no longer dazed. still confused.

I have returned to blog yet some more. Not so much really sure why. Just a couple of quick thoughts.

job-hectic. hockey-ouch. family-still the best thing ever. There is and continues to be nothing more magical and motivating than family. Nothing should ever humble a man so much as his responsibility to family.

I wish I had something either sarcastic or funny to share. Don't. Not feeling funny. Not really feeling all that interesting at the moment. Probably means the mirror to myself is finally in proportion, and I am what I am, which is a spec in the cosmos (Calvin and Hobbes).

There is a country music song... "What about me, it isn't fair. I've had enough, I've paid my share, can't you see..... You just take more than you give."

Like all things simple, when turned inside out, become quit profound and complex. These words speak volumes about human nature and the human spirit. Moreover, like the Book of Revelation, can be interpreted any way you want, only with less horses.

Hmmmmmmmmmm. Your thoughts?

autumnal

I feel autumnal. It is cold. I am a little tired. Weary. Scared at times. I feel blessed. I have a wonderful family. Sometimes you just worry. You try to control the things that you can. Like the prayer for AA. Control what you can, let go what you can't, and try to find the wisdom to know the difference.

Forgive me if I got that wrong. There are just times in life when you want to just ramble and spit your thoughts out. Times when you feel too much. When you don't feel enough. And I can't play piano. What? I can't play piano? I'm not crazy. This is just as close to relaxing as it gets for me at- times, and it seems like it would be nice just to sit down at a piano. Me I just sit here at a keyboard, and share some thoughts.

Autumnal. I like that word. I think its followed by equinox. Not sure what that means. I think there ingredients in Chinese food. I have to work this weekend. Dreading it. I hate call. Loathe call. Oh well. Glad to have a job. Pick your battles. Not your nose. Hey there's a title for the autobiography.

peace,

memories

So I've been doing this mental acuity program online, just to check it out. Basically, the program is a series of mental tasks in almost a quizzical game format. It measures attentional, spacial memory, memory, processing type stuff.

Its very interesting. The program graphs and monitors your progress over time. You get a free two-week trial. So, I'm milkin it.

Anyway, pretty much as best I can tell, my processing is pretty sharp. My attention, is even somewhat good. However, I have the memory of a sick goldfish. Its brutal. Almost scary. Well, don't have much creative energy to share, and don't want to waste any ones time, so peace out.

J

happy turkey day

happy turkey day

Rogers Crucible

Here's the thing. We laugh to feel better. Not so much to hurt others. Just to feel better. At what point are we cruel? Is humor a coping mechanism? A survival instinct? What gives?

"A face only a mother could love." Who's face? Who's mom? Making fun of others is so tiresome when we actually bother to feel their emotions. their pain. It ruins the whole field-trip for everybody.

Its so much easier to make fun. To be-little. It doesn't hurt. Or does it? Do we feel bad?

I don't walk in somebody else's moccasins. Their all sweaty. empathy, is over-rated. it is also underrated. it also takes courage, conviction, and heart. Anybody can make fun of someone. Its easy. I do it all the time.

But I also feel.
The broken glass.
In the moccasins.
and I. will walk on....................

still trying to figure out.......

Still trying to figure out how to post comment(s). I think you can post them know? I have it set up to moderate. Maybe that will make commenting easier.

Don't know........

hmmmmmmmmmmm

hmmmmmmmmm.
Just thought I would take a minute to ponder. Occasionally you get moments to ponder. This is a pondering moment. A moment where no direction appears readily apparent. Usually prior to an anvil falling on your head. Kind of cartoonish I suppose. Just a thought.

I think I am out of things to say. Bummer. I thought I was a lot smarter than this. But I guess my widdle bwain is full.

Life is so special. Everyday it unfolds before us in all of splendor and amazement. Still I sit here guffawing at it like a dumb animal.

Comments

I think I finally have this thing set up so people can comment on the postings without having to belong to g-mail. At least thats the plan.

Sociology Soup

This is something I have mentioned and pondered over before, still I am always struck by this. The titles of some of the other blogs. You literally have the full spectrum of humanity. Its fascinating. And at times alarming. I wish Carl Jung could have seen this. I would love to know his thoughts. I wouldn't mind Freud's feedback either, although you and I know he'd end up in some blog about "Bambi and her toys".

Its neat though. The Internet really is a clear mirror of society. Growing clearer every day. Yeppur, Alice has taken her pill, Dorothy has clicked her heels and were off on a technological world wind. Millions of Microscopic Societal dots (humans), myself included; all screaming "I'm significant" That's a quote I stole from Calvin and Hobbes, another great microcosmic mirror of earth.

My question is this: Have humans always been so freakin weird? When Ward and June turned the lights off, after the Beaver and Wally were safely tucked in bed, did they snore off to sleep? Or did June open the "special drawer" with lubricant and a spatula?

I guess biblically it all starts and ends with man. and of course fruit. According to the bible. We bit the fruit and that was it. June sayith unto Ward, "low get thee to bed, and I shalt commence with lubricant and thy spatula".

So the bible says we have always been pretty ducked up. Furthering its point that we have been ducked up to such an extreme that we'll it rained so hard it was pretty much Noah and some ducks (walk into bar...... sorry couldn't pass it up. I am who I am. or as the bible says "I am". ).

So is the computer a really bad apple? Or is it just proof of the power of fruit? Interesting stuff. At least to me. As I sit here with a brief moment in a world of brief moments strung together frailly on the twine that is my life.

So I'll leave you with this thought only to further cloud the soup. Robin Williams, while doing a comedy bit noted that it wasn't so much scary that man contracted AIDS from copulating with a monkey; rather that it was more frightening to think that right now somewhere on a farm there's a guy going, "here chicky chicky"

Good Stuff

It is a beautiful crisp fall day. A day that never seemed to come. The heat of the summer has carried what to me seems long into the fall. Still, the leaves have changed, and the breeze is cool.

So I have a moment to speculate. Speculate on life. What matters most? Least? What is truly special.

Friendship. Friendship is priceless, miss-understood, and vastly underrated. Friendship gets lost in definition. I think most people remember friends from a good place. However, the mark of friendship, is when you are in a bad place, and you find your friends with you. Friends are the ones who show up with a torch when you are lost in the dark, and sometimes don't even now it. I love my friends. I feel truly rich when I look at my friends.

Chocolate. Chocolate is priceless, often misunderstood, and yes at times vastly underrated. Like friendship its complexities can be vexing. You have your traditional chocolate. Good, loyal, affordable, and trustworthy. Then you have your dark chocolate. A little mysterious. Richer, more exotic. Further still Chocolateers push the envelope (that's a career, Chocolateer) with REALLY DARK chocolate. This is essentially a large cocoa bean picked off of some remote mountainside in between skirmishing drug cartels. This is truly the devils fruit. Oh yeah. This is the stuff that you buy your spouse when you have either screwed up, or anticipate capture from a screw-up (at-least that's what they tell me). Then there is the super expensive by the pound Godiva Chocolates. I have never done anything wrong enough to have had the privilege of such a purchase. Godiva says, "Yeah I did it. I'm very very sorry. May I please have my testicles back?"

