September 29, 2005

A Hag of a Different Color

Psychological therapy – those who probably need it the most can’t afford it and those who need it the least probably misunderstand the whole concept anyway.

I’ve had a particularly bad day. I would like very much to pick up the phone and engage a psychological counselor today. I won’t. After having been involved years ago in an emotional workout of sorts, the one thing that resounds in my head at the bottom of each session was “Well, our time is up, how does Tuesday look for you?”

It didn’t matter if I was near catatonic at that point or completely awash of hot, briny tears …when time was up, time was just plain up. It’s difficult to neatly squeeze into one fifty-minute session a) things you’ve kept buried beneath your skin for a half a lifetime in the name of remaining socially acceptable, and b) things that will undoubtedly create a profound need for at least two more consecutive fifty-minute sessions just so that you can compose yourself enough to drive home.

Since I don’t wish to be silenced in such an icy cold manner, I’ll hold my own little session here – in blog format. When I’m done, I’ll let YOU know, how’s that?

Blank WP page: What would you like to talk about today, Hag?
WH: Today, I’m miserable. I’m not sure where to begin. For starters, everyone hates me, okay maybe that’s a bit harsh, but I’m so completely hate-able that it amazes even me.

BWPP: Hate? That’s a strong word. Can you elaborate?
WH: Of course, I can. But just for the record, before I’m through even you will probably find cause to hate me. Fair warning.

BWPP: Even me? I doubt that, please continue.
WH: I smoke. Everyone hates smokers. Except other smokers of course, who I suppose are all to be considered useless murderers as well, so there’s that. They all hate me because I smoke.
BWPP: Well I don’t see that as hate, really. It’s probably more like disgust or anger, don’t you think?
WH: Oh and that’s supposed to make me feel a whole lot better? So you’re saying they are disgusted by me and rather than going for anger management or hey, just ignoring my smoking ass, they’ll just be permitted to bombard me with their double-barrel, righteous and often rude bullshit as IF I haven’t heard it all before … as IF it’s going to make a difference. See where I’m going with this? But it’s not just the smoking.

BWPP: Hmm. I’d like to come back to the smoking issue, but go on.
WH: I drive an SUV. Need I say more?
BWPP: Well … no.
WH: Well I’m going to. I drive it roughly once a week to a grocery store, but do they bother to even get to know that? No. They need somebody to hate and I’m pick of the liter.
BWPP: That’s probably just frustration on their parts … you know, concern for the environment, concern over gas and economy, that sort of thing – not really “hate.”
WH: Stop trying to sugarcoat things. I’m big on words. I pay close attention to words. People HATE SUV owners/drivers and that’s all there is to it. And they hate us because, basically, they’re told they should; stupid can’t-think-for-themselves, ignorant and arrogant asses.

BWPP: Okay, we can come back to this also. Why else would people hate you?

WH: I’m overweight. Not obese, but overweight. The only ones who don't hate me for this are other folks of too much weight. Again, I’m a full fledged member of a club nobody wants to be part of … it hasn’t gotten to the point where they stop and stare, but I read things. I listen. I hear their message loud and clear, “You’re a chunk butt so you suck.”
BWPP: I’m not sure that’s entirely fair. I think most people are just concerned about your health.
WH: I’m not paying them to be concerned about my fucking health.
But that’s not all.

BWPP: What more could there be?
WH: I’m wishy washy about politics.
BWPP: I, for one, love you for that!
WH: Thank you, but most see me as part of “the problem.” I don’t stand up and fight and speak in loud tones about awful political situations – I sit back quietly and observe and wonder who will resolve them, if ever? People hate that crap.
BWPP: No, I won’t give you that one. Many, many people just sit back silently and never take an active stand. You do vote, don’t you?
WH: When there’s someone decent to vote for, sure. It’s just that there so rarely is. Can we move on? I’m feeling sexually harassed, but without the sexual part. I’m uncomfortable.

