Evel Knievel takes his final jump.

Today Evel Knievel died at age 69. Now I realize that a large percentage of the blogging community doesn’t know dick about Evel. I suppose some might have heard of him from his recent lawsuit against Kanye West for using his likeness in one of his videos. But by and large most people under 30 have limited knowledge of Evel. Which is a shame because this guy was a witches brew of Elvis, James Dean, and P.T. Barnum with a twist of Steve McQueen thrown in for good measure.

He broke just about every major bone in his body during a career that consisted of jumping a motorcycle over all kinds of shit. Cars, busses, and the fountains at Caesars Palace. When that wasn’t enough he tried to jump over Snake River Canyon in a rocket. He didn’t make it across the canyon but to most kids back then it didn’t matter. He had balls the size of Rosie O’Donnell’s head and he was just as opinionated and abrasive as Rosie, but with an actual personality.

Evel Knievel was responsible for countless emergency room visits of wanna be mini Knievels, yours truly being one of those who spent an afternoon in the emergency room to get a broken arm put in a cast. A group of kids in the neighborhood, myself included, built a ramp out of some bricks and an old door. We set it up at the bottom of the hill on 79th and brookside. The plan was to jump the train track that ran along brookside . Bobby Ambrocious went first and he cleared the tracks no problem, but the ramp had to be set back up. I went next. Someone put the ramp on the bricks wrong, and instead of a ramp it turned into a teeter totter, causing me to go ass over tea kettle and breaking my arm. While my mother busted my chops and banned me from my bicycle for the rest of my life, I sat smugly in the waiting room knowing my new cast was a red badge of courage that would be the envy of the other chuckle heads I ran around with.

Evel wasn’t without controversy. He drank too much, there were allegations that he was racist, a woman beater. He was certainly an arrogant egomaniac with an all around ugly disposition and short fuse. Ten year old boys don’t really understand or particularly care about those flaws. They just see this guy who is larger than life, fearless, ballsy, and COOL. He wore jumpsuits with a cape, he was COOL.

The heroes of my childhood have just about all died off. John Wayne, McQueen, and Evel just to name a few. And like all heroes they proved to be flawed men just like the rest of us.

You grow up and you get caught up in the day to day job of living. Most of us lose that childish nature. We stop doing reckless shit like jumping train tracks or leaping out of second story windows onto an air mattress ( another hospital trip, and another story). Of course its necessary to grow up and be responsible, but in the growing up , the world loses a little of its sparkle.

It occurs to me that Evel Knievel never really grew up. When he was doing his thing, he was a big kid . I think that’s what made him a hero to so many young boys in the 70's, he was one of us. I imagine Evel is in heaven. Not because he lived a productive God fearing existence, he didn’t, but anyone who can jump over a line of busses can easily clear a gate.

If I had 3.8 million buckaroonies like Rodney King did.

I was reading that Rodney King got shot last night. Seems he was standing on a street corner and somebody peppered him with birdshot. He is out of the hospital and the wounds were superficial. But that isn’t what this post is about. The story went on to say that after being shot Rodney got on his bicycle and rode it home to Rialto before calling the cops. Let me repeat He Rode His Bicycle Home To Rialto.

So I look the Kingster up on Wikipedia and find that he reached a 3.8 million dollar settlement with the city of Los Angeles for his beating by LAPD. So why is this knucklehead standing around on some corner in LA and even more importantly why is he riding a bike to get there? I’m not sure what kind of bike, maybe a 10 speed or one of those mountain bikes with matching sperm cell shaped helmet. Personally I like to envision him on one of those little 20 inch bikes like Debo in the movie Friday. But I digress.

Almost 4 million sock-a-roonies aint what it used to be but its still a lot of scratch. So I’ve got to assume that Rodney pissed away a whole lot of money if his mode of transport is a bike. I’ve got a couple of scenarios in my head. The first being how he managed to go from instant millionaire to Broke Dick Bike Guy.

