Lil bitty birdies….

Several hunnerd of ‘em. Bout 7am this morning, having a cig at work… In the distance, hear this meshed humming noise getting closer and closer… Soon, the blueish sky was interrupted by the Southward path of this group. A bit too high up to distinguish exactly what kinda lil bitty bird they were, which too is fancy for “hell I wouldn’t know anyways.”

Amazing was my first thought. Then protection my second – as I envisioned being spray with poop – as surely several of them would as they hovered over. Wouldn’t it be soooo awesome to fly and simply poop on whomever you wanted, wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted?

To my delight, they suddenly turned Eastward – and one by one all plopped on an electrical wire across the street. Why doesn’t this fry the lil bastards? Never understood that…

Oh they were chirping.. It was like “Is this akin to our Flying J?”.. Rest Area? Interstate McDonalds?.. One single lil birdie soon flew the length of the wire – as if he/she were a schoolmaster making sure all in their place. Or hell, mebbe coulda been like a bar, and he was checking out the chicks.. dunno.

Several flew off… most stayed.. Were they the GPS crew? Rebels? The young’ns?..

I wondered if we, humans, to them looked like they do to us. All look alike?. Wonder how they choose who they “fire” on? Wondered if “size matters” cause all them sumbitches was teeny weeny. Do the male lil birdies piggies also exclaim “did u see the breast on her?”.. Do they hug with their wings? Do they “do themselves”. VICTOR! Sorry, just wondered.

Wonder if they have lifelong mates? Wondered what happens to the aging ones that don’t have the gumption to make this annual Southward trek.. Bird nursing home in Minnesota?

Wondered if all the chirping was being done by primarily the females? (jk… kinda).. Wondered what it’s like to fly… Soar..

Is this wonderful freedom and lacka responsibility a fair trade off for such a short life expectancy? Would you give up rent, cars, charge cards, utility bills, have to’s for seven years of flying allover the US with ne’er a worry? (and only 7, then u die)

The wire was by now bouncing up and down.. the combined weight of ‘em did that. Perty cool to see. Where’d they come from? The hell they going? How long does it take ‘em?

Nature is a pretty damn cool thing. Sure, harsh – but oh so cool. A conglomeration of us all, animals, mammals, fishies….. humans… Coexisting, mostly peacefully.

Are there ‘bird laws’? If so, would they call the ones going behind bars “jail-humans”?

How old do ya have to be to make this annual Southward trek? Do some ever stay behind and make it thru the winter? Do some rebel in – say, Padre Island and tell the others “to hell with you, you go on ahead back up North.. I likes it here, growing roots.”

One lil bitty species, buncha lil bitty birds. Perty damn cool.

Fly robin fly… up up to the sky. The short respite of observing the lil birdies helped make my day fly by. They were real livewires. They were all the same – birds of a feather flock together. Unique, yet similar.

Thank you Creator for this day, this moment… for allowing my brain to look skyward and ask so many questions, have so many thoughts – even gain a chuckle or two outta it.

Life is, basically great. Flies by. Love, Victurd

Bang Bang Maxwell….

Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical
Science in the home…
Late nights all alone with her test tube
Oh, oh oh oh…

“Hey, when’d we get that painting?”… ahm, two years ago.. I never was
very observant. Heard this song going into work today. So light, so fun, then
I actually listened to the lyrics….

Maxwell Edison, majoring in medicine
Calls her on the phone..
“Can I take you out to the pictures Joan?”
But as she’s getting ready to go
A knock comes on the door..

Ok, so far so good. Guy/gal, mebbe future, mebbe smooching. Well before the
days of “I’m broke, let’s go to Redbox instead, cuddle on the couch.”

Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead.

WHAT? “So light, so fun” the hell is that?

So, I went to ‘my teacher’… Wiki… Wiki relates… Paul relates “"Maxwell's Silver Hammer" is my analogy for when something goes wrong out of the blue, as it so often does, as I was beginning to find out at that time in my life. I wanted something symbolic of that, so to me it was some fictitious character called Maxwell with a silver hammer. We still use that expression now when something unexpected happens.”

Back in school again Maxwell plays the fool again
Teacher gets annoyed
Wishing to avoid an unpleasant scene

She tells Max to say when class has gone away
Se he waits behind
Writing fifty time, “I must not be so”
But when she turns her back on the boy
He creeps up from behind…

Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down up her head
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead.

And I thought it was rap that introduced us to violent crap like that. Ok, parody perhaps. Kinda vaudevillian-like. I hate guns though. True. Do. Sure, I go to the Piggly Wiggly and eyeball the ground beef prices – but I could never hunt – and could care less if I ever fished again. Just don’t like violence, confrontation. Maxwell, you ornery slut.

PC Thirty One said, “We caught a dirty one”
Maxwell stands alone
Painting testimonial picture
Oh, oh oh oh..

Rose and Valerie screaming from the gallery
Says he must go free
The judge does not agree, and he tells them so
But as the words are leaving his lips
A noise come from behind

Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down upon his head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that he was dead.

I don’t get if Victor. Why this song? Eh, it just kinda goes to showya… An approach maybe.. Bad shit happens in life… You can’t make light of it – but, you can choose light, upbeat, fun……. sunny side up. Are you Pollyanna’n the lemon/lemonade shit?

Mebbe. Fun. Maxwell sounds fun. His actions ain’t. Can’t control other’s actions – but
can your own. Mine. All mine.

Harrison once said “"one of those instant whistle-along tunes which some people hate, and other people really like. It's a fun song, but it's kind of a drag because Maxwell keeps on destroying everyone like his girlfriend then the school teacher, and then, finally, the judge." …..In 1977, Harrison would be less charitable, stating "I mean, my God, 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' was so fruity."

Took ‘em three days to record, with Paul’s insistence things be perfect.

Ringo, never heard ole Ringo cuss.. but he said….”It was the worst track we ever had to record. It went on for fucking weeks. I thought it was mad."

Light, fun. Upbeat. A whistling tune. Smile amongst the shit. Don’t worry, be happy.
See the funny little clown. Lemon/lemonade.

Silver hammer man….. Have a vaudevillian-like day. Up, not down. Light, fun, happy.
Love, Victurd.

Bothered…..

Quoting Wiki….”Confidence can be a self-fulfilling prophecy as those without it may fail or not try because they lack it and those with it may succeed because they have it rather than because of an innate ability.”

Back to the mole game. You know. Chucky Cheese. The game with 30 holes, and you got this mallet, and the moles surface from who-knows-which hole, and you bash the hell outta ‘em.

Sometimes I feel like a nut.. . ahm,no, that ain’t it. Sometimes I feel like a mole (yeah, yeah, yeah), sometimes I don’t.

Like dating.. or, like”‘not dating” because I’ve been thru periods where I have simply taken too many blows from that mallet, why even bother?

Then……… sunsabitches… gotta remember ‘counterclockwise’, so get your sorry mole ass out there.

Arrogance. I’ve never understood why the opposite sex (both female and male) seem to not be perturbed by arrogance. Wiki be sayin’ “arrogance is having unmerited confidence--believing something or someone is capable or correct when they are not.” I go to this goofy single’s chat site – and see arrogance daily. I wanna upchuck, others simply giggle. Patooey. Seems the arrogant ones, feel the need to diss others, perhaps to uplift, “justify” their own self/arrogance.

Victor…. the hell you going with this? Ain’t sure. I spose I’m confused, confounded at my present state of confidence… Do you feel your two past marriages helped bring you to this point? Bear/woods.

Have you demonstrated a history of perhaps getting your feelings hurt a little too easily. NO! WHOINTHEHELL TOLD YOU THAT?!!.. ahm, ok, mebbe. Bite me.

Frame. I love to frame shit. You know, like observe a co-worker, their heart, their strengths, their love for life – and somehow wrap it all up (frame it) with a statement that hopefully places them on Cloud 9. And, fortunately, I’ve been on the receiving end from others similarly – and it’s SUCH a good feel. Boosts confidence.

Deja vu. Déjà vu kills confidence like Raid kills ants. Echo. Resounding. Mebbe, wearing heart on sleeve, I let past shit said to me resonate for’er and for’er. Statements winged during little “Agree to disagree” spats. Embedded. They become embedded. Fast forward each – to today. Been here before. Déjà vu. “”Confidence can be a self-fulfilling prophecy as those without it may fail or not try.”

I likes my brain. I know it ain’t $$ smart, but I do ok. I likes my looks ok. I know I ain’t George Clooney, but I ain’t Lyle Lovette neither. I’ve demonstrated some athletic ability in the past (Victor, who cares?).. I whistle. I smile. I’d like to think I make the day better, funner, for those around me.

Sometimes I feel like a nut… yeah yeah yeah…… Sometimes I feel like a mole…. yeah yeah yeah… sometimes I don’t.

By Henry Gibson. Love, Victurd. (I know, didn’t make sense to me either….. kinda)

Counterclockwise……..

Victor, is this gonna be another stupid blog about how much you love “leftfield, and coming from?”……

Mebbe. Hehe. No. Different, very different.

Ok, so is it going to be another GD (gosh darn) sermon where you (up there) all high and mighty tell US how to live?

Mebbe. Hehe. No. Different, very different.

WTF then? What the fooey? Yeah, however u like to decode that, WHAT?

Strolled again yesterday down the steps of the community center… Whisked right by the workout area.. (lady, extremely gorgeous… in spandex.. Dynamite figure… close your ears: Stacked.. And while stacked has never thrilled me, on a tiny figured lady there’s just something about it. Married lady. VICTOR! Come on damnit, I didn't do nuttin' other than look.. Hell, her hubby should be proud us codgers look. )…… into the locker room… quick change into swim trunks….. And to the sauna….

Sauna was 190 degrees. Damn, but nice. Soon, the sweat was rolling outta my leathery arms… hey, your arms will look leathery too damnit when you’re fitty-seven! Once I was dripping, headed for the Jacuzzi… Hard to people watch on this day.. The lifeguard, his snotnose girlfriend in chair beside him… one dude swimming lane laps… a preschooler in the wading pool, with mom one eye on the paper, one on he……… and me……

Since I got hurt last gamea the year in softball, this has been my community center routine. Before, it included 30 minutes on the elliptical, weights, and then the sauna/Jacuzzi. (GD Windows keeps capitalizing Jacuzzi, must be named after some dude.)

Muscles soothed from jets, back to Jacuzzi with a capital. After ten more minutes of 190 degree heat, I needed a break from it. So, lone chair - there - katacorner from lifeguard, pimple faced gf, the preschooler, and the lap swimmer.

Then I noticed it. The clock. Digital. Ceptin’ it wasn’t ‘adding time’, twas subtracting it. 42:37, 42:36, 42:35, etc…. For the benefit of the lap-swimmer dude I’m sure - but too, it hit me. Mebbe all of our “life clocks” oughta run that way.. Backwards. Counting down. Counterclockwise.

Would serve as a reminder “yain’t getting this minute back, use it wisely.” I KNEW YOU WERE GONNA PREACH. Hold up just one second there cigarette-breath. How many times must I say “I write TO me, hitchhikers welcome.” So, said again.

