Hung...

... soon, it will be a brand new year... and I can hardly wait.... I've recently acquired an "up'n at'em" attitude, you see...

... that said, I hope that 2006 gives each of you everything you desire and none of what you deserve... because after all, if you are hanging around here, you probably deserve to be hung... indeed, were I Bruce Almighty, the World would be an even more wondrous place...

... as for me, well... I just found out that I am #7 on Google for "gatlinburg motels with in room porn channels"... and people, I could not be more proud.... I'm glad to be of service...

... I love you guys... I really, really do.. Happy New Year...

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The Brunette...

... because Contagion asked, I suppose I should share... see, he asked via commenting about The Brunette I mentioned in a previous post...

... fine, I'll play.... a description is in order...

... well, she was young... too young for me... but budding into womanhood... seventeen or eighteen years old.... small... maybe 5'2"... chestnut hair pulled into a ponytail.... thin too, her physique... maybe a bit too thin.... And she had her hair colored to lighten it.... those strange strands of blonde and cherry that the young ones add to create a softer shade of black... her eyes were dark... deep brown behind her black-rimmed eyeglasses... and she wore pink lipstick...

... her complexion, despite her dark hair and eyes, was not olive or tanned... and yet she was not pale either.. a soft cream color that brought out the mahogany of her eyes...

.. she wore a long-sleeved v-neck that accentuated the willowy pubescence of her arms and chest... gray, as I remember it... and it fit tight and was tucked into her blue jeans... her breasts were small and high.. again, giving away her youngness...

... and she smiled as she poured me coffee with happiness of being a live, bouncing young lass with her whole life in front of her..

... and in spite of her attractiveness, there was no lust in my heart... no desire.. only a gentle sense of pleasure.. the joy of watching someone so full of life... sure, she was beautiful... and if I had been 15, there is no doubt that I would have held her up as a Goddess and secretly written sonnets about her... dreaming of the day when I would make her mine... imagining the frantic minutes in the back seat of my car when I'd make her toes curl... but hey, times change... I'm not fifteen..

... and really, looking back now, her breasts were too small.... although that really isn't her fault...

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Civilization...

... I was drifting around my kitchen yesterday when the phone went... an invitation to lunch with an Aunt and Uncle was on the other end of the line.. after explaining to them that I was baby-sitting a sauce, needed to put some clothes on, and it was cold outside, they upped their ante.... and I finally acquiesced to their calling...

... an hour later, I was sitting alone at the table of a fine restaurant awaiting their arrival... cup of hot coffee cradled in my hands... quietly reading and re-reading the menu while the cute 18-year old brunette (with glasses) filled and re-filled my cup with a quick smile and a swish of her hip-hugger clad backside...

... it was all very civilized... very civilized, indeed... and I noticed something that I hadn't felt in a long time...

... the ride from my house to town had barely given the old Audi a chance to heat up... and the morning had been cooler than usual... and as I sat there with my hands around the steaming coffee, I became aware of the difference in temperatures... it struck me as odd, and I pondered it for a long time... cold hands and warm coffee... a kind of creature comfort that we all overlook... warmth when you're cold... a smile from a stranger when you're all alone.. the hum of busy people surrounding you when you have no place to be... just sitting at a table anonymously soaking up the world around you...

... they arrived soon after, and a fine meal was enjoyed with good company... I had a Reuben sandwich and a cup of homemade chili.. and I'm glad they asked me to lunch...

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Chow...

... a typically relaxed late-morning again... hey, I know all you hard-working individs out there just hate it when I say that... well, too damn bad... that's why I say it in the first place... and just to stick the knife in a little deeper, as I type this the house is filled with the pleasing aroma of my bolognaise sauce contentedly percolating on the stove... you guys should be so damn lucky....

.. I truly love to cook.. the act of creating something that has depth.. it's like art almost.. the more crap you add to the recipe, the stranger and more interesting the flavors become... today I'm cooking with cheeses.. it's a well-practiced variation on my normal theme....

... anyway, a few months ago, I showed T1G how to make my spaghetti... he was half in the bag at the time, so he probably doesn't remember... and seeing as I've just finished prepping the sauce, I guess I'll share portions of the recipe with everyone... of course, I'll leave the secret ingredients out... they are, after all, secret...

... first off, as I've said many times, the most important thing about creating a sauce is to have the right music playing in the background... shitty soundtrack, and the sauce turns out bad.. don't believe me?... try cooking with ABBA in the background... your dog wouldn't even nibble the most exquisite morsel were it prepared by someone under the influence of ABBA...

... when T1G was here, we cooked to Dire Straits "On Every Street" album... it was New Ground... sure, it turned out alright.. but I should have stuck with my tape of bullfighting music... which brings me to today... today shall see our spoons being shimmied to the groove of John Mellencamp's "Uh Huh"... a fine and well-proven soundtrack to sauce making... although not as productive as bullfight tunes, it does add a certain peppery flavor to the finished product...

... ok, ok... put on some music and play along.. listen and learn...

... let us start off with stuff you'll need...

*a pound of ground beef
*1/3 cup of chopped garlic
*olive oil... any kind will do... nothing around this house is "extra virgin", so it really doesn't matter..
*a large onion
*ground cloves
*vanilla extract
*two bay leaves
*basil and oregano in unbelievable quantities...
*grated parmesan, mozzarella, asiago, and romano cheese..
*any kind of spaghetti sauce you want to use.. (after we're through with it, it'll be totally unrecognizable...)
*pasta.. I like to use rigatoni.. the sauce is going to end up incredibly thick.. if you use a wuss noodle like spaghetti, the sauce will just push right through.. rigatoni will grab hold of the sauce with its little folds and hang on... I like that in a pasta...

... oops, gotta go... time to stir the sauce...

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Bubbles...

... things have been skewed lately around these parts... not bad, mind you... just sort of wispy... transient... or foggy.. like the whole world is encapsulated in a big floating bubble and I'm watching it all drift by from a comfortable recline on my couch... maybe it's the holidays... a time when you are together with your entire clan to feast and gift... and as you look at each smiling face... each newborn babe.. each adult a year older... you find yourself withdrawing into the memories of holidays from long ago... when those now dead or otherwise absent were once laughing with the rest of us...

... thus the bubble, I suppose... strange, really... each human connection softened with a life-preserving detachment.. sure, you blame the glazed look on too much turkey or an over-sized helping of baked beans... but there is always more than meets the eye... always... it's the nature of things...

... anyway, enough of all that... I watched "Armageddon Week" all day yesterday, and maybe that's the cause of this morning's introspection... Death, Hell, Dante's Nine Circles, the Seven Deadly Sins, Monsters with three heads continually gnawing on the screaming flesh of the cursed in the lowest bowels of Hell, the Antichrist... even The Exorcist was on a few days back... how charming is that?.. Tis the Season and all...

.. not a bad way to spend the slow week between Christmas and New Year, I guess... after all, it's always good to do your homework before visiting a new place.. and riding around in the handbasket is starting to get old, people...

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Hotcakes...

... I know this may come as a shock, but hey, I'm always honest with you rubberneckers..

... that said, I have some news to buck y'all up...

