Thursday, September 19, 2013

Better Than A Pink Flamingo

It has become a custom for me to answer the question, "How are you doing" with "Better than a starving Ethiopian".  But, it's time for change!  I awoke around 3am the other morning and turned on the television in my new place in the upscale ghetto, or the low end of the high-life... Which one it is, I haven't quite figured out, but I have yet to hear any gun shots.

When I looked at the screen, all I could see were birds, including a flock of pink flamingos.  Pink flamingos apparently can't fly very well.  Maybe that's because they spend a lot of time breeding, because there sure are a lot of them compared to eagles, vultures and the infamous Big Bully.  Just what kind of bird the Big Bully really is, I'm not sure.  A web search revealed only Big Bird from Sesame Street, and a search for pink flamingos yielded a Wikipedia page for a movie called the Pink Flamingos.  The movie is considered a "transgressive black comedy exploitation", whatever that means.  I'll have to look it up on You Tube!

However, if it is about exploitation, then it is certainly named appropriately.  As pretty as a pink flamingo is, and as numerous as they are compared to other birds, it makes them an easy target.  The life of a pink flamingo is one on the run.  The run through shallow waters as the hunt begins when vultures and eagles attack.  Pink flamingos make for the perfect snack.

Life on the run cannot be fun.  That is something I've never experienced although I have thought many times about it, I am convinced that life on the run leads to an early death especially after watching this documentary.  Pink flamingos serve only one purpose and that is to feed birds of prey and other predators, and parasites like feather lice.  The poor pink flamingo is always under attack.

While we go through phases of life during which times we might be under attack on all sides, for humans these times are generally temporary unless, you're a starving Ethiopian, of course.   As Americans, these times of attack generally pass away.  Our hardships are nothing in comparison to others less fortunate, and yet we bitch and moan about parking tickets.

It is time for a serious reality check for Americans.  During my service as an undercover parking violations officer, I have noted too many times when spoiled Americans get upset about getting a parking ticket.  Just the other day someone ran up to one of the other ticket writers and pushed him out into the street.  This is an act of violence against a fellow human being in this luxurious land over a parking ticket.  This is why I support sterilization of certain people.

It is a matter of perspective.  As one acquaintance of mine put it the other day on her way to work after being asked about her job at the coffee shop, "I get to bake whatever I want and put icing on cupcakes.  How bad can that be?"  This young lady is probably one of the most positive people I have ever met. She's got her head screwed on right.

Negativity is something to which I am no stranger.  The problem with my negativity is that I'm right!  Americans are spoiled brats.  That's the extent of my negativity.  I came to this conclusion nearly fifteen years ago when a Quick Trip opened near the house.  It was almost exactly one mile away.  I soon figured out it took me approximately fifteen minutes to walk to that store.  Exercise has almost always been a decided part of my life.  I could drop dead tomorrow, but it probably won't be in a car crash, unless I get hit by a car like I did the other night... on my bike!

I thought the car was stopping, but it didn't.  It just did one of those check stops after coming out of nowhere.  Suddenly it was just a few feet in front of me about to cross my path when I had no choice except as to whether I fell on my face or my back, or somewhere in between.  I released the handle bar and went airborne landing with my elbows on the hood of the car while doing a cartwheel in the sky finally landing on my back.  Thankfully, my back pack was stuffed with shirts and stuff that made my landing painless.  However close I was to ending up like a pink flamingo on the ground after it's predator makes it's kill, I did not die, and was not significantly injured.

With just a few scrapes on my knees and elbows I got up from the incident as the driver of the car opened his door.  I said, "I'm okay.  If you want me to stick around for a police report I will".  To which he replied, with a slight hesitation, "Nah", shaking his head at the same time.  I didn't see the moon in the sky, but if it wasn't for those Blue Moon t-shirts someone had given me, I might have very well ended up just like a pink flamingo!

So, yes... I'm sticking with this one for awhile.  I'm better than a pink flamingo!  That doesn't mean I don't care about starving Ethiopians anymore.  I just needed a new schtick. like transitioning from a former rodeo clown and the next Hugh Hefner to an Undercover Parking Violations Officer!  Periodically, we have to re-invent ourselves and for me that comes with circumstances and learning.  Unfortunately, learning sometimes involves a brush with death.  I've had several of those throughout life.

The first I remember being at Virginia Beach as a child and getting knocked on the head with a raft disorienting me and sending me below the surf.  I couldn't tell which way was up.  Fortunately, buoyancy lifted me to the surface before I took a big gulp and drowned to death.

Another time, I was at a pool party as teenager bouncing as I liked to do on the diving board before doing a trick only the trick was on me as my right foot caught the corner of the board and sent me flying to the right toward the railing below.  I wasn't accustomed to bouncing on high dives, but on this night I went for it!  I remember thinking, I'm about to die as the seconds slowly passed until I landed right next to the wall of the pool at the railing where my right hand simply gripped it as I climbed out of the water as if nothing had happened.

Most pink flamingos survive the onset of predators just because of their sheer numbers.  There can be thousands of them in a flock, but in the end one of them is going down.  So, while I might not be at the level of success I imagined I would be at this point in life, I'm still better than a pink flamingo, and so are you!

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Deen On Brown

The community kitchen run by Our Daily Bread serves hundreds of meals each day at the First Baptist Church in Athens, GA.  A rough guesstimate of the audience, is about 75% black to white.  You don't see any Asians, Indians, or Latinos.  Maybe there's an occasional Latino visitor, but rarely... if ever.  Yesterday wasn't any different.  The same crowd shuffles in only this time there were sacks of food to be taken away.