I imagine the lawyers got a nice slice. Family peeled him for a piece. He did start a rap label which apparently never produced a Fiddy or Puffy, not even a Stymie or a Squiggy. I’m sure he bought a house or condo. Still one would think he would have a set of wheels and the sense to avoid places where you can get shot standing on a corner. So that’s my completely fact free based account of what happened to his money.

The second scenario involves what I would do if I had 3.8 million dead presidents. I made a list.

1. I would leave town immediately, otherwise relatives that I never see would be on me like a cheap suit.

2. I would change my name, something kitschy and 80's Porn Star-ish like Lance Rockwood or Dick Bentsome.

3. I seem to recall that Bruce Willis and Demi Moore bought a town about 10 years ago. I would like to buy my own town. Of course I wouldn’t want to blow my whole bankroll, so I would look for something around a million or so. Probably wouldn’t be much of a town, more like an unincorporated burg or run down trailer park. I would evict everyone anyway so it wouldn’t matter.

4. I assure you I would not be like those people you see that win the lottery and keep working. I would never work again.

5. I would declare my town a sovereign nation unto itself and crown myself King.

6. I would make that wacky Sultan of Brunei and his equally crazy brother look like a couple of Quakers. People give you a wide bearth if they think you are crazy.

7. I'd get Max the yorkie his own harem of poodles, short ones, and I would hire him his own butler.

In no time at all I would have pissed away every penny and ended up back here in midtown, working some meaningless job and no better off than I started. Which leads me to draw the following conclusion.

Some people aren’t meant to have much money. They just piss it away having fun and being a complete moron. Rodney and I fall in that category. But you can bet your ass I won't be getting shot standing on some corner. Okay, I could get shot standing on a corner around here, but if I do I will have a car to drive myself to the hospital rather than peddling home on a Huffy.

Phil (the great pretender) Kline

I made myself a promise when I started this blog that I would stay away from political topics. While I read several politically focused blogs it's never been a subject I felt compelled to write about on here. Now comes the umpteenth controversy surrounding Phil Kline and I just can't resist.

My issue with Kline has nothing to do with his right to life crusade. I believe whole heartedly in the sanctity of life while simultaneously believing in a woman’s right to choose. The whole debate about abortion in my opinion is a matter for women to resolve. As a man I just don't feel I can speak with any authority or first hand experience on this issue. And at the end of the day whatever decision a woman makes, it is her's to live with. I am not arrogant enough to think I have the answers or the right to impose my will on someone else.

So my dislike of McSmarmy Kline has nothing to do with his crusade to demonize Planned Parenthood. My problem with Kline is Phil Kline the person. From day one this clown has gone out of his way to throw himself in front of the cameras. He has taken the high moral ground at every opportunity all the while failing to do his job which is to enforce the law without interjecting his own religious beliefs and ideals. And with guys like Kline let's face it, church and state are one and the same. He has ignored the courts rulings and opinions while courting the religious right.

I believe that a person who is entrusted with upholding the law should be diligent in abiding by those same laws. A district Attorney is held to a higher standard and should be. Like most sanctimonious holier than thou ass hats Phil Kline has been caught with his pants down. And now his supporters are screaming witch hunt and bemoaning the persecution of this enforcer of justice and champion of morality and finger pointing.

Personally I doubt much will come of the whole hot mess. This is the Midwest and more often than not persecution is reserved for folks with liberal views or those who lack the means to defend themselves and not God fearing white bread douche bags like Philly. Still it's nice to see him on the receiving end even though it will only strengthen his popularity with the zealous simpletons that comprise the majority of his supporters.

Phil Kline is a text book bully and in true bully form he has gone out of his way to impose his narrow minded views on others. And like all bullies he will eventually meet up with someone who will put a proverbial foot up his ass. Maybe KCTV 5 is the fat kid who is calling him on his bullshit. More likely KCTV 5 is playing the role of the media and creating a shit storm for ratings. Either way I’m okay with it. Its about time someone put the little prick in his place. I’m just glad I was around to see it.

And with that being said it will most likely be a long time before I again enter into a political rant on this blog. My forte is humor and every now and then I get lucky and write something that really matters or means something, at least to me.

