escaped Ben Franklin who preferred Turkeys over Eagles, sad really… one too many volts down that kite string I suppose.
But not everyone can blame such things on a few thousand volts of raw energy.

Image is a funny thing, no one wants to be shallow enough to admit that it makes a difference but if we stop bullshitting ourselves for a few minutes we realize it does. Honestly, no one would have accepted Woody Allen as the Terminator, it just isn’t going to work. Simply stated, wrong image. Everyone knows you have to be a 6foot, 245pound body builder who can bench press a Volkswagen to shoot a gun. That must be why grandfathers leave guns lying about the place when the grandkids stop by, it’s just common knowledge.

You see we expect people to follow a pre-conceived image that we have of them. And the really great part of this is that we will go so far as to project that image upon them and treat them accordingly. It doesn’t really matter if they posses those qualities, we will assume them anyway. We expect preachers to be honorable, we expect doctors to be knowledgeable, we expect lawyers to be underhanded, we just do, as unfair as it is we do, we suck.

You ever notice how some people seem to get away with murder and others don’t? We stereotype, and project, we’re Stereo-Projectors, some of us are Trinitrons others widescreens but we all are. Raised on television, by television, to become television like. It’s human nature, like it or not, to some degree we are all guilty of it. I know, I know, you’re not. It’s just the rest of us.

Still sometimes I would just like to turn off the television and let the screen go black… death

Let’s Wipe Out Suckiness

I was talking to my sister the other day and found out an interesting little habit my nephew has. Turns out when he goes to the bathroom, he gets undressed. I don’t mean in the normal pants dropping way, no we’re talking about queuing the corny stripper music, get out the giant feathers, complete nudity. Some might say naked as a jaybird, others, o’ natural. Whatever term you prefer he’s buck naked.

That’s right, every time nature calls, even collect, he goes into the bathroom and takes off every last bit of clothes he may be wearing and hops up on the throne.

Seems like a weird thing for a kid to do all on his own. I mean sure becoming one with nature is supposed to be a very liberating form of consciousness, a spirituality that can only be achieved through a life stripped of man made bonds and artificial restraints. But we’re talking about a naked kid sitting on some cold porcelain, this isn’t an ashram and trust me when I tell you, this kid has never tried to imagine the sound of one hand clapping while ooooooommmmming.

Nope, there was something more to this story and I think I knew what it was. And so I asked the question, the right question.
"Did something happen once that made him do this, like a bad experience?"
Sure enough it did, and it turns out it wasn’t a one time offence. The kid has been living a life of torment of unspeakable proportions, okay maybe I’m going a tad to far, but it’s all relative and he hasn’t had that long of a life yet. So in short, he’s just a messy wiper.

Yea I know gross.
But hang in there, a point is on its way.

You see, with messy wiping comes soiled clothes, (do not make a visual, let’s just keep going) and with soiled clothes comes embarrassment, not to mention unpleasant odors. (Still urging you to not visualize, or odorize) We can also assume if he wasn’t at home, the embarrassment factor gets amplified by at least 100 times. The poor kid had problems and those problems needed solutions.

You have to admire independent thinking; I know I do. In this day and age, not many can do this, and whether it was out of disgrace or stubbornness, this kid found answers. He didn’t go to his mom, dad, preacher man, or president; he just found a way to remove the problem, as well as his clothes. This is a child who is showing the very attributes that helped forge this great nation, an attribute we assign to the greatest people the world has ever known.
And yet

Yet.
Yet.
Something went wrong.
It wasn’t exactly the execution, more in the planning stage. Much like many before him, he fell victim to curing the symptom and not the problem.

Do you see a point coming?
I told you it would get here.

I could go on about big business and pharmaceuticals always finding ways to cure symptoms and not problems, but I just don’t have the time right now to point out what should be insanely obvious, they’re crooks.
But my nephew isn’t a crook, not yet anyway, unless you count stealing brownies before dinner a criminal act. So his motives aren’t dictated by greed, his judgment isn’t clouded by stock options; no he just doesn’t see that a little time invested now, will save him time in the future.

