The previous two postings that recounted the misadventures, death, and resurrection of Barkles have taken surprising turn.
It never happened. In a twist worthy of the master filmmaker, David Lynch, who makes so much sense to me, it was all a fever dream of Barkles. She dreamed of being locked in a car, of drinking, of shooting herself, and finally being returned to life.
What precipitated all this was that she had bumped her head into a Banyan tree and suffered a low-grade concussion. She fell into a semi-coma, similar to what people experience who attend school in Illinois, and dreamed the whole thing.
Barkles is completely fine, has not been shot, and does not have a drinking problem. Today, she cavorts about in the backyard, chasing squirrels and sniffing the occasional stranger....same thing that ADDhole does.
"No hay banda!"
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Barkles Lives!! It's OK!! False Alarm!!
Apparently, many of you were upset at reading about the death of Barkles as caused by the excessive rulery at the chocolate fest this weekend. Recall that I had to leave Barkles in the car with a loaded weapon and hard liquor. An accident occurred, and she was shot.
Well, I took her to the funeral home, and just we were about to close the coffin, she farted. Loud and long, and very fragrant, faintly reminiscent of cheap whiskey. Then she barked.
I got to admit - I cried. I just sobbed and sobbed until I thought my heart would break. Just when I thought I would save money on dog food and vet bills and grooming...damn it.
Long story short, the bullet just gazed Barkles right in her butt. I thought it had damaged her brain, and her being such a lazy dog prone to long periods of motionlessness, I just assumed that she was dead.
Fortunately, it turns out that she has a drinking problem. She had passed out cold from all the Hacker-Pschorr she consumed while in the car, and shot herself the butt when her foot hit the trigger while having a rabbit chase dream.
Barkles has admitted that she has drinking Hacker-Pschorr for months now, usually at white-trash bars in the area. She has somehow amassed a bunch of telephone numbers too...go figure.
The lesson here is never to put alcohol and firearms in close proximity to each other. I am attending AA with Barkles now, and she has been sober for two days now. One day at a time...
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Post-chocolatial Depression
Went to the annual chocolate "fest" this weekend with BJC.
The idea to do this was planted in my head a year ago by Kringle. Despite what she told me, the town did not smell like chocolate, unless there is a new flavor that smells of cow urine, hobos washed with Ivory soap, and the effluvium of failed small businesses.
Kringle filled my head with visions of sweet-smelling, singing shawties dispensing free chocolates and advising on life in three-part verse. I knew there was going to be disappointment when I saw a gaggles of cheese-worshiping Midwesterners on every corner offering to park cars in their yards or pirated business lots for $5.
Sticking to my principles and refusing to subsidize the industrial-military-petrochemical-Hooters complex that runs the world, I parked on the street and walked an extra two blocks.
It cost $7 to get in, and the sign curtailed any fun I planned to have. No cussing, no aggressive behavior, and no fishnet shirts....great, way to suck the fun out, chocolate "fest" organizers? I had to leave my dog, Barkles, in the hot car with the Smith & Wesson as well as my Jack Daniels. Unfortunately, leaving a depressed Cairn Terrier with a loaded weapon and hard liquor resulted in the expected tragedy. Final services for Barkles will be held at the funeral home I wrote about a few weeks ago. Rest in peace, Barkles...you were loved for your Spalding Gray demeanor and amusingly dark take on life.
We had to wait a bit to get through, as the entrance was blocked by a fat guy in a golf-cart, smoking a cigar, snarling in a cell phone presumably at one of his many girlfriends, wearing a tight pair of stressed dockers with a "Panama " cowboy hat. He lent credence to my theory that golf carts cause obesity. He did look sexy, powerful, and commanding, like an olden king of the Midwest. I could see why the ladies would swoon at his approach, especially ladies like Kringle, Queenie, and BP. Mmmmm, hands off, girls, he is too much for you.
The chocolate "fest" was a bombardment of child-like innocence and whimsy, sheer delight for the young at heart. I felt all the pain of my 40 years melting away with each step closer to the heart of sweetness and love that is chocolate, the passion that is chocolate, and the sense of community that chocolate embodies.
The booth for the basement finishing company symbolized that we all start at the bottom, but we can finish beautifully, as long as our basement is already waterproofed and we are willing to spend $10-20K for $4K worth of carpet, drywall, and paint. It was tied into the fest by the simple fact that you could eat chocolate in the basement once it was finished.
Further in, my Native American heritage thrilled. Thrilled to see beautiful white tigers in a small 6x12 enclosure, presumably drugged or dulled by the ennui of their existence to the point where you could pet them with a cattle-prod and they would not move. Of course, since part of the money went to their rescue from their natural habitats such as nasty jungles or plains, it seemed morally justified , that for 3-5 dollars, you could pet them. I just about peed blood in my Three's Company underpants to see this. The cage looked so soft and natural, like Barkle's fur before she...too soon.
We got to the main tent where the chocolate was...mmmm....for $2 more, you could purchase a ticket that allowed you to sample "free" chocolates about the size of a bitten-off pinky tip. Let's recap....$7 to get in, $2 for a "special" coupon good for free samples at 5 vendors in the tent, and $5 for parking if you wanted to shave two blocks off your walk. $12 dollars for $2 worth of "free" chocolate. Maybe I am cynical, but I suspected a profit motive covered by chocolate. Mmmmm...chocolate covered profit motive.
Most of the vendors had chocolates like you see at the fancier outlet malls such as the one in Gurnee, only without the guy peeing on your foot, and priced slightly higher to offset the cost of printing the brochures and sampling coupons. There was even a booth selling bags of candies that you could buy at Wal-Mart from cashiers who wished you would get crushed by a falling box of Tide.
My inner child was in a depressive's paradise and craved chocolate. BJC purchased some, and tried to help me stave off the pending sense of disillusionment. Wandering the tent was an adventure.
The chef who was supposed to demonstrate how to make a cake out of something (chocolate, I assume) was 20 minutes late, causing the audience to shift uncomfortably on the hard metal bleachers as it started to sink in that they were waiting to see an indifferent guy make a cake. When he did show up, he didn't apologize and was kind of snarky. I liked him, as he was reminiscent of a young Mussolini, if his mother had been Leona Helmsley. I understood his mindset... chefs rule because they can cook things with fire. They are not bound by the rules of common courtesy or basic human decency because they can rock out on four burners and an electric oven.
The overhead PA speaker was not working so the maintenance guy came through with a huge,
ladder creating an insurance risk, and fixed it. Sadly, he did not fall off onto Snarky the Chef. Afterwards, he clambered onto the bleachers, and looked at the waiting audience with contempt, as if to say...."look upon my works, you mighty and despair". He was nothing if not poetical. I suspected he went to an elite women's college.
Actually, what he said was:
The bulk of the fest was devoted to all things carnival. If you know me at all, you know I love carnies. I did the hammer and bell thing (hint to the guys wanting to impress the ladies: hit the edge), and won a plastic $1 inflatable hammer for $5 dollars. Tattoo who ran the hammer booth told me that I "spoke beautiful", as did BJC who pretended to be Deaf as Tattoo kept going on and on about how it was wonderful that two Deaf people could speak so well, were trained not to defecate in public, etc. Her effusion of compliments wetted the dry plains of my soul.
