Proof Reading Error

I was proof reading a bio of Eleanor Roosevelt and came across some errors.
She was not 6'7, weighing 260 pounds. She did not have psoriasis, nor a boil on her chin. She did not speak in tongues, was not raised in Borneo and did not spend her youth wrestling alligators.
She did not beat out Lucille Ball in auditions for a tv series, only to withdraw when her skin problem acted up. She did not tour the country after Franklin died, playing Harriet Tubman.
This is all inaccurate information. The author says he got it from on line sources. She deserves better. Plus, he kept spelling poppycock wrong. What a mess
And Mrs. Roosevelt never did Mr. Coffee commercials to stave off bankruptcy.

Words to Live By

I smell gas
Get away from that ditch
That is not a squirrel, Bobby
When I squat something leaks
Son, that's a power saw
Let's talk this out officer
That thing sure has lots of suction
I told you to flush twice
Hiccups are not a means of communication
Belches are borderline language
Compound fractures build character
Writers should do less talking and more listening
How many celebrities did you outlive this year?

Lost Sock

I was sorting my dried laundry and realized I was missing a sock. I hoped I didn't leave it in the dryer where sock thieves prowl. I finally found it lying on the bathroom floor behind the door, Evidently, it never made it to the wash.I was careless unloading the hamper.
What do I do? If I just toss it back into the hamper and wait a week for the next cycle, will the clean sock wonder if its partner deserted it? If I attach it to the clean one and pretend it was washed, who will know? I will and so will the clean sock. Socks can sense these things.
If I wear the fraudulent pair, do I risk getting a fungus of some sort from the germ ridden sock? Either way I will probably lose the trust and respect of the clean sock.
I see no way out here.
I live alone, by the way.

Vegetarian

Do I look like a vegetarian? Not when I wear my plaid woolen shirts, work boots and my tool belt. I am mistaken for a jack of all trades lumberjack. Sophisticated women think I'm rough at the edges and untamed and pursue me relentlessly.
Truthfully, I'm an intellectual with an inquiring mind who can spot a veggie person from miles away. They are always lecturing us on the danger of red meat. They read New Age magazines with funny titles. They host boring barbecues. They secretly crave protein and shovel spoonfuls of raw hemp seeds into their stomach. Their farts smell different.
The earth would be overrun with animals if we followed their lead.
Excuse me, I have to leave. It's muskrat hunting season. Got to trim that herd.
Is that a cucumber in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

Christmas Card

I have an extra Christmas card. I bought it to give to one person, but now I'm not sure if I want to give it. I don't know her that well. She might get annoyed. I considered giving it to someone else I hardly know, but the same concern reared its head.
I could take it back and get a refund. But what if the clerk asked why? I'd have to make up a story on the spot, which I don't do well. I could save it until next year, but I might be dead by then. I could give it to the mailman or super, but I'd have to include money.
Maybe I should leave it in someone's mailbox anonymously. But there's surveillance all over and it would be traced back to me.
This is a problem, but not as big as buying socks in October I realize I don't need. Maybe I could give them to my brother or nephew as a gift. Is that considered cheap? How would you know? You're too cheap to buy any of my 14 books.

Clogged Drain

The drain in my kitchen sink is slow. Water just lays there for minutes before vanishing. I can hear gurgling. I tried using a plastic snake, but it snapped at the handle and now that is stuck in the drain, further complicating the problem. I did some cleaning and rinsed out rags in the sink and now I realize that was a mistake. Dirt can be thick and accumulates. Plus I brush my teeth in the kitchen because I have a new bathroom vanity and I don't want toothpaste stains in there like my previous sink.
I will ask the super for the number of our condo plumber. Maybe the condo will pay for it. I wish I could just lift the drain cover off and grab whatever is blocking water. I also tried drain opener to no avail.
I'll tell you this--I will not stop brushing my teeth.

Snowballs

Tension mounts every year as winter approaches. Can I still make a decent snowball under pressure? Kids suddenly attack. I'm alone. Snow is all around me. Can I put together a viable defense? I used to be able to combine snow and slush into a def con type weapon. My aim was quick and deadly. My arm strength second to none.
Back in the day, ambushes were common. Getting pummeled by organized attacks was something everyone feared. Now, towns have laws against it. The streets are safer, but way more boring. Running away was never an option. You would never live it down.
I had rules. Never ambush a kid under eight. After eight they can take a hit.  Don't gloat. Attack, engage and disappear.
I need to exercise my hands and fingers. Practice on clay. Do chin ups and curls. Head to the snowball throwing range, where for $10 you receive 50 snowballs to practice with.
The sky tells me winter is here. And so the war continues.

Glue

I thought this would be easy. I peeled off the wallpaper and figured now I can paint. No. There is backing paper that had to be sprayed with special mixture to loosen it. Then other paper backing the backing paper. Then the glue had to come off using a steam machine.
Then I discover previous owners painted the wall orange. I would need to apply primer before the first coat of paint. I'm sitting in my recliner after three hours of work waiting for my sister in law to finish taking off the glue. The new linoleum and blinds lay on the floor in my living room. She is in her ninth hour and just won't stop. Tomorrow she won't be able to move
Of course the super will come to remove the old dishwasher and comment on how much speckling needs to be done. My brother will offer his two cents. I don't care I need this renovation to happen even if it means reviving my sister in law with oxygen.

Satan Says

My hooves are killing me. My back is on fire. No pun intended. Carrying around human souls is heavy lifting. Especially poets, whose souls weigh a good 50 pounds. Some barter with me. Fame and fortune in exchange for their soul.
Prose writers just shrug and say take what you need. After my last novel I'm going to hell anyway. Dancers plead, artists threaten me, photogs want a selfie. Politicians are all about the deal. Lawyers ask what took you so long?
Ah, there's a poet over by that podium getting ready to expound. Hey, Billie! Billie Collins! Over here. Yeah, it's your time. Oh alright, I'll let you do one more reading. I'll grab a cup of java. Just don't go running off. My hooves hurt as it is and I just may vaporize you out of spite.
A deal is a deal.
Incidentally, Castro's soul is stinking up the place.

Cork

I got a 60% off coupon from Michaels and circled the store three times trying to choose something to buy. I had enough canvas, brushes and paints. I tried creating from air dried clay, but everything turned out looking like a brown lump. I don't do crafts. I could have bought a pen and ink set and fooled with cligraphy, but my hand is no longer so steady.
So I finally bought a set of four rectangular cork tiles, which one can use to pin important reminders to. Except my life is so uneventful I have nothing to pin. I thought of going door to door in my condos and askif I could pin their reminders onto my cork. That sounds vaguely salcious and the last thing I need is the condo board meeting to decide what to do with me.
So I sit here smelling my cork tile. Someone should create a cork aftershave fragrance. Just saying.

Moose Antlers

Gerry was impressed by Cameron's moose head on his wall. Gerry had no masculine hobbies like hunting. He did like to try on hats, but that didn't qualify. He felt he was losing his friend's respect.
At Thanksgiving Gerry's Aunt Loretta visited from Philadelphia and together they celebrated the holiday. A week before, Cameron returned from Africa with an antelope head, which was mounted next to the moose.  Gerry was consumed with jealousy.
On Thanksgiving, Aunt Loretta began choking on the stuffing. Frantic, Gerry tried the Heimlich Maneuver, but his back gave out. His aunt continued choking.
A week later, Cameron came over with tickets to a Knicks game. Gerry led him to the living room and pointed to the wall above the fire place. Cameron's eyes popped. "Where'd you bag that one? he asked.
Gerry smiled. "In the wilds of Pennsylvania. Had to track her for days."
"We need to go on a hunting trip together," his friend said.
That was all Gerry wanted to hear.

Lost on My Desktop

Joe was a frustrated writer, unable to sell anything. As a last resort he began writing porn and surprisingly was very good at it. Publishers demanded more. But when he checked his computer, all his documents were gone, replaced by a cackling clown.
He knew he had been hacked by arch enemy John. He demanded his porn back. John said he was holding it hostage in exchange for Joe's satire. Joe refused. John threatened to release the contents and claim it as his own. Joe gave in and sent him 3000 words of satire.
John fulfilled his end, but not before declaring Joe's porn as derivative. Joe fumed, pointing out one piece contained hermaphrodites, bondage and various condiments like relish.
Six months later, John's novella, containing all of Joe's satire, was a #1 bestseller. The Cousins Karamazov.
Joe sobbed for weeks.

Stranger Trust

What to Trust a Stranger With

The location of my safe room
The contents of my belly bag
What's under my armpits
How I take my coffee
Unripe avocadoes
Where my grave plot is located
tic tacs
My personal fragrance
My innocence
My belief in chaos theory

Defective Parrot

When you purchase a parrot you expect it to imitate you in a respectful manner. My new parrot is not meeting standards. It is defective. It just sits in the corner of the cage, ignoring its perch, humming show tunes. Oklahoma, Brigadoon, The King and I.
Sometimes it dozes off and snores up a storm. I do have a Jersey accent. I read some of my published work to it and receive indifference for a response. Instead, it imitates Alan Rickman's character from the Harry Potter films just to spite me.
It only eats sushi and Spam and only drinks Red Bull. The other day it squawked "I'm Lonely." A decision. Do I return to the same store and risk getting another faulty parrot? Do I ignore its pain?
Damn. I should have stuck with my old pet, a lizard named Boris. Except I found myself imitating him and sticking out my tongue inappropriately, like at the opera.

New Tub

I just had a new tub and surround installed and it looks great. Except the chrome shower rod keeps sliding off when I attach the curtain and liner.
I squeezed and squeezed and twisted that thing to no avail. Finally I replaced it with my old brown rod, which stayed up, but doesn't match my chrome fixtures and grab bar. Yes, I need a grab bar so I don't fall. Women might think real men don't use a grab bar. Men think if he had my equipment he wouldn't need a grab bar.
I had to wait 24 hours before showering after they installed the pieces. I didn't go to the gym, so I don't smell too bad. Although that's something for another to judge. The rod better stay up tomorrow or I'm not making any more payments. But I love that grab bar.

