St. Peter took me aside and informed me the only way I was getting into heaven was to write God's blog. God had no time. But He was concerned about the downturn in church attendance and felt a blog would stir up interest. While I was alive they read my rants on margarine and were impressed.
The rules were simple: God does not want sponsorship, except Red Bull. Four blogs a week, 1200 words each, nothing about Port-o-johns, which embarrass him. Also no mention of Spam or the Pittsburgh Pirates. And make it sound like God is happy. No one will read a whining deity.
Try to give Him a sharp wit. No knock-knock jokes.
William F. Buckley would be proof reading my stuff. All he does is consume cocktails anyway, St. Peter revealed.
What could I say? Choosing me over Norman Mailer and John Updike was an honor. So here I am preparing God's first blog. I'm thinking comments about moisturizer and Speedos. Better believe Satan will come up.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Quantity, Not Quality
I aim for bushels of chest hair. I don't care about color, length, thickness, curly or straight, quality. I just want lots of it. Every day I cultivate my chest hair, sometimes watering it. Now there is so much it's affecting my posture. When I'm in confession, my upper body falls forward into the divider, scaring Father Bill.
Dancing has become problematic. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
Some men prune theirs. One guy shaped his into a replica of Ramses III. Any young male Hollywood type who shaves his chest is committing sacrilege.
Women crave thrusting their hands into my forest, right up to the wrists, stretching their fingers, luxuriating in the exquisite silkiness of thousands of strands. You look dubious. Let me remove my shirt. Do not move one inch.
Take a gander at this magnificence. Look, here comes the waitress shooting over. Works every time. Minus a shirt, there is no difference between me and Sean Connery. What is that you're pulling from your purse?? No, get away from me with those tweezers!
Dancing has become problematic. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
Some men prune theirs. One guy shaped his into a replica of Ramses III. Any young male Hollywood type who shaves his chest is committing sacrilege.
Women crave thrusting their hands into my forest, right up to the wrists, stretching their fingers, luxuriating in the exquisite silkiness of thousands of strands. You look dubious. Let me remove my shirt. Do not move one inch.
Take a gander at this magnificence. Look, here comes the waitress shooting over. Works every time. Minus a shirt, there is no difference between me and Sean Connery. What is that you're pulling from your purse?? No, get away from me with those tweezers!
Escaping Your Charisma
You own me and you know it. I sit here waiting for you. My heart pounds as I spot you approaching. It's nothing I can control. You smile and I turn to Tapioca. I tremble as our palms touch in handshake. You sit next to me and a moment of silence passes.
Then comes the request. It's never the same, spoken politely, but firmly.
Bring me a swan.
Write a non rhyming poem about an exotic bird.
I want a family of Japanese tourists.
Mold me an ash tray.
Knit me a potholder.
Smell one of your body parts.
Recite a long recipe.
Bring me a ferret.
Speak fluently in Tagalog.
Rent me a masseuse.
Curl into a fetal position and sob.
Tie six complex knots in one minute.
Look under that woman's dress.
I am helpless within your whims.
Especially the one where I must shave down there.
Then comes the request. It's never the same, spoken politely, but firmly.
Bring me a swan.
Write a non rhyming poem about an exotic bird.
I want a family of Japanese tourists.
Mold me an ash tray.
Knit me a potholder.
Smell one of your body parts.
Recite a long recipe.
Bring me a ferret.
Speak fluently in Tagalog.
Rent me a masseuse.
Curl into a fetal position and sob.
Tie six complex knots in one minute.
Look under that woman's dress.
I am helpless within your whims.
Especially the one where I must shave down there.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Hike from Hell
No one forced me to do this. But I am a man who likes challenges. Hiking from the bottom of Elinor's pocketbook all the way to the top was something I'd been contemplating for months, ever since I got a gander the contents when she opened it briefly. I'm not sure even she knows what in there.
On the appointed day I made sure I had enough food and water and medical supplies. My cell phone was charged. The protocol was simple. If I run into serious trouble, just call and friends would reach in and yank me out. Elinor was crabbier than usual, announcing the whole thing was silly and she was ignoring me.
I was fine with that. This was never about her. I needed something to motivate me. My job selling Venetian blinds was growing stale. This excited me like nothing since negotiating my way out of Kevin's sock drawer.
I took the elevator straight down to the bottom, got out and looked around. I was surrounded by loose, crumpled tissue. When I parted them I jumped back. I was confronted by a voodoo doll full of pins which resembled Levon, her ex. I gingerly stepped around it and reached up to grab my first object. My plan was to keep boosting myself using whatever I could get me hands on.
Over the next four hours, battling dehydration and hunger after I went through my provisions too quickly, bleeding from the shins, I climbed past a hairbrush, a pack of condoms, two crusty Altoids, keys, a small mirror, lipstick, cell phone. Q-tips, notepad, tweezers, eyeliner, gum, a toothpick, sunglasses, a broken strand of beads, perfume, handkerchief, hair spray and a full water bottle.
When I emerged, exhausted and sweat soaked, it was night. Everyone had gone home. I could hear Elinor snoring in bed. I shrugged, made myself a ham sandwich and watched Jimmy Fallon. I had beaten my Everest. The kudos would come in good time. Man, I wish I had kept a diary.
On the appointed day I made sure I had enough food and water and medical supplies. My cell phone was charged. The protocol was simple. If I run into serious trouble, just call and friends would reach in and yank me out. Elinor was crabbier than usual, announcing the whole thing was silly and she was ignoring me.
I was fine with that. This was never about her. I needed something to motivate me. My job selling Venetian blinds was growing stale. This excited me like nothing since negotiating my way out of Kevin's sock drawer.
I took the elevator straight down to the bottom, got out and looked around. I was surrounded by loose, crumpled tissue. When I parted them I jumped back. I was confronted by a voodoo doll full of pins which resembled Levon, her ex. I gingerly stepped around it and reached up to grab my first object. My plan was to keep boosting myself using whatever I could get me hands on.
Over the next four hours, battling dehydration and hunger after I went through my provisions too quickly, bleeding from the shins, I climbed past a hairbrush, a pack of condoms, two crusty Altoids, keys, a small mirror, lipstick, cell phone. Q-tips, notepad, tweezers, eyeliner, gum, a toothpick, sunglasses, a broken strand of beads, perfume, handkerchief, hair spray and a full water bottle.
When I emerged, exhausted and sweat soaked, it was night. Everyone had gone home. I could hear Elinor snoring in bed. I shrugged, made myself a ham sandwich and watched Jimmy Fallon. I had beaten my Everest. The kudos would come in good time. Man, I wish I had kept a diary.