I hope that someday when I am sitting alone in a cave of darkness; sullen after whatever screw-up I have incurred upon myself a friend will emerge holding a torch. And some chocolate.

Stolen Moments

As a father of two, I always treasure the time I spend with my kids. Its probably my favorite time in fact. Although, and those of you who are parents will appreciate this; I found myself all alone for a little while this weekend, and it was so peaceful. It was so quiet, and I felt a little bit relaxed. Somewhere during this time, I thought to myself this stolen moment is really great. This respit from the screaming and the running is so calming.

Having had this thought however; somehow identifying this moment as a stolen one, was really thought provoking. I say this because as I watch the two pieces of Kudzu that are my children grow rapidly before my eyes, I find myself feeling selfish. I find that anytime I am not with my children, I am missing out. Sort of a paradigm shift if you think about it. The moments you think you are stealing, are often moments stolen from you.

State of the Union

Here's a snipet from an article I found on a major news network.

WINONA, Minnesota - A woman wants abuse charges filed against an acquaintance who was pet-sitting for her potbellied pig and allowed the animal to get fat.
Michelle Schmitz said her pig, Alaina Templeton, weighed 50 pounds (22.7 kilograms) when Schmitz left her with a co-worker who offered to care for the animal in February, when Schmitz went on medical leave to recover from ankle surgeries.
Nine months later, the pig weighed 150 pounds (68 kilograms) and it took veterinarians 4 1/2 hours to surgically remove the animal's collar, the Winona Daily News reported. Officers are investigating whether Alaina was abused by the sitter's neglect and overfeeding.

Ok. I guess things aren't all that bad in our corner of the world. Are we really this detached from planet earth that this makes news. Here's a headline, "Giant Pig feeds starving community"

Don't get me wrong the idea that this animal had to suffer is wrong, and this person should be prosecuted. But how about the person who was dumb enough to employ this person to feed said piece of bacon. I am trying to remain detached as per my love of ham. Forgive me for belonging to PETA (People Eating Tasty Animals). Recovering from ankle surgeries? Hmmmmm. I wonder about those ankle surgeries.

As we speak People die. For causes. Just and unjust. Beliefs. Patriotism. Cruel misfortunes, all part of something way bigger than the pecan that rattles in between my ears impersonating a brain. Still we find time to mourn Bacon.

So I figure, we are either severally detached, greatly in denial, or largely stupid. Probably some mix of the three.

Is the world a worse place than ever before? Or is the media coverage better? Is anyone in politics not evil by definition? If not, can they survive?

We are on the thresh-hold, some would argue, over the threshold of very SERIOUS times. I don't know if anyone knows the Global state of this World. I know its hot were it shouldn't be, and that scares me. Polar bears swim more for fun than necessity at the Zoo. I can't speak for Alaska.

I know that every time an oil baron farts either here or in the middle east; gas prices go up. Still Exxon posts record profits. So who is suffering from the strife? Not Exxon. Which only leaves You and Me and our big HUMVEE'S. Hmmmmmmmmm. And people still wonder how to vote? Or if they should vote?

These are serious times. Kids go through metal detectors to get to class. They can't afford books. Books? We can't educate the kids to the problems, which becomes further moot, if they can't read. Are we ignorant just because? Is it learned? Genetic? I don't know, but I bet more people watch Professional Wrestling, with their kids, than many other programs. Hmmmmmm. I wonder? Ever day we lose more jobs, and more people suffer. Again. Who? When leaders at large corporations don't see that big bonus, do they say, "maybe next year"? Or does middle management take a downsizing hit to fleece another golden parachute.

The more I type, the further that pig goes out my locus of concern. As I sit here, grateful to have a job. Maybe even a skill, I wonder about the rest of us. Us being the planet. I wonder what if we could develop initiative to develop programs to help. To feed. To educate. Not necessarily kill. Or kill better. Or my favorite still, Kill Cleaner. What is a Dirty Bomb? If we can make a dirty bomb, or a clean bomb. Can't we feed kids.

Some people may read this and say, "listen to the liberal" "listen to Mr. pansy". I write this, and I don't feel too much like pussy. I feel frustration. Frustration at a system that has let people down. Good people. Bad people. People.

And as I write this. Bear in mind. I write this with the blood of those that came before me, so that I would have the freedom to write this.

In closing History may speak well or ill of the past and even the present. Still one thing remains unchanged and is self-evident. Greed is not a good cause, nor does it bear the fruit of good consequences.

Yeah... but I got a bat.....

Its All Hallows Eve. Pumpkin hunting season is in. Time for our Annual solstice to celebrate all things chocolate and creepy. So we are trying to be good neighbors, and to participate and make this holiday fun for the kids etc.

We did some decorating. You know spiderwebby, scarecrowy, kind of things. Well we got this neighbor. Of course there's one in almost every neighborhood. Not to take anything away from this guy; cause as per Halloween he's it.

He has turned his yard into a cemetery. Bats, Buzzards, Zombies, Grave Stones, you name it. He's got a gate encircling the yard with the bars bending such that it looks as though the dead have made a hasty return from the after-life. Its cool. Usually people incorporate such zest in Christmas decorations. Not him. I don't recall if he puts up a wreath. Maybe he should put a sign up with a little devil saying "He's the reason for the season".

So I got this bat. It flies. In a circle. Its not real or trained. Its just battery powered and flies in a circle. Oh and its eyes glow. RED. SCARY RED. Makes me feel sort of inadequate in a costumy Halloweenie sort of way. But then maybe he's just over compensating for some Necrophilia issues. Yeah, that cheers me up. I feel better about me. And my bat

Alrighty then...........

There is a part of my blog dashboard that shows other blog titles being updated. I won't share some of the titles, but lets just say that I won't be petting my cat for at-least a week, or shopping at Walmart in isles 4-7-9-10 and hardware.

Today is one of those days when my job is just hard. Just hard. Its hard to help people when you aren't sure if they are getting the help they need. I got some good feedback from some people today which is always nice. I'm not in the positive feedback business. But even positive feedback makes me wonder if I can be doing something more useful. Or helpful. Or sleepful. I hate not sleeping. I miss sleep. Hate call. Miss sleep.

I was talking to the nicest lady today. She leaned over to me and said, "you have a shit job". Hilarious. I laughed. God as my witness. I love that term "god as my witness". "Your honor we would like to call God as the next witness". "I God............. So help me. Me"

Anyways she did mean it well. She was just expressing an awareness of how trying my work can be sometimes. Honestly, it made me laugh. It was the smile I needed to keep my day going. To keep doing what I do.

As long as I have my smile. My sense of humor I will do this. When the humor goes. I believe that will be the end. As long as the people I care about are glad to see me, I will continue my Golden Retriever like existence.