BWPP: Sure. There can’t be much more though, right?
WH: I had a child out of wedlock, I’ve been married three times, I quit high school in the second year, I refuse to jump on the accusation bandwagon where Jacko is concerned, I used to be a vegetarian and they hated me for that. Now I eat meat and they hate me for that. I listen to … hold onto your seat … I love jazz and funky music – I even like certain types of rap, I’m disorganized, I’m forgetful, I was born in New York City, maintain much of the accent, and my dearest friend left on this earth, aside from my daughter and Ed, is a well educated, amazingly articulate black woman straight out of Harlem. Um, wait … I’m sure there’s something else…
BWPP: I don’t think any of that stuff is reason for anyone to hate you.
WH: Neither do I. But they do. Someone out there, maybe even someone reading this session right now is wishing at least one of those things wasn’t so. Hell, you probably do too.

BWPP: Well again Hag, I think it comes down to anger, frustration, misunderstanding; perhaps just ethnic, religious or well, social differences, that’s all. I don’t think it has much to do with hate at all.
WH: So you’re saying I’m wrong then? All washed up? A total screwball? A freaking nutjob? You think I haven’t lived long enough to read through all that stuff you just went on about? It’s hatred I tell you – hatred. I’m just feeling so – grrrr – hateful about this.

BWPP: AaaHA. I think I hear you saying that YOU are the hateful one. Is that so?
WH: Kiss my ass.
BWPP: I think we’re making progress here.
WH: Progress THIS you bastard (flips bird at computer screen).
BWPP: This is SO unlike the usual Hag I hear from so often. You’re swearing more today than ever before. Interesting. It’s another whole side of you that rarely emerges. Why do you think that is?
WH: pauses to take it all in and consider the possibility
WH: twitches in seat
WH: plays with hair … curls it around finger
WH: thinks – crosses one leg over the other

WH: Maybe I just don’t want people to hate me. Maybe that’s why I don’t unleash the beast very often.
BWPP: Oh but you claim people hate you anyway? Even when you’re nicey nice and sweet and proper?
WH: So what’s your point?
BWPP: I don’t know. What’s yours?
WH: I don’t know. Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?
BWPP: But this was a free session.
WH: Point taken. Well, at least I feel better.
BWPP: How so?
WH: Maybe “better” isn’t the right word … I feel more comfy in my yucky, disgusting, disagreeable, unattractive, out-of-the-ordinary, under-educated, non-political, overly sensitive skin. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
BWPP: Good then, so today was a success.
WH: So what are you trying to say? You wanna make something of it? You wanna take this outside? You want a piece of me too?

My time is up. How does a week from today sound to you?

September 24, 2005

Products You Too Can Live Without

Every now and then I get a kick out of thumbing through those junk mail catalogs in which everything costs between $2.99 and $19.99 ($30 shipping and handling). The mailman brings them on occasion to remind us how lucky we are to have an IQ over 40. Yesterday, while flipping the pages and snickering out loud, I thought how nice it might be to share some of these products with those who are nice enough to come here. If you’d like to order any of these products, please let me know so I can send you the address and promptly remove you from my blogroll.

I’ve changed the item names so that I don’t get hauled into court. Of course, I could always counter-sue on grounds of mental cruelty based on the hours I spent trying to figure out who actually buys this stuff.

The Rack n’ Roll

This is a bad idea on two levels. Firstly, if I were so inclined to have powder blue tiles on my bathroom walls (which I’m not), the last color I’d choose for toilet paper would be baby-girl pink. This combo looks great on an infant’s rattle or woven into a crib blanket – it even comes in handy on gift wrap for a baby shower, but unless you want your guests to have a seizure, go with either white tiles or white TP. Please.

Secondly, I don’t think I want my guests to know how many rolls are left. If I owned this TP rack, I’d just keep one spare in it at all times and hide the rest. Otherwise there’s no telling what sort of personal cleansing frenzy the toity-users might enjoy ~ on my dime.

