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Friday, June 30, 2006

NASCAR

No, I haven't gone over to the dark side like so many other's in this bizarre place we call the USA. Do you realize that NASCAR is actually the fast growing spectator "sport" in the country? I put sport in quotes because I firmly believe that in order for something to be a sport there has to be a ball or a puck or some other projectile that has to carried, kicked, shot or thrown into a goal of some type. The other critical criterion is that there has to be an opportunity for the players sweat to mingle in some fashion.

Given that criteria, NASCAR is not a sport. Bowling and Tennis are marginal. I would call them games. Track and Field, gymnastics, swimming would all fall under the heading of Athletics. I have no idea where to put car racing.

To me, it is just another example of the complete idiocy of American society. What other country in the world do people celebrate burning gasoline at a very high rate? Think about how ridiculous this is. We know how expensive gas is. We know we have an issue with CO2 emissions polluting our environment. So we have a "sport" that wastes fossil fuels at an alarming rate and we (the generic we) are driving our own cars to watch other cars waste gas. Jeez.

Talk about a lack of perspective. What is going on here? How can we talk about energy conservation or dealing with climate change when we, as a society, embrace with a passion that borders on worship a "sport" that indulges in the very excesses that are causing these issues? It is as if we ignore the problem or worse yet laugh in the face of impending doom, we won't be affected by high fuel prices or pollution.


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Thursday, June 29, 2006

The thing is ...

I have a long proud Irish ancestory. For most of my life, I was under the impression that my forefathers did not emmigrate to this country until the early twentith century. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my great grandfather on my dad's side of the family came here in the 1860s!

Many of you who have had the pleasure of reading this blog may know that I have a serious issues with "the MAN". Well, the subject of this post is to give some insight this phenomenon. See old gramps didn't come straight from the home country to the good ole US of A. No, he took a more circuitous route to this wonderful country of ours. It seems that he had some issues with "the MAN" as well. But his issues were with "the English MAN".

The real story, is that the dude got booted for "rebellion against the Crown". That's right baby, I come from a long line of rabble rousers. Anyway, he gets sent to the British penal colony in Jamaica. After he was sprung, there was no way in hell he was going back to his homeland. His pride, and the minor detail that he no longer considered a loyal subject of the realm, led him to find a new place to call home. Apparently, he had heard the "bring me your tired, your hungry, your poor" spiel and decided to check it out.

He must have made an impression on my grand father, because he hit the bricks at age 12 and walked from New Jersey to Pennsylvania. In my opinion it takes some intestinal fortitude to leave home at 12. Must be that at least a few of those impressions were made on his ass. After getting out of the service it 1919, he became a union organizer. Now if you aren't familiar of the labor situation in the USA during the early twentith century, the you can't understand the magnitude of this decisions. He regularly got his ass KICKED.

This spirit of rebellion was passed down to my father. My father was a college football player in the early 1940s. Playing tailback, he refused to wear his girdle because it slowed him down. In one game, he got hit in the back and severed his spinal cord. At the time, he was told he would never walk again. Being the stubborn son-of-a-bitch that he was, he wouldn't listen to the doctors. Somehow, he found a doctor that understood physical therapy. Working with the doctor he recovered enough to be accepted into the US Army where he served as an ambulance driver in France during WWII.

One day, he was involved in an accident in his ambulance and he severed his spinal cord AGAIN. This time the injury was higher up on his back. It took a heavy toll on him. When he enlisted he weighed 190 lbs. At the time of his discharge, he only weighed 88 lbs. When he rovered enough, he sought out the same doctor and went through it all over again. Once again he was able to regain the use of his legs.

But his journey didn't end there. In 1955, he had a sinus infection and took a new antibotic that made him profoundly deaf. Almost immediately, he lost his job because he could not communicate. With no protections like the Americans with Disabilities Act, the world was a very different place. Faced with having five children and a pregnant wife, he did what most of us would do. He went back to school and got his Ph.D in Molecular Biology and landed a great job. He ended up working for a man that appeciated his skills and ignored his handicap.

