I don't have two left feet - I'm just "too white." <-- That explains my dance skills, or lack thereof.
Don't remember where it was, what shape I was in, or shockingly why I was on the dance floor - but I was bumped. 1970-something, and it was a revelation. Truth be told, it was kinda erotic, a 'good' kinda feel. It was someone saying "Hey... you're Ok.. I like you."
Fast forward a buncha years to a tired, bored old fart walking into the bar to listen to his favorite band.... GD bouncer felt sorry for me... as I strolled in hidden amongst the 20-somethings - he caught the eyes of the chicky taking the cover charge at the door... nodded... and I was waved on in. Yippee. AARP night at The Landing <-- joint where I upon occasion hibernate.
From my little corner barstool - I'd have a soda.. then a beer.. another soda... and another beer.. I was alone, but not lonely.. I was tremendously enjoying the Janis Joplin soundalike lead singer chicky.. and the lead guitar player who played Purple Rain even better than that Formally Known guy..
Suddenly, a team of 12 or so 20-something women's softball players rolled in the door - and they were a pleasure to watch.. Fun.. Living life they were... Males at the joint were outnumbered perhaps 7 to 1. In my several trips to the John I don't think I recall any of them complaining.
When one (man) finally had the courage to get on the dance floor - the whole damn 'infield' of the softball team surrounded him... Grinding they did. Holy shit. You ole codger, ain't you never seen grinding before? Yes, reckon I have - but I'd never seen someone triple or quadruple teamed by lassies in tight shorts, T-shirts... girls having Fun, capitol F. The feeling those guys musta had... Somewhere between embarrassment, "is this heaven?" and "shit, I think I'd better turn around away from the audience."
When the stock of men dwindled further - up walks two of the lassies - and they tug on my sleeve. Oh hells no. Huh uh. I'm too white.. I can't.. I'd look ridiculous.. I'd faint.. I'd be embarrassed.. People'd think I was a sicko perverted old man.. "but thanks anyway." All that is fancy for "GD I'm never leaving home again without my Nitro." I truly was flattered - and I know they were being nice - but aside from all that..... the point was.. .they were enjoying life.. they were saying "hi.. you seem nice... I like you."
Bump. Grind. I like you.
I was gonna bore anyone reading this to sleep with the idea of: listing the names of people that I care about them being on the planet. If I awakened tomorrow and your name is in the obits - I'd truly be affected. I started a list in my brain - and I'm so GD thankful it went on and on and on. Many are from today - many from years ago - many younger - many older - many related - many not - many were co-workers - many were not.
Bump. Grind. Touch. I, Victor K. so-and-so, do hereby promise to "touch" those that I care about. They say, if we die, only perhaps a handful would care. In our stages of life - people pass in and out. I love many, and I've loved many.
Without sending a GD email to tell them (and threatening "you'll tumble down an embankment off the interstate if you don't forward this to 27 people in three minutes"), I do hereby promise to try and 'touch' those I love. Those who've helped form these GD wrinkles from all the smiles they conjured up on my face.
I challenge you. If there's someone you care about (and I ain't necessarily talking the "boinking" kinda care).. but if there's someone you care about.. simply tell 'em. Or touch 'em. I think we all know how nice it is to hear something like that - and it's even nicer to tell someone. Between the bumps and grinds of life, touch someone. Bye bye now.
(Editor's note: Then, if there are those assholes who tell a co-worker "nope, ya can't go to Happy Hour with the footsoldiers or we'll fire yourass" - simply leave that person alone. They too have touched, but it left a stain. Let's surround ourselves with good - and step away from yuck.)
Monday, March 27, 2006
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Swimsuit inspector
A few years back (Victor, quit avoiding the fact that damn near every story you tell happened twenty, thirty years ago...)... Ahm, roughly twenty years ago, I left the world of teaching school to go sling suitcases for Eastern Airlines for roughly $10,000 more per year. Go figure.
Now I - had - the time of myyyyy liiiiiife.. (That was sposedta sound like that song.. and if it didn't, plz read the basta again - and duly note - it was a wonderful time in my life.) We worked five or six airplanes a day - and spent the remaining time cooking breakfast, playing spades, "bones", or - making fun of co-workers who had earned it.
I forget whatinthehell I've written here, so if I repeat, I'm sorry. I forget whatinthehell I've written here, so if I repeat (GD Victor, would you get on with the story, you're losing us... .. oh.. k, sorry)...
We could fly anywhere in Coach for $6 one way. First class was $12. Damn it was nice.. Fifty of us or so who were at the age of "when a boner was a boner" were hired simultaneously. Even had a few chicks scattered in there - and yes, they were good workers/good people. I don't care where you work, it's always nice to have members of the opposite sex as we all probably have a little of that "hmmm, I wonder what'd it'd be like if......"
Criminy, ya think priests walk thru their offices wondering "hey bebbe, what's under that habit?" Yes, I know some of them 'alter' their ways - but good gosh, we all know a man is a man - priests have blood, blood flows... sometimes faster and to different places... Anyway, point being, it's nice to work with members of the opposite sex...
The 20 or so Eastern Airlines employees who were already there when us upstarts arrived were mainly from Atlanta or Miami and they'd formed a cliquish little softball team - and we sprites weren't invited to play in the Airport League... So, we went to head honcho of league and asked if we could enter a 2nd Eastern team. 'Yes, that'd be fine."
We formed "The Leftovers" - had shirts made up - anyone that wanted to play could (chicks included... hell... it's much more rewarding to be playing left field and have Sally at shortstop insteada Earl.)... Everyone batted, everyone stayed after and lied about how good we were and shared a soda pop. The more soda pops we drank, the better we believed we were.
We won some, we lost some - but... proud to report we kicked the Atlanta-Miami Eastern teams ass when we played them...
A few years went by - a group of us decided to start a traveling team - and IIIII hadddd the timmme of myyyyy liiiifeee... No, kiss my ass we weren't traveling to Lenexa, Lawrence, Topeka for our games. I'm talking Phoenix, Vegas, Atlanta, Fort Lauderdale, etc. Simply a blast. We were as 'fat' as some of these punks whose daddy gets'em on at Ford, and they buy and drive these King Cab F-350's, fill their tanks with $80 of fuel and think "ain't this the way everyone does it?"
Nick was our manager - and he was a nervous sort. Hell, if it was nowadays, we might have trouble passing thru the aiports as he could pass for someone from the East... Nick was a good man - long on heart - and sometimes a little short on brain. He proudly loaded his new $240 titanium water-filled bat into it's sleeve - and checked it at the gate. By the time we were halfway to Phoenix - we had him believing that the fucking water in his bat would freeze at 30,000 feet and it'd be shattered into 483 pieces by the time we landed. He musta paced up and down the aisle forty times. We landed, all was ok. We watched him rescue the water-filled bat with shit eatin' grins on our faces.
I don't remember how we did in Phoenix - we weren't that good - but we had fun.. I remember my friggin lips were burning and I wondered aloud why all these raisins come here to fry versus going to Florida where they could jump in the water whenever their lips burned. Gimme the Gulf, you can have all the air-conditioners on the roofs, no water to live by Arizona you want.
One night - in our best 20-something form - we took our remote controls around the outside of the posh hotel we stayed at... Our airline hotel rate afforded us cotton undie kinda folks to mingle/stay with the silk undied ones. We derived great pleasure finding a room with curtains open - and a pair of raisins laying on the bed watching Barbara Walters. Blink. We'd change their channel... An old dude in boxers would get up and change it back... Blink.. We'd change it again.. Over and over again.. Stupid I know, but it just didn't take much to amuse us back then. (GD Victor, you're still a simpleton and you'd enjoy doing shit like that today... Yes, I reckon you're correct.)...
Anyways, our little Eastern Airlines work run was about to come to the end of the runway. Frank Lorenzo, who'd bought and crippled Continental Airlines - was now the master of our company. I'm mixed on my feelings of Unions - and our Union had been offered to keep our jobs as revenues dwindled/costs rose - but, at 80% of our pay. We tried to tell our Union folks that 80% of something is one helluva lot better than 100% of nothing - but, we gradually stoodby as we went from Chapter 11 to the dreaded Chapter 7, total liquidation.
Management's last little coo to get their jollies was to have all sixty of us snotnoses polishing the exterior of the airplanes as they sat idly awaiting the next court ruling. These sanders weighed roughly 40 pounds each - and it didn't take very many minutes on a ladder holding that damn thing up agin' the plane to realize "hey, I wanna fucking play dominos, spades... cook breafast, load airplanes." ie, "damn it was nice to drive a Ford F350 whilst we had it."
As we dispersed, and the eventual Chapter 7 came down - we all shared a soda pop - rehashed the six/seven year run we had - and those of us that were lucky enough to have already landed new jobs - told of what we'd be doing - we traded phone numbers amongst only to never call, never have it be the same again.
Nick, the terrorist lookalike water-in-his bat wielding softball manager nicely asked "Vic, what are you going to be doing?" Always one to appreciate another's concern - I shot back "Nick.. thanks for asking.." (Fuck, I didn't have a job.. I didn't know how I'd pay my next electric bill letalone how I was gonna put soup on the table that night. "Nick, I found a job at a large retail athletic conglomerate, and I'm going to be a swimsuit inspector - you know, making sure folks wear undies when they try on swimsuits in that department." "Vic, that's wonderful.. I'm glad you've already found something." Unlike Nick's bat, our nice, wonderful, overpaid run had now shattered.
Yes, I regret the fact I don't have a humongous nest egg saved up from clocking in and out of the same company all these years - but hopefully all that is offset by the great times I've had - the wonderful people I've been able to share portions of their lives with. To all of you I've ever been a smartass too... I offer apologies, with the disclaimer "GD you probably earned it."
"Hi, and welcome to Dick's Sporting Goods.. ah, ma'am? I'm going to have to ask that you place that lacy little bra and G-string on my tray as it's a Federal Regualtion that you musn't try on swimsuits while you're wearing underwear." Bye bye now.
Now I - had - the time of myyyyy liiiiiife.. (That was sposedta sound like that song.. and if it didn't, plz read the basta again - and duly note - it was a wonderful time in my life.) We worked five or six airplanes a day - and spent the remaining time cooking breakfast, playing spades, "bones", or - making fun of co-workers who had earned it.
I forget whatinthehell I've written here, so if I repeat, I'm sorry. I forget whatinthehell I've written here, so if I repeat (GD Victor, would you get on with the story, you're losing us... .. oh.. k, sorry)...
We could fly anywhere in Coach for $6 one way. First class was $12. Damn it was nice.. Fifty of us or so who were at the age of "when a boner was a boner" were hired simultaneously. Even had a few chicks scattered in there - and yes, they were good workers/good people. I don't care where you work, it's always nice to have members of the opposite sex as we all probably have a little of that "hmmm, I wonder what'd it'd be like if......"
Criminy, ya think priests walk thru their offices wondering "hey bebbe, what's under that habit?" Yes, I know some of them 'alter' their ways - but good gosh, we all know a man is a man - priests have blood, blood flows... sometimes faster and to different places... Anyway, point being, it's nice to work with members of the opposite sex...
The 20 or so Eastern Airlines employees who were already there when us upstarts arrived were mainly from Atlanta or Miami and they'd formed a cliquish little softball team - and we sprites weren't invited to play in the Airport League... So, we went to head honcho of league and asked if we could enter a 2nd Eastern team. 'Yes, that'd be fine."
We formed "The Leftovers" - had shirts made up - anyone that wanted to play could (chicks included... hell... it's much more rewarding to be playing left field and have Sally at shortstop insteada Earl.)... Everyone batted, everyone stayed after and lied about how good we were and shared a soda pop. The more soda pops we drank, the better we believed we were.
We won some, we lost some - but... proud to report we kicked the Atlanta-Miami Eastern teams ass when we played them...
A few years went by - a group of us decided to start a traveling team - and IIIII hadddd the timmme of myyyyy liiiifeee... No, kiss my ass we weren't traveling to Lenexa, Lawrence, Topeka for our games. I'm talking Phoenix, Vegas, Atlanta, Fort Lauderdale, etc. Simply a blast. We were as 'fat' as some of these punks whose daddy gets'em on at Ford, and they buy and drive these King Cab F-350's, fill their tanks with $80 of fuel and think "ain't this the way everyone does it?"
Nick was our manager - and he was a nervous sort. Hell, if it was nowadays, we might have trouble passing thru the aiports as he could pass for someone from the East... Nick was a good man - long on heart - and sometimes a little short on brain. He proudly loaded his new $240 titanium water-filled bat into it's sleeve - and checked it at the gate. By the time we were halfway to Phoenix - we had him believing that the fucking water in his bat would freeze at 30,000 feet and it'd be shattered into 483 pieces by the time we landed. He musta paced up and down the aisle forty times. We landed, all was ok. We watched him rescue the water-filled bat with shit eatin' grins on our faces.
I don't remember how we did in Phoenix - we weren't that good - but we had fun.. I remember my friggin lips were burning and I wondered aloud why all these raisins come here to fry versus going to Florida where they could jump in the water whenever their lips burned. Gimme the Gulf, you can have all the air-conditioners on the roofs, no water to live by Arizona you want.
One night - in our best 20-something form - we took our remote controls around the outside of the posh hotel we stayed at... Our airline hotel rate afforded us cotton undie kinda folks to mingle/stay with the silk undied ones. We derived great pleasure finding a room with curtains open - and a pair of raisins laying on the bed watching Barbara Walters. Blink. We'd change their channel... An old dude in boxers would get up and change it back... Blink.. We'd change it again.. Over and over again.. Stupid I know, but it just didn't take much to amuse us back then. (GD Victor, you're still a simpleton and you'd enjoy doing shit like that today... Yes, I reckon you're correct.)...
Anyways, our little Eastern Airlines work run was about to come to the end of the runway. Frank Lorenzo, who'd bought and crippled Continental Airlines - was now the master of our company. I'm mixed on my feelings of Unions - and our Union had been offered to keep our jobs as revenues dwindled/costs rose - but, at 80% of our pay. We tried to tell our Union folks that 80% of something is one helluva lot better than 100% of nothing - but, we gradually stoodby as we went from Chapter 11 to the dreaded Chapter 7, total liquidation.
Management's last little coo to get their jollies was to have all sixty of us snotnoses polishing the exterior of the airplanes as they sat idly awaiting the next court ruling. These sanders weighed roughly 40 pounds each - and it didn't take very many minutes on a ladder holding that damn thing up agin' the plane to realize "hey, I wanna fucking play dominos, spades... cook breafast, load airplanes." ie, "damn it was nice to drive a Ford F350 whilst we had it."
As we dispersed, and the eventual Chapter 7 came down - we all shared a soda pop - rehashed the six/seven year run we had - and those of us that were lucky enough to have already landed new jobs - told of what we'd be doing - we traded phone numbers amongst only to never call, never have it be the same again.
Nick, the terrorist lookalike water-in-his bat wielding softball manager nicely asked "Vic, what are you going to be doing?" Always one to appreciate another's concern - I shot back "Nick.. thanks for asking.." (Fuck, I didn't have a job.. I didn't know how I'd pay my next electric bill letalone how I was gonna put soup on the table that night. "Nick, I found a job at a large retail athletic conglomerate, and I'm going to be a swimsuit inspector - you know, making sure folks wear undies when they try on swimsuits in that department." "Vic, that's wonderful.. I'm glad you've already found something." Unlike Nick's bat, our nice, wonderful, overpaid run had now shattered.
Yes, I regret the fact I don't have a humongous nest egg saved up from clocking in and out of the same company all these years - but hopefully all that is offset by the great times I've had - the wonderful people I've been able to share portions of their lives with. To all of you I've ever been a smartass too... I offer apologies, with the disclaimer "GD you probably earned it."
"Hi, and welcome to Dick's Sporting Goods.. ah, ma'am? I'm going to have to ask that you place that lacy little bra and G-string on my tray as it's a Federal Regualtion that you musn't try on swimsuits while you're wearing underwear." Bye bye now.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Write on......
Write on what? Kendra - my cohort @ work said "laughter, and how you shouldn't make fun of people's laugh." Eh, I dunno. I suppose if one makes fun of someone to their face, that ain't a good thing... but... since that one chick in accounting doesn't know about this blog - CAN YOU BELIEVE HER LAUGH? That is the goofiest friggin laugh I've EVER heard. What's even odder - with the exception of those rare occasions when she laughs - I'VE NEVER SEEN HER SMILE. So, sure: we're perfect, let's make fun of those who ain't! Besides, I think down there somewhere there is one on laughter - on how my laugh really sucks and I'd give anything to be able to laugh so freely and easily "like so-and-so". But, Ms. Kendra, don't make fun of my laugh or I'll kick your ass.
Hey, that last paragraph had Kendra in it... whyinthehell is she in this one too? Well, I could say it's because she's a nut, is as far from mundane as mundane can be. I love hearing her stories. "Came home the other night with some guy's phone number written on my top across my chest." Oh my. "Stayed out 'til 2am, had to be at Homo Depot at 8am Saturday morning.. I was grabbing some shuteye in the Garden Center atop a stack of charcoal bags when my boss rudely awakened me." See? Hell, it'd be a sellout blog if one just paparazzied her 24/7 and wrote about her. Well, actually it's because she told me she pointed her sister to this website and I wanted to say hi. Why some 20-somethings would want to read what's on an old farts brain is beyond me - but welcome nonetheless. I've decided to start charging .25 cents to login... and, now that we're up to three regulars... let's see that's .75 a day, 7 days a week ($5.25).. fitty-two weeks a year ($273)... my desired amount at retirement is $200,000. Ahm, $200,000 divided by $273 a year is 732 years. Shit. Guess I gotta go to work today. I wonder if that fucking Amway is still around.
Hey we could talk movies... Nah, now that Brokeback Mountain is out - I remember how long I was scared shitless trying to go to sleep at night after hearing Ned Beatty's piglike noises from Deliverence. (No pun intended on the shitless part.)
Politics? With apologies to most of the folks from the UAE, geez, makes sense to me George to have a country where two of the Twin Tower terrorists came from to purchase/guard our ports. Nah, let's skip politics.
Sports? Hell no Victor, you did that yesterday and we were bored shitless. Besides, did you see that crybaby millionaire baseball player that refused to go out with his team and play leftfield because he wanted to play second base? (Side note to Alpfonso Soriano - it's ok bebbe.. I remember that time that little shit stole playing first base from me... I know 'fits' are normally reserved for toddlers, but I feel your pain brother.)........ There was one interesting tidbit in the sports world yesterday.. Apparently, this feller who plays basketball for the Utah Jazz - anyways, his wife allows him to sleep one time per year with another woman. A local sportswriter snided "Oh, there's outrage here in Utah.. the folks are all stunned he's only allowed to sleep with one other woman!"
Money... shall we talk money?
Sex? YES, YES, YES. Be for real, both of my nieces, my first and second cousins, and my girlfriend know this site. Is there sucha thing as writing about sex in the PG form? I don't think so.
Farts, let's talk farts... Ok, but just briefly. True story: I was married 19 years before I heard her fart. YES. True.
Gambling? Ahm no. See how long we stayed on money?
Co-workers.. YES, let's diss co-workers. I don't repeat gossip, so listen close the first time. Well, that's a valid idea, except maybe there's someone that reads this that doesn't work here - and it just wouldn't be as fun to them to wonder if one of the guys in the back offices is sleeping with one of the gals up around the HR department. (Wink wink)
How bout music? Good fucking idea Victor, here, I'll turn on the speakers... There... that's better..
Ok, so no laughter, movies, politics, sports, money, sex, farts, gambling, co-worker gossip, music. Weather? You've just done two of those recently you idiot. Oh, k. Sorry.
