i know a few people who suppress sneezes.
i mean they sneeze but they keep it inside somehow.
you can tell because they squeeze their nose and make that dumb suppression sound as if that's an improvement.
i don't understand that.
i tried to once and nearly launched my eyeballs across the room.
the sneeze energy has to go somewhere.
i suspect it shoots out their ears, which is why i never stand directly next to them.
i don't want to be the first person killed by ear wax shot.
it would taint the rather fabulous legacy on working on here.
Welcome to Cranelegs Pond! Like Walden except really shallow!
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
"oh nothing, nothing at all"
sometimes i'll ask keaton what she's thinkin' and she'll say, "oh nothing, nothing at all", which i know is bad news because i'm acutely aware of what i'm thinking when i answer, "oh nothing, nothing at all", and it's almost always dumb man thoughts—bordering on mental case, voices-in-the-head stuff really.
but i keep a stiff upper lip, smile and say, "okay, no problem", all the while tormented inside by my own "oh nothing, nothing at all" man extrapolations, only to find some remedy in the fact that she is a woman after all, and therefore probably doesn't think quite like i do.
but i keep a stiff upper lip, smile and say, "okay, no problem", all the while tormented inside by my own "oh nothing, nothing at all" man extrapolations, only to find some remedy in the fact that she is a woman after all, and therefore probably doesn't think quite like i do.
Monday, November 29, 2010
holy crap! i'm gonna need better pants!
i can barely contain my excitement.
but i must for to not would curse everything, gum up the works, death kiss my life for sure.
but the tinkle drops are impossible not to acknowledge.
so i might just as well divulge a little.
as a result of reading my submission, cranelegs pond the blook, a small publishing company wants to work with me on a book project based on the miserable past six years i've endured to get published.
i'm not talking a vanity publisher here, like the one i'm working with currently.
this is the real deal—small but still the deal.
and the first thing i thought of after reading their offer was, "holy crap! i'm gonna need better pants!"
now listen, there is still a lot to do and obstacles to overcome between here and firing off snappy one-liners to oprah's probing questions.
plenty can still go south!
and as we all know, when it comes to direction, south is pretty much where i go naturally.
but i have to tell you, this offer has just got me ... well ... it's just got me boys in a bunch to be honest.
therefore, i'm giving myself the rest of the day to indulge in fantasy and then it's back to work.
so there.
i've gone and let the cat out of the bag a little, more like a new born kitten really, but i don't think i've jinxed the whole affair too much.
besides, they're a couple of you who will keep me on the straight and narrow for sure, snapping me back to reality whenever i get too sexy for my shirt.
which reminds me, i'm gonna need better pants, if i didn't already mention that.
but i must for to not would curse everything, gum up the works, death kiss my life for sure.
but the tinkle drops are impossible not to acknowledge.
so i might just as well divulge a little.
as a result of reading my submission, cranelegs pond the blook, a small publishing company wants to work with me on a book project based on the miserable past six years i've endured to get published.
i'm not talking a vanity publisher here, like the one i'm working with currently.
this is the real deal—small but still the deal.
and the first thing i thought of after reading their offer was, "holy crap! i'm gonna need better pants!"
now listen, there is still a lot to do and obstacles to overcome between here and firing off snappy one-liners to oprah's probing questions.
plenty can still go south!
and as we all know, when it comes to direction, south is pretty much where i go naturally.
but i have to tell you, this offer has just got me ... well ... it's just got me boys in a bunch to be honest.
therefore, i'm giving myself the rest of the day to indulge in fantasy and then it's back to work.
so there.
i've gone and let the cat out of the bag a little, more like a new born kitten really, but i don't think i've jinxed the whole affair too much.
besides, they're a couple of you who will keep me on the straight and narrow for sure, snapping me back to reality whenever i get too sexy for my shirt.
which reminds me, i'm gonna need better pants, if i didn't already mention that.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
712. happy hour?
why is happy hour called happy hour?
it's never for just an hour and it's anything but happy.
i'm thinking it should be called "unhappy until incoherent hours".
any one have a better name?
it's never for just an hour and it's anything but happy.
i'm thinking it should be called "unhappy until incoherent hours".
any one have a better name?
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
proud with an opt out clause
as i was making my thanksgiving list of things to give thanks for, i was thinking about how proud i am of my son.
then i got to thinking a little more and figured my mom probably feels the same way about me.
but little does she know.
i've got a bushel of stories that'd knock the proud clean out of her.
which got me thinking even more.
what no good is my son up to anyway?
for now on, i'm proud with an opt out clause.
then i got to thinking a little more and figured my mom probably feels the same way about me.
but little does she know.
i've got a bushel of stories that'd knock the proud clean out of her.
which got me thinking even more.
what no good is my son up to anyway?
for now on, i'm proud with an opt out clause.
wind bag
so i asked the wind, hey wind, where ya going and what's the big hurry.
and the wind replied (get this), none of your beeswax! why don't ya mind your own p's and q's!