As things in my own life have gotten better, they still haven't gotten to the point where I'm satisfied.  Though, I am very happy with my current living situation once I pay the rent there isn't a whole lot leftover and I tend to run out of money before the next pay day.  So, I will still visit Our Daily Bread as a supplemental food source.

I didn't examine the contents of the sack except for to remove any canned fruit and other sugary items for which I do not care.  However, it wasn't until the next morning I realized what had come in the sack.

This high quality tortilla chip, a favorite Mexican snack, or staple item, is produced by none other than Paula Deen's own food company. These are probably the best tortilla chips I ever tried.  Made from all natural ingredients, I would highly recommend these chips, but I fear these chips came from the confiscation of products from store shelves after Deen's recent demise, then filtered through the Northeast Georgia Food Bank down to the community kitchen.

Furthermore, this product is made in Mexico.  According to the label, they are also produced in a "nut free" environment.  Go figure... that's what they always say! 

Bottom line, just be aware... if you use the "N" word the Brothers win all the chips!  As for the Latinos... I guess they just lost a lot of business and have learned that the "N" really stands for NUTTY!


Isn't it time to make life just a little bit easier?

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Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Locke & Key

In the last nine months, or so, I have had more lock and key experiences than I care to imagine, or remember.  Now, I have walked this planet for enough years to have been able to say with some pride I had never lost my keys, or my wallet.  The wallet is mostly explainable because I don't carry one.  So, how can you lose what you don't have?

The keys on the other hand are something I have always carried on my person, yet I still had never lost them until just this year.  It all began one night when I was closing up at the bar, and after my recent promotion at work as an Undercover Parking Violations Officer.  I'm so undercover, they don't even know I got a promotion at work, but I did gain access to a multitude of keys.  This certainly exacerbated the problem.

In order to do my job, I am constantly grabbing different keys for different reasons.  There's one key for the office door.  Another key to get into the closet inside the office, and yet another key for the closet outside the office.  The key box is located inside the closet, inside the office, where the key to the truck is to remain unless in use.  I already lost two truck keys this past year and have managed to get them replaced without to much repercussion at work other than after the second time, the Director did tell me she was going to kill me if I lost it again.

But it all started with Olivia.  I'm going to use her real name because she's heard me talk about this more than once, and yesterday was not an exception.  There I am, having just left work, not abusing my alcohol because I always drink every last drop.  You'll never see Gabe Newman leave a half glass of beer on the table.  That is alcohol abuse at it's finest.

Why do they call it alcohol abuse?  It's self-abuse, especially when I was hitting the vodka, straight and cheap.  Yet, that vodka got me through some cold nights sleeping outside and I'd have rather woken up after that self-abuse than to have stayed awake all night in the freezing cold.  The memories of homelessness are still fresh, but one thing you don't have to worry about is where your keys are because you don't have any!

So, besides the fact I have entered an environment of employment that has revealed to me the opposite end of the key spectrum, this course of challenge has endured for the better part of the last twelve months when Olivia returned from the office to let me know that she couldn't get the office door unlocked.  I didn't think anything of it since it was her first shift working.  I wrote it off to the fact that there was one trick to locking the back door, another trick to locking the front door and since I never went in the office, I just figured it was another trick she hadn't learned yet, and I couldn't help her.

I still had a couple of hours work to do.  She split for the night, and I continued with the clean up from the Thursday night crowd.  The best thing about the Georgia Bar is that it is an older crowd.  You get all kinds during football season, but on a daily basis the regulars shuffle in and out without anybody ever throwing up.  It's not until football season that the pukers show up.

After I had finished and I went to lock up for the night... after first struggling to lock the back door, I could not get the front door to lock either.  My favorite pool table, the funkiest pool table in the whole wide world, became my resting place for the night.  I shoved my book bag underneath my head for a pillow and caught whatever light Zzzzz's I could before I reported for my day job the next morning, just a couple of hours away.

That was then, and as I've said the number of lock and key experiences I've had during the past year have been too numerous to remember, and too numerous to forget.  Yet, yesterday was just one more wonderful lock and key experience.

My phone rang at 4:30pm thirty minutes after I had left for the day.  I work from 7am to 4pm which are great hours for someone operating undercover.  It was one of the booth attendants asking where the keys were for the closet inside the office.  Well, I thought to myself... there are only two places where that set of keys go.  I tried to remember distinctly what I had done, but besides the fact that I have all these keys to deal with, I now have several community service workers coming in to serve out their probation usually for DUI, or marijuana possession.  Currently, it seems I have as many community service workers  to deal with as I do keys!!!

I told the attendant I would be right there.  Earlier that day, I had also used the Chief's keys to the parking meters to replace dead batteries.  That was an abnormality because we have our own set of keys in the undercover office.  Couple that with the abnormality of three community service workers in one day, and you can become a little scattered.  However, I did distinctly remember putting the meter keys in the usual place we stashed our set, but because I was busy considering how to keep these three guys busy, I put them where we keep ours by force of habit.

Anyway, I'd had enough of those guys.  So, I told them to go home.  I can't think straight okay.  Leave me alone, was my attitude.  Unless they wanted to stick around and peal up gum from the concrete then get the eff outta here, is what I wanted to say, but I didn't.  That's was at 3pm.