You figure your age, you take the life expectancy of your gender, and you set your clock - living, but with the reminder of how precious time is. You can’t worry about what happened long ago (53:42, 53:41).. You must take on life in the present, 42:34, 42:33, 42:32, for it’s winding down. You mustn’t mire yourself in why “that one” ended, nor revisit (53:40, 53:39).. You’ve got to eyeball the counterclockwise clock,42:31, 42:30, 42:29, and realize, baby, this is all I got. Make the most of each minute.

And then it happened. Ain’t thata song? Lap dudes clock struck 00:00, and he, long gone.

Funny thing next… Clock went to 00:01, 00:02, 00:03... And my brain said “hmmmm, maybe that’s the reward for someone who lives PAST their life expectancy… maybe that’s the one that beat the doctor’s “You have 8 months to live”.. Maybe these minutes are for the one who divorced and thought “it’s over… I just know it’s over.”

Some don’t make it to 00:00. High School class reunion planning party today. Nine page spreadsheet, and throughout the (GD size 8 typed) list, interspersed periodically, “deceased.”

So sad, so very sad. We never know. Victor, pay attention to 42:28, 42:27, 42:26, it’s all you got. And, it may not even last that long.

So, please choose smile insteada shit. Please search for the good, not the evil. Be a boxer, you know you’re gonna get knocked down again, promise yourself to spring to your feet so not to miss a wonderful second.

We had an old style hand clock in the gym when I was in 8th grade… used it for our basketball games.. It was lit in white, and when the final minute arrived, suddenly went RED. As in “panic”… It too was counterclockwise. A reminder, one day this shit (said lovingly) will all end. Make the most of it. Choose smile over frown, up over down.

Anxiously await, and hopefully make happen: hugs, smooches, backrubs, friends, good times, work with a smile or a whistle, up. Not down, up.

I’m rambling, I better get outta here. Anyone got the time? Love, Victurd.

Crazy

I'm Crazy for feeling so lonely

Victor, is this yet another pity party? Using my favorite line from my stepson “not no’s, but hells no’s.” I just love the song. Did u know Willie wrote it? Well I’ll be go to hell, I didn’t know that…

I'm crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue…

Oh, but today’s blue is the sky.. as in golf…. again… gettin’ the hell outta here at noon to play golf. HA HA Old Man Winter, almost 60 degrees today…… YIPPPEEEEEE!

I knew
You'd love me as long as you wanted And then someday
You'd leave me for somebody new

But… I really didn’t know that. I wish I’d known that, and I never woulda entered the covenant. For many a year (after) I thought “Victor, you’re bad (stupid, not a good mate, jealous, controlling, don’t do anything to help, it’s all your fault)” – and then I realized: I like me. I’m ok. Not perfect, but I like me.

Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wond'rin'
What in the world did I do

Yeah, why did I? If someone enters a covenant, utters the words “til death do us part” and one day walks without ever considering reconciliation (almost as if it was the intent one day) – then why did I worry? Why would I want THAT? Again, I ain’t perfect, but, my word is my word. I’m crazy.

Oh! Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for tryin'
I'm Crazy for cryin'
And I'm crazy
For lovin' you

Nice song Willie. Great voice Patsy. I’m crazy ‘cause “the after” drove me so crazy. Goofy me. This old music penetrates my old bones with ‘feel’. Hell yeah. Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, jambalaya… Hello darlin’, it’s been a long time………. Victor, you’re old. I know, but please don’t tell my brain, k?

Funny. Having our 3rd class reunion planning party this weekend. My brain still kinda-sorta thinks as a kid. No, I know that ain’t always a good thing – but, I can tell you, it’s a fun thing. I love life, I love friends, I love family, I love my job, I love golf, beer, BBQ ribs, blue skies, snow (from inside the house), mountains, rivers, beaches, creeks, fall foliage…….. nice derrieres (uh huh, I’m an ass man. Wow. Punctuation. There’s a difference between “I’m an ass man” and “I’m an ass, man.” Hehe. I’m crazy.

I’m really not – but I was. Goodbye Joe, me gotta go. FORE! It’s a never ending saga for us men. Wow. Justa game. Always about trying to get it in the hole. Crazy. I’m crazy. Love, Victurd.

Just a back rub…..

That’s all I want. Ok, a lie, but damn it’d be nice.

Why did God put your back in the back when it hurts so much and you can’t do anything about it by yourself? Of course, if your back were in your front, then that wouldn’t be quite as exciting when with the opposite sex.

Can you go to a massage parlor and JUST get a massage? I’m there. I can envision myself saying to the (female) masseuse (couldn’t do the male thing) “I think I love you” no matter how she looks.

To give is devine. I LOVE giving back rubs. These hands simply await, anxiously, the opportunity to give “feel good” again one day. Funny, these stupid dating sites. Ya wing an email out into never-never land – and ne’er a response. You check your inbox, nice, several, sometimes even many. Nah, not for me. These hands are made for walkin’, that’s just what they’ll do – onea these days these hands are gonna walk allover you…. Are ya ready hands? Start walkin! (The hell happened to Nancy Sinatra anyways?)….

As of late, I’ve been ‘dating’ Ms. Jacuzzi Jets. She’s got marvelous ‘feel good’ to her, but, she can’t cook, doesn’t converse, and not much visualization to her. Then again, she allows me to go play golf, attend happy hour with cohorts, and stays outta my checking account. Still, I’d trade for real hands. Not just any hands – and I think that’s the problem.

With age comes pickiness, and I’m too damn picky. The ones I see I like, seemingly have no desire to give/receive a GD (gosh darn) backrub. The ones that see me and like, I have no desire, no matta the current pain level of the muscles around the scapula – to have them delve their hands allover me.

Close your eyes. Imagine receiving a backrub. Heaven. Now, imagine giving a backrub. Heavenly. So easy, yet so hard. It’s certainly been a longtime, but me thinks I even remember ‘wonderful’ happening after mutual backrubs. You know, like pinochle, or scrabble, or maybe even a “Do you want to be a Millionaire” rerun…

When observing the opposite sex, seems we don’t focus in too much on their back. Nomme. I envision that wonderful sleekness and my ole hands helping to ease away the pain of everyday life… God shoulda made the back more attractive. Our eyeballs zoom in on other areas, and oh sure, they’re wonderful – but the back is an underrated erotic zone – and, like other parts, only shared intimately.

Can’t wait to get back, to the back.. and to her back. I just want a backrub… oh, and all the other junk (said lovingly) that comes with it.

These hands were made for walking… that’s just what they’ll do… onea these days these hands are gonna walk allover you… I gotta weak back. “When’d ya get it?” Bouta week back. Actually, long, long ago. Oh what I’d give to get/give a backrub. Back later. Back in awhile. Be right back. (Meaning, be ‘the right’ back, not brb).. Love, Victurd.

Content with content….

Huh? The hell’s he talking about……

Content, emphasis on the first syllable. It’s what we’re made up of. It’s the ‘insideda us’. You know, we’ve heard of some that are “fulla shit.”… whilst others.. “filled with a good heart.”..

“Liar there.” “Controller.” “Cheater.” “BS’er.” “Gossiper.”  that a word? It’s our makeup, what we bring to the table.. Seeing what’s in there as if we’re transparent.

Had a buddy in college.. Normal, average size Joe. Maybe 6’1”, 215 lbs. Played defensive end. Did things that a person of his stature shouldn’ta oughta been able to do. He’d somehow make his way around 275 lb tackles and sack the quarterback 2 to 3 times a game.

Coach asked him one day “what makes you tick?”… His content, of course. Heart, desire, want…

Somea us, our content is all about our surroundings….. “He’s all work.” “She’s all play.” “Absorbed in motherhood (fatherhood.).. “Alchy.” “Thrives playing ‘aint-it-awful?’.”…

Content – it’s our do, our what, our brain, our path, our everything.

Content – emphasis on the second syllable – now that’s a different puppy. Content is associated with happiness, proud of job done. Enjoying life and the goings-on around. “Doesn’t take much, I’m happy.” “I’ve got my mansion in Mission Hills, my Benz’, my groundskeeper, my maid – life is good.”

“This marriage rocks, I’m content.” “It ain’t the best job in the world, won’t ever be rich, but I love what I do and who I do it with… yeah, I’m content.”

Of course we all know the alter ego – Mal. Malcontent. That’s a story for another day. Seems some, no matter what – simply won’t allow themselves to be content. Wickedly, weirdly, choosing to ‘enjoy’ the struggle of life, mire in it.

Victor, howinthehell, whyinthehell this topic?

I’m on this goofy dating site. (Victor, you’ve been there for like forever – the hell is the holdup?). Bite me, story for another day. Anyways, this lady, an ENGLISH teacher wrote me and said “I checked out your blog. You write better than most--and that is a compliment.”.. AN ENGLISH TEACHER! I was content, happy.

So, me of butchered tongue – wrote back “Hey, an ENGLISH teacher complimenting my horribly grammatical work? THANKS!......”

To which she replied “I didn't comment on the mechanics--just the content. (Grin.)”

So I did………. grin. Thanks teacher lady, content with my content. Made my day. Now, if I could just twist, spin, turn, adjust, realign, shakeup, settle-down, get back-in-the-flow, see the glass as half full and not “the bastard leaks”… I think I’d be really content.

Nonetheless, content she liked my content. Later. Hope you’re contented. Love, Victurd.

Casper, and life….

I could see Casper. Never really understood that. Thought ‘ghost’ meant disappearing. Also thought ghost meant eerie, spooky, should makeya skeered. Casper was nonea that.

Dating. Casper. Happens. What is often this fullcourt press, go baby go, we can’t get there fast enough, gimme mo’ gimme mo’ – turns ghostly. Gone. Disappeared. In a heartbeat, a flash. From boiling to cold.

Been on both ends. Unlike ghosts, hard to see through, understand. Reckon that chase to find out ‘why’ simply ain’t worth it. Could cast a thousand reasons, perhaps none correctly.

Too loud, too soft, too forward, cold, wanted younger, wanted older, insecure, too secure, ended last time – why jump in again….. too big, too small, too rich, too poor, arrogant, wimpy, just not sure… I saw cracks.. it’s not you, it’s me.. it’s not me, it’s you… Outta here…. Exit, stage left.

Mebbe why…. as a child, I was enthralled (ok, enter the word ‘crush’ here) with Elizabeth Montgomery and Barbara Eden… A twinkle of the nose, or arms crossed, folded, your wish is my command, I’m a ghost. Can disappear. Can move things and you won’t see. Can change life in a millisecond.

High School reunion planning party last Sunday. Huge list, printed out in what musta been size 8 type (go figure).. Damn.. I remember him/her… where the hell did they disappear to?.. Fell off the facea the earth when we graduated. Ghostly. Like Casper, friendly ghosts.

We, in life, jump in and out ghostlike. There are some days, I feel like being holed up in my bed, ashtray by my side, remote in right hand, cig in left – and please leave me alone, I’m Casper today, ghostly, don’t wanna come out.. get the help outta here, I’m disappearing.

Then, there’s them days where ya wanna revisit, see, every GD (gosh darn) friend, past lover, coworker, acquaintance you ever met……. yet…….. now THEY’VE disappeared.

Depression makes one ghostly. Sad endings lean one thataway. Fear of tomorrow make us hide inside the sleeping bag.. On second thought, in dating, brings on the Casper inside us..