The Doggie-Brella

The only thing remotely cute about this product is the beagle. Look, they’ve already got us scraping poops off the lawn and toting them around in a Ziploc, praying not to run into anyone we know. It’s hard to look or sound intelligent and cool while you’re holding a bag of Fluffy's shattings. I’ll be damned in hell before I’m going to hold my dog’s umbrella for him. I love dogs, but how servile do you really want me to be?

Hair Be-Here

This product claims to make your hair longer and thicker. They even provide an image. I have no need for such an item, so I don’t have the tube handy to read all the fine print ~ but I’ll bet we can assume it doesn’t mention that it will take about four years to see results. Get it? Psssst … YOUR HAIR WILL GROW THAT MUCH ALL BY ITSELF IN THAT MUCH TIME ! Save your money and eat lots of dried kale and dumpling soup instead. (I base that on absolutely nothing – just like the folks who made this product)


Incase you can’t read this it says “Totally Nude Aerobics.” Gee, now there’s a concept. Either they want me to believe that I need “help” to figure out how to workout in the raw, or they’re flat out pushing man-dreams in a sugar coated package. Why do I need a video to teach me how to do crunches in the nude? And furthermore, is there really any special benefit to this? I neither look like the girl on the box nor feel like the girl on the box; I could workout every day for the next six years and I never WILL look like the girl on the box. Good lord in heaven, the last thing my china closet needs is for my baggage to be jiggling without constraint in a sweaty workout session. The thing is, if I want to experience totally nude aerobics, I could pop in any exercise tape and simply remove my clothes. I don’t need a twenty two year old never-owned-an-inch-of-fat chippie to show me how. If it’s the “other” type of workout they’re leaning toward, I don’t need help in that area either, thanks.

The Turn-a-butt

Now this item is precious. It’s a swivel action seat for those who have trouble getting into and out of cars. Call me stupid, but isn’t this just a brown paper version of the Lazy Susan? I can hear it now … “What’s that you say? Granny’s having a bit of trouble with the hip pivot? I know! Let’s plop her onto a Lazy Susan and see if that doesn’t make her feel good as new.” This gives all new meaning to the phrase “Let’s go for a spin around the city.” Maybe they should just call this the Lazy Granny and get it over with.

The Lazy Snowman

To further prove my point on the Lazy Granny, I offer you the Lazy Susan Snowman variation. Note the similarities between this and the previous product (action arrows). Remove the pepper and ketchup and toss that baby in the car… I’m sure grandma will get a real thrill sitting on this little doozie. On second thought … never mind. That’s just wrong. Just plain wrong.

The Swivel-Ciser

Looky here! Just when you thought it was safe to store away your Lazy Granny/Susan/Snowman, yet another use comes to light. You can tone up your waistline with this nifty item, and apparently it’s so much fun you will smile the whole time. Seems it would be easy enough to just duct tape some rope and handles to your Lazy Granny/Susan/Snowman and off you go!

Now if only I could find a darned video that would show me how to do this one in the nude.

September 19, 2005


I saw a commercial on television yesterday. A very pretty lady was pushing prescription medication for treatment of “dry eye.” She claimed, “You could have dry eye and not even know it … like I did.” I’m just going to hazard a guess that if we don’t know we have something, it can’t be bothersome enough for us to use a prescription drug. I wondered for a moment if I should just head to the doctor’s office every time I see a new advertisement? I changed the channel instead; it was cheaper.

Another commercial insults my intelligence too ~ apparently if a man over forty grows a salt and pepper beard, he will completely repulse any good looking woman. The good news ~ if he dyes his beard, he’ll probably get lucky. Does anyone with half a brain actually believe this crock of crap? And even if it were half true, wouldn’t it be cheaper to just shave the thing off, get some, then grow it back in hopes to meet someone who isn’t quite so shallow?