My New Gig or What the Hell is that Guy Doing in our Neighborhood?

About a month ago I started a new job. I use the term loosely because all I do is drive around different areas throughout our fair city checking cell phone and wireless signals. While I am convinced that I know this city better than 99 percent of the people I share it with, there are some places, (Leewood), that I don’t really know, and places, (Leewood), where I stick out like a black guy at a tractor pull.

Maybe its my look, which can best be described as Mister Clean meets Convicted Felon, or perhaps its the irritable scowl that is perpetually locked onto my mug from trying to decipher JOCO street maps. Whatever the case may be folks in the Burbs tend to know when you are out of bounds and don’t belong. So here are just a few observations, comments and facts I have gleaned from my recent travels.

There is not a single straight street in all of JOCO. By straight I mean directionally and not sexually. Every freakin street in JOCO seems to do some crazy curve back in the opposite direction. By the end of the day I’m so turned around I cant tell my ass from my elbow.

If you pass the same suburban woman jogger/walker more than twice she will think you are stalking her. I can tell by the nervous glance she is convinced I’m going to jump out of my car and throw her in the trunk. I’m not I assure you. For one my trunk is too full of shit to fit a body in and anyone who walks or runs daily would most likely put up too much of a struggle, causing me to run out of breath and get beat down by a pilates buffed soccer mom.

Lees Summit and Blue Springs have become carbon copies of JOCO. Again with the crazy street directions and suburbanite jogger/walker suspicious types.

I can go six hours without taking a pee break, but only one hour without coffee lest I fall asleep and inadvertently run over someone’s manicured lawn or a jogger/walker lady.

I can drive with one knee, mark a map, drink coffee and smoke simultaneously. But I’m a trained professional so don’t try this at home.

Leaves, people are obsessed with raking leaves. Except one guy on every street. As much as his neighbors rake their lawns it is futile because all of his leaves will immediately blow into the yards of his leafless hapless neighbors. I’m sure everyone on the block dislikes him immensely.

I’m happy to report that my new route/area is in KC proper!!!!! At last straight streets that actually go east/west and north/south as the good lord intended. Now my biggest worry is the occasional car jacking or police shakedown for casing neighborhoods. Its good to be home!

Midtown at 7:00 Saturday Morning

It seems that my early morning walks with the dogs are my most introspective moments. It is usually the time I will see Dorothy the crack addict high stepping to or from whatever mission she is on. It also seems to be the time the elderly people are out doing whatever it is that really old people do on foot at this time of the morning.

On this particular morning it is cold. Max the Yorkie is sporting his cardigan sweater which is a shade too long underneath causing him to pee on his own chest if I don’t roll it up from time to time. So we are rounding the block and I come upon what I first suspect is a homeless person laying in the middle of the sidewalk but upon closer inspection turns out to be a big pile of clothes. Kids clothes along with a few discarded toys, just laying in the middle of the sidewalk.

How they came to be here is anyone’s guess, maybe someone was doing a covert move under the cover of darkness, a practice that is pretty common in these parts. Some random woman perhaps who has left an abusive relationship packed the kid and a few things and fled in the middle of the night in a rush inadvertently dropping this stuff. Or it could be something as simple as some slob tossing the stuff for one reason or another.

So I stop and move the pile off of the sidewalk and set it in the grass where it can be seen. Maybe the owner will come back and find it, or someone who can use it will pick it up. Most likely it will just lay there until it is eventually blown and scattered or deteriorates into nothing.In the meantime I will pass that pile every morning . I will play different scenarios in my head of how it came to be there.

Unfortunately most of the scenes will be sad because that is more often than not the truth of the matter when it comes to children in the inner city. It is usually the kids who suffer the most around here. The parents generally are to blame for their lot in life, but the kids always pay the heaviest price.

So I will walk past that heap of clothing every day and with each passing day it wont bother me as much as the day before. Eventually, if it is still there, I wont even give it a passing glance and it will fade into just another discarded pile of trash. I suppose that is the easiest way to deal with some of life’s hard facts. If you look at something long enough you get immune to it and eventually you can just ignore it altogether.