... see, in this ever complicating World we live in, sometimes true happiness can be found in Hotcakes and Sausage from McDonald's....

... I know, I know... I was amazed myself... and I knew you guys would be surprised too... but just trust me... it is true...

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Loss...

"I was sitting on my front porch in Maywood, Illinois. I was looking at the traffic go by. That porch was an important place to me. It was a place to greet people and a place to say goodbye to people. Last time I saw my Dad, he was sitting on the front porch drinking a beer and looking at the traffic go by. That's the way I like to remember him."

John Prine, 1973


Mama dear, your boy is here,
Far across the sea.
Waiting for that sacred core
That burns inside of me.
And I feel a storm, all wet and warm
Not ten miles away,
Approaching my Mexican home.

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A Closer Walk with Thee...

...with many, many apologies to Simon Ushakov, a very Merry Christmas to everyone who drops by here... and to the Georgia Gentlemen's Club, well, thanks for adopting this Tennessean... it's been a real pleasure... unique, too.... I just hope The Man upstairs doesn't hurl some lightning down my way when he stops by for his daily read...

last_supper_small.jpg

.. click here for a closer look...

... UPDATE:.. it seems that some of you people have not attended enough blogmeets... thus, I have been asked to identify the above disciples... ok then... from left to right after The Big Guy...

... reaching for the wine?.. Me, of course... and then Donnie, Rube, and Denny peeking around Zonker's headgear.. and then, doing his best Moses impersonation, we have Catfish... without halo, is Elisson.... and then Acidman with his shades propped atop his noggin... followed by Sammy in festive dress... and Jimbo of Jersey fame... in do-rag, we have The Velociman... and strangely, seated on the Right Hand of God, we have Dax Montana....

... so, there you go... all suspects identified...

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Real Life...

... driving home from my Mother's today, I saw three birds sitting on a power-line... the poles, with their electric cable running between, were dotted alongside the curvy country road I was on... as the car moved closer, I saw that two of the birds were Mourning Doves... and the third was a Sharp-shinned Hawk...

... I often see that hawk as I head to town... usually on the same mile stretch of line... sitting there eyeing the barren cornfield for an errant mouse...

... today?... same fellow chilling on his perch... and sharing it with two nice, fat, prey-animals...

... and hey, I'm not making this up... the Hawk and the Doves were living in peace... side by side.....

... of course, I have to believe that what I saw was only a blip... a split-second of peaceful freakishness between beasts... and that the hawk probably had one of those doves for supper later today... after all, you can't change Nature... no matter how hard you try...

... that said, I'll break from tradition here, and sign off till the morning...

... peace on Earth, people... and goodwill towards men.. even if only for a little while.... Merry Christmas... and Gott bless us every one...

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Funny...

... look, I know it is Christmas Eve and all... and yeah, I've got meme's to do... and I've even got some cool Christmas tales to tell later today and tomorrow.... but people, I just really, REALLY feel the need for a "Quote of the Day"... and today's inspiration, well, it comes from Catfish...

I have been on the South Beach Diet for a few days, I have lost 40 pounds and my dick grew 4 inches, amazing.

... Merry Christmas, Catfish.. Merry Christmas...

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Dreyfus...

... there is a line that has always slayed me.... narrated or delivered (depending on how you look at it.) by Richard Dreyfus... full of wit and angst and humor... and introspection... and no, I'm not talking about that time he sang sea shanties in Jaws....

.. It's that bit at the very end of Stand By Me... when he takes keyboard in hand and pens the perfect ending to a tale of love lost, truth almost discovered, and friendships gone to tatters...

"I've never had any friends like I had when I was twelve. Does anyone?"

.. sure, the quote is probably wrong.. but hey, I'm working from memory here..

.. but Great Jumping Jesus, people.. wasn't that marvelous?... do you see?...

....people, that movie just destroys me.... well, not the story, really, but the delivery.. the mere idea of creating a tale in such a way... a way that allows you to both reach out and recoil at the same time... reach out as if cradling a child.. or a group of children who are off looking for their dead mate.. and then be repulsed... not by the death-search, but by how a grown man would have distanced himself from those who were once so important to him..

.. the movie?.... well, an aging Father mourning the falling of a good friend gone all-grown-up.. with, of course, children of his own spazzing his own home while he is trying to write a fitting obituary tribute.... It's the absolute perfect ending to a tale of childhood discovery... an adult standing in awe and wondement of the limitless person he was back in the lost dreams of time... it was beautiful, sad, and repulsive at the same time....

.... of course, I can't say too much... after all, when the great tale of my life is told on the silver screen, I half-imagine that Dreyfus will be the one to portray me... well, either him or Johnny Knoxville... but Knoxville would have to at least shave first.... I've never been one to sport facial hair.. and rubberneckers, we've got to have our decorum..

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Raymond...

... while reclining on the couch the other evening, the Wife and I were enjoying us some Seinfeld... if was quite peaceful... we'd been fed and watered, and all that was left was to relax until the Sandman came... and hey, we were cool until she mentioned that she thought the Kramer's hair was "cute"...

... that was just wrong... and as I was telling her just how wrong it was, the episode ended... at this point, an old re-run of Everybody Loves Raymond started to come on... and I saw my chance...

... "well, honey", says I... "Ok... ok... I will concede that Kramer's knotted up hairdo can be seen as cute', if you concede that Everybody Loves Raymond should really be titled Everybody Really Wants to Do Raymond's Wife on the Kitchen Table.. "

.. yes, yes, a conversation stopper for sure... but, isn't it true?...

... personally, I hate Raymond... he's a dickweed of the highest caliber.... but Raymond's wife?... she's smoking.. I mean, c'mon... most men only watch Everybody Loves Raymond because they are hoping his wife will leave him in one episode... right?... what do you think?... was I too honest?...

... I don't know.. maybe I'm wrong... but it's like Northern Exposure... I certainly see a definite parallel between Maggie O'Connell and Mrs. Raymond...

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Warp...

... I am continually amazed by science... and thanks to Dr. John, I now know that sex at the speed of light probably isn't a good idea...

... I was particularly impressed by number 9 on his top ten list...

9. Penile black hole formation: At the speed of light, relativity also predicts that the penis will attain infinite mass, essentially becoming a black hole. When its owner realises that his penis has turned into a black hole, he will become profoundly depressed and overcome by a feeling of loss. John Bobbitt would understand; but Mr Bobbitt had his penis sewn back on, whereas a penis lost to a black hole is a penis lost forever.

... read them all, people... education is a good thing...

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Holes...

... once upon a time, I meandered on about the virtues of being pleasing to the eye... and of course, what happens when you are measured and found lacking... and how when writing about the figurative, the literal sometimes surfaces....

... well, today while gathering up silk suits, mohair trousers, and other exotics for a trip to the dry-cleaners, I was reminded of that post...

... believe it or not, rubberneckers, karma exists... and she is an evil bitch....

... those same little brown moths that I laid the smackdown on have eaten holes in my Punjabi...

... whilst tragic, I can't help but be a wee bit amused... I mean, sure, I killed that moth back then.. but figuratively, we were bros... hell, I felt a kinship.. an understanding....