Difficult Things

Bowling on Josef Stalin's team
Shouting quintessential in a crowded theater
 Scratching inappropriately while at the podium
Deciding whether to eat a gum drop that has fallen to the floor
Creating a tourniquet out of warm spaghetti
Finding the refresh key on your grandparents
Eating a lobster in front of baby lobsters
Pouring gravy on something that's still moving
Saying goodbye to your old sponges
Spooning with a lonely small pet
Matching your socks with leg sores
Refraining from stealing leftover wash from someone else's load accidentally left behind in the dryer--especially panties

Liverwurst Lust

I'm going to make myself a liverwurst sandwich. I can hardly type this, I'm so excited. There is something exotic about this food staple. I like its texture and color and roundness if it is in a roll.  It looks almost like an embryo.
I can have it with or without mustard, on any kind of bread. It is so soft, not like baloney or pepperoni. You feel like you want to  just leave it on your tongue. I have never known of someone unable to digest this delicious meal.
But you must be vigilant. If you somehow forget about your liverwurst, it goes bad pretty quick. Ugly green and tan blotches cover the outer part, then migrate to the center. Spoiled liverwurst is a sacrilege. Also, do not make more than one sandwich. You risk losing the special quality of this cold cut, which is a poor description.
Do not speak to me of cheese in this discussion. Cheese has its place. I love cheese.
But I respect liverwurst.
Now I will shut down and go make my sandwich. Go read someone else s blog.

Hookah

I loved my pipes. Loved their smooth surface, each manifesting a sample of the different wood used. I placed them in a circle on my glass coffee table, stems pointing toward the center. I don't smoke, but I cherished my pipes. They were timeless.
One day I walked past a store and saw in the window something so beautiful it made my heart stop. Gasping, I entered and quickly paid for it. I could barely drive home, such was my excitement. I held it up in the living room so light could reflect off it. It was nothing less than a glass sculpture, twisting and complex, a marvelous magic lamp. It was my first hookah.
I placed it in the center of my coffee table, with my pipe stems pointing at it's magnificence.
I went upstairs to bed. Next morning, on my way to the kitchen, I passed the table. My beautiful hookah was smashed into a hundred pieces. I froze and glared long and hard at my pipes.
The world is full of mystery.
For me, this was no mystery.

Anteater Dilemma

You are crazy we told Ricardo. It flies against our identity as a culture. He listened politely, then struck back. We cannot continue like this, he said. Our diet is lacking balance. We must get more protein and carbs and fats or we will become extinct.
We are what we are, Marion protested. All these eons we have flourished and passed our heritage to our children. How do you proposed to do this? Niles asked.
Ricardo spoke clearly and full of confidence. I will personally visit all the ant colonies and assure them we are no longer their enemy.
You are blind with ambition, Niles warned. No, Ricardo replied. I am blessed with ambition. If Donald Trump can bring people together, so can I. I will upend our entire culture.
I didn't know we had a culture, Felix mused.
This is insane, Shelly barked. I, myself, have sucked down over 1200 ants this year and I spent a month fasting.
Ricardo refused to flinch. I will promise them cooperation. Help them build additions to their colonies. Porch decks, a library, a gazebo for their hootenannies.
I did not know ants liked Americana music. Do they square dance?
Shelly, you are too busy sucking them through that flabby snout.
Your snout suffers from shrinkage, Ricardo. Marion interrupted. What will we substitute for ants?
Ricardo sighed. I have done the research. We will substitute guano.
That is bat crap!
There are toppings, many delicious toppings.

My Minions

Behold my minions, my horde, my pillaging horsemen. Weapons gleaming in the blazing sun, we traverse the endless desert, conquering villages, collecting camels. We are predatory, stealing fruit and vegetables, busty women, craving power and conquest and high fiber.
There is only one cursed thing that forces us to dismount and engage in silly dancing. It happens whenever we attack Harmonica Village, where all the residents play harmonica, even the kids. We cannot resist. Our weapons are useless, our steeds embarrassed for us. When our ridiculous prancing finally exhausts us, we mount our stallions and ride away from these 12 tone demons.
Across this wasteland we ride, heads held high, none speaking of the travesty we have endured. In order to continue pillaging we must have a defective short term memory.
Or the camels win.

Off Key

Lucy was a lovely woman who was completely tone deaf. Her experiences with vocal groups rarely lasted more than a week. She traveled the country, staying in flophouses, taking minimum wage jobs, living in poverty, hoping one chorus would accept her.
Finally she threw in the towel, went to secretarial school and became a legal secretary, and eventually a paralegal. One of the lawyers where she worked loved musical theater and often went to piano bars. One day he asked if she would accompany him. Frozen with fear, Lucy fevered over whether her old urge would return and she would be humiliated.
Finally she accepted and that night there they stood around the piano as the man attacked the keys. George launched into a spirited 'Oklahoma'. People ran out screaming. The pianist abandoned his instrument and the bartender and waitress huddled in a back room.
Lucy thought it sounded beautiful.
George kept singing, one song after another a capella, and in the process, broke several EPA laws.
Lucy and George married and moved to a farm far off in the hintwerlands. They sing to each other all day, every day.
The farm animals, one by one, are committing suicide.

Tuesday Weld

I sit in the abandoned barracks writing a film review for a small weekly newspaper. It is the early seventies and I joined the Army Reserves like others to get out of Vietnam. It is a late fall Saturday and none of us has anything to do, so we hide after roll call just in case someone decides we should wash the trucks which hardly ever move. This is my hiding place alone.
I am trying to remember everything I can about the movie because I left my notes home. It starred Tuesday Weld and boy, do I wish she were here cuddling with me. I can hear traffic from the Turnpike and not much else. At noon we drive off to lunch at some fast food place. By one, we stand for another roll call. Then it's back into hiding until four. One weekend a month for six years.
The thought occurs--if I have a stroke I could just lie here decomposing.

Pole Vaulter

Here I am launching my approach, carrying this pole. The stands are packed with young women I want to impress. And why shouldn't I? This is a sport that combines power and grace.
Now I'm halfway down the runway picking up speed. I love how the pole balances in my hands. We vaulters leaves earthly confines and explore the heavens. I must make sure my takeoff is accurate to the inch. I plant and push off in one powerful motion. The pole bends and bends backward until I am almost parallel to the ground. Then I spring forward using torque and kick my legs up and put, twisting my torso.
I hope Mary is watching. I have a crush on her, but can't find the words.
Now I release the pole and pray my momentum carries me over.
What the hell? My back foot touches the bar and it drops to the mat simultaneously with me. The crowd moans. I lay there.
I hate this sport.

The Monks

The monks scurry around in a dark basement of stone furiously brewing beer, enough to quench the villagers. Morris steps on Fredo'a robe, causing him to trip and fall, spilling beer samples across the cold, gray floor.
Unholy cursing ensues. The monks are on edge. Their deadline is near. Already citizens gather outside, shouting. We need our beer. Where is our beer? The fragile monks cease tussling. Let's hug it out, Gregory proposes.
As vital as the brewing is, Allen, head monk, has kept perspective.
What are we next to rocks and mountains?
There is silence.
And what is beer to The Immortals? Frank asks.
Frank is told to shut up and brew.

Myra's Dryer

Let me make this clear, lady. I have dibs on that dryer that I've been sitting in front of for a half hour waiting for some idiot's wash to finish and God help him if he isn't here one second after that buzzer goes off.
I'm going too have to see his butt crack while he empties his mess, so I'm pissed as it is. If you think I'm going to just let you shove your pile of bacteria into MY dryer you are de-loo-shun-al.
You see this ring? My estranged husband gave it to me, the same guy I winged in the shoulder with this piece I have under my laundry bag when I caught him with some bimbo at the Alamo Motel. You may have read about it. I got off-- temporary insanity.
I was in the Seals and mentored that guy in the movie Sniper, for which I did not get a cent. So I am not a happy person. But I can see the future. I see you moving your fat ass from my line of vision or perhaps, doctors removing slugs from that tribute to lard you call your body.
Now, if you want, I'll repeat the whole thing in Spanish. Comprende?

Zeke

We all picked on Zeke at school, His name, dress, stammer, posture, anything was fair game. He hated us and eventually his parents home schooled him and he vanished from sight.
I found out he became a Navy Seal and learned all sorts of things during his three tours in Iraq. When he returned home he lived in his late parents house. It was about that time that suspicious fires sprang up in lots, alleys, abandoned houses, and dumpsters. No one is saying anything aloud, but we know who to suspect.
I have begun wearing fireproof outer garments and watching my back. You see, I was the one who applied Gorilla Glue to Zeke's butt crack while others held him down way back when.
I sense talking things out is not one of his strategies.

Stop, Drop and Roll

I spent all weekend practicing stop, drop and roll. There is a rhythm, a momentum one must maintain. Speed is important of course, but you must keep your head while on fire, which can be difficult. Be careful not to roll under furniture, which would block you from continuing to roll. If you panic you may mix up the procedure and drop before you stop or roll and drop at the same time. So you wind up with third degree burns and a pulled muscle, which may prevent you from getting to a phone to call for help, although who would want to help someone stupid enough to set fire to himself.
Just keep practicing and ignore those who say get a life. You know what your priorities are.
This has been a public service message.

The Knock

It is Halloween and the knock is coming. My lights are off, as is the TV. I sit in the dark in my recliner counting the minutes. Someone has seen me enter my place today and not leave. That means I have been targeted. They know I have candy. The supermarket traitors informed the neighborhood. I don't eat much candy. Having it is a reminder I am an adult and can spend money on anything I want.
Last year I could hear their tiny voices through the door. Trick or Treat. But do not dare ignore us. I finally gave in and shared my candy. Not the chocolate. I have limits.
It is near that time. I dare not peek through he blinds. I could leave the sweet stuff in my mailbox, but my mailman is shifty eyed. I don't tip him at holidays and candy would be his revenge.
Kids in costume are cute. I'll watch them on You Tube.
Someone just knocked. They heard my laptop humming. Damn.

Off Key

Lucy was a lovely woman who was completely tone deaf. Sharps and flats were a mystery. When she infrequently hit the right note everyone was stunned. Sooner or later she was asked to leave each choral group. She wandered the country, taking low end jobs, living in furnished rooms, practicing alone until neighbors called the police, assumimg someone was being strangled.
Doctors said there was nothing wrong with her hearing. It was in her brain.
One day, downcast after being rejected by the latest chorus, she gave up singing, went to night school and became a legal secretary.
One of the lawyers in her office, George, loved musicals and went to piano bars. When he invited her, she hesitated. What if the old urge returned? She agreed and one night they stood around the piano and George asked for the fellow to play Maria from West Side Story. He sang and Lucy thought it was beautiful. The others ran out screaming. The pianist abandoned his instrument. The bartenders and waitresses hid in a back room.
George went on singing and broke several zoning laws and eventually was charged with violating air pollution regulations.
Disgusted, they married and bought a farm far away. They sang to each other all day long.
One by one, the animals committed suicide.

