...yes, this is dark, but just for today

No matter what, someone will hate you.
No matter what you do, someone will hate it.
No matter how hard you try, someone will hate harder.
The world can be an ugly place.
The world is full of people.
You are not an ugly person.
People make the world ugly.
People want you to be ugly, like them.
You are not an ugly person.
People want you to share their misery.
People feel they are the only ones that hurt.
People want to hurt to stop hurting.
You might be an easy target.
People hate that you can be happy.
People don't want to believe that you are strong.
You might be an easy target.
You are not an ugly person.
He or she are not ugly people.
Know it.
Grow it.
Show it.

Dunked in the icy Ohio...kinda

It's over.
It's so over and I couldn't be anymore upset. Christmas, you know, "the most wonderful time of the year..." is over.
And I witnessed it at the very second it happened.
Christmas night I was driving home in my cold, dark car from Jenny's house. I enjoyed myself, by the way. It was about ten till midnight when I set out. I was half way between Owensboro and Henderson looking up at the clear, night sky, reflecting about how well Christmas had gone mindlessly singing along to Elvis' Silver Bells when...BAM!
An immediate turnover to some shit like Disco Fever. Elvis didn't even get a chance to finish his song. Not only did they cut off Christmas, but they cut off the King! There were no commercials, no "Merry Christmas everyone," no transition.
It was a jolt.
I felt as if I had been dunked in icy water and just brought up for air. I frantically scanned the radio for more Christmas music, but nothing.
I shall not name the radio station. But let me say this: you are on my shit list; which is way worse than Santa's naughty list.
Why?
Why must we cut the season off like we do?
Who takes the tree down Christmas day or the day after?
Who can't wait for the holidays to be over?
Phase out.
Let the holidays go merrily like they arrived. Not like a bandaid, not like a bandaid!
Eh, what am I talking about? There's going to be year end sales and all sorts of events for the next month.
Still; let me let go, slowly.

Listen Up Fatties; it's about to get serious

Okay, chill. My title has nothing to do with making fun of people that are overweight. When I say fatties, I mean my fellow McDonalds indulgers.
I love the stuff. At times, I have been addicted to the stuff. At times, I've had to face personal demons to stop eating the stuff. So, stop freaking out and start paying attention to me blog.....fatties.
In case you haven't noticed, sneaky Mc-E-dees has pulled a fast one on the dollar menu. The blessed dollar menu that used to boast the double cheeseburger has now slimmed down to what McDonalds calls the McDouble.
What's the difference?
As far as I can tell; one slice of cheese and maybe the size of the bun, and I think it's not as heavy anymore. Keep in mind these tests have not been examined in a Mclabratory. So, my research is inconclusive. This information might be available on the website, but who the hell is going to do that?
What does this mean?
For one: less cheese equals less fat grams. Maybe a smaller bun and patty, again, less fat grams and carbs. Altogether, the McDouble is not half bad. We all need a lower caloric intake. I might even be able to tell you exactly how much of a difference it all is from the website, but I will leave it to you to do on your own. Besides, reading and writing my blog is way more important.
Impact.
This is it, people. This tiny detail. The devil is in the details. The details that we just so happen to look over everyday. What else have you not noticed lately? The price of gas going sky high and then dropping to a 6 year low...of course we catch that. But the Mcdouble?
No way.
Or maybe you catch yourself mumbling, "Mcdouble, McDouble," as you drive off wondering why saying it sounds so weird.
Those details, the ones that change the world or change nothing are there, you just have to notice them. What have you overlooked lately?

"Raindrops keep falling on my head..."

Ugh. Today. Could it get any worse?
Not only is it rainy, but it's cold rain. The type of rain that drips drops into the crevices between your clothing and skin.
Like Death has slid his bony fingers to caress your soul. He toys. He preys on the emotions you feel on a cold, rainy, gray day.
The inkling of a feeling like the death of loved one.
A little of me has died today.
Died, driving, staring at the tea-colored puddles rippling on the street.
What is it about these days that keeps even the best of Christmas carols from warming me up and making me sing?
Why must this day make rashes flair up and send children home from school?
Why must my sinuses be acting up today? Making the pressure build behind my eyes and the weight of my head feel like it has ballooned. All sounds are muffled and I'm just not sure if I'm awake yet...or still dreaming.
Will the alarm go off?
Will this end and a vibrant winter sun shine?
Coworkers are planning on staying inside on a day like this.
"I forgot to lock my car, can I click the clicker from the doorway..."
The doorway-the threshold...between here and there, light and dark, cold and warm.
I'm at the threshold today.
Waiting just long enough for the wind to change
and shake my dismay.