Unfortunately, his friend and mentor died of a hard attack. His new boss was not so understanding of my father's special circumstances and did everything he could to get my Dad fired. But my old man would have none of that. He threw himself into his work and proved his worth everyday. The results he achieved included obtaining four patents, one being for Alka-Selzer Plus Cold Medicine. Additionally, his malaria innoculation is still being used in much of the world.

None of this was enough for him though, he worked with our representative in Congress, the right honorable John Brademus to get the ADA passed. He testified three times before the US Congress. That year he was awarded "Scientist of the Year".

Now the mantle of "rabble rouser" has been passed on to me and my five older brothers. Don't even get me started on that bunch of nut jobs. Actually, they are all great guys and all are as stubborn as hell. When I look at my son and my nephews, I see the ole fire is still burning. It's amazing to see the spirit of my father, his father and his father still deeply entrenched in the next generation. So bear with me when I go on one of my rants. It's just my Irish heritage. What can I say, it's great being a part of such a lineage.


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Monday, June 26, 2006

Ta-da!

Finally, the long-awaited, much-anticipated The Break - Chapter 38 has finally arrived. Whoa, slow down there. There's plenty of bandwidth for everyone to take a peek. Although I understand your desire to read every word and allow each meaningful point soak in before moving to other blogs. I must encourage you not to dawdle though, other's want to wallow in the pleasure pool which is my craftily written word. Keep the line moving, then come back and visit again.

My heart is so full of emotion as I think about the joy you all must be feeling on this auspicious occasion. To finally be able to rejoin the greatest story ever blogged after such a long hiatus. I know the tears are shed in the pure rapture of being able to check in with the boys.

Um … are any of you still out there?


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The Break - Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Looking around, he knew he could find it. He had to find it and he had to find it now. If he didn’t, it meant that he couldn’t possibly make it to his assigned station by the designated time and that would be unfortunate. Actually, Schneider feared begin late more than anything else. It meant that he would be disciplined.

The sweat was pouring from his brow. Schneider could not let the stress get to him, if he did there was no way he would be able to carry out his orders according to the plan.

Finally, he found it. The detonator that had been left at the pick up point. But it was no where near the predetermined location. In fact, it was on the other side of the warehouse. Instantly, he recognized the test. Glancing at his watch, he knew he failed. Failure was not an option. A shudder ran down his spine as he thought about the ramifications. The punishment would be swift and severe.

For a brief moment, he thought about running. He could make it. He might make it. But he knew he would never escape the evil. It would find him any where. No matter how far or fast he ran, the evil would find him. He knew it would be much worse if he ran. That meant he had to face the evil and take his punishment now.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind. Maybe the evil would consider his past performance and go easy on him. Instantly, he knew it was wishful thinking. He would have to pay.

Feeling the presence before he heard or saw the evil, he turned in the direction of the door. Within one second, there was a shadow in the door.

“You are way off, soldier.” The voice said.

“No sir. I was off but I located the item.” Schneider responded forlornly.

“That’s not what I am talking about.” Ian continued. “Finding the detonator was easy. I said you were off because you let me walk right in hear without taking any action, evasive or offensive.”

“But I knew it was you, sir.” Schneider responded. “There was no danger.”

“Knew it was me, huh? Ian responded. “That was an assumption. When you assume, you make mistakes. Mistakes are not an option on this mission.”

With those words, Ian reached into his pocket and extracted a thin tube. The light sweat that already dampened Schneider’s brow became a torrent. He felt his knees quaking and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He had no idea how or why, but he knew what was in the tube. Although he couldn’t remember exactly, he knew had had seen it before and the results had been very unpleasant.

“Stand at attention soldier.” Ian said. “You remember the rules, don’t you?”

“Rules, sir?” Schneider asked just hoping to stave off the punishment for a few moments.

“The RULES!” Ian shouted. “What is rule number 1?”

“Make no mistakes, sir.” Schneider responded quickly.

“Why is that rule number 1?” Ian continued questioning.

“Mistakes get you killed.”

Instantly, Ian launched a savage kick to the back of Schneider’s knee. The force of the blow drove Schneider’s knee to the ground the rest of his body followed.

“No one gives a shit about your measly life, Johnson.” Ian spat venomously “You don’t matter. What matter’s is the mission. Mistakes jeopardize the mission. I don’t give a shit if you get caught, tortured, gutted and left for dogs to eat. But do not jeopardize one of my missions or you will wish that you had the pleasure of dying in such an easy manner. Now back on your feet, you worthless piece of shit.”