then i thought, ya know the next time i call some one a wind bag, i'm not gonna feel so guilty on account of speaking about the wind so derogatorily because frankly i'm beginning to see what they mean.
and the wind replied (get this), none of your beeswax! why don't ya mind your own p's and q's!
then i thought, ya know the next time i call some one a wind bag, i'm not gonna feel so guilty on account of speaking about the wind so derogatorily because frankly i'm beginning to see what they mean.
giving thanks
in the spirit of the holiday, I’d like to give thanks for the following:
bristol palin’s final dance
maps of madrid streets
macintosh apples
apple’s macintosh
the daily show, the iron chef, the wire
words, phrases, sentences and other writing parts
the funny and the thoughtful
immaturity
my blogging friends
a great son
a great pseudo-step-daughter (and her pretty good boyfriend i guess)
a great pseudo-step-yellow-lab
a wildly entertaining intact crane family
reading glasses
barack obama
chardonnay grapes and smuttynose ipa
meaty vegetables
defrosted pork chops
the real possibility of a published book
and last but really first, keaton, whom i’m beginning to suspect will become a famous mermaid some day, and i’ll be able to tell people i knew her, albeit when she was burdened by legs, air and land.
i think that pretty much covers it for this year.
so take a moment and let me know what you are thankful for!
bristol palin’s final dance
maps of madrid streets
macintosh apples
apple’s macintosh
the daily show, the iron chef, the wire
words, phrases, sentences and other writing parts
the funny and the thoughtful
immaturity
my blogging friends
a great son
a great pseudo-step-daughter (and her pretty good boyfriend i guess)
a great pseudo-step-yellow-lab
a wildly entertaining intact crane family
reading glasses
barack obama
chardonnay grapes and smuttynose ipa
meaty vegetables
defrosted pork chops
the real possibility of a published book
and last but really first, keaton, whom i’m beginning to suspect will become a famous mermaid some day, and i’ll be able to tell people i knew her, albeit when she was burdened by legs, air and land.
i think that pretty much covers it for this year.
so take a moment and let me know what you are thankful for!
a red tale
there is a giant maple tree that graces cranelegs pond, oh about ten yards from its northwest shore.
majestic is a word that comes to mind.
its limbs are perfectly shaped, although most likely fragile, but you’d never know it from the strength of its presence.
you see, it’s dead.
i know because in the heart of summer, it stands leafless, naked against a canopy of green.
if it were alive, you might imagine it to be in the desperate throes of failing chemo.
fragile and lifeless.
personally, i prefer to think of it as a natural monument to all that is good about the earth.
almost the sort of evidence a silly old agnostic like myself might need to jump aboard the god bandwagon.
almost.
and occasionally, as happened just yesterday, its stoic silhouette is broken by the dark bulge of my dear friend, the red-tail hawk, who perches at its top.
with a view down the sloping hilltop to the valley reservoir about three miles below, it is a perfect crow’s nest from which to spy unmindful rodents and rabbits carelessly busying themselves in the bony underbrush and open grass below.
it’s funny really.
the red-tail does nothing more than sharply swivel its head up, down and to either side—its body as rigid as a block of granite.
it has already sized me up many times over, then and several occasions prior.
meanwhile, i stand frozen, unaware of my own breathing, unaware of my own heart beating, unaware of my own existence.
i might just as well be a hare in the clutch of its talons, captive until released or destroyed.
then, without warning, two or three sudden propulsions from its canopy wings and there it is—the flash of its namesake, more orange than red really.
it rises quickly to glide effortlessly across the pond and down the hillside, darting between and maneuvering through trees with a grace and ease that leaves me shaking my head with only a broad smile, as awe will sometimes do to an otherwise self-indulged lout, such as myself.
it dips and rises and dips again, each accompanied by a single pump of its feathered span.
then it is gone, disappearing just over the shallow ridge to the south.
and just like that, i’m dropped.
on my head to be honest.
the impact snaps me to.
i realize i’m breathing, beating and existing again, like a spanked newborn except i'm way older and should know better.
soon the noise and tightening of all that is unimportant, but I have coddled important, comes roaring back.
i kick a nearby stone into the pond, take a parting look at the statuesque maple, pull my collar up and tuck my bare hands in from the heavy slate cold carried in the arms of the late autumn wind.
and i wish i could stay there forever, as i turn to leave for home.
majestic is a word that comes to mind.
its limbs are perfectly shaped, although most likely fragile, but you’d never know it from the strength of its presence.
you see, it’s dead.
i know because in the heart of summer, it stands leafless, naked against a canopy of green.
if it were alive, you might imagine it to be in the desperate throes of failing chemo.
fragile and lifeless.
personally, i prefer to think of it as a natural monument to all that is good about the earth.
almost the sort of evidence a silly old agnostic like myself might need to jump aboard the god bandwagon.
almost.
and occasionally, as happened just yesterday, its stoic silhouette is broken by the dark bulge of my dear friend, the red-tail hawk, who perches at its top.