Calling all Wannabes

AKA's, alter egos, pseudonyms, pen names, and stage names: I've had it!
Okay, I haven't.
I' m just jealous because I want to have one. I want to have one and my friends and family not think I'm ridiculous for having one.
I was informed today by a coworker, an avid reader of People magazine, that Beyonce has an alter ego now. And her alter ego has released an album. By the way, in case you are wondering, the name is Sasha Fierce. I like it. It's sexy and edgy. Supposedly, this new, I mean other Beyonce is more hip hop. Great. I was just thinking the other day that Beyonce needed to bring it a little harder. I mean she's got a great voice singing about love and crap, but I want to hear her get dirty. And I'm sure this new phase of her career has nothing to do with her being married to H-to-the-O-V.
But seriously, what gives?
Have you noticed that only actors, writers, musicians, and other preforming types are the only ones that get away with this?
There's Prince>the symbol>artist formerly known as Prince>Prince, Garth Brooks>Chris Gaines, Sean Combs>Puff Daddy>Puff>P Diddy>Diddy>now what?, Mariah Carey>Mimi>Mariah, Marshall Mathers>Slim Shady>Eminem, and then who?
Why can't I, a common case manager, have an alter ego? You know, one that shows up to work on time, is completely efficient, and makes everyone laugh. Or maybe I'm aiming too low.
How about an alter ego that is a genius detective, who wears the coolest clothes, has all the women drooling over him, and always closes the case.
Nah.
That's just too Hollyweird for me.
I like me.
In fact, I'm probably cool enough to be someones alter ego. Yeah. I could definitely see someone saying I wanna be a hot, intelligent, humorous dandy, with a bad-ass girlfriend, and that rocks the hell out of a mediocre job while writing a blog when motivated.
Today, life is good.

The Majestic Snow

Today was busy as hell. I was double timed with meetings/training until 2 and then was sideswiped by a million other tasks all at once. I was a tad bit tiffed by it all. Being busy made the day fly by, though. I had a visitor, which made it great, but the day was none-the-less hectic.
Add to that...
There's been nothing but depressing crap in the news for God knows how long about the economy, the Middle East, and effing U.S. politics and it all came to a head.
I might have slammed my fists down a couple times, too.
And then...it happens...it starts to snow.
What's funny is that one person came in and said, "Hey, it's snowing." And then another, and another, and then everyone was talking about it, just like how the snow starts. You see that one flake and then a couple more and then it's snowing full force.
At first I could not go out to look because I was in the middle of something and bitching. Someone even called me out on not being enthusiastic enough. But the stress overwhelmed me and I had to put down my stack of papers and go to gaze.
I flew up the few steps to the large glass paneled doors to see the swirling flakes in panoramic view.
There was a coworker there just watching and smiling. I turned to her and just like the others said, "It's snowing," and she replied, "Yeah. It is, isn't it?"
Innocently, like two children, taking time to just enjoy the moment. I guess that's what everyone was doing and reminding each other to go do when they say, "It's snowing."
So taking a moment like I did today just made me start over. I had to forget it all and stare at something that seems so magical...like that first snow to remember what simple things joy in life can be derived from.
There is a child in me and there is a child in us all, still. I'm just glad that someone was able to remind to acknowledge that today.