Unfortunate Accident
We kept telling grandma to stay away from the barbecue families on Memorial Day. Our own family preferred to eat out, but we would get our exercise first by tossing around a Frisbee. I mean we pay taxes too and these are our parks as much as they belong to the barbecue people.
I'm sure there were times in our family when we barbecued, but none that I can remember. Grandpa swears he conducted a few, but he's sliding into dementia so that's not reliable. I don't see the big deal. People celebrate in their own way.
I have to admit Frisbee seems kind of silly to me. I'm 18 now and have moved on to more mature things like that strange Brazilian dancing/ fighting thing people do in the streets to drums. I've gotten pretty good at it, which was part of the problem this day. See, grandma wanted me to teach her how to do it and I gave some stupid excuse, mainly, you'll hurt yourself, grandma. I think she was trying to prove me wrong when she ran after a floating Frisbee and dove to grab it. Unfortunately, she landed atop this guy's barbecue spit. Burns over 30 % of her body. Lots of howling. A law suit by the man's family for ruining their Memorial Day. All that wasted meat.
At least we got to see a parade before disaster hit.
I'm sure there were times in our family when we barbecued, but none that I can remember. Grandpa swears he conducted a few, but he's sliding into dementia so that's not reliable. I don't see the big deal. People celebrate in their own way.
I have to admit Frisbee seems kind of silly to me. I'm 18 now and have moved on to more mature things like that strange Brazilian dancing/ fighting thing people do in the streets to drums. I've gotten pretty good at it, which was part of the problem this day. See, grandma wanted me to teach her how to do it and I gave some stupid excuse, mainly, you'll hurt yourself, grandma. I think she was trying to prove me wrong when she ran after a floating Frisbee and dove to grab it. Unfortunately, she landed atop this guy's barbecue spit. Burns over 30 % of her body. Lots of howling. A law suit by the man's family for ruining their Memorial Day. All that wasted meat.
At least we got to see a parade before disaster hit.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Ten Greatest Blondes
Grace Kelly
Charlize Theron
Tuesday Weld
Yvette Mimieux
Eva Marie Saint
Bridget Bardot
Meg Ryan
Marilyn Monroe
Angela Lansberry
Mia Farrow
Charlize Theron
Tuesday Weld
Yvette Mimieux
Eva Marie Saint
Bridget Bardot
Meg Ryan
Marilyn Monroe
Angela Lansberry
Mia Farrow
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Deep Voices
People with deep voices annoy me. Whatever the topic, the person with the deep voice gets the most support in a discussion. It's all about that authoritative blanket of confidence deep voices engender.
Having both a deep and raspy voice is ideal. Think Harrison Ford, Sean Connery. Yes, I'm jealous. I've spent hours trying to deepen my instrument, incorporating breathing techniques, posture, and horse steroids, to no avail. When I'm upset I sound like a 10 year old spotting a mouse. No Sam Elliot growl from me.
Which leads to another problem--women with deep voices. Bacall, Colleen Dewhurst, Kathleen Turner, Stockard Channing, Kitty on Gunsmoke, and Jessica Biel, who should be recording Navy Seals recruitment ads. Whiskey-voiced women are arousing.Especially older ones. Being naked in a room with Hepburn, Crawford and Stanwyck barking orders is a frequent fantasy of mine. Bill Clinton, Tom Cruise and John Travolta do not have deep voices, which makes me feel better.
Maybe I'd include Kissinger in that room giving orders--in German.
Having both a deep and raspy voice is ideal. Think Harrison Ford, Sean Connery. Yes, I'm jealous. I've spent hours trying to deepen my instrument, incorporating breathing techniques, posture, and horse steroids, to no avail. When I'm upset I sound like a 10 year old spotting a mouse. No Sam Elliot growl from me.
Which leads to another problem--women with deep voices. Bacall, Colleen Dewhurst, Kathleen Turner, Stockard Channing, Kitty on Gunsmoke, and Jessica Biel, who should be recording Navy Seals recruitment ads. Whiskey-voiced women are arousing.Especially older ones. Being naked in a room with Hepburn, Crawford and Stanwyck barking orders is a frequent fantasy of mine. Bill Clinton, Tom Cruise and John Travolta do not have deep voices, which makes me feel better.
Maybe I'd include Kissinger in that room giving orders--in German.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Inflatable
I bought an inflatable mattress. My old mattress felt like a village of gorillas made love on it. It looked like it was cluster bombed. I was embarrassed to drag it to the dumpster. I won't describe the stains because this is a family blog.
There is something soothing about Bed, Bath & Beyond. Piles of soft, cushion y things, display beds that moan mount me. Pillows that need a home. I wandered, searching for a cot, the same cot advertised online. As you may have guessed, they don't stock those. I don't order anything online, not even pizza. but I came upon a looping video demonstrating this inflatable mattress. It looked comfortable and at $149 for a twin the price was right. I tossed in a pad for $49 and my bill with tax was $213.
Last night I tried inflating it, but the pump sounded like an entire road crew drilling a sewer hole. So I waited until this morning. First I removed the old mattress. I kept the box spring, which looked third world. But I didn't want to just lay the inflatable on the floor where I'd be breathing in dust balls all night. Well, it took only about a minute and yousa! I had a new mattress. I covered it with the white pad, lay a white sheet over it, added a black quilt and subtracted two pillows, leaving me with two. I touched the control that regulates firmness and not much happened. I tried to make it softer and a noise was emitted from the pump that sounded like a fart.
Later I will take a nap. Instructions say sleep in the middle because the edges might deflate easier. Every half hour I keep checking to see if its still inflated. I won't tolerate a slow leak, like what happened with Elaine. Don't ask.
There is something soothing about Bed, Bath & Beyond. Piles of soft, cushion y things, display beds that moan mount me. Pillows that need a home. I wandered, searching for a cot, the same cot advertised online. As you may have guessed, they don't stock those. I don't order anything online, not even pizza. but I came upon a looping video demonstrating this inflatable mattress. It looked comfortable and at $149 for a twin the price was right. I tossed in a pad for $49 and my bill with tax was $213.
Last night I tried inflating it, but the pump sounded like an entire road crew drilling a sewer hole. So I waited until this morning. First I removed the old mattress. I kept the box spring, which looked third world. But I didn't want to just lay the inflatable on the floor where I'd be breathing in dust balls all night. Well, it took only about a minute and yousa! I had a new mattress. I covered it with the white pad, lay a white sheet over it, added a black quilt and subtracted two pillows, leaving me with two. I touched the control that regulates firmness and not much happened. I tried to make it softer and a noise was emitted from the pump that sounded like a fart.
