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.