... but today?... literally?... the kid-gloves are coming off..

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Lunch...

... yesterday was a very strange day... I was in a rarified zen-like state most of the afternoon... even when battling holiday traffic, I was zoned... all alone, I was cocooned in my own little Audi-encased world... Bose audio pumping out alternating Bloodhound Gang and Dean Martin tracks as I weaved in and around cars and SUVs like some sort of perverted Jedi Master...

.. for instance... my first stop was at Aubrey's in Maryville... there, I intended to buy myself some lunch and kick back with a beer... well, the place was packed... 12:30 on a Wednesday and it was standing room only...

... no skin, I thought, I'll just run my errands at Target and Kroger.... Maybe the herd will have been thinned down by the time I'm finished...

... and as luck would have it, that is just what happened... two hours later, and I'm ensconced in a booth at Aubrey's eating something called seafood alfredo and sipping down a Bass ale... the service?... courteous and smiling... the food?... delicious and nutritious... even the entertainment, while slightly sorrowful, was still good... I watched a re-play on ESPN Classic of #2 FSU nipping #1 Tennessee back in the 1999 Fiesta Bowl....

... then, the drive back down 411 into the afternoon sunlight... all in all, a good day... Hell, when I stop and think about it, I'm pretty damn good company...

... but don't get me wrong, though... I've still got more humbug in me than most... and really, it still doesn't yet feel like Christmas... but yesterday I was 100% content... and if only for an afternoon, the World was right...

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Wisdom...

... as it says over on the sidebar, I've eaten nachos with Big Stupid Tommy... and after reading him today, I have to tell you guys something... sure, he's big.. and he's named Tommy... but stupid?... far from it... check out this nugget of wisdom...

You learn something new every day.

I was talking with my dog, and he told me why he sits on the rugs, and not the tile floor on these cold mornings.

He's afraid his butthole will freeze to the floor.

Can't say as I blame him. Now that I think about it, that's part of the reason that I wear clothes.

That, and the law says I have to, when I'm out in public.

... see what I mean?... the man has it going on upstairs... not to mention that today was the first below-freezing morning we've had this year...

... we're I that dog, I'd have been sitting on the rug too....

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TMI...

.. via Nancy's Noodle, (who sneakily tagged me via email) behold a meme..

1. My uncle once made it into the local newsrag by riding his horse into town to visit a bar.. a photo of his ride, "Socks" appeared in the paper the next day... he'd tied it to a parking meter...

2. Never in my life have I jumped out of an airplane...

3. When I was five I was an avid reader of encyclopedias and the bra section of the Sears catalog..

4. High school is not too far from here...

5. My parents are my pride and joy...

6. I once met James Taylor backstage after one of his concerts... shook his hand, and got an autograph...

7. There's this girl I know who left town and never came back...

8. Once, at a bar in Anchorage, I was propositioned by an Eskimo hooker...

9. Last night I watched "The Wizard of Oz" with the Missus and watched her nearly cry at every scene...

10. Next time I go to church my Mother will probably faint from the shock of it all...

11. When I turn my head left, I see the suede couch in the blogroom that I like to nap in...

12. When I turn my head right, I see the window that looks out onto the woodland lot beside my house..

13. How many days until my birthday? A bunch.. like, a metric bunch... October is too far ahead to count up the days...

14. If I were a character written by Shakespeare, I'd be a damn sight more interesting...

15. By this time next year I will be 100% self-employed...

16. A better name for me would be hard to imagine.. I'm just Eric...

17. I have a hard time understanding Van Morrison's lyrics when he's singing...

18. If I ever go back to school I would take classes that I enjoyed instead of ones I thought I "should"..

19. You know I like you if I speak to you...

20. If I ever won an award the first person I'd thank would be totally freaked when I told them I had won an award...

21. Take my advice try to do everything that there is to do.. just remember to do it all in moderation...

22. My ideal breakfast is biscuits, meal gravy, and link sausages... cooked by someone else...

23. If you visit my hometown people will ask you why you came...

24. Why won't someone, other than us, sneak into Iran and steal their nukes?... that would sure make me happy...

25. If you spend the night at my home you will sleep surrounded by 1,824 penguins...

26. I'd stop my wedding if I knew that in the future my Wife would give birth to a politician...

27. The world could do without re-makes of classic movies, asparagus, and reality tv shows...

28. I'd rather lick the belly of a cockroach than eat asparagus or watch a reality tv show...

29. Paper clips are more useful than toothpicks when you're in a pinch.. I've actually used a paper clip as a screwdriver too..

30. If I do anything well it is quite possible that I do it at night when it is dark and no one is around to see...

31. And by the way, I have the scoop on what Santa does with the reindeer who don't make the cut for sleigh-pulling... photos don't lie, people....

.. Merry Christmas...

santa_small.jpg

... want a closer look at Rudolph Otto?... here you go...

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Humbug...

... well, this explains a lot... thanks to Mostly Cajun's mailbag and Maj Culver... and a blogless reader for pointing me to the post....

... see, when I was four, I was given an axe for Christmas.. and no, I'm not kidding... the tag read: "To Eric From Santa"... my Mother showed me a photo the other day... it was me, in Hee-Haw jammies and pillow hair, smiling with glee in front of our yuletide hearth... crumpled wrapping paper in one hand and a double-bitted axe in the other..

... I can only assume that the CIA chose some shadowy figure to assume the role of Mr. Kringle after that firefight in Nam...

... the really frightening thing is that, at four, I seemed to be genuinely excited about Santa bringing me an axe...

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Layers...

... on a birthday long ago, my brother-in-law gave me, as a present - a photograph that a friend of his had taken... the scene was black and white... an ancient farmhouse with old-growth trees set in close at the back.. in the foreground, a delicately detailed white picket fence... a dirt road wandering from left to right across the bottom of the photograph... thus creating a kind of layering..

... grass in the foreground... then the dirt path... then the fence.. with the house pressed in between the whitewashed wooden rails of the fence and the darkness and shadows of the wood behind it...

.. the picture hangs in my living room... it's not really the sort of thing you see in a home... but it is here anyway... a gift from a relative...

... as the work hangs on my wall, a portion of the fence has been crushed and pushed over... and the grass shows the distinct pattern of having endured the twisting treads of a tank... more than likely, as it veered off the dirt path and sought cover in the woods... the windows, too, are gone from the home.. and the stark whiteness of the façade is pockmarked with grey and black gouges... likely caused by shrapnel... but then again, small arms might have caused the wounds... if applied with a certain vigor and volume...

... the path that the tank tore though the lawn curves slightly as it approaches the house.. chasing left and then right further on just past the structure... the marks in the grass giving away that information.. either that an assaulting heavy vehicle fired upon the building and then circled around behind to disgorge troops for an assault in the back door... or, perhaps a fleeing vehicle... damaged and seeking shelter, used the civilian home as a refuge.. we'll never know, I guess...

... the importance of this photo?... my brother-in-law's friend took it while working as a photo-journalist in Kosovo... why was it given to me?... I honestly have no idea... but I am grateful that it was...

... I see that picture every day... and every day I see something more in it... the sheer, impeccable abandon captured by the photographer.. the decay and the loss... the wildness and violence of tank tracks over a white picket fence...

