Many years ago after Pamela and I got married, we began the creation of a family.
Sometimes it seems like yesterday, sometimes it seems like 100 years ago.
Perspective is such a fickle thing.
That I have been an absentee blogger has never been lost on my wife.
She said to me tonight, and quite casually I might add,
“When are you going to change the picture on your blog?
Write a post about the annual Easter Egg Hunt with the girls.”
I hate it when she’s right.
And I really hate to think she could be a better blogger than me.
If she blogged as well as she ‘Pinterest-ed’, she could put me to shame.
The reasons my blogging has slowed down to an incessant but slow drip is a post in and of itself,
for many varied reasons.
Tonight, though, I am here to talk about eggs.
Brightly coloured eggs.
Easter eggs.
Hard boiled eggs.
Egg salad sandwiches in a shell, yet to be born. [yum]

When our girls started walking we devised a plan for an Easter Egg Hunt to be held in the backyard on Easter morning.
We bought plastic pastel colored eggs that could be filled with all kinds of goodies, from candy and small toys (that nowadays are labeled as DANGEROUS! Your KID could CHOKE on THIS!) to dollar bills and matches.
(yeah, I’m kidding about the matches, calm down)
In New England, Easter morning could be rainy and cold so we needed to use something that would hold up to the elements.
It was the Easter Bunny’s job (namely, me) to hide the eggs in the backyard while the girls were sleeping.
When they woke in the morning to find an incredibly beautiful Easter Basket on their nightstand (compliments of Mr. & Mrs. Easter Bunny)
they were ready to don the appropriate clothes for the ‘going-to-get-mine-before-you-do’  Easter egg hunt.

Now it should be said that Mr. Bunny liked to have several Easter cocktails on the night before and while hiding the eggs wasn’t a problem, remembering where they were the next morning could sometimes be.
There are still eggs somewhere in our yard that I may never find.
I’m still looking for the elusive ‘Ben Franklin’ egg from years ago.
Can’t remember the exact year.
I’ve thought of using some power equipment to try and find it but the money I would spend doesn’t justify the means.
Right now, anyway.
Many years (and mornings after) would find the once loveable Mr. Easter Bunny reduced to the ‘Stupid-Easter-Bunny-that-doesn’t-know-how-to-hide-shit-we-can-easily-find’.
And, my moniker grows so damn lovingly.
I love it.

Fast forward to 2012 . . .

My girls have grown into young, beautiful and intelligent women and yet, I still have to hide eggs.
I am not a freekin’ Easter Bunny anymore, I am a grown 53 year old man.
I don’t have long and fuzzy ears or a cute little tail.
My ass is now flat.
I need three wallets to assimilate an ass bulge.
And I’m a crazy curmudgeon that thinks the world has gone insane.
Maybe I’m insane because I’ll still be out this Saturday night hiding eggs and loving it, rain or snow.
And on Easter morning I will still have no idea where the hell I put them . . .
In my heart, I’m hoping they keep the tradition going
because as silly as it was it’s a part of Pamela and me that will live on.
And maybe in the end, that’s what it’s all about . . .

A Happy Easter to all.

I came home from work and went upstairs to change into my oh-so-comfy ‘Cinnabun fat’ clothes.
As I took off my shirt I noticed that my armpits smelled/reaked of rotting onions.
Onions?
WTF? [how about some garlic?]
I am usually meticulous regarding my personal hygiene and stinky garbage pits make me run to the shower.
But I didn’t work out.
I didn’t work in a coal mine.
And I didn’t even stretch my legs, or even my eyebrows.
Hell, I didn’t even stir a hot chocolate from Starbucks which can require a massive amount of energy.
So where the hell did this stench come from?
Homeless shelter smell, I am not.
Tomorrow morning I will shower for twice as long.
Will it help?
Only my armpits will know.
And the previously crying people on the commuter rail home as well . . .

~m

ps. And Miss Hathaway? Nice pits . . .

I needed a laugh today and got one from Klaatu42 at Youtube.
He does some of the funniest animal videos and I would love to see just how he does them someday.
Speaking of the post title, I overheard this at lunch today:
“Instead of wrapping bin Laden in linen, we should have wrapped him in bacon and tossed his sorry ass overboard.”
Bacon-wrapped bin Laden?
Meh.
I think I’ll pass, thanks.
Enjoy the laugh, peeps.
~m

I have no words for this video.
I love Billy Crystal and Helen Mirren.
This one took me by surprise.
Crystal and Mirren have some serious alchemy.
If you’ve seen the original movie and need a smile, please watch.
And if you haven’t, please watch.
Edward Cullen, watch out . . .