How bout the weekend? Can we talk about that? Ya know, that ain't a bad idea. Whatshername usedta be a teller, and her saying was "you don't tell a teller to have a nice weekend, because she's gotta work." Eh, maybe so. A great portion of us are regular ole M-F types - and yes, weekends are wonderful. I remember when I usedta throw up bags of Fritos in grocery stores - and because Saturdays were so busy - the store managers all worked Saturday and took off Wednesdays. So, since they did that, we had to also. Boy, that was fun. Sunday and Wednesday off. "Hey honey?" he beckoned one Tuesday night.. "Ya wanna drive to the Lake tonight and come back tomorrow night?"... Ahm, sure.
Going to bed with no alarm is the best. Reading the paper and drinking coffee whilst others choose to sleep their lives away is the best. I dunno about you, but I plan it so I barely have time to get dressed in the morning during the week - so breakfast is out.. I LOVE BREAKFAST. I EAT BREAKFAST ON WEEKENDS.
Weekends are all about cleaning house - or NOT. INDEPENDENT. Weekends allow us to do what we want, when we want. We're friggin selfish, let's admit it. Ok, I'll admit it. I AM SELFISH.
Weekends are about spending time with the people you pick - not the ones you have to. And I don't mean that derogatorially (<-- dat a word?).. well, ceptin' for that chick with the hideous laugh. I wouldn't pick to hang with her.
Weekends should be filled with comforters... pets... sunshine.. exercise... drives to nowhere... an occasional drink with friends (or, if you get on a roll/binge like my current 4-day roll.. a continuation of drinking with friends).. family.. entertainment.. entertaining... LOUD MUSIC.. soothing music.. outside... inside... selfish time.. helping time..
Weekends rock. I hope yours is enjoyable - I plan to have fun on mine. Right on.
Hey, that last paragraph had Kendra in it... whyinthehell is she in this one too? Well, I could say it's because she's a nut, is as far from mundane as mundane can be. I love hearing her stories. "Came home the other night with some guy's phone number written on my top across my chest." Oh my. "Stayed out 'til 2am, had to be at Homo Depot at 8am Saturday morning.. I was grabbing some shuteye in the Garden Center atop a stack of charcoal bags when my boss rudely awakened me." See? Hell, it'd be a sellout blog if one just paparazzied her 24/7 and wrote about her. Well, actually it's because she told me she pointed her sister to this website and I wanted to say hi. Why some 20-somethings would want to read what's on an old farts brain is beyond me - but welcome nonetheless. I've decided to start charging .25 cents to login... and, now that we're up to three regulars... let's see that's .75 a day, 7 days a week ($5.25).. fitty-two weeks a year ($273)... my desired amount at retirement is $200,000. Ahm, $200,000 divided by $273 a year is 732 years. Shit. Guess I gotta go to work today. I wonder if that fucking Amway is still around.
Hey we could talk movies... Nah, now that Brokeback Mountain is out - I remember how long I was scared shitless trying to go to sleep at night after hearing Ned Beatty's piglike noises from Deliverence. (No pun intended on the shitless part.)
Politics? With apologies to most of the folks from the UAE, geez, makes sense to me George to have a country where two of the Twin Tower terrorists came from to purchase/guard our ports. Nah, let's skip politics.
Sports? Hell no Victor, you did that yesterday and we were bored shitless. Besides, did you see that crybaby millionaire baseball player that refused to go out with his team and play leftfield because he wanted to play second base? (Side note to Alpfonso Soriano - it's ok bebbe.. I remember that time that little shit stole playing first base from me... I know 'fits' are normally reserved for toddlers, but I feel your pain brother.)........ There was one interesting tidbit in the sports world yesterday.. Apparently, this feller who plays basketball for the Utah Jazz - anyways, his wife allows him to sleep one time per year with another woman. A local sportswriter snided "Oh, there's outrage here in Utah.. the folks are all stunned he's only allowed to sleep with one other woman!"
Money... shall we talk money?
Sex? YES, YES, YES. Be for real, both of my nieces, my first and second cousins, and my girlfriend know this site. Is there sucha thing as writing about sex in the PG form? I don't think so.
Farts, let's talk farts... Ok, but just briefly. True story: I was married 19 years before I heard her fart. YES. True.
Gambling? Ahm no. See how long we stayed on money?
Co-workers.. YES, let's diss co-workers. I don't repeat gossip, so listen close the first time. Well, that's a valid idea, except maybe there's someone that reads this that doesn't work here - and it just wouldn't be as fun to them to wonder if one of the guys in the back offices is sleeping with one of the gals up around the HR department. (Wink wink)
How bout music? Good fucking idea Victor, here, I'll turn on the speakers... There... that's better..
Ok, so no laughter, movies, politics, sports, money, sex, farts, gambling, co-worker gossip, music. Weather? You've just done two of those recently you idiot. Oh, k. Sorry.
How bout the weekend? Can we talk about that? Ya know, that ain't a bad idea. Whatshername usedta be a teller, and her saying was "you don't tell a teller to have a nice weekend, because she's gotta work." Eh, maybe so. A great portion of us are regular ole M-F types - and yes, weekends are wonderful. I remember when I usedta throw up bags of Fritos in grocery stores - and because Saturdays were so busy - the store managers all worked Saturday and took off Wednesdays. So, since they did that, we had to also. Boy, that was fun. Sunday and Wednesday off. "Hey honey?" he beckoned one Tuesday night.. "Ya wanna drive to the Lake tonight and come back tomorrow night?"... Ahm, sure.
Going to bed with no alarm is the best. Reading the paper and drinking coffee whilst others choose to sleep their lives away is the best. I dunno about you, but I plan it so I barely have time to get dressed in the morning during the week - so breakfast is out.. I LOVE BREAKFAST. I EAT BREAKFAST ON WEEKENDS.
Weekends are all about cleaning house - or NOT. INDEPENDENT. Weekends allow us to do what we want, when we want. We're friggin selfish, let's admit it. Ok, I'll admit it. I AM SELFISH.
Weekends are about spending time with the people you pick - not the ones you have to. And I don't mean that derogatorially (<-- dat a word?).. well, ceptin' for that chick with the hideous laugh. I wouldn't pick to hang with her.
Weekends should be filled with comforters... pets... sunshine.. exercise... drives to nowhere... an occasional drink with friends (or, if you get on a roll/binge like my current 4-day roll.. a continuation of drinking with friends).. family.. entertainment.. entertaining... LOUD MUSIC.. soothing music.. outside... inside... selfish time.. helping time..
Weekends rock. I hope yours is enjoyable - I plan to have fun on mine. Right on.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Baseball Ray........
To any that read that ain't a League of Their Own kinda person, apologies - and seeya tomorrow!
Too hard to swing by this time of year without mentioning baseball... Apple Pie, Chevrolet - baseball IS America. There's hardly a man(or women) among us who hasn't at least owned a glove - played catch in the yard or proudly worn some Joe's Auto Parts T-Shirt - or similar in a Little League game...
Baseball Ray. With a family of nine kids next door growing up - hell, our pickup games nearly included every position... Wiffle ball it was - basepaths were worn.. First base was a small piece of plywood.. Second base was the water meter.. Third base and home were each simply a cutout thingy of dirt.. Hours upon hours spent - only to be interrupted by mom's cookies and Koolaid - or, the Flanigan's dinner bell..
We measured exactly how far it was to hit a home run across the street - and wrote the distance on the curb with chalk...
I was liberally allowed to ride my bike roughly a mile to the City Park once I turned nine. Most change is for the good - sad to say that probably doesn't happen much any more. Again, hours upon hours we'd play - honing our skills - hell, I never remember getting tired. We'd use a Magic Marker to label the back of our T Shirts "Musial" or "Mantle", "Maris" or similar.. We never correlated baseball players and money. Perhaps another change for the worse.
Buddies of mine would 'fatten up' in the air conditioning on game day so they wouldn't be 'spent' for that night's game.. HA. Nomme. I'm not real fond of quoting ole 'Huck Finn' Roy Williams, but once in talking about his college basketball team he remarked "heck, they're too young to be tired." So I ripped, all day, game day or not.
Baseball ends, kinda. At some point, one's participation as a player comes to a halt. Mine probably went about ten years too long (or so I've heard) but just like anything - it ends. Some quit the first time a fly ball lands on their cheekbone. Some stop playing after striking out twelve consecutive times.. Some stop when they become of the age the pitcher is now throwing curveballs.. For others, cars become more important.. or work.. or college..
Somewhere between Ex#1 and Ex#2, I was playing two nights of fastpitch softball per week, two nights of slowpitch softball per week, and then played in tournaments on weekends. I hardly knew what Tide soap was letalone which of those bigass contraptions was the washer and which was the dryer - but somehow I always managed to have the correct uniform on, and it was clean.
If that wasn't enough - on the rare nights/weekends I didn't play I umpired. My buddy scheduled the umpires - and when wifey numero uno went Hasta La Vista I said "I want to do women's softball games, and only women's softball games."
Funny, met wifey #2 on a softball bench. (#1 played basketball for me). Geez, I reckon I'd better not play any more sports.
One Christmas I got an electric radio - and nowadays - that isn't a desired gift - but I cherished falling asleep to Cardinal broadcasts at night. The year after Roger Maris hit 61 home runs - he and Mantle made a movie.. I rode my bike to the Plaza Theater to watch.. useda nickel in my pocket to call mom to see if I could stay and watch it again. Addict I guess. Baseball is innocent. A good thing.
Coaching, spectating. Wow. Fun. I know for many it can be miserable - but for me it was wonderful.. I love watching little turds play - even if I don't know anyone playing. Fun to see them learn, handle situations, not handle situations..
Age 6, coach pitch. We, as coaches - were allowed to be placed out on the field to verbally assist the kids. I remember this tons of fun guy - and I wouldn't say tons of fun except he was an ass, and he had a bigass, so we'll call him tons of fun. Tons of fun was placed behind the shortstop - looking ridiculous in his too tight coaching shorts. At some point in the game a very hard grounder was hit up the middle... beyond second base.. headed directly for the center fielder.. tons of fun rumbled toward the kid as the ball approached... oops... right between his legs - and it still had momentum - rolling further and further into the outfield.. as the kid chased it.. tons of fun ran stride for stride with him SCREAMING at him.. poor kid.. I bet that is one he'll remember forever - and I bet his playing days were shortened - in large part (perhaps pun intended) by tons of fun.
At age 45, in a vote regarding my continuance as a player, I lost 1-1... Haha. Single now, and ya know what? I was leaving a restaurant the other day and they had a flier on "Over 50 Softball Leagues"... Hell yes. I just might do it.
Ya just don't see kids outside playing baseball/wiffleball any more. Wonder how come. I never understood the fascination of video games. (In part false because I did enjoy Frogger and Bart Simpson!). To me, the old codger, nothing beats baseball for a kid. Every town has "The Park"... It's a town kinda thing... Almost every person has an affinity to a Major League Baseball team.. Even chicks who hate baseball surely enjoyed Field of Dreams - even if only because Costner strutted around in his tight jeans...
Baseball is around the corner again.. I love baseball.. It's American.. It's family.. It's learning.. It's challenging.. It's rewarding... It teaches hard lessons.. It promotes camaraderie.. It gives us the opportunity to observe and react to good behaviors and bad behaviors..
Then again, one of the wives, can't remember which - said "you know Victor, you get really whoopie excited about some things - and you just don't understand that perhaps other people aren't always in agreeance with you." Hmmm.. Mebbe she's right. Don't care. I love baseball.
Too hard to swing by this time of year without mentioning baseball... Apple Pie, Chevrolet - baseball IS America. There's hardly a man(or women) among us who hasn't at least owned a glove - played catch in the yard or proudly worn some Joe's Auto Parts T-Shirt - or similar in a Little League game...
Baseball Ray. With a family of nine kids next door growing up - hell, our pickup games nearly included every position... Wiffle ball it was - basepaths were worn.. First base was a small piece of plywood.. Second base was the water meter.. Third base and home were each simply a cutout thingy of dirt.. Hours upon hours spent - only to be interrupted by mom's cookies and Koolaid - or, the Flanigan's dinner bell..
We measured exactly how far it was to hit a home run across the street - and wrote the distance on the curb with chalk...
I was liberally allowed to ride my bike roughly a mile to the City Park once I turned nine. Most change is for the good - sad to say that probably doesn't happen much any more. Again, hours upon hours we'd play - honing our skills - hell, I never remember getting tired. We'd use a Magic Marker to label the back of our T Shirts "Musial" or "Mantle", "Maris" or similar.. We never correlated baseball players and money. Perhaps another change for the worse.
Buddies of mine would 'fatten up' in the air conditioning on game day so they wouldn't be 'spent' for that night's game.. HA. Nomme. I'm not real fond of quoting ole 'Huck Finn' Roy Williams, but once in talking about his college basketball team he remarked "heck, they're too young to be tired." So I ripped, all day, game day or not.
Baseball ends, kinda. At some point, one's participation as a player comes to a halt. Mine probably went about ten years too long (or so I've heard) but just like anything - it ends. Some quit the first time a fly ball lands on their cheekbone. Some stop playing after striking out twelve consecutive times.. Some stop when they become of the age the pitcher is now throwing curveballs.. For others, cars become more important.. or work.. or college..
Somewhere between Ex#1 and Ex#2, I was playing two nights of fastpitch softball per week, two nights of slowpitch softball per week, and then played in tournaments on weekends. I hardly knew what Tide soap was letalone which of those bigass contraptions was the washer and which was the dryer - but somehow I always managed to have the correct uniform on, and it was clean.
If that wasn't enough - on the rare nights/weekends I didn't play I umpired. My buddy scheduled the umpires - and when wifey numero uno went Hasta La Vista I said "I want to do women's softball games, and only women's softball games."
Funny, met wifey #2 on a softball bench. (#1 played basketball for me). Geez, I reckon I'd better not play any more sports.
One Christmas I got an electric radio - and nowadays - that isn't a desired gift - but I cherished falling asleep to Cardinal broadcasts at night. The year after Roger Maris hit 61 home runs - he and Mantle made a movie.. I rode my bike to the Plaza Theater to watch.. useda nickel in my pocket to call mom to see if I could stay and watch it again. Addict I guess. Baseball is innocent. A good thing.
Coaching, spectating. Wow. Fun. I know for many it can be miserable - but for me it was wonderful.. I love watching little turds play - even if I don't know anyone playing. Fun to see them learn, handle situations, not handle situations..
Age 6, coach pitch. We, as coaches - were allowed to be placed out on the field to verbally assist the kids. I remember this tons of fun guy - and I wouldn't say tons of fun except he was an ass, and he had a bigass, so we'll call him tons of fun. Tons of fun was placed behind the shortstop - looking ridiculous in his too tight coaching shorts. At some point in the game a very hard grounder was hit up the middle... beyond second base.. headed directly for the center fielder.. tons of fun rumbled toward the kid as the ball approached... oops... right between his legs - and it still had momentum - rolling further and further into the outfield.. as the kid chased it.. tons of fun ran stride for stride with him SCREAMING at him.. poor kid.. I bet that is one he'll remember forever - and I bet his playing days were shortened - in large part (perhaps pun intended) by tons of fun.
At age 45, in a vote regarding my continuance as a player, I lost 1-1... Haha. Single now, and ya know what? I was leaving a restaurant the other day and they had a flier on "Over 50 Softball Leagues"... Hell yes. I just might do it.
Ya just don't see kids outside playing baseball/wiffleball any more. Wonder how come. I never understood the fascination of video games. (In part false because I did enjoy Frogger and Bart Simpson!). To me, the old codger, nothing beats baseball for a kid. Every town has "The Park"... It's a town kinda thing... Almost every person has an affinity to a Major League Baseball team.. Even chicks who hate baseball surely enjoyed Field of Dreams - even if only because Costner strutted around in his tight jeans...
Baseball is around the corner again.. I love baseball.. It's American.. It's family.. It's learning.. It's challenging.. It's rewarding... It teaches hard lessons.. It promotes camaraderie.. It gives us the opportunity to observe and react to good behaviors and bad behaviors..
Then again, one of the wives, can't remember which - said "you know Victor, you get really whoopie excited about some things - and you just don't understand that perhaps other people aren't always in agreeance with you." Hmmm.. Mebbe she's right. Don't care. I love baseball.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
I hate when that happens......
I'd never make it as a reporter. I laid in bed (last night and this morning) trying to think of subjects, ideas to write about - and duh, blank. Wouldn't it be cool if on day you picked up the morning paper and there in the Editorial section was a headline "Johnny Journalist ain't got nuthin' to say today, so rather than fill space, he'll be back tomorrow." So, I ain't gonna fake anything, reckon I'm just gonna tell the truth - my mind is currently blank. Yucko huh?
Spose I could stop and simply say thanks for some things that are probably taken for granted: thanks to whomever invented the starter on my 93 Taurus.. thanks to whomever invented my tenny boppers and the nifty shoestrings that don't come untied when I go up escalators.. thanks for coffee.. newspapers...
coworkers (most of 'em)... payday... the power to select what kinda radio station i listen to on the commute.. the smile the lady at the gas station wings out every morning.. thanks for Jackson, my cat, whom I love dearly simply because he's got the kutzpah to not necessarily feel the same way toward me..
thanks to whomever invented heaters for waterbeds... gel for hair... electric razors that you can unplug and use as you commute - which I do and some people think that's weird as hell - eh, who cares...
thanks for bloggers who know when to stop when they ain't got nothing to say. HEY, you talkin' to ME? Yes Victor, I was. Ok, Ok. Seeya. Call someone today you've wanted to talk to but just ain't taken the time to do so. If you got $20 extra bucks, screw it, go to a store and spoil yourself - life is short. Send a snail mail - it's so refreshing to dig a personal note outta all the advertising crap that now comes in the mail. wing an email. believe me - I know what an empty mailbox feels like - so.. reckon we should learn to get 'em, ya gotta give 'em. Toodles.
Spose I could stop and simply say thanks for some things that are probably taken for granted: thanks to whomever invented the starter on my 93 Taurus.. thanks to whomever invented my tenny boppers and the nifty shoestrings that don't come untied when I go up escalators.. thanks for coffee.. newspapers...
coworkers (most of 'em)... payday... the power to select what kinda radio station i listen to on the commute.. the smile the lady at the gas station wings out every morning.. thanks for Jackson, my cat, whom I love dearly simply because he's got the kutzpah to not necessarily feel the same way toward me..
thanks to whomever invented heaters for waterbeds... gel for hair... electric razors that you can unplug and use as you commute - which I do and some people think that's weird as hell - eh, who cares...
thanks for bloggers who know when to stop when they ain't got nothing to say. HEY, you talkin' to ME? Yes Victor, I was. Ok, Ok. Seeya. Call someone today you've wanted to talk to but just ain't taken the time to do so. If you got $20 extra bucks, screw it, go to a store and spoil yourself - life is short. Send a snail mail - it's so refreshing to dig a personal note outta all the advertising crap that now comes in the mail. wing an email. believe me - I know what an empty mailbox feels like - so.. reckon we should learn to get 'em, ya gotta give 'em. Toodles.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
On purpose.....
The object toward which one strives or for which something exists; an aim or a goal.
Per Yahoo. (Remember when everything was Webster? Or Funk and Wagnell? I wonder if there is a Funk and Wagnell dot com?)
Whythehell are we here? Must we have a purpose? Mother Teresa had a purpose. Mozart had a purpose. Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel on his back, on purpose. His purpose? Robert De Niro has a purpose.
Albert Pujols (<-- kickass baseball player for St. Louis Cardinals) has a purpose. All of the above have an associated talent. Is talent the same as purpose?
The chick who is vice principal at the junior high school where Gracie teaches has a purpose. She's been there forever and a day - and she's just as fervent today as she was in the 70's.
I come to work and route trucks as economically as possible to and from ocean ports carrying military member's personal goods. Please don't tell me that's my purpose in life.. I come home and see the not-so-great life my son leads - please don't tell me I did that on purpose because that's my purpose in life.
When my stepson got married last year in Florida - I ate at the same little mom and pop breakfast joint several days in a row because, a) the food was good, and b) the older lady that waited on me had such a geniune smile and upbeat attitude and it really nicely jump-started my day. Is that her purpose here on life?