We made our way to the "toss a dart at the balloon" booth run by Redeyes. Redeyes was a very nice booth attendant, seriously, very personable. I sincerely think that had his life circumstances been different, he would have been a successful and affable senator. Makes you wonder at the chances that people get in life and where they end up...not always in positions that makes the best of who they are of their gifts. He gave me a stuffed sheep even though I only popped one balloon, to the shame of my Irish heritage.
I managed to avoid eating any of the funnel cakes, oil-drenched onion blossom, potato-flavored grease fries, and the lemonade. Not because I was being healthy, but because....it was not in keeping with the chocolate vibe. My mouth craved just the taste of chocolate, even though I am normally quite the connoisseur of carnival culinary delights.
There were rows upon rows of food vendors, of businesses pushing their non-chocolate related wares, including a Marine recruiting booth (get them while they are young), and people just ambling about with no particular destination in mind. It was a beautiful day, and what you were doing did not matter very much...it was enough for the moment to simply...be.
While not what I had expected, now that I know, my vision for next year will be quite different. In 2009, I will attend a carnival, not a chocolate "fest". Whether you love it or hate it, whether you find joy or misery, or whether you go to play games or to indulge a sweet tooth, everything is a matter of how you look at it.
The idea to do this was planted in my head a year ago by Kringle. Despite what she told me, the town did not smell like chocolate, unless there is a new flavor that smells of cow urine, hobos washed with Ivory soap, and the effluvium of failed small businesses.
Kringle filled my head with visions of sweet-smelling, singing shawties dispensing free chocolates and advising on life in three-part verse. I knew there was going to be disappointment when I saw a gaggles of cheese-worshiping Midwesterners on every corner offering to park cars in their yards or pirated business lots for $5.
Sticking to my principles and refusing to subsidize the industrial-military-petrochemical-Hooters complex that runs the world, I parked on the street and walked an extra two blocks.
It cost $7 to get in, and the sign curtailed any fun I planned to have. No cussing, no aggressive behavior, and no fishnet shirts....great, way to suck the fun out, chocolate "fest" organizers? I had to leave my dog, Barkles, in the hot car with the Smith & Wesson as well as my Jack Daniels. Unfortunately, leaving a depressed Cairn Terrier with a loaded weapon and hard liquor resulted in the expected tragedy. Final services for Barkles will be held at the funeral home I wrote about a few weeks ago. Rest in peace, Barkles...you were loved for your Spalding Gray demeanor and amusingly dark take on life.
We had to wait a bit to get through, as the entrance was blocked by a fat guy in a golf-cart, smoking a cigar, snarling in a cell phone presumably at one of his many girlfriends, wearing a tight pair of stressed dockers with a "Panama " cowboy hat. He lent credence to my theory that golf carts cause obesity. He did look sexy, powerful, and commanding, like an olden king of the Midwest. I could see why the ladies would swoon at his approach, especially ladies like Kringle, Queenie, and BP. Mmmmm, hands off, girls, he is too much for you.
The chocolate "fest" was a bombardment of child-like innocence and whimsy, sheer delight for the young at heart. I felt all the pain of my 40 years melting away with each step closer to the heart of sweetness and love that is chocolate, the passion that is chocolate, and the sense of community that chocolate embodies.
The booth for the basement finishing company symbolized that we all start at the bottom, but we can finish beautifully, as long as our basement is already waterproofed and we are willing to spend $10-20K for $4K worth of carpet, drywall, and paint. It was tied into the fest by the simple fact that you could eat chocolate in the basement once it was finished.
Further in, my Native American heritage thrilled. Thrilled to see beautiful white tigers in a small 6x12 enclosure, presumably drugged or dulled by the ennui of their existence to the point where you could pet them with a cattle-prod and they would not move. Of course, since part of the money went to their rescue from their natural habitats such as nasty jungles or plains, it seemed morally justified , that for 3-5 dollars, you could pet them. I just about peed blood in my Three's Company underpants to see this. The cage looked so soft and natural, like Barkle's fur before she...too soon.
We got to the main tent where the chocolate was...mmmm....for $2 more, you could purchase a ticket that allowed you to sample "free" chocolates about the size of a bitten-off pinky tip. Let's recap....$7 to get in, $2 for a "special" coupon good for free samples at 5 vendors in the tent, and $5 for parking if you wanted to shave two blocks off your walk. $12 dollars for $2 worth of "free" chocolate. Maybe I am cynical, but I suspected a profit motive covered by chocolate. Mmmmm...chocolate covered profit motive.
Most of the vendors had chocolates like you see at the fancier outlet malls such as the one in Gurnee, only without the guy peeing on your foot, and priced slightly higher to offset the cost of printing the brochures and sampling coupons. There was even a booth selling bags of candies that you could buy at Wal-Mart from cashiers who wished you would get crushed by a falling box of Tide.
My inner child was in a depressive's paradise and craved chocolate. BJC purchased some, and tried to help me stave off the pending sense of disillusionment. Wandering the tent was an adventure.
The chef who was supposed to demonstrate how to make a cake out of something (chocolate, I assume) was 20 minutes late, causing the audience to shift uncomfortably on the hard metal bleachers as it started to sink in that they were waiting to see an indifferent guy make a cake. When he did show up, he didn't apologize and was kind of snarky. I liked him, as he was reminiscent of a young Mussolini, if his mother had been Leona Helmsley. I understood his mindset... chefs rule because they can cook things with fire. They are not bound by the rules of common courtesy or basic human decency because they can rock out on four burners and an electric oven.
The overhead PA speaker was not working so the maintenance guy came through with a huge,
ladder creating an insurance risk, and fixed it. Sadly, he did not fall off onto Snarky the Chef. Afterwards, he clambered onto the bleachers, and looked at the waiting audience with contempt, as if to say...."look upon my works, you mighty and despair". He was nothing if not poetical. I suspected he went to an elite women's college.Actually, what he said was:
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptorwell those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'
The bulk of the fest was devoted to all things carnival. If you know me at all, you know I love carnies. I did the hammer and bell thing (hint to the guys wanting to impress the ladies: hit the edge), and won a plastic $1 inflatable hammer for $5 dollars. Tattoo who ran the hammer booth told me that I "spoke beautiful", as did BJC who pretended to be Deaf as Tattoo kept going on and on about how it was wonderful that two Deaf people could speak so well, were trained not to defecate in public, etc. Her effusion of compliments wetted the dry plains of my soul.
We made our way to the "toss a dart at the balloon" booth run by Redeyes. Redeyes was a very nice booth attendant, seriously, very personable. I sincerely think that had his life circumstances been different, he would have been a successful and affable senator. Makes you wonder at the chances that people get in life and where they end up...not always in positions that makes the best of who they are of their gifts. He gave me a stuffed sheep even though I only popped one balloon, to the shame of my Irish heritage.
I managed to avoid eating any of the funnel cakes, oil-drenched onion blossom, potato-flavored grease fries, and the lemonade. Not because I was being healthy, but because....it was not in keeping with the chocolate vibe. My mouth craved just the taste of chocolate, even though I am normally quite the connoisseur of carnival culinary delights.