God bless us every one! Now get yer mitts off that Xbox!

Frigid temperatures and bone chilling winds could not deter the hoards of morons who lined up over night in the pursuit of bargains. Without fail there are always melees , brouhahas and skirmishes. There is pushing shoving and a general lack of humanity to be found. So I’ve composed a little ditty, to the tune of twas the Night Before Christmas.

Twas The Night before Black Friday

Twas The Night before Black Friday and shoppers galore
All stood in line outside the Target store.
Same story at Best Buy, Wal-Mart and Cabela’s
Man, Woman , Child and a few Androgynous ....Fellas?

It started out as a lark, all were light hearted
Until around 3 when some fat guy in line farted.
People broke ranks,
and the line fell apart
Only the bravest stood their ground,
along with the guy who had cut the fart.

As the air cleared and folks returned to the line.
Angry words could be heard,
"Hey dick, that spot is mine"
"Go fuck yer mother"
"Go blow a goat"
"I'll tear off yer head, and shit down yer throat"

An anemic young Gamer, who was hoping for a nintendo Wii,
was smashed in the face by someones knee.
A grandma was knocked down, I suspect just for fun .
But it quit being funny, when she came up with a gun.
Six people were shot in the wink of an eye.
"They lose their places" said the Fat Guy.

Then the doors opened and shoppers poured in,
the manager was trampled, and required stitches to his chin.
A soccer mom from JoCo smacked a guy with her purse.
"Out of my way , or shit will get worse."
They filled up their carts with electronics and more ,
and headed to check out near the front of the store.
They had waited all night freezing in line
To get a 300 hundred dollar item
for 269.99.

.

Thanksgiving History a Different Angle

So we all know how the pilgrims and Indians got together back in the day and broke bread. Had the indians known that befriending these pale ,funny hat wearing limeys was the beginning of their demise they probably would have just killed them all and called it a day. As it turned out the Indians came out on the short end of the stick. That being said, it wasn’t exactly a cake walk for those early settlers either.

For some reason I envision the first meeting between White Man and Native going something along the following lines. Three braves are sitting around doing Indian stuff, smoking peace pipes, bitching about all the wampum they paid in hunter/gatherers taxes last year. The main brave who we will call Burning Star, pronounced ,Burnin Staaah, ( the origin of the Boston /New Englander type accent was these Indians )suddenly sees a couple of pasty lookin guys with big buckles and clown hats climbing out of a small rowboat and coming ashore.

Burning Star, who will be referred to by his initials BS, could spot a rube a mile away and these two hayseeds were no exception. You can imagine that back in the 1600's boredom was a main staple in the average Joes world. Think about it, no electricity, playstation, HBO,Starbucks or Dancing with the Stars, talk about primitive. Not to mention the fact that the women were hairy and the men smelled like ass and salt pork. Rough times my friends, rough times. So its not a big stretch to think that BS might have been looking for a break from hide tanning 8 hours a day to pay his wife’s smoke signal bill. She was constantly fanning the flames with her mother in the next village. Some things never change. Anyhoo, BS figures it would be a hoot to have these guys around just for shits and giggles. Rather than killing the Casper look alikes, BS and his posse welcome them with open arms.So the Indians befriend Myles and company ,history is born.

Now these Pilgrims while naive and out of their element weren’t exactly mild mannered. Least we forget they were labeled as separatists in England and had left the country before king James revised them with some good old drawing and quartering. They were the posse commitatus of their day. Simply put these fuckers were rabble rousers and trouble makers.

Half of the pilgrims croaked the first winter. Apparently the travel brochures for the New World came out of Boca rather than Boston, so they were completely unprepared for the bitter cold and lack of Motel 6's. While BS laid up in his Tee Pee rubbing bear grease on Mrs. BS ,Myles Standish and company froze their collective asses off.