with a view down the sloping hilltop to the valley reservoir about three miles below, it is a perfect crow’s nest from which to spy unmindful rodents and rabbits carelessly busying themselves in the bony underbrush and open grass below.
it’s funny really.
the red-tail does nothing more than sharply swivel its head up, down and to either side—its body as rigid as a block of granite.
it has already sized me up many times over, then and several occasions prior.
meanwhile, i stand frozen, unaware of my own breathing, unaware of my own heart beating, unaware of my own existence.
i might just as well be a hare in the clutch of its talons, captive until released or destroyed.
then, without warning, two or three sudden propulsions from its canopy wings and there it is—the flash of its namesake, more orange than red really.
it rises quickly to glide effortlessly across the pond and down the hillside, darting between and maneuvering through trees with a grace and ease that leaves me shaking my head with only a broad smile, as awe will sometimes do to an otherwise self-indulged lout, such as myself.
it dips and rises and dips again, each accompanied by a single pump of its feathered span.
then it is gone, disappearing just over the shallow ridge to the south.
and just like that, i’m dropped.
on my head to be honest.
the impact snaps me to.
i realize i’m breathing, beating and existing again, like a spanked newborn except i'm way older and should know better.
soon the noise and tightening of all that is unimportant, but I have coddled important, comes roaring back.
i kick a nearby stone into the pond, take a parting look at the statuesque maple, pull my collar up and tuck my bare hands in from the heavy slate cold carried in the arms of the late autumn wind.
and i wish i could stay there forever, as i turn to leave for home.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
it's a small world
i said, ya know benny it's a small world.
then benny said, yeah, well that might be but i still wouldn't want to rake it.
then benny said, yeah, well that might be but i still wouldn't want to rake it.
sour grapes
i had some grapes yesterday that were really sour, inedible to tell you the truth, but i didn't complain and ate them just the same because i knew that no matter what i said about them, it would probably sound like sour grapes.
Monday, November 22, 2010
runaway sock
i spotted a runaway sock on the side of the road today, crushed beyond recognition.
flat as a pancake—dead as a door nail.
from what little i could determine, it appeared to be yellow, possibly with red stripes running about its top.
i wondered if its partner, probably sequestered to and imprisoned in the single sock drawer for some time now, worried if its lover's brave break for freedom ever succeeded, and what it must be like on the outside.
free of pampering smelly, sweaty, crusty feet?
free of the weekly chemicals applied while packed in a chamber with the likes of underpants and g-strings, and alternately doused and drowned in cold and hot water?
free of the endless, dizzying, tumbling torture in crowded heat drums?
would its sole mate return soon, as in parting promise, to rescue it away to the found promised land, where the soiled, stodgy confines of shoes, sneakers and work boots would become nothing more than melted memories?
or possibly, after days in isolation with only the broken thoughts of other singles to go by, has it been fretting its own fate: a shoe buffer perhaps, a hand puppet possibly, a golf club cover most likely.
all outcomes worse than the humble existence it had while in the pedestrian bliss of pairdom.
then i thought, this is why i'm so much better off dreaming rather than doing, because doing always seems to get so messy. dreams? just change the endings.
oh well.
alas poor sock, may you rest now, knowing that your journey, so ever short, so ever final, will forever be comforting—and with any luck nature fresh.
flat as a pancake—dead as a door nail.
from what little i could determine, it appeared to be yellow, possibly with red stripes running about its top.
i wondered if its partner, probably sequestered to and imprisoned in the single sock drawer for some time now, worried if its lover's brave break for freedom ever succeeded, and what it must be like on the outside.
free of pampering smelly, sweaty, crusty feet?
free of the weekly chemicals applied while packed in a chamber with the likes of underpants and g-strings, and alternately doused and drowned in cold and hot water?
free of the endless, dizzying, tumbling torture in crowded heat drums?
would its sole mate return soon, as in parting promise, to rescue it away to the found promised land, where the soiled, stodgy confines of shoes, sneakers and work boots would become nothing more than melted memories?
or possibly, after days in isolation with only the broken thoughts of other singles to go by, has it been fretting its own fate: a shoe buffer perhaps, a hand puppet possibly, a golf club cover most likely.
all outcomes worse than the humble existence it had while in the pedestrian bliss of pairdom.
then i thought, this is why i'm so much better off dreaming rather than doing, because doing always seems to get so messy. dreams? just change the endings.
oh well.
alas poor sock, may you rest now, knowing that your journey, so ever short, so ever final, will forever be comforting—and with any luck nature fresh.
the madcap travel blog, entry 10: and the final travel jeopardy question is ...
well, i'm back.
in one piece.
for the most part.
just had a pint of plain, non-fat, greek yogurt to subdue the spanish inquisition goin' on in the bowels of my innards.
and you know what?
spanish inquisition is a pretty good way to put it since i just returned from spain.