At 3:30pm the security guard shows up for the evening shift.  He always locks the closet outside the office when he starts his shift at 4pm, but yesterday he locked it earlier.  My change of shoes and shirt are back there.  So, this early locking caused me to have to go get the set of keys for the closets and do another 180.  Disgusted, I grabbed the keys without saying a word went to change my shoes to flip-flops one of the best feelings in the world at the end of the day.

I completed that task and went to return the keys and off to the bar I went.  As I said, by 4:30pm my phone was ringing in search of the key to the closet inside the office.  I headed that way.  The closet door keys weren’t anywhere to be found.  I figured, in my haste, I must have put them inside the key box inside the closet that locks when you close the door.  I had done this before.  So, that must be where they are. 

The last place I could think of to check was the truck.  So, I made my way there.  The batteries we were using to replace dead batteries were there, but not the keys I was looking for.  Instead, I found an entirely new set of keys for a Chevrolet and various other keys.  The only other person in the truck that day was one of the community service workers.  So, now I have three sets of keys that I’m dealing with when at first I was just looking for one set.  Ahhhhhhh!

None of this makes any sense unless you understand one thing about Olivia.  Her last name is Locke.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Couch Potato Gigolos

Couch Potato Gigolos

Just what is a couch potato gigolo?  It’s simple.  It’s a guy who is hired to come sit on a woman’s couch and watch TV, play cards, or play board games. YAHTZEE!  It’s a companion fee that these guys get paid.  Just want someone to hang out with?  Then you need a couch potato gigolo!

The issue came up during a discussion with a friend who is also a history buff.  He told me a joke about a kid named Johnny who was having a test the next day.  His father told him a way to remember stuff was to make a rhyme like, “In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue.”  That clicked with the boy.  He went to school the next day confident about taking his test.

The following day, the results were in.  The boy came home from school dejected.  His father asked what the matter was.  The boy said, “I missed the question about Columbus”.
Dad asked, “How did you do that?  I thought we worked on a rhyme together”.

The boy said, “Yeah, but I couldn’t remember it and all I could think of was, ‘In 1493 Columbus crossed the deep blue sea”.

What a new world it is!  The breezes of change sweep the land in what is a nation of tolerance.  Tolerance to the point of absurdity where murderers are kept alive to stand trials that drag on for years and where the Mona Lisa is still considered art, but so is an online stripper!  Now, that’s open mindedness for you.

Open mindedness and tolerance are not synonymous with each other but the line between them is blurred.  They might be mutually inclusive of each other, but not the same.  Open mindedness tends to lend itself to those who perform what society has traditionally viewed as bad behavior in order to justify in one’s own mind what one is doing, and used to try to convince others of the same value.

Tolerance on the other hand is more akin to libertarian thinking that says your rights only extend as far as your neighbors nose, as one old philosopher put it.  The moment you cross the line from your rights and infringe upon another one’s rights, you break the rule of tolerance by not tolerating one who might disagree with you.

We’ve come a long way in the name of freedom, but even that term is up in the air as to what it means.  To some freedom is to do what you please.  Apply the libertarian principle to that kind of thinking and even freedom is not as free as we’d like it to be.  Freedom has always been accompanied by rules.

If you apply freedom, tolerance and open mindedness to that of a child molester, or a serial killer with the attitude that one should be able to do as one pleases, we would have to accept these people as normal.  You would also have anarchy, not freedom.  We have laws against certain behaviors because often times one’s freedom can become a violation against another.
In some cultures marriage was signified by a couple jumping over a broom.  There wasn’t a fancy wedding, but a simple gesture.  Somehow the government crept into the broom closet and wanted the broom for itself.

Marriage licenses have been around for much of our nation’s history, but they haven’t always been around.  Essentially what a marriage license does is say that it is illegal for people to marry without state approval.  Basically, true marriage of the heart and broom is currently illegal.

With the current logic, gay marriage should also be afforded a license by the state because it has long been held that homosexuality is illegal.  Before marriage licenses existed in the colonial states, the only state requirements were deferred to parents of those to be wed.  That and an issuance of public notice, but no license was granted because it wasn’t considered illegal as we do now.  By requiring a license we basically say it is illegal for a man and a woman to marry without permission of the state.  Forget what the parents think.

Now, gay rights advocates scream for more government intervention.  Just as the state learned it could create revenue by requiring marriage licenses, the secular state we live in today should by all means approve gay marriages if they are going to remain consistent in their logic.

But, is that the solution to the problem?  Very simply, as I have said many times before, almost everybody agrees we want as little government in our lives as possible and yet we cry out to the state for more intervention.  This is a paradox.

Just go jump over a broom instead.  Drop the tax benefit anybody receives for being married and we lessen government intervention in our lives.  Everybody can find a broom and then the only people that matter are you and your family and the God that you may, or may not believe in.  Does that make sense?

I’m often accused of being closed minded on the issue because I don’t think gay marriage should be legalized, or licensed.  But, I am not closed minded.  I’m just pro-smaller government.  We have entirely too much of it when they should be sticking to roads, bridges and the military.

We have come to a point in society where the cities have been built, we have ample roads and bridges and way too much war.  Government should be fading away, not growing.

So, I am not a homophobe.  I’ve been around gay people my entire life since my youth.  The best experience I ever had with a gay person was when I was in a training class for work.  We all wore typical business attire meaning shirts and ties and such.  One day, while we all went to lunch together, I dropped some marinara on my tie.  I was embarrassed when the one obviously gay guy in the class said to me, “It is okay.  You know ties were originally invented as napkins”.