Spring came and those that made it through the winter decided to try their hand at farming. Unfortunately they knew about as much about farming as they did about New England winters. Enter our man BS. He notices that the white folk are catching fish, in fact they are surviving on fish. BS tells them in order to grow corn you must bury your fish instead of eating them. He then goes and gets the whole tribe who spend the entire day watching these English numb nuts bury their dinner in the ground. A good time was had by all.

In the end BS felt a little guilty and really befriended these chuckle heads. If not for the aid and assistance of the Indians all of the Pilgrims would have died. In keeping with our Anglo tradition of letting no good deed go unrewarded, we gave the Indians clap, small pox, Mad Dog 20/20 and thirteen bucks worth of glass beads from the Joan Rivers collection on QVC. Luckily for us Anglo's, the real estate regulations back then were pretty lax so we eventually picked up the whole country for a song, but that’s another story.

Tis the season.................Again.....Already.

Okay I realize that the holidays are all about family, kindness, caring and commercialism. I get it already. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve already got my four foot tall, pink aluminum trailer park tree sitting on the giant empty gift wrapped box in the living room. And I will be hanging the dogs stockings any day now. I like the cold weather and the lights and all the hoopla, really I do. But along with the "Its a Wonderful Life" vibe, comes something I dread..........Family get togethers.

Frankly I would rather put my balls in one of those breast clamp x-ray things that they use for breast exams, than sit through one more Turkey Day Debacle at the folks house.I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day at those get togethers. I could make more accurate predictions about THAT day than Sylvia Brown, Carnack, and Nostradamus all put together. Its gonna go something like this.

I arrive at 1 pm on the assumption that we will eat at 2 pm and I can leave ASAP at the conclusion of dinner. But dinner wont be ready for another 2 hours due to my two sisters trying to out do one another as ring leader and shot caller. Pops will be 3 fingers into a bottle of Makers Mark, Stepmother will be busting his plums for drinking which in turn will force him to show her and hit it even harder.

There will be hoards of ill behaved nieces and nephews making too much noise and going about the business of being as annoying as humanly possible. The dog will be freaked out by the little angels and require multiple trips outside. I use these trips to smoke copious amounts of weed which acts as a numbing agent and provides some relief.

Dinner will be eaten on a Styrofoam plate with my knees as a table. I tend to eat a great deal of pie which is a side effect from the afore mentioned self medication. But I will persevere and eventually leave the sticks and return to the city and home.

And from the day after Thanksgiving until the day before Xmas eve I will be a regular bell ringing bundle of Christmas joy. For me the days leading up to Christmas, the holiday fore play so to speak, are far more gratifying than the actual holiday, sort of like sex with my second wife, the act itself never lived up to the hype.

Man in India marries dog as atonement

He tells the local newspaper he had been suffering since he stoned two canines to death. I’m not making this shit up. Apparently this guy stoned 2 dogs and hung them from a tree and has been suffering a series of misfortunes ever since. Frankly I'd like to give him a taste of his own medicine. Nothing pisses me off more than people who abuse Children, Women, or animals. That being said there are at least a couple hundred punch lines at the ready for this particular story. But I wont take the easy route as this post is really about atonement.

While our Indian friend , Dances with Dog, ooops wrong kind of Indian, is following some superstitious eastern religion inspired path to atonement, most of us don’t have it so easy. If we have any redeeming social value as human beings we feel guilt for the wrongs we have committed against our fellow man. But is atonement really possible and if so does it really help the person we wronged or does it just make us feel better? If its the latter, and I believe that’s the case, then it is just another self centered act and not really contrition.

I was reading an article the other day about an upcoming execution . The mother of the murder victim was saying that as a Christian she loved and forgave the killer , but still wanted him to be executed. She claimed it was Gods will, the whole eye for an eye thing from the Old Testament. This woman wasn’t seeking atonement, she was seeking revenge, she just didn’t have the balls to call it what it was. Atonement , at least as I understand it is an act that rights a wrong, and as much as this guy may or may not deserve to die the act of killing him wont resurrect the person who was killed anymore than marrying a dog makes up for killing the other two.