Later I will take a nap. Instructions say sleep in the middle because the edges might deflate easier. Every half hour I keep checking to see if its still inflated. I won't tolerate a slow leak, like what happened with Elaine. Don't ask.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Free Samples
Crumbs, they were crumbs. Not even one full cookie. Just lying there on a small plate waiting for me to gobble them. The two women behind me were engaged in an intense discussion of something about their town's school system. They weren't looking at the plate and I'll bet they had no intention of touching those crumbs.
At first all I did was take one of the crumbs. Was it a good concoction? It was exquisite. I'm just stating a fact, not creating a defense. Even if it were a mediocre cookie, my actions would not have changed. Perhaps I glanced around first. Customers sitting at tables were busy with their own thoughts or chewing their purchase. The two young people behind the counter were facing the other direction. Is conscience involved here? Should I have been thinking of other hungry patrons? Look at it from another view. What kind of Neanderthal would break up a free sample, leaving only crumbs. You see free food, you nod, smile, grab it and swallow in one shot, whether it be espresso, pie, dip, crackers or cheese, especially cheese.
There is no middle ground here. If those women were staring at the crumbs longingly (and I've known a few who would) I gladly would have stepped aside and offered the sample as a gentleman should. Now, if it were yogurt I would evaluate the situation differently.
I beat down guilt, savored the crumbs and left a 50 cent tip on a $2 tea. I dread a world without free samples almost as much as I dread a world minus multicultural street festivals, which contain samples up the kazoo.
At first all I did was take one of the crumbs. Was it a good concoction? It was exquisite. I'm just stating a fact, not creating a defense. Even if it were a mediocre cookie, my actions would not have changed. Perhaps I glanced around first. Customers sitting at tables were busy with their own thoughts or chewing their purchase. The two young people behind the counter were facing the other direction. Is conscience involved here? Should I have been thinking of other hungry patrons? Look at it from another view. What kind of Neanderthal would break up a free sample, leaving only crumbs. You see free food, you nod, smile, grab it and swallow in one shot, whether it be espresso, pie, dip, crackers or cheese, especially cheese.
There is no middle ground here. If those women were staring at the crumbs longingly (and I've known a few who would) I gladly would have stepped aside and offered the sample as a gentleman should. Now, if it were yogurt I would evaluate the situation differently.
I beat down guilt, savored the crumbs and left a 50 cent tip on a $2 tea. I dread a world without free samples almost as much as I dread a world minus multicultural street festivals, which contain samples up the kazoo.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
It Pains Me
Dear Mary,
It pains me to inform you that your new space does not meet my present artistic needs.
Although the acoustics are excellent, the plethora of white within the design concept screams Scandinavia. I am of Italian descent and color is our religion. Your decor simply stifles my imagination.
Then there is the aroma. I can't smell anything in the rooms and around you. Some might say this announces superb hygiene. I contend a dearth of personal scent is a metaphor for a timid, stimulus deprived, vapid existence, devoid of adventure. There is a disturbing lack of gravy stains on your blouse.
The blue bathroom fixtures remind me of my childhood bathroom, a time when I was innocent and peeing only took seconds, not minutes. I burst into nostalgic tears in front of your shower curtain.
Your furnishings express Norwegian utilitarian--sleek in that modern way. After two hours of sitting on one of those sophisticated chairs, my proletarian buttocks ached. I would have requested a pillow, but your anemic couches are pillow-less, a capital offense in Italy. I could have ventured upstairs for one, but that would have entailed being exposed to your Icelandic austere bedroom, including sculptured lamps and ghostly foot lighting. That might very well have sent me hurtling out the window in despair if I were able to figure out how to unlatch those post modern monstrosities.
You chose blinds over drapes in what must have been a drunken fugue state. Drapes are proof of a Supreme Being. Blinds are Satan's handiwork.
What almost saved you from my creative expulsion was your choice of wall art. Eclectic, dangerous, provocative, stabbing at convention. I could see my own work hanging over your fireplace, except you don't have a real fireplace, you cheap fraud.
I have, however, decided to let you remain my friend because you gave me a black pullover to wear at my monthly discussions about the feeble state of the arts, which we hold at Natalie's, who at least has a smelly dog, a real fireplace and some damn pillows.
With deepest regards,
It pains me to inform you that your new space does not meet my present artistic needs.
Although the acoustics are excellent, the plethora of white within the design concept screams Scandinavia. I am of Italian descent and color is our religion. Your decor simply stifles my imagination.
Then there is the aroma. I can't smell anything in the rooms and around you. Some might say this announces superb hygiene. I contend a dearth of personal scent is a metaphor for a timid, stimulus deprived, vapid existence, devoid of adventure. There is a disturbing lack of gravy stains on your blouse.
The blue bathroom fixtures remind me of my childhood bathroom, a time when I was innocent and peeing only took seconds, not minutes. I burst into nostalgic tears in front of your shower curtain.
Your furnishings express Norwegian utilitarian--sleek in that modern way. After two hours of sitting on one of those sophisticated chairs, my proletarian buttocks ached. I would have requested a pillow, but your anemic couches are pillow-less, a capital offense in Italy. I could have ventured upstairs for one, but that would have entailed being exposed to your Icelandic austere bedroom, including sculptured lamps and ghostly foot lighting. That might very well have sent me hurtling out the window in despair if I were able to figure out how to unlatch those post modern monstrosities.
You chose blinds over drapes in what must have been a drunken fugue state. Drapes are proof of a Supreme Being. Blinds are Satan's handiwork.
What almost saved you from my creative expulsion was your choice of wall art. Eclectic, dangerous, provocative, stabbing at convention. I could see my own work hanging over your fireplace, except you don't have a real fireplace, you cheap fraud.
I have, however, decided to let you remain my friend because you gave me a black pullover to wear at my monthly discussions about the feeble state of the arts, which we hold at Natalie's, who at least has a smelly dog, a real fireplace and some damn pillows.
With deepest regards,
Monday, May 21, 2012
Birthday
I left Jack's gift in the elevator and now it's gone. It was actually a re-gift. Someone gave me an Apple Memory Eraser for my birthday a month earlier. In the first few days I used it constantly. I proceeded to erase all the unpleasant memories I could recall. These included job rejections, illnesses and injuries, wasted vacations, turn downs by editors and agents, thirty boring years delivering mail, traffic jams, endless lines, silly arguments, prayers to a God who refuses a hearing aid, bland lectures, neglected friendships, and all the women who crushed me.
After one week of erasing, all that was left of my life was drinking coffee and peeing.
One month after losing the Memory Eraser I got on the same elevator and spotted an Apple Daydream Creator lying right there in the corner by itself. I examined it and stamped on top was 'property of Gus Abbott'. I knew this man. As much as I needed vibrant daydreams, I also knew Gus needed it more than me. Gus was a lost soul and left to face unending stark reality, he would snap pretty quickly. He'd end up consuming huge amounts of coffee, maybe MY coffee, which would leave me with NO memories, not even peeing ones, unless of course I switched to tea.
