Leave Taking

Whenever I leave the house I know there's a chance I won't make it back. Sometimes your number is up. I make sure to say goodbye to my furniture, lamps, throw rugs, dust bunnies, utensils, cold cuts, appliances, shoe rack, ceiling fan, stuffed Teddy, hand puppet, cheap linoleum, thermostat, plunger, tub and toilet, underwear, knick knacks, candles, napkins and paper towels, clothing and shoes, my hats and ties, a few ants I've come to know.
Then I open the garage and say goodbye to everything stored inside, except some really bad paintings I did when I was going through a tough time.
I go out and get milk, bread and a paper and return 30 minutes later, settled in my recliner surrounded by family. I know they'd miss me if I were struck by a flying piece of plywood on the highway.

Ease Into It

First, take your Q-Tip and gingerly examine it , making sure the cotton is immaculate. Gently insert it into your ear and carefully twist. Remove it and check for yellow or orange wax. Purple or blue wax is a red flag. Repeat the process in the other ear. Globs of ear wax may be genetic. Ask your grandparents about their wax situation.
Scraggly nose hair is attacked briskly with a high quality tweezers. It will hurt for a moment, but think of how many weeks it will take for another to replace it. Be aggressive.
That boil on your forehead needs a sterilized needle. One quick pop and have tissue handy to collect the pus pouring down your face.
The point here is not to panic when addressing the more disgusting aspects of being human. And we haven't even gotten to the neck yet.

Hopelessly Devoted to Fabric

I have as much testosterone as anyone. State wrestling champion. Guzzle beer. Burp, fart, pick my ears.
So why am I hopelessly devoted to fabric?
All kinds of fabric. Dacron, Rayon, Orlon, silk, lace, latex, corduroy, fleece, spandex,cotton, wool.
I don't design clothes, but collecting fabric is my obsession. Every room piled high with material. I'll roll around in it. Maybe not leave the house for days. Layers and layers.
Art and craft stores have banned me for sniffing fabric. My photo is above the counter with the caption, Impulsive Fabric Sniffer. I look dazed and desperate.
The low point came during a visit to my friend Virginia. We were having tea and she had run out of milk. In the time it took for her to go to the corner to get some, I attacked her closet. She found me with my face buried in a house dress. She is liberal minded and accepted my apology. Even loaned me a fleece robe she hardly wore. I sobbed in gratitude, but I knew, sweet as she was, this lady was an enabler.

Senior Bus Trip

Larry couldn't believe he was on a senior citizen bus trip to New Hope. Where did the years go? Supposedly there were artists and restaurants in this charming place. Ptooey. Doze City.
He closed his eyes and tried to blot out the surrounding noise. Kids, grand kids, medical problems, financial worries. That's what passed for old people conversation.
The rather full figured woman next to him went on and on about her ex husband, bashing the man unmercifully. Larry wanted to cover his ears. But at some point he sneaked a look and realized she was pretty hot. In fact, he was getting excited. She glanced at him. Her eyes twinkled. There was chemistry. Larry knew they would be inseparable this day. He told her his name. Lawrence. Very distinguished, she said. My name's Josephine, but everyone calls me Josie.
The bus hit a bump and she grabbed his arm.
Love was in the air. First, he needed to put his teeth in.

Who's Listening Anyway?

The way to a woman's heart is to be a good listener. In a world of talkers, listening has become a lost art.
Here are some tips from a guy who knows.
Nod frequently.
Don't let your eyelids droop.
Look off in the distance as though you're pondering something she said.
Don't twitch or snort.
Avoid negative facial expressions.
Don't touch yourself under the table unless you really are dozing off.
Do not interrupt. If she pauses, she's just collecting her thoughts.
Your thoughts are irrelevant.
Ask her to elaborate. Women love elaborating.
Look grateful that she has opened up to you.
Don't blink fast. It makes them uncomfortable.
If you're frustrated at not getting a word in, do what the rest of us guys do. Go home and talk to your plants.

Selling B&N my books

The used book annex at my local B&N told me to call Wed. to find out what type they are looking for this month. Every month it changes. You just can't truck in a load of books without checking first. The suspense is killing me. Spring cleaning means getting rid of books I will never read again, especially photography books. There is one full of gymnastics shots and another signed book by skater Kristi Yamaguchi. I don't know why I bought these books. There's one on tigers and a graphic novel telling of a young Polish girl's upbringing in the 70's.
Lots of health books for home remedies and men over 50. Also, a bunch of How to Draw tomes from when I thought I'd be a professional artist. Encyclopedias and science books and one of baby animals. Deep down I know some of these will be rejected and I'll be forced to drop them off at The Salvation Army. Some I'll really miss and some will be good riddance, including a bunch of paperbacks I reviewed for an online site.
I have resolved not to attend any more book sales--after this spring.
I'll use the extra space for manilla envelopes. Who knows how many I'll need in the future?