My Horde

Behold my horde as we pillage every desert village and outpost. We capture camels and dominate the landscape. There is only one village that we fear. They make us dismount and engage in silly dancing. It is Harmonica World where all the residents play harmonica. These 12 tone demons force us to gesticulate wildly and extend our arms and legs at impossible angles.
We are humiliated and exhausted, pleading with them to stop. Eventually we mount our embarrassed steeds and move on. Across the endless desert we ride, heads held high. To be a conquer er one must have a defective short term memory. One must live through delusion.
Or the camels win.

Chickens

I found Ernie in his backyard feverishly counting his chickens. He had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and did this ten times a day. He didn't shave or shower and ate one meal a day. I approached and the chickens seemed annoyed. They couldn't leap over the six foot fence. They had no union to protect them.
Don't bother me, he barked. I may have counted some of them twice and now I have to start over. I just wanted to borrow his hedge clipper. I was used to his crankiness, but not that smell, worse than the chickens.
I guess it could be worse. He could have been counting worms or butterflies.

First Born

Margo the witch was furious. We had a deal, Marty. I lengthen your equipment in exchange for your first born. Where is my kid?
Marty tried to explain how hard he tried to get laid. His bar stool banter was lame. He dressed like a slovenly hipster. He had dandruff on his dandruff. When he got a woman drunk enough to get into bed his wang was so big it got stuck sideways in his boxers. By mthe time he released his lizard the lady had dozed off.
Margo listened and glowered. Enough, she barked. You know what the consequences are if you failed to deliver on your end.
Marty pleaded for another in vain/
The next morning he woke up with balls the size of honey dew melons. Chafing was certainly in his future.
Margo made a deal with Bill. His kid for learning how to make matzo ball soufflé

Occupy Barlucci

The Occupy Barlucci movement had stalled out. His pizza place was crowded with protesters, while his family cowered in a back room. Some wanted more anchovies, some wanted less spinach pizza, others demanded more tomato, less dough.
Police couldn't be bothered. Barlucci developed Carpel Tunnel Syndrome from flipping so many pizzas. The cost of ingredients had sky rocketed. His three delivery boy sons had no sense of direction. He wallowed in despair.
Bored, the protesters ate condiments and sprinkled cheese.
Eventually the neighborhood brokered a deal. Unlimited pepperoni topping in exchange for smaller anchovies. Most of the protesters despised anchovies anyway. ASslong as the cheese distribution remained stable.
Democracy in action.

Freezing Time

Things I would stop by freezing time.

Right before I pass wind.
Stopping someone reaching for the last brownie.
A lady smiling at me.
The moment a hot pepper touches my tongue.
Another car backing into my spoe.
Clenching my abs.
The garbage truck pulling away as I chase with my bags/.
Sniffing bleach alone in a darkened laundry.
Rescuing a stranger with food stuck in his esophagus.
When I get sudden insights in a world full of chaos.
Smelling a woman's perfume during a hug.

Lower Back

Tiny demons have engineered a hostile takeover of my lower back. They are holding my nerve endings hostage. They demand access to my nasal cavity. I am in a quandry. Back pain or sinus problems? I've had both and it's no picnic.
I sit here in my recliner watching football, wondering if I will ever be able to rise without help.I did some moderate lifting this morning before the demons took control.Tylenol  and a heating pad only helped a little. I should try to stretch, but truthfully, I need a good massage.
It's a beautiful afternoon and I refuse to be stuck inside. I must walk, I will walk. I will not give in to their demands. My nasal cavity is pristine and will remain that way. I do not negotiate with nerve terrorists.
If I still can't move well by tonight I will take a hot shower and lie naked on my bed. Maybe I'll keep my socks on.

Decision Tree

Wally had a decision to make. Should he marry Roxanne or not?
He stood before Ambivalent Bush and and got no definitive response.
He moved to Procrastination Hedge and was advised to hold off and wait.
He went to Pragmatic Vine and was told to check her bank account first.
Finally he reached Decision Tree, closed his eyes and meditated. All sorts of answers flooded his mind, life changing decisions.
Boxers or briefs?
Lentil soup or macaroni and cheese?
Beard or Mustache?
Table tennis or darts?
Cataract surgery or hernia?
Neil Young or Billy Joel/
Suspenders or belt?
With each resolved decision more leaves fell from the tree. Soon there was only one leaf left.
Roxanne or stay single?
That one leaf floated to the ground and Wally had his answer.
The tree sagged in exhaustion.
He hoped she liked suspenders.

Bad First Sentences

I woke up in a bed full of pus and realized the mother of all butt boils had exploded.
The sensual oatmeal beckoned and Donald shoved his maw down into the mush.
The raccoons closed in, lust in their eyes.
I lost all patience watching Carol remove lint from her elderly dad.
Smoke from the chimney could only mean the family had finally solved the problem of Uncle Jed.
The wise man looked to the sky and uttered one word--dominoes.
The elevator stopped mid floor and the stranger next to me pulled out a gun and demanded to know my stand on hermaphrodites.
When did coughing up phlegm become a competitive sport?

Eyeballs

My art exhibit needs to be ready by January. I have been given space by a coffee house. My work consists of creatures from my imagination. They vaguely resemble earth animals. I hope they don't scare kids. It would be nice if I sold a few.
One thing I realized was some of my creatures lack eyeballs. That's right, eyeballs. Without them there is no point of reference for the viewer. So I must dot them either with white or black paint depending on the surrounding colors.
I am self taught, which means I paint out of boredom. I taught myself to do representational work first, then decided to go abstract. I love shapes and colors and the feeling of brush on canvas. I try to look intense while I paint. In case anyone is watching.
I think women are impressed by artists. We'll see come January.
Actually, I wouldn't mind if a few kids got scared.

Short to Long

Ottoman.
Say again?
Need an ottoman.
And why is that?
Honey, it's my circulation.
I told you to stop smoking.
That is easier said than done, sweetie.
Can't you see I'm on the phone, Lenny?
Is this too much to ask a man's wife?
I'm sick of dragging that ottoman over to you.
Well, I'm sick  of listening you gossip on the phone.
Lenny, since you retired from tree trimming you've been driving me nuts.
Suddenly this is all about your needs when all I ask for is compassion.
You've stolen the best years of my life with your complaining and incessant neediness.
I pray to God every night a lightning bolt will shoot down ending this hell.
I'm calling my lawyer and telling her every detail of every failure you have carelessly created.
I am going to get off this couch and drive straight to the nearest lake and drown.

The Hard Way

Louise traveled to Alaska for adventure, not realizing she would meet the man of her dreams. Onoka, a 6'5 Eskimo with rough skin and strong hands who spoke little English.
She could have just offered herself to him, but she liked challenges. She had to arm wrestle his woman--a solid rock of a lady. Her gym work paid off and after 18 rugged minutes of groaning, she won and the other woman was history.
She went hiking with her man, and hunting with primitive weapons. She killed an antelope with a bow and arrow. Onoka was impressed. But she almost lost everything when, while ice fishing, she caught a big one that dragged her right into the hole. The water was freezing. But her man rescued her by yanking her right out. He lay her spreadeagled on the ice. Even gasping and shivering, she imagined him taking her there, quick and brutal. Instead, she watched him fondling the fish she had caught and cackling madly.
She concluded this courtship might be harder than she thought.

Cooties

I sat on my couch and brought all my cooties together. This isn't working, I said. I can't be your host anymore. Nothing personal. Cooties are what they are. But someone-probably an actor-noticed some of you crawling down my neck. Word got out. My social life has dried up. Employees flee when I enter a restaurant. Librarians look at me askance. Hospitals spray me. My own family has turned away in disgust.
I need to take drastic action. I am giving you your freedom. Find another host. Any questions?
No, I don't know how to reach Gov. Christie. But he would provide much wider grazing territory.

My Dentist

My dentist cancelled my appointment today. He was supposed to put a cap on a tooth. He had an emergency. The receptionist said she called and left a message. I must have been out.
He is from Syria and his female assistant is from Russia. I won't put up a stink because their accents scare me.
I kept my cool and rescheduled. The billing person responded to a question by informing me I saved almost a thousand dollars with my coverage. I still had to pay $536 for the rebuild and crown. It's a sign of my maturity that I drove all the way out there for nothing and kept my temper.
When I got home I checked my answering machine. No message. No indication she had called. I will seek her dismissal. Well, maybe she just dialed the wrong number. She's human. I just hope Syrian rebel forces aren't holding my dentist's family hostage and he had to fly back.

Strange Dream

I woke up and stared at the ceiling
Everything seemed different
A dream of my sixth grade teacher
Young and beautiful
We were touching and kissing
I looked down at my groin
Sticky
What the hell?

Book Festival Blues

I was recently involved in an outdoor book festival where I got a table to sell my books. The weather was perfect and people were friendly. I got to meet several other authors, all with interesting stories.
No one actually bought any of my books, which I expected. I've been involved in these before. People are on tight budgets. I did get compliments on my covers.
I was there from 1030 to 3pm. I was supposed to stay until four, but sitting there all that time is a chore. The library sponsoring it did buy 11 of my books and gave me a bottle of water. I tried to sneak past the organizers, hoping I wasn't seen leaving early. They may not invite me back next year.
People still read print books. That is the takeaway. They just don't buy them at festivals. I got to read a couple of stories in the gazebo. My throat tightened as usual and I cleared my throat right into the mike. Since I was the first reader, I'm guessing I left 3 billion germs on that mike.

Night Crossing

If I could spit or dodge or detour, I would
I am 215 years old and my sight is going
Across the road are friends and food
This treacherous journey across 50 feet has cost me family
I pray traffic will be light
If I make it across, maybe I'll just stay there
I think I hear an 18 wheeeler
Damn humans
I wish my shell was neon

Cii Bikes

Ron and Ramona sipped their wine on this, their first date. There was chemistry, no question. The lights were low, soft music played. His hand touched hers and they smiled.
Their trance was broken.
Ron, how goes it? God, it's been months. Who is this ravishing young lady?
Uh, Joe, we're having a private moment.
Look at that skin tone. You from the West Indies?
No, I'm from Baltimore.
Listen, let me ask you something. Ever ride those Citi bikes?
Joe, we're in the middle of something.
Yeah, speaking of which, my ass is killing me because of that bike.
Joe, can you please leave?
You got any experience as a nurse, miss?
Ramona.
Lovely name. I ask because that damn bike irritated my hemorrhoids. That cream they give you smells like cottage cheese.
Actually I'm a hedge fund manager.
Oh, one of those. Well, we all have to live together. Mind if I scratch?
Joe, do I have to escort you away?
Boy, Ron. I thought we were friends.
Go. Now.
Okay, fine. But don't blame me if you run out of conversation.