Marriage has always been an institution of the church, not the state.  In fact, you can find an open minded church right now that will marry two gay people.  So, why shouldn’t the secular state recognize the union of two same sexed people?  When the dust settles, God will sort it all out. 

I don’t need the government to tell me what I can do with my pee-pee.  If you want to go stick your pee-pee in a butt hole, go right ahead.  See if I care.  Just don’t try to stick it in mine.  That would be legal grounds for murder.  Your rights only extend as far as your neighbors nose, or his butt hole.  I’m trying to keep this rated G because Blogger sent me a message after I applied for Google Ad Sense and they told me I didn’t qualify for the Ad Sense program because my writing was either lewd, or adult content.  Apparently, their crawlers aren’t very good at interpreting language.

Personally, I don’t care what you do with you pee-pee, or your vajayjay and you shouldn’t’ care what I do with mine.  Although I can’t even remember the last time I had sex.  Well, that’s not true, but it’s been awhile, long enough that I think I’ve reclaimed my virginity.

What this whole debate boils down to is money.  It’s not about equality, or freedom.  It’s about the money.  You are free to live with anybody you want and nobody is  going to come around knocking on your door to see what you are doing in your bedroom, except for some pervert, even if it is illegal for two unrelated people to cohabitate in Athens, Ga. 

My point is only this.  If you really want to be free, quit relying on the government to legislate morality.  Marriage is already illegal anyway because of the government sticking its nose in your business… without a license from the state.  Government has grown again after yesterdays Supreme Court ruling.  The government should not be in the marriage business, but I can argue that until I’m blue in the face because the people of this land don’t understand what true freedom is anymore than they understand what Communism is.  They were just always taught to hate the Communists, but just ask most people to define Communism and they can’t do it.

The winds of change sent Columbus across the waters to find a land he thought was another.  Just as young Johnny thought it was 1493 instead of 1492, we’re all in the same boat now one nation under, not God, but the government.

Government is growing when it should be diminishing.  No more government please!  Less government, please!  No more marriage licenses either!  That’ll be the day…

Now, call your couch potato gigolo because they are perfectly legal, okay?

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Classic BS

Athens Banner Herald & Online Athens Blotter Report:

 Blotter: Homeless Man Reports Downtown Athens Robbery

A 67-year-old homeless man said he awoke about 12:20 a.m. Sunday on a downtown Athens bench to find a man going through his pockets in an attempt to steal his wallet, according to Athens-Clarke police.

A 60-year-old man lying on a nearby bench told police he witnessed the robbery attempt and was able to verify the suspect’s identity, police said. The 50-year-old suspect could not be located, but charges are expected.


Someone once said, "Welcome to Athens, Ga where we have a bum on every corner".  I thought about that for a moment and realized it was an exaggeration, but if there's not one on this corner, then there will probably be one on the next.  Even though that too is an exaggeration, let's just say you won't ever visit Athens, Ga and not see someone begging for money somewhere unless something changes and these people aren't going to change.

Seriously folks, isn't it more humane for everyone to get these eye sores out of the public eye, and the begger's bums off the concrete.  Give them a home in the Clarke County jail!

Of course, if the jail is overcrowded you might be on the concrete then too, but at least they give you a pad, and maybe a boat to go with it.  You don't need a penny in your pocket in jail and you will not starve to death.  Neither do you need a penny in your pocket to survive the streets of Athens, Ga either, but they keep begging.  Sadly, it is tolerated. That's what really needs to change.  If you're begging around here you're nothing but a con man.

Please consider a donation to the Northeast Georgia Food Bank by deposited coins in the meters provided on all four corners of the downtown square.  These funds are directed to the food bank and then food items are provided to multiple distribution points including the daily community kitchen of Our Daily Bread serving six days a week, as well as the AME Church where each Thursday sacks of food are distributed for the taking.  The poor know this all too well.  That's why there is a line as soon as they open the doors, but the beggers choose to beg.  I'm sick of it.

Remember Yoon Hee

Friday, June 21, 2013

Phone Home

Phone Home

After discovering that full episodes of Get Smart are on You Tube, I came up with this idea.  A locally, handcrafted wooden phone home.  This is the reason I made these things... so I don't have to sit there and hold the darned thing for twenty-five minutes while watching Barbara Feldon in her hey day with Don Adams as Agent 86, Maxwell Smart.  Of course, we never learn what Agent 99's name is.  A girl never gives away all her secrets, you know.

*Made in the USA, Athens, GA

*Compatible with iPhone, Droid, iPad, Kindle Fire & HDMI Friendly

*Lightweight, yet Sturdy

*Portable or Stationary Home Decor

*For Entertainment Purposes Only

But for $15 plus shipping, your smart phone can have a new home. Make life just a little bit easier! Contact me (the inventor) for more info at

Get Smart... Get a Phone Home!


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Am I Dreaming?

Am I Dreaming?                            

I dreamt I went to join the Army the other night, only they wanted me to fill out an application using a typewriter. So, I quit.

I had another dream where this guy I know shows up and gives me his debit card telling me to go have a few drinks and play some pool on him. So, I did.

In another dream, this girl I know who is exceptionally beautiful shows up wanting to sing me a song, only her voice is terrible. So, I woke up.