Schneider quickly recovered his feet. He watched in horror as Ian opened the case and extracted a very long, thick needle. Ian held the needle to the light, pushed the plunger slightly to clear any air out of the chamber and then he stepped towards Schneider. He placed his lips less than an inch from Schneider’s ear.

“Do not move.” He hissed menacingly. “If you do, you die.”

Then Ian slid the syringe into Schneider’s eye socket, behind his nose. It took all the discipline Schneider had to not to move. He was even successful in fighting of the urge to scream. In fact, he stood completely still and silent even as Ian pushed the plunger. The liquid burned as it enter the soft tissue.

Ian was very impressed at the remarkable control demonstrated by Frank Johnson. From experience, he knew that control would last for approximately ten more seconds. He had to work quickly to ensure that he had the needle out before the drug began to act in full force. This punishment was not designed to do any lasting damage. The intent was to inflict the maximum amount of pain, but still have a functioning weapon within a few hours.

As he extracted the needle, Ian felt a smile form on his face. He enjoyed the look on a man’s face the moment he broke. There was nothing else like it in the world. He saw the look on Schneider’s face, just before he let out the blood-curdling scream. Ian felt himself becoming aroused. Watching as Schneider slid to the ground, he felt the blood rushing to his extremities.

“That’s it.” Ian said. “Feel the pain. It’s is unbearable, yes?”

“OH GOD, MAKE IT STOP.” Schneider screamed.

“You know I can’t do that Frankie-boy, not yet.” Ian teased. “You haven’t learned your lesson yet.”

“YES…yes…I have.” Schneider begged. “Please. Please make it stop.”

Ian gleefully watched Schneider’s painful begging. It was the begging he enjoyed the most. That an the look of gratitude when he eventually made the pain go away. The testosterone rush was unbelievable. Ian could not remember the last time he had felt so fully aroused. His manhood was in full bloom and he actually felt it throbbing. The feeling was more than sweet. Instantly he felt twenty years younger. For the next twenty minutes, he watched and listened. Occasionally, he would give himself a squeeze. Soon, it was becoming unbearable. He needed a release and he needed it soon. When he couldn’t hold off any longer, he applied the antidote to Schneider. The look of gratitude Ian received from Schneider almost sent him over the top. But he was able to remain in control. He had better plans for releasing his pent up passion.

After he dropped the envelop next to Schneider, he turned and walked out the door. Full of confidence, he strode out of the warehouse onto the streets of Portland. Soon he would find his target. He did not have an extensive list of requirements. All she had to be was younger than thirty-five with long hair. That was it. Once he found her, he was going to take her and perform some serious humiliation. Not the easy stuff he had just put Schneider through.

Long ago Ian lost his ability to have a regular sexual relationship. It wasn’t enough to enjoy a woman’s company. Rape was the only way he could be with a woman.

Then he saw her. She was walking her dog on the other side of the street. Ian could tell that she was not paying any attention to her surroundings. Then a thought occurred to Ian. Quickly he crossed the street. As he approached the woman, he knew the dog would sniff him.

“Hey there, boy.” Ian said as he squatted down in front of the dog and put both hands on his head and ruffled his fur.

The dog happily accepted the attention. The girl smiled warmly at Ian, not sensing the threat.

“His name is Lucas.” The girl said enthusiastically.

“Hello, there Lucas.” Ian said in a friendly tone. “Good-bye there, Lucas.”

With that, Ian grabbed both sides of the dog’s head and in one motion snapped its neck. Before the woman could even scream, Ian was on her.

“Make one fucking sound and that’s you.” Ian said as he grabbed her head and forced her to look at her dead but still twitching dog laying on the sidewalk. “You’re coming with me.”

She complied immediately. For the next six hours, Ian took his time torturing and raping the young woman in the same warehouse that he had tortured Schneider. There was no fear of anyone hearing what was happening, nor was there any threat of discovery. Ian owned the warehouse and many others like it in many cities and villages around the world. He always had a place to practice his proclivities.

When he was through, he walked her completely naked out to a dumpster behind the building and ordered her to climb inside. After he pushed the trash back on top of her, he turned to walk away.