After one week of erasing, all that was left of my life was drinking coffee and peeing.
One month after losing the Memory Eraser I got on the same elevator and spotted an Apple Daydream Creator lying right there in the corner by itself. I examined it and stamped on top was 'property of Gus Abbott'. I knew this man. As much as I needed vibrant daydreams, I also knew Gus needed it more than me. Gus was a lost soul and left to face unending stark reality, he would snap pretty quickly. He'd end up consuming huge amounts of coffee, maybe MY coffee, which would leave me with NO memories, not even peeing ones, unless of course I switched to tea.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Thespian
One has to have some pride. One has to protest undignified treatment. One must draw a line in the sand.
I have failed my own standards. I did not open my mouth and protest.
Oh, the humiliation. I accepted a small role as an Italian barber in a play for a local reading. Small is an understatement. Six lousy lines. I had to sit there during rehearsal for an hour and a half waiting for my next line to come up. I should have stormed out in rage. Would Philip Seymour Hoffman have tolerated this?
Yes, the director brought cookies and they were good cookies. But there was no coffee to keep me awake during this endless Irish play about a family and their bar and isn't that innovative? Harsh? I could have been doing so much more on a Friday night. Maybe even with a partner. Now I have to leave for a Sunday morning rehearsal when I could be exercise walking. And the performance kills my whole afternoon. I could have been up in Inwood Park watching American Indians dance at the Shad Festival.
To add to my discomfort, I have to be all in black today. Lucky someone gave me a black top. No way I'm spending money to buy one. They had better be coffee this afternoon. Then again, maybe some hot woman will show up and approach me afterward. I do look pretty good in black.
I have failed my own standards. I did not open my mouth and protest.
Oh, the humiliation. I accepted a small role as an Italian barber in a play for a local reading. Small is an understatement. Six lousy lines. I had to sit there during rehearsal for an hour and a half waiting for my next line to come up. I should have stormed out in rage. Would Philip Seymour Hoffman have tolerated this?
Yes, the director brought cookies and they were good cookies. But there was no coffee to keep me awake during this endless Irish play about a family and their bar and isn't that innovative? Harsh? I could have been doing so much more on a Friday night. Maybe even with a partner. Now I have to leave for a Sunday morning rehearsal when I could be exercise walking. And the performance kills my whole afternoon. I could have been up in Inwood Park watching American Indians dance at the Shad Festival.
To add to my discomfort, I have to be all in black today. Lucky someone gave me a black top. No way I'm spending money to buy one. They had better be coffee this afternoon. Then again, maybe some hot woman will show up and approach me afterward. I do look pretty good in black.
Meditating
I would love to meditate, especially when I'm on the road. But as soon as I get into a deep mode, I have to pee. Or I get hunger pangs. Highway fast food absolutely kills my meditative buzz.
I'm sure I could discover penetrating insights if I just knew where the heck I was. I have no GPS and can't read maps or even unfold them. I'm afraid that in the middle of one of my meditations I might sense specks of oatmeal at the corners of my lips. Or I might just doze off. Is there a time limit on this process?Can I meditate at ping pong matches and bull fights? Can I sometimes touch myself while coming up with these philosophical breakthroughs?
Do I have to declare myself spiritual before I embark on a meditation?
Why am I asking you? All you do is cut coupons all day.
Now I must get directions or I'll never get to see the Amish.They could care less about meditating. They're too busy milking cows and mending fences. And denouncing electricity.
I'm sure I could discover penetrating insights if I just knew where the heck I was. I have no GPS and can't read maps or even unfold them. I'm afraid that in the middle of one of my meditations I might sense specks of oatmeal at the corners of my lips. Or I might just doze off. Is there a time limit on this process?Can I meditate at ping pong matches and bull fights? Can I sometimes touch myself while coming up with these philosophical breakthroughs?
Do I have to declare myself spiritual before I embark on a meditation?
Why am I asking you? All you do is cut coupons all day.
Now I must get directions or I'll never get to see the Amish.They could care less about meditating. They're too busy milking cows and mending fences. And denouncing electricity.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Yellow
Certain objects should be certain colors. Kitchen utensils, off-white. Sex aids, lavender. Smokestacks, plaid. Farm equipment, red och re. Power tools, tan. All bird houses, yellow.
Yellow is the Honduras of colors--it gets no respect. No one vacations in the Honduras. Few people know its location. Yellow is bland--not as bland as tint, a color only artists know. Yet it is essential to our daily lives.
Curbs are painted yellow, yellow tape indicates a crime scene, yellow flags signify a wide load. There is Yellowstone Park, Mellow Yellow, Yellow Rose of Texas, yellow sunrises, except in sooty China, yellow note pads, yellow liquid, which indicates one's body is functioning correctly.
Significant yellow nutrition include bananas, corn, squash, mustard, yellow gumballs, yellow icing.
I liberally use this disrespected color in my paintings, along with burnt umber, burnt sienna, and raw umber, mysterious sounding colors. In contrast, yellow sounds like a root canal.
Why aren't there more yellow buildings and statues and airplanes? If every single country had some yellow in their flag, maybe this under appreciated hue would get its due.
Did I mention lemons?
Yellow is the Honduras of colors--it gets no respect. No one vacations in the Honduras. Few people know its location. Yellow is bland--not as bland as tint, a color only artists know. Yet it is essential to our daily lives.
Curbs are painted yellow, yellow tape indicates a crime scene, yellow flags signify a wide load. There is Yellowstone Park, Mellow Yellow, Yellow Rose of Texas, yellow sunrises, except in sooty China, yellow note pads, yellow liquid, which indicates one's body is functioning correctly.
Significant yellow nutrition include bananas, corn, squash, mustard, yellow gumballs, yellow icing.
I liberally use this disrespected color in my paintings, along with burnt umber, burnt sienna, and raw umber, mysterious sounding colors. In contrast, yellow sounds like a root canal.
Why aren't there more yellow buildings and statues and airplanes? If every single country had some yellow in their flag, maybe this under appreciated hue would get its due.
Did I mention lemons?
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Sounding Board
I'm not doing this. I've done it before and it's ridiculous. I'm referring to being a sounding board for a hot woman, who needs to discuss the men interested in her. Or about her former boyfriend.
I can sit there calmly and nod and maybe ask a question or offer advice. Later, I will ask myself why I just didn't tell her to forget about them and go with me. It's like I'm not even a guy. These are things you tell your girlfriends.
What really annoys is how cruddy these guys treat her and she still considers going with them. I'm the nicest guy in the world. Maybe guys like me just don't fit in anymore. We're good for rides, a cup of coffee, a quick hug. And we end up going to movies alone.