Someone asked me the other day what my best time of day is. I said it was when I was asleep and dreaming, can't you see why? It's like comedy hour every night!

The best part about my dream state is when I'm totally sober. The dreams are much more intense and much more memorable. I don't know why that is, but it is. I try to sleep as much as possible just because my dreams beat the hell out of what's on television.

I can't sleep all the time, and I get bored, so I end up watching some television. One new show I've been introduced to is "Without A Trace". I'm not sure what night it comes on, but it's good. I especially liked the episode I saw the other night which included not only the regular Roselyn Sanchez, but also guest star Vanessa Marcil. And, Poppy Montgomery, the red head, Jack's girlfriend... that was no dream!

But, what I hate about television is the news, and reality t.v. I don't watch reality t.v. except for the occasional stop on Keeping Up With The Kardashians, just because I can't resist stopping when Kim Kardashian is on the screen, but it's the youngest sister, Kourtney, that's got them both beat. The problem is all they do is talk about their brother Rob, and text message people all the time while sitting on the sofa, or standing in the kitchen eating snacks! No wonder they're thick girls! They leave every snack they consume Without A Trace!

Little Kourtney hasn't caught the full effect yet, but Kim and Khloe are a little young to be so... "full" to say the least. It's not that they're fat, it's just that they're going to be!

Right now, they're still yummy, but geez girls, give the wannabee princesses something to do. Go out and get some exercise. After all Kim, you're involved with an NFL star! He's not gonna stick around for Ms. Piggy and I don't see you bringing home the bacon, unless you plan on eating it!

The most annoying part of television to me is the way the news channels beat every story to death, just like the Michael Jackson coverage we're seeing right now. It just feeds the entire idolization of the man. I am perpelxed by how many people practically worship this guy. Is this how new religions get started?

Is Michael supposed to make a come back from this... the ultimate frontier... death? That's something I've only heard of one guy, and his name was Jesus! Isn't that his gig? Michael never tried to duplicate anybody before, certainly he's not gonna try that, but it's not him, it's the fans... which, of course, is short word for fanatics!

One "fan" even called him the "Mozart" of our generation. I saw that on a Jimmy Kimmel video re-posted the day of Michael's demise. I coudn't believe what I was hearing.  Was it a dream?  Sure, he was talented, but Mozart? These guys aren't even in the same class. Mozart composed symphonies for the well to do. Michael composed big pop productions, and did a modified version of the robot for the masses!

Plus, there's the whole "Moon Walk" thing? Can you see Mozart doing the "Moon Walk"? That would be kinda like the Jonas Brothers doing... A GIRL... all at once... in a cheap motel room in Myrtle Beach... with Governor Mark Sanford waiting outside for his turn... to find another soul mate!

And, that guy... well, he's incredible! He goes on national television and tells the world his mistress is his "soul mate", but he's going to try to fall back in love with his wife... and she MAY forgive him. At first, it was that she would if he made a genuine effort, but now after his proclamation that his soul mate is in Argentina, she MAY forgive him! This is like a little girl who inserts the "MAYBE" check box in a love note sent to her by her young admirer, except she had just caught him kissing another girl in the woods during recess!

These are our leaders? This is what's on t.v.? Nothing, but kitch, purely tacky, kitchy, sappy, low-rent, take me to the emergency room on a Friday night, crapola! What the hell did I wake up for? I'm going back to sleep!

The other show that I've caught recently is the one with the girl trying to find a husband and these "posers" follow her around like she's the most desireable girl on the planet. This chick is eating this stuff up! What girl wouldn't want to be followed around by a flock of guys.

I see it all the time, especially in this day and age where we live in the "friends" generation. There are the "fag hags", and then there are these chicks that have a bunch of heterosexual guy friends and they even hang out with each other. What do they call those girls? For that matter, what do they call those guys??? Starved???

I'm one of those guys like in Harry Met Sally when Billy Crystal made the statement that 'guys and girls cannot be friends'. It's simply not possible for any heterosexual male to be hanging out with a girl and he not want to have sex with her. This is a bigger myth than say... Global Warming!!

I know, I know... am I crazy? I don't believe in Global Warming, right? It's not so much that I don’t believe in it, as it is as equally fear mongering as say something we've been hearing about for a lot longer time... that's a place called HELL!

The scientists try to scare you with Global Warming, and the preachers scare you with Hell and damnation. There's so much fear being spread in the world it's a wonder we get anything done, and maybe that's why we don't really get much done, if you think about it. We argue alot. We debate. We call each other stupid and look down upon each other while we think the other side is looking up, but then WHAMMO we get hit right in the back of the head... and not only is one celebrity dead, but five within a week! That's incredible!

Doesn't that just make you stop and think for a minute? That many famous people die within one week? What are the odds? Has that happened before? I've never heard of it. It's perplexing... just like Global Warming... Is this all a DREEEEAM?

I'm not really saying I don't believe in it, I'm just saying I spent enough of my life worrying about Heaven and Hell, and I'm not going to jump on the Global Warming band wagon just because I don't go to church anymore!

Having been exposed to religion in a deep way, my mind was tormented for years by these thoughts. It was like a constant case of bi-polar disorder slinging back and forth from heaven to hell, over and over and over again... I got through that without going totally insane, but all I hear about now is Global Warming all the time. It's as if we have this need to generate fear amongst the people all the time, and I'm not sure if it's fact, or it's just about selling books and stuff!