There were rows upon rows of food vendors, of businesses pushing their non-chocolate related wares, including a Marine recruiting booth (get them while they are young), and people just ambling about with no particular destination in mind. It was a beautiful day, and what you were doing did not matter very much...it was enough for the moment to simply...be.
While not what I had expected, now that I know, my vision for next year will be quite different. In 2009, I will attend a carnival, not a chocolate "fest". Whether you love it or hate it, whether you find joy or misery, or whether you go to play games or to indulge a sweet tooth, everything is a matter of how you look at it.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Death Trains and Deaf Pains
ADDhole and I were talking the other day about his refusal to bath more than twice a month, and never in months with an "R" in their names. ADDhole once worked in a seafood restaurant as an 'oyster shucker' in Florida back in the day...I think it was called "Pee N Clams". I do wonder if 'oyster shucker was slang for an act of some kind. Because of that experience, he has somehow confused basic hygiene practices with the advice about when to eat oysters.
After shifting to an upwind position, we got to jawin' about trains due to my recent posting. I seem to spend alot of time jawin' with people. Specifically, the unusual number of incidents that have been recorded about accidents and fatalities involving trains and Deaf people. It is the reason I post as 'Allure of Train Tracks'.
Here is a random sample:
Miss Deaf Texas - March 2006
New Zealand - December 2003
New York - April 2004
Trains Made Thomas Edison Deaf
Excursion Train - August 1879
Normally, I would post a pithy smart-ass commentary about this, but I am feeling kind of weirded out by the preponderance of these stories. I will say this....Edison was not as intolerant of Deaf people as that Alexander G. Bell, who wanted to stamp us all out. It's not an accident that he invented the ultimate tool of oppression of Deaf people...the telephone. We are still here, Alex, and not going away any time soon, while you molder in your grave and your telephone is nothing like you invented. HA HA!!
The last time I took a train was from Waukegan (birthplace of Ray Bradbury, did you know?) to Chicago in November 2007. I like trains...they make sense for transportation.
...but as a Deaf person, should I equate them with death? freedom? Sensible mode of transportation? Or is there a train out there with MY name on it? Time will tell.
Until then...Choo-choo.
After shifting to an upwind position, we got to jawin' about trains due to my recent posting. I seem to spend alot of time jawin' with people. Specifically, the unusual number of incidents that have been recorded about accidents and fatalities involving trains and Deaf people. It is the reason I post as 'Allure of Train Tracks'.
Here is a random sample:
Miss Deaf Texas - March 2006
New Zealand - December 2003
New York - April 2004
Trains Made Thomas Edison Deaf
Excursion Train - August 1879
Normally, I would post a pithy smart-ass commentary about this, but I am feeling kind of weirded out by the preponderance of these stories. I will say this....Edison was not as intolerant of Deaf people as that Alexander G. Bell, who wanted to stamp us all out. It's not an accident that he invented the ultimate tool of oppression of Deaf people...the telephone. We are still here, Alex, and not going away any time soon, while you molder in your grave and your telephone is nothing like you invented. HA HA!!
The last time I took a train was from Waukegan (birthplace of Ray Bradbury, did you know?) to Chicago in November 2007. I like trains...they make sense for transportation.
...but as a Deaf person, should I equate them with death? freedom? Sensible mode of transportation? Or is there a train out there with MY name on it? Time will tell.
Until then...Choo-choo.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Distracted is now "ADDhole"
Distracted and I had an interesting exchange of views and news this week, some of it centering around, of course, me being Deaf and him being Distracted. He crossed a line when he made a cutting remark about Helen Keller and how she was a beacon of hope to Deaf people everywhere with her dedication to the world's oldest profession.
I told him that his new name was now "ADDhole". Then he started crying because he hadn't thought of calling himself ADDhole first. All in all, it was one of the more emotional exchanges we have had recently. I think we have reached a new place in this dysfunctional friendship that has endured many years of neglect and abuse by...ADDHole. As you all know me, I am totally innocent, sweet, and blameless...being Deaf, I can not sin or reproduce, bit of an eunuch really. It explains how I can get jobs as a towel boy for the women's locker room, and no one is concerned. Deafness is the Michael Jackson of "disabilities" while ADD is the Carrot Top.
For those of you who may not be familiar with it, check out "Living with an ADDhole". I have to wonder how people with ADD can focus enough to make arrangements to attend the conference.
ADDhole "bragged" that he has a new car he picked up while seeking out fashion alternatives to his black "kilt". Not sure why his hair is white in this video, though...must be granny chasing again. He said it was an Infiniti, but it looks like more a Chevette.
ADDhole mocked the tragedies that Deaf people have had with trains by posting this video of me using my native language on youtube. Life has been hard on me since...never mind, it's too soon to talk about it. Notice how I have gotten fatter and aged significantly, thanks to recent changes in my life. Shut up, BP!!
Also, the one time I got drunk at the train station, ADDhole was there to immortalize it on video as you can see here. I swear, have a little beer, forget your $3,000 hearing aids just one time, and run into a train because you are disoriented, and people never forget it.
I told him that his new name was now "ADDhole". Then he started crying because he hadn't thought of calling himself ADDhole first. All in all, it was one of the more emotional exchanges we have had recently. I think we have reached a new place in this dysfunctional friendship that has endured many years of neglect and abuse by...ADDHole. As you all know me, I am totally innocent, sweet, and blameless...being Deaf, I can not sin or reproduce, bit of an eunuch really. It explains how I can get jobs as a towel boy for the women's locker room, and no one is concerned. Deafness is the Michael Jackson of "disabilities" while ADD is the Carrot Top.
For those of you who may not be familiar with it, check out "Living with an ADDhole". I have to wonder how people with ADD can focus enough to make arrangements to attend the conference.
ADDhole "bragged" that he has a new car he picked up while seeking out fashion alternatives to his black "kilt". Not sure why his hair is white in this video, though...must be granny chasing again. He said it was an Infiniti, but it looks like more a Chevette.
ADDhole mocked the tragedies that Deaf people have had with trains by posting this video of me using my native language on youtube. Life has been hard on me since...never mind, it's too soon to talk about it. Notice how I have gotten fatter and aged significantly, thanks to recent changes in my life. Shut up, BP!!
Also, the one time I got drunk at the train station, ADDhole was there to immortalize it on video as you can see here. I swear, have a little beer, forget your $3,000 hearing aids just one time, and run into a train because you are disoriented, and people never forget it.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
For BP
For my friend BP, who has such a tough trash-talking exterior and an endearingly tender side here and there... here is Tiny Bubbles for you and your mom.
Passing Judgement on Everyone - The Gas Crisis
Where's Jimmy Carter when you need him? Oh, right.
As you know, assuming that you have access to CNN and The Onion ,we are in a serious crisis, and are almost out of fuel (also known as oil, petroleum, and gas). There are many reasons for this crisis, but basically, if you look in the mirror, you'll see the real cause...
...you.