"what is madrid, spain?" is another good way to put it, that is, if i were answering the final travel jeopardy question, which i guess i have to since no one around here seems to be very good at guessing bob travel destinations, even though i gave clues that sarah palin figured out, whose comments i deleted because of all the misspellings, which apparently got her all persnickety because i was like, "hey sarah, you have to spell spain right if you want to be my president some day", and she was all like, "oh, listen to mister eleetist who doesn't even know spane there is spelled the same as rane and plane because i know how the song goes, so maybe ya should read a book there bob before you go gettin' all eye brow ya know", and then i'm thinkin' that she must of meant "high brow" (another good reason to keep her away from washington) and that i don't need any of this because, as you can see by the picture below, i have my own problems, and so i just kept deleting her comments like there was no tomorrow, which i had a feeling this contest was gonna lead to anyway but i did it an account of itsmecissy likes guessing at things but i didn't think she'd be worse than palin for cryin' out loud there.
but enough of that already.
a pic from a small cafe window in segovia, spain, where the little piggies never quite make it all the way home.
and one last parting shot of my favorite hangout, where i waited like some sort of sicko pervert to offer little piglets candy in hopes of luring them to a boiling vat of cooking oil i concocted in the hotel bath tub like hannibal lechter with a pork fetish for chrissakes.
this is the sort of thing that concerns me quite frankly!
oh yeah, there are no winners to this contest.
just losers and sarah palin.
and this will not be repeated any time soon, i can tell ya that for sure!
in one piece.
for the most part.
just had a pint of plain, non-fat, greek yogurt to subdue the spanish inquisition goin' on in the bowels of my innards.
and you know what?
spanish inquisition is a pretty good way to put it since i just returned from spain.
"what is madrid, spain?" is another good way to put it, that is, if i were answering the final travel jeopardy question, which i guess i have to since no one around here seems to be very good at guessing bob travel destinations, even though i gave clues that sarah palin figured out, whose comments i deleted because of all the misspellings, which apparently got her all persnickety because i was like, "hey sarah, you have to spell spain right if you want to be my president some day", and she was all like, "oh, listen to mister eleetist who doesn't even know spane there is spelled the same as rane and plane because i know how the song goes, so maybe ya should read a book there bob before you go gettin' all eye brow ya know", and then i'm thinkin' that she must of meant "high brow" (another good reason to keep her away from washington) and that i don't need any of this because, as you can see by the picture below, i have my own problems, and so i just kept deleting her comments like there was no tomorrow, which i had a feeling this contest was gonna lead to anyway but i did it an account of itsmecissy likes guessing at things but i didn't think she'd be worse than palin for cryin' out loud there.
but enough of that already.
a pic from a small cafe window in segovia, spain, where the little piggies never quite make it all the way home.
and one last parting shot of my favorite hangout, where i waited like some sort of sicko pervert to offer little piglets candy in hopes of luring them to a boiling vat of cooking oil i concocted in the hotel bath tub like hannibal lechter with a pork fetish for chrissakes.
this is the sort of thing that concerns me quite frankly!
oh yeah, there are no winners to this contest.
just losers and sarah palin.
and this will not be repeated any time soon, i can tell ya that for sure!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
the madcap travel blog, entry 9: what a bunch of babies
no, i'm not talking about those who are throwing tantrums because they can't seem to guess where i am and would rather slander my pretty good name with wild claims of dupemanship.
no, i'm talking about the little baby piggies that fall off the bone when cooked slowly and correctly, crunchy skin and all.
and today i'm travelling north to the mecca of piglets, where vegatarians, such as keaton, chew quietly on gloppy, seasonal mushrooms, while i dig into babe with crazy delight.
no, i'm talking about the little baby piggies that fall off the bone when cooked slowly and correctly, crunchy skin and all.
and today i'm travelling north to the mecca of piglets, where vegatarians, such as keaton, chew quietly on gloppy, seasonal mushrooms, while i dig into babe with crazy delight.
Friday, November 19, 2010
circumventing thinking
if thinking just seems like a royal pain in the ass, the fastest way to circumvent it is to hold faith as fact, define patriotism as yours, and confuse both with knowledge.
the madcap travel blog, entry 8: too much caboose
well, it happened.
i was grabbing too much caboose even for these folks, when i was stormed by what i thought were just a bunch of tourists from russia.
i tried to tell them one liners like, you know, "if it's good news, it must be someone else's", but they'd have none of it.
nothin' for nothin', i'm a little concerned.
these guys are a surly bunch.
anyway, keaton snapped this as i was escorted to a plainclothes car.
i was grabbing too much caboose even for these folks, when i was stormed by what i thought were just a bunch of tourists from russia.
i tried to tell them one liners like, you know, "if it's good news, it must be someone else's", but they'd have none of it.
nothin' for nothin', i'm a little concerned.
these guys are a surly bunch.
anyway, keaton snapped this as i was escorted to a plainclothes car.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
the madcap travel blog, entry 7: smooch capital of the world
they supposedly smooch every where in this city but so far they're making out just in front of me.
and when they smooch they grab on to the caboose like it's a runaway train.
it's nauseating.
even keaton's joining the act, as she insists on fighting back.
now i'm not complaining or nothing, but i'm not what you call a natural born, public pucker-upper.