I'm all for being "green". Coincidentally, I wear green all the time. It's just sort of taken over my wardrobe which generally consists of a couple pairs of army green shorts, a couple favorite green shirts, and I even have a green hat, and green hiking boots. They all just gathered over time. It wasn't a conscious effort to collect them. It just sort of turned out that way. So, now I consider it a sort of statement... a fashion statement made by tattered and torn apparel that has withstood the test of time. In fact, I'm wearing a green t-shirt right now!

I'm all for living a cleaner life not only in terms of what it does to the plaent, but what it does to the body. I've douced my system with enough chemicals throughout my lifetime to have created a toxic waste land, and sobriety has not been my strong suit, but this year, I have been sober more often than not. In fact, for the majority of this year I have been sober even learning how to sleep again without the need for any chemical inducement of alcohol, or otherwise, but now all I want to do is sleep all the time, because my dreams are so good, and they’re always "green" dreams... meaning they're harmless.

Green is good, and not just for the planet, but for your body. I read a news report this morning stating that in much of the country over 30% of the population is obese with Mississippi and Alabama being two of the worst states for obesity. Colorado was the least obese with less than 20% falling into that category. I thought that would have been California, but that just must be an LA thing, and aren’t they all on heroine anyway? So, that doesn't count.

Point being, there is a bunch of fat people in this country, but that's something I never see in my dreams. fat people! You ever dream about fat people? I've never dreamig about fat people. Why don't we dream about fat people? Maybe you do, but I don't. Why is that?

I hear of some people who have nightmares. I never have those and I never dream of fat people. I can't explain it. It's just a fact! I've never hat a fat dream in my entire life! Never any dreams where I am surrounded by fat people, marching toward me as if they can barely walk, not because they just came out of the grave, but because fat people can... barely walk.

I dream of being naked. I dream of flying. I dream of having sex. I dream of all kind of weird shit like trying to join the Army but getting mad because they want me to fill out the application with a typewriter, but never about being fat, or about fat people!
Regardless, the point I'm trying to make is that I'd rather dream than watch televsion! There are certain shows I like to watch including the Daily Show, the Colbert Report and just recently I've caught a couple episodes of Old Christine, the Office and... Without A Trace.

So, maybe I haven't watched the right programs, but the news and reality t.v are my biggest complaints.

It's just the redundancy of it all. My dreams never repeat. It's always a new episode, except for that recurring dream about Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner I used to have... but that's another story I'll spare you.

Dreams are a good thing for me. I’m glad I never have nightmares. I’m sorry for those that do, but as for me dreaming is probably my best time of day. It hasn’t always been that way. In fact, when I'm in a relationship, I probably won’t dream very much because when I’m with a woman, I can’t sleep. I stay up all night, maybe dose off for a few Z’s, but sleeping becomes nearly impossible. Of course, there’s something else that occupies my time when I’m in a relationship, so I don’t mind not dreaming so much.

Sex is one of those things that is like a dream, but you’re wide awake. It’s even better than dreaming and certainly better than t.v., and it’s massively better when you’re sober as opposed to being drunk, although I have had some good experiences with other chemicals than alcohol and sex, alcohol is a sloppy drug and I don’t like having sex when I’ve been drinking, unless you’re just talking about a couple drinks, but not after a long night of consumption. I don’t know how people do it. In my experience, that’s not even sex! I mean, it’s certainly not tantra! In fact, it’s kind of like sex with a condom, it’s just about not even worth having!

But as dreams go, they are the best thing in the world... while you’re asleep... unless, of course, it’s a sex dream, but last nights dream wasn’t a sex dream as they rarely are anymore. I’m too busy watching sitcoms, or flying, or in this case trying to avoid being blown up. I thin k it has something to do with the writing of this blahg because I’ve already said I don’t have nightmares and then what do you know I went to bed last night not being able to finish this puppy up and had a dream about bombs. I think it also had something to do with the fact that I caught Bourne Identity on USA last night as well. I had never seen it and have just recently watched Bourne Ultimatum and didn’t understand the whole amnesia thing.

So, I dreamt about bombs and guns all night, but there wasn’t any fear. They weren’t after me anyway, but there were two sofas with bombs attached to the back of them. One was pushed up against a door, and if the door were opened, it would depress a button and the bomb would explode. Thankfully, I was on this side of the door. I pushed the sofa out of the way, only to be confronted by CIA agents who initially thought I put the darned thing there, but it was Jason Bourne, and I had just witnessed him doing it, though he didn’t see me!

One agent put his gun to my head, but I quickly grabbed it and punched another in the face who then disappeared from the scene. The other one, who I had taken the gun from, wanted to stick around and carry on a conversation. I left the room, and there Bourne was again planting another bomb on the back of another sofa. He didn’t see me a second time, and then I woke up, but that was only after I found a machine gun outside that didn’t have any bullets. I tried to blow up a black Ford Ranger, but the gun was just blowing air. I finally came to, and that’s when the power went out momentarily... It was weird. That’s the closest thing to a nightmare I ever had... except when I woke up... I couldn’t remember who I was, and I felt really fat!


Am I Racist?