Unfortunately adults are just as guilty, the future has become an abstract thought in which we just don’t care about. If something hurts take an aspirin, why take the time to find out why you hurt to begin with? In essence, we are a society that makes beds in burning buildings, which sucks.

So, in the hopes of living in a suck free world I propose a movement in which we will not suck, a no suck movement, if you will. One where we will try to fix the problems of the world and not just the symptoms.

Please join me in my crusade to wipe out suckiness, as well as backsides.

A Noir Story for the 21 Century part 2

Continued from Part 1

Correspondences were made, the usual back and forth to get to know one another. I told her my sordid story she told me hers. I explained I was just a pessimistic optimist living gray, in a black and white world, she said she understood. Just a couple of odd numbers in a world that doesn’t add up, who knows maybe together we could come out even… we’ll see.

We set the time and place, it was of course a gin joint near her sister’s house, the name on the sign said Jakes, but 50 to 1 says there is no Jake, there never is.

She was already there when I showed up, it’s best to let the girl get there earlier, that way you can make an entrance. There is nothing appealing about a guy sitting on a stool throwing back a few trying to look like he isn’t passing time. No instead I walked in, gave her a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a nice to see you. She returned the notion. I caught a smile.

She had an empty glass, I ordered us a round, I was already one behind. She was drinking a Martini, she likes them dirty, I told Jake to shake it, he asked me who Jake was… I told you.
I ordered a vodka drink, they’re clean and to the point. She said the barkeep put the empty up there but never filled it. Dames, who could figure?

Don’t ever ask a question you can’t figure out, and there are few I can’t but when it comes to women, there is plenty you shouldn’t ask. The truth is a funny thing, reality has a way of holding many sides. More to the point, if you don’t want the answer don’t ask the question.
But who says I follow any rules, especially my own, so I asked her about her gun.
“I keep it in a safe place” she says.
I’m betting it’s under her pillow. Sounds like I will be sleeping alone again.

Wondering if she ever used that heater before. But if she did would she admit it to me? Now? I’m gonna have to say no. There will be time for that later, and hopefully I won’t be on the receiving end of a lead donation, I don’t like hospitals, and I like extra holes in me even less, so maybe I shouldn’t ask.

Me: “Hey cutie, did you ever shoot someone”
Her: “No, never had to”
Yea I know what I just told you, but I had to know, and so did you. Just another white elephant about the room, you can either ignore it or get it out of the way, sometimes it’s best to remove it before it makes a mess.

She was sipping her martini, (dirty not clean) as I was putting back my vodka, then another, they go down easier these days. We had the usual back and forth, maybe there was something here, maybe I was being set up, I still didn’t know if she was packing heat in that purse. I wanted to know, it’s best to know where you stand even if it’s at the foot of your own grave. But even I know she wasn’t going to answer that.

Me: “So is your gun in your purse”
Her: “Oh come on, this tiny little purse, don’t be silly”
What did I say? … dames.

I told her about her eyes, she wasn’t buying, they always think it’s a line. Life can become one big line if you let it, you just have to beat them to the punch or you become the joke. They sparkled, they had life in them, these days not many do. Most people have lost that, who knows maybe they never had it to begin with. Maybe hers was a gleam, and not a sparkle at all. Could be an evil gleam, she could have that gun in her purse, what would I know.

Me: “So how big is it?”
Her: “Excuse me?”
Me: “You’re rod, how big is it?”
Her: “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
She had spirit, I’ll give her that. Maybe it would be best to change the subject.

Me: “You wanna blow this joint?”
Her: ”Excuse me?”
Yea, I liked her already.

It was time to go, I was going to hand her, her purse but she beat me to it. I dropped some cash for the bartender who’s name isn’t Jake grabbed my keys and followed her out the door. We headed towards the car with no direction in mind.

No sign of a trench coat yet but you never know.

Readership is Down - Google Blog Search

I think my readership is down.

Suffering if you will from lack of attention, much like those monkeys who were put into captivity and given a piece of rug to love. It’s not good. I know what you’re thinking how could it be down if it was never up? Truth be told, a friend once read my first entry and I’m pretty sure has never been back since.

I write for a few reasons:

1. I like it.
2. Because I think it will make me a better writer.
3. Because I like to rant, and maybe, just maybe, someone out there will relate to the misfiring synopsis synapses in my noggin.