Still Crazy after all these years

I have always been too competitive. Always. So tonight, after a high stakes game of C league hockey, I left the rink insensed. Insensed. I am dumb-ass. I should be greatful for my health and blessings, and I'm pouting like a two year old because I didn't win. I didn't even play all that bad. But not good enough to win. And I think the thing that chaffes me the most, other than my infantile behavior, is that I made mental mistakes. Never lose your cool. Goalies never lose their cool. If you lose your cool. You lose. We lost. I acted like a jerk. I shook everybodies hand and all. I wasn't rude. But I was distinctly pissed.

I did share some dialogue about this with my wife. She confirmed my jerkness. Oh well. Shoe fits, wear it.

I still maintain that you should drink life to the fullest, and in doing so some glass gets broken. Still a lot of Joy.

Compelling

So I am watching this movie, "Stranger than Fiction". Compelling. This fragmented story, which I imagine got panned, is compelling to me. It is rich in language, narrative, and vibrant with life. The exploration and growth the character goes through is so cool to me.

There is this scene where the female lead, makes cookies, for the innocuous male lead. It is pure art. The subtleties. The darkness outside. The rain. The communication and body language between a perfectly captured (played) IRS auditor and a sensuous rebellious anarchistic heroine who loathes all that her opposite displays. Is magic. You watch as these characters interplay across a table of one cookie, and one glass of milk. It is absolute pure romance. The chemistry just shows a slow warming, which is awesome.

I love this movie. I haven't even finished it yet. Moreover, and this is the beauty in the eye of the beholder thing. I can totally see people not getting this movie at all. To me it's a movie that says WOW, go out and celebrate life. But I can totally see people saying, What a waste.

There are those of us in life (no better no worse), who cry when Kevin Costner asks his dad, "Do you wanna have a catch?" In Field of Dreams, and then their are others who are compelled to go out and hit a speed bag after a Rocky Movie. None the less, it is what it is. Compelling.

Crease Monkey

So I got back on the ice yesterday. Note to self. Don't quit caffeine cold-turkey. I'm already a little tired, and cranky. I really wanted to see how I would do after getting my metaphorical "bell rung" last week.

I felt sluggish. I could focus and all. I just didn't feel right. Still it was so good to be in the crease. Away from the distractions of life. Which crept in now and again. But I had this hour. My hour. To just watch the puck like a cat chasing a laser pointer.

Playing goalie is rush. Its a blast. Their is so much chaos that you almost can't replay anything in your head until later.

Shoot-out: We were tied at the end of the game, so we had to go to a shoot-out. I hate shoot outs. Not for the pressure, so much as the lack of preparation. I have virtually no training, so when the other team lines up three of their best guys to come in one-on-one with me, I know they have training. I imagine the opponents arousal and confusion in facing me. I give up so many holes, that I probably appear to them as a large piece of Swiss cheese. I like to think I close the holes quick, but again, I am so unorthodoxed it probably creates confusion. I remember last night thinking how alone I felt at the shoot-out. But then looking out into the empty bleachers. I was alone. Definitely not a sport of notoriety.

So my adventure into hockey continues... 1 year 2 months and counting.

Another day on Planet Earth

Its another day on planet earth. I am convinced that pretty much everyone is crazy. Especially me. Just when I think people can't be any dumber, I am amazed by a new feat of stupidity. Just when I think people cannot be any more cruel, some other news story comes out further blackening the heart of humanity. I ask myself, has it always been this way, just with less press? Or are we hardening like the dry ground beneath our feet.

But then. Then. I see it. Somewhere. It always appears. Somewhere. You see a child laughing, or an act of kindness that restores some semblance of faith. There continues to be goodness in this bleak world. Somewhere today..... Somebody got better. Somebody laughed. Somebody cried. Someone forgave. Somewhere.

I don't know where because all of the news choppers where chasing a bank robber, and all of the radio journalists were making small talk about local sports teams, or anything that light and insignifigant.

But its another day on earth. So I role up my sleeves. Try to understand. Forgive, Help, and I guess even love.

I can't wait to see my family.


Its almost 1:00 in the afternoon, and I have told 1,245 jokes. All cynical. Mostly jaded remarks designed to remove myself from the sea of pain I swim in. Still the human soul is buoyant and I will swim on. Good things. Good thoughts & God Bless..........

Nausea

Nausea. That is the only word I can use to describe politics. I've tried the whole Ostrich, head in the sand thing; but you listen to some of this stuff and, well, nausea. I catch this clip talking about a bill involving health care for children; which of course the president vetoed. I'm sure there is a reason why, I'm just not that well read on the old testament or the ingredients in Bourbon to fathom his logic.

So apparently some 12 year old kid responds to this veto or appeals to the president to sign this thing and gets attacked by the right wing media thugs who try to indicate that he is in fact not a child, rather Michael J. Fox, using an old Tiny Tim Costume from child-hood. I see this clip with Keith Olberman talking about this and a couple of things strike me.

First, I like that Keith immediately attacks the humanity of this. Keith notes that almost all animals are "cute" as children or infants, so that their parents will protect them. So he furthers his argument basically asking the question, "just how sick can you be?" He's correct in his question, although speculation of the true darkness of humanity especially considered in context of greed probably reaches a place of sickness that would probably melt the average soul faster than the very touch of the sun itself.

And god-help these people, be they Democrat, Republican, misguided, or just stupid. ANYONE, I MEAN ANYONE who attacks children, using them as pawns for their own gain..... needs just that. Gods help. Cause if your that sick, and this is the frightening concept of a never ending onion of layers which begs two questions. What made these people that sick? Secondly, how sick was whatever created or made impressions suspect to make these people that sick etc????

Ick. I won't be eating onion rings for awhile.

I don't want to delve into this much more because I lack the time, and correct information. I do want to close with this however.

Mr. Olberman describes Rush as a Right wing water carrier. Personally, I think back to older days when servants transported chamber pots. The same instinct that makes most of us Bristle with anger when we see children wronged, rises in me whenever I see this Piss Boy (Rush). I truly doth loathe him.

You can ring my bell.....

That's right sports fans. I got's my bell rung. Last night while playing hockey two players collided and then ran into me. Leaving me with a head-ache, and some mild concussive symptoms. I did get the usual checks and such, and am a little fuzzier today than usual, but not completely out of whack.

Makes me both wonder and worry about the pro's though. The hit I took was totally accidental and clean, and involved the two best skaters on the ice. Now, imagine if you will, honed professionals with rocket speed, who spend the majority of their lives perfecting the craft of contact. All be it hockey or football. These guys rocket at each other at ungodly speeds, creating collisions which I suspect would involve air-bag deployment if they were cars. Frankly it scares. The findings certainly don't surprise me. I'm going to go now before I say something sarcastic about something very very serious.

A Prarie Home Companion

I sent in a request for the people of Prairie Home Companion to read my blog (pause for voracious laughter.... or as my sister, whom I adore would say, "silence").