Headstones. They don't list purpose. Wonder why. Here lies Homer Smith, he was here to screw on the left rear tail lenses at the Ford Motor Company. Here lies Gladys Happybottom, she was here to make sure Mr. Higensby had plenty of coffee, and to field Mr. Higensby's wife's calls whilst he was out in the field "training" a shapely new sale's rep.
Can we be average, ie, no purpose? Do we, on purpose have no purpose? I ain't real sure I gots a purpose in life. Am I lost? Will I go to hell because I ain't figured out my purpose?
Is our purpose painted from the talents within? You'll never see Rae make a typo. She's very good at that - thus, if I remember correctly she uses those talents in her work with manuscripts. Is that her purpose?
Catom is very definitely a people person. Thus, she cavorts the backroads selling insurance (or I know she usedta) helping folks and making a buck at the same time. Is that her purpose?
If a prostitute is a prostitute on purpose is that her purpose? The guy who jackhammers concrete - is that his purpose? (Why did he just list jackhammer and prostitute in the same paragraph? Did he do that on purpose?)
Do we have to have a purpose? Or, can we have more than one purpose? Surely the preacher of the church located in one small sector of a strip mall has another job too. I wonder which is his purpose? Selling hydraulic tools or saving folks?
I was good in working with younger children. Ya fucking bragger - ok, I'm sorry, but I really was pretty good. Why? Because it was all about helping them to create a positive self image. Is that my purpose? A positive self image creator?
It kills me to see the titles some folks come up with. Long self-important names that lead you to believe they are just one notch below the CEO. There usedta be a guy here (I loved him.. no not that way you idiot!) anyways, he was so hung up on climbing the ladder, butt-sniffing the brass - he was promoted to "Director" and I always wondered if he went home at night and yanked off in the shitter as he admired his business card. Fuck that. I was once asked here if I wanted business cards - I said "nah... I'm a footsoldier." Is that my purpose? On interoffice crap with friends I lovingly entitle myself as Victor So-and-so, Point A to Point B Coordinator. It's just me. Are titles associated with purpose?
Why were you put on this planet - or, did you just happen here like me?
If I had to state/write/tell my purpose here...... I ain't sure if I could. (Victor, ya lying bastard, it's coming now isn't it?... well maybe.) I think among my purposes: love my family. have fun. watch people - deduct what i see, perhaps laugh at them, admire them, maybe even write about them. I like to try to put a smile on someone who's obviously down. I do that on purpose, is it my purpose? Avoiding things that depress. Could that somehow be a purpose? I don't mean avoiding bills, funerals, buying a new washing machine - I mean avoiding people that depress me.. Stuff I don't HAVE to do that I have a choice. I choose on purpose.
This was kinda boring. Geez. Can you imagine creating/writing technical manuals on purpose because that's your purpose? Leave a comment on purpose, wouldya?
Per Yahoo. (Remember when everything was Webster? Or Funk and Wagnell? I wonder if there is a Funk and Wagnell dot com?)
Whythehell are we here? Must we have a purpose? Mother Teresa had a purpose. Mozart had a purpose. Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel on his back, on purpose. His purpose? Robert De Niro has a purpose.
Albert Pujols (<-- kickass baseball player for St. Louis Cardinals) has a purpose. All of the above have an associated talent. Is talent the same as purpose?
The chick who is vice principal at the junior high school where Gracie teaches has a purpose. She's been there forever and a day - and she's just as fervent today as she was in the 70's.
I come to work and route trucks as economically as possible to and from ocean ports carrying military member's personal goods. Please don't tell me that's my purpose in life.. I come home and see the not-so-great life my son leads - please don't tell me I did that on purpose because that's my purpose in life.
When my stepson got married last year in Florida - I ate at the same little mom and pop breakfast joint several days in a row because, a) the food was good, and b) the older lady that waited on me had such a geniune smile and upbeat attitude and it really nicely jump-started my day. Is that her purpose here on life?
Headstones. They don't list purpose. Wonder why. Here lies Homer Smith, he was here to screw on the left rear tail lenses at the Ford Motor Company. Here lies Gladys Happybottom, she was here to make sure Mr. Higensby had plenty of coffee, and to field Mr. Higensby's wife's calls whilst he was out in the field "training" a shapely new sale's rep.
Can we be average, ie, no purpose? Do we, on purpose have no purpose? I ain't real sure I gots a purpose in life. Am I lost? Will I go to hell because I ain't figured out my purpose?
Is our purpose painted from the talents within? You'll never see Rae make a typo. She's very good at that - thus, if I remember correctly she uses those talents in her work with manuscripts. Is that her purpose?
Catom is very definitely a people person. Thus, she cavorts the backroads selling insurance (or I know she usedta) helping folks and making a buck at the same time. Is that her purpose?
If a prostitute is a prostitute on purpose is that her purpose? The guy who jackhammers concrete - is that his purpose? (Why did he just list jackhammer and prostitute in the same paragraph? Did he do that on purpose?)
Do we have to have a purpose? Or, can we have more than one purpose? Surely the preacher of the church located in one small sector of a strip mall has another job too. I wonder which is his purpose? Selling hydraulic tools or saving folks?
I was good in working with younger children. Ya fucking bragger - ok, I'm sorry, but I really was pretty good. Why? Because it was all about helping them to create a positive self image. Is that my purpose? A positive self image creator?
It kills me to see the titles some folks come up with. Long self-important names that lead you to believe they are just one notch below the CEO. There usedta be a guy here (I loved him.. no not that way you idiot!) anyways, he was so hung up on climbing the ladder, butt-sniffing the brass - he was promoted to "Director" and I always wondered if he went home at night and yanked off in the shitter as he admired his business card. Fuck that. I was once asked here if I wanted business cards - I said "nah... I'm a footsoldier." Is that my purpose? On interoffice crap with friends I lovingly entitle myself as Victor So-and-so, Point A to Point B Coordinator. It's just me. Are titles associated with purpose?
Why were you put on this planet - or, did you just happen here like me?
If I had to state/write/tell my purpose here...... I ain't sure if I could. (Victor, ya lying bastard, it's coming now isn't it?... well maybe.) I think among my purposes: love my family. have fun. watch people - deduct what i see, perhaps laugh at them, admire them, maybe even write about them. I like to try to put a smile on someone who's obviously down. I do that on purpose, is it my purpose? Avoiding things that depress. Could that somehow be a purpose? I don't mean avoiding bills, funerals, buying a new washing machine - I mean avoiding people that depress me.. Stuff I don't HAVE to do that I have a choice. I choose on purpose.
This was kinda boring. Geez. Can you imagine creating/writing technical manuals on purpose because that's your purpose? Leave a comment on purpose, wouldya?
Monday, March 20, 2006
Open mouth, insert snowshoe.....
$194.00
Ok alright already.. I goofed.. Welcome to Spring. Today is March 20th, 2006. A Fool's Gold week of wonderful temperatures led me to dream, beg, want, spout, believe Spring was around the corner.. Mother Nature had other ideas. Just like a woman! "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature." Now you hens out there (said with love).. doesn't that sound like something a woman would say?
Today's forecast calls for miserable rain/sleet mix turning to snow - and anywhere from 6" to 15" in our area. Yippee. Typical responses would be: "well, we've been real lucky this year - and in recent years, perhaps we're due." SCREW THAT! Gimme St. Petersburg's forecast... I want Clearwater's sunshine.. Instead, I have to go buy another gallon of damned anti-freeze because my radiators a leakin' again (checkenginelight) and I've been pouring straight water in it..
April Fools Day, 1970. An early spring 'winter' storm provided 9" of snow. One less school day for this high school senior. Took ma pappy's ole T-Bird out and about - "knew what I was doing" and proceeded to slide down an embankment (have I heard that before?) only to rest in the parking lot of the Koo-Koo (<-- hamburger joint, heap big kid hangout in high school).
Much to my chagrin, I'd made wonderful tire tracks in the snow - and an older gent (an OLD sum'bitch probably at LEAST 50) followed my tire tracks and slid down the hill coming to a crashing thud with the bumper of the ole T-Bird.
"Ahm, dad... remember when I told you Iknowwhatinthehell I'm doing out here driving?"
So.... $198 worth of damage.. Old fart's insurance paid it.. Dad bought a $4 rubber mallot... pounded it out.. $194. He made $194 off my slide down the embankment.
If it's any consolation today, they say "the last snowstorm of the year is THE BEST time to put out grass seed." Some help. I want bikini's in the grocery store. Convertibles in February. I can deal with the sand. (Screw you, the bugs/heat/humidity/New Yohhrkers too)..
Bye bye now.
Ok alright already.. I goofed.. Welcome to Spring. Today is March 20th, 2006. A Fool's Gold week of wonderful temperatures led me to dream, beg, want, spout, believe Spring was around the corner.. Mother Nature had other ideas. Just like a woman! "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature." Now you hens out there (said with love).. doesn't that sound like something a woman would say?
Today's forecast calls for miserable rain/sleet mix turning to snow - and anywhere from 6" to 15" in our area. Yippee. Typical responses would be: "well, we've been real lucky this year - and in recent years, perhaps we're due." SCREW THAT! Gimme St. Petersburg's forecast... I want Clearwater's sunshine.. Instead, I have to go buy another gallon of damned anti-freeze because my radiators a leakin' again (checkenginelight) and I've been pouring straight water in it..
April Fools Day, 1970. An early spring 'winter' storm provided 9" of snow. One less school day for this high school senior. Took ma pappy's ole T-Bird out and about - "knew what I was doing" and proceeded to slide down an embankment (have I heard that before?) only to rest in the parking lot of the Koo-Koo (<-- hamburger joint, heap big kid hangout in high school).
Much to my chagrin, I'd made wonderful tire tracks in the snow - and an older gent (an OLD sum'bitch probably at LEAST 50) followed my tire tracks and slid down the hill coming to a crashing thud with the bumper of the ole T-Bird.
"Ahm, dad... remember when I told you Iknowwhatinthehell I'm doing out here driving?"
So.... $198 worth of damage.. Old fart's insurance paid it.. Dad bought a $4 rubber mallot... pounded it out.. $194. He made $194 off my slide down the embankment.
If it's any consolation today, they say "the last snowstorm of the year is THE BEST time to put out grass seed." Some help. I want bikini's in the grocery store. Convertibles in February. I can deal with the sand. (Screw you, the bugs/heat/humidity/New Yohhrkers too)..
Bye bye now.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
This and that about this.........
The last entry was about impactive statements said to us that are forever etched in our brains. (RAE, thanks for your kind words and I'm so glad one of your forever remembered statements was a very, very positive one!)......
I forgot one....
Roughly twenty years ago... I held my newborn son in his tightly wrapped blanket... I'd gone to high school with one of the physicians there - he happened by, saw me holding 'Maynard' and he said "wow Vic, you're a GREAT dad!".. I'll never forget that, nor will I forget my reply.. "Thanks Doc, but check back with me in twenty years - we'll see." Fast forward twenty years. Maynard's spent virtually all of the last two years married to PlayStation 2, and suredly finely combing his resume. Yes, tongue in cheek. So you ask of how I feel about that "prophetic statement" from twenty years ago now? I'm mixed - I have some idea as to why my son doesn't have a very active relationship with his mother - and because of that, perhaps I use avoidance behavior in not showing the fortitude to shove him from the nest out into the real world.. BUT... I haven't killed him either! Somewhere down there, there's a good heart but MAN has he said some things to me that've truly made me think about packing up, getting the hell outta Dodge and never looking back. If I'm still writing this stupid thing in 5-10 years, I pray I can have a blog bragging "MY SON ACTUALLY TURNED IN A 1040 TO THE IRS!!!!"......
Checkenginelight was started because my own life kinda resembles my '93 Ford Taurus... One thing after another has happened, and jussssst when you think things are back on track, the checkenginelight comes on.. Car update: Son ka-wammied a car in the parking lot of Phillips 66 not long ago - so, a portion of the front bumper is missing. Not half bad I guess. Now.. the brake light is on... I can't change the name to brakelight - for that kinda means an end.. and I hope I've gotta few more years in me.. Anyways, the checkenginelight still periodically comes on and I guess it's a message from God or Henry (Ford) to stop and take heed of one's life (or car).... the Taurus actually growls at me when it's idling - but it still coughs and chokes it's way to work daily... It's kinda messy too... Man is there some semblance.
Speakin' o chokin'... I've had two near death experiences. (GOOD LORD THIS MAN HAS GONE LUNATIC ON US!.... What's next? UFO's in the backyard?)... Well, no... but's it's kinda sorta true.. Gracie was visiting her father at a hospital down by The Lake (that's the Ozarks to you non-Missourians)... I'd driven her down - and she'd decided to stay and snag a ride home from her brother...
I would drive straight from the lake some 2 and 1/2 hours to make it to work... I was going in at noon... Burger King, some 8 miles from work.. I grabbed a French Fry, put it in my mouth as I turned back onto the ramp to the Interstate.. noticed some Type A person within inches of my bumper behind me.. and I choked on the French Fry.. I remember choking, I remember as I tried like crazy to get some oxygen "I can't get any oxygen." Then there was the sensation-like of being underwater (Katy-Bar the door, this sonofabitch HAS flipped out on us) and the next thing I remember, I'm sitting in a grassy knoll (hmmm).. exactly 40' below the ramp where I just was... exactly twelve inches from a humongous concrete ravine... and I was breathing. (I can't remember the French fries ending - whether it went down or ended up somewhere on the floorboard.)... Anyways, I was scared shitless. No, not because I stopped breathing - but because I had gained Debbie's trust and I had just veered off the on-ramp, plummeted 40 some feet STRAIGHT DOWN.. and there I sat. Not a sole stopped to help. I imagined there was some "did you see that fucking old geezer? he just flew off the ramp, down the hill...whyinthefuck do we continue to stamp their plates year after year?"... Victor, this paragraph is too long... start another... Ok.
So, there I was.. Clothes dry (no pee, no completely soaked from the 'underwater' experience.. I got out, looked around the car. This is a nice, newer car. Years from having the checkenginelight come on. Anyways, no visible damage so I pulled it onto the outer road and into a church parking lot to re-inspect... Outta all that, all I found was a few chunks of grass embedded in the front bumper from when the car hit the gully and abruptly went from due South to dead North. Gracie was wonderful about it.. I'd wondered if there were any out there that might notta even mentioned it.. but I knew I had to... A few weeks later, the AC quit working (oh shit).. A month later, Gracie was putting makeup on during her drive from work. (Why do women do that? Also wonder why do women always announce when they go pee?).. Anyways, makeup - so she pulled the visor down.. opened it.. Hot damn... I guess when I hit the gully (due South to dead North) my head musta hit the visor/mirror because it was cracked in about three places. (Hell, that probably coincided with the demise of the French Fry.) Again, she was cool...
My second near death experience... (SCREW YOU... I am NOT ready for assisted living yet!).. New Year's Eve... I had had a total of exactly two beers,ie, not drunk. I'd had bronchitis so I'd been choking and coughing in concert with the '93 Taurus... I remember standing - Gracie was seated - and I remember coughing so hard that I again had trouble getting oxygen and thought to myself "I'm having trouble getting oxygen." It wasn't a classic 'fall'. I kinda went limp (NO, there is no correlation to my sex life here... screw you!).. anyways... limp.. slowly to knees... soon to be followed by laying flat on the floor... I wasn't 'underwater' but I woke up quickly and there staring at me was Gracie and Kent.. She'd hollered for help and it was there in a flash.. I was absolutely fine when my eyes opened... I am 'new' to this group. Whilst I went to high school with several of them - they all have maintained weekly contact since - I hadn't... So.. as I pulled myself up to the barstool Joy asked "Victor... Victor.. are you Ok?... Can we get you ANYTHING?"... My brain musta been still short on oxygen cause I replied "yeah.. a do-over?"...
I wish that were the end of that story but the next time we went to those sunsabitches house - there - finely adorned behind "The Bar" were two pictures.. One showed some guy demonstrating the "Universal Choke" signal (both arms covering the throat) and the other was a descriptive picture of the Heimlich. Well, I guess I earned it..
Before you kiss me off and never read this weirdo's site again - I don't recall anything about Near Death Experience II as I couldn't get my breath.. How boring.. I wish there were a good punchline here.. or a moral.. such as perhaps "always place French Fries in your mouth sideways (not longways)" but I can't thinka nuthin.
I guess all I have in common with choking is the KU Jayhawks. (Sorry Catom!).. Happy Sunday to all..........
I forgot one....
Roughly twenty years ago... I held my newborn son in his tightly wrapped blanket... I'd gone to high school with one of the physicians there - he happened by, saw me holding 'Maynard' and he said "wow Vic, you're a GREAT dad!".. I'll never forget that, nor will I forget my reply.. "Thanks Doc, but check back with me in twenty years - we'll see." Fast forward twenty years. Maynard's spent virtually all of the last two years married to PlayStation 2, and suredly finely combing his resume. Yes, tongue in cheek. So you ask of how I feel about that "prophetic statement" from twenty years ago now? I'm mixed - I have some idea as to why my son doesn't have a very active relationship with his mother - and because of that, perhaps I use avoidance behavior in not showing the fortitude to shove him from the nest out into the real world.. BUT... I haven't killed him either! Somewhere down there, there's a good heart but MAN has he said some things to me that've truly made me think about packing up, getting the hell outta Dodge and never looking back. If I'm still writing this stupid thing in 5-10 years, I pray I can have a blog bragging "MY SON ACTUALLY TURNED IN A 1040 TO THE IRS!!!!"......
Checkenginelight was started because my own life kinda resembles my '93 Ford Taurus... One thing after another has happened, and jussssst when you think things are back on track, the checkenginelight comes on.. Car update: Son ka-wammied a car in the parking lot of Phillips 66 not long ago - so, a portion of the front bumper is missing. Not half bad I guess. Now.. the brake light is on... I can't change the name to brakelight - for that kinda means an end.. and I hope I've gotta few more years in me.. Anyways, the checkenginelight still periodically comes on and I guess it's a message from God or Henry (Ford) to stop and take heed of one's life (or car).... the Taurus actually growls at me when it's idling - but it still coughs and chokes it's way to work daily... It's kinda messy too... Man is there some semblance.
Speakin' o chokin'... I've had two near death experiences. (GOOD LORD THIS MAN HAS GONE LUNATIC ON US!.... What's next? UFO's in the backyard?)... Well, no... but's it's kinda sorta true.. Gracie was visiting her father at a hospital down by The Lake (that's the Ozarks to you non-Missourians)... I'd driven her down - and she'd decided to stay and snag a ride home from her brother...
I would drive straight from the lake some 2 and 1/2 hours to make it to work... I was going in at noon... Burger King, some 8 miles from work.. I grabbed a French Fry, put it in my mouth as I turned back onto the ramp to the Interstate.. noticed some Type A person within inches of my bumper behind me.. and I choked on the French Fry.. I remember choking, I remember as I tried like crazy to get some oxygen "I can't get any oxygen." Then there was the sensation-like of being underwater (Katy-Bar the door, this sonofabitch HAS flipped out on us) and the next thing I remember, I'm sitting in a grassy knoll (hmmm).. exactly 40' below the ramp where I just was... exactly twelve inches from a humongous concrete ravine... and I was breathing. (I can't remember the French fries ending - whether it went down or ended up somewhere on the floorboard.)... Anyways, I was scared shitless. No, not because I stopped breathing - but because I had gained Debbie's trust and I had just veered off the on-ramp, plummeted 40 some feet STRAIGHT DOWN.. and there I sat. Not a sole stopped to help. I imagined there was some "did you see that fucking old geezer? he just flew off the ramp, down the hill...whyinthefuck do we continue to stamp their plates year after year?"... Victor, this paragraph is too long... start another... Ok.