I even sometimes hold the door open.
I'm discovering that perhaps this is for the best. After a certain point I see I have nothing left to talk about. I'm not terribly charismatic. I just can't sit there and be cool and say nothing and have the woman be happy. I have to provide witty comments, sage wisdom, riveting stories or I'm extraneous. What's the point? I'm better off going for long walks and thinking of my next project. There's always a next project.
You need to get married, they always say. But of course not to them, never to them.
I can sit there calmly and nod and maybe ask a question or offer advice. Later, I will ask myself why I just didn't tell her to forget about them and go with me. It's like I'm not even a guy. These are things you tell your girlfriends.
What really annoys is how cruddy these guys treat her and she still considers going with them. I'm the nicest guy in the world. Maybe guys like me just don't fit in anymore. We're good for rides, a cup of coffee, a quick hug. And we end up going to movies alone.
I even sometimes hold the door open.
I'm discovering that perhaps this is for the best. After a certain point I see I have nothing left to talk about. I'm not terribly charismatic. I just can't sit there and be cool and say nothing and have the woman be happy. I have to provide witty comments, sage wisdom, riveting stories or I'm extraneous. What's the point? I'm better off going for long walks and thinking of my next project. There's always a next project.
You need to get married, they always say. But of course not to them, never to them.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Second Book
I'm in trouble. My first detective novel, Hummus Lust did great, sold well, got excellent reviews. But I have nothing else to say about dip. No more hummus metaphors. So what is my second book going to be about?
I'm spending hours batting around ideas. Bacon bits, garlic bread, pit-less olives, croutons, soft shell crabs. How about a genre narrative centering on lettuce? My PI, Bennett Malcolm, is a food connoisseur. He solved the hummus disappearance in the first book. John Cusack is playing him in the movie. Young, buxom women throw themselves at me at book signings. No one knows I'm blocked. I wrack my brains and nothing comes. His secretary, Roberta, is a transsexual with a 180 IQ. His parents are former circus trapeze artists. His former wife captained her own roller derby team. Everything is in place. It's quiet in my work room. My family loves me. I have a 33 inch waist. My feet never hurt and I can still juggle four balls at once. I have gravitas. I know where all the important bus stops are.
So why can't I get started on this second book?
I'm spending hours batting around ideas. Bacon bits, garlic bread, pit-less olives, croutons, soft shell crabs. How about a genre narrative centering on lettuce? My PI, Bennett Malcolm, is a food connoisseur. He solved the hummus disappearance in the first book. John Cusack is playing him in the movie. Young, buxom women throw themselves at me at book signings. No one knows I'm blocked. I wrack my brains and nothing comes. His secretary, Roberta, is a transsexual with a 180 IQ. His parents are former circus trapeze artists. His former wife captained her own roller derby team. Everything is in place. It's quiet in my work room. My family loves me. I have a 33 inch waist. My feet never hurt and I can still juggle four balls at once. I have gravitas. I know where all the important bus stops are.
So why can't I get started on this second book?
My Mother Never Told Me
To roll up my dirty socks
About menopause
Atomic wedgies
Half naked women named Charlotte
Jock itch
Nocturnal emissions
Ikea obsession
How to slide into normalcy
Not to invest with someone named KiKi
How to vomit with dignity
Stay away from exotic dancers named DeeDee
How to steal third base
What really happens at summer camp
The oldest shovels the most snow
Artichokes need affection
Pets can be moody
Women can be moody
Aunts and Uncles are a good source of cash
Everybody's grandpa smells slightly different
There is a good reason for handle bars
About menopause
Atomic wedgies
Half naked women named Charlotte
Jock itch
Nocturnal emissions
Ikea obsession
How to slide into normalcy
Not to invest with someone named KiKi
How to vomit with dignity
Stay away from exotic dancers named DeeDee
How to steal third base
What really happens at summer camp
The oldest shovels the most snow
Artichokes need affection
Pets can be moody
Women can be moody
Aunts and Uncles are a good source of cash
Everybody's grandpa smells slightly different
There is a good reason for handle bars
No Gray
I am all about black & white. Either it is or it isn't. Either I like you or I don't. Either I believe in something or I don't. My life contains no gray. Gray is cowardly compromise, a soft surrendering of values and point of view.
However, if I were a gray type, these are the things I would be ambivalent about:
Spanx for men
Susan Lucci's career
wide shoulders on women
toaster ovens
Luxemburg
Dunkin' Donuts oatmeal
Rumanian yard sales
shoe polish on bald spots
Tyler Perry
oven mitts
squirting liquids
marching bands over 250
free Verse
close captioned wrestling
hot breezes
woodpeckers who've slowed down
polka bootleg albums
Patti Smith's poetry
However, if I were a gray type, these are the things I would be ambivalent about:
Spanx for men
Susan Lucci's career
wide shoulders on women
toaster ovens
Luxemburg
Dunkin' Donuts oatmeal
Rumanian yard sales
shoe polish on bald spots
Tyler Perry
oven mitts
squirting liquids
marching bands over 250
free Verse
close captioned wrestling
hot breezes
woodpeckers who've slowed down
polka bootleg albums
Patti Smith's poetry
Monday, May 14, 2012
Final Fart
Today, October 12, 2018, a human being released the final bit of flatulence. The world rejoiced. It happened in a small town in West Virginia, a 98 year old man, the last holdout. Only four people were in attendance, three grandchildren and an official government fart checker.
Better eating habits, several wonder drugs and exercises designed to strengthen the sphincter muscles led to the disappearance of this global plague. There may be some aboriginal tribes where passing gas still exists, but since there is no way to reach them the World Farting Commission has signed off on this final official fart.
This is now a better, safer world for our children, our President declared. Everyone except the French agreed. Our state is to be commended for letting nature take its course and not browbeating this man, said West Virginia's governor. Canada laid claim to the title of least farty nation, but how do you determine that? So much uncharted terrain. Scientists bottled farts from all over the world, including every ethnic group and race. Rumor has it Eskimos created the deadliest ones, followed by super models and deep sea divers, who blamed it on the fish.
Now if only we can get dogs to stop cutting the cheese.
Better eating habits, several wonder drugs and exercises designed to strengthen the sphincter muscles led to the disappearance of this global plague. There may be some aboriginal tribes where passing gas still exists, but since there is no way to reach them the World Farting Commission has signed off on this final official fart.
This is now a better, safer world for our children, our President declared. Everyone except the French agreed. Our state is to be commended for letting nature take its course and not browbeating this man, said West Virginia's governor. Canada laid claim to the title of least farty nation, but how do you determine that? So much uncharted terrain. Scientists bottled farts from all over the world, including every ethnic group and race. Rumor has it Eskimos created the deadliest ones, followed by super models and deep sea divers, who blamed it on the fish.