My singledom, unofficially began sometime around the turn of the century.. Being the online idiot that I am, I've yapped with many along the way via Yahoo Instant Message. Gotta huge list of friends there. As age, time, destroyed brain cells happen – I now look at somea the names and wonder – whothehell is that? I don’t even remember either one of us disappearing…

U can run thru the list a names.. (Ok, I can then).. Can’t remember why ‘ghost’ happened. Did. Can’t change. Sometimes don’t wanna. Sometimes wish the meeting had never happened.

We is what we was. Huh? Yeah, you/me. Our past defines us, even when one is being ghostly, or being ‘ghosted’. Each name, face, figure – they’re our past, no matter how whimsically short the one-on-one mighta been. For a time, there was feel. Feel is great, no matta how fleeting.

I thank goodness for my computer – for it’s (kinda) kept me young. You ever see how fast a fitty-seven year old run inside after a 45 minute commute to see if-by-chance “she” has emailed? Almost ghostly.

Darn, that disappearing thing again. Everything ends. Everything. I spose, if we had that figured out, ‘ghost’ wouldn’t bug us so much. I just read a lady’s profile (Victor, tell my you’re not still doing that… sorry, am) and she said “So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.” That’s perty cool. Friggin ghosts everywhere. Screw ‘em. Love ‘em. We ARE ghosts, all of us. Disappearing happens, one day – with finality.

Don’t let it spookya. Don’t try to reason. Victor, whothehell are you to advise? Remember buckethead, I have said time and time again – sometimes I simply talk to ME here. Remind myself. Prop the head up. Keep the passion flowin. Live baby, live.

Ghosts. Disappearing. Fun in the meantime. Hey. Boo. Have a spooktacular resta the week. Love, Victurd

S’more short……

Thirty minutes til work bell… I gotta type this, transfer it over to blog & Myspace.. go smoke a cig…… Yikes!

As in “who cares”, but Saturday, I had onea them ‘guttural’ moments… back at my great nephew’s football stadium… great kid… our family has just kinda become unwoven ‘thanks’ to too many deaths… too many weird circumstances…

In a millisecond, my heart went back to…… my mind envisioned…. the feel went thru my body… of when everything was “right.”

The world’s biggest wimp, me, simply cried as I stood alone over in the smoking area… I’d hear the kid’s name announced for a tackle – and the mems were there… he and his grandma – bright eyed, she so proud… I cried.. a good cry.. Feeling… guttural…

I just feel (thank goodness) that if one doesn’t feel, if one doesn’t have a moment where they ‘breakdown’, reflect, thank, re-envision… shake… eye moisture… smile… then the hell is the use in being here.

Shit does happen. Shit can’t shake the memories of good though… Good is etched for’er. You can take away my eyesight, but you’ll never dislodge the visions/good of yesteryear..

Crying… shaking… everything around emitting emotion.. . thanks oh Lord.. for I have felt.. and to have felt, I’ve lived.. and to have lived, I’ve loved. And for that I am thankful too.. .

At times life is akin to a reel to reel tape….. snaps… just when it was going good…

Back soon…….. got some splicin’ to do……. Happy Tuesday, love, Victurd

Short….

Short is fun. Father was short, absorbed (very good naturedly) many’a joke over the years. Whatshername loved being with him – sure, because he was fun, but more likely because she ‘towered’ over him by a half inch.

Pretty sure I toldya about the midget wrestlers – but what the hey, I’m repetitive. Was working at the airport… just got off, heading for the employee bus at the end of the long horseshoe shaped terminal. Lo and behold a group of five or six midgets, grabbing their suitcases, making their way towards me/my coworkers..

The guy in the middle, certainly their leader, has a baseball cap on… but… the writing is horizontal, not vertical.. and.. it was very small, so you had to strain to see it.. as they came closer and closer.. .we, the four guys getting off work heading to the bus.. now each had our heads tilted far down to the left to try to read the horizontal writing.

One-upped we were. What normally, and unfortunately for them is ‘everyone staring at them’ because they weren’t what some deem ‘normal’ – they now had us the center of attention.. four airline idiots, heads tilted, walking in unison.

So what’d the hat say? It said “what in the fuck are you looking at?”… Midgets one, airline workers nothing.

Short, only gotta short time til work. Let’s meet for a short. Short stacka pancakes. Nice out, gonna put on my shorts. Short break. Short story. Sell short. Short circuit. Short attention span.

Short sayings. As confused as a hungry baby in a topless bar. Lights on, door open, nobody at home. I’ve seen better hands on a clock. As worn out as a cucumber in a convent. All stolen, sorry.

That’s the long and short of today. Twitter is short. Texts are short. Most emails are short. Phone calls even short nowadays too. Short seems in. We’re all too GD busy doing what we think is important, so most everything is deemed unimportant – and we give it a short look-see. (Slow down you move to fast… lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy.)

Gonna go smoke. Short one, not the 100’s… Kinda chilly though, will only stay a short. Then I’ll have a short time to look and see how many women ain’t emailed me before I take on my short of great salary job.

Short rocks. Sometimes. Loveya, Victurd.

Living today for visions of tomorrow…..

Reap what you sow…. We are what we eat….

Mickey D’s, 5:02am today. Quickly went over the KC Chief’s 34-14 drubbing. Learned that KC’s coach, pretty much a hothead, has had reality sink in and he’s indicated he understands he needs to control/watch his emotions.

Super Zack. Attended the Royal’s game yesterday. Images of yesteryear when the entire crowd got on their feet when Zack had a batter with two strikes… Talented the young man is.

Then (after reading about Super Zack’s performance) read the remaining pages of the newspaper, yes, including the obits.

If you have chance, and you’re reading this 9/28/09, it’s worth it for you to sink 75 cents into onea those blue machines and buy today’s paper. The “Tribute” is fun. The Tribute is a relaxed form of an obituary, that tells a little bit more about the person.

It’s a look back. It’s “what we’re left with” once we’re gone. It’s today’s vision, of yesterday’s living.

Person today, Dorothy Fox, 79. “She wasn’t a boring woman.” Intrigued I was at that header… Among the more fascinating things of this woman’s life:

Her mom died when she was 5. Her military father was absent from her life. Raised by widowed grandmother. “She cared nothing of rules.”

Joined Air Force. Married, had child. Returned to KC, hubby scooted. Dated a guy for 4 years.. dinner at the Savoy.. she asked the waiter “do you think this guy should marry me”.. Waiter replied “he’d be a fool not to.” Days later, they drove to Miami, OK, tied knot.

Embraced the beatnik lifestyle spending time in coffeehouses reciting poetry to a bongo beat. Wrote a limerick for each girl at birth. Told her kiddos the ice cream truck that rolled thru the neighborhood sold fish sticks. Kids couldn’t understand why other kids lined up to get a fish stick.

Took her daughter’s belly dancing – and too participated in the classes. Believed prostitution and marijuana should be legalized. Liked to tell dirty jokes. Strong opinions didn’t make her judgmental, her door was always open.

“Now that she’s gone, the world is quieter” said daughter.

Oh yes - but, I LOVE this lady and I never got the privilege to meet her. Her vision of today was built by her living yesterdays.. and my does it sound like she lived them.

I don’t propose anyone follow in the footsteps of anyone – but what I so enjoyed about this article- is that she lived life the way she wanted to…. didn’t swim in the mainstream.. and seemingly cared little if others perhaps didn’t agree with ‘her way.’

Leftfield. I love leftfield, and coming from. At the Royals game yesterday – I got to sit by my cousin – she’s the same age as my deceased sister. The game was actually FUN. It was “Bark at the Park” day. Dogs could come, but you hadta buy them a ticket (which went to various animal ‘causes).. Some had Royal’s shirts, hats, sunglasses on.. Some barked, some wagged, yes, some peed/pooped. Fun. Leftfield.

After Greinke’d worked his way out of a bases loaded no-out jam.. we’d been on our feet for three batters, ceremoniously clapping in anticipation of him getting out of it.. exhaustion set in as the last out was made, the batter pounded his bat into the ground in disgust… we sunk into our chairs… and I told ‘cous ‘if my dad were here, he’d say “Ok, buy I’m NOT staying for the fireworks” (it was a day game.).. My father’s vision of his living yesterday.

We tailgated before and after the game. My cousin’s g-kids included a little 3 yr curly headed blonde, and a darker haired little 3 yr old gal.. Spttin’ images of my cousin and my sister 50+ years ago. They’d sneak off as far as they could sneak… “GET BACK HERE”… they’d then grab a handful of BBQ chips, walk over to the side of the car, spit ‘em out to see who could make the biggest “glob.” Visions of today, yet, perhaps vicariously coming thru the living of my sister, my cousin in yesteryear. (Sister once got a brand new fancified doll house for Christmas.. dolls weren’t really her thing. Huge. Made of tin. Cousin and sister soon fetched it to the backyard where they, age 4 or 5, smashed it to smithereens. Living yesterday, visions for today.)

I have led a far, far from perfect life. However, I consider myself so very lucky. At times, I’ve dared to come from leftfield. I never wanna hurt anyone, but some things I do/say, and I don’t givea chit what others think. I have fun. Life is fun. My only hope is, someday, once I’m gone – people might ‘see’ my ‘tribute’ and simply smile. That’d be the greatest honor ever bestowed upon me. A simple smile. For I’ve smiled hella along the way to get there.

Peace out… bounce to the pace of the bongo... do something “Dorothy-like”.. smile, have fun.. fill the half full glass… toast a toast.. and enjoy….. love, Victurd

No songs….

Can’t thinka none. Double negative, I know. Oh well. That’s a song. Fleetwood Mac I believe. Even an Oh Well part II. Just looked. Already did that. Chit.

I repeat myself. Already did that too. Dangit there ain’t nuttin new. Ya know, sometimes that’s just the way life is…… El Boro. Mundane. Gray. Or Grey. Seen it spelled both ways, dunno, don’t care – grey…..

Boring days are like a blonde chick who’s roots need recoloring. A lady that has 9 nice fingernails glued on. Dude with a wrinkled shirt. Socks that don’t match. The last pair of clean undies. Kids going thru the motions. Driving to work in a trance. Oblivious, even to the radio.

Boring happens. You ever have a conversation with someone, ya gets a little uneasy, bored… unconsciously send body signals “I WAN’T OUTTA THIS” yet, they don’t pick that up? Man, I have. Lots. I guess that’s what whatshername meant when she said “people don’t always get as excited about your ideas as you do Victor.”

You have things that people have said to you in your life that you’ll never forget? Me too. Most are poopy things said. Those aren’t boring, they’re sad.

Boring is being single, reading profiles, and seeing people that are sepErated… get their your and you’re confused… their they’re and their messed up… Seen one today, lady has a graduate degree… is a school counselor… begins her profile, honest to goodness, first sentence: “I a single lady with my own home.”

I have to find chit like that to keep me amused. Friend, don’t tell, sent me their resume’ for me to forward to our HR Department. At very end…..”Refernces” Provided upon request.

Soon, I’ll go smoke (I’m early at work, boring normal thing for me.) As I smoke, I can justabout predict exactly what time, which car will pull in. How they/we all walk our own little boring way. Goin’ thru the motions. Hump day has past, but it ain’t the weekend yet. Thursday might be justa tad bit less boring than Tuesday, but not by much.