I love the writing and overall make-up of the Prairie Home Companion, and am a big Garrison Keillor fan.

So I think I will throw this dream to the stars and hold my breath till they write back with adornment. For those of you who read my work regularly....."I would like to thank my mom and dad, and especially Big Sid in San Quentin who's feedback has been a real boon for me in the lean times.....don't worry. When you hold your breath long enough, all you do is pass-out and immediately your breath regulates itself, and your ok. Its like hyper-ventilating, only it burns less calories.

Marriage

If there is anything in this world harder than marriage. Don't tell me. Leave me in the dark. Marriage is a compromise. Marriage is learning to communicate daily. Marriage is about keeping your soul mate from being your cellmate.

Some people refer to their favorite actors as the one's they love to hate. I am married to Alan Richtman. My wife is one of the smartest, most wonderful, patient, people I have ever known. She is doing the stay at home mom gig, while I do the 40 plus hours gig.

Marriage is a living breathing tornado of emotions. If I see one more happy couple on T.V. looking at a sunset, I will throw the closest thing I have (except my kids) at the T.V. I look at those two smiling people looking at that beautiful sunset, and I know what he thinking, "That's right, keep staring into the sun you harpee and maybe your retina's will burn out." Through her loving visage you can hear faintly, if you listen, "One more step...and I'm pushing you off of this scenic landscape.

My wife points out the little things. Like, we have nothing in common. By nothing, I think she means, nothing. We share a love of oxygen, and sustenance, plus some shelter. You know Maslows lower hierarchy of needs, but that's it. Even there we disagree, my wife keeps telling me she thinks I can breathe under water, if only I try harder.

Arguing. You can't argue with this woman. She remembers everything. Everything. I can't remember my kids names. I only have two. Arguing with my wife is like volunteering to work at a boxing gym as a speed bag. I recall times after certain exchanges where, if you'll excuse my southern vernacular, " I don't know whether to shit or go blind".

Oh but she makes me laugh. And smile. I love everything about my wife. I love the quirks, the differences. This unabated desire for sushi. I swear she's having an affair with a sushi cook. God help me she finds one. Cause if she does. Its over. I know my wife loves me. But she would kill me for sushi in a heartbeat.

Yesterday, when we were in the midst of an argument, and forgive me, because I don't recall what about, our little girl came in with a loose tooth. She was so cute. Tooth is hanging by a thread, she won't let me touch it. And she is absolutely hilarious. She has this stall tactic where she goes, "Can I just tell you something." It might have been her first full sentence. She wanted a Doctor or Pain Killer. This is how much my kid pays attention. She knows that there is stuff out there that stops the ouchie. So I go get a Q-tip, put water on it, and pretend its Novocaine. Just long enough to pop the little tooth free. She is thrilled and immediately declares, " I want the tooth fairy to give me diamond" All I can think is, " I hope this Sushi cook is rich.

A Goalies Eyes

I was listening to the news (my fault, I know), when I heard about the American Women's Soccer team Goalie, who spoke out and complained about not being played in a big game. I think it was against Brazil. Honestly, I don't care. It was several weeks ago. Again its my fault for listening to the radio sports losers anyway. But here's the thing. She was the starter. She put up the numbers. She was benched for a game. It pissed her off. When the US lost the game. Badly. It pissed her off more. So she said some things that were offensive to people.

Yawn. Walk with me. Here's a kid, who is playing a position in which she is the last thing between the hopes and dreams of more people than if China and India had a group hug; who's existence is defined by wins losses and goals. People skills? No? Was she aspiring journalist? I don't know. Still don't care. All I got from her rant, was that she was competitive. Very. I don't know about you, but one of the traits I look for in a team-mate is Competitive.

I'm sure if people read this (they don't), then someone would come back and say something about sportsmanship and loyalty to the team........ bla bla bla. If she doesn't have rapport with her teammates enough that they don't see her passion for the game; and if her teammates actually listen to or read the press, or care. Then that's their issue.

Anyone who has been in a locker room should get that. Its not about opinion. Its not about what happens off the field. Its about doing your best for your team. To me, this is someone who hangs it out to dry and leaves the field tired.

Maybe I'm just projecting my issues because I have a big mouth and am prone to saying stupid things. However, I am competitive, and I always leave the field tired. What was it the Spartans said," Come back with your shield... OR ON IT.

because..........

Because I can. Because I believe. Because there is a box, you can think outside of. Because of beauty. Because of ugliness. Laughter, Joy, sorrow, tears. Because of Winners, Losers. Because of the sweat taste of love. The salty taste of lust. Because of sunsets, chocolate ice-cream and wheel-chair athletes.

Town Meeting

I love meetings. Anytime humans get together in any group setting preferably in a range of around 8-20ish is always awesome. Usually you get a good cross-section of society. This is of course barring polarized groups such as "Poodle lovers who Pray for Rush", or "The Movement for Better Bowels".

These meetings are akin to me of the Far Side titled "Gods Recipe for Disaster".

First you start with a room full of people. What kind of people? Well, you have people with low-self-esteem, high self-esteem, Me (see Narcissus). People who have had a good day. People experiencing a bad day. People with people-type issues. Height, Weight, Hair Loss (typical head), Hair Gain (typically facial, occasionally back, often times ear goes generally unnoticed and is approved socially by the AARP). People with more complex issues. Sexuality for instance. Lack of Sexuality. Guilt from Sexuality with something inflatable.

This also cracks me up in terms of the idea that humans aren't so much animals. The only difference in a group of humans and a group of dogs is basically the smelling scenario. We just take more time and diligence to sniff. Dogs cut straight to chase. Smell, and learn everything they need to know quick-like.

Then there is the Alpha and not so Alfa pecking order thing. Generally speaking these groups are put on by well meaning people who mean to be in charge. These people are usually frequently interrupted by one to three other people who want to be in-charge but lack the focus and or initiative, and or intelligence to form a meeting; so they simply attend said meeting and speak as to sound important to themselves. All the while, mind you, generally irritating the rest of us. As meetings go one of these people are tolerable, in that eventually a group tires, and someone or 2-3 someones gradually reign them in and muzzle them so to speak. 2 of these types are trickier. Why? If they don't get along and can't share the spot-light (clashing personal issues) they leed meetings totally off track all though its often more entertaining then the said meeting anyway. But if they agree, and oft they do; then your in for a long night of whining and negativity (Me thinks my jaded sarcasm meter is up a tad today).

Finally, and I could write a book about people in groups, I am always interested in the dynamics of where people sit. You have different areas in a room, which can tell you a lot about people. People who sit on the outside or perimeter (Me), are generally observers, watchers, occasionally stalkers (acquitted). People in the front row, are focused, aggressive, task oriented, and generally resented by the observers. Middle to back you find the a range of casual observer, who pays some attention, but not for long, to the oblivious, who fixate on boogers, and their inability to creatively place them anywhere but under something. Also in the corner, back to wall, you have the paranoid type. Not often spotted, but a fascinating creature to observe (extra note: GIVE LOTS OF SPACE).