So, there I was.. Clothes dry (no pee, no completely soaked from the 'underwater' experience.. I got out, looked around the car. This is a nice, newer car. Years from having the checkenginelight come on. Anyways, no visible damage so I pulled it onto the outer road and into a church parking lot to re-inspect... Outta all that, all I found was a few chunks of grass embedded in the front bumper from when the car hit the gully and abruptly went from due South to dead North. Gracie was wonderful about it.. I'd wondered if there were any out there that might notta even mentioned it.. but I knew I had to... A few weeks later, the AC quit working (oh shit).. A month later, Gracie was putting makeup on during her drive from work. (Why do women do that? Also wonder why do women always announce when they go pee?).. Anyways, makeup - so she pulled the visor down.. opened it.. Hot damn... I guess when I hit the gully (due South to dead North) my head musta hit the visor/mirror because it was cracked in about three places. (Hell, that probably coincided with the demise of the French Fry.) Again, she was cool...
My second near death experience... (SCREW YOU... I am NOT ready for assisted living yet!).. New Year's Eve... I had had a total of exactly two beers,ie, not drunk. I'd had bronchitis so I'd been choking and coughing in concert with the '93 Taurus... I remember standing - Gracie was seated - and I remember coughing so hard that I again had trouble getting oxygen and thought to myself "I'm having trouble getting oxygen." It wasn't a classic 'fall'. I kinda went limp (NO, there is no correlation to my sex life here... screw you!).. anyways... limp.. slowly to knees... soon to be followed by laying flat on the floor... I wasn't 'underwater' but I woke up quickly and there staring at me was Gracie and Kent.. She'd hollered for help and it was there in a flash.. I was absolutely fine when my eyes opened... I am 'new' to this group. Whilst I went to high school with several of them - they all have maintained weekly contact since - I hadn't... So.. as I pulled myself up to the barstool Joy asked "Victor... Victor.. are you Ok?... Can we get you ANYTHING?"... My brain musta been still short on oxygen cause I replied "yeah.. a do-over?"...
I wish that were the end of that story but the next time we went to those sunsabitches house - there - finely adorned behind "The Bar" were two pictures.. One showed some guy demonstrating the "Universal Choke" signal (both arms covering the throat) and the other was a descriptive picture of the Heimlich. Well, I guess I earned it..
Before you kiss me off and never read this weirdo's site again - I don't recall anything about Near Death Experience II as I couldn't get my breath.. How boring.. I wish there were a good punchline here.. or a moral.. such as perhaps "always place French Fries in your mouth sideways (not longways)" but I can't thinka nuthin.
I guess all I have in common with choking is the KU Jayhawks. (Sorry Catom!).. Happy Sunday to all..........
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Brain cells and emails....
Throughout our lifetime, so so many words heard are acknowledged, then go right out the ears. So many words in our life - yet, only a few really really are recouped, latched onto and never forgotten. Some are ill - some are kudos.. some are rather meaningless - but for some reason not forgotten.
"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." Rod White, 8th grade PE teacher/coach.... That saying has done more for me over the years than perhaps any other.. Back then, it was winged at a scrawny red-headed semi-athletic left-handed freckle faced snotnose.. and it was about competing with those who are physically superior - but it has followed me and it rings true in the business world, and in virtually any venture one undertakes. It's allowed me to challenge with "why?" It's given me the courage to know my opinion can count, and to allow me to believe "I am valuable."
"Baby brother."... The last days of my sister's battle against cancer - she was given morphine to ease her of her pain.. Among her last legible words, she said this as I walked in her hospital room... she'd raised her shoulders off the bed.. looked and smiled and said "baby brother." Perhaps the greatest thing ever said to me.. It was a deduction from her shoes of our lifelong sibling relationship. How is it possible to hurt so bad yet feel so good? (Each of us.)
"Chicken... Chicken... Victor is a chicken." Summer of 1969. Said by the father of one of my high school mates. I got to know this guy thru his son, and also from umpiring with him. His son was All-this and All-that in football, the father apparently saw I had some athletic ability - but I'd never played organized football - thus "Chicken..... chicken... Victor is a chicken." I never ever replied to him. If you have recouped any of the crap written below - somewhere in there it's written I had a hydrocele. That's an enlarged testicle I had since birth - and for that reason my family physician refused (My Freshman year, My Sophomore year, My Junior year) to sign my physical form for football. I wanted to scream at this man "YOU SONOFABITCH, I WANT TO PLAY BUT HE WON'T LET ME." So... I went to a different Doctor for my senior year - lo and behold this guy signed off... Like Al Bundy I played High School football.. but I never called this anus an anus. Long about the 7th game of the season, I broke my wrist arm-tackling a guy in practice. Arm tackling is fancy for "you chickenshit, stick your helmet/shoulder pads in there and HIT the guy" so, maybe that cocksucker was right! Anyways, I played.
"I'm not so sure I want to have you in my life." I won't expound, but I'm not sure if I've ever recuperated from that one. And no, it wasn't either of the ex's!
"You're not the typical 50 year old man." Ok, self gloat, so close your damn ears if you want.. I didn't say it... SHE did. One of the crazy things I did in my four "post Marilyn" years of separation was to meet some gal online.. Talk for awhile online.. talk for awhile on the phone... then agree to meet. No, that's not crazy, but the fact she lives in Tampa, FL (me near Kansas City) and we picked Biloxi, MS to meet was crazy. Or was it? It was a very nice weekend - and comfortable as hell with her.. Over and over she repeated "you're not the typical 50 year old man." I think we both knew our lives would probably never intertwine again, so, for one weekend - we simply immersed ourselves in enjoying the beach, New Orleans, dining, drives.. that stuff. (Damn you gotta dirty mind you do!).. Anyways, for someone who'd "been down so long it looked like up to me" I drove home as cocky as a rooster. I needed that, I'll always remember that, and I cherish having that in my obdulla oblongata.
"Wow, that guy is a good first baseman." Said by father, and I'm sure he didn't remember it - but I did. For our Podunk sized town, I was pretty decent playing first base. From age 9 to age 17, no matter what team I was on, I played first base. I thought I did it fairly well, but then we always seem to have a higher opinion of our self than many do. Well, American Legion baseball my junior year - some shit moved in from Illinois - a year older - and guess what, he played first base. NOT ME, him. I was devastated. "Wow, that guy is a good first baseman" was said upon attending the first game I ever started in Left Field. While it truly hurt at the time - it was a pretty decent lifelong lesson that "ya know, sometimes ya just don't always win." Doesn't mean you're a bad first baseman, worker, student, job applicant, spouse, father, whatever.. but sometimes "ya just don't win."
Why "Brain Cells and emails"? Because, the more we age, the more total crap we've heard in our life that passes right on thru the brain.. And emails - well, the printed word is indelible. Backspacing when writing someone is a wonderful feature. Hitting "sent" sometimes is fatal. Sure, I've winged some stuff I regret - and I've been on the receiving end of stuff I'd rather not read - but I will always remember.
I'm one of those "saying" kinda guys I guess. Around my world (work cubicle) in addition to a picture of a two-story outhouse (top floor labeled MU fans, bottom floor labeled KU Fans) I have sayings. "Transportation is like umpiring. You must start out perfect, then get better."......... "Losing hurts more than winning feels good".... I wish I could remember the exact words - but one of the sayings I have on the wall is to the effect (or is that affect, I always get them sons-a-bitches confused) "Sometimes the best things to say go unsaid." Holy shit what a world this would be if there was no "wait a minute" before I really say that aloud. (Unfortunately, there are some out there who never learn this lesson.) Isn't it great to think what you really want to say and have the kutzpah to not say it? Sure, we all screw up. We all must mend fences.
I can proudly say I don't think anyone in my nuclear family (Father, Mother, Sister) has ever with intent said something harmful to me. And I believe the same to be true of me to them. No, not perfection, but I consider myself pretty damn lucky to have landed into the family I had.
What about Sony? Oops, sorry, I get that commercial stuck in my brain. What about you? (Hello McFly... McFly.... Buehler.... Ferris Buehler... is there anyone out there?).... What's some stuff that's been said to you that you will never forget? If damaging, how have you dealt with it? I'd love to see inside your brain.
"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." Rod White, 8th grade PE teacher/coach.... That saying has done more for me over the years than perhaps any other.. Back then, it was winged at a scrawny red-headed semi-athletic left-handed freckle faced snotnose.. and it was about competing with those who are physically superior - but it has followed me and it rings true in the business world, and in virtually any venture one undertakes. It's allowed me to challenge with "why?" It's given me the courage to know my opinion can count, and to allow me to believe "I am valuable."
"Baby brother."... The last days of my sister's battle against cancer - she was given morphine to ease her of her pain.. Among her last legible words, she said this as I walked in her hospital room... she'd raised her shoulders off the bed.. looked and smiled and said "baby brother." Perhaps the greatest thing ever said to me.. It was a deduction from her shoes of our lifelong sibling relationship. How is it possible to hurt so bad yet feel so good? (Each of us.)
"Chicken... Chicken... Victor is a chicken." Summer of 1969. Said by the father of one of my high school mates. I got to know this guy thru his son, and also from umpiring with him. His son was All-this and All-that in football, the father apparently saw I had some athletic ability - but I'd never played organized football - thus "Chicken..... chicken... Victor is a chicken." I never ever replied to him. If you have recouped any of the crap written below - somewhere in there it's written I had a hydrocele. That's an enlarged testicle I had since birth - and for that reason my family physician refused (My Freshman year, My Sophomore year, My Junior year) to sign my physical form for football. I wanted to scream at this man "YOU SONOFABITCH, I WANT TO PLAY BUT HE WON'T LET ME." So... I went to a different Doctor for my senior year - lo and behold this guy signed off... Like Al Bundy I played High School football.. but I never called this anus an anus. Long about the 7th game of the season, I broke my wrist arm-tackling a guy in practice. Arm tackling is fancy for "you chickenshit, stick your helmet/shoulder pads in there and HIT the guy" so, maybe that cocksucker was right! Anyways, I played.
"I'm not so sure I want to have you in my life." I won't expound, but I'm not sure if I've ever recuperated from that one. And no, it wasn't either of the ex's!
"You're not the typical 50 year old man." Ok, self gloat, so close your damn ears if you want.. I didn't say it... SHE did. One of the crazy things I did in my four "post Marilyn" years of separation was to meet some gal online.. Talk for awhile online.. talk for awhile on the phone... then agree to meet. No, that's not crazy, but the fact she lives in Tampa, FL (me near Kansas City) and we picked Biloxi, MS to meet was crazy. Or was it? It was a very nice weekend - and comfortable as hell with her.. Over and over she repeated "you're not the typical 50 year old man." I think we both knew our lives would probably never intertwine again, so, for one weekend - we simply immersed ourselves in enjoying the beach, New Orleans, dining, drives.. that stuff. (Damn you gotta dirty mind you do!).. Anyways, for someone who'd "been down so long it looked like up to me" I drove home as cocky as a rooster. I needed that, I'll always remember that, and I cherish having that in my obdulla oblongata.
"Wow, that guy is a good first baseman." Said by father, and I'm sure he didn't remember it - but I did. For our Podunk sized town, I was pretty decent playing first base. From age 9 to age 17, no matter what team I was on, I played first base. I thought I did it fairly well, but then we always seem to have a higher opinion of our self than many do. Well, American Legion baseball my junior year - some shit moved in from Illinois - a year older - and guess what, he played first base. NOT ME, him. I was devastated. "Wow, that guy is a good first baseman" was said upon attending the first game I ever started in Left Field. While it truly hurt at the time - it was a pretty decent lifelong lesson that "ya know, sometimes ya just don't always win." Doesn't mean you're a bad first baseman, worker, student, job applicant, spouse, father, whatever.. but sometimes "ya just don't win."
Why "Brain Cells and emails"? Because, the more we age, the more total crap we've heard in our life that passes right on thru the brain.. And emails - well, the printed word is indelible. Backspacing when writing someone is a wonderful feature. Hitting "sent" sometimes is fatal. Sure, I've winged some stuff I regret - and I've been on the receiving end of stuff I'd rather not read - but I will always remember.
I'm one of those "saying" kinda guys I guess. Around my world (work cubicle) in addition to a picture of a two-story outhouse (top floor labeled MU fans, bottom floor labeled KU Fans) I have sayings. "Transportation is like umpiring. You must start out perfect, then get better."......... "Losing hurts more than winning feels good".... I wish I could remember the exact words - but one of the sayings I have on the wall is to the effect (or is that affect, I always get them sons-a-bitches confused) "Sometimes the best things to say go unsaid." Holy shit what a world this would be if there was no "wait a minute" before I really say that aloud. (Unfortunately, there are some out there who never learn this lesson.) Isn't it great to think what you really want to say and have the kutzpah to not say it? Sure, we all screw up. We all must mend fences.
I can proudly say I don't think anyone in my nuclear family (Father, Mother, Sister) has ever with intent said something harmful to me. And I believe the same to be true of me to them. No, not perfection, but I consider myself pretty damn lucky to have landed into the family I had.
What about Sony? Oops, sorry, I get that commercial stuck in my brain. What about you? (Hello McFly... McFly.... Buehler.... Ferris Buehler... is there anyone out there?).... What's some stuff that's been said to you that you will never forget? If damaging, how have you dealt with it? I'd love to see inside your brain.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Thanks......
In spite of 92 friggin tornadoes Sunday, we here in the State of 'Misery' enjoy our seasons.... Back in the dinosaur days, I was a PE teacher and annually you could just about count on being able to go outside for PE as of March 15th. Whew, we made it.
Saw an add the other day for St. Petersburg, FL.. "292 days of sunshine per year." Yes, that does sound good - but would the excitement of "it's going to be awesome weather soon" be lost? If I lived in Florida, in five years would I look liked some here who toast 4-5 days a week at Nutri Tan? (Hell no, probably not.. I'm one of those fair-skinned redheaded brats that had to wear a T-Shirt at the local pool as a kid, yes, laughed at by others.)
Speakin' of the local pool.. (Dammit Victor, stay on course.. are you ADHD?.. Geez, I dunno.. I do twiddle my thumbs frequently.. but in our day, they called that "can't sit still.").. Ok, the local pool. Where I grew up (ok dammit, you ask how long ago.. I'm talking early 60's.. born '52).. the High School football coach owned the local 'public' swimming pool. We had one hell of a running back - cept, problem was, this fella was the wrong color to swim at Coach's pool. "Yup, here boy, go get me some yards.. but hells no you ain't swimmin' in my pool." Gosh, he must be proud of himself.
Back to Spring. I know I've written stupid articles on Spring, but screw you (sorry) it's worth repeating! The robins are repetitive so what the hey? Daylight savings (no depression driving home from work as it gets dark.) Shorts soon happen. Women wear less. I don't care, call me a pig - if one can't appreciate the opposite sex - I think it's stupid not to. And I'm certain you women are piggies too and enjoy seeing a decent pair of legs.....
It starts with March Madness... the next step is all the Home Depots, Lowes, etc setting their bedding plants out.. then, bright night lights for the little league snotnoses.. grass growing - ah the smell of freshly cut grass.. We smile more from March to June than we do from November to February (ceptin' maybe Thanksgiving/Christmas time)...
Relationships, as well as flowers, seem to flourish. People look healthier - and to see a reddened face at work Monday morning usually means an accompanying good story is attached to it..
Geez what a contrast if you were to live in Antarctica or Brazil maybe. I wonder if they get a true appreciation of life?
I hope your spring is wonderful. I hope it's filled with smiles, fun and appreciation. I hope you get as excited as I. When they remind us "Spring forward, Fall back" do you think they're referring to depression? (I know I know, it's for the clocks - as well as a reminder to replace your smoke detector batteries <-- please do that one, a smoke detector just saved Gabby's life.)
Oh... remember Gabby? Good person, bad shit happening.. House burned down, she'd saved her deceased daughter's room as it was for the last 10-12 years since she's been gone. All those memories now gone. A nice ending. For hours we searched for cherished items thru the scarred/charred remains. We did find some keepsakes - but we gave up on the one real prize Gabby wanted to find - her daughter's class ring. Lo and behold she came into work Tuesday beaming.. Her pa happened to stop by the 'house'... there glimmering at him was a tiny red stone. He stooped and picked up the class ring. Yeah. Nice to see a good thing happen to a good person.
Spring forward, Fall back.
Saw an add the other day for St. Petersburg, FL.. "292 days of sunshine per year." Yes, that does sound good - but would the excitement of "it's going to be awesome weather soon" be lost? If I lived in Florida, in five years would I look liked some here who toast 4-5 days a week at Nutri Tan? (Hell no, probably not.. I'm one of those fair-skinned redheaded brats that had to wear a T-Shirt at the local pool as a kid, yes, laughed at by others.)
Speakin' of the local pool.. (Dammit Victor, stay on course.. are you ADHD?.. Geez, I dunno.. I do twiddle my thumbs frequently.. but in our day, they called that "can't sit still.").. Ok, the local pool. Where I grew up (ok dammit, you ask how long ago.. I'm talking early 60's.. born '52).. the High School football coach owned the local 'public' swimming pool. We had one hell of a running back - cept, problem was, this fella was the wrong color to swim at Coach's pool. "Yup, here boy, go get me some yards.. but hells no you ain't swimmin' in my pool." Gosh, he must be proud of himself.
Back to Spring. I know I've written stupid articles on Spring, but screw you (sorry) it's worth repeating! The robins are repetitive so what the hey? Daylight savings (no depression driving home from work as it gets dark.) Shorts soon happen. Women wear less. I don't care, call me a pig - if one can't appreciate the opposite sex - I think it's stupid not to. And I'm certain you women are piggies too and enjoy seeing a decent pair of legs.....
It starts with March Madness... the next step is all the Home Depots, Lowes, etc setting their bedding plants out.. then, bright night lights for the little league snotnoses.. grass growing - ah the smell of freshly cut grass.. We smile more from March to June than we do from November to February (ceptin' maybe Thanksgiving/Christmas time)...
Relationships, as well as flowers, seem to flourish. People look healthier - and to see a reddened face at work Monday morning usually means an accompanying good story is attached to it..
Geez what a contrast if you were to live in Antarctica or Brazil maybe. I wonder if they get a true appreciation of life?
I hope your spring is wonderful. I hope it's filled with smiles, fun and appreciation. I hope you get as excited as I. When they remind us "Spring forward, Fall back" do you think they're referring to depression? (I know I know, it's for the clocks - as well as a reminder to replace your smoke detector batteries <-- please do that one, a smoke detector just saved Gabby's life.)
Oh... remember Gabby? Good person, bad shit happening.. House burned down, she'd saved her deceased daughter's room as it was for the last 10-12 years since she's been gone. All those memories now gone. A nice ending. For hours we searched for cherished items thru the scarred/charred remains. We did find some keepsakes - but we gave up on the one real prize Gabby wanted to find - her daughter's class ring. Lo and behold she came into work Tuesday beaming.. Her pa happened to stop by the 'house'... there glimmering at him was a tiny red stone. He stooped and picked up the class ring. Yeah. Nice to see a good thing happen to a good person.
Spring forward, Fall back.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Cracklin' Rosie........
I've always been a tightass when it comes to purchasing records... I mean 8 tracks... I mean cassettes... ahem, CD's... I really really have to like a band to buy one - or, I have to catch a bigass sale somewhere (Fancy for "I shop Garage Sales")......
I ain't never put a quarter in a juke box and punched in a Neil Diamond song... Not that I don't like him - I do.. My ears just don't crave his stuff.. Yes, I'm certain I've cranked a song or two of his before.. I sing that "You don't bring me flowers" thing to a coworker the next time I see them after we've had a baby tiff..
I got to go see Neil live not long ago... I wasn't drug there (nor did I do drugs there) - and I won't embarrass myself and tell you the last concert I went to... but I went... "Geez Louise where'd all these old people come from?"