The third is of course why I decide to take some of my ramblings public. Although in reality publishing a blog these days isn’t any more public then walking through time square doing your best impression of Susanna Hoffs singing Walk like an Egyptian, no one is going to listen unless you’re in your underwear wearing a cowboy hat. Even then it’s questionable. So as a blogger you are destined to end up a sniper with your grandfather’s semi-automatic high powered rifle with laser scope and carved wood stock handle if you are counting on readership to help prop up your writing ego.

Unless of course you find a way to promote your log. As of right this minute, I have one avid reader, and if you don’t count the author then I have none. Yup that’s right I’m the only one to have read all of my writings and most likely the only one who cares, but like I said I do it for me. I have visions of being a great writer who came up through the ranks, a blogger of no importance, who believed in the American Dream and became an influential part of the global fabric that helps form the stitches of society. Yes that’s right I will help change the world for the better, or get carpal tunnel trying.

I went to Google and did a search for my site, it didn’t know me. Now I know what your thinking, it’s a new site maybe the fabled internet spiders are still eating flies and haven’t gotten around to searching out my site. There’s a lot of territory out there in the vast space known as the INTERNET.
Did you hear a load boom?

Probably not, you see I’m using blogger, which means it’s free, and with that freeness comes a low budget, and therefore no booming INTERNET sound effects. Shame really because it’s so much more fun when you have sound effects on queue. Okay lets try this, go back and read that again, but this time do it out loud using your best James Earl Jones voice. Go on, don’t be shy, no one is here to make fun of you, trust me, it’s just you, go ahead.

Back?
Pretty cool huh?
You see it’s so much better with the James Earl Mufasa Vader Jones voice isn’t it? So as I was saying, this is Blogger, owned by Google and still no listing. If Google can’t find one of their own hosted sites what chance have you got?

None!
That’s what chance you have of finding the literary equivalent to … ummmm… aaaaa… well… Beef Jerky.
I’ll try and figure out why that is in a bit. We have bigger fish to fry, you and I.
You see unless you know the exact link name, not even Google will help you out. And who‘s day would be complete without reading this Beef Jerky?
The answer of course is no one’s, nobody’s day would or will be complete without my jerky, sorry that’s just the way it is. And here we have Google, the premier search engine who can’t seem to even find the missing jerkey to their day.

I need a viewer for my spotlight, an ear for my soap box, an audience of dedicated people who will stop at nothing to muse over the pearls of wisdom that will ooze from this site. In short I need you to be proactive and tell the world you have seen the future of Blogs and it’s name is Gray Matter Garbage.

I think I had you, right up until the name right? I lost you with the name didn’t I?
Yup, it’s the name isn’t it. You don’t think Garbage and good things go hand in hand do you?
They do you know, Ebay’s the number one buyer-seller site ever known to man, simply because one man’s garbage is another man’s gold. You see I’ve put some thought into this, much like the Beef Jerky analogy, okay maybe not at all like the Beef Jerky analogy, but just as much thought, which isn’t very much, but it is free. That’s right this is free reading damn it! And in this bill by the month world in which we live, this my friend is a bargain of the highest order. High order bargain, that’s what they’ll say.
And they will too, you’ll see.

Okay back to the beef Jerky analogy

My writing is like beef jerky:

...because it takes a lot of effort to swallow it
No, that can’t be good.

...because it repeats within 5 minutes
Nope, still not exactly what I’m striving for

...because it rhymes with Freak Turkey.
I have no idea what that means either.

...because it’s dried out and gives you bad breath
...because high profile models dig it, maybe
...because like Tang it’s been in space
...because how else could you put cow remains in a 5 ounce bag?
...because it’s leather free
...because neither have preservatives.

Okay maybe it’s not like beef jerky, maybe it’s more like Pizza.
Everyone loves pizza, it just depends on how you make it.
Yes that’s it!
My writing is the equivalent of, not like beef jerky, but pizza, made by Luigi.
So order some tonight, and you can throw out the paper plates.