Peace,
j

Pandora's Box

I probably shouldn't call this Pandora's box, because it really isn't that interesting. When you leed with Pandora's Box it tends to pique one's interest. So forgive me if I disappoint.

I'm playing around with my little blog thingie. Again that is the extent of my technical acumen, "blog thingie", and I'm looking at my profile and I spy, where this movie I really liked, "The Fisher King", was underlined. So me being me, I clicked it; Alice shrank and away she went down the rabbit whole. I got a list of about 10,000 other I think bloggers who also like the same movie (Gasp). But it had their profiles listed. You know, "Sagittarius, long walks on the beach, Pizza, Attractive Women who dig short fat bald guys................."

I have to tell you these "Windows" into the soul, that are characterizing traits of some of these folks is CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't so much know why, but some of these profiles give me the heebiest of jeebies.

I think for my profile I will put down:

Likes:

Not meeting strangers.
Privacy
Chocolate Ice cream
Privacy

Dislikes:

Strangers
People who post creepy pictures of themselves, or need to shout their weirdness off the top of Mount StrangeLove.
Anyone who dislikes Peanut Butter
Strangers

Join me later as I write my new Blog, "I Scream You Scream; A haunting insight into Paranoia

Spiders and Snakes

For those of you that don't know me, and those of you that do. Simply put. I DON'T LIKE SPIDERS AND SNAKES. Now having said this, yesterday afternoon, I decided to go outback and play with my new blower. Sounds like more fun than it is. Although being a man towards the macho side, holding a piece of machinery which propels things with force is cool.

So, lets review. We have me, arachnophobia/snake-a-phobe, a device designed to kick up leaves, and rocks at a high speed. We have an unusually high temperate climate in October... Does anyone see where this catastrophe is headed. Cause I didn't. After I exposed the first two snakes, and 3 wolf spiders, I was so jacked with fear, panic, naseau, and adrenaline you could have whispered boo in my ear and I would have stuck to the ceiling like a cartoon cat. If I had had the opportunity to play hockey last night, I imagine I would have excelled, because my reflexes were HONED. In fact maybe I'll try that for a pre-game warm-up. "John looks sluggish, bring out the snake". I can read the headline now. "Goalie stops 47 shots in shut-out, kills 37 spiders and a python. Snake Skin proceeds to go to local Jay-Cees."

Speaking of fear, my wife has been getting on to me about my language, particularly in front of the kids. However, as per fear, my patented response is "DUCK ME". It's a reflex, won't be changing anytime soon.

Also My wife and kids have that whole, "ooh cool" response to arachnids and reptilian thing going, which I just don't dig at all. Particularly my little girl, who isn't afraid of the devil, let alone a little snake. The question isn't so much when is daddy gonna have a heart attack, rather when and by what reptile. I just pray that as things go dim and I begin to collapse that the last thing I hear is "RIBBIT".

PEACE,
J

If a puck falls in the forest does it matter?

I played hockey again tonight. Had a great time. Its competitive. Fiercely. Playing at a higher level is completely different. The game is faster, you have to focus on everyone, because anyone can score on you at anytime.

Tonight was easy. My defense made me look good. I stopped all but one easy one, and gave up one breakaway. Hockey, like most team sports I play has a feel to it. Its like you can tell when things are going your way. You get the bounces, guys miss pucks, open nets, etc. I barely played good enough to win. Barely. Which is probably why we barely won.

I do have some sense of accomplishment from this. I do kind of feel like I've climbed a mountain of sorts to get here.

All this means nothing of course (hence the title). If it makes me healthier, and a better father and husband; then so be it. However, if it becomes consuming, and takes away from the magical time I have with my kids, then I will walk away.

You can put no price on the time you spend with your children. None. Metallica, who I'm not particularly a fan of say, "and nothing else matters". Profoundly accurate.

You can look at it spiritually and say love thy children. Or you can take the Grape Ape approach, and say we evolved to care, to continue the species. I could care less, because in my eyes "Nothing Else Matters"

I wish you well where ever you may be, I hope you are blessed and held in the arms of a loving god.

From the mind of Men

This morning, as I was cleaning up for a meeting at work. By cleaning up I mean wetting my hair and using a disposable razor I stole from a museum exhibit on flint spear-points from the stone age. A narrative voice appeared in my head. "Now when you want to get ready for a meeting you need to have the right equipment. Many top-notch spies now that you can spend $100's of dollars at a hair salon; or you can go to the dollar store and spritzer bottle with some bathroom soap and cheap hairspray will leave you presentable".

My point, and I do have one. My wife and I (mostly my wife) watch this show called Burn Notice on T.V. and this cool spy (who my wife is in love with) always works on these cases trying to find out who got him put out of the spy business. Anyway during the course of the show he narrates how spies do cool stuff, like surveillance, and breaking into and out of places. Probably mostly bunk; but it sounds really cool and macho.

So now, and I suspect most men are like this; whenever I do mundane tasks, I have this cool narrative voice in my head making even the most boring things sound SPY-LIKE :)
"When your mowing a lawn, the edges might be important, but the real key is........"

We also (men and most children) do this with sports announcers. I'll do this with anything (well not anything). "John has been a little bit off on his tooth-brushing this season, but I look for him to finish strong". "That's write Bill, and don't forget this is a man who can floss". Stu, wasn't he actually drafted for his ability to floss?" I think so, but he's always dangerous with those choppers. He's a guy who can brush with electric or hand-held......" I rinse spit, then me Keith Jackson, Al Michaels, and Bob Costas leave the bathroom.

I know I'm not the most technologically sound cat but.....

I know I'm not down with the technological age; however tonight I tried to preview a few other blogs just to get a lay of the land. I got laid. I think I am the only non-pornographic blog on the planet. Maybe I don't know how to blog/surf? All I know is that there are some frightening folks out here on Earth. Granted, everybody needs a hobby; still I don't think everybody should share. Furthermore, my pretty pony should be just that, MY PRETTY FREAKIN PONY. Not, "me freakin a pony". and ya know what scares me? And I think that you do. You and I both know that if we hit a search engine for my pretty pony, you know what we'll find. Frankl you can find it, cause I ain't lookin.

