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
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, November 23, 2009
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)
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)
Sunday, November 22, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, November 20, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, November 02, 2009
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.
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.
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