“All you are now is trash.” He called over his shoulder as he walked back to his car.

Although Ian could have just as easily killed her, he didn’t. In order for him to complete the humiliation, she had to be alive to remember him and the way he treated her. Knowing he would forever occupy her thoughts was the real turn on for Ian. Down the road, he would reminisce about this night as he was pleasing himself. From his previous experience, he knew how special it would be. Right now, Ian felt better than he had in a very long time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Since they had a few days to get from Olympia to Portland, Ronnie decided to have Schneider take them to Long Beach on the Washington coast. Everyone thought it was a great idea, Schneider just shrugged and complied. He had been acting very strangely lately, even for Schneider.

After they had settled into the hotel, Ronnie and Big Ron took a walk on the beach together. It was just something they always did whenever they had the opportunity. Some of Ronnie’s fondest memories with his father were the conversations they had while they walked on the beach. It didn’t matter if it was California, Florida, the Bahamas’, Mexico or the Riveria. It was always the same. Looking back now, it seemed to Ronnie that the only time he felt completely comfortable with his father was when they were on the beach.

“Wonder what’s inside that guy’s head.” Ronnie stated to his father after they had been walking for a few minutes. “Seems like he gets in these dark moods. It’s kinda creepy.”

“Who?” Big Ron asked.

“Schneider.” Ronnie replied.

“I know what you mean. But I have no idea, Ronnie.” Big Ron attempted. “Maybe it’s something we can never understand.”

“So why didn’t you go to Vietnam?” Ronnie asked after a moment.

The question startled Big Ron. He had thought about that in a very long time. As he pondered the question, he realized he didn’t really have an answer.

“Well, my number didn’t come up.” Big Ron replied weakly for the lack of a better reason.

“Huh?” Ronnie retorted.

“Um…my draft number.” Big Ron said.

“Huh?” Ronnie repeated.

Big Ron studied his son closely. At first, he was surprised at his son’s reaction. Then it hit him, his son’s generation grew up in an era of an all voluntary military. They would never know what it was like to live wondering whether or not they were going to be ripped from their lives, given a gun and be sent to so god-forsaken, unpronounceable foreign land to kill people.

“Back when I was in college, there was a draft.” He started to explain.

“Yeah, I know.” Ronnie in a tone that indicated he wasn’t a complete idiot.

Feeling a little testy from Ronnie’s rebuke, Ron took a moment to consider whether he wanted to continue his explanation. Then, he realized that Ronnie wasn’t challenging him. It was just his way of letting his father know that he was smarter than Big Ron had given him credit for in the past. It was a quite understandable reaction given their past.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound condescending.” Big Ron said sincerely. “Anyway, the way they ran the draft was by lottery.”

“Lottery?” Ronnie asked puzzled.

“Everyone was sent a number and they had to appear for their physical on that business day of the year.”

“That’s seems odd.”

“Well yeah.” Big Ron agreed. “Especially since, they assigned numbers from one to three hundred sixty-five. So, if you got a high number, you may not have to even show up.”

Ronnie watched his father closely. He could tell that Big Ron wasn’t very comfortable talking about the subject, but he didn’t know why.

“Did you have a low number?” Ronnie asked softly.

“Three sixty-one.” Big Ron said.

“That’s lucky.” Ronnie said instantly understanding the implications.

That’s when Ronnie saw it. The look in his father’s eyes betrayed his guilt. They continued to stroll in silence as the waves beat mercilessly one the beach with the constant rhythm.

“Whar’s wrong, Dad?” Ronnie asked after several moments.

Big Ron didn’t respond immediately.

“It’s just that I …” Big Ron started. “I still wonder what would have happened if my number was sixty-five instead of three sixty-five. Would I have turned out like Schneider?”

“Now that’s fucked up.” Ronnie managed trying to understand the depth of his father’s feelings.

“I wasn’t really against the war.” Big Ron said as both men sidestepped a rogue wave that threatened to soak their shoes. “Actually, I didn’t think much about it at all. I was just glad I didn’t have to go.”

The men continued walking along the beach for another mile or so before the decided to turn back. Neither spoke much. They just enjoyed each other’s company for the first time in a very long time.