besides, these lip lockers are half our age, to which keaton responds by kissing me twice as long, caboose clutched and all.
the whole thing has me a little unglued quite honestly.
and when they smooch they grab on to the caboose like it's a runaway train.
it's nauseating.
even keaton's joining the act, as she insists on fighting back.
now i'm not complaining or nothing, but i'm not what you call a natural born, public pucker-upper.
besides, these lip lockers are half our age, to which keaton responds by kissing me twice as long, caboose clutched and all.
the whole thing has me a little unglued quite honestly.
the madcap travel blog, entry 6: a picture hint!
okay i'm reluctant to show this picture because i might just as well put it in the form of a question and win the contest myself.
i will say this though, if ever there was an antonym for cranelegs pond the place, this joint could be one for sure.
i will say this though, if ever there was an antonym for cranelegs pond the place, this joint could be one for sure.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
the madcap travel blog, entry 5: when the going gets tough ...
if i were to sum up the national character of this country, i'd say it this way: "when the going gets tough, the tough eat tough ham and everyone drinks red wine."
there are tough times here.
another eu country on the brink.
not as bad as ireland or greece, but not much better.
you'd never guess it from the food and drink and general goings-on though.
i'm actually starting to believe apartments and houses don't normally come with kitchens or even toaster ovens for that matter.
it's the strangest thing really.
there are tough times here.
another eu country on the brink.
not as bad as ireland or greece, but not much better.
you'd never guess it from the food and drink and general goings-on though.
i'm actually starting to believe apartments and houses don't normally come with kitchens or even toaster ovens for that matter.
it's the strangest thing really.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
the madcap travel blog, entry 4: early dinner reservation - 9PM
i was warned amply, "these people eat dinner late".
i thought keaton just was just funning with me, you know, having a few laughs at the expense of my limited travel experience.
she does that you know.
but she wasn't kidding.
these people eat late, they eat a lot, and they love their wine.
and frankly, they're killing me.
my intestines are on the fritz and i'm only four days in with six to go.
at this rate, i'll be pushin' up daisies by thursday.
my only saving grace is that i'm walking an average of six miles a day, during which i'm completely lost for five of them.
i even have three maps, one of which is the actual size of the city (one kilometer equals one kilometer).
they are no good.
i think they're bogus.
i think they are to middleearth or some place like that.
mainly because i don't recognize a word on them.
oh damn!
i gotta go.
it's my fritzy intestines tellin' me i better get to the toilet.
what the heck?
with all that walking, my feet could use a good washin' anyhow.
i thought keaton just was just funning with me, you know, having a few laughs at the expense of my limited travel experience.
she does that you know.
but she wasn't kidding.
these people eat late, they eat a lot, and they love their wine.
and frankly, they're killing me.
my intestines are on the fritz and i'm only four days in with six to go.
at this rate, i'll be pushin' up daisies by thursday.
my only saving grace is that i'm walking an average of six miles a day, during which i'm completely lost for five of them.
i even have three maps, one of which is the actual size of the city (one kilometer equals one kilometer).
they are no good.
i think they're bogus.
i think they are to middleearth or some place like that.
mainly because i don't recognize a word on them.
oh damn!
i gotta go.
it's my fritzy intestines tellin' me i better get to the toilet.
what the heck?
with all that walking, my feet could use a good washin' anyhow.
Friday, November 12, 2010
the madcap travel blog , entry 3: more than one woman observation
keaton's travel business team is all female: one from puerto rico, one from the uk, three from the states.
i had the pleasure of joining them last night for after business dining.
if anything, it gave me a chance to witness feminine horseplay close-up.
casual observation: women, when in packs of more than one, are weird. period!
i had the pleasure of joining them last night for after business dining.
if anything, it gave me a chance to witness feminine horseplay close-up.
casual observation: women, when in packs of more than one, are weird. period!
the madcap travel blog, entry 2: the language
wow, these people have a different sounding word for everything.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
the madcap travel blog, entry 1: cool feet washin' sinks
okay this is travelling stuff is eye-opening.
right next to the toilet is this strange little sink which i have pretty much figured out is for washing my feet.
i don't know what keaton is using it for, but i suspect she might have it all wrong.
don't have the heart to tell her though.
the embarrassment!
it doesn't matter anyway, because my feet haven't smelled so good since i spilled a bucket of spic and span on them back in '83.
thinkin' of askin' for one of these for christmas is all i can say.
right next to the toilet is this strange little sink which i have pretty much figured out is for washing my feet.
i don't know what keaton is using it for, but i suspect she might have it all wrong.
don't have the heart to tell her though.
the embarrassment!
it doesn't matter anyway, because my feet haven't smelled so good since i spilled a bucket of spic and span on them back in '83.
thinkin' of askin' for one of these for christmas is all i can say.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
cranelegs travels across the pond!
oh baby!
in twelve hours i'm leaving on a jet plane.
going across the pond.
accompanying keaton on a rather extended business trip.