It was really, really quite spectacular... I think the last concert all they did was have some gussied up fella come make an introduction(probably the promoter, or maybe some radio jockey who ran out and made us better understand why he'd chosen radio over something visual)... Not Neil... He had a bigass circular stage... Up thru the stage arose a drummer on a pedastol... then another drummer.. Ya wonder if they were smoking dope down there beneath the stage?... "Whereinthehell did all these old people come from?"...
Pretty soon a keyboard man with his piano rose up from the earth.. then an organist... followed closely by a sax... and a trumpeter... aha... there's two guitar players.. Neil? Is that you?... Nope.. not yet.. Then a female "do-wop" singer... and another.. and another... Hell, this is gettin' better than bein' at a Chiefs game singing the National Anthem and ending it with the hearty crowd inserting "and the hooooome of theeeeeee CHIEFFFFFFSSSSS!".....
There were twleve of 'em I think up and a tootin'... Then finally Neil runs out from behind the stage.. Two widescreens zoomed in on him (These suckers were HUGE, bigger than the '68 Studabaker I once owned)..... "Would you look at all the GD (gosh darn) old people here?"
I have a new appreciation for Neil... When going out to get the morning newspaper winds me - I sat amazed as he went for almost three hours non-stop - runnin' all around the damn stage with the spirit and the pep of a 25 year old. (NO DAMMIT, I didn't say he LOOKED 25... He MOVED 25.) "Look at all these damn old people dancing in the aisles!"
The whole damn thing almost made me wanna run to Blockbuster and rent "The Jazz Singer"... I was thoroughly entertained as were the five kind folks I got to go with... I always thought the Monkees wrote that damn "Daydream Believer" but they musta stole it from Neil because he played all his old.. I mean, all his stuff we usedta listen to... "Did you see all the silver haired folks there?"
We parked fairly far away... and followed the other o.. ahm other people out.. A fine evening in my life... Exceptin' for all those damn old people.. Hell, I think most of 'em probably listened to him in the 60's... Geez Louise.... Cracklin' Rosie get onboard...
I ain't never put a quarter in a juke box and punched in a Neil Diamond song... Not that I don't like him - I do.. My ears just don't crave his stuff.. Yes, I'm certain I've cranked a song or two of his before.. I sing that "You don't bring me flowers" thing to a coworker the next time I see them after we've had a baby tiff..
I got to go see Neil live not long ago... I wasn't drug there (nor did I do drugs there) - and I won't embarrass myself and tell you the last concert I went to... but I went... "Geez Louise where'd all these old people come from?"
It was really, really quite spectacular... I think the last concert all they did was have some gussied up fella come make an introduction(probably the promoter, or maybe some radio jockey who ran out and made us better understand why he'd chosen radio over something visual)... Not Neil... He had a bigass circular stage... Up thru the stage arose a drummer on a pedastol... then another drummer.. Ya wonder if they were smoking dope down there beneath the stage?... "Whereinthehell did all these old people come from?"...
Pretty soon a keyboard man with his piano rose up from the earth.. then an organist... followed closely by a sax... and a trumpeter... aha... there's two guitar players.. Neil? Is that you?... Nope.. not yet.. Then a female "do-wop" singer... and another.. and another... Hell, this is gettin' better than bein' at a Chiefs game singing the National Anthem and ending it with the hearty crowd inserting "and the hooooome of theeeeeee CHIEFFFFFFSSSSS!".....
There were twleve of 'em I think up and a tootin'... Then finally Neil runs out from behind the stage.. Two widescreens zoomed in on him (These suckers were HUGE, bigger than the '68 Studabaker I once owned)..... "Would you look at all the GD (gosh darn) old people here?"
I have a new appreciation for Neil... When going out to get the morning newspaper winds me - I sat amazed as he went for almost three hours non-stop - runnin' all around the damn stage with the spirit and the pep of a 25 year old. (NO DAMMIT, I didn't say he LOOKED 25... He MOVED 25.) "Look at all these damn old people dancing in the aisles!"
The whole damn thing almost made me wanna run to Blockbuster and rent "The Jazz Singer"... I was thoroughly entertained as were the five kind folks I got to go with... I always thought the Monkees wrote that damn "Daydream Believer" but they musta stole it from Neil because he played all his old.. I mean, all his stuff we usedta listen to... "Did you see all the silver haired folks there?"
We parked fairly far away... and followed the other o.. ahm other people out.. A fine evening in my life... Exceptin' for all those damn old people.. Hell, I think most of 'em probably listened to him in the 60's... Geez Louise.... Cracklin' Rosie get onboard...
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Moonlighting.......
I listen to a Sport's talk show in Kansas City.... When they talk about an aging athlete, or perhaps a coach with silver running thru his hair - in the background they will play a speech by Walter Brennen with music accompanying it that makes one think it's being recorded from the porch swing of a nursing home...
So...... young folks make fun of old folks, then they become old themselves... and younger folks will make fun of them...
I get along with younger punks - but I wonder if they're 'playing' Walter Brennen thru their brain when we converse... I dunno...
Driving home the other night I was thinking about how I truly believe I 'think' young. I also know how much I abhore red tinted hair, and those people that talk about so and so saying how they look 40 (when they're 54) - or will say "people tell me all the time I don't look my age." To me, that's denial. Fuck it, I don't mind getting old - but I do believe the brain can stay young - which, to me, simply means open.
I was reading the KC paper and there was a quote from ole Bruce Willis..."I remember saying when I was a kid, 50 seemed so old - 50 is, like, your life is over. And I'm in the best shape I've ever been in my life." Bruce, you ignorant slut, if that's so grab your football helmet and pads and let's seeya out on the gridiron some Friday night next fall. Geez! Bruce's denial proably has something to do with persuading potential producers he's still a pup - and that like Rocky - he's ready for any fucking thing they throw his way as long as there's decent lookalike stunt double.
Bruce continued "I think we're all only as old as we feel in our heart. I feel about 24, 25 in my heart." Now THERE.... THAT'S what I'm talking about. To say we are the same physically is one thing - but to say we keep an open mind is quite another...
He then threw out some pretty nice prophetic crap "Even if you live to be 85, it goes by in a click. So if you try to pay attention to each day, and live your life each day, and if you live to be 85, you'll have a lifetime of great memories. That's the plan anyway." So, until I pee my pants and forget my name - I will try to pay attention (stay open minded) so help me God.
I love Cybill Shepherd. I don't think she looks a day over 30. Wonder how old her brain feels?
So...... young folks make fun of old folks, then they become old themselves... and younger folks will make fun of them...
I get along with younger punks - but I wonder if they're 'playing' Walter Brennen thru their brain when we converse... I dunno...
Driving home the other night I was thinking about how I truly believe I 'think' young. I also know how much I abhore red tinted hair, and those people that talk about so and so saying how they look 40 (when they're 54) - or will say "people tell me all the time I don't look my age." To me, that's denial. Fuck it, I don't mind getting old - but I do believe the brain can stay young - which, to me, simply means open.
I was reading the KC paper and there was a quote from ole Bruce Willis..."I remember saying when I was a kid, 50 seemed so old - 50 is, like, your life is over. And I'm in the best shape I've ever been in my life." Bruce, you ignorant slut, if that's so grab your football helmet and pads and let's seeya out on the gridiron some Friday night next fall. Geez! Bruce's denial proably has something to do with persuading potential producers he's still a pup - and that like Rocky - he's ready for any fucking thing they throw his way as long as there's decent lookalike stunt double.
Bruce continued "I think we're all only as old as we feel in our heart. I feel about 24, 25 in my heart." Now THERE.... THAT'S what I'm talking about. To say we are the same physically is one thing - but to say we keep an open mind is quite another...
He then threw out some pretty nice prophetic crap "Even if you live to be 85, it goes by in a click. So if you try to pay attention to each day, and live your life each day, and if you live to be 85, you'll have a lifetime of great memories. That's the plan anyway." So, until I pee my pants and forget my name - I will try to pay attention (stay open minded) so help me God.
I love Cybill Shepherd. I don't think she looks a day over 30. Wonder how old her brain feels?
Friday, March 10, 2006
Do overs......
Ain't that like the spilt milk thing? I don't give a rats... If I could have do-overs, I'd take college more seriously versus engaging in conversations about which Zeta had the nicest butt... We did that enough it probably shoulda been on our transcript - but I can't think of too many realms that woulda helped with....
Please don't laugh. I was voted "friendliest" in the Senior superlatives in high school. I guess I was - but I also felt I was possibly "clique-ish" and that kinda bugs me... If I could do it over, I woulda diversified my friends in high school more.
I woulda studied compound interest. If I woulda put away 10% of every dime I ever made, me thinks I woulda been able to quit working years ago...
Two years... That'd be the MINIMUM I would have lived with someone prior to ever getting married..
More fortitude with Maynard. You remember him.. He's the 20 year old that lives on the couch 24/7 and frequently nurses his Playstation two hand blisters.
Spent more one on one time with my grandparents. Oh we went to visit tons, and we did spend a lot of time together - but what a wonderful way to attach the generations/times.
I woulda been a psychology major insteada a PE major.
I woulda went to a dentist that uses gas and gone more frequently.
I woulda had somebody, ANYBODY, train me in the art of organizing bills, managing my stash...
I woulda been less afraid to ask someone I'd wanted to ask out - out.
Ok, that's just a few... I feel lucky, there are WAY more "glad I did's" than "do-over" wishes.
But I'd love to turn tomorrow into a do-over world. People call me quiet. Laid back. I guess I am - but I prefer to think of it more as measuring the situation, tryin to see from so-and-so's shoes..
God grant me the fortitude to act tomorrow the way I know I should, say the things I know I should.. behave the way I know I should...
We can't go back, but we start anew every day. God give us all these sunrises to fuck things up (Pardon my French... why do they say that? Is fuck really French?).. I only use the word fuck for impact... Yes, it's a disgusting word, but for whatever reason it's like the old EF Hutton commercials - people listen. Victor dammit, you're wondering again... oh, ok, sorry. I vow to start tomorrow not a new me - but, to be/live a 'me' that I will be proud of in the fact I was honest with myself.
We've learned you can't please everyone - but if we can please ourselves without hurting others, then I say what the hey, let's do it.
I'm gonna have to reread this crap, I ain't certain it makes sense! (I'm tired, had a bigass steak/ribs at Texas Roadhouse...two beers... it's almost 1am.. I think that "posted time" is like friggin Hawaii time or something - it's always wrong.)
Happy Saturday. If you're off, live it without having to lay down Saturday night and wishing you had do-overs. If you have to work - make it a goal to plant a smile on someone's face that ain't got one. Compliment someone. Buy something for a dollar for someone to let them know you're thinking of them. Call an old friend. Call a new friend. Plant a flower. Get out in nature. Lay on your back in bed for ten minutes and think good thoughts.
Oh yeah, have sex, that usually helps too... no?
Please don't laugh. I was voted "friendliest" in the Senior superlatives in high school. I guess I was - but I also felt I was possibly "clique-ish" and that kinda bugs me... If I could do it over, I woulda diversified my friends in high school more.
I woulda studied compound interest. If I woulda put away 10% of every dime I ever made, me thinks I woulda been able to quit working years ago...
Two years... That'd be the MINIMUM I would have lived with someone prior to ever getting married..
More fortitude with Maynard. You remember him.. He's the 20 year old that lives on the couch 24/7 and frequently nurses his Playstation two hand blisters.
Spent more one on one time with my grandparents. Oh we went to visit tons, and we did spend a lot of time together - but what a wonderful way to attach the generations/times.
I woulda been a psychology major insteada a PE major.
I woulda went to a dentist that uses gas and gone more frequently.
I woulda had somebody, ANYBODY, train me in the art of organizing bills, managing my stash...
I woulda been less afraid to ask someone I'd wanted to ask out - out.
Ok, that's just a few... I feel lucky, there are WAY more "glad I did's" than "do-over" wishes.
But I'd love to turn tomorrow into a do-over world. People call me quiet. Laid back. I guess I am - but I prefer to think of it more as measuring the situation, tryin to see from so-and-so's shoes..
God grant me the fortitude to act tomorrow the way I know I should, say the things I know I should.. behave the way I know I should...
We can't go back, but we start anew every day. God give us all these sunrises to fuck things up (Pardon my French... why do they say that? Is fuck really French?).. I only use the word fuck for impact... Yes, it's a disgusting word, but for whatever reason it's like the old EF Hutton commercials - people listen. Victor dammit, you're wondering again... oh, ok, sorry. I vow to start tomorrow not a new me - but, to be/live a 'me' that I will be proud of in the fact I was honest with myself.
We've learned you can't please everyone - but if we can please ourselves without hurting others, then I say what the hey, let's do it.
I'm gonna have to reread this crap, I ain't certain it makes sense! (I'm tired, had a bigass steak/ribs at Texas Roadhouse...two beers... it's almost 1am.. I think that "posted time" is like friggin Hawaii time or something - it's always wrong.)
Happy Saturday. If you're off, live it without having to lay down Saturday night and wishing you had do-overs. If you have to work - make it a goal to plant a smile on someone's face that ain't got one. Compliment someone. Buy something for a dollar for someone to let them know you're thinking of them. Call an old friend. Call a new friend. Plant a flower. Get out in nature. Lay on your back in bed for ten minutes and think good thoughts.
Oh yeah, have sex, that usually helps too... no?
Thursday, March 09, 2006
There are three kinds of people.....
Those that can add....
and those that can't..........
(Redfacedly [not really] stolen from my buddy Rick.)
and those that can't..........
(Redfacedly [not really] stolen from my buddy Rick.)
The hell makes you smile?
At lunch yesterday there was this reasonably pretty waitress (happened to be Mexican if that matters.. does it matter?.. would I'a said "happened to be a white chick" if she'da been a white chick?).. wherethehell was I... oh yeah, this waitress lady... The entire time (from greeting us, to taking our order, to taking Gabby's order back to the cooks THREE times to get it right, to taking our money) she did nothing but smile. Had I been in a group of just males I think I woulda said "man, that chick must get laid EVERY night because she never does ANYTHING but smile." Oh wait, I forgot, I did say that.
I'd like to think I smile a lot. I guess I never smile when I see myself (mirror) 'cause I keep looking for a 20 year stallion to smile back to me and the fugger is never there!..
How good does it feel to see a smile winged your way? To me, it's very good. If it's an acquantance, it must mean "hey, I've enjoyed our interaction." If it's a mate, it must mean "Damn you were wonderful in bed last night" (or, in my case "geez, I really liked the Sloppy Joes you cooked"!)...
Off the top of my head (yes, screw you all there IS still hair there) here's a quick list of what makes me smile EVERY TIME I think of them:
Buck O'Neil.. The Governor on Best Little Whorehouse... Barney Fife... Driving by a little league game, seeing the batter hit the ball as parents rise to their feet and make grunting noises so unlike any noise they ever make in their normal life...
The rare occasions where I say something to a friend, mate, co-worker and it plants a smile on their face... Elements of surprise... An email from a friend.. Taking a drive to places that ain't hardly been fugged up by man... Daydreaming about past good times... Reliving moments when I could run like the wind versus the current run and breakwind thing I do!... When good happens to a good person...
A Dairy Queen Peanut Buster Parfait... Someone enjoying their life...
Allright... Enough with the happy shit. What kinda shit makes you happy? Tune in tomorrow when the topic will be "what kinda shit makes you horny?"... Ok, teasing. Mebbe.
I'd like to think I smile a lot. I guess I never smile when I see myself (mirror) 'cause I keep looking for a 20 year stallion to smile back to me and the fugger is never there!..
How good does it feel to see a smile winged your way? To me, it's very good. If it's an acquantance, it must mean "hey, I've enjoyed our interaction." If it's a mate, it must mean "Damn you were wonderful in bed last night" (or, in my case "geez, I really liked the Sloppy Joes you cooked"!)...
Off the top of my head (yes, screw you all there IS still hair there) here's a quick list of what makes me smile EVERY TIME I think of them:
Buck O'Neil.. The Governor on Best Little Whorehouse... Barney Fife... Driving by a little league game, seeing the batter hit the ball as parents rise to their feet and make grunting noises so unlike any noise they ever make in their normal life...
The rare occasions where I say something to a friend, mate, co-worker and it plants a smile on their face... Elements of surprise... An email from a friend.. Taking a drive to places that ain't hardly been fugged up by man... Daydreaming about past good times... Reliving moments when I could run like the wind versus the current run and breakwind thing I do!... When good happens to a good person...
A Dairy Queen Peanut Buster Parfait... Someone enjoying their life...
Allright... Enough with the happy shit. What kinda shit makes you happy? Tune in tomorrow when the topic will be "what kinda shit makes you horny?"... Ok, teasing. Mebbe.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
I find it funny........
(I've told you 47 times, we'll be the judge of what is funny..... Oh yeah, sorry)
I hate it when old people tell me something like they're experts or something just because they've been around the block a time or two. However (haha), if you're 20 you won't understand this shit... or 30... maybe even 39. I'm old, I've been around the block - but the block I'm talking about includes taking wrong turns.. or, mebbe coming to a T, or something that broke up 'walk'.
It is the goal in the beginning of any relationship to not have it end. Yes dammit, I realize 20-somethings and 30-somethings will understand that... Do I have to get right to the point?
Ok, relationships end. Always. Some are lucky in that they last 60+ years and they were happy as hell. Some are sad in that they lasted 60+ years and they were miserable as hell. Some last 20 years, some less... some only months... Some end due to death, some due to divorce, some due to carrying thru on the urge we all have to "boink" someone else.. Many reasons.... Workaholics, alcoholics, mid-life crisis, emotional abuse, physical abuse, family strain, yada yada yada.
Sometimes we in the 50 percentile from failed marriages, get back on the damn horse again. Listen up sonny... this is where you are wet behind the ears. It's different later in life.
As creatures of habit - we, in general, become weird. We're usedto doing this like that, and that like this. We meet someone, they do that like that and it's different.
Recipes, the roads we take from point A to point B, what time we wake up... how many or how little covers we use on the bed.. what the thermostat is set at.. When we divo and when we don't... buying habits.. sets of friends. I would say church differences, but those that attend with regularity probably stopped reading after the first "shit" I typed.
Young, wide-eyed relationships are jointly molded - like clay in an artist's hands. One eye is dead ahead, the other is on the mate seeing how he/she is going at it and coming to a mutually acceptable end. End to whatever it is. TV shows, blankets, thermostats, what time for breakfast (or do we even have it), who drives, what bank we go to, what grocery store, what favorite restaurants, her friends/his friends become our friends.
When ur old, the shit gets rougher. A caring (longterm relationship) cousin recently wrote "Some days the other is perfect, some days the faults so glaring you wonder what the hell you were thinking. That's why most marriages fail, panic sets in at this point when in reality, it's when you get your butt going and work it out with the other, in my humble opinion. Of course "blank" (<-- insert cousin inlaw name there) and I have been working it out for years now but what we've ended up with is amazing."
Wise words, and I can see the artwork from the molded clay. But... ya ever seen clay that's been around for a long time? Yeah, it's hardened. If you take two piles of it and try to mesh it together, all ya usually get is clumps. Ohhh no, it's toooo longa process to reheat the clay, train it allover again to mold so nicely. I'm tired, I think I'll switch to a different medium and we'll just have two clay 'statues'.
The friend at work whose house just burnt down, by default (kinda sorta) just moved in with her fiance. They're in their 40's. She's been divorced for a long damn time (17 yrs I think).. he lost his longterm wife to cancer a few years back. The other night he emerged from the kitchen searching for such-n-such utensil. Gabby (we'll call her) remembered she had put it away after cooking (and cleaning) the night before.. "Here honey, it's in here." "GOD DAMMIT, I'VE BEEN PUTTING such-n-such RIGHT IN HERE (a different place than where she'd put it) FOR 150 YEARS." My first thought there was "holy shit, can he still get it up at age 150?" My second thought was "criminy, no wonder fugging Social Security is running out." But, hopefully you get the point.