Our computers at work are likea car with 250,000 miles on them. Upon occasion, the better part of one’s day is spent staring at the GD (gosh darn) hourglass. Bored one day, created list of top ten things to do whilst staring at hourglass, sent coworkers. I wasn’t bored any longer. Bored is as bored does I rectum.

Small towns can be boring. Big cities can be boring. Boring just has a way of slipping into our lives. Then something cool happens. Outta left field. Or, someone says “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time.” Music happens.

You’ve got mail happens. Yippee. Ain’t seen/heard from that friend in awhile, how cool. The sun comes out. There’s a nip in the air. The tree tops are turning like that blonde with the root problem. Coworkers argue. One quits. Another gives 2 week notice.

KU football players fighting KU basketball players and vice versa. Can’t really blame ‘em, I hate ‘em both too. The KC Star hits the driveway. Coffee’s done perkin'. Yippee. Boring is over, done, finito.

“GD, I forgot how pretty she was” happens. You get an email from someone u recently slept with and they tell you that they had a really nice time.. VICTOR! Sorry, slipped.

Point is, it’s like anything else in life, there be ups, and there be downs. Halfa the glass is air, the other part water. Introvert, extrovert. IT guy/sales rep. Clerk/Vice President. Blue collar, white collar. FUN. Boring. Ya gotta love it all. If u don’t, you’ll go nuts.

I love it all… especially that one email from that one chick. VICTOR! Going to smoke now, see if my boring predictions pan out. If you ever have a boring moment, conversation, just giggle to yourself, and picture the other person naked. Helps. Boring can even be kinda fun. Go. Do. Have fun. Gossip. Hump. Live. Love. Eat, drink, be merry. Later, love Victurd.

Life and the Microsoft Word Document.......

To me, writing is kinda like living. You open this window thingy, there it is all blank, pure – and you gotta put your tippy toe down, type on the keyboard (patoeey on Dr. Laura’s sometimes ‘look down on you’ attitude – but I did, oh I did/do love her “now go take on the day.”)

Blank. Nuttin. You gotta color it, decorate it – or not. You can hide in the corner – you can jump in the middle and start hootin’ and hollerin’, however you wanna tackle, life, the Microsoft Word Document.

You can up them fonts, u can change colors, shades or you can be the bland ole, regular ole regular Times New Roman.

Most of us paint ‘em similarly daily. Not much dare in there to push the envelope, peek over the ledge. Nope, keep ‘em right down the middle – perfect margins on each side, laundry actually inside the hamper.

I love goofy. Outside the box. Fun, shock value. Makin’ a point to have fun. Whistling. I love to whistle. Can’t sing, might as well whistle. People hear and say “you’re a happy bird today”, so, hell, I keep whistling. Works.

Page after page of living, ultimately make-up who we are. Sometimes, we try in vain to get that keyboard to word it just right – but some stuff iis just outta our control.

We look back on those reams of paper we’ve used… Onea my favorite diddies – “if I’da sat you down in High School and told you ‘here’s how the next 30-40 years of your life are gonna go’… what would you say?”… Well, close your ears, I’da said “you gotta be shitting me?”…

Hey – we’re at the helm. We control the keyboard. We can wake up and be an ass. We can wake up and be happy. We can wake up, wanna go back to bed because “yesterday sucked”. Waller, mire. Run, jump. Crank the music, turn down the music. Veg out in bed watching whatever.. go, be amongst friends. We paint it. We type it. We live it.

Funny. I just looked in the upper left hand corner of this Bill Gates Microsoft Word Document page thingy, and it’s indicating “Normal.” Basta doesn’t know me well eh? I guess that refers to ‘formatting’. Again, many live on cruise control. Many select grump and groan, as if there’s a hole in their muffler of life.

Others simply smile hella. I love them kinda people. Melts me. Whatta gift, the smile. It can be given to anyone, any age, any time, for whatever reason. Feels good to smile, feels good to be on the receiving end of a smile.

I kinda-sorta take pride in allowing this ole brain to conjure up fun situations, then happen to walk past someone, share a chit-eaten grin, and let ‘em think “whatinthehell has he been up to?”… Fun, I’ve been up to fun.

Taught Elementary PE back in the day. Had a very nice 5th grade teacher there.. happened to be the spouse of the Baptist Preacher in town.. Prim, proper, good heart. I’ll never forget though, her saying “I just can’t imagine anyone laughing, joking all the time, living like that.” Sure, there’s a proper time to be serious, but I ask “the hell’s the matter with fun?” Long as one carries out one’s responsibilities, doesn’t ‘cause harm to another……

We all have our opines. Our own “keyboards to our Microsoft Word Document page”.. Our own speed, style, attitude, speech, gestures, passions, ways……. Paintin’ the page. Typing on the page. This font, that font, centered, way to the the left.. Green, blue, red, or automatic black. Normal. Ital. Bold. Underscored. Spellcheck, hell no I ain’t spellchecking.

The beauty of a blank page. Our choice. Ya don’t have to ‘read my page’, it’s my page, my life. I’ll decorate that basta any way I wanna. Watch me. Regrets? Sure, who ain’t.
Tis ok, it’s my page, my life, my keyboard, my whistling, my smiling, my whateverinthehehell I wanna do – within reason, within the laws.

I love the blank page. I love ‘painting it’. I love watching others paint – even if it’s the same ole chit daily. I love those that jump outta the margin, dare to have fun. I feel sorry for those that don’t wanna type, paint, go – take on the day. Mired there for a time, it sucks.

Better get the hell outta here. I can see you yawning. Don’t blame ya. Hey, go. Take on your page. Your document. Dress that sucker up whatever way you want, or don’t want. I do hope it includes smiling, I do hope you have fun – if that’s a permissible thing for you. I do love watching you paint, type.

Life screams of reams. I love it. Love them. Love the page. Blank. Fill it. Happy Page, love Victurd.

Here we are and it’s Tuesday again….

Tuesday is an incline day. Uphill battle. Life ain’t a battle, but Tuesday sneaks in as one. Working to get to hump day, wade thru it. Going to closet on Monday is somewhat exciting, after wearing junk/casual all weekend, find a little bit nicer ‘business casual’ as they call it here… by Tuesday, who cares.

Taco Tuesday. Tackle it Tuesday. Tuesday Weld. Ruby Tuesday. Wiki says it comes from Middle English Tiwesday, from Old English Tiwes daeg, named after the Nordic god Tyr, who was the approximate equivalent of the Roman war god Mar, and Greek god Ares. Tuesday is war then?

Justanother day. A day in the life. Ever hear anyone say “got plans for Tuesday?”…. Hells no’s…

I think then, it should be permissible to be grumpy as hell on Tuesday. We could have, by United States agreement, grumpy Tuesday.

“Welcome to McDonalds, would you like a Super-sized Extra Value Meal?”… Hey ya little snotnose, are you insinuating I’m fat, and that I over eat? Why don’t you stick that school backpack over your zit-faced head u little creep……. YES, grumpy Tuesday.

We could permissibly stick our tongues out at ANYONE we want. Flipping the bird on Interstate – absolutely no road rage allowed – it’s Tuesday. Grumpy is Ok.

Thinka how it’d help a marriage. “Sure, go ahead and go… you never do shit around here anyways.”…. “Honey, why do you keep these twelve boxes of clothes here? There’s no way in hell you’ll ever be a size __ again.”… “Sex?.. are you CRAZY? It’s Tuesday!”…

“Screw you boss… I’ll get to it when I’m damn good and ready… Should I be scared? Scared of not getting that 2% raise?.. Patooey.” YES. Grumpy Tuesday.

Tuesday is boring as hell. We needta spiff it up. Insteada waving, u could take your fingers to your lips, then your chest, then your booty. KMA. KMA, it’s Tuesday. Some people are grumpy all the time, would be a damn fine time to get back at ‘em. Ya rotten bastard, how areya today? When’s the last time you got laid? Smiled? You LIVE Tuesdays!.....

And the very nicest people of all.. Wouldn’t it be fun JUST once to hear ‘em hang up the phone after visiting with someone and state… “BITCH”… I’d love it. Nice people grumpy – YES. Permissible. Tuesday sucks, let’s spice it up to where we look forward to it…

“Next Tuesday, I’m gonna put that whoopee cushion on Mary’s chair… then I’m gonna write ‘honk, I’m an asshole’ in shoe polish on the backa Ernie’s car.. Then, I’ll change my screensaver to BITE ME for the day…… I’ll call my dearest friend and have fun “whatinthehell have you been up to bitch” conversation…

It’ll probably never work. Nice people will always be nice people. Grumpy people will always be grumpy people. Flipping someone off on 435 could lead to them running you off the road, perhaps pointing a gun at your… tailgating you at 68 mph. We couldn’t handle permissible grumpy.

I don’t admire grumpy people, but I wouldn’t mind if it were permissible on Tuesday. Tuesday sucks. Have a great Tuesday. I’m certain you’ve been waiting for this day with baited breath. Eyeballin’ that calendar, “YES, Tuesday September 22nd is FINALLY here.” Yeah right.

Tune in tomorrow, mebbe, where the topic may be “Why everyone on the planet should (required by law) hump on Hump Day.” ….. Life is interesting. Love, Victurd.

Woahhhhhhh Nelly….

It’s a mixed up, jumbled up, wonderful world.

My “tweet-kend”……. Friday… The excitement of a date for the very first time in a long time. A 12 mile drive to meet and I swear I musta smoked 7 cigs. The idea of just putting one foot infronta the other gave a baby boost to my psyche…

A very attractive lady. A very nice lady. A wonderful smile lady. Whole lotta good- good mom, educated, humanitarian. Couple of drinks – shared meal.. In departing, “well then will you let me buy the next time we go out?”.. Another bump up to my psyche.. Shee-ittt, this is gonna be a great weekend…

Back to town later that night, met buddies…… “How’d it go?”.. “I think real good, thanks.” Had a beer with them – Friday is usually my very late night out ‘playing idiot’ – but, for some reason, just didn’t feel it. Went home – at peace. Walked in door Friday night early and……….

“Figgy?... Figaro, please, NO, you can’t be dead?”….. Was. Seventeen year old cat. Son’s favorite. Dayum. Fig was a wonderful, interesting kitty. Had the coolest ‘cinnamon bun’ swirl on both sides of his body you’d ever seen. Poor little feller was cross-eyed, but it didn’t deter him from going to discover. He’d run into a wall, bounce back, turn, and full steam ahead.

Took son to work Saturday morning, didn’t have the heart to tell him. Did tell him on the way home. ”That’s messed up… I loved that cat.” And I know he did. Fig was a conversation piece between us… his ‘2nd’ nickname was “Sweets”, and also “Petey.” Son would ask “how’s sweets and what he doing?” He was usually either in the tub, on the bed, on a cool spot on the floor – a content feller, seemed to enjoy life.

Figgy was the only cat I’ve ever seen where, if you call him, whistle for him, he’d come. Perhaps he was our answer to no longer having any dogs. Anyways, blessya Fig, you almost died ten years ago (urinary tract infection.. some $400 vet bills later vet said.. “last hope.. gonna give him Gatorade in an IV”.. worked for ten years.