so i will be left alone, days on end, in a city where english will be tough to use meaningfully, and where i suspect my four years of latin will have limited impact.
in other words, i'm certain an international incident is quite possible whenever i step outside the hotel.
here's the best part.
i'm not saying where.
you'll have to stay tuned, and you'll have to guess—you only get one!
and your answer must be in the form of a question, for example, "what is munich, argentina?".
think of it as international final jeopardy, subject: city in peril, and i'm vanna white (or whoever the guy is).
and the prize?
the first person who guesses right will get an autographed book from yours truly, which if i'm very lucky will be from a real publisher (another long story i will tell one day after i get the final decision soon; don't want to put the whammy on it).
if i'm not lucky, a signed photo of me with really spectacularly dressed authorities might be something folks would treasure.
we'll see.
keep your collective fingers crossed on the publishing deal.
anyway, how about them apples?
here's a little hint to get the jeopardy juices flowing: "boy the atlantic has a lot of water. maybe we should have taken a boat of some sort."
good luck!
in twelve hours i'm leaving on a jet plane.
going across the pond.
accompanying keaton on a rather extended business trip.
so i will be left alone, days on end, in a city where english will be tough to use meaningfully, and where i suspect my four years of latin will have limited impact.
in other words, i'm certain an international incident is quite possible whenever i step outside the hotel.
here's the best part.
i'm not saying where.
you'll have to stay tuned, and you'll have to guess—you only get one!
and your answer must be in the form of a question, for example, "what is munich, argentina?".
think of it as international final jeopardy, subject: city in peril, and i'm vanna white (or whoever the guy is).
and the prize?
the first person who guesses right will get an autographed book from yours truly, which if i'm very lucky will be from a real publisher (another long story i will tell one day after i get the final decision soon; don't want to put the whammy on it).
if i'm not lucky, a signed photo of me with really spectacularly dressed authorities might be something folks would treasure.
we'll see.
keep your collective fingers crossed on the publishing deal.
anyway, how about them apples?
here's a little hint to get the jeopardy juices flowing: "boy the atlantic has a lot of water. maybe we should have taken a boat of some sort."
good luck!
tenure heebie-jeebies and cause-and-effect
when i was in fifth grade, mr. rice told us, as we were leaving on a fall friday afternoon for what should have been a good weekend of mischief night planning, that there would be no school next week or ever because the russians were going to rain nuclear missiles from cuba upon our town and the neighboring vicinity and that curling up in a ball in the basement, as practiced a hundred times that month in the school gym, would only provide temporary relief. then he shook each of our hands as we filed out the door.
when i hear the word tenure, i get the heebie-jeebies.
i think this is a good example of cause and effect.
when i hear the word tenure, i get the heebie-jeebies.
i think this is a good example of cause and effect.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
(30 second sitcoms) love stuff at four in the morning
keaton turns her light on and taps bob's shoulder.
keaton rubs her hand through bob's cowlick hair.
keaton
hey are you awake? i think our monetary system is collapsing, young women are being trafficked by the truckloads for sex, and we use too much electricity. we need to talk about what we're going to do.
bob
(half asleep)
but it’s four in the morning.
keaton rubs her hand through bob's cowlick hair.
keaton
that’s what i love about you. you’re willing to listen to me anytime.
bob
ya know, sometimes this love stuff is highly overrated.
this is why i do this
sometimes i feel like i'm banging my head against the wall with all this blogging, as my dreams of power, fame and witty exchanges with letterman and oprah seem like lifeless fireflies, dead from the icy swat of winter's stark, soulless hand.
then i get an email like the one below from little sally from brandon, vermont:
"mr. bob, i just want to thank you very much for making my day a little brighter because you make my stepmommy laugh almost every day and she has been so sad lately and when she is sad she is so mean to me. i don't know who you are but maybe you could marry my real mommy when she gets out of the special building she is in. it has bars is all i know. i guess that is pretty neat though. i wrote her a letter telling her about you and my plan. i think she will like you very much. also, don't forget, she is a good cook. probably better than keaton. i think you would make a funny daddy and i could bring you into school and you could make the kids stop laughing at me because they would laugh at you. that would be very good. anyway please thank you."
folks it's emails like little sally's that keep me going.
even if i didn't get one from little sally.
even if the one above is like the one i would get from little sally, if her stepmommy would ever read this blog.
even if it was completely made-up because i really don't know who little sally is, how little sally is doing, or if little sally even lives in brandon, vermont for chrissakes.
but it's the idea that maybe there are little sally's out there.
that maybe my email system is broken something fierce.
that maybe that's why the little sallys of the brandon, vermonts can't tell me what a difference i make in their otherwise miserable lives.
that then, and only then, would i think this is all worth it.
nah ...
i'm just losing my grip.
that's all.
not too different from the way wilbert pendergotts across the way kinda lost his grip after he got hit upside the head with a bolt of lightning.
in my case, probably from all the wall head banging, if i were the venturing-a-guess sort.