Don't get me wrong - the opportunity to love again is wonderful - but it can be exceedingly harder with more wrinkled, hardened clay. You don't crave 'yesterday' because you know yesterdays never happen and even if they could you don't want them. You don't want pity, instead you just get the urge to snap your fingers and make everything all better and for the whole process to come to a perfect, meshed end. It's just that we've taken a long time to become who we've become - and when there's a different face you're waking up to - it can be hard. Yes, it's good, yes it's hard. I think REM's don't lie. A few times I've unintentionally awakened Gracie and when her eyes met mine you'da thought a burgler had broken into the bedroom. We're clay, or noodles, or concrete. I mean holy shit, I'm slow with numbers and I think I've finally just memorized both the cell and the home numbers. If I ever have to call her at work that'll mean getting out the 2.25 magnification specs and using the phone book. See, you young shits know NOTHING about phone book struggles either.
Side note... don't ever tell anyone you just lit a cigarette when there was a half smoked one still going in the ash tray. Ok, I won't.
I don't know the motive or reason I wrote this. Well, I guess I got the idea from Gabby's story at work - but it really makes one stand back and say "yeah, sometimes I know what you mean."
Yes dear cousin, I too know what your words mean and how appreciative I am of the view from your shoes - and how any of us in this boat (old fart's starting anew) really believe we too tried knew all about that "some days ya thnk they're perfect, some days you think 'what was i a thinkin'.
I don't like the thought of being all-knowing in this scenerio. Sure, we all woulda rather had our lives have had one relationship (just like my folks, maybe yours too) - but it didn't happen thataway. I, unfortunately know more about being old and set in my ways than you youngs turds... and, some of you beautiful people who've walked hand in hand with the same mate while Crow's feet and age spots are setting in ALSO know less about what it's like in a 2nd (or 3rd or 4th) chance relationship (and God bless your for that.) All we ask is openmindedness and understanding (in spite of the fact we in this boat usually ain't openminded and we're in too biga damn hurry to be understanding!)
I love waking up. I love going to sleep. I love looking at the bright smile staring back at me. I love a good kiss. I love a good snuggle or sharing a movie, or cooking a meal for the other. It can be very rewarding. Many aspects can be even better.
I'm going to put my house slippers on now... walk outside, smoke another cig (yes dammit, the 2nd one I lit is long gone by now.).. so... have a great evening....
GD (GOSH DARNIT,) WHEREINTHEHELL ARE MY HOUSE SLIPPERS? (Geez, can you imagine how those puppies must smell after 150 years?)
I hate it when old people tell me something like they're experts or something just because they've been around the block a time or two. However (haha), if you're 20 you won't understand this shit... or 30... maybe even 39. I'm old, I've been around the block - but the block I'm talking about includes taking wrong turns.. or, mebbe coming to a T, or something that broke up 'walk'.
It is the goal in the beginning of any relationship to not have it end. Yes dammit, I realize 20-somethings and 30-somethings will understand that... Do I have to get right to the point?
Ok, relationships end. Always. Some are lucky in that they last 60+ years and they were happy as hell. Some are sad in that they lasted 60+ years and they were miserable as hell. Some last 20 years, some less... some only months... Some end due to death, some due to divorce, some due to carrying thru on the urge we all have to "boink" someone else.. Many reasons.... Workaholics, alcoholics, mid-life crisis, emotional abuse, physical abuse, family strain, yada yada yada.
Sometimes we in the 50 percentile from failed marriages, get back on the damn horse again. Listen up sonny... this is where you are wet behind the ears. It's different later in life.
As creatures of habit - we, in general, become weird. We're usedto doing this like that, and that like this. We meet someone, they do that like that and it's different.
Recipes, the roads we take from point A to point B, what time we wake up... how many or how little covers we use on the bed.. what the thermostat is set at.. When we divo and when we don't... buying habits.. sets of friends. I would say church differences, but those that attend with regularity probably stopped reading after the first "shit" I typed.
Young, wide-eyed relationships are jointly molded - like clay in an artist's hands. One eye is dead ahead, the other is on the mate seeing how he/she is going at it and coming to a mutually acceptable end. End to whatever it is. TV shows, blankets, thermostats, what time for breakfast (or do we even have it), who drives, what bank we go to, what grocery store, what favorite restaurants, her friends/his friends become our friends.
When ur old, the shit gets rougher. A caring (longterm relationship) cousin recently wrote "Some days the other is perfect, some days the faults so glaring you wonder what the hell you were thinking. That's why most marriages fail, panic sets in at this point when in reality, it's when you get your butt going and work it out with the other, in my humble opinion. Of course "blank" (<-- insert cousin inlaw name there) and I have been working it out for years now but what we've ended up with is amazing."
Wise words, and I can see the artwork from the molded clay. But... ya ever seen clay that's been around for a long time? Yeah, it's hardened. If you take two piles of it and try to mesh it together, all ya usually get is clumps. Ohhh no, it's toooo longa process to reheat the clay, train it allover again to mold so nicely. I'm tired, I think I'll switch to a different medium and we'll just have two clay 'statues'.
The friend at work whose house just burnt down, by default (kinda sorta) just moved in with her fiance. They're in their 40's. She's been divorced for a long damn time (17 yrs I think).. he lost his longterm wife to cancer a few years back. The other night he emerged from the kitchen searching for such-n-such utensil. Gabby (we'll call her) remembered she had put it away after cooking (and cleaning) the night before.. "Here honey, it's in here." "GOD DAMMIT, I'VE BEEN PUTTING such-n-such RIGHT IN HERE (a different place than where she'd put it) FOR 150 YEARS." My first thought there was "holy shit, can he still get it up at age 150?" My second thought was "criminy, no wonder fugging Social Security is running out." But, hopefully you get the point.
Don't get me wrong - the opportunity to love again is wonderful - but it can be exceedingly harder with more wrinkled, hardened clay. You don't crave 'yesterday' because you know yesterdays never happen and even if they could you don't want them. You don't want pity, instead you just get the urge to snap your fingers and make everything all better and for the whole process to come to a perfect, meshed end. It's just that we've taken a long time to become who we've become - and when there's a different face you're waking up to - it can be hard. Yes, it's good, yes it's hard. I think REM's don't lie. A few times I've unintentionally awakened Gracie and when her eyes met mine you'da thought a burgler had broken into the bedroom. We're clay, or noodles, or concrete. I mean holy shit, I'm slow with numbers and I think I've finally just memorized both the cell and the home numbers. If I ever have to call her at work that'll mean getting out the 2.25 magnification specs and using the phone book. See, you young shits know NOTHING about phone book struggles either.
Side note... don't ever tell anyone you just lit a cigarette when there was a half smoked one still going in the ash tray. Ok, I won't.
I don't know the motive or reason I wrote this. Well, I guess I got the idea from Gabby's story at work - but it really makes one stand back and say "yeah, sometimes I know what you mean."
Yes dear cousin, I too know what your words mean and how appreciative I am of the view from your shoes - and how any of us in this boat (old fart's starting anew) really believe we too tried knew all about that "some days ya thnk they're perfect, some days you think 'what was i a thinkin'.
I don't like the thought of being all-knowing in this scenerio. Sure, we all woulda rather had our lives have had one relationship (just like my folks, maybe yours too) - but it didn't happen thataway. I, unfortunately know more about being old and set in my ways than you youngs turds... and, some of you beautiful people who've walked hand in hand with the same mate while Crow's feet and age spots are setting in ALSO know less about what it's like in a 2nd (or 3rd or 4th) chance relationship (and God bless your for that.) All we ask is openmindedness and understanding (in spite of the fact we in this boat usually ain't openminded and we're in too biga damn hurry to be understanding!)
I love waking up. I love going to sleep. I love looking at the bright smile staring back at me. I love a good kiss. I love a good snuggle or sharing a movie, or cooking a meal for the other. It can be very rewarding. Many aspects can be even better.
I'm going to put my house slippers on now... walk outside, smoke another cig (yes dammit, the 2nd one I lit is long gone by now.).. so... have a great evening....
GD (GOSH DARNIT,) WHEREINTHEHELL ARE MY HOUSE SLIPPERS? (Geez, can you imagine how those puppies must smell after 150 years?)
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Hup two-three-four....
My father was the most wonderful independent cuss I ever knew. Lived where he wanted, when he wanted, worked where he wanted, when he wanted - pretty much did whatever he wanted - yet balanced the role of hubby/father quite decently.
Months (possibly years) after he shoulda been put in to a full-time care facility - his Parkinsons had deteriorated the 'old him' to the point it was mandatory one day at age 81. He didn't spend a full night there.. Massive heart attack - passed in the hospital some days later. That's independence.
Wow would you believe it's been handed down? Recently helped 'Gracie' move 3400 sq foot of stuff across town into a 2100 sq foot house. That, in and of itself, presents problems - but that's a side point. (And a walking path point, and a front yard point, and a front porch point.)
"Say, I'd like for you to......" Wait! Stymie halt - DON'T GO THERE. "I will do what I want, when I want" said my father's son. It's now kinda become a joke - but too it's sincere.
I've heard George Toma's yard has weeds. I don't personally know George - but he's a nationally renowned "Baseball Diamond/Football Field fixer-upper." The Super Bowl calls him every year months in advance to come "spiff up" the field. George's lush, green, patternistic, finely manicured baseball field at old Municipal Stadium in Kansas City went far in planting the love of sports from the view of this 9 year old's shoes. Victor, you're off the topic again. "Hush, dammit, I'll write whatever I want, whenever I want."
I envision George's wife told him "George, there's weeds in our yard. Would you go out and attend to them?" It's my belief George is independent too, thus, his yard has weeds.
Arrive at work daily. They have this 'wonderful' GD (gosh darn) gizmo that we must enter our PIN #, place our hand in pegged contraption... it somehow records our palm print, and the powers that be in the HR Department don't have to record anything, nor peek in the parking lot to see whose car is there, whose isn't.
This is followed shortly thereafter by a way too loud loudspeaker announcement "GOOD MORNING, IT'S NOW 8 O'CLOCK. (In my independence, I'm reminded of a story of my dear cousin and his buddy [who happened to be black] walking into a grocery store in the state of Kansas at precisely 12:05 am to buy a handy six-pack. Arriving at the checkout at exactly 12:07 am the clerk looked them in the eye and said "It's 12:07am." WHAT? KW beckoned? "It's 12;07am" inferring 'huh-uh, you can't buy beer past midnight. KW's murmured reply was "God damn, didn't wanna know what time it is, I just wanted a six pack." "GOOD MORNING, IT'S NOW 8AM" followed closely by "GD (gosh darn) didn't wanna know what time it is... I just wanted to check my email."
Smoke, we can take a 15 minute smoke break between the hours of 9:30am and 10:30am.. as well as between the hours of 2:30pm and 3:30pm... This is why my father has trained me to sneak out at 8:48am, 11:15am, 2:07pm and 3:59pm daily for a cigarette.
If we time in too early (I think there's a 7 minute cushion - we possibly could get an email stating "You timed in too early, we'll need you to time out at 4:55pm tonight".. That's about the only "Say, I'd like for you to ...." I comply with - still I do so as the ole blood pressure rises.
We walk to the damn hand machine nightly shortly after the "IT IS NOW 5 O'CLOCK" announcement. GD (gosh darn) didn't wanna know what time it is... I just wanted to head home and fetch a handy six pack along the way.
Have too's... Must do's... Be here at such-n-such time... Leave at such-n-such time. I hate em. I have a moronic dream of selling all, buying a Chinook (<-- do they still make 'em?) and driving across the contiguous 48 until I was almost outta money.. almost outta food... and finding a temporary job to work as long or as short as I want - to get me gas, food to get to the next town I wanted to stop at.
Lazy? To again quote my gorgeous stepson "Not no's but hell's no." I got a wonderful raise last year thanks in part to a letter a coworker wrote to the brass on my behalf. They know me, they pretty much (except for the damn hand thing and the annoying time announcements) leave me alone to do what I do. In return I give them an honest day's work. Well, ceptin' checking my email and seeing what's the latest on CNN.com occasionally.
Side note... Aye yai yai Victor, can't you hold a thought? "I'LL HOLD ANY DAMN THOUGHT I WANT AS LONG OR AS SHORT AS I WANT." We have the post-poop spray in the bathrooms at work - somewhat of a modern day replacement of the old wooden matches I so fondly remember in my grandparent's squatter. This stuff is strong - and one or two squirts turns an ugly constitution into April Flowers. Well, someone bent the spray nozzle of the can in the footsoldier bathroom at work and it wouldn't spray. The brass were all outta town attending some convention (golfing) so..... I went to the Executive Squatter with bent nozzled April Flower can in hand... Switched it for the Vanilla Breeze can in theirs... and returned Vanilla Breeze to the footsoldier bathroom with an independent smile on my face. Besides, theirs doesn't stink anyways, so they don't need it!
I tend to thrive on "you can't do that" - "watch me." All of our rules were established post Adam and Eve. Somewhere along the way each and every social norm, "the right way" was put in place. At one time, those ways weren't in place. I love Rosa Parks for not going with "the way." I kinda admire the chick at work with the tatooed ring around her ankle. I love the skateboarders "don't care about what so-and-so thinks of me" attitude.
GOOD MORNING IT'S 8AM. We're all in our places with sunshiney faces. Well, ceptin' Jana, she comes anywhere from 8:07am to 8:20am daily. I love her for that - yes, she pays, but it's her way.
Have a happy day, and IT'S NOW 10:35AM AND I'M QUITTING WRITING FOR THE DAY. Gotta problem with that?
Months (possibly years) after he shoulda been put in to a full-time care facility - his Parkinsons had deteriorated the 'old him' to the point it was mandatory one day at age 81. He didn't spend a full night there.. Massive heart attack - passed in the hospital some days later. That's independence.
Wow would you believe it's been handed down? Recently helped 'Gracie' move 3400 sq foot of stuff across town into a 2100 sq foot house. That, in and of itself, presents problems - but that's a side point. (And a walking path point, and a front yard point, and a front porch point.)
"Say, I'd like for you to......" Wait! Stymie halt - DON'T GO THERE. "I will do what I want, when I want" said my father's son. It's now kinda become a joke - but too it's sincere.
I've heard George Toma's yard has weeds. I don't personally know George - but he's a nationally renowned "Baseball Diamond/Football Field fixer-upper." The Super Bowl calls him every year months in advance to come "spiff up" the field. George's lush, green, patternistic, finely manicured baseball field at old Municipal Stadium in Kansas City went far in planting the love of sports from the view of this 9 year old's shoes. Victor, you're off the topic again. "Hush, dammit, I'll write whatever I want, whenever I want."
I envision George's wife told him "George, there's weeds in our yard. Would you go out and attend to them?" It's my belief George is independent too, thus, his yard has weeds.
Arrive at work daily. They have this 'wonderful' GD (gosh darn) gizmo that we must enter our PIN #, place our hand in pegged contraption... it somehow records our palm print, and the powers that be in the HR Department don't have to record anything, nor peek in the parking lot to see whose car is there, whose isn't.
This is followed shortly thereafter by a way too loud loudspeaker announcement "GOOD MORNING, IT'S NOW 8 O'CLOCK. (In my independence, I'm reminded of a story of my dear cousin and his buddy [who happened to be black] walking into a grocery store in the state of Kansas at precisely 12:05 am to buy a handy six-pack. Arriving at the checkout at exactly 12:07 am the clerk looked them in the eye and said "It's 12:07am." WHAT? KW beckoned? "It's 12;07am" inferring 'huh-uh, you can't buy beer past midnight. KW's murmured reply was "God damn, didn't wanna know what time it is, I just wanted a six pack." "GOOD MORNING, IT'S NOW 8AM" followed closely by "GD (gosh darn) didn't wanna know what time it is... I just wanted to check my email."
Smoke, we can take a 15 minute smoke break between the hours of 9:30am and 10:30am.. as well as between the hours of 2:30pm and 3:30pm... This is why my father has trained me to sneak out at 8:48am, 11:15am, 2:07pm and 3:59pm daily for a cigarette.
If we time in too early (I think there's a 7 minute cushion - we possibly could get an email stating "You timed in too early, we'll need you to time out at 4:55pm tonight".. That's about the only "Say, I'd like for you to ...." I comply with - still I do so as the ole blood pressure rises.
We walk to the damn hand machine nightly shortly after the "IT IS NOW 5 O'CLOCK" announcement. GD (gosh darn) didn't wanna know what time it is... I just wanted to head home and fetch a handy six pack along the way.
Have too's... Must do's... Be here at such-n-such time... Leave at such-n-such time. I hate em. I have a moronic dream of selling all, buying a Chinook (<-- do they still make 'em?) and driving across the contiguous 48 until I was almost outta money.. almost outta food... and finding a temporary job to work as long or as short as I want - to get me gas, food to get to the next town I wanted to stop at.
Lazy? To again quote my gorgeous stepson "Not no's but hell's no." I got a wonderful raise last year thanks in part to a letter a coworker wrote to the brass on my behalf. They know me, they pretty much (except for the damn hand thing and the annoying time announcements) leave me alone to do what I do. In return I give them an honest day's work. Well, ceptin' checking my email and seeing what's the latest on CNN.com occasionally.
Side note... Aye yai yai Victor, can't you hold a thought? "I'LL HOLD ANY DAMN THOUGHT I WANT AS LONG OR AS SHORT AS I WANT." We have the post-poop spray in the bathrooms at work - somewhat of a modern day replacement of the old wooden matches I so fondly remember in my grandparent's squatter. This stuff is strong - and one or two squirts turns an ugly constitution into April Flowers. Well, someone bent the spray nozzle of the can in the footsoldier bathroom at work and it wouldn't spray. The brass were all outta town attending some convention (golfing) so..... I went to the Executive Squatter with bent nozzled April Flower can in hand... Switched it for the Vanilla Breeze can in theirs... and returned Vanilla Breeze to the footsoldier bathroom with an independent smile on my face. Besides, theirs doesn't stink anyways, so they don't need it!
I tend to thrive on "you can't do that" - "watch me." All of our rules were established post Adam and Eve. Somewhere along the way each and every social norm, "the right way" was put in place. At one time, those ways weren't in place. I love Rosa Parks for not going with "the way." I kinda admire the chick at work with the tatooed ring around her ankle. I love the skateboarders "don't care about what so-and-so thinks of me" attitude.
GOOD MORNING IT'S 8AM. We're all in our places with sunshiney faces. Well, ceptin' Jana, she comes anywhere from 8:07am to 8:20am daily. I love her for that - yes, she pays, but it's her way.
Have a happy day, and IT'S NOW 10:35AM AND I'M QUITTING WRITING FOR THE DAY. Gotta problem with that?
Sunday, February 26, 2006
M I A GO'N 2 L?
The never ending story... bad shit happens to good people... Gal at work, GREAT gal... "Giver" with a Capital G... She'd truly loanya her last buck.. A couple nights back, her house burnt to the ground.. A few years back, she lost her only child to a wicked disease... She'd left her room as is.. Now that's all gone.. Bad shit, good people... Why?
Twelve of us from work spent Saturday morning digging thru the charred, damp remains of what was left of her house... We did manage to find some old pictures of her daughter... and a few articles of clothing... beyond that, everything was history..
Twas in the middle of a sub-division, no place to pee... even us males... So.. we all fetched a ride in Johnny's car to the closest gas station... I was first in to the urinal, first back into the car.. Sitting in the back seat, I noticed John-boy had a copy of the Entertainment Book... (It's a coupon thing, "buy one get one" for a specific Metropolitan area... At work, I once was called the "coupon queen" <-- I shoulda smacked the chick that said it!) Anyways... John=boy lives some 30+ miles from me... The coupon book is for the entire Metro area... I opened it up, without blinking clipped out the "buy one get one" to my favorite hometown diner without so much as a peep to Johnny. M I A GO'N 2 L? The hell, he never travels to my hometown - and I woulda been perceived as 'low rent' had I asked for the coupon... So.. I took it... Kiped we usedta call it... M I A GO'N 2 L?