Now if only we can get dogs to stop cutting the cheese.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Maurice Sendak
Hello. My name is Bob. You know me by sight. I am one of Maurice Sendak's monsters. You've all read his books. Now he's dead. Should I be grieving? After all, he was my creator.
Guess again. He made my life hell. I think I can speak for all of his monsters. We despised this man. Why? He wouldn't let us unionize. We worked seven days a week including holidays. We lived together in a barren warehouse, we couldn't even send out for pizza. We had no say in our appearance. Gold eyes? C'mon. No medical or dental benefits. I had three abscessed teeth from biting into bark. He drew me hunched over and my neck to this day is killing me.
When he created new monsters he'd just forget about us. Do the math. The guy wrote over 80 books. That's a lot of neglected beasts. Once he lost interest we were lucky to get a meeting with him. Try getting past his secretary, that witch. She really WAS a witch. At least he could have created some female monsters. I have urges too.
I'll tell you something. I never liked scaring kids. Or eating them. Most of them taste salty anyway. Frankly, those SAW movies scare the heck out of me. Oh yes, Maurice gave us movie night once a week. The only caveat--it had to be scary movies. To keep us in the right frame of mind.
Only God can judge this man for what he did to us. A bearded, owl-eyed sadist, that's how I'll remember him. Never even set us up for residuals.
Guess again. He made my life hell. I think I can speak for all of his monsters. We despised this man. Why? He wouldn't let us unionize. We worked seven days a week including holidays. We lived together in a barren warehouse, we couldn't even send out for pizza. We had no say in our appearance. Gold eyes? C'mon. No medical or dental benefits. I had three abscessed teeth from biting into bark. He drew me hunched over and my neck to this day is killing me.
When he created new monsters he'd just forget about us. Do the math. The guy wrote over 80 books. That's a lot of neglected beasts. Once he lost interest we were lucky to get a meeting with him. Try getting past his secretary, that witch. She really WAS a witch. At least he could have created some female monsters. I have urges too.
I'll tell you something. I never liked scaring kids. Or eating them. Most of them taste salty anyway. Frankly, those SAW movies scare the heck out of me. Oh yes, Maurice gave us movie night once a week. The only caveat--it had to be scary movies. To keep us in the right frame of mind.
Only God can judge this man for what he did to us. A bearded, owl-eyed sadist, that's how I'll remember him. Never even set us up for residuals.
Friday, May 11, 2012
The Art of Conversation
Here is how it works--I ask you a question, you answer. You ask me a question, I answer. I express an opinion on anything. You return an opinion. I reveal exactly one personal problem. You do the same. No more than one. We commiserate.
Neither of us should be looking around, searching for someone more interesting. Neither should we close our eyes and nap while the other is texting or answering a call.
Move the arms, gesticulate, show excitement. Make believe this is the last vibrant, intelligent conversation you will ever have. Make eye contact and smile at appropriate moments.
I had one friend who increasingly took off on 20 minute monologues about her projects. When I tried to sneak in a sentence about my own work, her eyes glazed over. Complete indifference. She also never paid for the coffee.
I know another woman who won't talk about herself unless you use a crowbar on her lips. You have to practically interrogate her to get any information. She, however, shows absolutely no interest in me. No curiosity, no questions, no eye contact. Am I that dull or is she extremely detached and aloof?
I never have more than two conversations a week with the same person. This way I have plenty to talk about. I don't know how couples can exist more than three weeks without crashing into a wall conversationally. I guess that's when karaoke enters the picture.
Neither of us should be looking around, searching for someone more interesting. Neither should we close our eyes and nap while the other is texting or answering a call.
Move the arms, gesticulate, show excitement. Make believe this is the last vibrant, intelligent conversation you will ever have. Make eye contact and smile at appropriate moments.
I had one friend who increasingly took off on 20 minute monologues about her projects. When I tried to sneak in a sentence about my own work, her eyes glazed over. Complete indifference. She also never paid for the coffee.
I know another woman who won't talk about herself unless you use a crowbar on her lips. You have to practically interrogate her to get any information. She, however, shows absolutely no interest in me. No curiosity, no questions, no eye contact. Am I that dull or is she extremely detached and aloof?
I never have more than two conversations a week with the same person. This way I have plenty to talk about. I don't know how couples can exist more than three weeks without crashing into a wall conversationally. I guess that's when karaoke enters the picture.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Variety Pack
I had a choice. I could have played it safe. I could have chosen all the same crackers in one pack. Instead I went with the variety pack. Cream Cheese Chives. Whole Grain Cheddar Cheese. Toasty Peanut Butter. Toast Chee. Yes, all have O trans fat and no preservatives. I am not crazy reckless in my cracker choice. But I feel I have an obligation to myself and my readership not to play it safe.
It gets down to one question: how do you choose to live your life?
Are you walking into the supermarket with the idea that you will stick with something that has given you pleasure in the past, but has lost some of its newness and luster? Or are you going to tempt fate and challenge yourself to test new boundaries and give other options a chance? Most relationships revolve around the exact same question.
I'll state up front I'm not sure I'll enjoy the Cream Cheese Chives. I was never a cream cheese guy. I lean toward pepper jack, possibly the most masculine flavor in the cheese family. Cheddar, I can go either way with, especially if you toss in the wild card whole grain aspect. Both the Toasty and Toasty Chee, with peanut butter, of course, are right in my wheelhouse.
What happens if my overall experience with the variety pack is negative? I rethink my strategy without castigating myself. Life is all about taking chances. I worked through my initial qualms over cheddar cheese rice cakes, and eventually was able to wean myself away from caramel cakes to enjoy this new flavor.
Sometimes a man has to display courage in his life choices. Someday I know I'll find the spunk to leave home without a belt to hold up my pants. It's called living on the edge.
It gets down to one question: how do you choose to live your life?
Are you walking into the supermarket with the idea that you will stick with something that has given you pleasure in the past, but has lost some of its newness and luster? Or are you going to tempt fate and challenge yourself to test new boundaries and give other options a chance? Most relationships revolve around the exact same question.
I'll state up front I'm not sure I'll enjoy the Cream Cheese Chives. I was never a cream cheese guy. I lean toward pepper jack, possibly the most masculine flavor in the cheese family. Cheddar, I can go either way with, especially if you toss in the wild card whole grain aspect. Both the Toasty and Toasty Chee, with peanut butter, of course, are right in my wheelhouse.
What happens if my overall experience with the variety pack is negative? I rethink my strategy without castigating myself. Life is all about taking chances. I worked through my initial qualms over cheddar cheese rice cakes, and eventually was able to wean myself away from caramel cakes to enjoy this new flavor.