then i get an email like the one below from little sally from brandon, vermont:
"mr. bob, i just want to thank you very much for making my day a little brighter because you make my stepmommy laugh almost every day and she has been so sad lately and when she is sad she is so mean to me. i don't know who you are but maybe you could marry my real mommy when she gets out of the special building she is in. it has bars is all i know. i guess that is pretty neat though. i wrote her a letter telling her about you and my plan. i think she will like you very much. also, don't forget, she is a good cook. probably better than keaton. i think you would make a funny daddy and i could bring you into school and you could make the kids stop laughing at me because they would laugh at you. that would be very good. anyway please thank you."
folks it's emails like little sally's that keep me going.
even if i didn't get one from little sally.
even if the one above is like the one i would get from little sally, if her stepmommy would ever read this blog.
even if it was completely made-up because i really don't know who little sally is, how little sally is doing, or if little sally even lives in brandon, vermont for chrissakes.
but it's the idea that maybe there are little sally's out there.
that maybe my email system is broken something fierce.
that maybe that's why the little sallys of the brandon, vermonts can't tell me what a difference i make in their otherwise miserable lives.
that then, and only then, would i think this is all worth it.
nah ...
i'm just losing my grip.
that's all.
not too different from the way wilbert pendergotts across the way kinda lost his grip after he got hit upside the head with a bolt of lightning.
in my case, probably from all the wall head banging, if i were the venturing-a-guess sort.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
what was the big hurry?
when i was small, i couldn't wait to grow as tall as my dad so i could see what was going on on top of the refrigerator.
i had my suspicion there was plenty of cool, grown-up stuff i was missin' out on.
but as soon as i was tall enough, i realized i had been duped once again.
there was nothing but grime up there and it would be my job to clean it.
if i had known that, i wouldn't have been in such a big rush to grow up, that's for sure.
and do you think i passed this important lesson on to my own son?
do snails snore?
i would submit, "not"!
i had my suspicion there was plenty of cool, grown-up stuff i was missin' out on.
but as soon as i was tall enough, i realized i had been duped once again.
there was nothing but grime up there and it would be my job to clean it.
if i had known that, i wouldn't have been in such a big rush to grow up, that's for sure.
and do you think i passed this important lesson on to my own son?
do snails snore?
i would submit, "not"!
running out of time
i've noticed recently that i've been complaining more and more.
i think it's because i'm running out of time and have finally realized that being affable all these years got me nowhere.
and to think "affable" was one of those so-called "word power" words from high school that would get me into college.
i think it's because i'm running out of time and have finally realized that being affable all these years got me nowhere.
and to think "affable" was one of those so-called "word power" words from high school that would get me into college.
as good a time as any
i said, hey andy what do you want to drink?
andy said, i'll take a bottle of pop, if you don't mind.
i said, a bottle of of what?
andy said, pop, if it wouldn't be too much trouble.
and i said, what are you from the heartland all of a sudden? that's how they talk there but we're in jersey in case ya didn't know.
and andy said, well i've decided i want to vacation in decatur city, iowa and figured this is as good a time as any to start practicing the language—besides i don't want to come across as just another ugly jerseyan.
andy said, i'll take a bottle of pop, if you don't mind.
i said, a bottle of of what?
andy said, pop, if it wouldn't be too much trouble.
and i said, what are you from the heartland all of a sudden? that's how they talk there but we're in jersey in case ya didn't know.
and andy said, well i've decided i want to vacation in decatur city, iowa and figured this is as good a time as any to start practicing the language—besides i don't want to come across as just another ugly jerseyan.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
can't be a viking
as much as i'd love to, i could never be a viking.
the guilt from a good day of plundering would keep me awake at night for sure.
i mean, i'm still haunted by the time i plundered old man dingley's front yard, just up the road a bit, with garbage on mischief night.
and that was like, what, a week ago?
i'm afraid going full metal nordic is completely out of the question.
the guilt from a good day of plundering would keep me awake at night for sure.
i mean, i'm still haunted by the time i plundered old man dingley's front yard, just up the road a bit, with garbage on mischief night.
and that was like, what, a week ago?
i'm afraid going full metal nordic is completely out of the question.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
(from the blook) 121. afterlife
if afterlife is anything like afterbirth, i suspect some people are in for the shock of their dead lives.
(from two years ago) 745. brian andreas goes video
the inspiration to find my voice and write what i write came from stumbling upon a most remarkable artist, philosopher, storyteller, truth revealer, and humorist.
his name is brian andreas.
recently, i discovered his short videos.
the following is an example. i hope you enjoy. if so, visit his website: brian andreas - story people
his name is brian andreas.
recently, i discovered his short videos.
the following is an example. i hope you enjoy. if so, visit his website: brian andreas - story people
461. jogging my memory
when someone asks me something i should know the answer to but i can’t recall, i imagine taking a leisurely run hoping beyond hope it will somehow jog my memory.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
a feeling i hate
it just happened recently and i'm still not quite over it.