... a black and white photograph that personifies our timeless brutality... where men kill men.... taken in 1993, it could easily be mistaken for a hedgerow circa 1944.. except that the tread marks are wider today than back in '44... but today, it reminds me that every single thing I have in my life is worth fighting for...

... I don't think that my brother-in-law envisioned that when he gave me the present... knowing that I had mates in Kosovo at the time, I am fairly sure that he intended the gift as a "statement"... well, I see it as a statement alright... but not the one he imagined....

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Live music...

... I had planned to take a trip up to Knoxville today... but that fell through.. something better presented itself..

.. hey, we run a tight ship around here... it's just that our management style leaves a bit to be desired... from the outside observer, it would almost appear that we value "flexibility" above all else when it comes to execution of orders... or the supervision of a plan...

... sometimes freedom to do as you damn well please turns into a sort of "up-for-anything" attitude.. and actually, it works... even if on a deeply disturbing level...

... so, instead of my jaunt north, I ended up spending most of the day getting completely lost in "live album" recordings via the computer and my music collection... story-tellers all... lead-ins to songs spoken into microphones as the musician casually plays random chords... almost absent-mindedly... and then the laughter from the audience... interaction between fans and heroes making the whole experience that much fuller... that much more enjoyable...

.. Jimmy Buffett, James Taylor, Tom Waits, and John Prine all visited with me today...

... all in all, not a bad to spend a cold Monday... I'll go to Knoxville tomorrow..

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Online...

... secure in the loving arms of my latest drug purchase, I am preparing to greet the day... three requests were upped last night, and today is a day for action... grill ribs for dinner... fry some spuds Southern-style... and blast down a hunk of mistletoe from the oak tree out back with my trusty .22 magnum...

.. every day it's just work, work, work...

... luckily, I have the Internet to see me through... who knew you could purchase such wonderful things online at 2am?... the courier delivered my little saviors yesterday... fresh from the hot little shelves of a Phuket pharmacy... and so far, I have to say, they are working as advertised...

baldwins.jpg

... funny, though... I never knew "Baldwin" was a Thai name... still, never look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that...

... see you rubberneckers later.. I'm off to shoot at parasitic plants....

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Points...

... two sides, as always... maybe three sides... or four?... amazing what a day or two can do...

... take rain, for instance.... see, the devil is in the describing.. refreshing, cleansing, healing, nurturing.... or maybe chilling, beating, or pounding... misting?... drowning?... your own reading creates the connotation... and the mood which is set is as much the fault of the reader's frame-of-mind as it is by the writer's choice of adverbs....

... words.. shapes... images... while a lot of fun to play with, sometimes they're like trying to juggle raindrops... I saw this guy once creating "art" on the Discovery Channel by leaping into puddles of paint and splashing it onto the canvas... was it really art?... to some, it was.... after all, hundreds of nodding knuckleheads lined up to buy his random splatterings... but what did they see in those pieces of "art"...

... who knows... but much like those people, each reader is going to take the words and create their own vision anyway.. and quite often, that meaning has absolutely nothing to do with what the writer intended...

.. don't believe me?... try re-reading Seuss' Cat in the Hat again... people, that Cat was one hell of a deep-thinker.. Socrates should have been so damn eloquent....

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NSA...

... well, I see my old client consumer is in the news this morning.... The NSA... strange, too... they are usually pretty good about keeping out of the papers... below the radar, so to speak... (pun definitely intended)...

... you know, normally I accept that most people are morons and just let it slide... but having rabid television presenters running around like they just "suddenly" heard that NSA has been spying on US Citizens is far, far too stupid, even for me to stomach...

... the NSA is wiretapping telephone calls?!?... wow... really?... no shit?... you complete dumbass... of COURSE they are... and hey, they've been doing it since their inception...

.. there is a reason they refer to them as "spooks", you know...remember the FBI's Carnivore?... what about The Clipper Chip?...

... we've had this stuff for years... or at least stuff like it... if you make an overseas phone call and mention certain catch phrases, you're phone call will be recorded and some pencil-necked Zoomie at Ft. Meade will have to and listen to it to make sure you aren't being subversive... shocked?... then wake up, moron...

... this news story is a fabrication... it is utter bullshit... every President since Truman has thrown funding to NSA to do exactly what is being reported on the news today... this isn't "breaking news"... this is media whoring with one intent only... to smear the current administration.... shamelessly, I might add....

... this is what is stirred up for news the day after successful Iraqi elections, eh?... Fox News reporting on a grammar school principal getting his head shaved and NSA monitoring overseas calls?... mercy..

... see, the NSA is the ultimate political sleeve-card...at any point in the NSA's history, an opposition politician could waddle up to a reporter and whisper "hey, gumshoe... NSA is stealing our civil liberties, and it's all the President's fault."... and the shit would hit the fan... and, of course, it would be partially true... Democrats OR Republicans... it's just a way of twisting Joe Public's view against an administration...

... I'm going back to bed... it's 8:19AM EST and I've already reached dumbass overload..

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Bart...

... whilst dining at the local Applebee's this afternoon, I happened to see a guy I went to grammar school with... back then, he was a mighty force of corn-fed malevolence... well, at least from the perspective of a 12-year old...

... I remembered him brawny and with tousled hair... a monster who loomed large over water fountains and playgrounds... a type of menace that Epics are written about...

... well, today he sat quietly across the aisle from me sipping iced tea with his Wife while I cradled a Sam Adams longneck... oblivious to my presence.. unaware of my identity...

... when he first walked in, I thought I recognized him... and after a few minutes, I finally placed him in my mind... I leaned forward over the giant plate of nachos, and whispered to my Partner...

.. "see little guy over there?.. I went to school with him... he was a mortal terror back then.."...

.. "really?.. he looks pretty harmless to me.."...

... "Black Bart... that's what we called him... remember that black spot on the meaty section of my left shoulder?... that was him... that's the remnants of the sharpened tip of a No. 2 lead pencil..."...

... "What?... he stabbed you with a pencil?... Jesus Christ, Eric.. Americans are so violent..." ...

... distracted by the sudden remembrance and unaccustomed to coming face to face with old schoolmates, I failed to answer her slanderous Euro-view.. instead, I continued...

.. "8th Grade geometry class... the bastard sat right in front of me.. he'd hit his growth-spurt about two years before everyone else, and he was huge.."..

.. "You should go over and talk to him... introduce yourself... bury the hatchet, so to speak..." ..

... "no need, babe... no need... buried the hatchet with him a long, long time ago... " ...

... "good.. that's good... it's never good to keep wounds like that open... " ..

... "yeah... I caught him at a campfire party the next year when we were freshmen in high school.. beat the living hell out of him with a split piece of a 2X4 they'd been using for firewood... he was a lot bigger than me, but that 2X4 worked like a charm..." ..

... "good grief, Eric, I give up.. " ..

... "hey, what goes around comes around... especially around here.." ..

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(11) | TrackBack (1) | SWG Stories
» Boudicca's Voice links with: The Metamorphosis

Corduroy...