And just as I put the finishing touches on this insightful read I find out that Google goes and creates a new service called Google Blog Search, type in Gray Matter Garbage and I’ll be in the number one place… Life is good... like beef jerky

Venice on The Gulf

I haven't worked out all the details yet,
but I'm thinking after they drain New Orleans, they should fix it up to be submerged again, let loose the levees and voila New Orleans Venice style.

I still say it's The Big Easy's best bet for a profitable future

Cha Ching

END

A Noir Story for the 21 Century part I

note: Thought it might be fun to write a Noir style piece. I haven't planned anything out, I have no idea what the point is, how long it will last or the direction it is going, sort of like life, it's a crap shoot at best.

Enjoy the ride ...

I really don’t know anything about her, but she may have a trench coat.

Yea, OK that may sound weird, but she’s not an angst ridden teen who’s grandpa owns a .38, and I don’t think she’s accustom to hanging out in malls with nothing on but a pair of sneakers and the coat. And like I said she may have a trench coat, as with so many things in life, nothing is certain.

I may have been overstating when I said I really don’t know anything, but what I know isn’t much. I only say she may have a trench coat because she has the credentials of a private dick. Yea I know, another transparently lame attempt to use that phrase. What can I say, I’m not above it. I will refrain from the obvious follow up joke however.

I almost can’t help myself, but compare her to a cool jazz number, the way her long curly hair wraps around her face and her pale skin glows like the moon on a summer night. Just the sound of that makes me want to pour a drink and wash away the pain of the day. But this isn’t 1943, and I’m not writing a hard boiled Bogart inspired Film Noir masterpiece, so I’ll just say yea she’s a babe.

Not stylish enough for you? Be thankful I haven’t used the word dame yet, okay too late.

But she has that look, even though in this new millennium many don’t. Who knows’ maybe she doesn’t either, could just be my interpretation, all I have is a head shot to go on, that and a short bio. It read like a stat card nothing poetic but inspired me just the same.

Who says life isn’t filled with a certain sort of charm?

I have this feeling she may have that x factor but what do I know, I’ve never heard her voice, and I’m not projecting, I’m just saying the possibility is there, it’s in her look, didn’t I already tell you that, you have to start paying attention or this is going to take all day. We’ve exchanged a few words, sort of like passing notes in class. The benefits of living in a digital world, we get to regress. If you haven’t guessed yet, this was a fix up from the start, a friend with good intentions.

We'll see, this just might be murder...

Continued in Part 2

The Mathematics of Her

I used to have a she, a her, I thought she was the her. Turns out she wasn’t the her, just a her, and it wasn’t going to be she. So now I’m looking for her, a new she that could be her. Although to be honest I’m not being overly proactive about finding she to be the her, but I really would like to be with she that is to be her.

I find it best not to be looking for her and just enjoy she and if she turns out to be her, then your searching for she is over her.

This isn't a new theory but it's true because of your mind set, it's just the way it is, to find her you need to be out of she. I've done the math. She divided by her over she is equal to she squared to the power of her.
It's complicated but numbers don't lie.

Trust me

Summer Rain

Sometimes I believe summer was meant for walking.
Something about the air, doesn’t even matter if you get a sun shower, in fact standing in the summer rain has a rejuvenating feeling, it’s like nothing else in the world. I welcome it.

Ever notice when you give in to the summer rain you feel as if nothing else matters, at least for that moment.

There are few other times that feeling is present. It’s sort of the theory of Democracy in practice, the great equalizer. Think about it, at that very moment, when nothing else matters, you could be standing in the rain with a billionaire and you are both equal. You are both experiencing exactly the same feeling at the same time, no money or lack there of can change the effect.

It costs absolutely nothing to stand outside in the rain, everyone can do it, and when the weather is warm, it’s really a pleasant thing, unless of course you are on your way to a meeting and you need to look a bit more presentable then a drowned rat.
But even then I don’t mind, it’s not like people don’t know it’s raining, and if they can’t appreciate the wonderfulness of that, then it’s sad for them. It’s just one of the very few free experiences of life that trumps the things that money can buy.

When it rains most people grab an umbrella, and run inside as fast as possible, that’s ok for some…

But I’ll be out in the rain, finding peace.