you know when you just get through with a rather productive potty session and you go for the toilet paper, but the roll is empty, and the backup is gone as well, and the closest replacement is in the linen closet down the hall, but the nearest human to help out is seventeen miles away, and the labrador retriever sleeping just outside the bathroom door really should be called a labrador retrieve-it-your-damn-selfer.
so you have no choice but to stand up ever so gingerly and shuffle as if in ankle shackles to the other side of the house.
but as you straighten up, there is a weird smush sensation between the buttock cheeks that can mean only one thing?
yeah, that feeling.
i really, really, really hate it.
you know when you just get through with a rather productive potty session and you go for the toilet paper, but the roll is empty, and the backup is gone as well, and the closest replacement is in the linen closet down the hall, but the nearest human to help out is seventeen miles away, and the labrador retriever sleeping just outside the bathroom door really should be called a labrador retrieve-it-your-damn-selfer.
so you have no choice but to stand up ever so gingerly and shuffle as if in ankle shackles to the other side of the house.
but as you straighten up, there is a weird smush sensation between the buttock cheeks that can mean only one thing?
yeah, that feeling.
i really, really, really hate it.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
purple jonny
when i was a young pup, oh about six, my best friend was "purple jonny".
he was what i'd call a kid of color today.
back in 1958 i just called him purple jonny.
he called me, "bobby bird".
in the heat of the summer we used to hang out by the back of my garage and weather the slow, heavy days by eating small stones, while chitchatting about mays versus mantle and the best ways to stay awake during sunday sermons.
that is until the day when old man stechler told us to leave because he didn't much care for any jungle bunny being so near his garden.
so we went to purple jonny's backyard, a broken down slab of some sort, where we pretty much carried on the same way, although i'd have to admit, i always thought of his cement chips as a delicacy.
that is until purple jonny's auntie carolina, who lived next door to him, yelled at us to leave because "that little white cracker is disturbing my peace of mind".
so purple jonny and i played the rest of the summer in the concrete brook that divided our two neighborhoods.
it turned out to be better there in the long run on account of the eats being plentiful, besides, it got us away from all those adults speaking nutty talk to us with all that jungle bunny and white cracker stuff!
what were they jabbering about anyway?
crazy speak to us.
no different from listening to weird jimmy wagner, who we'd occasionally spy on from atop old man stechler's garage roof, when jimmy's parents would put him out like the family dog to roam around their fenced in backyard.
that poor jimmy just strode himself in circles until he wore a dirt path through all that crabgrass, speaking in tongues most all the time—not a whole lot different from stechler and carolina as far as we were concerned.
even with all the distractions, that turned out to be a pretty good summer.
late that august though, before my serious schooling started, i moved away no more than a half mile as a schwinn rides, but far enough to knock the living daylights out of the color purple from any people i would come to meet for sure.
needless to say, i never saw purple jonny again.
sometimes though i wonder where my good old friend might be, and i think it would be fun to catch up with him today.
i even have some primo stones to chew on should the occasion ever occur.
plus i'm sure i'd be able to convince him mays turned out to be better.
not positive, but i might even call him purple.
regardless, hope he calls me bobby bird.
haven't heard that in a long time.
he was what i'd call a kid of color today.
back in 1958 i just called him purple jonny.
he called me, "bobby bird".
in the heat of the summer we used to hang out by the back of my garage and weather the slow, heavy days by eating small stones, while chitchatting about mays versus mantle and the best ways to stay awake during sunday sermons.
that is until the day when old man stechler told us to leave because he didn't much care for any jungle bunny being so near his garden.
so we went to purple jonny's backyard, a broken down slab of some sort, where we pretty much carried on the same way, although i'd have to admit, i always thought of his cement chips as a delicacy.
that is until purple jonny's auntie carolina, who lived next door to him, yelled at us to leave because "that little white cracker is disturbing my peace of mind".
so purple jonny and i played the rest of the summer in the concrete brook that divided our two neighborhoods.
it turned out to be better there in the long run on account of the eats being plentiful, besides, it got us away from all those adults speaking nutty talk to us with all that jungle bunny and white cracker stuff!
what were they jabbering about anyway?
crazy speak to us.
no different from listening to weird jimmy wagner, who we'd occasionally spy on from atop old man stechler's garage roof, when jimmy's parents would put him out like the family dog to roam around their fenced in backyard.
that poor jimmy just strode himself in circles until he wore a dirt path through all that crabgrass, speaking in tongues most all the time—not a whole lot different from stechler and carolina as far as we were concerned.
even with all the distractions, that turned out to be a pretty good summer.
late that august though, before my serious schooling started, i moved away no more than a half mile as a schwinn rides, but far enough to knock the living daylights out of the color purple from any people i would come to meet for sure.
needless to say, i never saw purple jonny again.
sometimes though i wonder where my good old friend might be, and i think it would be fun to catch up with him today.
i even have some primo stones to chew on should the occasion ever occur.
plus i'm sure i'd be able to convince him mays turned out to be better.
not positive, but i might even call him purple.
regardless, hope he calls me bobby bird.
haven't heard that in a long time.
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