... it just doesn't seem like Christmas this year, truth be told... sure, the tree is up... and a steady stream of Christmas Cards fill the mailbox every afternoon, but it just feels like something is missing... I'm thinking gingerbread or holly...

... the packages are wrapped as well... sitting almost mournfully under the small white tree... costume jewelry and a pink corduroy jacket both lovingly wrapped... picked out by a charming black fellow who asked attentive questions about my beloved as he escorted me to the various racks and shelves of the store... a homosexual man with exquisitely manicured fingernails as I remember... long, too, like a lady's... between the two of us, we managed to find gifts The Wife will love...

... bloody hell... shopping in Chattanooga... it just gets stranger and stranger every year...

... I really can't put my finger on it... but it just doesn't seem like Christmas this year...

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Jessica Lange..

.... I know I'm probably going to take a load of crap for this, but I just watched Jessica Lange get totally orgasmic from being groped by a vintage 1976 King Kong... seriously, she was squirming around like a total minx.... Sure, I know it is supposed to be a horror flick... a classic even, but people, she was digging her some Monkey Love....

... it was truly amazing... inspiring even, in a warped sort of way.... motivational, even.. maybe...

... anyway, later in the film when she'd had a cocktail with Jeff Bridges, Kong showed back up... she fell straight into his hands with nary a harsh word... no kicking, screaming, or biting... nope... just stood there and let those massive digits sweep her right off her feet... word up, rubberneckers, once you go Gorilla, well, I guess you never go back...

... oh, and while I'm at it, I have a bone to pick with the editing crew of King Kong... see, I was paying attention while watching Jessica act.... remember that scene where Kong is rubbing his index finger across Jessica's boobage?... that flimsy little buckskin top?.... him drooling like a horned-up maniac, and her purring and moaning... revved up to her max and ready to explode.. well, once Kong got distracted by the giant snake, the next shot was of Ms. Lange from a side-angle running up to Jeff Bridges... HA!... she was TOPLESS!!... damn editing Nazis.... Kong was REALLY copping a feel and they cut it out of the production!...

... what a ripoff... I mean, it is one thing to insinuate that Kong was getting his sexual jollies with Jessica... but to have tape rolling and PROOF of the grope?... and NOT share it with us, the public?... well, someone needs to die...

.. and before you people start baying for my blood, I'm not into beast-love... and King Kong ain't about that... you see, he represents much, much more than just a beast... Kong represents the animal in all of us... the lustful and the barbaric... and in some way, the innocent and the monstrous....

... but you have to admit.. wouldn't it have been just plain KILLER to have watched a topless Jessica Lange straddle Kong's index finger and grind that bastard into submission?...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(12) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» Cake Eater Chronicles links with: Your Quote of the Day

Helen...

... and speaking of Christmas ghosts, Everyday Stranger has it going on....

.... once upon a time - while listening to Springsteen's "Local Hero" as I thundered along the back-roads here in Tennessee, I thought of Helen... I do believe I posted about it back in the mists of long ago.... but that song just seemed to fit... truly fit... if blogdom were our "hometown", then surely she is a local hero... and not just to me, but to many..... and the next time I'm in London, I hope to buy her and Angus a pint or four...

... and with that said, behold, children... The Three Ghosts of Christmas... writing that, in my humble opinion, is too damn good to be put on a blog...

... Christmas Past...
... Christmas Present...
... and Christmas Future....

... if you read nothing else this holiday season, you must read those three posts...

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Peace...

... Miss Shoe is reminiscing... man, I love it when good writers do that.... It warms my cold, calloused heart, it does....

... no, I mean that... it really does...

... a huge part of Christmas to me is, well, taking note of the ones not around to celebrate it with... the true Ghosts of Christmas Past...

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Used...

.. tonight I have more lyrics bouncing around in my grape... mostly thanks to the new John Prine Live CD I gifted to myself over the weekend... the man is a genius... hey, I have been a good boy lately... besides, I deserved it simply for putting up with those infamous slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that have been dropped in my lap lately..

... anyway, back to the lyrics... tonight's selection is from "Norwegian Wood"

... remember that part where they said something like "I once had a girl, or should I say she once had me."

... what the hell does that mean?... if it means what I think it means, then the singer got himself tangled with a woman who probably could shake her booty like a Brazilian...

... indeed... "she once had me"... word, people.. think about that for a moment... mull it over and let the bouquet develop...

... now, a question... ever been abused that way?... treated like a hunk of meat by some seductive wench... and then sent home at 2AM with your shirt and trousers clinging damply to your body where she'd left a trail of her pleasure from your rug-burnt knees to your lint-filled bellybutton?.. no shower... the old "I'm finished, you can go now.".. and boom, just like that you're tossed out of the apartment... dazed and confused and spent and sticky?... yet grinning... grinning like a complete and utter madman... content in the knowledge that tomorrow, the scene is destined to repeat itself... and equally content in knowing that you had just been used as a flesh-and-blood sex-aid... no love... not even lust, really... just providing a service.. a utility, of sorts... like a hammer or a saw...

... then again, maybe I'm just projecting... and Norwegian Wood is actually about something totally different.. Sunday School or holding hands or something... I'm often confused after dark..

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11:07AM...

... I'm really, really craving tacos right now...

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Shelves...

... there are some things in life that have earned the highest places in our hearts... how they found their way, winding the curvy passages of our Love, is often an intricate tale.... often with no discernable path to the "how" and "why", they simply just are... these things that we love.... and yet, they are ranked... lovers, pets, parents, a good macaroni and cheese recipe... they all sit at various levels on the dusty knick-knack shelf of life... held high for all to see... our greatest moments, memories, and True Loves...

... and everyone's curio is a curious collection...

... but yesterday.... while watching Manning punk Jacksonville over a nice pint of Boddingtons at The Fox & Hound in Chattanooga, a five-cheese baked Ziti Alfredo dusted off shelf #2 and sat itself down...

... hell, I was as shocked as anyone... still am, actually... I would have figured that rugburn-sex story would have remained on that shelf forever... how the times do change us...

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Habits...

... today the Holiday Christmas tree goes up... yeah, yeah, I know it's a little late... but lately our familial moons have been waxing more on the side of Scrooge than of Tiny Tim... still, it could be worse.. some years we've been known to wait until Christmas Eve to erect the monstrosity...

... ahh, I shouldn't be so jaded.. tis the season of high-fat eggnog after all.. so there's that...

... anyway, plans were drawn up yesterday for a dangerous mission... Operation Kidney Punch... aka "The Assault of Hamilton Place Mall"... H hour looms, people.. breaking large on the horizon as we rush about the house inspecting and re-inspecting wallets and purses to ensure they're up for the task... it'll be bloody, expensive, and draining... but by sheer force of will, hopefully we shall prevail...

... in other news, Princess Cat has tagged me with a mememememe...it seems she is curious about my weird habits..

... of course, all of you must realize that I have no weird habits... I've put considerable thought into this, you see, and I've come to a realization... all of my "habits" are perfectly normal.. it is all of YOU who are strange and perverted.. with your weird habits, strange fetishes, and stuff...

... but hey, I will be the good blogdaddy and play anyway...