After 5 hours of being on hands and knees digging thru the debris, went home... tracked in ash.. got my ash yelled at (said lovingly.. it was pointed out... i wasn't yelled at)...
Then... went to casino.... I am somewhat addicted to $3 blackjack at the local joint. (You lying asshole, you are a bonified addict <-- Ok, maybe you're right)... Anyways, I had a $10 bet out... I "doubled down", ie, increased my bet to $20... I won.. She paid me $20... she got to talking to players... lost her train of thought.. In the meantime, she said "hey, I didn't pay you guys."... By this time, I'd taken my $40 back... placed a $15 bet... when she came around to me she made me put $15 more $$'s up... then she proceeded to pay me $30 for that... and I sat there and didn't say a word... M I A GO'N 2 L?
The goof I was setting next to also 'swindled' the casino without fessing up they'd made a mistake... A few hands later, I turned ot him and said "I think we better go to Church tomorrow."... "Yes, I think you're correct" he giggled..
Funny thing. Today is yesterday's tomorrow. I did go to church today.. Great nephew's Baptism.. Twas a nice ceremony, even had dessert after.. Inbetweengst they took audience requests for numbers to sing outta the hymnal.. Hell, lighting was bad, I can't sing, couldn't see... so I was anxious to get that part over with (Ceptin' "Amazing Grace"... I knew mosta that one.) My anxiousness to get the audience requests over with made me feel guilty...
On the way home... Twenty minute drive... They had the Live version of the Eagles "Hotel California" a playin'... I cranked it... then cranked it s'more... The words came out "warm smell of coitis" but I didn't care... I got-ta feeling guilty again... M I A GO'N 2 L?
Twelve of us from work spent Saturday morning digging thru the charred, damp remains of what was left of her house... We did manage to find some old pictures of her daughter... and a few articles of clothing... beyond that, everything was history..
Twas in the middle of a sub-division, no place to pee... even us males... So.. we all fetched a ride in Johnny's car to the closest gas station... I was first in to the urinal, first back into the car.. Sitting in the back seat, I noticed John-boy had a copy of the Entertainment Book... (It's a coupon thing, "buy one get one" for a specific Metropolitan area... At work, I once was called the "coupon queen" <-- I shoulda smacked the chick that said it!) Anyways... John=boy lives some 30+ miles from me... The coupon book is for the entire Metro area... I opened it up, without blinking clipped out the "buy one get one" to my favorite hometown diner without so much as a peep to Johnny. M I A GO'N 2 L? The hell, he never travels to my hometown - and I woulda been perceived as 'low rent' had I asked for the coupon... So.. I took it... Kiped we usedta call it... M I A GO'N 2 L?
After 5 hours of being on hands and knees digging thru the debris, went home... tracked in ash.. got my ash yelled at (said lovingly.. it was pointed out... i wasn't yelled at)...
Then... went to casino.... I am somewhat addicted to $3 blackjack at the local joint. (You lying asshole, you are a bonified addict <-- Ok, maybe you're right)... Anyways, I had a $10 bet out... I "doubled down", ie, increased my bet to $20... I won.. She paid me $20... she got to talking to players... lost her train of thought.. In the meantime, she said "hey, I didn't pay you guys."... By this time, I'd taken my $40 back... placed a $15 bet... when she came around to me she made me put $15 more $$'s up... then she proceeded to pay me $30 for that... and I sat there and didn't say a word... M I A GO'N 2 L?
The goof I was setting next to also 'swindled' the casino without fessing up they'd made a mistake... A few hands later, I turned ot him and said "I think we better go to Church tomorrow."... "Yes, I think you're correct" he giggled..
Funny thing. Today is yesterday's tomorrow. I did go to church today.. Great nephew's Baptism.. Twas a nice ceremony, even had dessert after.. Inbetweengst they took audience requests for numbers to sing outta the hymnal.. Hell, lighting was bad, I can't sing, couldn't see... so I was anxious to get that part over with (Ceptin' "Amazing Grace"... I knew mosta that one.) My anxiousness to get the audience requests over with made me feel guilty...
On the way home... Twenty minute drive... They had the Live version of the Eagles "Hotel California" a playin'... I cranked it... then cranked it s'more... The words came out "warm smell of coitis" but I didn't care... I got-ta feeling guilty again... M I A GO'N 2 L?
Thursday, September 29, 2005
fall....
Ain't it wonderful? After months and months of coming in from outside to stand in the way of the fan - or, to catch a snippet of AC... it's a tremendous feeling to "want" a jacket.
Life's cycle continues... Clockwork... Why is it, as our eyes age and become weeker we simultaneously become more attuned and appreciative of such changes? Ya think it's because we know that day where we won't be able to do all that is beckoning? Eh, I dunno.
It's probably only because we know winter is not far behind and we better suckup the good days whilst we can. I always wanted Florida. Something about a decorated palm tree just doesn't ring true for Christmas though.. Two piece binkini's in the Piggly Wiggly - yes... Illuminated coconuts - no. Give and take huh?
So, I'm gonna let them eyeballs feast on the changing of the trees... The football lights in the distance... Finding the jacket from last year and seeing if it still grades out on today's style... Folding and putting away shorts to a place I'll remember come May... wondering if my 36" waist will still fit in them the next time. Wouldn't it be great to HAVE to buy new 34" ones next year? Yeah, right.
Daylight Savings coming to an end. Shit. Dark is depressing. Unless of course there are two to share dark. Mebbe that's why so many babies are conceived during this time.. Kinda bassackwards to athletics. When you're young, you smooch and bear the fruit of a snotnose. IE, you practice, then you have the real game. When your older, you push 'the real game' out of the nest, then you practice! Hooray for practice. Why does 98.6 + 98.6 feel warmer?
Work beckons. Shit. Nah, I actually love work. Been the constant in my life for the last few years. Now, adding ingredients to that recipe of life. Even though I can't cook worth a crap - I'm enjoying the meal!
Have fun with your life cycle. Stick your tongue out at the little things and gasp and record the wonderful things. Save room for dessert too. Happy day.
Life's cycle continues... Clockwork... Why is it, as our eyes age and become weeker we simultaneously become more attuned and appreciative of such changes? Ya think it's because we know that day where we won't be able to do all that is beckoning? Eh, I dunno.
It's probably only because we know winter is not far behind and we better suckup the good days whilst we can. I always wanted Florida. Something about a decorated palm tree just doesn't ring true for Christmas though.. Two piece binkini's in the Piggly Wiggly - yes... Illuminated coconuts - no. Give and take huh?
So, I'm gonna let them eyeballs feast on the changing of the trees... The football lights in the distance... Finding the jacket from last year and seeing if it still grades out on today's style... Folding and putting away shorts to a place I'll remember come May... wondering if my 36" waist will still fit in them the next time. Wouldn't it be great to HAVE to buy new 34" ones next year? Yeah, right.
Daylight Savings coming to an end. Shit. Dark is depressing. Unless of course there are two to share dark. Mebbe that's why so many babies are conceived during this time.. Kinda bassackwards to athletics. When you're young, you smooch and bear the fruit of a snotnose. IE, you practice, then you have the real game. When your older, you push 'the real game' out of the nest, then you practice! Hooray for practice. Why does 98.6 + 98.6 feel warmer?
Work beckons. Shit. Nah, I actually love work. Been the constant in my life for the last few years. Now, adding ingredients to that recipe of life. Even though I can't cook worth a crap - I'm enjoying the meal!
Have fun with your life cycle. Stick your tongue out at the little things and gasp and record the wonderful things. Save room for dessert too. Happy day.
Monday, September 19, 2005
"Throw 'em in the River"
Circa the "Animal House" years... oh, roughly 1974... Twelve of us, "Alligator snap-snap" fraternity buds... The Alligator snap-snap came from one of my airline buddies and I think it inferred "uppity, rich, and arrogant." HA, whilst it was an expensive college - 80% of us were on financial aid...
Anyways, us twelve heathens decided to have a cold one... so, we grabbed the one fraternity brother that actually was 21, piled into an old cargo van and headed for the River.. Good times, great stories, brothers.
Long about the fourth beer, shit, up pulls the local Sugar Creek Police... There we were, twelve of us, tossing beer after full beer into the river... Our van was now empty, no evidence. The bright bright light shining into our eyes - we were lined up in a row for Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane and Enos to interrogate us...
"HOW OLD ARE YOU?" Roscoe scoldingly looked at the unlucky first brother in line... "21 Sir."... Moving to his right "HOW OLD ARE YOU?"... "Ahm, 22 Sir."... Further down "AND YOU?" "21 sir.".. and thru the twelve, we spouted back "21 Sir".. "21 Sir"... "22 Sir"... etc.. until the last brother recited his purported age... I'm certain 80% of us had fake ID's justifying our answers.. but Roscoe and Enos didn't ask...
Turning away.. and walking back to his car Roscoe stopped and said "THEN WHATINTHEHELL ARE YOU DOING THROWING AWAY ALL THAT GOOD BEER?"... with that, he and Enos hooted and hawed their way back down the road.. surely eager to get back to the station to fill their brethren in on our story... Oh well, 36 beers tossed into the River is still a lot better than a minor in possession charge.. Pride is hard to swallow but it will go down...
----------------------------------------------------
Son's 13-14 year old Little League team. We were average, in a very very good league... The perennial League Champs whomped up on us EVERY time we played - no matter how well we played. Wouldn't have been so bad 'ceptin for their idiotic chant that always ended "throw 'em in the River" -> referring to us, the Yankees, their opponent. Disgust - and it made you want to kick their booty but our talent prevented us from doing so... Year after year, they threw us in the River.
----------------------------------------------------
Match.com. The very last sentence on my stupid little "advertisement" (or profile, whichever you wanna call it) said "and if I find 'HER', I will throw this thing in the River. (This being the computer.).... I pray, I hope I don't screw this up, because 'HER' is here. In the flesh. Gorgeous gorgeous "Gracie".. (Her nickname).. It's frankly all good - and it's like we've been on a one month date... I know that's drippy and sappy, but tis true. I ain't gonna toss the computer in the River - but thank goodness I'm done with Match.com and the seemingly never ending quest for a mate.
---------------------------------------------------
Drove by that park at the River yesterday... Oh so many great memories of the past.. yet, all the focus for me was today and tomorrow... I like the River...
Anyways, us twelve heathens decided to have a cold one... so, we grabbed the one fraternity brother that actually was 21, piled into an old cargo van and headed for the River.. Good times, great stories, brothers.
Long about the fourth beer, shit, up pulls the local Sugar Creek Police... There we were, twelve of us, tossing beer after full beer into the river... Our van was now empty, no evidence. The bright bright light shining into our eyes - we were lined up in a row for Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane and Enos to interrogate us...
"HOW OLD ARE YOU?" Roscoe scoldingly looked at the unlucky first brother in line... "21 Sir."... Moving to his right "HOW OLD ARE YOU?"... "Ahm, 22 Sir."... Further down "AND YOU?" "21 sir.".. and thru the twelve, we spouted back "21 Sir".. "21 Sir"... "22 Sir"... etc.. until the last brother recited his purported age... I'm certain 80% of us had fake ID's justifying our answers.. but Roscoe and Enos didn't ask...
Turning away.. and walking back to his car Roscoe stopped and said "THEN WHATINTHEHELL ARE YOU DOING THROWING AWAY ALL THAT GOOD BEER?"... with that, he and Enos hooted and hawed their way back down the road.. surely eager to get back to the station to fill their brethren in on our story... Oh well, 36 beers tossed into the River is still a lot better than a minor in possession charge.. Pride is hard to swallow but it will go down...
----------------------------------------------------
Son's 13-14 year old Little League team. We were average, in a very very good league... The perennial League Champs whomped up on us EVERY time we played - no matter how well we played. Wouldn't have been so bad 'ceptin for their idiotic chant that always ended "throw 'em in the River" -> referring to us, the Yankees, their opponent. Disgust - and it made you want to kick their booty but our talent prevented us from doing so... Year after year, they threw us in the River.
----------------------------------------------------
Match.com. The very last sentence on my stupid little "advertisement" (or profile, whichever you wanna call it) said "and if I find 'HER', I will throw this thing in the River. (This being the computer.).... I pray, I hope I don't screw this up, because 'HER' is here. In the flesh. Gorgeous gorgeous "Gracie".. (Her nickname).. It's frankly all good - and it's like we've been on a one month date... I know that's drippy and sappy, but tis true. I ain't gonna toss the computer in the River - but thank goodness I'm done with Match.com and the seemingly never ending quest for a mate.
---------------------------------------------------
Drove by that park at the River yesterday... Oh so many great memories of the past.. yet, all the focus for me was today and tomorrow... I like the River...
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Say "Unique New York" three times.. REAL fast..
Ok, sorry..... that was stupid. Hi. Sorry I've been a recluse. Been on a long date... A wonderful date... Mode now is to not worry about tomorrow, and live/love today.
Strength and courage - how do we derive that? It's already in there... all we gotta do is believe/acknowledge... I know in the past I've struggled with self confidence.. Ya hear women like "confident, but not cocky, men".. Hopefully gaining in that... I am me. Always will be. Doesn't mean I can't try to better me - but I am what I am.
Please know all has been good. I'm sorry you've looked here and there's been nothing new written for some time... Believe me, there's been a lotta great conversation, great times... Dunno when I will write again, but I will. It's a part of who I am - and as long as my fingers work well - I intend to write - be it to one, or none, or maybe just to me.
Hope your lives are going well and that you appreciate sunrises, sunsets, puppies running, a coworkers new outfit, an act from a significant other, the beat of the sound coming from the radio, the bright eyes of a child... all the good things. Too oft we take them for granted. Not anymore.. at least for me.
Happy day, Victor
Strength and courage - how do we derive that? It's already in there... all we gotta do is believe/acknowledge... I know in the past I've struggled with self confidence.. Ya hear women like "confident, but not cocky, men".. Hopefully gaining in that... I am me. Always will be. Doesn't mean I can't try to better me - but I am what I am.
Please know all has been good. I'm sorry you've looked here and there's been nothing new written for some time... Believe me, there's been a lotta great conversation, great times... Dunno when I will write again, but I will. It's a part of who I am - and as long as my fingers work well - I intend to write - be it to one, or none, or maybe just to me.
Hope your lives are going well and that you appreciate sunrises, sunsets, puppies running, a coworkers new outfit, an act from a significant other, the beat of the sound coming from the radio, the bright eyes of a child... all the good things. Too oft we take them for granted. Not anymore.. at least for me.
Happy day, Victor
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Smiles.......
Death is horrible, and eventual. This weekend I was with Debbie when her father passed. Eight children - all united in love to this man. Tears, stories, memories, items of days past throughout the house treasured... Each child uniquely dealing with his death in their own way - mostly through tears - but all with smiles later.
Me being the only one left in my own nuclear family - I love it when people conjure up memories of my mother, my father, my sister. It's always done with a smile. Pretty friggin' good when you stop and think about it.. Sadly, some leave this earth and haven't left reason for those remaining to smile.
I didn't know Debbie's father all that well - but I know tons more of him now - and he's all about smiles. The smiles he passed down to his children are being returned tenfold. The ultimate tribute - being gone and remembered with smiles. He is.
Me being the only one left in my own nuclear family - I love it when people conjure up memories of my mother, my father, my sister. It's always done with a smile. Pretty friggin' good when you stop and think about it.. Sadly, some leave this earth and haven't left reason for those remaining to smile.
I didn't know Debbie's father all that well - but I know tons more of him now - and he's all about smiles. The smiles he passed down to his children are being returned tenfold. The ultimate tribute - being gone and remembered with smiles. He is.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Oh how juvenile....
Yeah... at the time we were - but we had one helluva lotta fun..
Animal House - The "reality" series. Circa mid-1970's, Billy Jewell College. Four fraternities on campus. The fags (sorry guys)with the pretty cars mom & dad bought for them.. the Eastern/St. Louie guys... The goody two-shoes.. and us, the Sigma Nu's...
The Sigma Nu's were a great/rotten bunch of guys... We were, completely immature. But ---- we had a fantastic bond. Moreso than any athletic team I'd ever played upon.. Damn near family. Virtually everyone was a jock - but with a little stoner/wildchild thrown in..
The Pledge. Lower than white whale shit at the deepest part of the ocean we were(or so they said.) There was rush... pledging.. then the transitionary period between pledge and active: Hell Week.
Yes.. on campus's throughout the land there were casualties to hazing - but our hazing was brutally fun, tremendously brothern enriching, and yes, pure hell.
One week, 24/7. First, we got to swing by the local Co-op to purchase our very own burlap sack... Holes cut for sleeves.. this was to be our 'undergarmet' for the week. That and a jock strap during the 'fun' evening hours of 7pm to 10pm.. We sly ones learned the ole handed down "wash the burlap sack in Downy and it won't be as irritating" so we did.
Another 'fixture' to our week was a string and a pencil. Attached to one end of the string was to be your penis.. and the string was to be fed up under your gunny sack, coming out your neckline with a maximum of 5" of string exposed. You had one week to obtain 100 female signatures. Of course the first day we went along with it.. probably got purple penis's I don't remember.. then, we got smart and insteada tying one end to the pee pee, we'd find a belt loop or buckle to tie it to. Gals would teasingly yank on the pencil as they penned their names.. reckon it hurt more the first day...
Sleep. We got the mandatory two hours of daily sleep from 5pm to 7pm nightly. Anyone caught sleeping any other hour of the week would be in big 'do-do'. We eventually would find backseats, nooks and crannies around campus to catch some Z's.. and watch each other's backs..
7pm. Shit. Time for hell. We were awoken by 40+ actives pounding skillets, pots, pans with heavy silverware.. Up we arose, clad only in our gunny sack and jock strap.
"Fun" and games... There was always an agenda... and it become more challenging as the week went along... One of the first tasks was to save a carp from the toilet stool and give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Much like the current reality show where they do such yuck things.. I guess we were Reality when Reality wasn't cool. Carp saved, patooey, next diddy on the agenda...
One night they even fed us a beer. The actives come carrying in a full case of heavenly cold bottles of Michelob.. we were licking our chops.. Turns out, the Michelob was for them.. WE got hot "Katz" beer. (The old local drugstore's own.. 10 for $1, and ours were HOT, not cold.) Patooey.
To the kitchen, one pledge at a time. You were told to stand on a folding chair - approximately 20 inches off the floor. Then you were shown a 16" string attached to a huge cinder block. Yes, another string tying thing to the penis thing.. The goal was to tie one end to the penis, hold the block in your arms - then let go of it to the ground - kissing your ass goodbye to your penis. Ok, shown the short string.. Then blindfolded - then handed the string to tie up. There we stood, one at a time on the chair - debating whether to give up our manhood for a frigging fraternity. "We all did it.. now you gotta." Shit. Ok, so.. cinder block in hands held out over the chair - the shouting began "LEGGO OF IT!!! NOWWWWW!!!!!"...
Gulp. Did let go, actually bent at my knees hoping the four inch difference would help preserve my penis - and keep it from getting snapped off. I heard the cinder block hit the floor - and my pee pee was AOK. Whatsup with that? Well.. once blindfolded, they exchanged the short string for a very long one so as your pee pee wouldn't get yanked off.. the bastards... The mental test of a lifetime..
Annuder time we were back in the kitchen.. upon the chair.. again to be blindfolded... Serenaded with broken glass in pots and pans - this challenge was to jump off of the chair into a pile of broken glass slivers... Uh huh, sure. But, if ya wanted to be a Sigma Nu, ya hadta. Yes immature, yes an extreme mental challenge, yes all ultimately fun. Ok, so.. as you stood upon the stool Stinger said "NO.. WE'RE NOT MAKING THEM DO THIS ONE... REMEMBER, LAST YEAR ROGER HAD TO GET 42 STITCHES." Shit. "YES, they ARE going to do it.. WE DID IT, and that's ALL THERE IS TO IT."