My point is this. We cant go back and right wrongs,life doesn’t come with spell check. So it behooves us to choose our words and actions carefully. I’ve done a great number of things in my past that I regret. I’ve also long since come to grips with the fact that there is no going back. At best we can try to be better people and hope that if there is a GOD he will give us a pass on the bad stuff if we even it out with some good stuff. At least that’s what I’m banking on .

Eccentric Relatives, Chickens and the Wrath of God

Who doesn’t have at least one family member that’s as crazy as a shit house rat? I have several and depending on who you ask I probably make the list as well. My grandmother on my mothers side was a good woman, but a wee bit looney. My mothers people are all from Oklahoma, nuff said. I lived in Oklahoma the first 6 years of my life and spent summers there for another 6 or so years , this accounts for why I have a bit of an okie accent even though I haven’t set foot near the land of red dirt and rednecks in decades, barring the occasional funeral. I digress, on to grandma.

My grandmother smoked Carlton cigs. She claimed her doctor told her to take up smoking for her nerves. Grandfather, Delbert, quit smoking years before she took it up so out of respect Clara did not smoke in the house. She smoked in her chicken coop. The ground was littered with butts. She also carried on complete one sided conversations with her chickens, she had names for everyone of them and there were at least 20. Clara also did not drive. Apparently she drove for a short period of time, but was always running into things, usually stationary and thankfully at low speeds. My mother and her siblings refused to get in the car with her and gramps eventually took her keys. Well Clara still needed to get to the hairdresser, church and Pratts Redbud Grocery store so gramps got her a riding lawn mower with a little trailer and that was her main mode of transport weather permitting. Gramps never taught her to shift into high gear so she would creep the mile or so to town at a blistering 3 miles an hour.

You could never get away with riding a lawnmower around here, but in Marlow Oklahoma it was not only acceptable it was the norm for some of the blue hairs in grandmas circle. There was a time when you could find a half dozen riding lawnmowers and one golf cart, that belonged to the Mayors wife, who was a big show off, parked at the beauty salon on Marlow’s Main street, true story.

I got a phone call when I was twenty, one of those late night calls that fill you with dread when you hear the voice of an out of town relative, in this case my older sister, whose voice fills me with dread at any given hour but even more so in the middle of the night. Clara was in the hospital she had been involved in an accident . It was just an over night stay as it turned out, couple of bumps, bruises and minor cuts. It seems Clara was riding her mower to town, and was rubber necking the Mayors wife’s flower bed. Even at 3 miles an hour you need to watch where you are going. Clara ass ended the Mayors parked Caddy, there were no skid marks, she never saw it coming.

Delbert drove Clara to town from then on. Everyone thought that was the thing to do. I thought it was a little sad in the same vein of sadness that comes to an old person when they can no longer do some of the things that brought them joy. Simple pleasures. In Clara’s case it was the independence of riding that mower. When I asked her about the accident her answer was classic Clara Mae Mader. She told me that she had been busy gloating over the fact that her flower bed put the Mayors wife’s flower bed to shame, and God in his infinite wisdom had caused her to crash for being prideful.

"Life is all memory except for the one present moment that goes by you so quick you hardly catch it going." Tennesse Williams

I recently made the decision to look up some old friends. I thought it would be interesting to see how they were doing, what life had dealt them. What was I thinking. I can divide these people into two groups. The first group has done well, or at least okay. They got married, had kids, some got divorced, some got remarried. It was fun catching up but whatever ties that bound us together have long ago turned to vapor. Time changed things.

The second group falls under the WTF was I thinking category. A good example is a guy we will call Greg, because that’s really his name. In my friend hierarchy he was on the lower end. He was a smarmy condescending prick 20 years ago and he still is. After listening to him over the phone for a few minutes it dawned on me that I never really liked this person. But we ran in the same crowd, knew the same people, so we were friends by proxy. I also drank a lot back then and I was a bit of a prick myself, so we shared that common ground. I don’t drink anymore and I refuse to suffer fools, so I cut the call short and immediately stopped trying to look up people from the past.