Bathroom Tips

Before you let anyone enter your bathroom make sure all thse soap slivers piling up are trashed. Forget fancy patterns. Go with no frills white, admired by everyone. Chrome shower rod, and fixtures and drain top off your signature look. Include a grab bar and shelf for people with balance issues.
Do not display ambiguous shampoo. Head and Shoulders screams manly man. Prell, not so much.
Sometimes you'll get a grouchy workman do not engage. This is a tough job, renovating bathrooms. He could be going through a divorce. Or have hemorrhoids. Once it's finished you can have small cocktail parties right in your bathroom.

Salvation Army Anxiety

I drop off lots of stuff at the SA for tax deductions. Most of it is in good shape. I can park right in front. The volunteers are always helpful. It feels good giving to give to those less fortunate.
However, I have anxiety going there. The guy behind the desk knows me by now. I always ask for a receipt and he obliges. We don't make small talk.
But what if he begins to question how one guy could donate so much stuff? What if he looks me up on the Internet, digging for dirt. Maybe something about me makes him uncomfortable. Maybe he thinks I'm fencing stolen goods.
I know what I'll do. I'll make small talk like a normal person and smile. I never smile anymore since Perry Como died.
That's a separate issue.

Soap Pads

Is there anything more wondrous than soap pads? These tiny rough blobs after moistening spurt out gobs of soap, enough to clean microwaves and counter tops and silverware and toasters and small pets if they stay still.
Some complain they are too abrasive, but so is Beyonce and where would we be without her? Of course they can be hard to find. I suppose you can get them on the Black Market or through Canadian websites.
Sometimes when I'm sleepy I carry one in my pocket and grasp it. Its fibers dig into my palm and I'm good to go.
I like their soap smell better than Irish Spring. It shakes me up when I have to toss one out after it has done its job. It's like losing a friend. Although I'm so preoccupied with wetting my pads and scrubbing away I don't have many friends.
Keep your antiseptic boring sprays. I'll stick with Wally. Yes, I name my soap pads.

Broken Tooth

I bit into a cheese cracker and broke my tooth. This was unsettling. Am I supposed to quit chewing on that side? Avoid hard foods like Ike & Mike candy?
My dentist is a chubby fellow concerned about whitening my teeth with strips that cost $69. I drink coffee, but do not smoke. I was told some are just born with yellow teeth. If my teeth were whiter I'd have more friends and get invited to more parties.
I had just gotten my teeth cleaned by a tiny, attractive woman with a great smile. I shook her hand afterwards, sad that I wouldn't see her for another six months. Now that has changed. I must return to have this tooth treated. Maybe she will assist.
One good piece of news is Barnes & Noble sent me a $25 gift card. I wish they sold cheese crackers.

Summer Things

Insect bites
Sweaty, flushed skin
Stuck Ferris wheels
Peeing in the ocean
The evils of summer camp
Long, solitary walks
Kids overrunning entire cities
Collecting sea shells as gifts because you're cheap
Too many bare feet and bare bellies
Hanging out with other unemployed writers
Melted slushies, cones, ice pops
Hot air balloons
Hot air politicians
Free outdoor stuff also dominated by wild kids
Sudden, fierce thunderstorms

Secret Portal

It was a three day excursion  through a secret portal into the world of Joe Del Priore. Our group was excited beyond belief. This might be better than when we explored Tim Burton's brain. We slowly made our way through the hidden portal and there before us was a slight man in his sixties. We recognized him immediately. The author himself.
He spoke with intensity. These are my stories, my characters, my world. Do not attempt to interact or engage with anything you see or I will not be responsible for what happens. We nodded seriously and continued onward into a strange new world. The creatures we saw vaguely resembled humans and animals. They seemed harmless, but we remembered his warning and refrained from approaching. All except John, who was a professional clown and afraid of nothing.
John interacted with one of the creatures.
Months later, after we all scrambled out, all except John, I can still hear his screams.

Things You Carry

I carry a raging lust for praise. Pump me up. Reinforce me. No hugs. I don't do hugs.
I carry undigested food from years before. It is stuck to my flesh and will not move. I'm guessing most of it is pizza.
I carry jealousy when ever someone else gets published. It is not healthy, but I can't help myself, especially if it is someone I don't like.
I carry the pain of hair loss. No amount of wit and intelligence can ease it.
I carry fear of water, heights, deep holes, sharp edges, gullies, flat land, quarries, sunsets, forests, people in uniform, traffic cones, arriving late for anything.
I carry fear of bland blog posts.

Armadillo Lust

We put pepper in the armadillo food, wanting to see how it would affect them. Initially there was no discernible effect. They ate the usual insects, worms, small birds.
Poor George, our head research guy. He was sitting on the front steps of our lab building having lunch--tuna salad if I recall. Suddenly six of these creatures, who were allowed to roam the grounds, surrounded him and began rubbing themselves against him, squealing.
George hadn't had a date in months, so this wasn't entirely unpleasant. One of them thrust its long tongue down his throat, while another lay across his face blocking his breathing. We found him later just lying there, mouth open with an erection. By then the armadillos had fled to the bus station where they were surrounded by tourists trying to pet them.
Police are still investigating and examining the surveillance footage.
We are planning a statue of George who died for his profession.

One Cookie

The icing on this cookie reminds me of my birthday parties as a child and the cakes my parents would get me. I was a strange child, always taking notes, so it was hard finding kids to come to my parties. My parents knew some guys at the Italian Social Club and asked for help. Tony Boto Botolina then canvassed the neighborhod convincing kids it would be a real good thing if they went to my party.
The nut part of this cookie reminds me of the time I was suspended from school for sticking in ballpoint pen into Kenny Swarzek's ear because he made fun of how I pronounced my vowels.
So I'm in the woods collecting nuts when some tough Jersey squirrels leap from trees and attack. I fled back home and told my parents who contacted the same people. They sent Rocco Fasciano-AKA Big Fasc to speak to the squirrels.
We heard popping sounds from the woods and he emerged smiling. Ain't no squirrel gonna jump Frankie Avancia's kid no freakin' more.
No paperwork involved here.

Ambivalence Man

Ambivalence Man stood in the corner in his purple tights feeling very uncomfortable. He thought about vaporizing some party goers, but a voice inside him said that was inappropriate. Maybe after fifteen minutes he could sneak out and resume saving the world from evil.
He looked down at the floor. He had no social skills. He hated questions about himself. Then everyone gathered around the piano for a singalong. He was far too important for that. He slid along the wall into the bedroom where a window was half open. He climbed out onto the fire escape and there was Mumbling Lady, whose low mumbling drove evil doers crazy. She was in her lime green pants suit and black boots.
I don't fit in either, she said. I hate these charity things.
Ambivalence Man was unable to decide what to do.
How about sneaking into a garage and having sex, she proposed.
Do you need a decision right away? he asked.

Hilary's Emails

Why is this controversy continuing? So she was careless with her emails. Russia and China and probably India and North Korea most likely know everything about us. We know everything about them. Nobody has any privacy anymore. Everybody is at risk all the time.
The real question is can she deal with madman Putin? This guy is crazier than the North Korean idiot. Well, more dangerous. He is pushing nationalism and expansion and has no respect for Obama. He knows who is hacking us--probably ordered it. He's bombing the people we are supporting in Syria. He just went in and took a part of the Ukraine. He goes horseback riding shirtless. At least Trump keeps his on.
Ah well. College and pro football is starting up. Priorities until the election.

Ten Bucks

I'm flipping through a thick book off my shelf, trying to decide if I should read that next. Suddenly, between the pages, lay a crisp ten dollar bill. I knew it wasn't mine--I do not use money bookmarks. The question is--what do I do with it?
Leave it in the book for another, essentially playing it forward.
Give it to the first panhandler I see.
Write a short O. Henry type story with a twist ending inspired by this find.
Rub it up against me for good luck.
Seek advice from a priest.
Send a good thought to the one who left it.
Use it toward my next haircut.
Donate it to Doctors Without Borders or Greenpeace.
Buy four ice coffees for those loitering outside Dunkin Donuts.
Decisions, decisions.

Typos

I woke up and my bed was surrounded by angry typos. They yelled at me in a chorus of voices. I don't understand, I said. "You created us, gave us hope we would be part of brilliant writing and seconds later replaced us with someone else. What do we do now? Float aimlessly in the ether? Play cards? This is humiliating. You are a sadist. We have no meaning or purpose. Damn you!"
I closed my eyes and pretended it was a dream. Some of them were weeping. What alternative did I have? Every word must be perfect. That is the rule. I identify with typo flaws, but writers must persist in presenting accuracy. I am awash in guilt. I did what I had to do.

Blog Blockers

This is my 1200 post on this blog, so I thought listing the ten toughest things about writing a blog was apropos.
1.Blogging after a big meal full of carbs
2.Blogging while the stupid dog upstairs is barking for his life.
3. Blogging about something embarrassing like being unable to spell apropos.
4. Falling back on a lame list when you're lacking ideas.
5.Blogging about a subject you know nothing about, like blogging itself.
6. Trying to come up with funny material women will like.
7. Convincing people your blog is only the tip of your talent.
8. Limiting yourself to a word count because a little of you goes a long way.
9. Understanding they will not make a movie based on your blog.
10.Not allowing comments, which can destroy your confidence and cause stomach acid.

Worm Hole

I was in a pet shop looking for a snarky parrot that would insult my guests. I got to the lizard section, felt dizzy and passed out. I woke up in the same spot, but it was a different store. This was a Poet Shop. Poets for sale. I hasd passed through a worm hole. I hate  when that happens.
Poets were encased in glass cubicles with names underneath. Beth--Charming and friendly. Sarah-contemplative. Clary-Emotional. Shafik--mysterious. Joe-Naked and challenging. I surmised Joe could be snarky and was so close to buying him when I fell unconscious again. I woke up back in the pet shop surrounded by noise and smells.
The proprietor said I was out of his sight and was clueless about a worm hole in his store. I plan on revisiting this place. Next time I'll bring more money.