If you need me I'll be showering for the next three hours.
Yours in lufa,
j

Tuesday Night Lights Its 10:50 P.M. on an unusually balmy night here. I got a slow start getting warmed up and in my gear. Everything seems to be going in slow motion. The pregame start horn literally went off just as I grabbed my helmet and left the locker room. The Locker room.The locker room is one of the most interesting places you'd probably never want to visit. The chatter is unusual mix to say the least. Usually at any given point, someone is talking about booze, a stripper, their child's day-care or kindergarten class. Rarely, but sometimes their child's kindergarten teacher who is an alcoholic who strips to support her habit. Were far enough in the south that football is still king of dialogue, and hockey season isn't in full swing yet, so it takes a backseat to pigskin and strippers. I'm in the crease now trying to stretch out as best I can in the waining moments before the puck is dropped. The ice is still wet from the zam cleaning the game before. A couple of guys skate over whack my pads for good luck. At-least I think its good luck, it could just be subtle threats. Tonight we are playing a sponsor-less team who has yet to win a game in two seasons. I am kindred to them in that these are the people I started playing with a little over a year ago when my hockey adventure began. Its hard to get motivated to play a team that has no chance of beating you. Thoughts of my first elusive shut-out creep into my head. Shut-outs. I will never get a shut-out. Never. I usually need to give up at-least one really bonehead stupid goal, sometimes two to wake up and get focused. Especially against inferior opponents. Inferior, that term is so funny to me. I am mutt. Half baseball player, half football player in goalie gear. All I'm doing is fielding grounders and directing traffic.Tonight we have 3 fans in the stands. Probably some players wife. A stripper who is unknowingly dating the same man. Quietly sneaking drinks with 3rd lady, who teaches Sunday School at the first Baptist Church of Smallville. I can smell the fame and fortune. I have made it to the big time. I am on top of the heap. Literally. To solidify my greatness I make a brilliant kick-save on a 26 Kilometer Per hour shot. I assign kilometer values to the shots I face, because Kilometers produce higher numbers than Miles per hour. 26, 35, even the occasional 72 kilometer per hour shot sounds much better than, "a sliding piece of rubber that I can identify individual deficiencies in as it eases slowly in my direction. So one of these rockets goes flying by me into the back of the net. Well, I don't think it had enough momentum to make it all the way into the back; but it did cross the line. My defenseman asks "did I screen you?" He did. But does it really matter? At the rate this thing was moving I didn't need gear, let alone even skates to stop this thing. So, what the hell, I said, "oh yeah. Never saw it".Truth be told, I saw it; and the damn thing was going so slow I was almost hypnotized by it. I think as it floated by I had 17 separate thoughts consisting of strippers, booze, my little girls kindergarten teacher, who has a tattoo, and could have been a stripper. I also speculated some of the recent ideological shifts on global warming, as compared to latent trends indicated in ice-flow residuals recently observed. Then just as the puck eased across the line, I wondered, "If I pour salt on this thing, will it melt and die in the freakish way many a slug met its demise not unlike an ant having its tan improved at the hands of child's magnifying glass. GOOOOOAAAAAAAL

Humor and Goodness in Mental Health

At times humor is subject to a fine line, that few people can see. Often times people blunder over it not realizing it exists at all. Certainly humor is in the eye of the beholder.

I work in mental health. I see some BIZARRE stuff. By bizarre, I mean you know I didn't think of it, because I'm not that creative, so by default of logic.....IT HAPPENED.

Often times when I'm venting and sharing a story about some deranged person who thought they were Jesus, the Pope, Napoleon, or just an Ice cream Vendor named Vito; I do think man this is rich turf for material until. Until I realize that Napoleon is somebodies son. Somewhere there is a parent who is worrying about their child, or their parent. Someone who is lost, ashamed, angry, feeling cheated, not unlike the person suffering a malady that happens to be amusing to the rest of us.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about venting. I'm all about putting others down to lift myself up, but you can't lose sight of those that suffer. I get desensitization. I get emergency room people coping with their lives as best they can to do the best they can; still my point is valid and bears mentioning.

So what is appropriate? How do we deal? I don't know. I think feeling and being present with the client is ok. I think even laughter can be ok. If the client does something odd or funny, you laugh. Again I go back to older adages, With and Not at.

THEY can tell the difference. Anyone who disbelieves that doesn't need to be in the helping profession.

So will I continue to make lite of 300 plus individuals naked, covered in Tabasco Sauce, all in the hopes of being Amorous. You damn right. Will this individual be glad to see me for the umpteenth time when I see them. You damn right.

Sincerely,

Hippocrates

Finding a voice

So its Sunday night and I sit here relaxing thinking about my blog. Strange thing a blog. Apparently they are all the rage. Sort of a dear diary of sorts. I look at it. I proof read it. Change the colors. The fonts. I am the only visitor today. I have advertisements set up so that if I buy something or click something on-line, I can profit from my own shameless surfing.

But I think to myself, do I want to find a voice. I just continue to vomit scattered thoughts on the screen. I wonder, if its interesting to me, is it interesting to others? I wonder, do other parents have an inherent rage at their children when they are accidentally struck in the privates three times? Just me? I love my son more than anything in this world. However, I swear there is this Neo-Freudian/Darwinian survival thing going on. Cause I have been taking some shots to the groin. And I know my shots to the groin.

I have played sports since I could walk. I play hockey two-nights a week (goalie no-less), and I swear the most mortifying testicular trauma I have suffered has been at the hands feet and even concrete hard forehead of my son. If he were Greek I would call him Testicleese.

Still he is my joy. My laughing, smiling, ball crushing ray of sunshine that brightens all of my days.

So I will continue to seek a voice. A theme. A commentary of sorts on relevant issues. Or I will just fall back into talking about football.

Have a great week,

J

I don't do nails

For the past 10 minutes I have had a running dialogue with a woman as to whether or not I am a cosmetologist. This whole dialogue starts when the caller a somewhat polite (at first) elderly sounding woman asked to speak to Kevin. Now, there is no Kevin in this office, but I do work with a Kevin, so I did confuse the issue slightly by saying that Kevin wasn't in. However, to my defense, when asked if I did nails, I responded, appropriately, "no". I, again courteously explained that she had the wrong number and that this was in fact a mental health office. I hang up, phone rings again, This time I answer the phone, "mental health"; thus kicking off the great debate as to whether or not I was in fact a manicurist pretending to be a crisis counselor.

Just a quick aside, I do not have a feminine phone voice. I have probably never been referred to as Gruff and will not be doing any promos for the next big Action Movie coming out. You won't here me saying, "RACE FANS.... HOT RODDERS... PLUS THE SEXY MICHELLE.. SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY". Still not feminine.

So she, and again to her credit asked if this 555-5555 was in fact the correct number? To wit I of hairy chest and testosterone replied YES, trying my best to sound like Lerch from the old Adams Family (if she calls back, I'm going to say "YOU RANG"). This is when all the years of watching Matlock kicked in. She stated, "Well it says here in the book you are Magic Nails". I paused. Cornered. Trapped. Was I in fact a beautician trapped in a posture less body? All these years I had been living a lie, trying to counsel the mentally ill, when I should have been manicuring and pedicuring. Tears welled up. I had to focus.

I stammered back. "No, I'm pretty sure you have the wrong number". She pressed further. "well have ya'll changed". Ya'll? Ya'll? I wasn't about to fall for her southern guile and charm. I said, "look lady, this ain't no salon. Now why don't you just........" Actually I proposed that perhaps her book was outdated, and that perhaps she had a more up-to-date version.