Not me, or them, but you. Since to you, I am "you", and not me, I too must share the blame for the ongoing crisis, even though a few years ago, I downgraded from a monster Buick Regal to a gas-sipping Honda Accord. My Honda is underpowered, stiff-riding, and the stereo does not have a plug for my iPod (I know, once again, savor the irony of the Deaf guy enjoying his tunes), but the hood is suitable for kissing and making out under the stars.
Let me chastise us all....shame, shame, and shame on all of us for allowing it to reach this point. You, who drive that thirsty SUV down to the corner liquor store for an ethanol based product called...whiskey. You, who drive that "fuel efficient" Corolla at well over the speed limit, because, and I quote "I get good mileage so I can go as fast as I want". Do you really need to drive that 8MPG Chevy Suburban 5 miles to work because it is paid for?
Let's look at some solutions.
1. Hybrid/Electric/Hydrogen Fuel Cell solutions. This is the future, and to the manufacturers: hurry the hell up!! Stop screwing around and get these damned cars to the market already. I like the hydrogen vehicles, especially for the potential for highway Hindenburg accidents.
2. Downsize, damnit!! If I can do it, so can you. How much space and comfort do you really need to make your daily commute? I see so many people blasting down the freeway, just one person to a huge behemoth. Yeah, those paved roads really require 4WD and V8. I am preparing to go even tinier in a year or two with a Smart Car. Do I sound self-righteous and smug?
3. Before you toggle your ignition, ask yourself...do you really need to make this trip? Could you walk it? Bike it? Less trips means less fuel consumed equal more money for more important things in life...like lottery tickets and Mounds bars.
4. I used to think that the amount of fuel was limited by the amount of decomposed dinosaurs buried under the earth after the last alien invasion at the turn of the eon. However, my dear friend, Clinical, mocked my limited knowledge on the subject, and informed me that oil cames from blah blah...I forget what she said....Clinical, can you comment on that oil thing such as where it comes from and why it is limited?
5. Stop treating your vehicles like bling-bling. It's a vehicle, not a fashion accessory. You are not a worthier human being just because your car costs more. It just means that you have brought into the marketing hype that tells you to think this way. You are not more attractive, smarter, or smell better just because your car costs about half the GNP of a country like Illinois...is that right? Illinois is not part of America any more is it? By the way, Lexus is a Toyota, Infiniti, is a Nissan, and Accura is a Honda. If you need a "luxury" car to feel better about yourself, consider therapy to help to bridge the gap with daddy and find out why you don't feel he ever loved you as much as his other family.
6. Invade Saudi Arabia after Bush departs in 2009. Let's face it...they treat us like crap. Bush recently begged them for more oil, and they told him to "go away, you bother me, kid!!". This after Bush was photographed holding hands and kissing some weirdly bearded guy. Makes me question his public "opposition" to gay marriage. I like the picture because the Saudi guy looks like he has a rat-butt stuck on his chin. I am normally a peace-loving guy, but in my ill-informed opinion, we invaded the wrong damned country...Saudi Arabia, not Iraq, is where we should have gone.
I could go on and on and on, but I have run out of gas.
As you know, assuming that you have access to CNN and The Onion ,we are in a serious crisis, and are almost out of fuel (also known as oil, petroleum, and gas). There are many reasons for this crisis, but basically, if you look in the mirror, you'll see the real cause...
...you.
Not me, or them, but you. Since to you, I am "you", and not me, I too must share the blame for the ongoing crisis, even though a few years ago, I downgraded from a monster Buick Regal to a gas-sipping Honda Accord. My Honda is underpowered, stiff-riding, and the stereo does not have a plug for my iPod (I know, once again, savor the irony of the Deaf guy enjoying his tunes), but the hood is suitable for kissing and making out under the stars.
Let me chastise us all....shame, shame, and shame on all of us for allowing it to reach this point. You, who drive that thirsty SUV down to the corner liquor store for an ethanol based product called...whiskey. You, who drive that "fuel efficient" Corolla at well over the speed limit, because, and I quote "I get good mileage so I can go as fast as I want". Do you really need to drive that 8MPG Chevy Suburban 5 miles to work because it is paid for?
Let's look at some solutions.
1. Hybrid/Electric/Hydrogen Fuel Cell solutions. This is the future, and to the manufacturers: hurry the hell up!! Stop screwing around and get these damned cars to the market already. I like the hydrogen vehicles, especially for the potential for highway Hindenburg accidents.
2. Downsize, damnit!! If I can do it, so can you. How much space and comfort do you really need to make your daily commute? I see so many people blasting down the freeway, just one person to a huge behemoth. Yeah, those paved roads really require 4WD and V8. I am preparing to go even tinier in a year or two with a Smart Car. Do I sound self-righteous and smug?
3. Before you toggle your ignition, ask yourself...do you really need to make this trip? Could you walk it? Bike it? Less trips means less fuel consumed equal more money for more important things in life...like lottery tickets and Mounds bars.
4. I used to think that the amount of fuel was limited by the amount of decomposed dinosaurs buried under the earth after the last alien invasion at the turn of the eon. However, my dear friend, Clinical, mocked my limited knowledge on the subject, and informed me that oil cames from blah blah...I forget what she said....Clinical, can you comment on that oil thing such as where it comes from and why it is limited?
5. Stop treating your vehicles like bling-bling. It's a vehicle, not a fashion accessory. You are not a worthier human being just because your car costs more. It just means that you have brought into the marketing hype that tells you to think this way. You are not more attractive, smarter, or smell better just because your car costs about half the GNP of a country like Illinois...is that right? Illinois is not part of America any more is it? By the way, Lexus is a Toyota, Infiniti, is a Nissan, and Accura is a Honda. If you need a "luxury" car to feel better about yourself, consider therapy to help to bridge the gap with daddy and find out why you don't feel he ever loved you as much as his other family.
6. Invade Saudi Arabia after Bush departs in 2009. Let's face it...they treat us like crap. Bush recently begged them for more oil, and they told him to "go away, you bother me, kid!!". This after Bush was photographed holding hands and kissing some weirdly bearded guy. Makes me question his public "opposition" to gay marriage. I like the picture because the Saudi guy looks like he has a rat-butt stuck on his chin. I am normally a peace-loving guy, but in my ill-informed opinion, we invaded the wrong damned country...Saudi Arabia, not Iraq, is where we should have gone.
I could go on and on and on, but I have run out of gas.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Solving the Mystery of What Women Want
If anyone thinks I am being sexist, too damned bad. It's my blog....well, mine and Distracted's, who now has to repaint his trike due to a recent incident of vandalism against his peachy keen ride as he calls it. While he is otherwise, engaged...
It is "the" question. It confounded man since time immemorial. Since the first woman walked by the first prehistoric construction site. Since a woman first got blamed for all the world's problems because we men can not admit to or accept responsibility for their own shortcomings.
It has never been answered. Never. Depending on your belief system, never since the first organism crawled out of the primordial ooze, never since the deity of your choice created humans, or humanity sprung from biological spores has any man been able to discover....
What do women want?