<<< Chapter 37


Chapter 39 >>>


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Friday, June 23, 2006

Seems like I am forgetting something

I keep having this nagging feeling that there is something that I am forgetting to do. Don't you just hate that feeling? Ever since I turned forty, I can’t seem to keep a thought in my head for more than three minutes and fourteen seconds. Since I have never been a “list person”, this can be very inconvenient. Like the time I showed up to play poker without stopping at the cash machine. Or when I was oncall and I left not one, but both my cell phones at home when I took off for the lake. No big deal, I only had 24 missed calls – oops!

For most of my life, I was blessed with a pretty amazing memory for the most bizarre and useless information you can possible imagine. Anyone beside me know who sang lead vocals on Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” or Ministry’s “Jesus Built My Hotrod”? I’ll give you a hint: neither one was a member of the respective bands. Not that I expect anyone to have even heard of Ministry. Just in my twisted little mind, “Jesus Built My Hotrod” is one of the coolest names for a song I have ever heard. Don’t even get me started on numbers. I am so good at remember numbers that I can tell you that 288-5927 was my families phone number when we lived in Connecticut from 1967 until 1970. I’ll do the math for you – I was age 3 to 7. I can tell you every phone number I have had since then as well – even the twelve I had during my days as a Cougar!

That may all be well and good, but do think I have any idea where I put my car keys? Or how many pairs of sunglasses I have had to purchase because I leave them everywhere? Or remember that I scheduled a work meeting for 6:30 AM on a Monday morning? Try talking your way out of that one when you happily stroll in at 9:00 AM and be completely shocked that everyone is pissed at you. Or forgetting that tomorrow is Mother’s day? That’ll definitely leave a mark. And yet I continue to forget these things and it is only getting worse with age. What the heck?

Now I have this nagging feeling that I am forgetting something really big. Something that should be so easy to remember, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it is. There aren’t any major holidays, anniversaries or birthdays coming up. I checked my Outlook and I haven’t scheduled any meetings at insane hours of the day. I can still remember all the lyrics of "Stairway to Heaven", "Sympathy for the Devil" and "Cowgirl in the Sand". What is it? Anyone help me out here. What am I forgetting? Oh yeah … that’s it! I haven’t posted a new chapter of The Break in over a month. I complete forgot that I am supposed to be blogging a book. Whoopsie! I'll get on that right now. Keep checking back. I should have another chapter up by Sunday night.


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Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Incoherent Ramblings

Garbage, I say. Garbage, garbage, grabage. I sit down to write and all that comes out is gar-bage. What is happening? This is quite a conundrum. As you all know, I am one of the most talented, creative bloggers you have ever read. My email campaigns to Mark Cuban (oops, I promised him I'd never mention his name in a post on my blog again - screw it), David Lettermen, Keith Olhbermen, Howard Stern, Neil Young and Kurt Vonnegut are funny, creative and witty - if I don't say so my self.

Additionally, my blog jousting with Cheesmo is legendary. Now, I got nothing, nada, zero, zip. To quote Sammy Hagar in one of his best songs made famous by none other than Rick Sprinfield. There's 10 Blog Explosion credits to the first person that correctly names the song in the comments. Hell, I'l give 10 Blog Explosion credits to any cretin that leaves a comment.

What does it take to get readers to comment anyway? I'm serious about this. I am half tempted to join the crowd of bloggers that participate in HNT just to get some comments telling me to please quit posting pictures of myself. I know that none of you want to see me half naked, but I just might do it. Unless I start getting some comments, I am going to start posting some of the most hideous pictures ever displayed in the blogosphere. Don't make me do it.

One would think I could come up with something. I can't be out of material after just six months of blogging, could I? In over three hundred posts, I have written some pretty good stuff. Even when I thought I was out before, all I had to do was sit down and start typing and something at least mildly amusing would come out. But now your stuck reading this drivel. I am not worthy of being called a blogger anymore.

Pretty soon, I will probably get a message from the IBCC telling me I have been stripped of my credentials as a blogger unless I come up with some pretty interesting stuff. As you know, my relationship with the commisar of the IBCC is as about as friendly as Mark Cuban's (uh-oh, twice in one post) and David Stern's. Only the Maverick from Texas can afford a $250,000 fine whereas I can't handle a $2.50 fine.