My Five Weird Habits:

1. I hate it when my hair touches the tops of my ears... so, I get a haircut every three weeks...

2. ... for the love of all that is high and holy, I cannot tear myself away from my propensity for abusing ellipsis...

3. I rise early every morning... I haven't slept past 9:30 in probably fifteen years... it's nice to greet all the mornings with a cup of coffee, don't get me wrong... but sometimes I find myself in need of an afternoon nap...

4. ... when no one is around, I sing old Dean Martin songs to myself in my best Dean Martin imitation singing voice.. lately it's been "Houston"...

5. .. I have (I'm told it is annoying) habit of memorizing song lyrics after just listening to the song once.. and the more complicated the lyrics, the better...

.... there, see?.... 100% USDA approved normal.. what'd you expect?...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(11) | TrackBack (1) | Blogging
» Seven Inches of Sense links with: Weird? Moi?

Journalism...

... sometimes "documenting" the war isn't what you might think it is... check this out....

I tell them about June 24, 2004, when I documented another car bomb that ripped through an Iraqi police station. After I took the needed photographs, we left the site. On our way back to headquarters, another unit received fire from a mosque. We stopped in the middle of the road, blocking the intersection that led to the mosque. When the firefight seemed to cease, we were ambushed. A white van pulled up in an empty field and several men exited. All carried weapons. One fired an RPG to our direction. As the rocket flew directly toward me, time suspended. I knew I was going to die. My life flashed before my eyes. Just as I lost hope, the RPG landed 10 feet in front of me. It was a dud. And we killed the attackers. Their bodies fell to the earth like tiny trees being knocked down by the wind. Shortly thereafter, we were attacked again. This time, they got away.

... go now, people... and read the whole thing...

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NYC...

... there are places that each of us envision ourselves going... dream trips, so to speak... locations that we've made a list of, maybe as a child full of wonder or curiousity, that now as adults we want to check off.. one by one... it's one of the fulfilling things about being an adult... being in a position to make those naïve, child-like dreams of visiting exotic locations really happen...

... when I was a young buck, it was Cairo and Venezuela.. have a beer in Alexandria ala "Ice Cold in Alex".. when I first arrived in Europe, I made a list on a bar napkin in Edinburgh with my Scottish girlfriend by my side... crazy stuff... have a hamburger in Hamburg... abseil down the Tower of London in the dead of night.. get my tongue sunburned at the topless beach in Nice.. take a camel trek across the desert from Rabat to the Red Sea... I still have that napkin, too... how the times do indeed change us.

... now, my goals are a bit more sedate... see the river flowing green on St. Patrick's day in Chicago... call a friend from the top of the Empire State Building.. have a champagne cocktail and scrambled eggs for breakfast in an open-air café near the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan...

... from adventure to comfort... the prizes I seek have changed from "me doing" to "me enjoying".... That's probably much too simple of a way to describe it, but it is partially true... another facet of it can be viewed differently... everything on my list of long ago was meant to be done alone... today's list is meant to be experienced with family and friends by my side...

... strange, I know, this changing of attitude... or outlook...

... over at Letters from NYC this morning, I was reading her post "You know you're from NYC when..." and I came across a line that reminded me of a conversation I had with Dax while I was visiting Manhattan... "being truly alone makes you nervous"....

... in the conversation, I described how you could look out the window of our hotel, The Beekman Tower, at any time day or night and see the throngs of people in the streets... horns, sirens, and other diversions... and how The Wife and I had made our way up to the bar at the top of the hotel before it had opened for business one night... we found ourselves alone amidst the plush sofas and leather chairs.. surrounded by tall windows on every side that opened the darkened city before us at every angle... and at that time, for the first time during the entire trip, we felt that we were alone in New York City... we were too high for the sounds of the street to find us, and even with the lights from the neighboring apartment blocks easily visible, the strange sense of solitude and comfort was palpable..

... and at that moment, my mate did something I would never have imagined she would do... as I sat sinking into the easiness of the sofa, she walked over to the piano and lifted the cover.. and with a calm and quiet look of happiness, she played... after twelve years of marriage, I had forgotten that she used to play the piano... and don't get me wrong, it wasn't Mozart by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something beautiful about it... something honest... a new openness, maybe.. or a straying from the usual self-reserved shyness... but nonetheless, she played...

... later that night, Dax called... and I tried to convey to him via words how much I enjoyed sitting alone in the bar at the top of The Beekman - with Manhattan lit up and sprawling out before me - while my Wife pecked on the keys of that Baby Grand... and then, like now, I didn't do it justice...

... but what does interest me is the idea of "being alone"...

... I have been truly on my own for days at a time... walking cross-country where not even a passing airplane could be seen... days on end without hearing the sound of your own voice or that of another... only the trails of the wind rustling the heather, the rain against the tent, and the rushing flutter of a startled ptarmigan's feathers as it takes flight... and I've reclined in a skyscraper, that probably held 1000 souls, and felt like there were no other people within miles except for my Wife and I..

... the point of this?... well, quite often I don't have one... just thinking, that's all... but I can tell you this... the only times I have truly felt alone have had nothing whatsoever to do with being around other people... even three days into the mountains on a seven day trip, it never crossed my mind that I was alone... sure, I was by myself... isolated and quiet... but I was never alone... just by myself..

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Twain...

... tonight will see a New Stage of Development for the Eagle Glen Social Club, and I'm stoked... my nearly two years of pummeling the poor sods with slurred Robert Service deliveries, impromptu Dr. Seuss knock-offs, and bawdy Tom Waits recitations has paid off... for tonight, rubberneckers, we field-trip to Knoxville...

... Brad & Date, Jason & Date, and the Wife and I are off to enjoy an evening with Mark Twain at the Tennessee Theatre... yep, Hal's "Mark Twain tonight!" has come to town... apart from Hal Holbrook's politics, I've heard tell that he performs a wonderful delivery of Mr. Twain's works... we shall see...

... have no fear, though... I doubt any literary genius will be rubbed off on us... and the regularly scheduled low-brow posting on this site shall remain cemented... but still, I have to admit... I'm proud of my boys for cowboying-up... it's only taken two years of work to get us this far... Hell, by 2025, we're liable to be visiting the Opera on occasion...

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Tail...

... the Missus has quite a few autographed photos of old movie stars in her collection... Gene Kelly... Cary Grant.... sure, she likes the pretty boys... but something is missing...

... in my blogroom, I have Robert Duvall and Clint Eastwood.... again, hardcore gentlemen... but something just isn't full tilt...

... I'm writing this down because yesterday a strange conversation began over our choices... and somehow, as only our conversations can meander, we ended up wondering which old movie actor in a movie we were watching probably got the most tail...

... of course, there were hundreds to choose from... but we let AMC be our guide... as each of the evening's movies came on, we'd try to come up with an idea of which actor got laid the most off the set.. and then provide the necessary explanation/argument as to why our supposition was correct...

... verdict?.. it is my honest belief that of all movie actors from the "classic" age, Vincent Price was the man... tall, gruesome, and slim... groomed voice... nice mustache.. looked equally dashing in a suit or lumberjack flannel... loved the fine arts and a sharp machete on a dark night.. quoted Poe...

