A fairly fresh and VERY hot
Endearing cup of Joe;
KICK BUTT! To give it all we’ve got
So much to do, you know?!
But this busy-bee lifeRanks a big fat ZEROAmid Sandy’s
Over the Big Apple, lo!
Our hearts go out to those stranded in high-rises in the
City That Never Sleeps, and now in their time of direst need, must watch ‘oer
the company She keeps. In other words, may Lady Luck shine upon them!
An addition to the Epitaph Folder was initiated last night,
when Jim G’s brother gave up the fight.
unbelievable swath was much the suffering of many but barely scratched tabletop
conversation in comfy Beantown as we visited with one condo resident of the
western provincial area and two North Carolinians.
Political robo-calls ranked on par with the horrific devastation 200 miles
south of where our fannies were parked.
John, the North Carolinian, former Delawarean and Jersey-ite,
proffered his irreverent technique for sidestepping persistent pestiferous political
telephone intrusions: he put the receiver down and allowed the automated
robo-babbler to ejaculate its unintelligent psycho-piffle into thin air.
Perhaps he could only best that performance by farting into
We stayed up until at least 1
a.m. shooting whatever breezes presented themselves; after all, the
NC visitors hadn’t been seen for over 7 years and were rarely heard from, save
for the occasional email.
John had sprouted love handles and a serious rat’s nest
(beard) covered his mug from below the nose to his shirt collar. His husky
baritone was at once measured and drawn when called to the task of presenting
factual snippets culled from that magnificent, highly educated mass betwixt his
Occasionally, the overhead chandelier bounced serious rays
off his balding pate, further illuminating the room.
That whirlwind trip had included two separate eldercare
visitation stints. Karen (hostess of our cadre) had Mom in one place, Dad in
another, and she wasted no time whipping around Beantown’s exurbia with
effortless spunk, making all those concentric, traffic signal-bereft maneuvers look logical, even easy. As this boy previously blogged: Boston
is THE prime place to get lost in).
Be on your toes;learn the ropes,keep up your hopes, but
above all:DRIVE OFFENSIVELYand you’ll never have a problem.
We hit the pike WEST – BYE!
Thankful and grateful beyond measure returning to the
chilly, serene sticks.
Off to the races, unenthusedDriving past placesWith green metal roofsIn my rusty-assed carWith busted-ass clutchWe went pretty farBut I didn’t care much.
With the radio offAnd a song in my headDamn near got lostA slight sense of dreadBut Hoolie was hotAnd he drove pretty fastEnshrined, he knew aughtAn hour had passedBut before we knew knotOur autos had castAt that bustling spotWe parked on the grass.
But for doodle-e-squatI was draggin’ my assIt wouldn’t be for naughtBut to have a blast!
“It’s almost over.”
Such a welcome refrainFrom the other day,Plucked from roundtable conversation;Amid so much painAnd not much to gainHere in our D.S.A. nation!
So that means after this day,we can bid that panoply of nastiness
Divided We StandDerided We Stall.Awaiting commands,We head for a fall.
Can anyone be in any doubtthat our citizenry is just about ‘campaigned-out’?
What if, for the sake of conjecture, all that money, energy
and time spent in chest-thumping, mud-spattering self-aggrandizement at the
behest of multifarious donor$ went instead to Sandy’s victims?
Ahoy! I had to write, I saidThough not sure what to sayA tingling queasy, partial dreadOn Presidential day!As if we needed a predilectionWhat would come what mayDithering dappled, sagging erectionElectoral College at play!
Went to place our humble voteNo need to stand in lineThen penciled in on ballots wroteA simple ‘X’ did just fine.
A bake sale tableLight-hearted jokesHelped enable us country folksAnd ballot question 1 so fairGit-‘R-done: The Right to Repair!
By midnight we knewWho prez would beNo surprise for you or me!
It was on this dayFORMER senator BrownRan a little bit short on his luckAnd drove away from Boston
townin that trusty pickup truck.