No Credit Cards Accepted

I had a terrific lunch with a woman friend at a place she recommended, a 75 year old establishment with old time decor and bins of candy and a whole list of ice cream flavors.
We had an excellent conversation covering many topics. I pride myself on being a good listener. We are well versed in local and national politics. She was even a Mets fan, so we could talk baseball. A fine lunch.
The bill came, I took out my credit card and asked the waitress if I give it to her or bring it up front. She replied up front, and, oh, by the way, we don't take credit or debit cards.
Now it's one thing to go with charming old time decor and offer free ice cream with every meal, but this is 2016. People pay with their phone apps for God sake.  I had two bucks on me.
There was no sign in the window indicating no credit cards. My partner knew that and didn't give me a heads up. I would have gone to an ATM machine.
After she paid I promised next time we meet it's on me. She was very gracious--being 83 does that. But these  people have to wake up and get with the times. Suppose it had been a whole family?

Writers Retreat

What goes on at these things? I know people who've done them and seem to have a good experience, but how much actual writing gets done? Three day retreats mean you will see others in the morning before they shower in their footie pajamas.
I just can't envision myself writing for more than two hours a day. Then I will need to leave and do a power walk or explore the area. I suppose there is much small talk during these things. That is not my strength. If someone begins telling jokes and it comes to my turn, I don't know many jokes or funny stories. I'm basically a serious guy who snores a bit and that may present a separate problem
What if all age groups are at this retreat? Will the younger ones actually speak to the fossils? Will the fossils launch into long diatribes against post modernists? Will there be ping pong and darts? Who chooses the food? What if there's a power outage in winter and writers have to huddle for warmth?
Writers do not huddle well.
No, I think I'll pass on the retreat schedule, stay holed up in my room and create my masterpiece. In my footie pajamas.

Five Bucks

I found a folded up five dollar bill on the ground while power walking. If I had been jogging as in years past I would have sped right past it. Some part of me, I'm embarrassed to admit, wished it were a twenty. There's always a moment after you scoop it up when you want to look around to see if anyone is in the area and might have dropped it. A few weeks before at the Post Office I noticed an elderly woman drop money in the lobby as she was filling out a form. I immediately brought it to her attention.
I'd like to think if I see it get dropped I'll do the right thing.
I used the $5 to pay for a load of laundry. If I were lacking in ethics I would have bought drugs or booze.
Why don't people just use a wallet? Maybe it was a jogger who needed it to buy cold water and now became dehydrated and faint. Now I feel guilty.

Pinpoint Guidance

Dex prided himself on being able to guide vehicles into spaces and around tight quarters without mishap. He had been a certified Guider for over a decade without a single issue of one vehicle touching another. Sometimes in heavy traffic areas, he was called out of bed by police to help direct traffic.
He would be walking along and spot a new or nervous driver trying to fit into a tight space. Without hesitation, Dex took control, using deft hand and arm gestures and calling out instructions in a firm, but calm voice. He always made certain to compliment the driver afterwards, building their confidence.
Dex had a purpose when he awoke every day.
But then came that horrible week in which it seemed he'd lost his touch. Three slight fender touches on backing into a spot, all on his watch. Cameras caught it all and now he was being called before the Council of Pinpoint Guidance to discuss his actions. There was a chance he would lose certification and be banned from guiding vehicles, essentially demoted to helping kids adjust their hand brakes.
Maybe he should have his eyes checked. Guider's were allowed glasses. Or, horrors, maybe he was succumbing to pressure. He couldn't bluff them--it was all on camera.
The hardest truth was there were only seconds to decide whether a driver could continue backing and cutting the wheel, or pulling up and angling it again. The young kids just certified didn't hesitate. That was Dex a decade ago. Now he was the nervous one.

Air Spray

I had a coupon for $1.50 off of $5.00 worth of air spray at CVS. When I got there I saw all air sprays were marked down from $2.19 to 99 cents. So I got six cans for $5.94 minus the discount coupon, which came to $4.54! I was overjoyed driving home. That works out to about 75 cents a can.
But when I got home and tried to find space for them, there was none available. I would have to use toilet paper at an incredible rate. You can only eat so much eggs and beans.
I sprayed all my rooms and myself without making a dent in my stash. It could take months to use up all this air spray unless something dies in my refrigerator motor.
Can I come over and spray your rooms? Your dog? You? Just asking.

Wounded Air Conditioner

My AC is dying a slow death. Puddles of water appear on my floor. The filter is falling apart right on the rug I placed under it to sop up the water. It still blows cool, but I know it's just a matter of time.
My super says the same thing happened to his. So he knows how to solve the problem. I hope he doesn't send me to Home Depot for a new filter. I know I'll return with the wrong one.
My brother says maybe the pan needed to be emptied. What pan? I'm here 14 years and no one ever mentioned a pan. I'm a writer. We don't know about these things.
This is just like when the ceiling fan went and I had to get a motor. There is nothing worse than lying in bed sweating because of a washed up AC. Because it's built in, I can't just replace it.
Sometimes being an adult stinks.

That Damn Rock

Sisyphus meets with a contractor.
That damn rock. I push and push and just when it looks like I am about to reach the top, I lose my footing or grip and slide back down to the bottom. I need help. My back is killing me.
You should have come to me sooner.
I was stubborn. My stupid male pride over came my sensible self. Can you supply a few guys to help?
Sure. How much can you pay?
I have three goats. You can have two of them.
That's a start. How about your first born?
I wasn't prepared to sacrifice that much.
Do you or do you not want that rock pushed up the hill?
Can't we just pulverize it so the pieces are smaller?
Absolutely. That would all the goats, your first born and your wife.
I need to think this through.
Fine. Get back to us. You look in a lot of pain. I'll give you the name of my chiropractor.
What is that?
Let's just say you'll hear lots of bones cracking.

Josef Pommel

George the Gymnast was terrific on the rings, parallel bars, vault and floor exercises. But the pommel horse, created by Josef Pommel in 1903 in Poland, was his Waterloo.His hands got mixed on switches and his hips didn't swivel fast enough.  Josef had to be a sadist.
Came the Olympics, with millions watching. He felt nerves as he approached the apparatus. Dead silence. Every eye on him. Coaches and teammates praying he would get through this. He mounted the horse.
Suddenly he awoke to find himself atop his startled wife in bed.
"Get the hell off me, Willis. It's too early for that crap. I have to make breakfast. And stick your Johnson back where it belongs. Every Olympics, the same thing with you."
Willis sighed. Good thing his weakness wasn't the vault. They just repainted all the walls.

Chickens and Turtles

Are you or are you not a chicken?
I was brought up by turtles. I identify as turtle.
Where is your shell?
I don't need one to be accepted in the turtle family.
It's against the law to impersonate a turtle.
Do not put me in a box. I will not be limited or defined.
What are you attracted to--roosters or turtles?
Neither. I like lizards.
You lack the equipment to copulate with lizards.
That wasn't the question.
You lust after something you have no hope of obtaining.
Millions of men feel the same about Jennifer Lawrence.
Were you hatched in this country?
I can neither confirm nor deny.
You want turtle benefits. This is fraud.
Don't brow beat me.
You're a chicken. You don't have a brow.
They also claimed chickens can't smile. What am I doing this moment?

Book Club Faking

One of my book clubs assigned Richard Russo's Bridge of Sighs, a 528 page journey. I was 50 pages in when I realized I had already read it years before. A decision had to be made. I wasn't going to reread this thing, but I wanted to contribute to the discussion. So I will read only 100 pages and comment on those as though I read the whole thing.
I wonder how many others in the group will do the same. There's always one person who reads every page and I'm sure she'll ask the group how they liked the ending. There will be an awkward silence. We will look at each other, knowing we're all phonies. I'll shrug and make a bland comment. Or, better, I'll excuse myself early before they get that far.
Book groups can be dangerous territory.

Computer Death

My Toshiba laptop is dying a slow, torturous death. Very slow response. Task Window is blocking bac kround tasks. Secure Connection Failed. Try Again.
I try and try and the circle goes round and round and nothing happens. Why don't they create computers that can talk and explain their problem. Sometimes I take out the battery and wait a few seconds before replacing it and I get results.
I'm also getting Battery System messages. I never take it off the wire and use just the battery. Now I'm told that's bad. Staples wants $160 to remove viruses, but McAfee tells me I have none. Staples says that service is useless, but I've already paid for it.
So the thing sits on my kitchen table with a little white dot on the bottom teasing me to open it and go through the same nonsense. I have an 8 year old hp laptop that is my lifesaver. Except when it freezes and I have to tap the thing below the keyboard until it unfreezes.

Short Story Development

Here I go again, starting another short story. I know my central character well because I've used her in eight other stories. I've already introduced two new characters in the first few pages. I'm not sure how many others will pop up or whether I'll return to some as the plot progresses. I have a general idea of what the narrative is. But interaction among the characters is more important than solving the mystery in my work.
It really is exciting to write long hand in my notebook, rarely knowing what my next sentence will be. Yes, it's a high wire act I enjoy and when it's done in it's raw state I'm already  forming ideas on how to tweak it to make it better.
Writing is scary at times, joyous and frustrating at others. Anyway, it keeps me off the streets.

Counter Clockwise

Everyone with a brain knows you walk around a path counter clockwise. This goes for tracks and parks and anything involving a circular shape. Yet there's always a stubborn few qho go against the grain and cause potential problems.
They see I'm in my lane, head down, reading my book and barge right up to me walking in the wrong direction. It's worse with the rude bikers. Naturally if there's a collision they will blame me for walking with my head down. Excuse me for multi tasking.
I guess in China people walk clockwise. I'll bet no one dares go theb opposite way. I'm sure all exercise walkers are monitored.
Am I just a cranky old guy looking for trouble? If I run into some kid on a scooter and I get hurt, there will be legal action.

Swim Suits

When you see people you know in swim suits it can be frightening. At a recent pool party I was encouraged to show up with a suit, but declined. My slight paunch is not something I wish to display. Compared to me, some of the prodigious flab I saw made me resemble an Olympic swimmer.
I give them credit for having the courage to belly whop in front of an audience. They had fun. I have nothing against fun. But I have to eat afterwards with those images. I just sat under an umbrella talking politics and medical issues. Then I ate two turkey burgers.
But I can never look at these people in the same way.