She wasn't biting. She new in her heart of hearts that this was a nail salon, and that I, yes I, Jon who can't wait to watch football this weekend in cut-off shorts and the holiest shirt I can find, am in fact Kevin, the premiere finger and toe nail specialist; trained by none other than Pierre La Petite de La Non Football himself, in the art of Nailistry.

She enquired (probably subscribes to the Enquirer) "what do you mean new book". I caved, beaten and outwitted by a superior intellect I conceded defeat, and told her to drop by at 4. I apologized and said that Kevin was out walking our poodles (I just figured we were dating, I could be wrong), after their nap.

Duke Football

Just a few quick thoughts. Occasionally I hear something that strikes me odd. Something that, well for lack of words, I never thought I would hear. Todays entry is about Duke football. Firstly, Duke football is an oxymoron. The idea that Steve Spurrier came to Duke and won, low those many years ago, basically in my eyes lifts him to Prophet status on the grand scale of Religiousity. Hate the man, or just dislike him (I don't even think his mama likes him), he can coach.

Listening to a Duke Football game one day got me to thinking about how it could or should sound. "Well its 63 days till basketball season here in beautiful Duke". Were just about set for tip-off... er I mean Kick-off. Speaking of Kick off the Duke men will be holding their Midnight Madness first practice this Tuesday at the Cameron... wait he's got seam his at 30 the 40 the 50 cuts back, speaking of cuts The Dukies all shaved their heads for the big start of Basketball Season, to show their commitment to the 40 the 30 just the kicker between him and paint. I mean the end-zone. Touchdown Arkansas State Tech Southern College of Cosmetics A& M.

This would have been funnier last week before Duke beat Northwestern, which ironically is probably the only other non ivy school that could hang with them in a jeopardy tournament. Anyway, I digress, listening to a call in sports show (I was bored) whilst I was driving home, the radio announcers were talking about how strange it was to hear Duke fans calling in saying they Wanted Notre Dame whom they are scheduled to play later this year.

The very notion that Duke could play, and possibly beat Notre Dame in football to me is mind boggling to a cataclismic degree. It is bizarre to the extent that I want to re-read the book of revelations, making sure somewhere it isn't written, "and he opened the 4th seal low the team called Duke rose up and Smite those of the Golden Dome....fire brimstone etc".

Bear Hunting & Ice Hockey

Last night was magic. Pure magic. My wife took a well deserved (WELL) deserved break from the kids, and I got to spend some time with them. My daughter, who is sooooooo creative decided we should play bears, which led to looking for bears; and ultimately Bear hunting. Just for point of reference, bears are indigenous to North Carolina, but not my living room.

So here's how it works. All you need is clothes basket, a jump rope, a bear (preferably small and teddy-like) and some kite string. You can also use these items to spice up your love life later simply keep said items and change Teddy bear to Teddy. Or keep the bear if that's your thing, to each his own. First you have to build a bear trap, which any good trapper knows requires a laundry basket. Attaching a jump rope to the laundry basket, and setting the basket on edge such that it could fall on any unsuspecting bears meandering through your home. Next, attach a kite string to your bear, such as to assist with the meandering.

So picture if you will, a room barely lit as dusk sets in on a home void of light (turned off). Two small children crouched down quietly peeking and shushing each other as my little girl holds tightly to the lever that triggers the ferocious bear trap (jump rope handle). Two little flashlights bobbing off and on "shhhhhhhhh, you'll scare the bear". Giggles abound when suddenly SILENCE. Something moved. If you listen closely you can hear the sound of a bear stealthily slinking across the floor, drawn to the scent of a small plastic plate of honey. You can feel the tension as the beast eases quietly cautiously in, almost knowing that something isn't right. Its as if the laundry basket just didn't seem to belong in this part of the woods.

More giggling as the bear draws closer still (its hard to operate a stealthy bear with kite string). The tension continues to mount. The bear. Stops stands up on his hind legs sniffing the air for children, and dirty laundry. All clear the bear lowers his head and drinks. WHAM!!!!!!! The traps slams shut, and the great bear is captured. Two Indian braves jump and clamor and laugh and cheer as they run to their quarry. Success. I'm so proud of my two little predators. And they are equally adorned to their "cute " little GRIZZLY bear. They pet him and stroke him. And I know I have done well because between the clamors and the laughter I hear the sound the magic words that tell parents they have done well. AGAIN!!! AGAIN!!!

Its 11:37, I limp into the house. I have had about 30 pucks bounced off of me, 5 of which found there way to the back of the net. We lost. Again. I peek into my little girls room, and sleeping soundly holding tightly a silky white teddy bear under her arms I behold my very reason for being. In an instant I am reminded what is truly important in life, and am transformed. I trod down the hall towards the end of my day. I am blessed.

Child of God

Child of God. I love that term. I think that a lot of people mistake child of god, as a model, an ideal. Something that reflects all that is good about the world. I know that others interpret a child of god, along the lines of the metaphor, "God protects drunks and fools".

It occurs to me in my line of work that in some capacity we are all children of god. However, when I see some of the dishevelled lost masses of broken-ness, who cannot control themselves or their lives to the extent that they lose everything and all that they love for a controlled substance; or have simply fallen victim to some genetic fuse which popped at the height of college leaving them lost scared and confused. Imagine having the world by the balls, only to be kicked in your own balls and left in an emergency room at 2:00 A.M. knowing little but that you can't stand the voices in your held telling you bad things about yourself and those around you. Bad scary things. Coming from what you think is either you, or inside or nearby you. Or worse perhaps you have this need to understand some untold epiphany that defies logic to everyone but you.

Then at 2:3o a.m. someone walks in to your dimly lit personal hell, and condescendingly starts to ask you questions, with an undertone of, "how dare you have a psychotic break on my watch". "You had to meet Jesus at Denny's, just before the kick-off of my teams favorite game".

Imagine again at this point you still don't know which end is up, while this person is talking to you in what amounts to Chinese, treating you like you are stupid. Your not stupid, your lost; and all you want is a log, a scrap, something to float hope on in this sea of bizarre in which you have suddenly been tossed.

This is where empathy is needed. This is where a simply tool of love and understanding comes in and translates; saying nothing complex, simply, "I am here, and I hear you". Because mired in the net and wreckage that your life has suddenly or for sometime been, you can only but hear or understand the undertone of support or love. It gives you a sense of calm. If only for a split second, you are not alone. Calm, sweat sweat calm. Just a glimmer.

Having presence and empathy isn't learned. You won't find it in a textbook. It's not in a seminar.

However, God willing if you can convey it to the drowning soul that needs it; if one would but for a minute take a moment to feel, and be present. To cast aside frustrations, the desensitization brought about by the never-ending sea of brokenness. The fear that you have missed something better at the expense of this drowning child of god; then you truly are a child of god yourself, equally pathetic, more so lost than the twisted wreckage that lies before you.

I will leave you with this final irony. Many is the time that the patient in seeing the selfishness of the caregiver, not only sees but feels empathy for the truly lost soul looking down upon them.

And I think he said, don't quote me, "Father forgive them for they know not what they do".