By the way, have I ever told you that I am a cheap son-of-a-bitch. Seriously, I won't even spend the $12.00 it takes to read the emails from my friends on classmates.com. I won't spend another dime on blogger tools - remember when I used to talk about all the stuff available to increase traffic to blogs? Cheesmo broke me of that habit.

Finally! I have been sitting here writing for a half hour and I just thought of something. Have any of you surfed around blogs and come across the women's blogs that talk about sex? There are a ton of them out there. If you haven't seen them, I'll give you a brief description. In the guise of "exploring" their sexuality, the women talk very graphically about their sex lives. They describe in the most minute detail the things they do with partners or by themselves. Some of them even post pictures (I just skip over those). I find the posts incredible funny. Why, you ask? Mainly because I think of what it would be like to see a male version of one of these sites. For some reason, people seem to find it fasinating what women do in the bedroom. But think about what you would think if you ran across a blog of a guy describing in gory detail what he did when he was alone and bored. Sexy? I don't think so. Most people would be increbibly offended and the poor bastard would be branded a pervert. How's that for a double standard?

All right, that's it for tonight. Maybe I'll come up with something better tomorrow. But remember, you better leave some comments or next Thursday you could be subjected to the most horrendous display to ever affront your eyeballs. Or maybe I'll turn this into a male version of a sexual exploration blog. Don't risk it, leave comments.


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Monday, June 19, 2006

Shaving Cream

Here is a little tidbit I been kicking around my brain for years - What the hell is shaving cream. Seriously, this stuff comes in a pressurized can, lasts for like seven years and costs about .$99. How is this possible? The mechanism itself has to cost at least a dime, the aluminum container has got to be like a quarter. That only leaves like $.60 cents left over to cover product, labor, fixed costs and profit.

Think about it. They can't sell that many units of the stuff. I assume that the average guy buys three cans a year! What is this freaking stuff? It's as if the product is so cheap, that when they run production it actually has a negative cost. That's got to be it. By producing the mystery foam, they gain resources.

It then begs the question, why do we shave? Whose brillant idea was this? Scrape a sharp piece of metal across your face and then rub "shaving lotion" which of course, is almost pure alcohol. Ah, feels good. Thank you sir, may I have another. That's just for men, don't get me started on women. It started with armpits and legs. I won't even talk about the newest assault on body hair.

Think of the extremes we go to to eliminate our naturally growing fur. Yes, it is fur. You know to keep us warm in the winter and protect our skin from chaffing? But that's just an example of what complete, total and utter idiots we are as a species.


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Friday, June 16, 2006

Reminder about Web Site - The novel

Since I haven't posted anything about Web Site in a while, I thought I would drop a little reminder that I do have one novel available for your reading pleasure.

My first novel is called Web Site. It is a true-to-life look at the world of Internet Porn. It is a craftly who-done-it that twists and turns through the lives of the characters.

It starts with a suspicious car accident. The rest of the story winds through the events that led to the fatal incident. Check out the preview starting at Chapter 1. I am very interested in any feedback you may have.

Warning: Contains strong langauge and explicit sexual content.


Buy Now


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Thursday, June 15, 2006

Mark Sunderland Photography

On several occasions, I have told you about Mark Sunderland. He is an amazing photographer and I highly recommend that you visit his site. Although he is based in the UK, he is able to ship worldwide. This is an example of one of his pictures. I asked him to let me post this on the site. This will now be the link to his site.


Mark Sunderland

Sitting around pondering my navel

So, I am just sitting here wondering why I haven't been blogging. It's really odd to me. I was really productive there for three or four months. Suddenly, I really don't feel like it. How can you go from obsession to apathy in a period of one week?

I do feel liberated from the constant need to check my stats every hour ... okay, every half-hour. Nor do I feel the deep misery caused by the lack of traffic. Really, why can’t people see how incredibly talented I am? But I digress. As I was saying, I have been wracking my brains for weeks trying to sort out this mystery - so maybe I am exaggerating a bit, but that's not the point of this story. The point is I think I figured it out. It was Cheesmo! That's right. It's all Cheesmo's fault.