Never approach a Spanish speaking person with a question. Even if you’ve studied the language for five years, the rate of speed with which they respond may leave you with your jaw hanging open and the “oh crap it’s time to translate” receptor in your brain fried beyond help. Surely they do it to show off. (I’m just joking) (Or am I?)

House and auto alarms aren’t really a deterrent to thievery. People in the neighborhood just figure it was the wind and they spend the next thirty minutes cursing you out for allowing it to sound for so long. To burglars, the constant sounding of a house alarm is just further assurance that nobody’s home.

I like the “hi, how are you” line that most folks greet one another with in the U.S.A. It’s comfy and convenient. People screw me up all the time when they go and get creative, greeting me with “Hi, what’s new with you?” That one forces me to contemplate. The “hi, how are you” can be addressed quite simply with a “good, and you?” And it’s okay if it’s a lie, because nobody really pays much attention to the response anyway.

There is a certain type of wild mushroom (the amanita) that is so highly poisonous you could die within minutes of ingesting one cap. For this reason, mushrooms are the only food I will never buy in a natural food store. A sound-byte in my brain always tells me “what if they dug up the wrong kind?”

Speaking of mushrooms, I wonder how many people won’t eat them just because they grow in shit. If you stop to think about it, we all started out growing in a mix of our own waste.

I wish I could write brilliant poetry. If you can write brilliant poetry, you can also sing but don’t really require a voice. Case in point: Bob Dylan. Bobby could get up on stage and hum “Like a Rolling Stone” while chewing on sandpaper and his audience - oh, wait a minute, that’s pretty much what he does do.

Burger King really spoiled it for prom queens, beauty queens and anyone of true blueblood royalty. Anytime I see a crown now, I picture that twisted, plastic headed company spokesthing peering into a bedroom window. It doesn’t matter how pretty, how talented or how prestigious they are anymore; in my mind’s eye, if someone’s sporting a crown, they’re promoting greasy burgers and flat soda.

I miss childhood, but certain things just make me thankful to have moved beyond it. For instance, having learned and sung songs like “Rub a dub dub, three men in a tub.” That’s just plain disturbing.

I was fishing with a friend once and he caught a young large mouth bass that had half-swallowed the minnow bait. When my friend removed the minnow, it swam off happily. The bass didn’t fare as well and lie floating on the lake surface. I love that sort of irony. I meant to say if you’re easily offended by all-things-fishing ~ look away. Too late.

What’s with all the suing? People should have to pay the lawyer up front when they retain one for a flimsy lawsuit. That would free up the courts some. And why don’t grocery stores just post one of those disclaimer signs up front that reads, “This store is not responsible for slippery floors, falling produce, sharply edged canned goods or anything else that might send you off to an attorney in hopes of winning a lawsuit lottery.” Wouldn’t that let them off the hook?

When people fart in front of others, they immediately have one of two reactions; great elation or utter horror ~ depending upon the situation. Fart-indifference only seems to happen when one is completely alone.

I used to think the sky was a dome covering the earth. The stars were tiny little holes – imperfections. Little did I realize the rest of the universe is so wondrous and that all things in nature are fine tuned and filled with purpose; that WE are the imperfections.

September 12, 2005

Don't Take Me For a Ride

I don't care much for amusement park rides. I used to, as a very young girl, but they don't agree with my current hag-status.

While attending a great little country fair this weekend, I believe I figured out what the problem is. The adult rides today are clearly created for people who don't mind temporarily losing their minds, possibly their stomach contents, and occasionally - as proven over and over every summer - their very lives. Since I'm not up for any of the above, I bow out gracefully from this mode of entertainment.

Let's go back to my beginnings to put this into the correct perspective.

As mentioned in prior writings, my dad frequently took my three sisters and me to amusements parks on weekends. I remember eagerly anticipating this activity every single time he announced where we were headed. We'd load into the car ... busily arguing over who gets the window seats ... and drive, sometimes for hours in traffic, to our destination.