Fish Shirt

I have a shirt covered with fish illustrations. Not many men can rock a shirt like that. I wear this shirt with shorts covered with palm tree illustrations. Deal with it.
I wore this to a Neil Diamond tribute concert and fit right in. Sometimes I spill things on my shirts and curse myself. Maybe it is subliminal. Maybe I am secretly self destructive. It's not like I'm a pig. Sometimes you just eat too fast.
I place this fish shirt right at the top of my shirt ratings. Yes, I rate my clothes. I need challenges. Be grateful I don't rate yours. You dress like a vinyl salesman. Just stating the obvious.

Lost Giant

No one wants to give me directions because of my size. They flee, that's what they do. I have a deep scary voice, but speak perfect English if I could just get someone to listen.
Sometimes I trample people by accident and all hell breaks lose. No calm discussion, only accusations.
Hitchhiking is a dead end. Unless it's a large flatbed, no one will pick me up. Police basically threaten to zap me with a taser, which means aiming for my balls.
I tried scanning the city to get my bearings, but all these streets look alike. I must live in a field somewhere. I'm too big for parks.
I could really help this city if given a chance. Construction, demolition, police work. I could hang huge ads from telephone poles.
Why doesn't anyone see my potential? And why won't one person tell me how to get to Wilmore Street, so I can get home?

Vacation Plan

I addressed my family.
We are vacationing in Hudson County this year and that is final. I know you wanted the Olympics in Rio, but this is more educational.
I've done the research. New Jersey has many interesting sights, none more than this county. Let's list what we will see.
High level road construction
Exotic animals some might foolishly label rodents
Garish signs
Amazing potholes
Bergenline Avenue with its Dollar stores, accents and dialects.
Backed up sewers after heavy rain
Humans arguing over a parking space
Road rage like you can't imagine
Crying kids in crowded stores
Discount clothing stores featuring Third World mastery
Angry dogs chasing furious squirrels
Thousands of calories served in fast food outlets
An occasional bullet hole
Here and there, a tree or flower
It's be two weeks in another country so to speak. Get packing!

New Neighbors

They had small tails. I saw that right away. Six of them, four kids. There's chanting at night, not too loud. One night I saw them spread out across the front lawn, eating the grass. My wife thinks we should bring over chocolate layer cake. I say wait awhile. No car in the driveway. None of them seems to have a job.
Al, on the opposite side of their house, noticed nothing strange. He's been out of it since his wife left with a house painter.
I finally decided to march over there and introduce myself. I rang the bell and waited. The door opened slowly. A large head peered out. I said my name. Its voice was cavernous. 'What? No cake?'
We hit it off and now my kids play with theirs. Turns out they are GMOs. Genetically Modified Organisms. Our government is always playing those kind of tricks.

Dentist Roulette

Why do dentists hate me? Six dentists have dropped me in recent years. The reason they say is they no longer accept my insurance. I think something about me turns them off and that's just an excuse. I smell pretty good and my hair is combed. Maybe it's how I spit out into the cup.
I sit still for the x-rays and never flinch during cleanings. I ask sensible questions about gums and why are my teeth yellow. I am quiet in the waiting room and always pay on time.
The new dentist assigned to me put me on hold forever when I tried to make an appointment. The next time I got a voice message he wasn't in. I brush and floss every single day and use mouthwash. This remains a mystery. I think with the right equipment I can clean my own teeth.

Bus Driver

When did it become a requirement to thank the bus driver while getting off? Are these people volunteers? Aren't they getting paid to get us from one point to another?
I never used to thank the driver and we were both fine with that. If we get a bumpy ride should the driver apologize? Have we become that wishy washy as a society? I'll bet out west and down south they don't thanks drivers.
What I really hate is when I get off at the first stop, which means I've been on the bus exactly the six minutes it takes to get through the Lincoln Tunnel. If I am the only one getting off and don't thank the driver I fear another passenger will follow me off and attempt to do bodily harm.
I don't thank it's in their contract, this thanks business. I only portion out my appreciation to those who deserve it. Like someone who gives me their seat.

Humpty

It stood on the wall threatening to jump. EMS, police and firemen were trying to coax it down. A tranquilizer gun and net were brought in. So was Dr. Myron Kopec, a shrink specializing in suicide attempts. He needed to apply just the right tone.
Your name?
Humpty Dumpty.
I'm guessing you were teased at school.
I never went.
Are you depressed?
Yes. I learned I came from a chicken.
Is that so bad?
How would you feel?
I understand. What else?
I have a yolk that only becomes important when I'm fried.
We all must die.
Not like that. It said I caused bad cholesterol. What is that?
Debates rages on that one. You feel your life lacks meaning.
Brilliant deduction.
Suppose, if you come down, I offer you free Netflicks?
I have no legs to climb. Three drunk humans put me up here as a prank.
We'll get you down. Suppose I threw in The Egg Channel. Nothing but eggs, 24/7.
Would you? Would you??
I'm a man of my word.

Pesky Electrons

Leo's atoms worked just fine, except for pesky electrons that never did what they were told. Einstein predicted as much. 'Keep your electrons from getting bored or you've got trouble' he warned.
Strange things happened because of this imbalance. His nose ran with blue mucus, bubbles in his artichoke salad, he read bad poetry on public transportation. Numbness attacked his nether region, ants appeared in his soap dish,, the smoke alarm played Bach, it was impossible to peel a banana.
Leo asked his best friend Joe for advice. Joe said to whisper gently to his electrons, show them adult magazines, take them camping, let them understand how vital they are to one's environment.
Leo thanked him and wanted to believe this would work. Then Joe gave him one of his story collections and Leo realized Joe's electrons were those of a sociopath. 

Ladder

A little more to the left, his wife instructed.
I can't get any more left, Bernie Sanders replied. He was trying to hang a photo of FDR for 20 minutes and his arms hurt. Now the ladder began wobbling.
Hold the ladder, he said. I'm in the l\kitchen getting you cold water, she replied.
Did I ask for water? Do I look dehydrated? Water is not the solution to this country's problems. 36% of people cannot afford ladders. 23% cannot afford nails.
Bernie, you have to move on. She won, you lost.
He gritted his teeth and declared, I should have pointed my finger more and shouted louder. No one can out decibel that woman.
He finally got the FDR photo straight. Bless that man, he muttered.
His loving wife looked up and said, For a 74 year old man, Bernie, you still have a nice tush.

Paramedics

I fear paramedics. I know we need them, but what if they snap and go berserk? Forced CPR, enemas, mouth to mouth, intravenous. Checking blood pressure, open your mouth, tongue depressors, elevate the legs, stabilize the neck, administer liquids.
Check their eyes next time they're called. That wild look of dictators. The way they swarm over fallen strangers. Who really knows what's in those bags? What goes on once they strap you down and funnel you into the ambulance? Are any of them vetted? Even those dark blue uniforms scare you.
What if you just have a momentary blackout and find yourself pummeled with CPR and have your ribs broken? Do they have scalpels? How many carry emotional baggage? Divorce? Gambling problems? What is paramedic humor like? Do they peek at your genitals?
See what I mean? Scary stuff.

Coupon Animals

The Coupon Animals from Bed, Bath & Beyond have sent me another 20% off coupon. No let up. What am I supposed to do with these things? How many wash clothes and towels can I use? I have three oscillating fans and four humidifiers. Nine pillows, 18 blankets, five mattress covers,six quilts, 25 cleaning agents, four floppy hats, three plungers, nine laundry bags.
I feel like I'm not doing my part unless I buy them. How can our economy recover unless we, as a society, buy more toilet brushes and drain cleaners? Plus, the people are so friendly there and the AC is powerful. I have been tempted to explore Big Lots, but my conscience blocks such traitorous behavior.
Well, maybe I could use another toilet cover and shower mat. I know they only have my best interests as a priority. I guess animals is pretty harsh. This makes twenty eight accumulated BB&B coupons. And I thought I was keeping up.

The Dancer

Orson was a professional dancer with some of the top acts. His fiance left him because she thought he was cheating with a famous female singer. Crushed, he decided to start a new life elsewhere.
His new place was on the third floor and his landlord was nice enough to help him bring things upstairs. He gave him $20.
Orson went to a club that night to try to forget. The others formed a circle around him as he flashed his best moves. He had too much to drink. Walking home he decided to take the shortcut his landlord suggested. Halfway across a long field, it began to rain hard. He cursed his life.
Behind him, he heard a sound and whirled. His landlord stood there holding a gun. Evidently, he had seen Orson's jewels and Rolex.No one will miss you, he said. Orson was not going to die in a mud puddle.
"Wait", he begged. "You can have the jewels and watch, plus I'll toss in free dance lessons."
The landlord dropped his arm to his side.
"Can I wear Lycra?" he asked, hopefully.

Missing Dog

The dog upstairs, whose constant barking was driving me nuts, has vanished. It is so quiet now. Every time I open the door I expect to hear yapping. Instead, the hall is silent. I wonder if they went on vacation and left the dog with someone. No one is emptying their mailbox. Maybe other owners got fed up and kidnapped the entire family while I was out. Stashed them and the dog in an abandoned warehouse.
I'm not going to say I miss the noise. But this silence is growing eerie. If I smell something putrid coming from upstairs I'm calling the police. This happens in Hitchcock movies all the time.

Writing Groups

The main purpose of a writing group is to propel its participants forward, give them the confidence and courage to send their work out for publication. Rejection is part of the process of becoming a writer. If you fear it to the extent that you never finish anything, or put it aside when done, that lack of courage will doom you.
If someone is telling you they are working on a project and months pass, that is a red flag. That person is afraid to let go, afraid to see if the people in the business who make decisions will reject their work. If you keep telling yourself you are a writer without testing the waters, you are delusional A writing group filled with people like this becomes a failure.
In fact, many join these groups to be around people. They have limited writing skills, but just sitting around a table, sipping a latte, discussing aspects of writing does not equate to being a successful writer. The quality of the group suffers and real writers leave.

Raw Hemp

I am the king of raw hemp. Packets were given to me at an Earth Day festival and I have been sprinkling it on my food ever since. It is a good source of protein, which will help me build the ripped body I deserve. You can put it on cereal, soup, veggies, meat, fish, desserts, yogurt, ice cream, on and on.
I get my hemp fix at The Vitamin Shoppe, where people in black shirts are only too eager to help you. I love browsing among the Super Foods like hemp.
I stay away from the body builder section with huge canisters of whey. I tried making a whey shake and it tasted like ten year old chalk.
While I'm there, I pick up a bottle of Rosemary gel tabs, which is supposed to help my memory and maintain clear thinking. You must admit, all my blogs are well thought out and logical.
Sometimes, when I'm bored, I sprinkle the hemp on my forearm and lick it off. It's much healthier than whipped cream. Rosemary insures I don't forget stocking up on raw hemp.