... hell, I'll bet that back in the day, Vincent could cause a woman to dampen at thirty paces...

... maybe I'm wrong... but he is now on the Christmas list.. so if anyone finds a cool autographed photo of Vincent Price, be sure to let me know... as for which collection it goes into, well, that's still up for grabs... does he hang forever in the room with "yummy men"... or does he proudly take his place on the "role model" wall... personally, I think he'd enjoy hanging with Clint and Duvall much, much better than Grant and Kelly...

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Parsnips..

.... in many ways, I am conservative.. for the most part, I am a quiet and shy creature... minding my manners... opening doors for strangers, etc... and when the Great One handed out patience, I was gifted a wolf's portion... hell, I'm a nice guy most of the time....

... but in other ways, I am adventurous... willing to take that envelope every talks about pushing, and make spitballs out of it... and I am most notably full of adventure when it comes to happily taking my place at the top of the food chain... see, there is a reason I have sharp teeth, an opposable thumb, and a pile of 30.06 ammo... in my chalk, I AM the top predator...

.... and the list of questionable foodstuffs I have consumed is long and varied... from snails to haggis... grasshoppers to caribou... ostrich to alligator... caviar, honeysuckles, or raw eggs... bison, rattlesnake, or groundhog, I'll give it a try.. sure, I might not like it... but I'll dive in once... after all, you never know until you've tried it...

... what brings this up?... fucking parsnips... the only food that I absolutely despise and am still fed on a fairly regular basis.. and as a fully grown man, that's just wrong.. hell, I'd rather chew on a hunk of mid-July roadkill than eat a steamed parsnip.. and yet they still get piled on my plate...

... we need to form some kind of alliance or working-party.. organize.. take a page out of the political playbooks and start marching and protesting.. ban the parsnip, I say.. it's a truly loathsome vegetable..

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Slick...

... something that I have noticed - while in the process of making fried Spam sandwiches - is that they put way too much Spam in a can.. I mean, it's enough for four or five sandwiches per can... and since The Wife wouldn't touch a hunk of fried Spam with a ten-foot caber, I've been forced to try to ziplock my leftover Spam for future frying.... She staunchly refuses to help me gnaw on it... It's hit or miss so far, the ziplocking... Spam definitely has a shelf-life once opened to the atmosphere... but I digress...

... last night, whilst knocking around in the fridge for some victuals, I stumbled upon the ziplocked Spam... one sniff and I knew it was no longer fit for man... but would it be fit for beast?... I decided to give it a try... the answer?.. oh, hell yeah...

... Fred and Ginger descended like pumas upon a wounded prairie varmint, people... and in a frenzy of fur, claws, and the kitty equivalent of "damn, Master Eric, that's some kickass grub" noises, the two hunks of sliced Spam were No More in this World in a matter of seconds...

... this morning both cats were lying motionless in their beds in the garage... their eyes half-glazed.. trickles of cat-drool puddling on the soft, warm folds of their fluffy mattresses... trust me, rubberneckers... I have never seen two cats so completely happy, relaxed, and satiated... then again, it could have been food poisoning...

.... either way, by lunchtime they had both arisen from their pork-induced stupor and were spry and lively... and they're being really friendly too... and their coats are incredibly shiny... kinda like mine after a nice hunk of fried Spam... what a sight.. both Master and Pets glowing in the after-effects of a Hormel meat product...

... see, as I've said many, many times... my life would kill most people.. probably by heart disease...

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Nature...

.... this morning sees the return of an old and missed friend... blue skies... and with it, a heavy sheen of frost on everything outdoors... the past few days have been gray with rain... makes a nice change, it does...

... the day's work - a fresh metric ton of Kentucky's finest horse dung - lies amidst the glinting ice crystals... waiting for my labored and smoky breath as I lunge at it in the frigid temperature with scoop and shovel later today... all for the good...

...sipping my coffee and mentally girding myself, hundreds of sparrows flit across the hard ground outside my window... using their tiny beaks to delicately pick up the fescue seed I scattered days ago, no doubt.. using the small sustenance to fuel their inner boilers.. save themselves from Winter's embrace... but still, in all the serenity that nature can muster this fine morning... one truth stands above all else...

... the little bastards are eating my grass seed...

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Ghosts...

.. my dreams of late have been fitful... a pantheon of heebie-jeebies has haunted my sleeping hours... running from zombies, hopelessly adrift with sharks, tied down while Hillary Clinton slowly grinds her pubis on my face... even one where I was swarmed upon by bumblebees... scary stuff.... all resulting in being jolted out of bed drenched in sweat....

... the peace normally found when dozing has evaded me... I wake up more tired than when I lay myself down.... and when not plagued with monsters or psychopaths in the small hours, I've found myself waking, fevered and shaking, from nocturnal visions of unbelievable violence... performed by me.. or performed on me...

... last year, I described my "finding the Dickens" in "A Christmas Carol"... and while watching Alistair Sim act out Scrooge again yesterday, I latched on to his words to the ghost of Marley... here is the original as Dickens penned it:

Then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

It came on through the heavy door, and a spectre passed into the room before his eyes. And upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, "I know him! Marley's ghost!"

The same face, the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights, and boots. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.

Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now.

No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him, -- though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes, and noticed the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, -- he was still incredulous.

"How now!" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What do you want with me?"

"Much!" -- Marley's voice, no doubt about it.

"Who are you?"

"Ask me who I was."

"Who were you then?"

"In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley."

"Can you -- can you sit down?"

"I can."

"Do it, then."

Scrooge asked the question, because he did n't know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt that, in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.

"You don't believe in me."

"I don't."

"What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?"

"I don't know."

"Why do you doubt your senses?"

"Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

... indeed... "because a little thing affects them"... perhaps my dilemma is the fault of a over-spiced burrito?... maybe a guilty conscience?... that last olive stuffed with feta cheese?.... perhaps, as Scrooge said, my nightmares are merely the result of a fragment of an underdone potato.... who knows...

... one thing's for sure, though... we've all a bit of Ebenezer Scrooge in us... pre-ghost and post-ghost...

... as I said last year, I'm no fan of Dickens.. but I truly love "A Christmas Carol"... I just wish my ghostly visitations were as helpful as his...

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Insanity...

... gentle rubberneckers... this is, quite possibly, the most insane thing that I have read all week... damn, I just wish I could figure out how to vote.... but still, for whomever nominated me, my most sincere thanks... and a finalist?... craziness.... but, hey... we all know that there are LOTS of better blogs running amok round about 251 to 500 in The Bear's World...

.... still, thanks for the mention... you people continually surprise me.... I mean, here I am cooking asparagus one quiet evening, and I get this?... unbelievable.... but while I love each of you like a brother or sister, you guys must realize that you're all morons... right?.... right?.... right...

... well, on second thought... some of you I love more like a super-hot mother-of-two with a pony tail and eye-glasses that just pushed your trolley by me in Krogers... but the rest of you are brothers and sisters... definitely.... but that's only a few of y'all....

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Stretching...