Living the Dream

I love having my own blog. I feel special. Famous. I find myself saying things like, "Oh that's blog worthy". Or telling my wife, "remind me to put that in the blog." Last night I learned how to track how many sight visitors I have. I am still trying to learn how to put it on the sight so it says, " you are visitor # 7". Which is a real possibility because so far, I'm the only one visiting my sight. I'm thinking of changing the title to make it more interesting. Here's some Quick thoughts:

1) Back hair is Sexy
2) Possum trainers need luv too
3) Shave my mullet for Charity (not actual charity, Charity Sue my girlfriend)
4) Neil Diamond for president
5) Conspiracy theories for rednecks. Was it an Ark? or a bass fishin tournament?

Peace,
J

Hamsters with Balls

My wife goes into the vets office to get special cat food for our especially fat cat. Go figure. Its like me getting a value meal at Mc Donalds and a diet coke. So she's in the vets office picking up a 47 pound bag of Puma food (anything over 30 pounds for a cat, ain't for a cat).

Apparently a vet tech answers a call, does the uh huh, uh huh yeah, uh huh thing, puts the lady on hold, turns to the vet and says;"Hamster fell off of a fridge, the lady wants to now if you'll see her?" The vet, like this is common place in household occurances, says, rather matter of factly,"sure tell em to come in". My daughter. My precious ray of five year old sunshine, yells out, " are you serious?" "A hamster fell off of a fridge". Immediately appreciating the oddity and humor in this, which incidentally was lost on the vet and vet tech; broke into serious laughter only to be followed by my youngest who is just saying "Hamster, Hamster, Hamster", having just as much fun.

Now I do realize the seriousness of this situation. How did the Hamster get on the fridge? Did the hamster leave a note? Were there signs? Was this a depressed Hamster? Time can only tell. I would speculate, and I'm a layman here, but I have read of similar incidences; that this Hamster was probably placed in a "Hamster Ball". A Hamster Ball is essentially a mobile terrarium in which a Hamster can move itself around. Or so we thought, because as it turns out this hamsters mobile domicile becomes a play toy for Kitty or Spot. Dare I say it. This was a traumatized Hamster.

So I emplore those of you out there. Get rid of your hamster balls. It can happen to your hamster. Or a friends Hamster. If you have any questions, I would urge you to go online where I am sure someone, even just now, is writing their Hamsterspace.com blog, just waiting; no longing to hear from you (or anyone for that matter, I mean how lonely are you if you are dedicating a site to hamsters?).

Peace,
j

of all the bombs

Recent news reports indicate that Russian has successfully tested the "dad of all bombs". The "dad of all bombs" is reportedly 4 times more powerful than the United States, "Mother of all bombs". Furthermore to clarify the bombs in discussion are non-nuclear, "eco friendly" bombs. Thank god for that. Its scorched earth, but the waters still tasty.

In response to this new muscle flexing by the Russian's, the United States is reportedly testing the "dysfunctional child on the Dr. Phil show of all bombs". Speculations as to the power of this bomb indicate that this bomb is not only 4 times more powerful than the "dad of all bombs", and 7 times more powerful than the "mom of all bombs"; but can also prove that the "dad of all bombs" was in fact not the actually father and was actually the work of Chinese Government in an equally baffling Polygamous Auto-body shop just outside of Salt Lake City Utah.

Good Morning

Good morning:

For those of you who want to post comments on this sight, I apologize for the you have to sign up for g-mail piece. Although g-mail seems cool, and idiot proof. Being an idiot, I'm all smiles.

I hope you and yours are well.

Hockey in North Carolina, continues to baffle me. I'm still having a blast. Hockey is challenging and physically demanding as all get out. However, most of the players are northern transplants who grew up on the game and speak the lingo. Having said this, my fellow southerners creep me out a little. I say this because no matter how technically sound they put the dialogue its still sounds like a post Nascar press conference. Example: "I felt like we forechecked well, kept the puck in their end. We had a few bad breaks, and we still need to tighten up on our power-play. Otherwise, I think we played well". This is what I here " We'll first I'd like thank our sponsor, ice, slippery and cold. Good stuff. I felt like we did well. We were a little loose in the corners, and probably could have done a little more in the straight aways, but good lord willing, and with the help of Gator-Aide, and Good Year we'll be alright.

Today is September the 11th. A day we will all remember, and will be forever burned in our minds. I look at today, and am grateful. Grateful for the many freedoms we have in this country. Grateful for the brave people who have sacrificed so much over the short history of our country to allow these freedoms. To celebrate and remember that day, and those fallen, I choose to go on. I choose to continue being the individual that I am allowed to be. I choose to continue to write satire where I see it. Not out of disrespect, rather respect. I choose not to give ground to tragedy but to honor the sacrifices made by drinking from well of freedoms that those that came before me worked so hard dig.

j

Return of the Pigskin

For those of you that know me, and those that don't. I have this viscerall Love/hate, hate to love, player hater, I'm ok your not ok, ok I'm not well and you seem fine, thing with football. It dates back to my early childhood development years.

Anyway, whenever I think I have finally made some peace with this.... It bites me (metahorically). I'm listening to the radio this morning and 2 guys on the morning rock-show are so immersed and euthymic that football season is finally underway that they suggest people call in with prayer and praise. So lunatics call in and say thank you for football, and go Panthers and what not. I, being struck by the religousity of said suggested event, decide to call in. I GET THROUGH. I don't know what the odds are on this occurence but I get through.

I'm not sure what my point is in all of this; its just odd. Whenever I'm around the football cosmos, strange stuff happens.

Or this is all a coincidence, and further evidence of my narcissism. Go figure.
j

blogging for dummies.....

I'm so siked about this blogging thing. There is so much you can do. You can post pictures. This is like heaven for an agoraphobic. I don't even want to surf the other blog sites for fear of the possibilities. Just the idea that I could type about anything.com and get a result frightens me (Think anything). Ick.

I think I misspelled heaven. Forgive me. I hate spell check. I feel like Tom Hanks on that Island talking to a volleyball. Its like my conversation with space.

Blogs I won't be visiting:
1) My Cats
2) Grandmas Vacation Sites
3) It isn't stalking if you have a telescope
4) Rush is Right
5) Quilting for lovers

Blogs I would peruse:
1) My cat recipe's
2) Rush is Right (under my bumper)
3) It isn't stalking if you have a telescope (I lied, that one has me curious).

peace,

P.S. I have and love my cat, and like cats. However anyone with more than 3 cats (except my pal Sheri) creep me out.

Good Morning & Welcome to my Blog

Good Morning to all and welcome to my Blog. I am going to use this as my medium for tedium. My reason for rage, and opportunity to continue with the delusion that I am somehow more significant than the quantity of water and oxygen my body creates. I intend to mix a little bit of everything. The mirth with the serious (mostly mirth). I also intend to use as many big words as possible such that I can sound important and possibly fool the masses into worshipping me.

peace,
j