Upon the chair... "GOOOOOO!!!! JUMPPP NOWWWWWWW!!!!"..... Gulp. Jumped. The landing was terrifying.. You felt the glass.. you took off the blindfold.. you wondered if your feet would be the same ever again... there they were - covered with blood.. EXCEPT. The gag was - it was corn flakes (not glass) you landed in.. and it was intermixed with ketchup. Yes, a stupid test, but a mental/emotional challenge.
By doing all this sophomoric crap - a bond was created amongst your pledge class.. and the next year you would be the ones handing down tradition.
To many, all of the above is repulsive, childish, cruel and senseless. Sorry. To me it was priceless. Those years were some of the best years of my life. I'd do anything for those guys, and vice versa. Like truly standing up for a family member.
We made it thru the week.. and the prize was getting to enter the Active Chapter Room - an "off limits" place for us pledges... We imagined it to have golden mirrors, fancy ritzy furniture, and swank carpet. Sadly, we were about as disillusioned as ole Ralphie and his "drink more Ovaltine" decoder. It was a room with shag carpet - and the seal of Sigma Nu was painted on the ceiling. We did all that for that? Yes, yes we did.
But again... the lifelong bonds made and the passing of 'extreme' tests seemingly made you feel like you could handle anything in life. Sure the Deans woulda booted us out had they known what went on.. We loved it.. Katz Beer and all. High rickety-whoop-tee-do, what's the matter with Sig-a Ma-nu.. Terra ga who, hullabaloo, all together for Siga-Ma-Nu. Fun, fun days.
Animal House - The "reality" series. Circa mid-1970's, Billy Jewell College. Four fraternities on campus. The fags (sorry guys)with the pretty cars mom & dad bought for them.. the Eastern/St. Louie guys... The goody two-shoes.. and us, the Sigma Nu's...
The Sigma Nu's were a great/rotten bunch of guys... We were, completely immature. But ---- we had a fantastic bond. Moreso than any athletic team I'd ever played upon.. Damn near family. Virtually everyone was a jock - but with a little stoner/wildchild thrown in..
The Pledge. Lower than white whale shit at the deepest part of the ocean we were(or so they said.) There was rush... pledging.. then the transitionary period between pledge and active: Hell Week.
Yes.. on campus's throughout the land there were casualties to hazing - but our hazing was brutally fun, tremendously brothern enriching, and yes, pure hell.
One week, 24/7. First, we got to swing by the local Co-op to purchase our very own burlap sack... Holes cut for sleeves.. this was to be our 'undergarmet' for the week. That and a jock strap during the 'fun' evening hours of 7pm to 10pm.. We sly ones learned the ole handed down "wash the burlap sack in Downy and it won't be as irritating" so we did.
Another 'fixture' to our week was a string and a pencil. Attached to one end of the string was to be your penis.. and the string was to be fed up under your gunny sack, coming out your neckline with a maximum of 5" of string exposed. You had one week to obtain 100 female signatures. Of course the first day we went along with it.. probably got purple penis's I don't remember.. then, we got smart and insteada tying one end to the pee pee, we'd find a belt loop or buckle to tie it to. Gals would teasingly yank on the pencil as they penned their names.. reckon it hurt more the first day...
Sleep. We got the mandatory two hours of daily sleep from 5pm to 7pm nightly. Anyone caught sleeping any other hour of the week would be in big 'do-do'. We eventually would find backseats, nooks and crannies around campus to catch some Z's.. and watch each other's backs..
7pm. Shit. Time for hell. We were awoken by 40+ actives pounding skillets, pots, pans with heavy silverware.. Up we arose, clad only in our gunny sack and jock strap.
"Fun" and games... There was always an agenda... and it become more challenging as the week went along... One of the first tasks was to save a carp from the toilet stool and give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Much like the current reality show where they do such yuck things.. I guess we were Reality when Reality wasn't cool. Carp saved, patooey, next diddy on the agenda...
One night they even fed us a beer. The actives come carrying in a full case of heavenly cold bottles of Michelob.. we were licking our chops.. Turns out, the Michelob was for them.. WE got hot "Katz" beer. (The old local drugstore's own.. 10 for $1, and ours were HOT, not cold.) Patooey.
To the kitchen, one pledge at a time. You were told to stand on a folding chair - approximately 20 inches off the floor. Then you were shown a 16" string attached to a huge cinder block. Yes, another string tying thing to the penis thing.. The goal was to tie one end to the penis, hold the block in your arms - then let go of it to the ground - kissing your ass goodbye to your penis. Ok, shown the short string.. Then blindfolded - then handed the string to tie up. There we stood, one at a time on the chair - debating whether to give up our manhood for a frigging fraternity. "We all did it.. now you gotta." Shit. Ok, so.. cinder block in hands held out over the chair - the shouting began "LEGGO OF IT!!! NOWWWWW!!!!!"...
Gulp. Did let go, actually bent at my knees hoping the four inch difference would help preserve my penis - and keep it from getting snapped off. I heard the cinder block hit the floor - and my pee pee was AOK. Whatsup with that? Well.. once blindfolded, they exchanged the short string for a very long one so as your pee pee wouldn't get yanked off.. the bastards... The mental test of a lifetime..
Annuder time we were back in the kitchen.. upon the chair.. again to be blindfolded... Serenaded with broken glass in pots and pans - this challenge was to jump off of the chair into a pile of broken glass slivers... Uh huh, sure. But, if ya wanted to be a Sigma Nu, ya hadta. Yes immature, yes an extreme mental challenge, yes all ultimately fun. Ok, so.. as you stood upon the stool Stinger said "NO.. WE'RE NOT MAKING THEM DO THIS ONE... REMEMBER, LAST YEAR ROGER HAD TO GET 42 STITCHES." Shit. "YES, they ARE going to do it.. WE DID IT, and that's ALL THERE IS TO IT."
Upon the chair... "GOOOOOO!!!! JUMPPP NOWWWWWWW!!!!"..... Gulp. Jumped. The landing was terrifying.. You felt the glass.. you took off the blindfold.. you wondered if your feet would be the same ever again... there they were - covered with blood.. EXCEPT. The gag was - it was corn flakes (not glass) you landed in.. and it was intermixed with ketchup. Yes, a stupid test, but a mental/emotional challenge.
By doing all this sophomoric crap - a bond was created amongst your pledge class.. and the next year you would be the ones handing down tradition.
To many, all of the above is repulsive, childish, cruel and senseless. Sorry. To me it was priceless. Those years were some of the best years of my life. I'd do anything for those guys, and vice versa. Like truly standing up for a family member.
We made it thru the week.. and the prize was getting to enter the Active Chapter Room - an "off limits" place for us pledges... We imagined it to have golden mirrors, fancy ritzy furniture, and swank carpet. Sadly, we were about as disillusioned as ole Ralphie and his "drink more Ovaltine" decoder. It was a room with shag carpet - and the seal of Sigma Nu was painted on the ceiling. We did all that for that? Yes, yes we did.
But again... the lifelong bonds made and the passing of 'extreme' tests seemingly made you feel like you could handle anything in life. Sure the Deans woulda booted us out had they known what went on.. We loved it.. Katz Beer and all. High rickety-whoop-tee-do, what's the matter with Sig-a Ma-nu.. Terra ga who, hullabaloo, all together for Siga-Ma-Nu. Fun, fun days.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Peace
What a powerful word. Our lives hinge around it. We live in our culdesacs, farm houses, high rises in peace because of the men and women who've protected we have that assurance..
Peace will happen again in New Orleans. Hopefully peace will reign again in Iraq. We mold that, and proliferate it..
Every waking moment is all about peace. Not just the peace that provides us the freedom to mostly do and say as we feel - but inner peace. THAT'S a humongous one.
When my mother passed away, while it was sudden - there was peace. I was at peace for the recipricol loving relationship we'd cherished over the years. We each had a great appreciation and love of the other...
Every phone call we make, every interaction with whomever - the bottomline is 'was there peace'? Yes, we can disagree, yes we can argue, yes we can be upset, yes we can say things we regret (and hopefully undo later)... It's all about peace. We are human, not perfect. Those imperfections and the acknowledgment of it within ourselves and within those we relate with help formulate peace...
Yes, there've been some engagements where I've not been proud of the ending - and peace could have been established earlier - but again, human, not perfect, but human.
There are lucky relationships where peace flows so freely... Yes, it's said "don't get too high on the highs, nor too low on the lows" - but there are moments we need to stop and reflect - and yes, perhaps gloat about the bond of peace with an individual that's played a major, major role in our lives..
My stepson, whom I love dearly and has taught me so much over the years - ends every phone call with "peace." Perhaps I'm biased - and I use the word only for impact, but I believe that to be far fucking out.
While I'm not a member of any designated religion - for many years I attended Catholic services... I truly cherished those moments where we were asked to stop and extend "peace be with you" to those surrounding us.
Peace is all about fears, cheers and tears.. Yesterday, as I walked thru a hospital hallway - an infant, perhaps one and one-half years old - waved to me from her father's arms. We're born with peace - thankfully the vast majority care and strive for peace. We'll not allow others to impede our way.
Thanks to those who read - it brings me peace that you do... Compliments to those who live with peace within their relationships and those that surround them. The eyes close easier at night when there's peace.
Those awesome words: passion, love and feel. They're all about peace. Powerful, spine tingling, earth shattering.
We are so, so lucky to have peace within our lives - and should be so so proud to have lived a life of peace.
Love,
Victor
Peace will happen again in New Orleans. Hopefully peace will reign again in Iraq. We mold that, and proliferate it..
Every waking moment is all about peace. Not just the peace that provides us the freedom to mostly do and say as we feel - but inner peace. THAT'S a humongous one.
When my mother passed away, while it was sudden - there was peace. I was at peace for the recipricol loving relationship we'd cherished over the years. We each had a great appreciation and love of the other...
Every phone call we make, every interaction with whomever - the bottomline is 'was there peace'? Yes, we can disagree, yes we can argue, yes we can be upset, yes we can say things we regret (and hopefully undo later)... It's all about peace. We are human, not perfect. Those imperfections and the acknowledgment of it within ourselves and within those we relate with help formulate peace...
Yes, there've been some engagements where I've not been proud of the ending - and peace could have been established earlier - but again, human, not perfect, but human.
There are lucky relationships where peace flows so freely... Yes, it's said "don't get too high on the highs, nor too low on the lows" - but there are moments we need to stop and reflect - and yes, perhaps gloat about the bond of peace with an individual that's played a major, major role in our lives..
My stepson, whom I love dearly and has taught me so much over the years - ends every phone call with "peace." Perhaps I'm biased - and I use the word only for impact, but I believe that to be far fucking out.
While I'm not a member of any designated religion - for many years I attended Catholic services... I truly cherished those moments where we were asked to stop and extend "peace be with you" to those surrounding us.
Peace is all about fears, cheers and tears.. Yesterday, as I walked thru a hospital hallway - an infant, perhaps one and one-half years old - waved to me from her father's arms. We're born with peace - thankfully the vast majority care and strive for peace. We'll not allow others to impede our way.
Thanks to those who read - it brings me peace that you do... Compliments to those who live with peace within their relationships and those that surround them. The eyes close easier at night when there's peace.
Those awesome words: passion, love and feel. They're all about peace. Powerful, spine tingling, earth shattering.
We are so, so lucky to have peace within our lives - and should be so so proud to have lived a life of peace.
Love,
Victor
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Amazing Grace....
How sweet thou the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see...
Up/down... Happy/sad... Love/hate...
Don't worry be happy... Ok, lips prepared, everyone whistle:
Phhhh-phaaaa-phuuu-pheeee-phuuu
phoooo-phuuu-phewwww-phoooo-phoooehuuuw
don't worry.... Phhh phaaa phaa phuuu phuuuewhooo, be happy...
Don't worry be happy...
Stuff happens, dunno why....
Good shit, bad shit...
Ugly stuff, great stuff...
Life is like the week... there's always a hump day..
Dick Howser (no, not an athletic supporter.. the former manager of the Kansas City Royals/New York Yankees..etc) usedta say "Ya can't get too low on the lows.. nor too high on the highs.."
Reckon that fits, but I smile a helluva lot more internally nowadays. Always been mostly a facade on the outside. Now the innards match - but it's not a facade.
Life is good. Never perfect, but very very good. Dreams. Dare to, for they can come true.
Hope, always have it. For if you believe it, it will be willed.
I know this crap is all non-sensical, so apologies. Guess you had to be there.
Happy Labor Day... which, whenya think about it... is wierd. Labor Day, yet we get it off. Hmmmm. Toodles... I promise, promise promise I will try to think of a funny story to relate soon. In the meantime, don't worry be happy.
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see...
Up/down... Happy/sad... Love/hate...
Don't worry be happy... Ok, lips prepared, everyone whistle:
Phhhh-phaaaa-phuuu-pheeee-phuuu
phoooo-phuuu-phewwww-phoooo-phoooehuuuw
don't worry.... Phhh phaaa phaa phuuu phuuuewhooo, be happy...
Don't worry be happy...
Stuff happens, dunno why....
Good shit, bad shit...
Ugly stuff, great stuff...
Life is like the week... there's always a hump day..
Dick Howser (no, not an athletic supporter.. the former manager of the Kansas City Royals/New York Yankees..etc) usedta say "Ya can't get too low on the lows.. nor too high on the highs.."
Reckon that fits, but I smile a helluva lot more internally nowadays. Always been mostly a facade on the outside. Now the innards match - but it's not a facade.
Life is good. Never perfect, but very very good. Dreams. Dare to, for they can come true.
Hope, always have it. For if you believe it, it will be willed.
I know this crap is all non-sensical, so apologies. Guess you had to be there.
Happy Labor Day... which, whenya think about it... is wierd. Labor Day, yet we get it off. Hmmmm. Toodles... I promise, promise promise I will try to think of a funny story to relate soon. In the meantime, don't worry be happy.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
When the dog bites... when the bee stings...
when I'm feeling sad... I simply remember my favor-ite things, and then I don't feeeeeeell, soo bad...
Yes, raindrops on roses ain't bad....
Calling a cat and having him look at you like "be for real"
Returning the love to a tail that's wagging for you...
A light rain on a 90 degree day...
Driving by places that bring back memories...
Driving in the country...
Having a full gas tank AND money left in billfold.
The Caribbean Cooler (I think it's called) It's a long, circular ride at Ocean's of Fun.. No impetus needed, the flow of the water keeps one in motion. You raft, you lounge, you move. Peaceful.. Oh so peaceful, in spite of all the termites screaming nearby...
The natural noises of a summer night...
Cool mornings...
That first cup of coffee...
Music that sends gyrations thru the bod...
A smile returned...
The Sport's page (sorry)...
Plunging in the warm waterbed on a cold winter night...
Plunging in the cold waterbed on a hot summer night...
Making waves in the waterbed, any temperature (Oh come on dammit, lighten up, this is about favorite things... and if that don't rank up there... geez!)
The perfect symmetry and green-ness of a Major League Baseball Stadium...
A smiling rugrat with no front teeth...
The first days of a walking infant... the excitement within.. the leaning for them.. and the deep breaths one draws from worrying about "boo-boo's"...
The days when you could go somewhere, plop the kid on a blanket on the floor, and he/she is young enough they can't go anywhere. Now THAT'S my kinda parenting.
Payday...
Frito's....
Peanut Butter and banana sandwiches (again, sorry)
Walking...
A hammock...
The shade...
Fixing the car and there ain't no parts leftover...
Holding hands...
Kissing...
Eyes that talk...
Feeling reciprocal 'feel'...
Relatives..
One-putting...
The internet...
Linguistics...
Clever IM's...
Fun emails forwarded that you ain't pressured to forward or send back to sender...
Fleetwood Mac...
The Allied Saints (local band)...
Peanut M&M's...
A voice on the other end of the phone you've been dying to hear...
Pictures of me when I had a flat belly...
Pictures of me prior to San Andreas faults...
A bike ride...
A game of catch...
Pickup basketball...
$3 blackjack...
Teasing co-workers...
A job well done...
Knowing, in spite of results... I've done my best...
Touching...
Contributing to another's self esteem...
Beautiful people...
A weekend trip to anywhere but home...
Being around water...
People who read every damn word of blogs and don't fall asleep whilst doing so...
My friends...
I don't feel sad (or bad)at all. Quite the contrary. I just didn't feel like writing or story-telling.. so..... I shared somea the crap that makes me happy.
YOU... Yes YOU dammit.. what makes you happy?
Say a prayer for the folks of LA, MS, AL, FL and remember, for every looter story, sniper story, there's gotta be 100 untold Good Samaritan stories... I gotta email from a cousin this morning... said "I feel so guilty living here and having 3 empty bedrooms when I know people down there would give anything to be in one." DAMMIT I hate (love) when people say things like that, think of them before I do. That rocked.
Oh yeah, I forgot Debbie. (One of my favorite things).. It's scary good. Been all of 13 days and seems like a year. (And that was meant complimentary/so natural).
Life is long (we hope) - stay tuned. G-Night
Yes, raindrops on roses ain't bad....
Calling a cat and having him look at you like "be for real"
Returning the love to a tail that's wagging for you...
A light rain on a 90 degree day...
Driving by places that bring back memories...
Driving in the country...
Having a full gas tank AND money left in billfold.
The Caribbean Cooler (I think it's called) It's a long, circular ride at Ocean's of Fun.. No impetus needed, the flow of the water keeps one in motion. You raft, you lounge, you move. Peaceful.. Oh so peaceful, in spite of all the termites screaming nearby...
The natural noises of a summer night...
Cool mornings...
That first cup of coffee...
Music that sends gyrations thru the bod...
A smile returned...
The Sport's page (sorry)...
Plunging in the warm waterbed on a cold winter night...
Plunging in the cold waterbed on a hot summer night...
Making waves in the waterbed, any temperature (Oh come on dammit, lighten up, this is about favorite things... and if that don't rank up there... geez!)
The perfect symmetry and green-ness of a Major League Baseball Stadium...
A smiling rugrat with no front teeth...
The first days of a walking infant... the excitement within.. the leaning for them.. and the deep breaths one draws from worrying about "boo-boo's"...
The days when you could go somewhere, plop the kid on a blanket on the floor, and he/she is young enough they can't go anywhere. Now THAT'S my kinda parenting.
Payday...
Frito's....
Peanut Butter and banana sandwiches (again, sorry)
Walking...
A hammock...
The shade...
Fixing the car and there ain't no parts leftover...
Holding hands...
Kissing...
Eyes that talk...
Feeling reciprocal 'feel'...
Relatives..
One-putting...
The internet...
Linguistics...
Clever IM's...
Fun emails forwarded that you ain't pressured to forward or send back to sender...
Fleetwood Mac...
The Allied Saints (local band)...
Peanut M&M's...
A voice on the other end of the phone you've been dying to hear...
Pictures of me when I had a flat belly...
Pictures of me prior to San Andreas faults...
A bike ride...
A game of catch...
Pickup basketball...
$3 blackjack...
Teasing co-workers...
A job well done...
Knowing, in spite of results... I've done my best...
Touching...
Contributing to another's self esteem...
Beautiful people...
A weekend trip to anywhere but home...
Being around water...
People who read every damn word of blogs and don't fall asleep whilst doing so...
My friends...
I don't feel sad (or bad)at all. Quite the contrary. I just didn't feel like writing or story-telling.. so..... I shared somea the crap that makes me happy.
YOU... Yes YOU dammit.. what makes you happy?
Say a prayer for the folks of LA, MS, AL, FL and remember, for every looter story, sniper story, there's gotta be 100 untold Good Samaritan stories... I gotta email from a cousin this morning... said "I feel so guilty living here and having 3 empty bedrooms when I know people down there would give anything to be in one." DAMMIT I hate (love) when people say things like that, think of them before I do. That rocked.
Oh yeah, I forgot Debbie. (One of my favorite things).. It's scary good. Been all of 13 days and seems like a year. (And that was meant complimentary/so natural).
Life is long (we hope) - stay tuned. G-Night
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)