Sometimes a man has to display courage in his life choices. Someday I know I'll find the spunk to leave home without a belt to hold up my pants. It's called living on the edge.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Indifference Insurance
I wish they sold indifference insurance.
I am feeling oddly detached from everything
and everyone.
Every conversation or story or joke
is something I've already heard.
My usual haunts have lost their uniqueness.
I stare out at my car in front of my garage.
In a moment of stark insight
I realize even my car is boring.
I find myself seeking excuses
not to leave the house
or the bedroom for that matter.
I turn down the sound and half-watch
hours of panel discussions on TV.
My health is slowly deteriorating and I don't care.
I contribute little of intellect to discourse.
In rare moments I will take note
of a woman
who reminds me of someone else I knew long ago
when I was engaged with the flow of my life.
I would pay steep rates for any insurance
that would compensate me for this ennui.
I'm too bored to get drunk. All I really want to do is watch old movies
by myself
until I fall asleep.
I am feeling oddly detached from everything
and everyone.
Every conversation or story or joke
is something I've already heard.
My usual haunts have lost their uniqueness.
I stare out at my car in front of my garage.
In a moment of stark insight
I realize even my car is boring.
I find myself seeking excuses
not to leave the house
or the bedroom for that matter.
I turn down the sound and half-watch
hours of panel discussions on TV.
My health is slowly deteriorating and I don't care.
I contribute little of intellect to discourse.
In rare moments I will take note
of a woman
who reminds me of someone else I knew long ago
when I was engaged with the flow of my life.
I would pay steep rates for any insurance
that would compensate me for this ennui.
I'm too bored to get drunk. All I really want to do is watch old movies
by myself
until I fall asleep.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Sausage and Peppers
How one perceives sausage and peppers depends on one's self image and station in life.
For manly men, this is a diet staple. Sensitive types may take a sniff before striding away, shaking their heads. Big city dwellers who work late seek out sidewalk carts featuring this menu as though it were a magic elixir to get through the night.
Fashion designers scoff at the whole idea of this combination. For cannibals this is a wet dream. Upscale women proudly display their slumming instincts at blue collar restaurants, loudly slurping the peppers, chewing with their mouths open, flaunting common courtesy because they can. The French and Italians see S&P as another excuse to consume bread.
Introverts are intimidated by the sizzling. Extroverts are too busy yakking to consume much. Manic depressives see insects in the pan. Kids are overwhelmed with bloating afterwards. Spiritual leaders are suspicious. Artists love the collusion of colors. Lonely people are jealous of the camaraderie between the sausage and peppers. Gov. Christie wants to declare this food combo an endangered species or historical landmark, anything to protect it.
Calorie counters run away screaming.
For manly men, this is a diet staple. Sensitive types may take a sniff before striding away, shaking their heads. Big city dwellers who work late seek out sidewalk carts featuring this menu as though it were a magic elixir to get through the night.
Fashion designers scoff at the whole idea of this combination. For cannibals this is a wet dream. Upscale women proudly display their slumming instincts at blue collar restaurants, loudly slurping the peppers, chewing with their mouths open, flaunting common courtesy because they can. The French and Italians see S&P as another excuse to consume bread.
Introverts are intimidated by the sizzling. Extroverts are too busy yakking to consume much. Manic depressives see insects in the pan. Kids are overwhelmed with bloating afterwards. Spiritual leaders are suspicious. Artists love the collusion of colors. Lonely people are jealous of the camaraderie between the sausage and peppers. Gov. Christie wants to declare this food combo an endangered species or historical landmark, anything to protect it.
Calorie counters run away screaming.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Gridlock
I'm watching the news and there is an enormous back up by the Lincoln Tunnel. Evidently a truck was too high and got stuck. Obviously they'll have to let some air out of the tires to get the vehicle lowered enough to get through. People in the tunnel with claustrophobia will begin screaming. Those with medical problems will leave their cars seeking food or fresh air and collide with the claustrophobics, creating more screaming and possible fisticuffs. Any children will empty their bowels and bladder. The whole tunnel will soon be chaos.
Businessmen late for meetings, doctors needed for operations, law enforcement agencies unable to restore order will amp up the consternation and panic.
A pregnant woman will give birth, assisted by a bus driver. All bus passengers will try to find something to read or begin texting. Helicopters will fill the air, reporting everything, making it seem so much worse than it is. At this point someone will suggest creating a Meet Up group on the spot. He will be beaten senseless.
Later, columnists swill debate the necessity of trucks or tunnels or both.
Some poor Port Authority supervisor will be demoted. The trucker will shake his head, shrug and ask for coffee.
And another NYC week commences.
Businessmen late for meetings, doctors needed for operations, law enforcement agencies unable to restore order will amp up the consternation and panic.
A pregnant woman will give birth, assisted by a bus driver. All bus passengers will try to find something to read or begin texting. Helicopters will fill the air, reporting everything, making it seem so much worse than it is. At this point someone will suggest creating a Meet Up group on the spot. He will be beaten senseless.
Later, columnists swill debate the necessity of trucks or tunnels or both.
Some poor Port Authority supervisor will be demoted. The trucker will shake his head, shrug and ask for coffee.
And another NYC week commences.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Across the Table
I am having a serious conversation with the person next to me about writing. The usual stuff--our books, blogs, projects, marketing. We are both making excellent points as we wait for our food. It is crowded and our table consists of a bunch of talkers. Well, actors. Actors cannot wait to expound, to launch into stories, blurt opinions, be witty.
Directly opposite me are three people who are laughing at each others' comments. Quite hard, with wide open mouths and heads thrown back. A part of me wants very much to know what is so funny. Then I would like to contribute something even funnier because I am a writer and they are actors and my wit should be greater than theirs. At the same time, at the far end of the table, people are comparing movies, which I also enjoy doing. But I refuse to end the serious conversation between writers because writing is my life and how dare these people not realize that and show some interest in my work instead of the certainly inane topics they're chatting about. In addition, the Yankees are playing on the overhead TV and I'm trying to watch that.
I can multitask. At a pause in my conversation I will interject a movie opinion for that group, and throw out a witticism to the people across from me. So I will be juggling three conversations at once. And chewing chicken tenders and fries. And rooting for the Yanks.
I hate socializing in restaurants.
Directly opposite me are three people who are laughing at each others' comments. Quite hard, with wide open mouths and heads thrown back. A part of me wants very much to know what is so funny. Then I would like to contribute something even funnier because I am a writer and they are actors and my wit should be greater than theirs. At the same time, at the far end of the table, people are comparing movies, which I also enjoy doing. But I refuse to end the serious conversation between writers because writing is my life and how dare these people not realize that and show some interest in my work instead of the certainly inane topics they're chatting about. In addition, the Yankees are playing on the overhead TV and I'm trying to watch that.