Picklesickle and other Wordplay

Old man winter showed his face today an blew an angry, icy wind that instilled fear in me.
Fear, I say.
Fear of the cold, fear of jacking up my heat, fear of jacking up my heat which in-turn jacks my bank statement.
Forget that you get to wear awesome coats and scarves and boots with the furrrrr...it's cold!
This will now be my morning: wake up to NPR and gently roll back the covers to feel my body warmth dissipate immediately.
What comes next?
Debate hitting snooze; but wait...that would mean getting out of bed for what, 8 more minutes of sleep?
NO!
I creep that first foot out onto the hardwood that feels as though it has frozen over with a sheet of ice. I hear Pickles scratching around in his cage, luckily he didn't from becoming a Picklesickle during the night.
Now my shower will take even longer to heat up while my nipples shrivel to what looked like freckles. And I just know when I step out of the shower they will again shrivel.
It's now a race to get dressed to fend off the jet of cold air rushing through my decrepit windows. don't feel so sorry for me; I'm having some replaced.
That brings me to efficiency, my topic for Third Tuesday tonight:
How energy efficient can one be? You get the triple-paned windows, over insulated abode, and energy star appliances, but then what?
What about when our gas runs out?
What about when your geothermal power is not enough to warm us all?
I want to save money, but I also want to know that a hundred years from now people that inhabit the planet will be able to bitch about their energy bills, too.
Why are we not planning ahead, ahead?
Aren't we acutely aware that one day the oil well will run dry?
Don't we realize that there is only so much coal to be scraped from the Earth?
Yes, these are questions that I wonder, even as I wish I had an electric hand warmer to warm my icy hands as I take hold of a warm wiener to peepee.
But what can I do? This is just one of so many mornings that will go on until old man winter goes back up north to vacation on the poles.

Vanity, just plain vanity

While I prepared for work this morning, I looked in the mirr...no, I gazed in the mirror and was horrified by what my hair was doing, or more importantly, not doing.
It was mopped out.
It looked like a raccoon had crawled on top of my head and died sometime during the night. It was flat on top and poofed on the sides.
It was embarrassing as hell....and this was after I fixed it.
Luckily, I had an appointment with my stylist. I showed up and she gave me bug eyes. And the bug eyes were not from my hair, but because I was a day early.
Instead of waiting a day, I decided to wait through her actual appointment until she could cut my hair. I had time, so I perused the fashion mags stacked between the chairs. I found a do that I thought might be nice to do. As I looked at the picture I could see myself in it. And why not?
I'm in shape, not terribly disfigured, and will soon have that same haircut.
What it would feel like to have a stylist, designer clothes, and tons of money for looking the best I can? I know the looks to give: serious eyes, stern brow, and jaw clinched tight for maximum square jaw line. Then there's the I'm so comfortable I laugh so that you can see my crow's feet smile with the head tilted back ever-so-slightly. Oh, and don't forget the "I can't remember if I shaved today or not," scruffy look. See, I know how to pose, now where's my mineral water?
"Casey, we're ready," she says and I fall back to Earth from my grandiosity.
It's just a do in a magazine, but damn I worked it for a couple of seconds.
Hopefully s o m e o n e will like it. Anything's better than dead, half-flat raccoon.

Embracing the Time and Nation

It's Thursday, two days after the election, and you could say I'm lazy for not writing about it until today. I do things on MY time. This revelation came to my dad last weekend. "Casey," he says "Oh, he'll get it done...it might be next week or next month, but he'll get it done. He does things at his own pace."
So, I'm writing about the election at my own pace.
Besides, for the past 6 months all we've heard about is the election, so who minds waiting a couple of days for my take on it all?
I'm a Democrat, but I agree with some Republican ideals. I have to say that as far as a feeling that I get about which is the right choice, being Democratic feels right.
When I was standing behind the cardboard partition voting I came to the presidential boxes and couldn't resist this ear-to-ear smile that came over me as I voted for Obama. It was a combination of feeling confident about my choice, making history, and rebelling against my parents(which seems a little funny at age 27, but I did anyway.)
Flash forward to that night when I'm watching the results flood in on the multiple channels covering it. The result seems clear; Obama will be our 44th president. Jenny changes the channel so we can watch The Office on TBS. At a commercial break she turns back to the news and it's done. Obama takes the presidency with a resounding victory. "My God. It happened so fast," I remember saying.
We scan the channels to see the various reactions of CNN, Fox News, etc.
We all just kind of looked at each other like, "it's happened, this is real, history was made right in front of us."
A little later when I heard McCain's concession speech I almost choked up, as did he. I'm sure McCain would have been a great president, but it wasn't the right time, and it was probably his last chance. I admired his speech greatly.
Then came Obama with his acceptance speech. I was linked, as probably every other voter watching, with him at that moment. Our nation, starting over and making history at the same time. The unity that I felt was immense. I look forward to the future, a future united, a future that I hope will become a past that we are damn proud to say WE were a part of, TOGETHER.