Women, any one of them, are powerful, enticing mysteries that enthrall and stir the imagination. I have always found women to be endlessly fascinating. Most my friends are women. After years of learning from women, running into the house because a woman smiled and said "hi" to me, and listening to women, I am still as much as in the dark as ever.
After thinking it over as I pondered how John Grisham can write the same lawyer book 10 times and still make it a bestseller, I hit upon a novel approach to getting an answer...
...ask the women I know.
So, superior of the sexes, I am going to be sending you an email with the question...what do you want? I will post your replies in the blog, and will protect your identity so you are anonymous. So, be as honest as you like, as blunt as you long, and your answers can be as long or as short as you want.
Most of you I have known for years, and I would really like to hear how you answer this question. There are no wrong answers, there is only YOUR answer, and that is what I would really like to have. Also, if you don't mind, tell the readers a little about yourself, anything you want.
You can email your answers to me directly, or you can click the comment at the end of this post. Whatever you feel comfortable with.
So, what you do want?
It is "the" question. It confounded man since time immemorial. Since the first woman walked by the first prehistoric construction site. Since a woman first got blamed for all the world's problems because we men can not admit to or accept responsibility for their own shortcomings.
It has never been answered. Never. Depending on your belief system, never since the first organism crawled out of the primordial ooze, never since the deity of your choice created humans, or humanity sprung from biological spores has any man been able to discover....
What do women want?
Women, any one of them, are powerful, enticing mysteries that enthrall and stir the imagination. I have always found women to be endlessly fascinating. Most my friends are women. After years of learning from women, running into the house because a woman smiled and said "hi" to me, and listening to women, I am still as much as in the dark as ever.
After thinking it over as I pondered how John Grisham can write the same lawyer book 10 times and still make it a bestseller, I hit upon a novel approach to getting an answer...
...ask the women I know.
So, superior of the sexes, I am going to be sending you an email with the question...what do you want? I will post your replies in the blog, and will protect your identity so you are anonymous. So, be as honest as you like, as blunt as you long, and your answers can be as long or as short as you want.
Most of you I have known for years, and I would really like to hear how you answer this question. There are no wrong answers, there is only YOUR answer, and that is what I would really like to have. Also, if you don't mind, tell the readers a little about yourself, anything you want.
You can email your answers to me directly, or you can click the comment at the end of this post. Whatever you feel comfortable with.
So, what you do want?
Saturday, May 10, 2008
The Hairpuller's - Happy Tidings
Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Hairpuller!! Baby Girl Hairpuller was born on May 6, 2008, and is doing great!
Mrs. Hairpuller AKA mom says, and I quote "she is so cute!". I think I will agree with that statement.
I am happy for the family as they have alot of love.
Mrs. Hairpuller AKA mom says, and I quote "she is so cute!". I think I will agree with that statement.
I am happy for the family as they have alot of love.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Turnpike Chickens
I promised a faithful recounting of my encounter with the turnpike chickens during my sojourn in Joisey. I would have done it sooner except that Distracted got rear-ended (not in the good way) while sitting at a red light. He was all whiny about his spinal injury, and how he can't turn his pottery wheel for a few weeks. Whatever, Nancy. Anyhoo, he is OK for the most part. I will let him tell that story as soon as he gets off his plastic donut. He sent a picture of the events that occurred while he was triking to the store for some, as he puts it, "chocolates for a good boy in a clean kilt!" 
Oh my sweet sainted Aunt Fanny!! By the lore of David Lynch!! I only had my phone-camera, unfortunately,but the picture is not that bad...the arrangement is a great comment on society, the juxtaposition of Innocent chickens under the clawed foot of capitalistic commerce. Did I really need to write that? No, but I enjoyed it. You too can wax pretentious like me if you want.
What amazed me is that they were so healthy-looking, and doing fine on this dangerous road. It was a single rooster and two hens (lucky bastard!), just pecking away at the dirt and debris. I gave them a wide berth to show respect for their right to be there. We made eye contact as I passed, and I walked on. I swear, the skinnier hen winked her eyelashes at me.
The roadway was very busy, and there were so many dangers to these chickens...speeding vehicles, hungry humans, feral house cats, and relatives of Distracted. Despite all this, they were doing fine, but it felt like just a matter of time before they would end up as dinner for someone or something. But, for the moment, they were alive, and being existential as we all are, unaware of the dark end that awaits us all.
Shortly after, another colleague stopped by in his SUV, nearly in tears. Either due to basic human concern or insurance issues, or perhaps an allergic reaction to the pollution. This time, I relented and rode the last mile to the hotel. Good thing too, as the last mile crossed a bridge very high above a river. I would have frozen on it for sure.
I wonder still if the chickens are doing OK.
Now, turnpike chickens.
While in Joisey (April 10)....at the end of my second day, I was raring to head back and do some exploring. The "adults" kept talking and would not shut up...and that left me stuck because we were carpooling. After I sighed heavily several times, and kicked over a chair, I announced very pointedly that I was walking back to the hotel....5 miles away...on the NJ Turnpike. Of course, who listens to the Deaf guy? I gathered my belongings, and backpack and headed out.
I started walking, and because the sun was on the left, I headed away from it, thinking that would get me back to Seacaus where the hotel was. I kept muttering to myself so the local crazies would leave me alone. I found the naughty bookstore, oriented myself, and finally hit the turnpike. For those of you keeping count, it is the 503 from Moonachie to Seacaus; the X marks where I met the chickens.
While in Joisey (April 10)....at the end of my second day, I was raring to head back and do some exploring. The "adults" kept talking and would not shut up...and that left me stuck because we were carpooling. After I sighed heavily several times, and kicked over a chair, I announced very pointedly that I was walking back to the hotel....5 miles away...on the NJ Turnpike. Of course, who listens to the Deaf guy? I gathered my belongings, and backpack and headed out.
I started walking, and because the sun was on the left, I headed away from it, thinking that would get me back to Seacaus where the hotel was. I kept muttering to myself so the local crazies would leave me alone. I found the naughty bookstore, oriented myself, and finally hit the turnpike. For those of you keeping count, it is the 503 from Moonachie to Seacaus; the X marks where I met the chickens.
I was walking along, and my phone started ringing about 1-2 miles into my trip. My colleagues were wondering where I was...duh, walking...on the 503. I allowed that I had left the bookstore behind me. For some reason, they wanted to know where the bookstore was so that they could find me, I guess.
15 minutes later, a SUV pulls up...don't worry, kids....it was not that kind of walking. It was just a colleague who wanted to give me a ride back to the hotel. I told him I was enjoying the walk, and to just keep going.
15 minutes later, a SUV pulls up...don't worry, kids....it was not that kind of walking. It was just a colleague who wanted to give me a ride back to the hotel. I told him I was enjoying the walk, and to just keep going.
I am glad I did...because around the next bend, there were....
chickens....
on...
chickens....
on...
the...
turnpike!!
turnpike!!
Oh my sweet sainted Aunt Fanny!! By the lore of David Lynch!! I only had my phone-camera, unfortunately,but the picture is not that bad...the arrangement is a great comment on society, the juxtaposition of Innocent chickens under the clawed foot of capitalistic commerce. Did I really need to write that? No, but I enjoyed it. You too can wax pretentious like me if you want.