More tweetkend. Saturday, didn’t even feeling like going out – did for about an hour – back home to cruise the internet. I’d sent Ms. Friday night date a note thanking her, and actually an invite to go out Saturday. Where I’d sent the note – you could tell if someone had opened/read, and the entire night passed – no look at the email. I’d only checked 267 times to see if she had read it. Hehe.

Sunday morning, still nuttin’. Got son to work. “So pops, after I get off, you drive me to get new shoes, and I’d like to stop at Best Buy.”…. Sure son. My 40th class reunion planning meeting was at 3pm. Son gets off work downtown KC at 3pm. I’d emailed (said with love) whatshername earlier in the week to ask for assistance with a ride for son, explained the 40th reunion planning party.. no response. Par for the course.

Onea my alltime favorite teachers/professors was a guy named Dr. Schmock. Psychology, William Jewell college. Onea the ‘games people play’ I remember him telling us was the game “ain’t it awful’.. and I find myself today perhaps pitifully participating in a game I’d really rather never play – but hey, woah nelly, here I am.

I know! Good shit, followed by bad shit, more bad shit… I’ll watch the Chiefs! Rollercoaster – please – tell me… it’s time for the uphill ain’t it? Arch rival, Oakland Raiders in town… worst quarterback in the league.. 70+ thousand screaming, red-wearing fans.. home opener.. YES! YES! YES! Just what the doctor ordered! Lost, last two minutes of the game. Shee-it.

Picked up son, missed meeting. Went home, checked on Figgy’s grave to make sure no critters unearthed him. Checked email. Finally. “I still believe in others.” Hmmm. So, reckon that meant we’re not going out on a 2nd date. Oh I feel so foolish for telling buddies “went well, thanks.”

Before you call in the shrink, first know: I love life. I even loved most parts of the weekend. Great music. Reminiscing about Fig, how I’d brought him home as a kitten in the first place. Looking thru old pics of my family.. Even the Chiefs, in defeat, had some good things happen.

And on the dating thing. Don’t feel sorry for me. There’s a fair number of women that make contact with me. I am just too GD picky. My right though (and, the right of Ms. Friday night date too.)

At work now, Monday morning. Will do my share of horsing around today. I ain’t no gardener, but onea my favorite things in the world is to “see how many smiles I can grow” in a day. For real. It makes ME happier when I try to make others happy/laugh. Some efforts are pretty lame, I’ll admit – but then sometimes, I’m rewarded back by a co-worker with a shit-eaten grin.. and I’m reminded “yes… thanks God… this IS a pretty darn good world, life…. even if it doesn’t always workout like a paint by the numbers plan.”

K. Done. Nuff said. No more horsing around here. Woah Nelly. Happy day, love, Victurd.

Familiar….

Comfy. Norm. Well known. I remember. Down this road before. All dat chit is familiar.

Oh yeah, I remember her, uh huh, I thought she looked familiar.

I think I’ve decided, that’s a great, great reason that it’s so very GD (gosh darn) hard to date at age fitty-something. Yes, we’re all – that age – familiar with John, George, Paul, Ringo….. JFK…. Joe Willie… Don’t change Dicks in the middle of a screw/vote for Nixon in ’72…

Familiar with that we are. Motown. CCR. CSN&Y… Laugh In.. Here’s Johnny…Green Acres is the place to be… Knot’s Landing.. Where oh where are you tonight – why did you leave me here all alone.. I’ve searched the world over and thought I’d found true love – you met another and ---pphhhhfppp – you were gone.

Unfamiliar. We did, lived, all that crap. (Crap said teasingly, I really mean wonderfully.) Article in morning paper by some chicky from LA – talking about music – and still how the 60’s music has never been challenged by any other decade. Hell yeah.

So we’ve all been thru that. Viet Nam… Woodstock.. Paul Harvey – the resta the story. Billy Graham.. Batman.. Alf.. Burt Reynolds. Goldie Hawn.. Familiar with that crap.

We’re familiar with the ones we’ve loved, grown up with – the streets we’ve ridden down – the stores we’ve been in. The direction we’re going.

HHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllttttt
WHO GOES THERE? I ain’t familiar with you – get the hell outta here. Oh sure, it’s said more nicely than that – but it happens… and I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been on both sidesa that.

Howinthehell do you make up for 50, 55 years of familiarity with a ‘new’ person? You don’t, can’t. We know all the same chit, we just didn’t share it along the way. Therefore – we’re ‘foreign.’ Thus, “ah, that’s a story for another day” is simply easier untold – trudge on, seek familiarity – but in the backa your mind you know you ain’t gonna find it.

I also think we’re all visual pigs. Only when we’re toe to toe with the GD mirror do we come to our senses and realize – “the old gray mare”.. But, we walk out that door, we try to find one to .. become familiar with.. and we think we’re like back in 1960-something, and we have’ta find one that looks like they did back then.. and that’s stupid as hell but it’s also common as hell.

I do believe we, in general, overestimate ourselves, and underestimate others. Not consciously, but I think we do. That said, I think we flit about at “78 speed” (see, know you’re fitty-something and you’re familiar with that.. we just ain’t been familiar with each other, why this chit won’t work at our age..or, ain’t working)… so we flit at 78, focusing on the visual when we should crank it down to AT LEAST 45, if not 33 and stop, smell roses (familiar smell?) and focus perhaps on what’s really more important.

Like sands thru the hourglass, so go the days of our lives. Sound familiar? So – insteada spending time, taking the time to become familiar with someone “new” – we turn our nose up (or have noses turned up at us) and think/say “nah, I ain’t familiar with you… sorry” and return to our sorryass sheltered worlds.

I say. Come get me. Familiar this. Familiar that. We can talk JFK, MLK, YMCA. You picka record, then I’ll pick one. We’re probably familiar with each. I know. A spin in the country. Developing a love, appreciation for the unfamiliar. (And yes, give us each a little time – perhaps thoughts would turn to “I’d sureashell like to get familiar with what’s under that top”.. VICTOR! sorry.. I’ll behave now. )

Anways, familiar is good. Thinka the newborn. Der ain’t shit he/she’s familiar with. Mebbe we should learn from that. Tales, stories, good times, remembrances – they form our familiarities. I vote – expand on that. Take a chance. Give it a whirl. Test the water. Sample the wine. Today’s events breed tomorrow’s familiarity.

It’s just so damn hard at age fitty-something. Happy day, Love, Victurd. (Sound familiar?)

Tweeter from the teeter totter……

Good morning good morning good morning. Tuesday. One day closer to the weekend, yet, a “have to” day. Once done, still more work than weekend ahead. Tis ok, we kinda go thru the motions on Tuesday – the past weekend in the rear view mirror – too early to get excited about the next weekend.

Driving in, skeered shirtless of deer. It’s dark you see (or you don’t really see… too good.).. I go the back way to get outta our wonderful metropolis. I’m not fond of bumper to bumper, traffic light after traffic light, lights, people allover. Give me the backroad with an occasional jogger, assurance of safety, lacka noise, peace. To that end, gotta watch for deer (dear).. Usedta tell ole whatshername that when driving the backroads.. “Watch for deer dear.” Obviously humor, attempts thereof, weren’t enough to keep her fastened in the seatbelt. Oh well.

The teeter totter. In between looking for Bambi, listening to Sport’s talk, smoking a cig, shaving… yes, shaving.. on the way to work this morning – I thought about the teeter totter. Why, I ain’t got any idea in hell. Did.

The teeter totter is a wondrous toy, no matter if just one person – or two. As a single old fart – I’ve taken that walk up the board… get to that point where you come off the ground for a sec… then balance… then… oh shit.. boom… down you go. Fun. Life.

Dos. Two on teeter totter – oh, must be keen, keep focused, each work just as hard. Dayum. Sounds like marriage, relationship. Uh huh, does. Fun, exhilarating. Rhythmic. (Pervert, I know what you’re thinking.).. Smiling. Laughing. Wash those troubles away, teeter all day.

Many ways to exit the teeter totter, until another time. Congenially, four legs planted, stronger one of the two normally let’s the other exit nicely. (Akin to holding the car door, holding a door, letter the other go first.)..

Or, of course, one can jump off whilst the other person is at the top. And the walls.. came tumbling down. Ouch. My butt. (Onea my alltime favorite little comical pics is of two chocolate rabbits.. one has a humongous chunk bitten outta his booty.. he’s exclaiming ‘MY BUTT HURTS”… the other bunny.. someone has bitten off his ears.. and of course he counters with “WHAT?”… )

So, whadda we deduct from this useless blog Victor? The tweet about the teet. (I’m glad you spelled that with two ‘e’s Victor.) You’re welcome. I wouldn’t be a boob like that.

We deduct lots. Life, like the teeter totter in this sweet tweet, is a game. Life is fun. Life can be harmonious. Life can be working together. Life/teeter’s – can include, exhibit niceness. Life can be rhythmic (I NEVER can spell that word right the first time… WHY, oh great linguist inventor, did you make sucha a beautiful word.. so GD hard to spell?)… Where was I?

Oh yeah. Ouch. My butt hurts. (WHAT?).. Uh huh, does. So, you step back from the teeter totter – and there’s all kindsa lessons about life, relationships – even perilous travel as a single. It’s cheap entertainment, can be invigorating, exhilarating, cause laughter, get the heart rate up… fun.

Done. No more teeter totter. (You mean you’re too old… will never teeter-totter again?).. Ahm, did u just get here? Remember, I played softball this past summer. I pride myself by being the oldest player in the league. Sure I’ll teet again. Might haveta handcuff me a goshdarn woman to do so, but I will teeter again.

Tune in tomorrow. Or Thursday. Or this weekend. My regularity ain’t what it usedta be. (Don’t let your mind wander on that one.).. Victor, u really think people read this? I dunno, would be tweet if they did. Would teeter my totter. I think I’d better get to work, this is going South. Ouch. My butt hurts.

WHAT?... Love, Victurd.

But I don’t wanna….

Right. Write. But I don’t wanna. Or… mebbe just don’t feel like it. Not that there’s every anything clever up there in that fitty-six year old brain – it’s just that today, there fer sure ain’t.

I don’t wanna is an uncomfy feeling. I likes comfy. Comfy hard to find. Well, maybe easily found, just hard to stay content.

Whatshername (Victor, it’s been a lotta years, don’t go there).. ahm… Whatshername came home one day and announced “if there’s something I don’t want to do, I’m not going to do it.” And, regardless if it was a holiday family gathering, a sporting event, a movie, a certain restaurant, she held true to her word.

Dating. Especially at this old, ripe age. The online thing. Sometimes an email is winged one way… I don’t wanna happens. No response, or no responding. Cruel. Hurtful – but hey, that’s today.

You climb back up the mountain (several dates, maybe even months) and “I don’t wanna happens”… again, two-way street, but happens.. and such are the rules of today’s game.

I don’t wanna = divorce. Breakup. Friends becoming more detached. Hiding. Excuse making. Thanks but no thanks.

Procrastination sometimes equals I don’t wanna. Deadlines. Yes, you know you’ll get there, but.. not now. I don’t wanna. Not yet.

You know you’ve been promising to…… uh huh… and will… later though… I don’t wanna.