The Re-Capper

I tend to drink a lot of water, bottled water. I know it’s a scam, over a dollar for water. It’s always more expensive then soda. You’d think that soda wasn’t made of water. It’s the biggest snake oil pitch the world has ever scene. Think about it. You take water and you add sugar and chemicals in it and you charge one price, take away the sugar and chemicals, and charge more, as if this stuff didn’t actually literally fall out of the sky. I’m amazed.

Like I said, I drink it. I figure if we are 65% water, the best thing to do is replenish the system.
But this wasn’t my point, I always drink it out of a bottle, and I always recap.

You know what I mean about recapping. Maybe you’re a re-capper.
After drinking I always recap the bottle, between every lift to my mouth I recap, and I’m not the only one, there are lots’ of re-cappers out there, I’ve seen you. It’s a habit, I don’t really think anything is going to fall into my bottle, and I’m not a clumsy guy who tends to knock over bottles of water on a regular basis, but still I recap.

I bring this up because I was just fiddling with the cap, sort of unscrewing it, and re-screwing it. Not for any reason, it’s not an impulse or sign of ADD or ADHD or OCD or any other combination of letters used to prescribe medication, just thinking and screwing.

Clubs and Hearts

Well it is sad
And they are cute
And it does suck
But still a part of me (a very big part) says hey what if they weren’t cute?

I feel crappy about them dying yet I won’t think anything after eating a chicken, a cow or a pig, let alone putting on my leather jacket, belt or shoes.
I didn’t care when I killed about a half of a dozen mice a few years back. I won’t even mention the unbelievable amount of mosquitoes I’ve squashed with my bare hands, only to have theirs and my blood squish in my palm.

I know they aren’t cute.
And nothing says drama like a baby bleeding against a white background.

Just thinking out loud I guess, no point really, I have no answers, I don’t even know if they are endangered. If they are, it’s stupidity, but that’s a different argument isn’t it?

Murder is sad.
Death is sad.
Yet we have to kill to stay alive, even if it’s just a plant we kill.

I have no idea what is right when it comes to hunting.
I have no idea what they are doing with those baby seals, I’m guessing they are using the skins to make some clothing for Paris Hilton, and then using the meat to feed dogs or something like that. I don’t know.

In my attempts to not be a hypocrite I have become somewhat confused.
Sharks eat seals, sharks have a right to live also.
No one seems to mind that as much.

Probably because they eat one at a time, us humans are much more efficient we have clubs.
Beat seal! OOGA OOGA

Sure we could get by without killing seals, we could get by without killing chickens too, if only they weren’t so ugly. Chicks are cute, but chickens well they make good meals, and there really isn’t enough meat on a chick to kill them, what would be the point?

I just bought a leather belt a few weeks back, it’s very nice and it holds my pants up. I like that in a belt, style and function. I could just as easily use a rope made of hemp, but then I would have to kill a plant. I could use a nylon rope but that would last a billion years on Earth and hurt the environment.

The plants don’t feel.
Plants have no mommies
Plants have no nervous system so that doesn’t count, even if they have a life force.
I hear corn husk shoes are coming back into style. Talk about a corn on your foot.

Honestly I wouldn’t want to kill a baby seal, I’d feel guilty.

To be honest I felt a little guilty killing the mice, but they had to go, they didn’t fit into my picture of a clean and germ free environment. I never feel guilty when eating chicken, even though I’ve seen the movies from the slaughter house, probably because I didn’t actually have the blood on my hands.

I don’t even like seeing bloody meat at the store. It just seems gross.
But I’ll eat the steak when it’s cooked, rare even.

I eat fish also, it’s supposed to be good for you, well if you don’t mind your healthy food with a side of mercury. I can’t tell you how many baby wheat grains died for me, bless there little souls.

I bet seals eat fish, they kill too.
I know fish are not cute, seals are.

I have a theory, and I’d bet I’m right.
If we were cannibals, ugly people would be stew.

We like beauty, we want to keep it, ugly things we like to get rid of.
We let beauty get away with murder and we don’t let ugly get away with anything.

Unless ugly is really charming, I mean really charming, and then they can skate by, but they will always be sort of the charity cases of the world.

Strange creatures humans are

Very strange.