What amazed me is that they were so healthy-looking, and doing fine on this dangerous road. It was a single rooster and two hens (lucky bastard!), just pecking away at the dirt and debris. I gave them a wide berth to show respect for their right to be there. We made eye contact as I passed, and I walked on. I swear, the skinnier hen winked her eyelashes at me.
The roadway was very busy, and there were so many dangers to these chickens...speeding vehicles, hungry humans, feral house cats, and relatives of Distracted. Despite all this, they were doing fine, but it felt like just a matter of time before they would end up as dinner for someone or something. But, for the moment, they were alive, and being existential as we all are, unaware of the dark end that awaits us all.
Shortly after, another colleague stopped by in his SUV, nearly in tears. Either due to basic human concern or insurance issues, or perhaps an allergic reaction to the pollution. This time, I relented and rode the last mile to the hotel. Good thing too, as the last mile crossed a bridge very high above a river. I would have frozen on it for sure.
I wonder still if the chickens are doing OK.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Dr. Lecter and Ms. Starling - A great love story for the ages?
I got to jawin' the other day with some back-fence neighbors. We were all talking about crops, which was odd because the closest that any of us get to a farm is when we pass slow-moving tractors on the interstate. Somehow, perhaps because we realized this and things turned awkward, we started talking about movies.
Specifically, the most romantic movies around. Pretty much everyone mentioned films such as Titanic (giving up your life for your love), From Here to Eternity (passion and defying society), An Affair to Remember (finally giving up stupid pride to be together), When Harry Met Sally (in love with your best friend), Sleepless in Seattle (fate and chance leading to your true love), Palmetto (steamy, nearly taboo love) and of course, The Princess Bride (as you wish...true love). All worthy treatments on the subject of love.
While everyone was sighing, awash in the warmth of cinematic memory, I offered my personal pick for perhaps the greatest love story ever put on film....Silence of the Lambs (SOTL). For some reason, the beers were drained quickly, excuses were made, and everyone departed...and I realized once again, not many people gets this. I suppose, given the other subplots in the film (eating disorder, murder, etc.), the love does get overlooked by most viewers. So, allow me to highlight what most miss when they view this film. It takes a very special person to get this.
You know the basic story, probably. Sharp FBI agent Clarice Starling enlists aid of a brilliant psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter, who suffers from an unique eating disorder that has landed him in the porky. Clarice is a beautiful, smart woman who has a tragic past, who feels that no one gets her, and has been disappointed bitterly in love. Her hurt is palpable, and she has learned to guard her innermost feelings, especially against that of love, to the point of denying it.
Hannibal is a brilliant, but fractured man who has never found anyone to whom he can relate, or love. He too has a past filled with heartache and suffering, and has suppressed all tender emotion, including, yes, love. It seems fated that this two would get together, and it starts with a fetishistic haberdasher with an unique specialty.
Clarice faces a difficult problem involving a true insaniac, Buffalo Bill, who will not let her rest. Bill causes all sorts of problems for Clarice, and leaves her a body of work that just denies her another chance to experience love. After attempting to resolve this issue on her own, she hears about and goes to meet the new guy in her world...Hannibal, and perhaps, enlist his aid in resolving her problem.
The two meet in prison, separated by pane and pain. They begin in truth but end in lies. A deep connection is made from the start when Clarice is truthful about a rather rude neighbor of Hannibal's. Hannibal, of course, is immediately enthralled by Clarice, though he does not want to admit it to himself. Watch his fumbling attempts at humor (Chianti is not a good wine for a meal of liver and fava beans, for example). Laugh at his futile effort to beat back his burgeoning attraction by criticizing her clothes and choice of soap. It is apparent to anyone watching that he finds Clarice bewitchingly beautiful...and that he is in trouble. They even have an "our" song at this point...."If you are not the one..."
Clarice, for her part, considers him an interesting man, and is fighting her attraction as well. Looking in her eyes, you can see that she knows this man can break her heart as it has never been broken before, that he is the one who can get past her defenses, not for harm or power, but simply to get to know her and to love her, dark secrets and all.
The two simply converse on a myriad of things, chief among them how to solve the problem that Clarice faces in her workplace. Buffalo Bill is not going to go away by wishing. In a way, they both are actually grateful for Bill for because he gives them an excuse to spend time together.
Regardless, Buffalo Bill continues to make a major ass out of himself, frustrating Clarice's efforts to move forward in her personal life and career. Hannibal assists by communicating and advising Bill in a way that helps identify his weaknesses, and where he can be found.
As time goes on, Clarice starts to reveal more about herself to Hannibal, especially things about her father she has never shared with anyone. She finds herself opening up about tragedies in her past, a very difficult childhood, and her pain that no one seems to know or want to know about...except Hannibal.
Clarice keeps inventing reasons to come back and see Hannibal. She paperwork for him. He needs to look at this document. She needs assistance with Buffalo Bill, and so on. These are nothing more than transparent excuses to see the man she has wanted all her life, only she did not know it. The situation that they are in, and the weight of their responsibilities, starts to take their toll on Clarice. She has to endure awful logistics just to see the man she loves.
One of my favorite scenes is the one where he carries her to the bathroom (shown here). Clarice had too much to drink, perhaps too much chocolate, and could not walk on her own...just the exhaustion of wonderful love. Hannibal is so thoughtful in that he even put on his mask so that he would not accidentally bite her. Now, that is romance at its finest.
If she could change one thing, it would be to get him out of this situation, and the two of them could be together in the world. You can see that she is struggling with the quiet midnight rooms of her soul in which she is alone, and when she has something to share with Hannibal, she can not simply pick up a phone and call him. Now knowing that she is completely in love and completely loved back, she does what so many women do in this situation...she withdraws. I can not bear to tell of the heartbreak that unfolds for Clarice and Hannibal, or how with a few words, it could have been avoided. They had each other at hello, but did it have to end in goodbye?
With each conversation, Hannibal is drawn more and more into Clarice, until nothing separates them emotionally. To his delight and horror, he is in love for the first time ever...a great love. He does great with it at first, but as much as he loves her, he also knows that this is a difficult situation for her, and he must offer the chance to do better for herself...even at the cost of both their hearts. Even if he must be cruel. Poor Hannibal!!
Of course, he is thrilled, crazed, and frightened, and struggles to escape. He knows that Clarice could and should do better than what he can offer, but is horror-struck and grief-stricken at the thought of not sharing his life with her. Here, he takes leave of his senses and intelligence, and for the want of a better word, simply acts out. He insults Clarice, refuses to cooperate with her and tell her the truth that she needs to know, and along the way, punishes a few security guards that were simply trying to help him with his diet.
It is at this point that I considered Hannibal a total idiot, and wanted to scream at him to calm down, look at what you are destroying, you stupid idiot...your greatest love that took you a life time to find!! His actions make me despise him at this point. You stupid *&^%$#!! I think I become hypoglycemic at this point as the sweetness has left the film.