We have the generic “I don’t wanna” (go to work… .pay bills… clean house.. cook… go to the grocery.. ).. Most often “haveta” wins out.

Infants have that little squeamish, devilish “hmmppphhhh”..  I don’t wanna. “NO!” They fold their arms, stiffen the upper lip, and solidify their little 20 pound body as if to say “MAKE ME.” So we do.

Can’t with old farts. Can’t make me, make you. I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna = selfish, sometimes. I don’t wanna = peace, sometimes. I don’t wanna = running, sometimes.

Perhaps one of life’s hardest lessons, one only controls themself. And sometimes, I don’t even wanna do that.

Leaving now. Wanna. I wasn’t real fond of Dr. Laura, but did enjoy her little “Go take on the day.” Do that please……………… if u wanna. Love, Victurd.

Shed some light on it……

Without. Whenya think of “what would I hate most to live without?”.. Hmm… I spose if you walked into the room designated “Men”, the responses would center around sex. Trust me though, one can live without it. So far, it really HaSn’T aFfEcTeD mE. Hehe.

Companion. Sure, tough. Can be done. Some never even have one. Some lose one, get another. Some jump ship.. think “eh, lemme find a different one.” We can fer sure survive withouta mate.

Money. Delivered mail in the very poorest section of Kansas City, KS. I knew nothing about Kansas City, KS prior to working there. Those wonderful people taught me you very definitely could live without money, and actually live quite happily.

Water. Ok, ya got me. Ya gotta have water, but that wasn’t where I was barking.

Light. Can u imagine not having light? If I didn’t have light, hell, I might as well marry someone ugly like me! I dunno howinthehell them Alaskans do it. Six months, I’d be soooo depressed. I guess mebbe it’d kinda reinvigorate a marriage huh? “Hell Shirley, I ain’t seen u in halfa year.. you don’t look too bad.”…

Friday night lights.. My great nephew. Playing in his senior year of football. I hope he doesn’t take those lights for granted. Good head on shoulders, certain he doesn’t. One day those lights won’t be quite as bright. He’ll be just another spectator in the stands.

Night. Lights. Blair Witch Project. Spooky. Flashlight in the basement, hearda noise. Electricity out. Eerie.

In my bathroom, I have this fixture above the sink with 5, count em 5, little round white bulbs. I love/hate it. For years there were 100 watt bulbs in there – and that was all well and fine, but hell – she was very pretty – and had zilcho to hide. Me? Now? 40 watt bulbs. Long as I can see to get the toothpaste on the brush, aim and hit the stool ok, that’s all I need.

Frankly, us older people hate digital cameras, HD, LCD, that shit. We’re much more fond of dark shadows, not being in the limelight than HEY LET’S SEE EVERY CRACK, CREVICE, MOLE, PIMPLE, CHIPPED TOOTH, ZIT, FRECKLE, BROWNSPOT.. Hate ‘em. Gimme a room with the lights low – right up my alley.

Each day greets us with light. It’s a Godly thing. Taken for granted, but oh whatta blessing. “YES! I made another day!”… The taken for granted part. GD we hurry in life. Someday, soon, I wanna plop myself in a chair.. no computer nearby. No newspaper. No animals to “have to” pet. No radio. No TV. Just me, and the horizon, as the sun comes up. When’s the last time you did that? I know, me too, been too gosh darn long. Life truly is amazing, and that’s onea the greater ‘free’ things ever.

Left for work before daylight today. Interesting the vehicles, their lights on the road. 18-wheelers, way up high. Little snotnose ‘driving-on-my-daddy’s-dollar’ bright neon headlights – shed enough light for all of us… fine when in front – but a real pain if in our rear view mirror.

I remember coaching a few years back. Women’s college basketball. Traveled to a similar small, liberal arts college – oh, hour or so away. Nice place, kinda old gym. The kind where u had a stage behind one basket. Gym served two purposes. Well, ‘bout the time onea our girls got to the free throw line to shoot – JUST as she lifted the ball to shoot, light on the stage went out. Bastards. Light matters. Light startles. Change in light affects us. Knew it wasn’t coincidence the 3rd time it happened. Eh, whatever, if that’s what you gotta do to win.

Speed of light. Light years. Sunlight. Florescent light. Come on baby light my fire. Wasn’t it the Goonies “BRIGHT LIGHT!”?.. Candlelight. Moonlight. Gotta light? A smile lit up her face. You, light up my life. Light weight. Light duty. Bud Lite. You’re blocking my light. We’ll leave the light on, hear? Different light. I saw the light. Blinded by the light.

Light is just a damn fun word. I’m a little light, canya loan me Five until payday? Ahm, I think he’s maybe light in his loafers. Not the brightest bulb in the box.

I’m thankful for light. Hell, thinka computers without light. Thinka our lives without light. Uh huh, I’d still probably rank sex above light (tis fun even in the dark), but light ranks right up there in wonder, amazement. Need. Want.

May the day be lit up with your smile. Your happiness great, and your burdens light. Can u shed some light on the subject? Love, Victurd. (Light’s out)……….

The benefits of being fitty-five (and older)……

You can leave your billfold/purse (ID) at home and still buy liquor.

Fitty-nine cent senior coffee at Mickey D’s. (The back of the menu at Denny’s… they too should have a Grand(pa) and Grand(ma) Slam.)

Ass kissing no longer happens anywhere except the bedroom.

Ladders are no longer climbed, both occupationally, and the ones with rungs.

Once or twice a year you get to see someone you haven’t seen since high school and you think “ohhhhh shit.” (We’re often forgetful too that just mebbe we’ve changed a bit in the mirror.)

We can no longer produce offspring. (Hell yeah!)…

We sit back in awe as our bodies “garden”. One just never knows which ear a long ole hair will suddenly sprout… or… exactly where that new brownspot will grow root.

Even though it’s not the biggest bedroom in the house, we move into it because it’s so close to the bathroom. What usedta be close calls are now “uh oh’s”.

Running is for young punks. As we watch them run, we can sit back and think “I told you so” in that one day soon they’ll have aching knee joints, less cushion there, lower back problems – and that no matter what, one day their abdominal area will look very much like everyone else’s abdominal area at age fitty-five. So why?

It’s sooooooooooo incredibly wonderful to listen, converse, visit – and where maybe ten, twenty years ago we’da wanted to blurt “you friggin’ idiot! Are you crazy?” we now can just sit back, smile, match ‘em eye for eye and think it instead.

Snow is colder. Rain is wetter. Sunshine is hotter.

Clouds are prettier, older ones are funner to watch, the invigorism of the real young ones bring genuine smiles.

Resume. Has nothing to do with a formal typed document. It has to do with waking up to pee at 2am, and resuming sleep.

If married, sex has gone from tri-weekly, to try-weekly. If single and you ever happen to get that far – perhaps it’s fear that sends each scurrying (not running, but scurrying) back to their own abodes. Naked, whilst anytime is wonderful, it too is a little scarier at age fitty-five.

The list of “have to’s” has really dwindled. Instead of our youthful “I want what I want and I want it now”… we’ve replaced it with “I’ll do whateverinthehell I want, whenever (or not) I want.”

Going to get the mail is a sufficient cardiovascular workout for the day. Even Fido agrees as he meets you at the door. He acts as if you’ve been to the Bahamas for two weeks.

Opening the mail is usually just cause for a nap.

You don’t listen or like any music produced since 1980.

You get toward the bottom of lists like this and your mind wonders. Attention span not what it once was. Please scroll to “I’ll do whateverinthehell I want, whenever (or not) I want.”

Sorry, that’s all for today. I’m gonna go pee, look for new golden ear hairs, brownspots and to see if the “oopsies” en route to the bathroom would entail new undies for the day, or simply if flipping them would suffice until tomorrow.

I can drive fitty-five. (And usually do. It really pisses people off on the Interstate.) Always remember, fitty-five times two is a hunnerd and ten. You/I ain’t never gonna see that… so please… soak up the day, make it of note.. if u can’t get the corners of your mouth to point upward – stand on your head. With mucho love, Victurd.

What if….

Fun game. I likes ‘what if’… Can ‘cause creativity… wow… eww.. all that stuff.

Like.. what if Michael Vick was signed by the Cleveland Browns insteada the Eagles? Would “the Dog Pound” love him?

What if…. (ok, personal) Victor found a woman (who would take him!)…. The folks at the Dish.. They’d sit around… Norm… Cliffy.. reminisce “remember ole’ Victor.. wonder whatever happened to him?”..

What if….. we ran outta oil? Holy tanker truck Batman.. Me thinks we’d learn we’re spoiled. Liberty to Grandview? Howinthehell would I do that?

What if… (I’ve worried about this since day #1).. something happened to Obama. Those of us old farts who’ve been around long enough to have observed racism in real life – the remarkable (way too GD slow, late) progress we’ve made. It’d set us back eons, and I pray nothing ever happens…

Found a book with lotta interesting, thought provoking questions. Like……..

What if you found out you were adopted?

What if you could be invisible? (Holy crap wouldn’t THAT be fun… Pervert.. I know what your were thinking!)

What if you won the lottery?

What if you knew the world was ending in a month?

What if you could eat anything and not get fat? (BBQ ribs, here I come!)

What if you were granted three wishes? Well.. #1, take me back to 1974.. I’d like a ‘do-over’… Ohhhh don’t gimme wrong, I think I’da just been a little wiser (Victor, do you mean more mature?).. KMA.. yes. I think I’d “keep it in my pocket” for at least the first six months of dating anyone. I think I’d live a minimum of two years with someone before matrimony. And I’d be good (better than I have) to “K”.. As in 401K.. If I could have that one (being 22 again), screw the other two.

What if everyone looked identical? Weird. I guess you could make out with anyone at the Piggly Wiggly. Perhaps there would be no ‘cause for affair. The grass wouldn’t be any greener, ya know?

And…. some’a my own:

What if farts were a normal, acceptable, open thing of life… kinda like sneezing, coughing? I’d love that one. Could take side bets as to whether it was a ‘shart’ or not. Stuck in the cubicle with one you’re not real fond of? Let ‘er go baby! Blast ‘em outta there. Played basketball with a guy that could literally clear the gym. I bet he’d enjoy it.

What if clothing were never invented... Again, would make for fun at the Piggly Wiggly. The High School football game. Church. A Royals or Chief’s game.

What if you could say anything you wanted to anyone you wanted with no recourse? Well, I know it’d never happen.. but, howabout picking a day.. say, May 12th, you could say whatever you want to whomever, and again, no recourse. I think I’d like that!

What if, we could fly on our own?.. Run 65 mph?.. Jump over buildings?.. Defy gravity?..

What if they figured out how to prevent aging – at what age then, would u wanna die? Or would u wanna?

What if you came into work an hour and a half early to get caught up, and then you realized you instead went to writing about “what if?”.. Oh yeah, guess you’re right. What if we didn’t have left brain talking to right brain.. or vice versa…

Make your own ‘what if’s? up. Tis fun (to me anyways.).. “Victor, you perhaps just don’t realize that some people may not be into ‘such-n-such’ quite just like you are.” (What if you went a lifetime and NEVER remembered the occasional piercing statements you’re left to rehash over and over in a lifetime.)