Juan Knows

Juan is my super and he knows everything and everyone.
He knows how to fix a ceiling fan, install a bathroom fan, a toilet, a new smart TV, fix an air conditioner, paint a wall, plant a bush, plow snow, take furniture away.
Juan knows someone who can polish a wood floor, re-glaze a tub, attach a new tub surround, lay down linoleum, balance your budget, supply food and toilet paper if you're home bound, take care of your pet if you have one, get you a deal on a new car. He found an entire five shelf bookcase in an empty garage.
Juan gets exactly one week vacation a year because we need him. If he burns out, the entire condo complex is in trouble.
Maybe I should start planting my own bushes. At least get him handkerchiefs to wipe off the sweat.

Magnet

I am a refrigerator magnet with a purpose. All the important contact numbers are listed on me, including police, fire and public safety. I am not as fancy as the others around me, but they see me as a steadying force and ask for advice. That's right, we communicate. My magnet is stronger than theirs. Many of them fall off after a few weeks and the human tosses them out. Weak magnets made in Taiwan.
Here's a secret--we can move very slowly. Right up to each other. In the deepest of night, we fornicate. Clueless humans do not notice tiny magnets in spaces that were empty. Our offspring.
I've been in love with Benny's Exterminators for years, but I discovered it was involved with Flo's Flowers. Heartbroken, I withdrew into myself. I almost slid right off. But suicide is cowardly. Besides, I have a purpose.

Flying Insects

The summer caldron ignites flying insects
Against my cindered skin
No swiping or smacking
The Mother of all mosquitoes sucks my neck blood
I want to nurture these creatures
Supply nutrition to those without medical coverage

Summer means displaying my own plume
In the form of hairy, muscular legs and a foresty, bulging chest
Sweat rivulets descend to my Dark Region
Off limits to even the lovliest of insects

On the other hand I hate ants and bugs
I want to punch each annoying ant in the snout
Unable to launch themselves toward the horizon

I would follow a firefly anywhere
Right into October

High School Reunion

We recently had our 50th reunion and I didn't go. I never go. I hated high school. I just didn't belong anywhere with anyone.
I know what will happen if I go. No one will remember me. I'll sit in a corner watching people hug each other. Someone may remark on my hair loss.  They will be music and dancing and some divorced woman will single me out as a potential partner. I will go home so depressed I'll listen to a Bernie Sanders speech to cheer me up.
All that happens at reunions is people comparing notes in competition. Whose marriage lasted, who got the best career, whose kids are going to what college, etc. For four years I skulked through the halls looking for evidence I wasn't a lost cause. Over the decades, I've found some. Interestingly, some of the very people who snubbed me contacted me over and over through the years, trying to convince me to return for more punishment. Check, please.

The Dog Upstairs

The dog upstairs that was driving me nuts appears to be gone. Every move I made, it barked. Sometimes it ran downstairs as I was trying to put the key in my door. Luckily it couldn't break through because it is small and ugly. The few times it has run at me outdoors I have stood my ground. After a few barks, it toddled past me to sniff something. Hypocrite.
It really drives me nuts at night when it hears the slightest creak as I walk across my living room or open a storage door. If I cough or sneeze, that also sets it off. Opening the blinds is another trigger.
But it has been almost a day without any barking. Maybe its owners took it on vacation. Maybe it had a heart attack or stroked out. Not that I'm hoping. Ah, the quiet.

Warlord Angst

I am a warlord trying to order a sword by phone. My old sword broke off while puncturing a villager's rib. I cannot pillage without a sword and the model I want is on order. It's been on order for a month and I'm sick of waiting. If there weren't an ocean between our tribe and the headquarters of these idiots, I would attack them mercilessly.
Last year they sent me a machete by mistake. What am I, a butcher? I stab quick and clean with a minimum of fuss.Then they sent me a spear. What are these idiots thinking? They want a more specific address for delivery. I'm in the mountains. Ask anyone where I live. I am known for miles. Any delivery person should be able to find me. This is frustrating. I'm sick of playing cards and charades. I am a vicious warlord who needs to burn, pillage and take prisoners.
I need a sword!

Conga Line

Phinny led our yearly conga line during a performance by a Latino band. Wrong choice. You can't just have anyone lead a conga line. Phinny was moving too fast and the old and infirm could not keep up. Plus, he allowed pets in the line, which made no sense. They wound up leaving the park and shimmying right into a traffic jam, which they only made worse.
Martha should have been leading that line. She had done it before and people trusted her. But Phinny's mom was President of the local Women's Club and pressured our mayor to give him the honor. Votes were at stake, so he caved.
The upshot was a dozen seniors collapsed from the heat and speed of conga moves and several pets ran off into the woods.
Lawsuits to follow.

Standing Ovation

It's been awhile since I received a standing ovation. The last time was some years ago when I stumbled while carrying my tray at Burger King and managed to stay upright. Thank God there was no soup involved.
By my count I've given others 176 standing ovations for various reasons. Perhaps my standards are a bit low in that catagory. But I believe in giving kudos where due.
Which reminds me--in my life I've only received 21 kudos total. This is concerning to me, as I am a senior with not that many opportunities to pile them up. The way I see it, the amount of kudos one receives is in direct proportion to the number of people who show up at your funeral.
All of that would mean little if I got a standing ovation at my funeral, or at least at the grave site. But, of course, they'll already be standing. Unless they're tired.
Kudos to me for my concern for my mourners. That makes 22 total.

Orchid Hunting

I hunt down orchids. Travel the world determined to find these precious flowers and secure them for my own personal pleasure.
Orchids are deceptive. They disguise themselves as stink weed. They move fast and know the best hiding places. I ask around, pay good money for information. The orchid underground is extensive and complex. Older orchids will provide safe houses for the young ones. It only makes me bolder.
I am not a bad person. Every type of orchid is beautiful. I must possess that beauty. There is no challenge hunting tulips or peonies. Roses offer themselves up without a fight.
There are secret orchid colonies in Belgium, protected by the government, given 24 hour guards. But guards can by bribed. I have an extensive stash of relish and honey mustard. These guards are not well fed. Do the math.

The Disrupter

This old guy walked into our writing group, sat his ancient butt down and began reading his stupid memoir about his Army days. We were right in the middle of discussing someone's work. Didn't matter. He just kept reading.
We yelled at him and he mumbled he needed more time. His eyes were full of disdain. He was determined to take over the group. Our leader was frustrated. Over and over, we told him to be quiet and in a quiet voice he resisted. He pretended his hearing was bad. No one was going to shut him up.
At some point I got up and left in disgust. There was a free Beach Boys tribute concert in Fort Lee. Life is too short to put up with his nonsense.
I wonder how long he kept it up before manslaughter took place.

Disco

Why does disco still excite me? I saw a disco cover band on a sweltering night and all eleven members were sweat soaked by the end of the concert.
Their second number was Disco Inferno, which gives you an idea of the energy level. I stood off to the side and bopped in place. I moved my head, shoulders, arms and hips. I will not move my feet for fear of hurting those near me. I don't want to give kids nightmares.
Disco gets a bad rep. My perfect concert combines disco with rockabilly. If I attend a rockabilly show I will sit in my lawn chair and bop in place. I will close my eyes and snap my fingers and imagine swing dancing right across the floor. I'd need a partner, but that's a whole separate issue.

Glazed

Why is it I go nuts over any glazed bakery item? I have to lose weight and am supposed to order only the Old Fashioned, plain donut. Boring. I can deal with sprinkles and thick icing, but the glazed blueberry or chocolate scream for me. How these donuts know my name is a mystery.
It's not even thick glaze. You taste it for a moment and it's gone. Eventually, someone will expand the concept. Glazed artichokes, cucumber, kiwi, pickle, salmon, hot dog, pizza, yam, broccoli, Brussels sprouts. You give each a French name and jack up the price.
Glazed oatmeal would make me reach for my wallet.

Throw Pillows

I have been practicing throwing throw pillows. Many miss their target and bounce off furniture. I freeze up and choke under pressure.
I can deal with regular pillows and I absolutely master cushions. But I know when hosting high end cocktail parties throw pillow placement is essential. You look at certain people and just know they have the secret. Maybe I should talk to my pillows the way others talk to plants.
Of course, I could simply place them where I want, but that is the coward's way out. Do not tell me manly men do not have throw pillows. I''m betting Hugh Jackman's place is stuffed with them.

Clump

So I board the subway and see a seat
 Dart across the aisle
Clump down perhaps a bit hard
Young guy next to me glares
At the last stop I get up
He sticks out his foot to trip me
As he exits I wait on the platform
Make eye contact
Anything can happen
He could have a knife
Then again,I could be crazy
In that moment
I realize a single trip in this city
Could change my life

Beanie

I was second banana on a second rate children's show and was required to wear a colorful beanie with a propeller on top. The kids were afraid of me. I became an object of ridicule.
When I retired I decided to burn all my beanies. Then I got an idea. I put them on Craigslist. Over the years, millions of kids, now grown up, watched that show. Maybe there was a market.
I was shocked at the response. Within two days I had sold all 79 beanies for more than you can imagine.
Then I got greedy. I advertised my clothes, socks, underwear, chest and arm pit hair. I flooded the market, causing the value of my stuff to dive.
I did keep one beanie for old times sake. After all I did make kids laugh when they weren't running from me.
Waldo, the star and producer, wound up being jailed for stock fraud.
I tell parents to limit kids to cartoons. Much safer.

Things that Whir

helicopter
blender
frisbee
snowblower
power saw
motor boat
children full of sugar
propeller atop a beanie
car that won't start
thresher
alien spaceship
cheap drones
remote controlled model planes
defrosting fridge
washer and drier
ceiling fan
windmill
bad choral group
the sound inside my head

Drippping with Condescension

My theory of where the Easter Island statues came from is quite logical. At parties, people gather around listening. If the questions are intelligent, I'll respond. If they struggle to grasp the complexities of my thoughts I tend to adapt a condescending attitude.
I joined a Meet Up group--People with Complicated Theories No One Wants to Hear. I admit one fellow's theory of why there are 148 different cheeses baffled me. He became condescending, which was not pleasant.
Art critics are word sadists. Worse than film critics. You read them and everything inside your head clogs up. At least my theories are accessible if you use the brain God gave you. I have a theory about God I will share someday. Being brilliant is torture. Now I know how Oscar Wilde felt.