The parks that most stand out in my mind were places like Uncle Milty's in Bayonne NJ, Palisades Park (also in NJ), Asbury Park (NJ), Coney Island in Brooklyn, Freedomland (which was way ahead of its time) in the Bronx, and Rye Beach, NY.

Rides that I loved most were the standard Ferris wheel, the caterpillar, the flying airplanes, the Dumbo-type elephants, the carousel, the fun house and the bumper cars. Oh and who could live without "the whip." This was a rather slow moving car-on-track system which would whisk you around the ends of the oval quite suddenly and at breakneck speed. I swear, this is how the term "whiplash" came to light. Still, as a kid, this was great fun.

The fair we went to didn't feature any of the mega rides that are all the rage today, after all, they're running on a tight budget. Most of the attractions at a country fair involve animals and foods. However, there were a lot of kiddy rides and a couple of big people* rides.

After we parked the car and walked for what seemed like thirty five miles to the gate, we first spotted a little-kid roller coaster. I couldn't wait to get close enough to see the looks of joy on the children's faces as they cleared the first big hill. Big, of course, is relative. It probably rose a whopping ten to twelve feet, if that. Still those facial expressions were priceless. One brave little guy even threw his arms up in the air as the train of cars descended. Cute stuff.

I told Ed as we were standing there "Now this is my speed." He chuckled and said, "I know dear ... in fact ... you probably like those big painted elephants going up and down over there too!" I turned and my eyes got big and glassy like when you find a twenty dollar bill in the laundry pile. I smiled from ear to ear and yelled "YES... I used to LOVE those," dragging him closer to the ride.

The thing about the kiddy rides that I totally resent is that they don't allow big people on them. Sheesh. Initial embarrassment aside, I would have thoroughly enjoyed going on a couple of those kiddy rides. I'll bet more than a few other adults had similar thoughts; just a hunch.

We moved around the fair and enjoyed all the sight and sounds, eventually arriving to the big people rides. Ugh. Having worked and hung out at the boardwalk in Seaside Heights NJ many years ago, I learned a thing or two about standing near these rides.

Firstly, don't stand too close if the ride is one of those "up in the air, now show me your lunch" rides; I'd rather be shat upon by a buzzard than puked on by a 17 year old boy with nothing between his ears. Secondly, mind the ground for small change. If I still had all the coins I found on the ground around the big people rides, I could probably buy a new car with many cool options. Well maybe not, but I could at least fill one with gas.

I don't want to lose my lunch, my money or my life. I want to ride the kiddy rides, darn it. I want to be able to wave to my beloved from the big elephant and I want to push the buttons on the airplane that make the propeller spin. I want to pick out a cool horse and grab at the brass ring, not giving a darn who sees me fastening the saddle belt so I don't fall off. I would like very much to spin the teacup at my own speed ... or maybe not at all ... insuring that once off the ride, I wouldn’t wobble around in a drunken stupor.

Sometime around my tenth year or so, dad had taken us to an amusement park and we were allowed to go on several rides. I was finally tall enough (yay) to go on one of the big people rides called the round-about. I think there's a totally different version now, but back then, at this particular park, the round-about was a ride with individual cars on an inclining-then-declining track; each car spun independently in circular motion, at the same time heading fast, fast, fast around the length of the track. The ride was indoors and surrounded by flashing lights and loud music. It was a hot day and I would imagine we had been snacking on and off for hours. (keep reading ... I didn't barf)

My two older sisters and I boarded the car and were the only ones on the whole ride at the time. I took the seat at the inside of the track and my sisters both smushed in next to me. A heavy bar was pulled across us and locked into place. Not two minutes into the ride, our car spun wildly, the forcefully pushing my sisters against me and pinning me to the edge of the car. I was pretty much a string bean of a kid back then and I couldn't move a muscle. I felt like I was losing my breath and was horrified. I let out quick little pathetic screams, but not the type that said, "Oh this is great fun!" Not at all.