What if I actually got caught up at work? What if I said “Have a great day?”… wouldya? Hope so.. love, Victurd

But........... I believe in you.........

(Victor.. you can't start a sentence with 'but'. Watch me. Just did. 'But' out.)

I don't believe in superstars,
Organic food and foreign cars.

Not all that smart, but, with all the foreign automakers selling here, and the profits heading back to their lands… doesn’t seem like Cash For Clunkers made a whole lotta sense to stimulate our economy.

I don't believe the price of gold;
The certainty of growing old.

Mr. Williams, I’ll have to differ with you here. As one who usedta, reasonably fast, circle the bases, old happens. Brown spots happen. Crevices form. We get forgetful.

Where was I?

That right is right and left is wrong,
That north and south can't get along.
That east is east and west is west.
And being first is always best.

Sure. Russians, when we usteda beat them in sports in the Cold War days, would say “Russia 2nd! US next-to-last!”..

But I believe in love.
I believe in babies.
I believe in Mom and Dad.
And I believe in you.

Wow. Lot said there. Love is a many splendid thing. I was at a bar….. Imagine that. Buddy’o mine I REALLY have a lotta respect for. We each were of the opine “Whilst this is fun, free, frivolous, I’d much rather be home, sitting on the couch… with another.”

I feel very sadly for those that didn’t have good experiences with ‘mom and dad.’ I was lucky. We all struggle with self-worth, and I can’t begin to imagine how those experiences might have adversely affected you. God Blessya, and I loveya.

Well, I don't believe that heaven waits,
For only those who congregate.
I like to think of God as love:
He's down below, He's up above.
He's watching people everywhere.
He knows who does and doesn't care.
And I'm an ordinary man,
Sometimes I wonder who I am.

Again, hits home Don, thanks. I always thought your true religion is the life you lead and not necessarily the creed one professes.

But I believe in love.
I believe in music.
I believe in magic.
And I believe in you.

Love. When you think of love, “oh baby oh baby” of course comes to mind. To me, much more to the word. Yes, love of significant other, brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, grandkids… The word though, is limitless. Love of life. Love of sport. Love of occupation. Love of friends. Love of people watching. Love of the seasons. Love of outdoors. Love of protection indoors. Love of geography. Love of linguistics. Love of lasagna (or enter your choice here).. Love of coworkers. Love for the party. Love of smiles. Love of watching kids. Old folks.

Music. It’s an elixir. I’m generally tuned to Sport’s Talk enroute to/from work (cause the guys are hilarious) - but I too enjoy music. I sidetracks the mind from yuck. It penetrates the sole and causes excitement, relaxation, feel. We all enjoy our different types.

Well, I know with all my certainty,
What's going on with you and me,
Is a good thing.
It's true, I believe in you.

Well, again, situationally single. I have believed. Hope to again. I do believe in you here, your eyeballs. They lift me, and I’m thankful. I value our friendship.

I don't believe virginity,
Is as common as it used to be.
In working days and sleeping nights,
That black is black and white is white.
That Superman and Robin Hood,
Are still alive in Hollywood.
That gasoline's in short supply,
The rising cost of getting by.

I think this song was written in 1980, but oh is it time honored. “The rising cost of getting by.” The Superman/Robin Hood thing - I think it maybe means “being a kid all my life” and that plays huge with me. Fun is something else I forgot when defining love. I do think gas is in short supply, witness Iraq/Afghanistan and our occupation there.

But I believe in love.
I believe in old folks.
I believe in children.
I believe in you.

But I believe in love.
I believe in babies.
I believe in Mom and Dad.
And I believe in you.

I believe in Santa… hands held… Fun emails to/from friends… making out… smiles… giving pats on back when due.. Peace and civility.. Respectfulness.. Admiration.. Fritos (sorry, a personal fav’).. BBQ ribs… doubling down in blackjack (a rush).. That first cup of coffee.. The newspaper hitting the drive.. The crack of a little league bat (ok, ‘ping’ nowadays.).. Rainbows.. Blue sky days.. A fresh fallen snow…. (Close your ears) Watching ‘her’ get up to go to the restroom after. Sorry. Kinda. Little piggy in all us men I guess.

There are many people out there I believe in, and I’m thankful for all the times, moments, hours we shared to get to that point.

Organic food? Nah. Not me. I’m off to get a 300 burger from the bowling alley. If you ever venture to Liberty, MO.. It’s a must.

Bye old folks. Mom, dad. Babies. You. I believe in you. Love, Victurd.

Do I repeat myself here? Do I repeat myself here?

(Editor’s note… this is the 3rd attempt at this GD [Gosh Darn] tweeter, blog, expose, whateverinthehell you wanna call it… I typed 3 pages on the original two, and kaboom, gone, lost. I ain’t no IT person. Dunno whatthehell happened. Just please note: The first and the second were MUCH more entertaining than this one!)

Yes, I repeat myself. Sorry. Can’t help it. Old. Happens. I’ve found myself many times in a crowd, looking them over.. I have an appropriate/related story, but not sure whointhehell I’ve told it to… So.. I blurt it out.. .and, normally, ten seconds into it I hear “yeah… that’s what you were saying”.. Chit. K, sorry. So this blog is about football, as in High School football.. I know I’ve touched on it a time or two, but tis new day… so………….. Solly!

Friday. Rained mosta the day. Continual. Not downpours, but steady. Piddled around after getting off at 5pm, taking the back roads to make the trek 15 miles East of The Big City so see my wonderful (he is) great nephew’s High School football game.

Cancer. Big cities are like cancer. In the years I’ve made this drive, the ‘greenspaces’ are disappearing. Friggin’ Big City is stretching, growing, ‘bout to get to this town… yet.. It still remains “Smalltown.” A very good thing.

Parked, walked toward the gate. Noticed a parking spot roped off.. Guy’s name painted on it.. Lots of painted notes from friends. Dunno.

Before I even got to my seat, the visitor’s had run back the opening kickoff for a touchdown. NO WAY! CAN’T BE! This is my great nephew’s Senior Season.. .THIS CAN’T HAPPEN. Did. Down the asphalt path.. Up the slippery aluminum stairs.. Founda seat. Wet it was. Had a program. Wanted to read it, keep it, but, figured dry butt outweighed reading program, plopped it down, sat.

You can’t beat High School football. It’s relief. It’s respite. Each and every sole at the game used the evening for their own purpose. Twenty percent, mebbe, were into each and every play. Dads wearing their kid’s jersey number.. Moms with hella sized blown up photo’s of their football playing kid on a button, attached to their top.

Forty percent. Simply there because it’s the smalltown thing to do.. See coworkers, friends, neighbors.. Chat.. (Or “chap” as my young stepson usedta call it) and occasionally steal a glance at the football field.

Bout that time “EAGLES 32 YARD TOUCHDOWN RUN BY #45 (enter my great nephew’s name here)”!!!!! Yeah! Fans clapped loudly and heartily.. I clapped too - but it was the ‘family clap’, perhaps a bit more intense and lengthy.

My great nephew, you see, is the grandson of my deceased sister. (Victor, you’ve told this before.).. Sorry, can’t help it, gotta continue. Sure, I’m biased, but many are in his corner as “great kid”.. and, a pretty damn fine football player. Middle Linebacker, Fullback. He’s got my sister’s initials on his cleats in magic marker. Far far out.

Literally moments after his score, a rainbow encompassed the entire stadium. YES. I do believe. And YES, I think there’s a connection.

I sat on the enda the row.. Adjacent to a banister railing.. Time after time, snotnoses from 4 to 12 would see the railing, climb atop.. Slide down.. And get up and do it again. I seriously considered using my grumpy old man voice to say “HEY.. I can’t see the game.. Can you STOP?”.. .didn’t.. I simply bobbed and weaved my head around them… as… Victor, don’t spoil it for them - we each have our own way, purpose on this night.. And to them, the sliding is a blast. I behaved.

Teams traded touchdowns. Nailbiter. Needa cig. Remember the rain. Some seventy yards away was the restroom, the concession stand, and the smoking area. En route, there was a 6’ wide asphalt path.. And on either side of it wet, muddy, green grass. Some highly sloped.

Outta my seat.. Down the slickass steps.. To the path.. However… Snotnoses huddled, talking, completely unaware or uncaring that they’re in the way of all of us to get from Point A to Point B. So, we go around. I felt sorry for the 60 and 70-somethings that had to traverse thru the slippery, muddy grass to make it around the snotnoses. One old fart in particular (me) slipped on the slope as he attempted to go around.. Damn near falling to his knees before he caught his balance, quickly checked out body parts to make sure “all ok?”.. As this old fart was mid-America’s Funniest Videos”, a group of ten to twelve snotnoses leaning up agin the fence burst out in laughter. I considered the grumpy ole man mode… then simply giggled inside.. For had I been in their size 5 shoes, I’da done the same thing.

Finally, a cig. Mom, dad, 3 yr old infronta me. Smokers too. Well, not the 3 yr old. Give her a few. Anyways, 3 yr old runs off behind me. You ever notice little chits? They play that game “I wanna JUST how far I can go before they holler my name, tell me to get back here.” Dad.. Noticing she was behind me.. Looked me in the eyes, admonished her and finished with “don’t you get out of our sight”. A sad statement to our day and age, but I certainly understood.

Ran inta onea my two gorgeous nieces.. This one happens to be mom to #45. Great visit, she looked, sounded great. Asked her about the blocked off parking space.. “Oh.. Sad deal.. One of the players committed suicide right before the first game.” Damn. Darn. No. So much life ahead. No going back. Wish we could. Privy to way too many incidents of this in my life. In spite of personal bouts of situational depression, I’ve NEVER understood suicide. Never.

Bout that time, onea the older moms on the team, she, wearing the big button with her son’s face plastered on it… walked by.. And ya know, she actually gave me a very very flirtatious smile. The immediate male, instinctive thing told me to “tackle her, kiss her, be swift with your tongue.” The old man in me giggled… thought.. “too dark, she must notta noticed these crevices… or, perhaps… I mighta looked like her dad.” Niece supplied the feel good ending with “hey. .maybe she simply was flirting with you.”.. I peed a bit, then went back to watching game.

Halftime. Marching band. “Bees” (everyone in stadium) in motion. Groups snotnoses old enough to be out of sight of their folks, yet too young to drive gathered on the grassy knoll. They had a football. Cool,, I thought. I get to see some future “Eagles”. Nope. They were playing a game. It involved one football.. 22 cell phones.. Tons of little groups, conversations.. And.. When the moment was ‘just right’, the one with the football tried to throw and blast the face of one who wasn’t paying attention. Strange game, but hey, I’m from the 60’s, whatever works.

Second half. Seated on program. In my most, truly, uncreepy-like-old man thoughts, words.. Up walked a very pretty little gal.. As she walked past, I noticed on the back of her shirt “Class of 2016.” All at once I felt “no friggin way”.. “please, someone touch me.. Am I dead?”.. and “GD, that’s a lotta years.”

HEY HEY… touchdown numero 2 for #45!.. Again, that loud family clap.. Proud I was. Truthfully, I couldn’ta cared if he was a 350 lb tuba player instead.. He’s just a good, good kid. It so happens, he’s a very good football player.