I can multitask. At a pause in my conversation I will interject a movie opinion for that group, and throw out a witticism to the people across from me. So I will be juggling three conversations at once. And chewing chicken tenders and fries. And rooting for the Yanks.
I hate socializing in restaurants.
Friday, May 4, 2012
The Mask
Well, they gave me the mask. I have sleep apnea and they rented me a c-pap machine. Both sleep specialists showed me exactly how to use it. In the office everything worked fine. That's always the case.
That night at home things got complicated. Always the case. I had to move a bookcase to get to the outlet. Had to find something to lay the machine on. Hooking everything up wasn't hard. But since it was night and I had no overhead light in my bedroom, I had to rely on a weak lamp to see what I was doing.
It took me forever to get that damn mask on. Somehow it seemed much tighter than in the office. I just couldn't adjust the straps right and clip on the ear straps. It covered my nose and mouth so I couldn't breath through said mouth. I set it at 70 degrees, figuring humidity was best. No one said anything about ramp up time in the office. I had to check the manual, which I hate doing. There was no photo of how the mask should look. I lay back and tried again. The setting went to four, which meant nothing to me. Until moments later when a whoosh of air filled the mask, followed by the distilled water I had poured into the container. I ripped off the mask, pulled out the plug, cleaned up the water.
Tried again, this time lowering the temp to 65 and putting it on cool down. I lay there for four hours not sleeping a wink. At 4am I gave up, took off the mask and rolled over and went right to sleep on my own. Got three hours. Now I'm groggy and disgusted and still have to clean that damn mask. This is not going well.
That night at home things got complicated. Always the case. I had to move a bookcase to get to the outlet. Had to find something to lay the machine on. Hooking everything up wasn't hard. But since it was night and I had no overhead light in my bedroom, I had to rely on a weak lamp to see what I was doing.
It took me forever to get that damn mask on. Somehow it seemed much tighter than in the office. I just couldn't adjust the straps right and clip on the ear straps. It covered my nose and mouth so I couldn't breath through said mouth. I set it at 70 degrees, figuring humidity was best. No one said anything about ramp up time in the office. I had to check the manual, which I hate doing. There was no photo of how the mask should look. I lay back and tried again. The setting went to four, which meant nothing to me. Until moments later when a whoosh of air filled the mask, followed by the distilled water I had poured into the container. I ripped off the mask, pulled out the plug, cleaned up the water.
Tried again, this time lowering the temp to 65 and putting it on cool down. I lay there for four hours not sleeping a wink. At 4am I gave up, took off the mask and rolled over and went right to sleep on my own. Got three hours. Now I'm groggy and disgusted and still have to clean that damn mask. This is not going well.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Stealing Second
I can steal second base, I know it. The manager doesn't think so, my teammates have no confidence in me. My first base coach told me to stick close, our best hitter is up, perfectly capable of driving me to third with a hit.
Some part of me wants to scream. I can TASTE second base, can visualize myself sliding in under the tag, hear the ump shout SAFE!.
I sense not even the umps believe I can do it. The crowd should be yelling at me to go. Why don't they believe in me? Is it my posture in the field? Do they sense insecurity? These people don't know me, the real me. All they know is the guy who's been caught stealing 19 times in a row. That, in the context of an entire baseball career, is a small sample.
Look at the smirk on that pitcher's face. He won't even throw over. The first baseman is chuckling at my small lead off the base. But that is how I will pull this off. I will lull them into indifference, then I'll explode out of my crouch--I have an elegant crouch--and like lightning will fly across those 90 feet. When I get to my feet at second, covered in dirt, I will look straight into my dugout and give a little nod, professional to professional.
I'm going to inch off a bit more now, just a bit. Next pitch, I'm going. Believe it. Unless it starts drizzling. Rain throws me off.
Some part of me wants to scream. I can TASTE second base, can visualize myself sliding in under the tag, hear the ump shout SAFE!.
I sense not even the umps believe I can do it. The crowd should be yelling at me to go. Why don't they believe in me? Is it my posture in the field? Do they sense insecurity? These people don't know me, the real me. All they know is the guy who's been caught stealing 19 times in a row. That, in the context of an entire baseball career, is a small sample.
Look at the smirk on that pitcher's face. He won't even throw over. The first baseman is chuckling at my small lead off the base. But that is how I will pull this off. I will lull them into indifference, then I'll explode out of my crouch--I have an elegant crouch--and like lightning will fly across those 90 feet. When I get to my feet at second, covered in dirt, I will look straight into my dugout and give a little nod, professional to professional.
I'm going to inch off a bit more now, just a bit. Next pitch, I'm going. Believe it. Unless it starts drizzling. Rain throws me off.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Running
I went running with my running club tonight. It was the first time in months. I am the oldest person by far. Most of the other members were in preschool when I began with the club in 1990. Sarah Palin was a cheerleader and George Clooney was unemployed.
I was a decent runner, able to keep up with all but the fastest. I would enter the one mile fun run at town races and destroy the little puffing kids. I had no shame. Gradually, more and more runners began passing me, including women and they didn't have to work very hard to do it. I kidded myself, imagining I could move into another gear anytime I wanted. One day I really wanted to keep up with this woman and it just wasn't there. As I watched her vanish into the night something died inside me.
A coward would have quit, skulked away in shame. But I persisted, worked harder and longer, dedicated myself to progress. Months later, I was still coughing up people's pebbles as they flew by me. At that point I truly understood mortality.
I show up on a Tuesday night, along with two dozen others. I stretch out, while they chat. I'm not much of a chatter. I don't look like I belong with them. I am some old guy standing on the corner waiting for a bus in their eyes. I stay far in the back, finish so late they are already hanging out in a nearby bar. I bet I can drink faster than them.
I was a decent runner, able to keep up with all but the fastest. I would enter the one mile fun run at town races and destroy the little puffing kids. I had no shame. Gradually, more and more runners began passing me, including women and they didn't have to work very hard to do it. I kidded myself, imagining I could move into another gear anytime I wanted. One day I really wanted to keep up with this woman and it just wasn't there. As I watched her vanish into the night something died inside me.
A coward would have quit, skulked away in shame. But I persisted, worked harder and longer, dedicated myself to progress. Months later, I was still coughing up people's pebbles as they flew by me. At that point I truly understood mortality.
I show up on a Tuesday night, along with two dozen others. I stretch out, while they chat. I'm not much of a chatter. I don't look like I belong with them. I am some old guy standing on the corner waiting for a bus in their eyes. I stay far in the back, finish so late they are already hanging out in a nearby bar. I bet I can drink faster than them.
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