The worst thing that can happen in a relationship happens here...they stop talking to each other, destroying their chances of getting back together. This is so heartbreakingly depressing and yet, so realistic. This is what a man and woman deeply in love who have hurt each other would do. It is a self-protection, and it can be good. I think it was a mistake for Clarice and Hannibal to stop talking. He was free at last, and all they had to do was settle down together after a few months of Hannibal adjusting to his new situation and freedom.
They are both insane if you ask me...insane to have fallen so much in love like this, and to have hurt each other. But I still clung to hope that this crazy boy and crazy girl would make it, because at the end, he calls her specifically with the flimsy pretext of discussing his dinner plans. Really? You are having dinner? With a colleague? Clarice is understandably reluctant to talk to him at first...let's face, he was a total ass to her with his tantrums and insults. She addresses him by his professional title at last, not a great effort, but in the matter of true love, even a inch can result in a light year. Their song at this point is "Dance Me to the End of Love"...a song of endings and beginnings.
SOTL. Hannibal and Clarice. True love that crossed an impossible chasm once...and may do so again. How you can not know that this isn't a story of true love? It is the greatest love story that stands up to repeated tellings. Or maybe it is just me and no one else sees this. If that is the case, then I need to have my head examined. Guess I will have to wait for the sequel...
Now, if you will excuse me....dinner is nearly ready.
Specifically, the most romantic movies around. Pretty much everyone mentioned films such as Titanic (giving up your life for your love), From Here to Eternity (passion and defying society), An Affair to Remember (finally giving up stupid pride to be together), When Harry Met Sally (in love with your best friend), Sleepless in Seattle (fate and chance leading to your true love), Palmetto (steamy, nearly taboo love) and of course, The Princess Bride (as you wish...true love). All worthy treatments on the subject of love.
While everyone was sighing, awash in the warmth of cinematic memory, I offered my personal pick for perhaps the greatest love story ever put on film....Silence of the Lambs (SOTL). For some reason, the beers were drained quickly, excuses were made, and everyone departed...and I realized once again, not many people gets this. I suppose, given the other subplots in the film (eating disorder, murder, etc.), the love does get overlooked by most viewers. So, allow me to highlight what most miss when they view this film. It takes a very special person to get this.
You know the basic story, probably. Sharp FBI agent Clarice Starling enlists aid of a brilliant psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter, who suffers from an unique eating disorder that has landed him in the porky. Clarice is a beautiful, smart woman who has a tragic past, who feels that no one gets her, and has been disappointed bitterly in love. Her hurt is palpable, and she has learned to guard her innermost feelings, especially against that of love, to the point of denying it.
Hannibal is a brilliant, but fractured man who has never found anyone to whom he can relate, or love. He too has a past filled with heartache and suffering, and has suppressed all tender emotion, including, yes, love. It seems fated that this two would get together, and it starts with a fetishistic haberdasher with an unique specialty.
Clarice faces a difficult problem involving a true insaniac, Buffalo Bill, who will not let her rest. Bill causes all sorts of problems for Clarice, and leaves her a body of work that just denies her another chance to experience love. After attempting to resolve this issue on her own, she hears about and goes to meet the new guy in her world...Hannibal, and perhaps, enlist his aid in resolving her problem.
The two meet in prison, separated by pane and pain. They begin in truth but end in lies. A deep connection is made from the start when Clarice is truthful about a rather rude neighbor of Hannibal's. Hannibal, of course, is immediately enthralled by Clarice, though he does not want to admit it to himself. Watch his fumbling attempts at humor (Chianti is not a good wine for a meal of liver and fava beans, for example). Laugh at his futile effort to beat back his burgeoning attraction by criticizing her clothes and choice of soap. It is apparent to anyone watching that he finds Clarice bewitchingly beautiful...and that he is in trouble. They even have an "our" song at this point...."If you are not the one..."
Clarice, for her part, considers him an interesting man, and is fighting her attraction as well. Looking in her eyes, you can see that she knows this man can break her heart as it has never been broken before, that he is the one who can get past her defenses, not for harm or power, but simply to get to know her and to love her, dark secrets and all.
The two simply converse on a myriad of things, chief among them how to solve the problem that Clarice faces in her workplace. Buffalo Bill is not going to go away by wishing. In a way, they both are actually grateful for Bill for because he gives them an excuse to spend time together.
Regardless, Buffalo Bill continues to make a major ass out of himself, frustrating Clarice's efforts to move forward in her personal life and career. Hannibal assists by communicating and advising Bill in a way that helps identify his weaknesses, and where he can be found.
As time goes on, Clarice starts to reveal more about herself to Hannibal, especially things about her father she has never shared with anyone. She finds herself opening up about tragedies in her past, a very difficult childhood, and her pain that no one seems to know or want to know about...except Hannibal.
Clarice keeps inventing reasons to come back and see Hannibal. She paperwork for him. He needs to look at this document. She needs assistance with Buffalo Bill, and so on. These are nothing more than transparent excuses to see the man she has wanted all her life, only she did not know it. The situation that they are in, and the weight of their responsibilities, starts to take their toll on Clarice. She has to endure awful logistics just to see the man she loves.
One of my favorite scenes is the one where he carries her to the bathroom (shown here). Clarice had too much to drink, perhaps too much chocolate, and could not walk on her own...just the exhaustion of wonderful love. Hannibal is so thoughtful in that he even put on his mask so that he would not accidentally bite her. Now, that is romance at its finest.
If she could change one thing, it would be to get him out of this situation, and the two of them could be together in the world. You can see that she is struggling with the quiet midnight rooms of her soul in which she is alone, and when she has something to share with Hannibal, she can not simply pick up a phone and call him. Now knowing that she is completely in love and completely loved back, she does what so many women do in this situation...she withdraws. I can not bear to tell of the heartbreak that unfolds for Clarice and Hannibal, or how with a few words, it could have been avoided. They had each other at hello, but did it have to end in goodbye?
With each conversation, Hannibal is drawn more and more into Clarice, until nothing separates them emotionally. To his delight and horror, he is in love for the first time ever...a great love. He does great with it at first, but as much as he loves her, he also knows that this is a difficult situation for her, and he must offer the chance to do better for herself...even at the cost of both their hearts. Even if he must be cruel. Poor Hannibal!!
Of course, he is thrilled, crazed, and frightened, and struggles to escape. He knows that Clarice could and should do better than what he can offer, but is horror-struck and grief-stricken at the thought of not sharing his life with her. Here, he takes leave of his senses and intelligence, and for the want of a better word, simply acts out. He insults Clarice, refuses to cooperate with her and tell her the truth that she needs to know, and along the way, punishes a few security guards that were simply trying to help him with his diet.
It is at this point that I considered Hannibal a total idiot, and wanted to scream at him to calm down, look at what you are destroying, you stupid idiot...your greatest love that took you a life time to find!! His actions make me despise him at this point. You stupid *&^%$#!! I think I become hypoglycemic at this point as the sweetness has left the film.
The worst thing that can happen in a relationship happens here...they stop talking to each other, destroying their chances of getting back together. This is so heartbreakingly depressing and yet, so realistic. This is what a man and woman deeply in love who have hurt each other would do. It is a self-protection, and it can be good. I think it was a mistake for Clarice and Hannibal to stop talking. He was free at last, and all they had to do was settle down together after a few months of Hannibal adjusting to his new situation and freedom.