Thomas Wolfe said "You can’t go home again" and truer words were never spoken. I think we reinvent the past sometimes. We romanticize the way things were. We want to hold on to our youth and have fond recollections of the way things were. The truth is people change. And more often than not they are better left confined to the time capsule of our memory. All of us to one degree or another are different people than we were 10 years ago, or last week for that matter. The places, people and things we once held in high regard change with time. More importantly we change, we move on and the past is better left alone.

I'm no King Tut

I was reading an article earlier about King Tut and how his face is being displayed for the first time. Time has not been good to the boy king, but then again he is 3000 and change, so all in all he could look a whole lot worse. He currently looks like a leathery cross between Garrett Morris and Anwar Sadat. After reading the article I started thinking about the imprint Tut has left on this earth. Think about it he was 19 when he died, and over three thousand years later he is still being talked about. As far as I can tell he never really did jack, and what it amounts to is that he is forever in the annals of history by virtue of having his grave robbed and his corpse put on display. Talk about falling face first in shit and coming up with a rose.

So it begs the question . What are the rest of us leaving, and more importantly, at least to me, what’s my legacy? So I thought about it long and hard. I drank a pot of coffee along with some chocolate chip cookies that I think were laced with crack. They must have been because I couldn’t stop eating them. In the end all I came up with was a headache and an upset stomach.

I haven’t really DONE anything. At least nothing that I will be remembered for a hundred years from now. I mean most of us will never cure cancer or win a Pulitzer or climb Mt. Everest. Maybe the best we can hope for is to not be remembered for something fucked up like the Elephant Man's disfigurement or Taylor Hick's first album.

So what’s my point? To be honest I’m not sure I had one. I suppose if pressed I'd have to say I’m coming to grips with the realization that I’m not going to make that big splash I’ve been poised to make all these years. At this stage of life I don’t even recall what body of water I was aiming to dive into. I’m afraid I might be growing up after 40 odd years of avoiding it. Oh well, guess it had to happen sooner or later.

And maybe making the big splash aint all its cracked up to be after all. At least I don’t have to worry that some archeologist will dig me up and put me on display. Who wants people seeing you looking like a beef jerky sculpture of Anwar Sadat anyway?

Stuff they never covered in Sex Ed.

Let me clarify that I read the personal ads on Craigslist out of morbid curiosity and because I never fail to learn something new. I promise you that I am not looking for a FWB or a SSBBW or the ever popular devotee of the AB (adult baby) fetish. However if I were, then these and many more sexual proclivities are available.

SSBBW the elusive Super Sized Big Beautiful Women. As if the term Big Beautiful Woman weren’t derogatory enough, lets call her something even bigger!

Friends with Benefits. While I understand the meaning of the term, and am an advocate of such. The benefits part of the Fwb calls to mind such things as insurance, paid vacation, and profit sharing, a 401k and sick days. Sign me up!

There is a Married lady looking for someone to have sex with her while her husband listens over the phone. Brings a whole new meaning to roaming and peak minutes. And proves once again that you ladies talk on the phone far too much.

Someone, sex unknown , although I assume it’s a man, is looking for someone with a dog. That one is not funny, Id like to put a knot on his head.

In another ad that wasn’t as sexually motivated a young lady is looking for a rich, handsome, dark haired, nonsmoking, marathon runner, with a summer home in the hamptons. Must speak at least 4 languages, be driven, perfect teeth, vegan, nondrinker, who makes at least 6 figures. Must be over 6 ft and have a swimmers build. Good luck.

And finally my two personal favorites. The Adult Baby. Some guy wants to dress up as a real life version of a Baby. Diaper, Bonnet, and rattle. I’m sure he is being deluged with emails from lovely women who are driven wild by the sight of a middle aged balding gent in a terry cloth jumper and a load in his Depends.

And last but by no means least , Zentai suit play!!!!!! Don’t feel bad if you have to google it , I did. Apparently a Zentai suit is a one piece lycra spandex jump suit worn in theatrical and performance arts shows. It is also worn by the Power Rangers, Ultra man and those Blue guys. Who knew?