Negative Cell Phone Enjoyment

Hello out there all you faithful blogger readers! Teasing. Thank you so much for reading thus far! I'm so desperate for attention.
This blog, should provoke two thoughts: Oh, my God is that Zack Morris and his fantastically large cell phone from "Saved by the Bell"? Yes. So awesome. And... what great blog topic for today.

This morning I came into the office and realized that I had no service on my personal cell phone which has made me feel completely and totally useless and bored! My work cell phone doesn't have service either, but who cares about that?

I am expecting a phone call about my furnace, so that's super important. Other than that I'm not expecting anything special except for the thousand text messages I send in a day! I need this to get through the day!

Supposedly, the cell phone towers are malfunctioning. Either that or aliens or terrorists or alien terrorists. What would be worse in this case? Honestly, I don't care what the cause is, just give me back my cell phone. God, why are you doing this to me, now?!

I can communicate through email, but that just doesn't give me the instant gratification of a text message. I'm eagerly awaiting life to return back to normal. At this point I don't even care if i had to use a giant Zack Morris phone.

Plug in for Romance

Hello out there, all you fakers and fronters,
have I got something for you.
It's love, it's lust,
it will singe off the dust,
of your pathetic single life.
It's a love light for your love life,
a miraculous, melty tool.
It's an electric fireplace.
Installation is easy; just plug it in.
Then hold tight
as you say goodnight,
with your lover
tucked under the covers.
But seriously, I just bought an electric fireplace that I am hoping will save me a few hundred dollars this fall and winter. I just plugged it in this afternoon and am going home soon to check it out. It's not just for me, if you know what I mean, it's for pickles, and for you. For comfort, for pleasure, for non-sock feet on icy floors during cold weather.
It might even be eco-friendly? I'm hoping it's eco-nomically-friendly.
Keep it toasty.

nebula, oh nebula

I took out my contacts because they were drying out in my eyes. I was beginning to have trouble seeing at the end of the night. Maybe my sight was distorted by the cool, dry air of that fall night, or from a smokey sports bar. I could have been afflicted by it all.
Maybe 2 AM is when it was that got around to taking them out. The house was quiet and I could almost hear my blood pulse through my body in unison with the petite steps padding through the carpeted hallway.
I turned the corner, as did the nebula. I was face to face with the birth of a star. The stellar, galactic cloud that eventually collapses into a star. Her eyes were striking and timeless. I was frozen and afire in the vacuum of space.
Maybe my contacts had only shielded me from her eyes so far, but in that light, those eyes, went on forever.
I just sat on the sink, looking.
Eventually I mumbled, "do you need to use this?"
And those nebulous eyes almost whispered, smiling, "umm...yes."
Quite possibly I had mistaken what I saw, or maybe eventually everyone comes face to face with an astral body and it's no big deal. Regardless, I can still see them. And the picture above doesn't even do them justice.

The Death Sleep

"Sleep, my child" is what I wish someone could say and I would immediately fall asleep. Unfortunately, it is not that easy. Do you ever have those nights when you are so tired that you can't sleep? I had one last night. I fell asleep on the couch watching a documentary about Hinduism and woke up two hours later. I remembered that I still had to water my plants, so I did at 12:30 last night. After making coffee for in the morning I was tired, but not sleepy.
Dammit.
I got online and played for awhile, then tried to commit to sleep.
Unsuccessful.
I laid in bed and let all the things worry me that would take place tomorrow. Then I began to worry about my life, my soul, my financial situation, and everything else. I do not recall when I finally drifted off.
The point?
The point is I might have drifted off long enough for good sleep, but not the "death sleep."
The death sleep is the crucial four hours of deep REM sleep, that one must have every night. Sleep researchers have deemed this sleep necessary for a longer life span and general health. The more days you experience the deep sleep, the more days you will live. So, I call it the death sleep.
I'm hoping for more death sleep tonight.
Does it help that I daydream all day? I certainly wish it did.