He did one term in the US SenateOf years, he put his four in;Standing firm, he served and then itWent to Senator Warren!
She was our galRight from the startThough we doubted she would winOur strident pals were poles apartuntil the count came in.
We wish her all the best, you seeOur new Eliza-Senator;To carry on confidentlyAfter those votes we lent her!
1000 Words behind – oy vay!And so on this dayDust off that brainAnd find what to say!It was well to give the words a breakAnd exit the frayFor exiting (‘s) sake!
This post is craftedAfter 9 days of silenceBoth verbal
and writtenIn willing compliance;With solace I’m smittenAnd bear no defiance!
Thus begins extrication from ‘the bubble’Yet again, keeping
in view the ardorsFor which I have a yen.
And whilst not advisable to compareoneself with others,comparison/contrast exercises doinevitably arise in the overly activeaverage human mind,
Yet I have not given up, despite not having had the pleasure
of hearing the late grate Winston Churchill orate the line in triplicate. He’s
the dude, by the way, who also uttered, “Give me 300 Sherman
So I’ll see how many times I can duck out of responsibilities
for a requisite recharge and not leave any scars.
I undertook this period of self-imposed imprisonment with
full intentions of withdrawing thoroughly from the society in which a niche has
been so laboriously carved.
It is arduous,certainly not just for kicks;it necessitates
leaving with so much to fix!
Comparisons with one’s brethren well up, present their
symptoms of jealousy, defeat, longing, dissatisfaction and a host of ancillary
defilements, which sit front and center then swoop back down into the seething
cauldron of mental excrement from which they sprang.
It’s only logical, chalked up to another of those
idiosyncrasies filed in the ‘being human’ column.
Oh, “the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat” – I
being the guy who crashes and burns at the bottom of the ski ramp featured
every Sunday during ‘The Wide World of Sports’ intro. A moment of indecision
led to his near demise.
Detach! To be able to disengageAnd sit under life’s tableTo turn the next pageDespite all the oddsAfter 22 yearsOf authority’s prodsand innumerable fears.
Yes, over 2 decades ensconced in a somewhat hectic
householder’s existence that precludes longer periods of respite and unsympathetic
society-at-large not wholly supportive of such ventures, however temporary the
disconnection may be.
By dint of full-time employment in a culture bent on
full-time enjoyment and provisional steady cash flow into the coffers of the
deserving and undeserving alike, the worker bee is the quintessential cog in
the frenetic gears of commerce.
The simple worker knows his place as another piece of meat
on the meat hook.John Cougar Mellencamp plainly stated this, belting out
“Ain’t that America.”
Alas, I know now what waits at homeBest get out the plowAnd put nose to grindstoneI’m scribbling this nowWhilst chilled to the boneFour hours ‘til chowA conclusion foregone!
Wistfully reminiscing 9 evenings back to tuneful, droning opening
formalities, I spare this dull mind the onerous details, opting instead for a
cherry picking of how efforts could have improved in an upward direction
without busting hemorrhoids in the process.
As mentioned a post or two ago,I had signed up and lined upWhilst feeling GUNG-HOAnd opting for a pine board cabinThe second one out in that rowIt didn’t need that much rehabbin’Yes, that much we know.
I had set up the bedAnd schlepped baggage inThen to clear out my headWent out for a spin.
The first few days weren’t coldOn the feetBut one must be boldIn a place with no heatThis IS New England, after allAnd pink Yankee fleshAs you can guessFrosting cannot forestall!
Thus ensconcedin a non-throne of un-power:
I stuck with the programExceeding timetableContinued to jamTo extent I was ableAs life’s clock with its tickingInched closer to deathWith practice we’re stickingAnd watching our breath!
Few indeed, preciously few, wereperiods of strong
concentration;on the 7th day, however,a welcome magnificationadded a much-needed deftnessto oft-perfunctory ham-fisted efforts.
Nature took over.