... as is my idiom, Sunday dinner will commence being prepared shortly... however, all is not as it should be... sauces, chili, steaks, ribs, and the like... well, they're my staple... I'm down with some meat... but a few minutes ago I was staggered by a heartfelt plea... "vegetables".... have mercy... other than a kick-tail recipe for blue cheese mashed potatoes, vegetables are the forbidden forest... the virgin territory...

... I'm thinking asparagus... or corn...

... exploration, people... I wonder if Lewis and Clark felt like this...

... either way, my skills are about to be stretched... I can feel it... who knew that personal growth would be birthed from the Frigidaire's crisper....

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Ogden's tired...

... metaphors, people... they can be a real bitch sometimes... and I really can't fault old Nashie for getting a little fuddled... lately I have been trying to camouflage certain things and replace them with more appropriate images... it's been a lot of fun, and I have enjoyed it immensely... but as of yesterday I had reached mental meltdown in my offline playings... too many metaphors bog you down... stickier than the funkiest Louisiana mud, they were, and less sweet smelling....

... anyway, in between watching Navy crush Army and Georgia bitch-slap LSU, I started making a graph of my troubles... pen and ink replacing the tapping of a keyboard for a day... and while it shed some light, some tangles remain knit... solid... but, hell, at least I see them more clearly now... and today, I mush on....

...with that, I give you a wonderful Nash poem to chew on this sleepy Sunday morning...

"Somewhat like a Whale"

One thing that literature would be greatly the better for
Would be a more restricted employment by the authors of simile and metaphor.

Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts,
Can't seem just to say that anything is the thing it is but have to go out of their way to say that it is like something else.

What does it mean when we are told
That that Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold?

In the first place, George Gordon Byron had enough experience
To know that it probably wasn't just one Assyrian, it was a lot of Assyrians.

However, as too many arguments are apt to induce apoplexy and thus hinder longevity.
We'll let it pass as one Assyrian for the sake of brevity.

Now then, this particular Assyrian, the one whose cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold,
Just what does the poet mean when he says he came down like a wold on the fold?

In heaven and earth more than is dreamed of in our philosophy there are great many things.
But I don't imagine that among them there is a wolf with purple and gold cohorts or purple and gold anythings.

No, no, Lord Byron, before I'll believe that this Assyrian was actually like a wolf I must have some kind of proof;
Did he run on all fours and did he have a hairy tail and a big red mouth and big white teeth and did he say Woof Woof?

Frankly I think it is very unlikely, and all you were entitled to say, at the very most,
Was that the Assyrian cohorts came down like a lot of Assyrian cohorts about to destroy the Hebrew host.

But that wasn't fancy enough for Lord Byron, oh dear me no, he had to invent a lot of figures of speech and then interpolate them,
With the result that whenever you mention Old Testament soldiers to people they say Oh yes, they're the ones that a lot of wolves dressed up in gold and purple ate them.

That's the kind of thing that's being done all the time by poets, from Homer to Tennyson;
They're always comparing ladies to lilies and veal to venison,

And they always say things like that the snow is a white blanket after a winter storm.
Oh it is, is it, all right then, you sleep under a six-inch blanket of snow and I'll sleep under a half-inch blanket of unpoetical blanket material and we'll see which one keeps warm,

And after that maybe you'll begin to comprehend dimly
What I mean by too much metaphor and simile.

.. indeed...

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Footlights...

.... as a youngun, I was a huge fan of Hank Williams Jr and Merle Haggard... not surprising, really... most of us yokels harbored desires to be the Southern Badboy when we grew up.. swilling hooch and chasing redneck women... telling the World and The Man exactly where they could kiss our ass... hey, what can I say?... we were aiming high back then...

... shocking, I know... but what stirs up this old memory?... well, we braved out into an unusually hot December evening and saw "Walk the Line" yesterday... the story of Johnny Cash and June Carter...yeah, I know that some were anxiously awaiting my review of "Pride and Prejudice", but I managed to swing a last-minute reprieve... and the Wife acquiesced to my pleadings at the first mention of Mr. Phoenix....

.. my take on the movie?... heroes are shattered... Johnny Cash.. Merle Haggard... Hank Jr... Waylon Jennings... they're all flawed.. sometimes deeply... but that's just it, isn't it?... we're drawn to their "art" by their weaknesses... their flaws and their humanity.... I heard it said once that to create great art, you had to be able to understand great suffering... well, after watching "Walk the Line", I believe it...

... the sad thing is, Johnny Cash had everything.. fame, fortune, and blowjobs from adoring bobby-soxers... but he drove himself into the ground because his Pa was an asshole... full of self-pity, the Great Man in Black had the backbone of slow-boiled Cajun shrimp.. at least according to the movie... it took June Carter straightening him up and stroking his ego to save him from oblivion...

... amazing... our heroes aren't eight feet tall and bullet-proof... well, imagine that.... they're people like you and I... which brings me to the title of this post... "Footlights"...

.. back in the day, one of my favorite songs... an angry, self-healing/self-loathing song.... but the whole idea of a Star getting angry at the crowd and kicking out the footlights mesmerized me... showering his adoring fans with jagged shards of glass while in a drunken rage... getting banned from the Opry... trying their best to alienate their fans... yet having the opposite effect... their fans simply seeing them as more flawed.. more human... and strangely, more of a Hero... the artiste with the pain...

.. it reminds me of the lyrics to an old Waylon Jennings song:

Hank Williams was the King of country soul.
My Dad took me to see him in Lubbock, but he didn't show.
Well the people got mad and they all went home.
And the first thing they did was put his records on.
I guess they should have left him alone and let him sing his song

... and, of course, the chorus from "Footlights"....

Tonight we'll kick the footlights out again
And try to hide the mood we're really in
Might not put on our old Instamatic grin
Tonight we'll kick the footlights out again

... that said, word up to some bloggers... I think it's about time to kick out some footlights...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(9) | TrackBack (1) | Music
» A Swift Kick & A Band-Aid links with: Walk the Line

Navel-gazing....

... promises... they can get you into trouble.. last week I made one, and today's the day to pay up... I'm heading off to the cinema to be dazzled by Pride and Prejudice... quit laughing, bastards...

... anyway, whilst chumming through the blogroll today, I found this post by Mr. Snitch via Instapundit... check it out:

Not every blogger practicing these distinct styles gets as much traffic as they might like. However, each style has the potential to drive traffic. Other styles of blogging, such as the let's-discuss-what-I-ate-for-lunch style, aren't suited for driving traffic, unless of course you're talking about what Madonna had for lunch. As a rule, navel-gazing gains an audience of one.

... well, mercy me.... navel-gazing... yep, that's me... and seeing as today is a slow day, I thought I would just show you rubberneckers that Mr. Snitch is, indeed, a man of insight... behold!

lunch.jpg

.. that, gentle reader, is a true Southern delicacy... Colonial white bread... Hellmann's mayonaise... two slices of Kraft american cheese... and two glorious slabs of Hormel Spam Lite... no chicken korma... Thai noodles with peanut sauce... none of that fancy stuff for me today, people...

... no... today I go back to my humble redneck roots... tucking myself securely into the coagulated folds of the original low-brow comfort food... the fried spam and cheese sandwich... all washed down with an ice-cold Coca-Cola...

... and you know what?... it wasn't half bad...

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