A guy comes into the store today and says,
“I want 4 packs of American Spirit Yellow.”
We ring him up, take his money and say, “Would you like a bag?”
He says, “No thank you, I have gloves.”
I have gloves?
More like you have a frozen mush of a cerebellum.
It must be the cold here in New England, huh? (7 degrees)
That would be like ordering at a drive-thru Burger King
and telling them, “I want to eat it here though, thanks.”
A definite WTF moment.
Damn, I encounter far too many these days.
Maybe it’s me.
He stares blindly out the window of another night
down on Bleeker Street, where nothing seem to change except a world gone mad.
I go to him, touch his shoulder feeling the quivering bone underneath my hand
but he doesn’t move, nobody is home it seems.
As I bend to kiss his forehead,
I think back to my childhood remembering the smell of him;
a rich elixir of leather, spice and a fatherly scent I could never quite put my finger on.
It was a smell of total comfort and one of extreme familiarity.
His scent is different tonight; he smells clinical, preserved and abandoned.
He smells like a familiar stranger, an ancient decade of melancholy memories,
echoes of voices lost in an obsidian mist . . .
I sit there with him as we both blindly stare out the window, watching a world gone by
and we sigh,
we say goodbye to the too many words left unspoken,
the things we once took for granted,
and the once welcome spaces where we no longer belong.
I take his frail and shaking hand and wonder (as I have thousands of times before)
how many more nights will he sit here all alone and stare?
And simply exist.
There is little left to say but with my father, somehow that’s okay.
Somehow, I know he understands.
He has taught me well.
He was never big on words anyway.
It will be very hard to forget the nights down on Bleeker Street and even harder to forget
the little man just sitting staring out the window . . .
Malarky Monday seems to be coming around quicker and quicker these days.
This is the one day that ‘Teh Blogocracy’
gets together and tries to make you giggle and spit.
We’ve had some real doozies so far so if you’ve yet to jump on the Malarky Monday bandwagon, what the
hell are you waiting for?
It’s a friggin’ hoot!
Bookmark us and come back every Monday for some seriously demented fun.
For me, this Monday’s hijinx is all about the animals and pets.
They make our lives wonderful in so damn many ways.
All they ask in return is that we feed them now and again.
Here’s to whacky world of our beloved animals . . .
Good doggie . . .
(now that’s a trick to teach a dog!)
Bad doggie . . .
(when life gives you lemons, plant a flower and go on a canine diet! Jesus Krispies!)
(Will somebody please give this totally awesome fatcat a can of beer and a cigar?)
((I Love this cat! He’s a furry-beer-bellied feline version of me!!!!!))
Bad LOL Cats . . .
(could be Mafia-related)
((These guys mean business))
Move on and visit ‘Teh Blogocracy’
The Godfather says so!
A dear friend has asked that I please reply to my recent comments.
I looked and realized that the last comment I replied to was from Lynn on January, 3 of this year.
God, I’ve been terrible.
Can you folks ever forgive me?
I am going to answer each and every comment starting tonight.
I just won’t finish tonight, sorry to say.
I am happy that people visit and comment but lately life has had a stranglehold on me.
I do apologize.
If you have been kind enough to leave me a thought or three, check back.
All comments will be answered by this weeks end.
I thank all of you for taking the time to send me your thoughts.
Know that every comment has been read by me.
Now for the replies . . .
[ps, the picture has nothing to do with the post, I just thought it was funny (and true)]
I need the sharpest of knives to slice this
epidermal anomaly from the trappings of my weak and aging body
Deep slices to the elbows, slow and tender slices to the knees
please scratch my legs until they bleed, thank you please
this betrayal of skin, the most hideous part of me
is a possession of the worst kind,
an internal itch I will never be physically able to touch
the P takes over my body, the quintessential tired host
it will never be free . . . as the crimson spreads far above the blood that boils deep within me
People will continue to stare,
invisibly pointing to my sprawling scarlet letter ‘P’
just another ugly ducking,
just another ugly waiting stranger hiding deep inside of me . . .
I hate this
This is some awesome video with stuff blowing up.
Nothing like getting right to the point, eh?
It’s a guy thing so don’t ask me to explain it.
And I know, this has ‘cheat post’ written all over it.
You gotta admit, I keep it cool.
Click on the full screen and put on headphones for an Avatar-like experience.
Knuckles all around, boys . . .
Blow it up!
Once again it is Malarky Monday and a chance to make you laugh and giggle.
If you don’t smile once, I will refund your visit (although I’m not sure how)
For those of you following me on Facebook, click the links below! (and visit my mentally unstable fellows!)
This week is a collage of pics (some I edited) that I simply loved and made me laugh.
Poor Little Keeton
kitty loves Borat . . .
Way Too Much MSG . . .
Scorpion Bowls, too
Ever heard the phrase,
“I’ve never gone to bed with an ugly woman but I’ve woken up with a few”?
Screw the condoms, remember to bring your Postit notes.
At least you’ll remember her name in the morning.
(approx weight. opt)
Last but not least, some software that never quite made it to the market.
Or MY computer . . .
Please visit my fellow COHORTS!
More laughs, more fun, more hijinx, more Malarky Monday!
Hooroo! (buh-bye Australian-style)
I was in a restaurant yesterday when I suddenly realized
I desperately needed to pass a nasty butt mutt.
The music was really, really loud, so I timed my anal acoustics with the beat of the music.
After a couple of songs, I started to feel better.
My case of nasty swamp ass had thankfully resided.
I finished my coffee, and noticed that everybody was staring at me.
Then I suddenly remembered that I was listening to my iPod.
Damn you, Apple . . .
I thought I was going to put up a Facebook page and go anonymous but I was wrong.
It didn’t work out that way at all.
In the past 24 hours, I’ve changed my name three times and received over 60
emails regarding changes in my status.
I’ve also managed to piss off someone already and have been told to, “Go fry ice.”
In a nice way, of course.
That must be the Facebook way or something.
Jesus Krispies, some people really take their FB seriously.
I am getting a kick out of the people I’ve already run across though.
It’s like old home week.
My daughter Sarah has ‘friended’ me but I’m currently experiencing the heartache of being ‘blocked’ for the first time.
Ouch that hurts, SG. (cue the violins, please)
Who knows, Pamela may have her own Facebook page before the end of the day.
I’ll tell her, “It’s just like Twitter. Except different. Kinda.”
She’ll shake her head and say, “Whatever.”
That means, “Go ahead. Sign me up. Even though I won’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
I’ll tell her, “Hey, that’s what we have the kids for.”
For now maybe we’ll wait on a Facebook page for rumswizzle.
She’s just started getting good at Twitter.
Click on the picture above for a gander at my profile page.
It is winter and a time of introspection and reflection.
I am in the midst of a badly needed reading spree.
On the list?
*Just finished: Wishin’ and Hopin': A Christmas Story
by Wally Lamb (Christmas gift from my girls. It was hysterical)
*Next: Raymond Carver: ‘A Writer’s Life’
by Carol Sklenicka (this years birthday gift from Pamela. I love Carver. Always have.)
*Next: (finishing) The Hour I First Believed
by Wally Lamb (should have finished this long ago)
*Next: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
by Junot Diaz
(always wanted to read this)
Is this a wish list?
I have every book on the list (except for the Diaz which I plan on getting sometime tomorrow)
There’s more after that but I’m thinking that’s a pretty good start. Yes?
Might be a bit quieter than usual around here but hey, it’s winter.
Time to chill out.
And definitely time to read . . .