Electric Blue

I have spent over a month without writing a blog.
What does that say about me?
What does that say about you?
Yes, you. You, for not saying, "What the eff, Casey? Why haven't you posted lately?"
Kidding.
It's entirely my fault.
Who reads my posts anyways?
Today, though, I write.
I stayed late in the office and was torn away from my desk by a fire drill. The time was about 5:15 P.M. central. The heat was still as intense as any summer day (the first day of fall was yesterday). The leaves were blowing across the parking lot making crispy noises from being completely dry. I was standing in a way to block the setting sun from blinding a coworker. I looked at her in her sunglasses and even though I was blocking the sun and she was wearing shade she was squinting.
I knew it was electric blue time.
Electric blue is that shade of blue I only notice during fall. I remember remarking to her that it's the only time of the year when the sky will look like this. I said something about Autumn sunsets, but I don't think she agreed.
I whirled upwards and stared into the clearest of electric blue. The color also reflects the time of year when that chill just starts to whisper in the early morning.
I can definitely see why people love Autumn so much.
Autumn is for lovers.
When the trees are falling asleep, the people are wide awake.

High-fiving instead of Supersizing me

Yes!
I am so over it!
Over what, you ask?
Effing McDonald's, man.
I was addicted to the deadly duo of a double cheeseburger and medium fries for three days a week for a period of two months. Each night, before the binging, I would feel actual symptoms of withdrawal. Just knowing that I was about to "fix" made me a wreck. Not to mention after I ate I just wanted to lie down and chill. That whole "fixing" and then just hanging really made me feel like I was shooting or hitting the pipe.
I'm no Morgan Spurlock, but I do agree with just about everything he said in Supersize Me, that pertains to the fast food industry. And I can certainly tell how the sugar, sodium, and trans fat stick to your body. I was steadily putting on weight and steadily disgusting myself.
I have not had the vile food in two weeks and am finally feeling like I have left it behind me. My energy is back up and my digestive track is regular again. Thank God. I don't know how much longer my friends, co-workers, and I could have stood my sewage gas.
I think a sequel to Supersize Me needs to be done. I think Morgan should should put himself on a diet of health foods that claim to be healthy. Like "made with whole grain" breads, "low fat" foods, and any other phony marketing scheme.
Yep, I'm filling lighter and my clothes aren't any tighter.
I must admit, the shakes were almost enough to make me cave last week. Now that I'm free from fast food what's next? Sex? Ha! it's been long enough already.

Digging Daddy Time

Yes!
I am a father.
Okay, not in the sense that I impregnated a woman or anything.
But, as of yesterday, I am the proud father of a short-haired, brown guinea pig named Pickles.
I don't think it has adjusted to me, yet. The manual says it could take awhile, and that the first day I should just leave it alone.
Last night before I went to bed I tried to give it a good night carrot. Pickles started racing around its cage like a brown streak of lightning. I perceived it as discomfort. I'm going to give it plenty of time to acclimate before I try to pick it up and cuddle it.
Don't worry. I'm not going to freak out and start buying clothes for it or anything. But I will take multiple pictures with it. Maybe even Wal-mart studio pictures.
Yep, expect Christmas cards with yours truly and Pickles.
I just needed something to care for. Something furry to play with. I just needed some company. And plus, if things go well with Pickles, I might actually be able to handle a dog, and then another human relationship. But for now I'm going to start small.
p.s.
The picture is not Pickles. A picture will surface soon. This is just one I found on-line, but they're guinea pigs, people, this one looks similar.