With hundreds of red-winged blackbirds falling dead out of the sky in Louisiana,
more tornadoes than the NOAA can count,
earthquakes the magnitudes of which the world has never seen,
tropical cyclones that can only be classified as deadly and a massive oil spill that was the worst
environmental disaster of all time, I thought it was high time for some good news.
Some funny news.
Maybe even some fake and made up news.
Anything but the bullshit the media gives us.
Just scanning the web I found a number of interesting stories.
Thank you Google.

Like THIS one.
Heartwarming and true.

Or THIS one.
Not so heartwarming but probably true.

Or THIS one.
Not heartwarming at all but damn funny in a very dark and Pan’s Labyrinth kind of way.

There, you feel better already, yes?
And no, I am not getting up at 3AM to watch the Royal Wedding.
I need my beauty sleep, for God’s sake . . .

~m

The text below was a spam comment on my blog that absolutely floored me.
It went into moderation (go figure) but I decided this was not a ‘bot’
but an actual person spamming me.
A very funny person, truth be told.
Sorry to say I will not be posting any Christmas links. (boldface text=meta tags)
They commented on a post written for Sarah before she started out on her current venture.
Funny stuff.

“I’m currently being held hostage by the Russian Mafia  [-xmas, christmas, santa]-
and being beaten to post spam comments on public forums!
If you don’t approve this they will maim me. [-jingle bells, christmas music-]
They are coming back now. [-one horse open sleigh, christmas gifts, christmas music-]
Please save me! [-xmas jokes, christmas morning, christmas carol]
-
but seriously, just trying to make a buck.
Help me out if you know how/can.
Hope this one was at least a bit entertaining.
Original credit to a much more original hustler.”

Original?
Entertaining?
Hells yeah!

I am: in transition and wondering about my future
I think: the world went to hell in a hand basket . . .
I know: I miss writing
I want: new teeth
I have: questions, too many
I wish: I could find some answers
I hate: goodbyes and temporary crowns
I miss: the old me
I fear: insomnia and more root canals
I feel: like I’m on the verge of something, maybe good, maybe bad
I hear: a fan cooling my sweating cueball head (I shaved this  morning)
I smell: a lit cigar
I crave: being 8 years old again running through my neighborhood
I search: for signs of my Mom and Dad everyday
I wonder: about my new neighbor next door and the fact that he wants to swindle me (NOT)
I regret: not finishing college and working retail. I’m so much better than that
I ache: for calm, for indigo breezes and purple sunsets
I care: about the future of my three wonderful girls (I am: so lucky)
I always: look before crossing  Boylston Street
I am not: perfect
I believe: in dreams
I dance: when I’ve had too much Maker’s Mark
I sing: because I can
I cry: more often than I believe I should
I don’t always: look before crossing Boylston Street
I fight: to stay alive
I write: because I can’t afford therapy
I never: wanted to be President
I stole: my wife’s heart
I listen: to things no one else seems to hear
I need: a creative kick in the ass and to play my didgeridoo more
I am happy about: my dear friends from Australia that will be here in less than 3 weeks.

Just updating my life status is all.
This post may turn out to be a monthly occurrence.
Tanks for the nudge, M

~m

I’ve played piano for 40+ years and one thing that’s always
pissed me up the wall is the size of my hands.
They’re incredibly small and very unlike Sergei Rachmaninoff, Dave Brubeck, Ray Garland,
McCoy Tyner, Bill Evans, George Gershwin and Charles Ives. (and I love them all)
These guys have gorilla sized hands.

Palm a basketball?
No problem.
Palm a watermelon?
Easy.
Hand me that piano?
No worries.
Play a chord with more notes than the fingers on two hands?
Got more ivory?

To try and play a Garland or Gershwin tune you need about 800mgs of ibuprofen an hour
before playing so you don’t cramp up too much.
I’m serious.
Chopin?
Small and fast hands, the little bastard.
He was a magician and quite the sex fiend from what I hear.
Russian hands and Roman fingers.

I saw this video a while back and forgot all about it.
Tonight I am tickled pink to post it.
Interesting though that to play the Charles Ives ‘Concord Sonata’ you need several pieces of wood
cut to specific sizes and weights in order to play the piece.
I guess his hands weren’t big enough.
Enjoy this amazing and funny video.
I love it from a musical standpoint as well as a comedic statement.
This is Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-sharp minor with much added levity.

“Small hands. But only hands small.”
I like this guy.
Alot.

It is an impossibly gorgeous day today.
There’s copious sunshine, more than ample warmth, stuff growing and skies bluer than blue.
We haven’t had a spring here in New England for about 15 years.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude to be alive and enjoying a day off such as this.
Life is good . . .

M

A monkey can tell a great joke.
This one is a classic . . .

M

*and yeah, new theme, go figger