The lights inside this hot building became a blur of color, and the man running the ride thought we were having such a great time that he sped the thing up even more. I could feel myself trembling and realized I could no longer make out the happy faces of my parents as they stood to the side watching us "have fun." In my kid world, I thought I was simply going to die - die spinning out of control no less. This would never do. Finally, the insanity stopped and my sisters helped me off the ride. It wasn't until they all saw my milk-white face that they realized I hadn't had fun at all.

That incident didn't stop me from enjoying many more kid rides in the future, but it caused me to pause and watch carefully before boarding the bigger, faster rides ... sorting out just how much "fun" I would actually be having.

Eventually, a sister I will not name**, decided it was her job to tell me just what a "goofy chicken shit" I was for not going on the big people rides anymore. Huge surprise - that was around the time when I stopped looking forward to amusement park outings.

The long and short of it is this. If I'm handed a helmet before getting on a ride, I'm going to think long and hard about boarding.

If it takes them 20 minutes to strap me in with a series of bars, latches and foam-padded braces - no thank you.

If they made a point to post a sign warning me that if I have a heart condition, asthma, sprains, strains or hang nails then I shouldn't get on board, I shall run the other way - find me at the Sno-cone stand.

And if you're with me at the park and YOU decide to go on such rides ... don't you dare be sick or die because I swear to god I'll ... I'll point and say "I told you so" in very loud tones.

* big people rides - as a very little girl, my daughter made the distinction between children and adults by referring to those over 15 as "big people." I loved this innocence so much that I often use the phrase today. Even at 19 now, she sometimes makes the same distinction.

** a sister I will not name - this refers to my oh-so-special sister who was hell bent at any point in time to fill me with embarrassment, misery and self-doubt. Thank you, sistah.

September 05, 2005

Odds and Split Ends

I feel a little disjointed this week, so I thought it would be appropriate to create a post reflecting as much. I’ve also been tagged by RCS and dared by Dave, two of my favorite bloggers; my responses to these requests will be integrated as well. The rest will be snippets of random thoughts and views laced with humor and sarcasm, heart and soul.

There you have it (if you hurry and don’t look back, there’s still time to get out).


Ed has decided to take upon himself the huge task of redoing our laundry room. I think “redoing” is a word guys like to use when they get an urge to employ as many power tools as they can in as short a time as possible. Yay for Ed. He’s so clever, creative and capable.

There should be two days every week when people cannot post. This would afford people like me a chance to catch up on reading rounds. (Some already practice this … and I’m eternally grateful) I hate showing up to someone’s blog having missed out on several great posts. Sure I can scroll back, but that leaves the S’s and W’s or C’s and G’s on the back burner for way too long, depending which direction I’m going in.

I gave up being messy and disorganized for about two full hours yesterday, then I came to my senses.

I don’t like toilet paper hanging from the bottom. It seems more immediate to have it hanging from the top. I grew up with toilet paper hanging from the bottom. Perhaps this is just a fine example of the rebel in me.

I have new neighbors. Everyone likes to inspect their new neighbors when they first move in, right? (please say it isn’t just me). What I’m about to tell you is a bit scary so if you’re squeamish, move on. On the second sighting of these folks, they put a full sized red lacquered naked female mannequin out on their back deck and proceeded to BBQ and eat dinner with it at the table. No lie. I already love these people.

I had to spell check three words in that last sentence. I’m actually embarrassed over this yet I’m all alone in my room. What does that say about me?

Our pond is so dry that we’re waiting for the fish to come knocking at the back door for a drink of water. This could explain Ed’s sudden need to “redo” the laundry room ~ hard to get a boat out into the pond and go fishing when it’s tied at the dock and sitting in dry muck. We need rain, dammit.

People shouldn’t be arrested for shooting others until we first examine the reason. Like if someone starts up their lawn mower at 6 a.m. on a Sunday, we should be allowed to shoot them … at least in the shoulder or something.