Anti-Light Goggles

I ordered anti-gravity shoes and they send me anti-light goggles. Please.
I wore them to the library and told them I had cataracts and they said not to leave the house until I was fully healed. Yeah. Creepy librarians. Without light I had visions. I saw myself crawling out from the bottom of a bowl of oatmeal. On bright days I sit on my porch feeling something Zen like moving within me. Or maybe I had too many baked beans.
I finally ordered the anti-gravity boots from another company and now I float above the crowds wearing my anti-light goggles. I've heard a religious sect has been created around me. About time.

A Pause

After almost five years and 1150 posts, I've decided to take a break from my blog. In September I will reevaluate resuming. Thanks for your time.

Serious Young Women

Serious young women do not laugh at my jokes, stories, anecdotes, writing, asides.
They snicker at my wardrobe choices.
For a long time I thought this was fixable. It is not.
I refuse to desperately seek approbation that I am funny. I will not remove my shirt as a last resort.

Lost Gum

A few minutes ago I dropped a pack of gum between my car seat and the divider. I pushed the front seat all the way forward and checked underneath. No gum. I felt all around with my hand and banged my head several times. The gum costs .89, but it's the principle. Where could it have gone?
Every coin I lost was lying right under the seat. Same with pens and candy. There is no logical reason this cannot be found. i am going to make myself a peanut butter sandwich for protein energy and resume my search.
This has become a man thing. Women would just shrug and give up. I am making payments on that car so it should be loyal to its owner, not hide one stinking pack of sugar free gum. This is how a life begins to unravel. Not my life, folks.

Parent and Child

I am not a parent, but there would be no negotiation with my child. If I got backtalk I'd drag the ungrateful kid to a shed and lock him in there with hungry ferrets.
Then I'd post photos on the Internet and ask for offers. I guarantee the next time I give an order I'd get respect. Or maybe the kid would come at me with a machete.
Or I could forget all that cruelty and ask a nun to come over and let her do a number on him with her ruler.
Once you train them, you have a decade's worth of cheap labor.

Height

Sandra rushed to catch the elevator leading to her writing group meeting. She hated being late. Fortunately, Joe held the button so she could enter. She knew Joe mostly because he was so prolific.
She thanked him while expressing her fear of being late. Joe smiled and assured her if she walked in with him no one would say a peep because he had gravitas.
She noticed he seemed taller. She looked down and saw he was wearing black stilettos with four inch heels. Joe smiled and explained he had an issue with height. One day he glanced in a window showing women's shoes and realized there was the solution. I knew what I had to do. Right now I'm unsteady, but with practice I should manage heels gracefully. I love looking down on people.
Sandra could only admire Joe's taste. She had the same pair in aqua blue.

Globalization

They came from Hoboken. Jersey City did everything it could to prepare. The visitors were young and educated. They moved en masse down Paterson Avenue past the Holland Tunnel, down Manila Boulevard, over to Grove Street and stopping at Newark Avenue.
Jersey City folks had heard the frightening stories, but if these two disparate cultures were to exist side by side there had to be a face to face meeting.
At 11am Saturday the first horde of giant strollers stopped by Grace Church. Residents held crosses out of windows, shaking in fear. Hipsters in ripped jeans and fedoras followed the strollers, some smoking cigars.
The writers, artists and musicians of JC formed a wall at the corner of Grove and Newark. At the first sign of trouble they would have fled to The Path train. They held out avocado dip and bean salad as a peace offering.
Everyone held their breath.
Amazingly the music of Enya relaxed everyone and the mellow atmosphere continued all day. A reporter asked a man his thoughts. 'I'm 82 and I never thought I'd see this. It's a miracle.'
Recipes were traded. Face painting ensued. Children had the dip and crackers. Some vomited.
Clean up duties were shared. As night fell there was some modest disrobing. True globalization.

Birds and Snakes

Mommy, what happened over there?
Billy, a baby bird fell out of the tree.
Why is that snake coming over?
The snake is talking to the bird's mother.
Snakes can talk?
Of course. They are probably deciding whether to sue the owner of the tree.
Why?
Because he didn't take care of it and the branch broke. Now they will sue.
What will that do?
They will settle out of court and the bird family will get free food for a year. The snake will get weekly deliveries of mice to eat.
What about all those other birds?
They are witnesses and will get their own bird bath.
What happens to the tree?
It will be cut down so this doesn't happen again.
Where will birds build their nests?
A developer will arrive to plant sturdy trees that will take three years to grow.
Will I see nests under my window?
I'll bet you do. Oh, that little bird is throwing up. Probably a concussion.
What is that?
A brain injury.
Like that guy with the strange hair who's always on TV?
Not that bad, dear.

Florescent Lighting

My bathroom florescent lighting lends me an air of mystery. If I carried a florescent lamp around and aimed it at the perfect angle, I'd get more respect.
Florence Florescent created this lighting years ago, but foolishly sold the rights to GE for a pittance. Later, she created florescent head lamps for miners, but was sued for copyright infringement by GE and wound up dying in poverty.
There is a statue of her in a small park in her hometown of Guttenberg, NJ. Parents try to explain her importance to kids, who just shrug and ask for ice cream.
After Hamilton winds down, there should be a musical about this woman. Meanwhile, I will continue to preen before my mirror, under lit and shadowed in mystery.

Surprise Ending

In the remake of Casablaca, directed by J.J. Abrams, Jack Black will play Rick, Amy Adams is Elsa, Channing Tatum, her resistance fighter husband and The Rock the police captain., The plane just takes off, leaving all of them om the tarmac looking confused.
As the camera pulls away, Pharell Williams' song Happy plays and they all begin dancing and disrobing.
As to why the plane left without passengers, Abrams promises that question will be answered in the sequel.
Critics, as you might expect, were divided. The NY and LA contingent were supportive of his vision. The rest of the country hated it.

What Government Cannot Do

Get me a date with Michelle Williams
Eliminate the barking dog upstairs
Teach pigeons how to clean up after themselves
Cancel the Kardashians
Figure out what to cook in my crockpot
Remove my liver spots
Ban kazoos and cabaret singers
Elevate poets to their rightful place in society
Provide a monthly stipend for flash fiction writers
Explain Adam Sandler's popularity

Copy Cat

I used to copy John until he told me to stop following him around and get a life. Problem is I don't have a center or identity intrinsic to me. In fact, I never used that word until I heard my sanitation guy say, garbage is not intrinsically good or evil. There is no past or future. Garbage lives in the moment.
I was thoroughly impressed and began following him around on his route until he got transferred and I slid into depression.
My therapist says I need to discover something that is mine alone and build around that. All I had was my voodoo doll of Ren, a writing machine who intimidated everyone. I stuck pins all over that doll, but nothing slowed her. So I copied her style. Write fast, pause, write fast, pause. Except I had nothing to say. So I copied off Keith, who sat on my other side.
I'm thinking of trading in my Russell duck hunting cap for a wool number similar to what Christina wears because I've never copied anything from her and it's just time.

Cars and Trucks

I once saw a wheel fall off a woman's car right in the middle of an intersection. She got out and smacked her cheeks in horror. I wanted to help, but could only smack my own cheeks in support.
SUV is not a car. It is a symbol of insecurity belonging to people with tiny genitalia, wildly insecure folks who need to lord it over us normal drivers. Many of these bullies could easily become third world dictators.
Regarding trucks, my position is unless you own a muscular, hairy, tattooed forearm you can lean out the window you should not be a truck driver.I, myself, have the forearms of a florist. Nothing wrong with florists. Some of my friends are florists and none of them need to drive an SUV to prove their manhood.

Hidden Identity

Becky rushed into the phone booth, heart pounding. Her cell was dead, she was hungry and thirsty from being on the run for days. She used her last coins to dial. Joe answered.
Oh Joe, I'm in trouble. You have to shelter me. I fell for a married man.
Joe paused. Calm down. That happens all the time. Who is after you?
Becky swallowed. The Bee Hive!
What is the Bee Hive?
Lemonade, Joe, lemonade!
You're not making sense.
Do I have to spell it out? I slept with Jay Z. She found out. Queen Bee shows no mercy. She gave them an order. Oh God, I see them coming down the street! I must flee!
Where can you go?
I don't know. She owns the night, the city Zika mosquitoes, everything. And the worst part--he was a lousy lay.
She hung up and raced off into the shadows.

Three Kids

Mal and his family of rabid, flying squirrels looked down saw three kids tramping through the snow and immediately thought of dinner.
Brooke, who constantly challenged his leadership, protested they were too small and by the time their heavy jumpsuits were ripped off, exhaustion would hit. Mal scoffed that was a result of her not doing the leaping exercises every morning. Are you commenting on my weight? she asked.
Their branch shook slightly, causing snow to fall and the kids to look up. The family remained still. Bart said we need to make a decision or they would starve. These kids were the only humans to pass all week.
On the ground, Willie's little brother had to pee and was told to go in his suit because it was getting dark and they couldn't stop.
Up in the tree, Bart moaned his nuts were freezing. Kanye was infuriated. You have nuts and didn't share them? he asked.
The family continued to argue while the kids moved closer to a clearing and safety.
Maybe there's a happy ending here. For the kids.

Embarrassment

In 1977 as a mailman, I was being walked by my supervisor in Hoboken. No mail truck, just a push cart. We were having a nice chat as I made my deliveries. When I got to the end of the block I saw that the house number did not match the address on the envelope.
 In fact, there was no such house number. It was then that I looked closer and realized I was delivering Garden Street's mail on Bloomfield Street. In my defense, the streets in Hoboken look alike. I had turned down the wrong street.
My supervisor seemed just as embarrassed as me. He said only something about, this is why people lose confidence in the Post Office.
I went back and got all the mis-delivered mail and no further screw ups occurred.
A few months later I transferred out and into another office where I had a jeep and none of the streets looked alike.

Whine Country

The Principality of Kazikstasin was prime whine country. The farmers whined about the drought. Towns people whined about inflation. Children whined about homework and teachers whined about the kids. Writers whined about everything because they're writers.
People were giving each other headaches. When the central government tried to meet and discuss the whining epidemic they were stymied because their offices were being painted. More whining.
Prisoners whined about being falsely accused. Victims complained about being victimized. Religious leaders moaned over the lack of belief. Pets whined over kids grabbing them by the ears.
The only people not whining were liquor store owners who sold gallons of wine to people too depressed to do anything but drink and whine.