They are both insane if you ask me...insane to have fallen so much in love like this, and to have hurt each other. But I still clung to hope that this crazy boy and crazy girl would make it, because at the end, he calls her specifically with the flimsy pretext of discussing his dinner plans. Really? You are having dinner? With a colleague? Clarice is understandably reluctant to talk to him at first...let's face, he was a total ass to her with his tantrums and insults. She addresses him by his professional title at last, not a great effort, but in the matter of true love, even a inch can result in a light year. Their song at this point is "Dance Me to the End of Love"...a song of endings and beginnings.
SOTL. Hannibal and Clarice. True love that crossed an impossible chasm once...and may do so again. How you can not know that this isn't a story of true love? It is the greatest love story that stands up to repeated tellings. Or maybe it is just me and no one else sees this. If that is the case, then I need to have my head examined. Guess I will have to wait for the sequel...
Now, if you will excuse me....dinner is nearly ready.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Distracted is alive and... oooh, a red bird...
For some, it may be thought that I am not interested in participating in this blog. To others, it may be thought that I don't really exist and Deaf is trying to make himself sound more interesting like that time in the 9th grade during the Valentine's Day Cheer Leading squad new uniform fund raiser, "Send Your Loved One a Carnation Day," and he sent one to himself for every period of the day. Good thing I'm writing, I could never say that in one breath.
Another theory floating around could be that Deaf is truly off his rocker and I am but another of the voices in his head. Coincidence?, we never seem to be in the same room at the same time, yet... I feel his presence... as if I just saw him in the bathroom.
Now the question is, was I looking in the mirror and only saw what appeared to be a faint, distant familiarity?...
Or, was I looking at my floating drudgery and thought I saw a pair of glasses...
hmmm... I dunno...
I do, however, remember years ago when Deaf and I had just met. Deaf was radiant. His back hair was glistening off his bronzing creamed skin. Actually, here is a picture... just how I remember it.
Of course he's had a haircut since then.
Well, that's all I have to say for now, Deaf is trying to resurface so I will delve back into the depths of his subconscious to return another... Whoa a green bike...
Another theory floating around could be that Deaf is truly off his rocker and I am but another of the voices in his head. Coincidence?, we never seem to be in the same room at the same time, yet... I feel his presence... as if I just saw him in the bathroom.
Now the question is, was I looking in the mirror and only saw what appeared to be a faint, distant familiarity?...
Or, was I looking at my floating drudgery and thought I saw a pair of glasses...
hmmm... I dunno...
I do, however, remember years ago when Deaf and I had just met. Deaf was radiant. His back hair was glistening off his bronzing creamed skin. Actually, here is a picture... just how I remember it.
Of course he's had a haircut since then.
Well, that's all I have to say for now, Deaf is trying to resurface so I will delve back into the depths of his subconscious to return another... Whoa a green bike...
Friday, May 2, 2008
A shout out to PlanetHead and Kringle
I have been asked why I don't provide the real names of people whom I reference in this blog from the bowels of the Midwest. There are a myriad of reasons for that: I seek to protect those I care about from a Sinead O'Connor rampage, and because it cuts down on libel lawsuits. As Burl Ives said, hit 'em hard, and keep them guessing...maybe it was 50-Cents who said it...I can't keep up with the kids today and their devil's music.
I was looking across YouTube the other day, trying to find videos of animals working in offices. Like, with copier machines and on the computer machines. It was work related.
Ho, and belold, I stumbled across a video starring my very dear friends, PlanetHead and Kringle. PlanetHead, so-called because he has an excessively large head in proportion to his tiny body, and in fact, has been known to cause tsunamis while on a nodfest. His partner in work-life, Kringle, is a tall lithe blond with a penchant for...kringle. You can bet that she has to look up what lithe means. Lithe not fight, Kringle!! If you don't know what kringle is, it's a fluffy self-absorbed Danish pastry with a creamy fruit-filled center.
What is not known that is they are both beloved singers...they beloving themselves more than anybody. I met them several years ago in the 1980s (remember them) while trying on parachute pants at the local Woolworths. They were aspiring musicians, and could not agree on a title for their video. A career in the unmaking.
Apparently, they were undecided on what to title their video involving a corporate meeting, a globe, and a sassy cow. "Sweet beans" versus "sweat beads" (to reflect the martial stances of certain sections of the USA). At the time, I was thinking about a dream I had had about Knight Rider (the car, not the man), and how the car and I had gotten married and produced a family of Yugos. Don't worry, it was traditional in that I wore pants...from Woolworths.
I came out of the dressing room, and said "You know, sweet dreams are made of this..." and danced in my parachute pants, dreaming of KITT. Memories.
PlanetHead and Kringle gave me a piece of paper for my autograph because they said I was a great singer. Unfortunately, it turned out to be an actual contract signing my rights away to whatever I just said. I don't bear grudges (too much heavy lifting), and so, to this day, they continue to disavow my involvement.
Dearest of all reader(s), I give you the video..of..PlanetHead and Kringle. PlanetHead has red hair in this one, and Kringle, she missed a day of shaving. But, oh, they sing so well... Sweat Beads.
Can you not feel the love and sweat beads?
I was looking across YouTube the other day, trying to find videos of animals working in offices. Like, with copier machines and on the computer machines. It was work related.
Ho, and belold, I stumbled across a video starring my very dear friends, PlanetHead and Kringle. PlanetHead, so-called because he has an excessively large head in proportion to his tiny body, and in fact, has been known to cause tsunamis while on a nodfest. His partner in work-life, Kringle, is a tall lithe blond with a penchant for...kringle. You can bet that she has to look up what lithe means. Lithe not fight, Kringle!! If you don't know what kringle is, it's a fluffy self-absorbed Danish pastry with a creamy fruit-filled center.
What is not known that is they are both beloved singers...they beloving themselves more than anybody. I met them several years ago in the 1980s (remember them) while trying on parachute pants at the local Woolworths. They were aspiring musicians, and could not agree on a title for their video. A career in the unmaking.
Apparently, they were undecided on what to title their video involving a corporate meeting, a globe, and a sassy cow. "Sweet beans" versus "sweat beads" (to reflect the martial stances of certain sections of the USA). At the time, I was thinking about a dream I had had about Knight Rider (the car, not the man), and how the car and I had gotten married and produced a family of Yugos. Don't worry, it was traditional in that I wore pants...from Woolworths.
I came out of the dressing room, and said "You know, sweet dreams are made of this..." and danced in my parachute pants, dreaming of KITT. Memories.
PlanetHead and Kringle gave me a piece of paper for my autograph because they said I was a great singer. Unfortunately, it turned out to be an actual contract signing my rights away to whatever I just said. I don't bear grudges (too much heavy lifting), and so, to this day, they continue to disavow my involvement.
Dearest of all reader(s), I give you the video..of..PlanetHead and Kringle. PlanetHead has red hair in this one, and Kringle, she missed a day of shaving. But, oh, they sing so well... Sweat Beads.
Can you not feel the love and sweat beads?
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Music for Many Moods