I had to take a little trip down to Hot-lanta a few weeks ago. Had a little business, you know. There I was, driving down the road heading to see an old acquaintance, Herr Zeitzinjammer, from my days across the pond. That's right, I did a gig in Europe - told you I was "colorful". Haven’t seen him since my last trip to the ATL in August of ’05. Trust me, the dude’s a hoot and I always look forward to seeing him. Little did I know, my evening was about to be ruined.

Anyway, I driving down the road and hear the familiar strains of the opening "Dazed and Confused". In most instances when I hear the tune, it brings me a great deal of pleasure since it happens to rotate with two others as my favorite song. Instantly, I reached to turn down the radio and proceeded to set about the nearly impossible task of locating my cell phone from the bowels of the rental car. I know what you are thinking - "Hey rebel, aren't you a little old for a Led Zeppelin ring-tone?" - uh, simply put - not just no, but hell no. Jimmy is my MAN (please refer to my previous posts about people I admire). Suddenly, I realized where my phone was hiding. Quickly, I fetched my moto from my pocket and flipped it open an instant before it rolled to voicemail.

"Eyeball." I barked.

"Reb?" Cheesmo replied. "It's the Cheese."

Sidebar: His voice really does appear in bold when he says it.

"I know your raspy ass voice." I said curtly, silently cursing myself for not checking my caller ID. "What do you want?"

"Been to the site." He sneered and then paused.

"And?" I asked timidly not really wanting to subject myself to another one of his impolite ramblings.

"All you talk about is traffic, traffic, traffic." He continued. "Sup with that? Write sumpin' funny, bitch."

Of course, I hung up. I always hang up on Cheesmo, he's such a prick. I mean, can you believe he actually said that to me? Can you imagine putting up with such a brutal outburst from some one that is purportedly a friend? Not only were his stinging ramblings cruel, but he happened to be right. He is always right. That is what makes him so unbearably difficult to talk to.

Finally, I am over this vicious attack from my arch-nemesis and I am prepared to rejoin the ranks of the blogosphere. Fear not my peeps, I have returned. I am good-looking, smart and dog-gone-it, people like my writing.
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Monday, June 12, 2006

Some thoughts

For most of my adult life, I have had a very strange ability to see into the future or a least I thought I did. No, not like some cheesy medium bull. It's not like I have premonitions or anything like that. It’s just that I have always had a very good idea of what I wanted to do with my life. Couple that with my ability to work diligently to fulfill those goals and - voila – I could see into the future.

When it comes down to it though, it’s just been luck. Luck that I had a father that taught me to set goals. Luck that I had discipline instill in me from a very young age from both my parents. Luck that I some how managed to survive the stupidity of my late teens and early twenties. Luck that I didn’t ruin my marriage with the stupidity of my late twenties. Luck that I didn’t contract a terminal illness. Luck that things worked out exactly the way I planned.

But right now, actually earlier this evening, it hit me – I have no idea what the future holds. Zero. And I felt … relieved … completely at peace. It was a very strange feeling, I tell ya. Here I have spent my entire life chasing the next goal, pushing, reaching, and stretching for the next thing. Not like material things, my life goals have never been financial motivated.

There I was, driving home from the gym and I realized that I was actually living and thinking about things that were occurring in that very moment. No work, no plans for the weekend, no big plans for trips to foreign lands, no wondering about the next milestone, no milestones at all. Wow, how absolutely liberating. Then it really hit me. I have been operating like this for a very long time. I just didn’t realize it until today.

How can you? In the world in which we live with all the hidden and not so hidden dangers, how can any of us possible believe that our plans mean anything? Life has to be right here, right now – to borrow a line from Sammy Hagar. Nothing else matters. Then in the next moment, the last moment didn’t matter and the next moment doesn’t matter. The last moment it gone, the next moment may never come.

Being a pragmatist, I realize planning is pretty important. Imagine how irritating it would be to try to get together with friends if every one lived just in the moment. Imagine how difficult it would be to eat, if you didn’t “plan” on going to work. So, I will definitely plan to go to work tomorrow and at least 5,000 more tomorrows to continue to live in the style I have become accustomed. Also, there are things I want to do in my life, but the attempt to control the course of events now seems so silly. Ah, control issues … that a whole other story …
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