With two minutes remaining, old guy traverses the 6’ wide path toward his car. “Good guys” up by 12. Yeah! I’d seen old folks. Young folks. Snotnoses every age. Happy folks. Beautiful people, and not so beautiful people. Serious people, and very laid back people. You gotta love Friday night High School football games - no matter where you are in America.

I don’t have any catchy ending, saying here. Just a few hours out of my life that I TRULY enjoyed. (Woulda, even had we been on the short end, or, if I was watching/cheering the tuba player).. I love small towns. I love Friday nights. I love the fact that each and every person there was there for their purpose - and that it was a respite from the every day hustle/bustle.

I love people watching, and I think I love that mom with the button that smiled at me. Jk, kinda.

I hope your Labor Day weekend wasn’t laborious. I’ve thankfully managed to fit fun in mine. God Blessya.. With love… Victurd.

Stand By Me……

When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me

Life. Friends. Loved ones. Coworkers. Past coworkers. Old school buds. Little League teammate. Neighborhood friend. Yes, perhaps even former lovers.

And darlin', darlin', stand by me, oh now now stand by me
Stand by me, stand by me

This theory works both ways of course. Sometimes it’s tough – sometimes you don’t want ‘stood by’… Sometimes u just don’t feel like standing by. Time. Time helps.

If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
And the mountains should crumble to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry, no I won't shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me

Tears are ok, my book. Sure, it’s even ok [perhaps in private if we can] to shed an occasional tear for one’s self. To walk around emitting gloom and doom somehow just ain’t right. Speaks of the game “ain’t it awful.”.. Try not to do that. Think I do an Ok job. I am so very thankful for those that have stood by me – and if there have been times I’ve been absent – please know in mind I ain’t. I’m there. My best friend Sanford recently demonstrated the kinda loyalty I’m referring to. Included the word “forever.” I likes that. Feelings are mutual.

And darlin', darlin', stand by me, oh stand by me
Stand by me, stand by me, stand by me-e, yeah

You go Benny, sing it brother. Something about this song just gives me chills – makes me wanna hug whoeverinthehell is right next to me. The movie rocked too. Our family watched it over, and over, and over again. Stand by me.

Whenever you're in trouble won't you stand by me, oh now now stand by me
Oh stand by me, stand by me, stand by me

Darlin', darlin', stand by me-e, stand by me
Oh stand by me, stand by me, stand by me

I’m reminded too of the Jesus/footprints in the sand story. You know the one. Life rocks. Camaraderie, love, mutual respect/appreciation make the world healthy. Scram hatred, there’s love in the air.

Whenever you’re in trouble won’t you stand by me……… Tune in tomorrow when we might do “I’ll be there”….

In ending, a friend sent a pretty good email of a 60 Minutes story. I think there’s a quickie Intel ad infronta it (sorry).. Hope you enjoy the story as much as I. Has stand by me written allover it. Life is good baby, let them tears flow………. Love, Victurd.

http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=5000003n

Brass in pocket

Got brass in pocket
Got bottle, I'm gonna use it
Intention, I feel inventive
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice

Got motion, restrained emotion
Been driving, Detroit leaning
No reason, just seems so pleasing
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice

Wow, been awhile. Been a few. This whole ‘trip’ began in 2001. The Big Sep. Tippy toeing in the waters, in search of a new. A ‘replacement’? “Another.” “The one” (third).. “Her.”

Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my sidestep
Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination

Gonna use the internet. Gonna use nightclubs. Gonna use work. Gonna use friends.

Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me

Whilst Chrissie Hynde so wonderfully sings the lyrics of a song that makes one REALLY REALLY “FEEL” – I ain’t so sure I gots the confidence to accompany the lyrics. If I did, me thinks I wouldn’t share my bed with a GD (Gosh Darn – and I love him) cat.

Got rhythm, I can't miss a beat
Got new skank, it's so reet
Got something, I'm winking at you
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice

Searching blindly. Grabbing without fingers. Eyeing without verbalizing. Touching only to run. Hugging, with silent goodbyes.

Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my sidestep
Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination

Done all that. The Chase can really be poopy. U like one, she no like u. One like u, u no like her. U both like, then little idiosyncrasies make you ask “do I really wanna do this until the enda time?” And usually ‘no’. So u go. Or she goes.

Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me

Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me

I DO feel I’m special – it’s just that about 99% of the time I can’t convince myself that. When that confidence rarely sets in – I go, I do, I be, we be. There’s always an end. Reckon everything ends. I’d just like to gnaw on the whole rib for awhile (relax, I’m talking barbecue) versus having short, burnt ends. Six months or so has been the longest ride (after a six year thingy and a 20+ year thingy.)

Some wonderful ladies, some wonderful, incredible times. Like a stiff arm block in football – usually one side or the other fends it off.

Victor, you’re weird. Uh huh, prolly so. Don’t care, tis me. Likea play in the third act, I’m kinda excited to see how this puppy ends.

Gonna use my fingers. (Pervert - I'm talking about typing)....

Gonna use my, my, my imagination. Don’t worry, be horny………. er, be happy. Love, Victurd.

He rocks in the tree tops all day long……..

Hoppin’ and a-boppin’ and singing his song..
All the little birdies on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet…….

Tweeter.. Or twitter… or whateverinthehell u call it. Online, brief glimpses at a person’s day.

I guess checkenginelight.blogspot.com is no difference. A brief glimpse into the life. (Boy you must be bored sumbitches… all I can say.)

Tags expire 9/1/09. Tummy queasy. Simple answer - take a personal day off.

Mickey D’s.. I beat the old codger to the closest parking spot. So far, so good. Even splurged for Big Breakfast. Read paper. Nommuch new.

Drove by Meineke joint (Inspection)… Sign said “Open @ 7:30am”.. Chit. Twas 7:03am. Now I’ve had my time sleeping in the van - but too early. Coffee in me now. Back home. Oh chit, sorry Jackson, sorry Figaro… I’ll get cat food from the Piggly Wiggly today - a promise.

Checked email. Put on yesterday’s shirt (ewww)… hat on head.. Out the door.

“Well, we got some appointments… might be able to get to you by 10am.” Chit. “But, then again, I’m gonna give this one ten more minutes to get here, and if a no show, you’re up.”

Borrowing from my father, I spouted about a pleasant experience I’d had at their car shop before, and asked “how’s ole’ Hal?”….. Six minutes of smiling banter later.. I shook his hand, headed for the door. Thinking “hell yeah, I’m up!”…..

Damned if 30-something, gorgeous, tanned, hardly any clothes on chick walks in. Oh well, more coffee, another crossword puzzle.

Back to Meineke 40 minutes later. 30-something in lobby. She gets up to pace six or seven times, but I don’t look because she’s hardly got any clothes on at all. (Bridge? Florida?).. Snotnose (early 20’s) pulls her car up.. “It passed?”.. “Yep”… The dumbass mechanic.. If he woulda found something trivial wrong, he’da got to ogle at her 30-60 minutes more.

Time for me now. Early. Still not yet 9. Told my manager buddy “now I wanna tell you.. The driver’s side door will open from the inside, but it won’t from the outside.” He smiled, thanked me for telling him. I am my father’s son.

Same snotnose jumped in my car, pulled it into garage. Finished all the crossword ‘cept some stupid mountains in Russia. Slurped the remainder of my coffee. Peed a couple of times. (56 + 4 cups coffee = mucho pee)..

Manager walked up………. “WELLLLLLLL”… Oh chit. Brakes $149. Muffler “a hunnerd.” “Door won’t open, that’s illegal.” “Not enough tread on back tires.” I pictured me forking over $12... Going to that place - I call it “Cheers” - where everybody knows your name. That is, $30, here’s your sticker.

Yes manager friend… tell me tell me. “It passed, that’ll be $12 please. Well I’ll be sunny beach. To the courthouse.

Courthouse’s scare me. 90-something old crotchety ladies that ain’t been laid since Nixon was in office. Walked up to window. Surprise. A 40-something. She even smiled. YOU CAN’T DO THAT HERE.. NOT IN THE COURTHOUSE! NO ONE DOES!.. She did. “That’ll be $52.50”… and, just before I glanced at the 6 by 8 sign right next to me labeled “Please make checks out to Clay County Collector” I asked her “who do I make this out to?”..

Sheeeee--ittt… Barely 9am, and I’m 2/3rds of the way home.

License bureau. Tinted windows, can’t see inside. Not so many cars. Ha. Was I wrong. Opened door, and 7 people in line had to twist so I could fit in door. Sheee-iitt.. “There’re servin’ up free biscuits and gravy”some lost hippie smiled exposing his dental need smile. “Cool” I shot back. (By the time I finally got close to front of line, 23 others came in after me.. Same biscuit/gravy comment. I wanted to get ridda his other bicuspid by then.)

Lady, very calm - with kids, all boys, I’m guessing 3, 5 and 7. God Blessya ma’am. They were mostly well behaved - traversed a bit thru the office.. Bigger ones occasionally picked on littler ones… After we’d moved up six spots.. I asked “do u ever get a break?”.. .”Sometimes”… GD (gosh darn) if I were the hubby, I’d be thinking’ bout 2nd job “to make ends meet” (not frazzle my nerves.) She did well.. Well.. Almost.. Twenty-eight minutes of standing in line…..’mom… I gotta pee”.. “They don’t have a bathroom here honey.” I envisioned a hizzy - but somehow - we/they made it thru.

My turn. I SAW the “please make checks payable to the MO D.O.R…. aha, aheada the game. Anticipating an 80-something grumpy lady telling me “you ain’t got this form.. Go get it, come back to the enda the line, don’t pass go, and don’t collect two-hunner dolla’s…”.. I walked up to a smiling 50-something lady. She neatly took my paperwork. (She had no chair..geez).. I said “do you ever get a break?”.. she smiled.. “I won’t go there.”) I unnerstand. Dayum. I couldn’t own the joint and make those folks do that. I’d have massaging, soft, comfy chairs. Putting up with all that BS EVERY day.

Driver’s license eyeball examiner to our left. Old feller. Sure he was worried about eye test. “Now tell me again, what’s on line 5?”… Took his hat off to sneak a closer peek.. Felt sorry.. Shaking a little.. Maybe onset of Parkinsons.. Not good. Whew, he passed. Viva la go until you can’t.

“That’ll be $75.23 for two years.” Gee this is fun, are you sure I can’t pay double that? “Thanks ma’am, have a nice day.”

9:43am. Done. Finito. Do I put the stickers on now? Nah, it’s 8/28, basta don’t expire for three more days - I’ll remember by next weekend, surely. (Remember avoidance behavior?)..

So return home.. Again check email.. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Jax, Fig, I PROMISE I’ll go to store for cat food SOON.” I later heard one of ‘em sharpening claws on sofa. I’m in trouble here.

I’m heading for the Piggly Wiggly. I LOVE tweeting to you bored outta your guard folks. I’m thankful for every breatha life.. Every waking hour.. Every smile.. Every firm female booty (sorry).. And for the extra hours today I really didn’t think I’d have.

Rockin' robin, tweet tweet tweet
Rockin' robin' tweet tweetly-tweet
Blow rockin' robin
'Cause we're really gonna rock tonight

Havea really tweet weekend. Love, Victurd. (Thankfully, this story won’t be retold for two, count ‘em, two more years)…..