I hate it when I do things that a completely demented person would do like putting away groceries and two hours later finding a can of tuna (just bought - unopened) in the refrigerator. This means I have to go through all my cupboards to see if anything requiring refrigeration was also misplaced. Cripes.

I often wonder if someone like Hillary Clinton ever put on a pair of pantyhose with a mid-thigh tear in them figuring nobody would notice it beneath her dress. I like doing this because I feel like I’m getting away with something … pulling a fast one. [laughing at myself now … because it’s true]

I have accidentally gotten into a shower wearing my eyeglasses. You don’t really need eyeglasses in the shower but apparently I need to do this at least once a month to keep reminding myself.

If you haven’t already purchased Lightening Bug’s Butt’s brilliant book, you must. It will keep you entertained for hours and hours. There’s a “purchase here” link on his blog. The same could be said for Mark’s book … a delightful collection of short Christmas stories that he “invented” for his family. I’m so proud to have both these books on my new bookshelves.

I don’t consider myself overly patriotic (patriotic yes, overly - no) but I get teary eyed and swell with pride singing the National Anthem at ballgames or watching the Marine Corps Band marching in a parade.

Regardless of the fact that I am fully aware of what goes into a hotdog, I love the little bastards and will treat myself to one every now and again.

I think people would be more apt to cry in front of others if there wasn’t that ugly “cry face” that accompanied it. I don’t mind the cry-face of others, but man do I hate it on me. Especially if there’s nose slobber and no tissues close at hand.

I knew a man from England who referred to himself as a bakery engineer. He baked rolls and bread. I think it’s neat that in England, many many job titles have the word ‘engineer’ in them. It’s so … something.

This was an actual diary entry of mine from September 5, 1976. “Worked 3 – 10 p.m. Eddie and Alan and Bonnie came down & we went to Seaside – good time – came home and went to sleep.”
Twenty-nine years later, I can tell you that Eddie would later become my husband (ex now but still friends), Alan is dead (motorcycle accident) and I have no clue who Bonnie was. Seaside refers to Seaside Heights, New Jersey, and I wish I had been more verbose at the time so I could be reminded why we had such a good time.
Somewhere throughout the years, any relationship I ever had with brevity went out the window.

Tagged: Five songs that I’m particularly fond of are: “Stardust” by Hoagy Carmichael, “Embraceable You” music and lyrics by George and Ira Gershwin, “Magic Carpet Ride” by Steppenwolf, “Texas Flood” by Stevie Ray Vaughn, and “Heaven” by Los Lonely Boys. I cannot believe I’ve just had to list only five songs I’m especially moved by. That, for me, is like asking “which of your major organs do you like the best.” In other words, what I pretty much did here was pull these five from my ‘most frequently listened to’ selection. I won't tag anyone on this because I think everyone's done it already and I don't want to get beaten up.

Dared: Dave recently posted an old publicity photo of his (it rocks, by the way). I made the dreadful mistake of mentioning that he would die laughing to see my old headshot from the singing/acting days of the good old 70s. Don’t blame me, blame the Ghirmack perms that were all the rage. He dared me to post it. Be warned.

Image hosted by

Speaking of poodles … of all the doggie types, these are my least favorite. I’m so sorry for those of you who own them. I’m sure they’re loving and adorable companions and to you, their high pitched yipping is a welcome sound. I find them aurally offensive and jeepers it feels great to get that out in the open for once in my 50 year life. I wouldn’t hurt a poodle (while I’m awake, anyways) and I’ve been known to pet them on the head gently from time to time, but they really must have been in the back of the line the day canine voices were handed out.

May everyone have a lovely week. Remember to keep sacred that crowded little apartment or that in-need-of-repair house – at least you have a roof over your head; much more than many thousands have on this day.

Random thoughts are fun … they allow me to be messy as hell right out in front of everyone and not even give a hoot.