I once considered myself a sexual dynamo, with an open mind and a pretty solid repertoire of moves and technique. Now not so much. With the new sexual revolution being waged on the World Wide Web I am as bland as wonder bread.

Is that a stick in yer mouth or are ya just glad to see me?

I have yet to fail mentioning my dogs in every post I’ve written so far, and this will not be an exception. In fact this is dedicated to them in its entirety. We went for an afternoon walk and it was pretty uneventful. Max did his usual "Puff up on the squirrels shtick" which generally lasts about 4 or 5 minutes. Once that was taken care of and the rodents were put firmly in check we headed around the block.

Max being the male dog and ever the usurper in his efforts to be the Alpha male of our pack of 3, is usually the trouble maker of the two dogs. If I try to get away with just going to the corner and back instead of the full 4 block tour, he will plant his feet and refuse to budge. If I try to tug on the leash he will actually lay down forcing me to carry him back to the apartment or I give in and walk all the way around the block. He weighs four pounds at best but his tenacity and refusal to bend makes me fold every single time, so we walk around the block.

Today Max wasn’t the problem. It was Maggie the Maltese. Maggie likes to pick up sticks usually as big is she is. She will carry them all the way around the block , head and tail held high, a furry marching band leader. I notice she picked up a twig coming down the home stretch. We got to the apartment door and I reached down and grabbed what I thought was a 4 inch or so twig out of her mouth. It was a 4 inch or so dog turd, half of it was smashed in my hand and the other half was hanging from her mouth like a cigar stub. We were not pleased.

Full Circle

There is a 20 story apartment building on the corner of my block. Unlike the eighty some year old art deco buildings on the rest of the block, this particular building is pale non descript brick. There is a never ending parade of ambulances for the old and overdosed, cop cars for the offenders and abusers, and fire trucks for god knows what.
I’ve always considered it an eyesore and the source of most of the broken car windows , drug traffic, and petty crime that comes with this area. The building in my opinion lacked character and if it vanished into thin air I wouldn’t have missed it one iota.

But yesterday I saw an amazing thing transpire and now I don’t mind the buildings presence so much. About once a month the management must go through all of the apartments that are recently unoccupied. Evictions, deaths, midnight moves, etc. All of the previous occupants abandoned possessions go out on the curb. Threadbare sofas, shitty black lacquered end tables, ugly lamps from the 80's,clothing, you name it, and its there on the curb.

Had I not been witness to the phenomena I am about to share, I would probably have composed some lament about the poor and unfortunate, and how sad it was to see the evidence of the newly homeless or the recently departed, cast out on the curb. And that still holds true, but with an addendum of hope and humor.

So the maintenance people carry all of this stuff out the back door and pile it on the curb next to a huge roll off dumpster and eventually a truck with a claw will come along pick all this shit up and load it in the dumpster. Imagine a 50 foot long pile of stuff at the curb. So as I’m standing across the street waiting for Max the yorkie to tire of barking at squirrels I notice people picking through the stuff on the curb. A tired looking young black woman with 3 little kids grabs a lamp and a baby swing, an old man grabs a box of something, and various people, of various ages and assorted skin tones start to appear. They grab things and carry them back into the same building they just came out of.

They remind me of ants. What starts out as a trickle of people grows to a couple of dozen. Somehow they know when the guys carrying the stuff out are coming and they all disappear just in time. The pile gets smaller and smaller even though there is a steady supply of new stuff set on the curb. Eventually there is nothing left worth taking and the truck comes along and carries away the remaining bones of someone’s abandoned possessions.

The whole process took a couple of hours at best. I would come out from time to time to watch. What caught my attention was the different reactions people had when they were going through all of the stuff. Some did it hastily, almost greedily, snatching up as much as they could before heading inside. Others would find some small thing and hold it up gleefully as if they had plucked a Faberge egg from a pile of trash rather than a crappy lamp with no shade. And others , like the black lady with the kids seemed almost ashamed or embarassed, never looking up from the pile, and hurrying inside with her head still pointing down at the ground