Daniel Tosh of Tosh.0 posted a copy of a note for some guy named "Dave", his mother had written to him when they had left home for the weekend and let Steve work around the yard.  The note read, “Dave, Dad and I are canoeing.  Steve is here working so if you see a black man with a machete... it’s ok! -Mom”

I saw a black man walking down the street with a pint glass full of beer the other day. I guess that means I'm a racist. That was only after he had earlier asked me for a cigarette three different times. Then he comes walking up to me and asks me if I want a beer. I asked, "You have beer?" He said, "No, but I'll go buy us some." I said, "That's ok man. You don't have to do that, but thanks." A few minutes later he showed up just walking down the middle of town with his pint glass full of beer. I swear, I'm sorry for being prejudice.  I really didn't think he'd come through with the beer, or I would have taken him up on his offer. Forgive me, but I do think his name was Steve.

A couple days before that I saw a white guy walking down the street smoking a cigarette.  He was crossing the street and approaching the corner where there was a black man wearing a nice blue shirt and tie and a pair of dress slacks.  As they encountered each other I could not hear what was said because I was too far away, but then something strange happened.  The white guy took one last drag off his cigarette and then handed it to the well dressed black guy.  This was not Steve.

Just a couple of days ago, I was in a restaurant at around 10am before they were opened for business.  The young girl who had just unlocked the door and was trying to start getting set up for the day was behind the bar when in walked a  not so well dressed black man black man.  She said, “Can I help you?”  He approached the bar and said, “I want some wings.”  She said, “I’m sorry, we’re not opened yet.  You’ll have to come back at noon.”  This did not satisfy the not so well dressed black man and he retorted, “Somebodies got an attitude up in here!”  She responded by saying, “Excuse me, but we’re not opened.  The fryers haven’t even been turned on yet.”  The not so well dressed black man huffed out the door telling her she didn’t have to be rude.

I’ve said this several times before, but these are the kinds of things you see while living on the streets.  Does it make one a racist just because one passively observes strange scenarios involving three different black guys (one named Steve) within the space of a week of time?

I haven’t written anything down lately.  Call it a case of writer’s block, or the fact that I never replaced my lost pen and haven’t been carrying my notepad around with me, but I didn’t need a notepad for this.  I just needed Dave’s Mom to remind me.  Thanks Tosh!

Am I a racist?  A friend once said, “I don’t care what color you are, just give me back that money I loaned you!”  Talking about race is always a sensitive subject, but let me just tell you, living in Plantation County allows one to see the world through a different set of glasses... pint glasses that is.  The fact of the matter is Steve, the black guy who offered to buy me a beer after asking for cigarettes three times ALWAYS asks me for cigarettes and I never have any to give him.  He walks around approaching people for cigarettes all day long, but one thing I’ve never heard him ask for is money!  In fact, he always offers a quarter for the smoke.

On the other hand, Bozo number one, of two, sits on her fat ass all day long holding up a sign that says she’s homeless and hungry.  All while sitting there with a cup of Starbucks coffee and chain smoking cigarettes.  Her “boyfriend”, Bozo number two, never asks anybody for money.  He just pimps her out until the end of the day when you’ll see him shuffle down to the store to buy another pack, and then stumble aimlessly into a bar for a beer.  Neither of the Bozo’s are black, but Bozo number one sure is fat.  

Besides these two morons, there’s only a couple others I can think of that ask for money.  One is a crackhead, race to remain unmentioned.  And the other is a belligerent fat bitch that you can occasionally find out of the street at 5am asking anybody she encounters for money.  Usually, if I’m up at 5am, I’m the only person out there besides her and the street sweepers, but she always asks me; only the last time I refused her she told me to “Fuck off!”  So, I told her the same.

There are only a few street people, homeless people that I associate with.  Mainly, it’s the street musicians who are at least trying to sing for their supper, but never with anybody asking for cash.  I’ve thought about doing this myself and it may be that time, but I’ve gotta get my hands on a guitar I’m waiting on from Bubba, a black guy who said he was going to give me one he had gotten.  I gave him my guitar for safe keeping because he can play and he had a sheltered spot to keep it.  I told him it was his when I gave it to him and if I never saw it again, that was fine, but I think it’s time to get hold of the Washburn he promised me.

I know, I know, there are those of you out there who would only have one thing to say to me.  That being, “Get a job!”  You’re really funny, but am I really a racist?

Wrong About Irene

Well, as Irene continues its way up the eastern seaboard, Georgia has been spared from any devastation although it was very humid today; that’s not devastating.  That’s par for the course in Georgia.  At least, that has been par for the course most of the time I have lived in this beautiful state.  Yet, the previous ten years have been moderate in terms of the humidity factor.  So, this recent humidic return in the last couple of years has restored and reminded us of the fact that this beautiful state, as lush and green as it is, is right next door to Florida, the arm pit of the South.  And Irene brought a piece of Florida with her and left in Georgia.  A soggy statement that can only stimulate thanksgiving.

My first year of college, I was seeing this girl who had to write a paper on the topic of “The Optimism of Pessimism”.  I suppose, I am writing the same paper write now, only I won’t receive a grade.

She said to me, ‘I received a topic for a paper today and I’m not quite sure how to approach it’.  The topic is “The Optimism Of Pessimism”.  I said, “Well, that’s easy!  You just have to write about how when you think of the worst case scenario as a result of a situation, then if the worst case scenario doesn’t occur, you can’t be disappointed!”  She said, “Yeah... that’s it!”

I kissed her goodnight with just a peck.  It was a new relationship.  So new, we hadn’t even french kissed.  It was weird because this was not my first relationship and I wasn’t a virgin or very inexperienced..  Not that I was a playboy by any means.  It was just that this was not the first girl I had ever tried to kiss.  The difference was that she didn’t really seem to open her mouth and without some sort of mutual tongue experience I didn’t wast to push the girl into something she was unfomfortable with, like my tongue being in her mouth!  It wasn’t until a week or so later I finally had to say something.