The Flip Side of Being Reasonable

Being reasonable is dull. People walk all over you and win every argument by screaming at you as you cower in a corner. Making unreasonable demands gets attention and results. Look at unreasonable bosses and their company's productivity. Look at what unreasonable groups have accomplished. The Mob, Young Republicans, born again Christians, bird watchers, Michael Bolton fans.
No politician wants to be reasonable and examine the other side of an issue. They'd lose contributions from people who think that behavior makes the rest of us look immature.
Parents simply cannot be reasonable with teens, who are inherently evil.
If our Founding Fathers had been logical and reasonable we'd be speaking with an English accent through really bad teeth.
Reason is completely subjective, but unreasonable is something everyone can agree on. I think it would be unreasonable for me to expect any of you to read beyond this point. You're nodding in agreement.

When the Need Arises

When the need arises I roll up my sleeves and get to work. I begin with the left sleeve, unbuttoning it carefully because if the button pops off I'll have to change shirts and start over. I use the Heinrich Slausen Technique for sleeve rolling, developed in the 17th century by the Austrian inventor. You must even out the tight roll, stopping exactly 52 centimeters up the forearm.
I then proceed to my right arm and do the same thing., measuring my movements so as not to upset the equilibrium. Forearm hair can throw things off, but Prof. Ludwig Kleinhoff's landmark 1959 study Sleeve Rolling in the Age of Hairy Forearms, was an effective guide. The essence of his work is the less hair, the higher you must roll and vice versa. An equation calculates follicles per nano inch.
At this point my sleeves are fully rolled and I am ready for work. Except this 15 minute process has left me too exhausted and I must take a nap.

Off the Beaten Path

I took a hike in the mountains and chose to go off the beaten path. About an hour into it I heard what sounded like chanting coming from ahead of me.  A cult? I kept moving, excited and scared. I saw a large opening and ducked behind a bush. A group of men in white shirts and ties were chanting in a circle, arms raised, possibly praying to some god.
I could see tension in their faces. I took a step back and cracked a branch, causing them to whirl in my direction. I was too tired to run and had left my pepper spray home. I moved out into the clearing so they could see I was harmless. The leaders approached.
"Don't hurt me. I'm just a hiker off the beaten path."
"Do not fear us. We are engineers in charge of fixing the Pulaski Skyway. We are praying for guidance. We hope drivers stuck in traffic won't eradicate us. We have families." I understood and actually joined them in prayer. Sweat stains under their armpits did not decrease my admiration.

Going South

Everything is going south. My idea for reusable breath mints never took off. Eight women have left me and headed south. My dart game has disintegrated. My dart board mocks me. Some of my body parts are going south. My memory is somewhere in the Ozarks. I think I have a parrot somewhere, or maybe it got bored with me and flew south.
My trust has gone south. I don't trust the crossing guard, who keeps giving me dirty looks. I'm convinced she will tell me to cross just when an oil tanker is approaching.
My ability to write cogent essays containing concise, clear sentences has also fled far south to Honduras.
And so we come to the end of another blog post and a minute of everyone's time has migrated south.

Gracefully Afraid

If a man is alone and sees a snake, he can scream and fold into a shivering fetal position. But if he is among other men he must stare down the reptile. Look around for a rock or stick and attack.
If a man is with a woman and a snake appears, grace must subjugate fear. First, he must clap a hand over the screaming woman's mouth. Then he should consider what Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly would do. Crack a joke, dance around the snake, sing on key.
I have conquered most of my fears--Ferris wheels, clowns, hot coffee, strange stains, lady bugs. That strange pattern on their shells connotes something evil.
So I gracefully deal with normal everyday fears, which leaves death.
I am more afraid of being left in the morgue unclaimed. Why? Because if I descend into dementia I know friends will abandon me. Before that happens I'll remind them ghosts exist and I will haunt them unless they spring for a respectful burial.
If I lose my mind, I'm sure I will do so gracefully.

Missed Connection

Saturday night, about 7:15. I was running the Loop De Loop ride. There were pizza stains on my t-shirt. I was unshaven and could use a haircut. Sweaty is a term I would add.
You were dressed entirely in black leather and were accompanying your little sister on my ride. Our eyes met and you arched an eyebrow. Afterwards I helped both of you off and you smiled shyly.
I need you to know I haven't stopped thinking about you since. I was not always a carny. I used to design refrigerator magnets. I'm up for a promotion--guessing people's weights. If the leather means you're into corporal punishment, I've been very naughty.
There isn't always pizza on my shirt. Sometimes it's chili.
I think we can make this work. You know where to find me. My name is Kenneth, not Ken, Kenneth. A woman's eyebrow says so much, don't you think?

Domino Ghost

My domino team had gone to sleep upstairs. It was my shift to guard our unfinished construction. We were trying to break the world record set in 1958 by August Behrens and his Austrian team--28,453. A bridge and tunnel construction that covered a football field. We were somewhere around 25,000 and getting more tense as we drew closer to immortality. Ours was the Pulaski Skyway.
You can't just leave your domino masterpiece unguarded. Domino terrorists roam the country creating destruction out of beauty.
A little after 3am, my eyelids drooping, I heard a sound behind me. I jumped and whirled. Shadows, only shadows.
A few minutes later, another sound. This time I saw it. Recognized him by his portrait. August Behrens, bearded, fierce, hands reaching for my throat, raspy voice, fetid smell, telling me we would never break his record. I took a step back, stumbled and as I felt his cold fingers touch I knew I must stand my ground or our whole effort would collapse under my body.
"Would you like some coffee?" I asked.