Thus began the sought-after forayinto a serious burn
session:that dowager’s hump-like, taut-spine &bodily clenching that painfully
announcesto the practitioner that she/he has overturnedthe rock that hid psychophysical
One can feel it coming on, that indescribable chilling, even
nauseous sensation of impending gloom, not necessarily accompanied by doom, but
rather a certitude that one will be facing down the Pit Bull of defilements,
replete with potential pain and strain to keep head above water as pus –
inevitable in such quagmires – oozes from the festering exit wound one has
enabled through one’s own efforts.
Going through this sauna of self- decontamination, it
becomes very clear – albeit after many unsuccessful attempts at equanimity –
that this absolutely MUST be done, and rigorously maintained once that can of
proverbial worms has been opened.
Emerging from a good burn,the individual will feel
residualsin evidence; a little huffiness here,sensitivity there:It’s par for the course,So best to take care.
This can all happenBefore the time’s capped;How the wound/pus analogy is very apt!
Railing further, life continues to slamand send curve-balls
sailing your wayas you head out those gatesafter productive stay.
Ergo, returning home after this purging mental lavage, the newly
recharged individual will no doubt find residuals in evidence, and will then
have more than ample opportunity to apply the skillset one has so diligently
Thought I said it beforeBut thought you might knowAgain I implore:Hell, I am not a Thoreau!
The nights got chilly with good frostson the last 4 or so, and out from underthose wooly warm covers I’d go.
With a quickening stepToward the heated indoors,So grateful to schlepLike a dog on all fours!
Maybe even panting, tooas you’ve never seen a boy walk so
fastAcross crispy frosted grass!
Thus, many cups of tea were quaffed,and cross-legged
sessions were spent,As noisy workers banged nails aloft,their efforts so
Kudos to those illustrious carpenters and ancillary
noisemakers! For thanks to these saintly characters, along with appropriately
parsed donations, we will have a completed Pagoda – the ideal place for serious
practice in this hurly-burly Western hemisphere, where food, water (generally
speaking) and attendant microbial presences are gut-friendly (again, for the
When silence broke, I scarfed up scrumptious comestibles and
departed the dining hall’s quickening chatter, repairing to the chilly,
industrial seat of that newly acquired loader.
Hah! They’ll never find me here!
Being outside requisite boundaries meant impromptu scintillation,
like a party that winds up in the kitchen.
I sat in the cab with a little southerly sunAfter days of rehabIt was time for some fun!What’s more, even thoughverbal silence was doneMy feet on the pedalsWriting had begun!
This quirky move was part of an experiment, an exercise in
making the first expressions (after 9 days mum) written rather than spoken.
Suffice to say it felt a tad awkward, like attempting the
wretched tangle of algebra for the first time. A largely unused or
under-exercised part of the brain is being tapped and is slow getting acquainted
with the task at hand.
Through the open front of the dusty loader, cars –
presumably being piloted by semi-conscious occupants – whizzed by with characteristic
bluster. Their deafening tire roar was mighty odious, so earplugs came in
Off the ‘press’, I guess, these words should have flowed
It is always a struggle, and as one famous scrivener
quipped: “thinking is hard work.”
Nonetheless, I make haste, rolling over arthritic thumb pain
to spill out thoughts, hopefully in good taste.
The sun is welcome and hot after spending so many days holed
up, and the continuous stream of traffic is NOT.
Ahhh, yes – as they say
God bless – ‘turkey day!
Prior to this standard American BINGE AND PURGE fare, I had
the distinct displeasure of being in a room with a television, which
unfortunately was ON and tuned to one of those chatty morning talk shows.
The scene was set in a local tire shop waiting room as our
trusty rusty received fresh snow boots.
‘Should you rinse your
turkey before cooking?’ The talking heads posed this nimble-brained query.
“Damn well better!” I thought. Rinse all you want, but you can’t wash off the fact that it
is a bloomin' CORPSE.
Thanksgiving came and went like a fart in a breeze, giving
way to gorge of a different sort, if you please: the infamous Black Friday shopping
day that’s oh, so American, by the way.
Overstuffed piggery attendants would fret about their
overworked plumbing at their oversized McMansions later.
But now, here, today, the crush was on, with an overarching theme:
saddling up that oversized SUV, paramount to entering the shopper stream.
Would stampedes occur at the planet’s most oversized
retailer as the overzealous tromped over each other to snap up over-hyped
doo-hickeys?They’ll live to tell
us when it’s over.
GOODBYE TO THE ATKINS DIETI now kiss off
the Atkins Diet.Not MINE, if
you please – it’s unclean!Although at one
time I thought I’d try it;So lean and
macho and mean!
grisly, for heaven’s sakeat first I
ne’er thought twice;but chomping
into a bloody steakis this for me? YAKK-BARF! Not nice !!
The munching of
meat was thought to surceaseThe putting on
pounds by the very obese.This theory?The gullible would buy it;And so at the
timeThe Atkins paradigmwas there by
demand to supply it!
Wrenching free from the warm confines of one’s familiar
residence and going on the road to spend a whole bunch of money is never easy.
But one does it anyway.
And such, in this case, was the case for two aging baby
boomers as they scooted down I-95 en route to not one but TWO Moody Blues shows
in New York.
Dusting off a confiscatory hotel stay across the river in Bergen,
we made use of a surprisingly reasonable Big Apple shuttle bus.
They say the Apple never sleeps. It’s also overbuilt,
horrendously expensive and unsustainable over the long term.
Darkness precluded any timely rubbernecking about the
ostensible Sandy ruins, and we
cruised smoothly, covering a small fraction of Long Island’s
considerable length, woozy with anticipation, perhaps to the point of rancid
fried onion stench being created in sweaty armpits. But no matter; it would be
worth it in the end – and long before that.
Theirs was a rotating stage at this venue, and the
haphazardly organized directional orientation seemed to favor folks at the 11 o’clock point.
Cigarette fumes from inconsiderate smokers wafted through
open doors during the intermission – a side-effect of civilization.
The earplugs helped dim spurious frequencies.
Despite the vagaries of advancing
The Moodys still burn up the stage!
The theater roiled with boomer fans
as we shot cool pixover heads and hands!
Indeed, after 2 hours of frantic picture taking above heads,
hands and blinking cameras of the similarly semi-obsessed – amidst high-decibel
pleasurable sound absorption, thankful beyond measure for hearing protection,
thank you very much – we slipped out via side exits into the chilly night air
in hopes of seeing the band before they disappeared into the safe confines of
That’s the only moniker one can bestow to such a DeLorean-esque
No, we are NOT groupies, but sure acted like them. Call it a
bit of immaturity spiced with a tad of that middle-aged ‘last hurrah’
phenomenon that creeps into consciousness, raises its butt-ugly head for a bit,
then raps you on your rapidly balding pate, braying: “get out there and get
what you want, you old grate!”
I left a binocular soft case the night before, and did that
dismal performance abhor, then bested it by leaving the set of binoculars in
the seat tonight.Upon realization of that mistake, and trying to reenter the
venerable building, a tense roadie shouted me down.
But no matter against the clatter;
We dallied and watchedas our dream/scheme shattered.
An opening botched
And tickets torn, tattered.
I felt like a hapless pawn
With no voice, no choiceBut to DAMNIT! Move on.
It would be another late nightwith the repeated hassle offinding affordable
Take a look at all those empty buildings!”T had noted this, as did I,much gray hair our wishful youth
And to thinknobody will get up off a small spacefor less
than $100.00 per night’Twas a thought to make farm boy get uptight.
The next room sported a hot tub, which normally would have
elicited coos (and/or ooze) and ahhh’s from any given recipients, but in this
instance, failed to perform as advertised due to producing piss-warm water –
chlorinated, no doubt fluoridated water, at that.But in it we satLike lard in a vat.
Internet connectivity was another disingenuously promoted
waste of time.
Do you get the feeling Davey H is cynical – even spiteful?
Well, congrats; tee-he:
For you see, when a country boy gets pokin’around city
slickers’ haunts,it can get his dander up smokin’during these jaunts.