“You know there’s something we should talk about... (As she nodded with approval to hear the issue) Uhmm, I don’t know how to say this, so I guess I should just be straight forward.

“OK”, she responded...

“Well, the fat of the matter is we’ve never actually had a real kiss and...”

Before I could finish the sentence, she busted out laguhing and then so did I!  We laughed so hard we couldn’t kiss, but then the calm came and we made ammends...  

It wasn’t until later that year I probably broke her heart by not showing up for Christmas at her house with her parents.  I never talked to her again until my sophomore year at UGA, where I was earning my bachelors degree in Comedic Justice.  I didn’t even know she was attending UGA.  We saw each at the bus stop in front of the student center on campus.  By then, I had a new girlfriend I was practically living with, which I explained.  She asked me if I was happy, to which I replied in the affirmative, and I was.

These are near misses in life you might not even think about until years later.  But, today I think of the near miss with Irene, where just a few drops of rain fell from the swirling clouds overhead last night.  She left us moistened with only the dew from the sky and no destruction.  She only gave us a little kiss, but no tongue!  As with my experience, the tongue of Irene might not come until later as the remainder of the east coast awaits her land fall and North Carolina is being dumped on now as I write these words.

While I am trying to draw some kind of parallel here between a college girlfriend and a hurricane, let me not suggest her kiss was violent, it was just the summation of the storm.  Certainly, this girl was no storm, but the one I went with sure was!!  In fact, as it turned out, as gentle and kind as she was at first, she turned into one of the most vicious people I’ve ever known in life.  If I had my own personal hurricane, this would have been it.  Boy, was I ever wrong about Irene!

So, I think the lesson we can take from this atmospheric lesson in Georgia is that we have dodged a bullet with this gentle Ireneian kiss while we await to see what happens next.  But, should we hope for the worst just so we can feel better about the results if they are less than devastating?  I’m not so sure about this whole optimism of pessimism thing... in hindsight...

I say we hope for the best.


The Beauty of the Internet                            

In the last few days, I have received four marriage proposals from women on the Internet.  For some reason a website called Tagged is chock full of beauties who don't to have English as their native tongue, and they desperately want to be in a committed relationship, or marriage.  Usually, I ignore these things, but I was bored, so I decided to have some fun.  I couldn't resist.  I mean when a beauty like this shows up on your computer screen, telling you she wants to spend the rest of her life with you and she’s even willing to live in a tent, then you have to appreciate the humility of it all, and say come and get me!

As you may know, I am still homeless, but I am working now.  It’s just that during the last pay period, I owed the company .53 cents, only after the previous period when they owed me $3.  So, I netted out $2.47 last month.  Jocelyn, as she is called, knows this and is still willing to come to ..America.. all the way from Nigeria and start life anew.  She wants to have children and I told her that there’s not much room in a tent for babies, but I’m game!

Now, I am well aware of the Nigerian dating scam, but during our first chat session she never asked for any money and said that her grandmother was going to pay for her to renew her passport.  So, the next day when she popped up on the screen, I was ready to play!  I’m certain that this is some guy sitting in his underwear somewhere in Nigeria, but what the heck, business is slow and it keeps me from getting sleepy… that and this Wu-Yi Tea I’ve been drinking lately.  The stuff is amazing, almost euphoric after the third cup… but it’s different than a normal caffeine feeling, which is always slight for me.  This just makes you feel good, not jittery.

Day two went by and Jocelyn still had not asked for money.  The way the scam works is they end up asking you to send money for something like the passport, and then a plane ticket and then whatever else they can get you to do.  No such thing had occurred in two sessions, so I decided to change the game.  This morning I told Jocelyn I had changed my mind, and I wanted to come to Nigeria instead, but I needed her to wire me some cash for a plane ticket, and taxis and such!  I turned the tables, right?

I fully expected this would end our chat sessions, but to my surprise when I logged into my email account this morning, she popped up after a few minutes and what did I get, but a wink, one of those little graphic smileys.  So, I sent one back and said, “It’s been fun!”.  But, Jocelyn wasn’t going to leave it at that, she asked, “What about our chat?”

I replied, “you seriously want to continue this”, and then went back into the routine, but now is asking for money to pay for the passport renewal, asking how much I could come up with.  I reiterated the previous statement about my income for the last month, and after calculating that including the purchase of a one dollar cigar, I could probably spare $1, but assured her that I thought she was worth much more than that!

Then, I was reminded, hey just two weeks ago some guy emailed me and told me I had been named next of kin to a lady who had died in England, and I was to inherit over $30 million dollars!  Jocelyn asked me who it was.  I told her it was somebody just like her who had just randomly found me on the Internet.  Jocelyn really liked the sound of that, but didn’t show too much emotion mainly because you can’t scam a scammer… or, some guy sitting in his underwear in Nigeria either?

The irony in all of this, of course, is that I’ve inherited over $30 million dollars and picked up a trophy wife in the last thirty days and I’m still sleeping outside!  So, if you see this girl, tell her she can find me in Atlanta and the tent is pitched!  She can ride on the back of the bike and we’ll have lots of children together and live happily ever after!  Just point her to the field next door where the grass is green and well kept.  It’s nice there, and nobody talks about dying!  Peace.

She looked something like this: