the crowd idiot

i saw lewis black perform the other night.

(he was hilarious; but that’s not the point)
i sat in the back row.
two seats to my right sat the crowd idiot.
they always sit within arms length of me.
i don’t know why this is always the case but it is as much a certainty as newton's laws of gravity.
(I suspect it might have something to do with my "if it's good news, it must be someone else's" life credo.)
anyway, this is primarily why i hate to go out where people gather, but i’m getting off point.

between jokes, the crowd idiot was compelled to bark out words in an idiot’s tongue.
he did this a dozen times—an idiot's dozen, which could be as high as 31.
he wasn’t funny.
he wasn’t engaging.
he was a particularly stupid crowd idiot and he sat two seats away.

then i had an “ah ha” moment.
ushers should be armed with assault rifles and allowed to remove crowd idiots from the gene pool before they procreate with their tainted seed.

the f-bomb

on occasion i reach into the dirty word drawer and pull out the f-bomb.
i use it when phooey just doesn’t quite do the job.
like when i pulled the garage door down on my head while standing right underneath it, and for some unexplainable reason, had forgotten to wear my ny giants football helmet.

my journey

i hear a lot of people talk about their life journeys.
they sound so exotic.
but when i think about my life journey, it feels more like moving in bumper-to-bumper on the new jersey turnpike in summer swelter without airconditioning.

Bob does open mike today!

every once in a while you just have to say "what the f***!", throw caution (and a good chunk of common sense) to the wind, and do something completely different.
today is such a day.
i threw the mike on for ten minutes and talked about whatever came to mind.
and when the dust settled, it was pandora radio, jimmy johnson, the frugal gourmet, my grandmother, nat king cole and making new england clam chowder that grabbed the spotlight.
oh well, enough said.
just click on open mike to listen in on bob's dumb thoughts for as long as you can stand it.

popsicle sticks

i was probably eight when i could finally print my own name and address (not like now when you're considered slow if you don’t know a foreign language by age three).
i wasted little time putting that skill to quick use by printing my name and address on a hundred or so popsicle sticks i had collected in the early summer.
because i had a plan.
armed and ready, i marched off to a brook that angled its way through a park no more than a half mile from my house, where i launched my calling cards one at a time.

the idea was sound enough.
if my calculations were correct, they would reach the shores of europe in a few short months, and soon after that, there would be the knocks of long lost ancestors from faraway places at the front door.
furthermore, if i timed it correctly, let's just say it would be about the best birthday present a boy could give his mom without spending a cent.
finally, when they'd sing happy birthday to her in funny ancestor accents, well then, i'd be her favorite for years on end, making the recent "break and entry" mishap at the vacationing popoff’s house a distant memory.
well, that was the plan anyway.

sadly, i don’t dream up wild schemes for a brook, or a cloud, or a tree or a breeze as i did at age eight.
don't really know when this all came unglued either, but lately i've been itching to rediscover wonder again.

it’s self serving really.
much like the popoff affair, i've had a few manstakes that need to become distant memories licketty split in the delusional hope that i might restore my good standing with keaton.

so i took the first step.

i bought a box of popsicles.

plastic army men

i was seven when i was digging trenches with a stick.
lining up a kneeling rifle brigade behind a maple tree root.
camouflaging a bazooka unit under a lean-to made of stiff, curled, gold-brown oak leaves.
constructing the command post with stacked twigs.

when i think about those moments when the world stopped and the only things worth contemplating where those i could reach with my hands or imagine with my mind, they were many but so distant ago.
they also were almost always under the backyard tree with a cigar tin full of plastic army men.
green and gray.
good and evil.
and a child’s freedom to pretend.

i’d do it today except i can’t.
it has to do with being an adult i suspect.
maybe some day though, when i’m sure no one is watching.

and after i’ve had time to practice my pretending skills.

From Nigeria with Love

[If you have an email account, you've received them. It's almost as if it's part of the package. I'm talking about those wacky Nigerian scam emails. Well I decided to hone my writing craft by replying to one that caught my attention. Do not try this at home, as I'm a professional.]

*****

Email #1 from Nigeria with love (shortened):

This is to officially inform you that we have verified your contract file presently on my desk, and I found out that you have not received your payment due to your lack of co-operation and not fulfilling the obligations giving to you in respect to your contract payment. Secondly, you are hereby advised to stop dealing with some non-officials in the bank as this is an illegal act and will have to stop if you so wish to receive your payment After the Board of directors' meeting held, we have resolved in finding a solution to your problem.

We have arranged your payment through our ATM CARD PAYMENT CENTRE in Europe, America, and Asia Pacific, This is part of an instruction/mandate passed by the Senate in respect to overseas contract payment and debt re-scheduling.

[Comment: You get the drift. Mr. Martins goes on to tell me that I will have millions of dollars that I can take out (I guess $200 at a time) with an ATM Card. But they need information and stuff so they can charge me with an initial processing fee. I am also warned not to talk to strangers and my arrest is certain if I don’t proceed as ordered.]

Response #1 from yours truly (full text, if that’s what you call it):

Dear Edward Martins,

It is with great regards that I offer this email. This matter has been of nuisance and hair loss since it first came to my attention and I was in contact with sinister men unlike yourself. Thank you for your patience with me and setting my mind straight ahead. I regard your kind explanation as my solution finally and for that God should grace you. Before I should provide the informations you seek, first a few questions as you can understand my fine gentleman this is of serious business matters in the upmost and so much time has been diminished to this date already.

First my full name is Sir Ribald Howard Cranelegs. That is not a question though. You may address me as Sir Cranelegs as I was nighted by the British Parliament in 1993 for my work with Mother Theresa in Nigeria. Perhaps it is of my records that you have pertained to.

 Second mostly, as you might not be aware of today and all yesterdays, I am an agent of the USA Bureau Of Secret Outside Matters (a.k.a. BOSOM) and must be careful about revealing my whereabouts, as there are many less honorable men such as we who would like nothing more than to chop me up into pieces to feed their pet hamsters fully. They are very seedy characters I shall tell you. I hope you can understand my following question now. Can we do this transaction to resolve our mutual desire without providing address information?

 Thirdly, as another matter of discourse, I can not communicate by phone either as I am certain to be monitored by my own agency to make sure I’m not a double agent which i assure you I abhorrent.

Fourthly entirely, although you and I know otherwise, let us agree that my occupation is a fish market manager as no one will suspect that I, Sir Cranelegs of the USA BOSOM, would have such a job.

Again good sir I hope you understand.

I look forward to your fastest reply as I may be going under the covers in the near days coming soon and thus be unable to communicate fully.

Sincerely.

Sir Ribald Howard Cranelegs
(agent 14-2A, USA BOSOM)

Email #2 from Nigeria with Love (in full):

Swift Atm Card (S.A.C)
Dartford Kent DA1 2DE
London, UK.

Dear.Sir Ribald Howard Cranelegs,

We are writing to confirm the receipt of your mail and also to apologize for the slight delay in processing your ATM CARD since you wrote to us.

Your information had been received and confirmed with your State Registry, where it was confirmed intact with your public record. Hence, you are advised to be patient to read back from us for the final processing of your ATM CARD which will not take us about 6 hours to get it finalized and ready for delivery.

As we further with the final processing of your ATM CARD, please be advised to scan and send to us a copy of either your Driver's License or International Passport, as courtesy and our regulations demands that we have it attached to your file case before delivery of your CARD.

We shall then be giving you a call upon the final processing of your ATM CARD.

Thank you.

Mr. Edward Martins.
Managing Coordinator.
Swift Atm Card (S.A.C) 

[This e-mail is intended for the address shown. It contains information that is confidential and protected from disclosure. Any review, dissemination or use of this transmission or its contents by persons or unauthorized employees of the intended organizations is strictly prohibited.]

Response #2 from yours truly (in full):

Dear Edward Martins sir,

If I did not know but for the betterment, it appears your response is one of automation and not handmation. I say this with all sincerity for if you had read my original responsiveness you would have concluded that I will not be able to send you a copy of my license or passport, as I am under the covers now as an agent for USA Bureau of Secret Outside Matters (USA BOSOM). While I am anxious to clear up this matter for once and for all the time, I need to know that I am dealing with honorable partners and not some scamacious individuals with hungry hamsters.

Would it be possible for you to fax me your business card first. If so, I will send you my fax number for your desired contribution. If not, we will need not to agree that we disagree with agreements.

It is with regrets of advice that I must call upon you to further this. I look forward to mutual respection and getting this taken care of fast, yet in a rapid way.

Quite concerned but ever graciousness,

Sir Ribald Howard Cranelegs
(Special Agent 14-2B USA BOSOM)

*****

[Note: Well, it’s been two months and I have not heard back from Mr. Martins. He may be on to my little charade. I think it was “handmation” that did me in. It was a little strong, even for a professional like me.]

514. a valentine thingy

what do you call that person who is so much a part of you that when they're not nearby, you kind of feel out of sorts, not yourself, partly cloudy, half empty?
"valentine" seems as good a word as any.

all righty then.
you are my valentine, keaton.

(from the files) 200. i'll take that as a big no

keaton poked my stomach with her finger.
she said, you know you’re getting’ a little belly there.
i said sarcastically, well that’s a nice thing to say.
she said, oh come on, i’m just teasin’.
i said, so i guess i can tease you someday should you find yourself burdened by a four lane broad street booty.
next thing i knew a frozen prok chop sailed right between my legs, missing the boys by a fraction of an inch.
i said, i'll take that as a big no.