Birthday Wish

Yesterday was my birthday. I am now 27.
Great. One year older and one more reason to worry about my health.
In three years I can start to look for wrinkles. In three years I can start worrying about my hair falling out a little more than I do now. In three years I can start feeling like the creepy 30 year old who's not married and doesn't have kids and is dating on-line.
Now that I think about it I'm feeling a little like Billy Crystal in City Slickers. That scene when he's in his son's class room talking about death and being married to someone you don't recognize.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think Billy Crystal is funny. But that one scene in the movie, that was me yesterday.
This is what I want out of a birthday...instead of candles and cake and crap, I want to go back to one year of my life for one day and make a difference in my life. Or at least be able to go back to relive a day from my past. That would be the perfect birthday present. Maybe a day from high school or middle school. Someday when I could change something then that would effect me now. Kind of like a Back to the Future thing, only without Biff, he's an asshole.
But, honestly I spent last night at my parents' house. They cooked and my family bought me a cake and I actually blew out candles. I haven't done that in forever. All in all, it was nice. I guess I'm not so suicidal today.

The Good, the Bad, and the Inexcusable

I attended the Forecastle Festival in the great city of Louisville this past weekend and had quite a time.
I went for Dr. Dog. Or as Velocity Weekly calls them, "America's Gomez," which I don't think is a stab at all. I dig Gomez, as well.
I was able to be front row for the show that started late, due to sound problems. The sound check was very short, much better than Groovatron, but that's later in the blog.
Dr. Dog came to please.
Their infectious tunes and soulful singing woo you in close enough to blast you off with a steady stream of rocking out. My friend, Eric, said they reminded him of the Who when they "went off."
That's good. That's great.
I was pissed about the sound problems, though. But, like the true rockers they are, the band persevered. Periodically throughout the set, the guitarists, stage left, would go over and ax kick their shitty amps that were shorting out without missing a beat. It was so rock and roll.
I can't wait to see these guys again.
And now to Groovatron.
What the eff?
Okay, there's this movie Electric Apricot, by Les Claypool. It's a mocumentary about jam bands. There's a scene when they are in the studio and the drummer, played by Les, takes hours to tune his drum set. There might also be in a scene in This is Spinal Tap like when they sound check for like hours.
Any who, Groovatron spends twice as long to sound check, as they did to perform. They all sing, I think. They shouldn't. Their music sounds like Frank Zappa throwing up on Miles Davis. And that's putting it nicely. Their vocals could use a complete overhaul, and by that I mean stop singing all together. I saw this band on a campground at a Phish show, once. That's where they belong, campsites. Free campsites.
Their "fans" were the type of college kids with semi long hair, maybe even dreds, still wearing hemp, and probably tripping acid thinking they are counter culture. Kids are idiots these days. I guess they need a band like Idiotron to lead them.

Growing and Showing with Cinema

I am not ignoring the fact that by now every blogger in the world has written about The Dark Knight and Heath Ledger's performance and everything else that goes along with it. 

I know mentioning the movie might already be overkill. That in mind; I'm still going for it.

Every-so-often a movie comes along that contains the zeitgeist in which it is released. Dark Knight not only set box office records, featured a posthumous performance, and contained more special effects for IMAX theaters; it set the pace for US. It serves as a marker in time of where WE are. Amid upcoming elections, Olympics, war, and the shit hole economy, everyone was able to stop for a moment and  say, "Yeah, there we are." 

That idea has been echoing in my mind since Sunday when I saw the movie. 

I guess it's the same type of feeling when Jaws came out for the first time and had everyone afraid and buzzing. Or when The Wizard of Oz was finally converted to film. There was a new take on life and on the way films were made. We realized we had advanced. 

I guess what I'm comparing it to is when you are growing up and you mark your height on a wall in your house that you have been doing for years. You can see the lines and the date and actually track your growth. 

It's been some time since WE have stopped to measure ourselves, but I'm glad we did. Maybe next time we can use another significant event to mark it in the future. Until then I'm okay with the movie metaphors. 

Great films, great men, great yearning.

Why?
Why was I not born early enough so that I could have grown up in the seventies? I'm not going to say that I would rather live then, but I certainly would have loved it.
Okay, maybe that's a little vague. I mean, what's my reasoning, right?

Two names:
Frank Serpico and Popeye Doyle.

Damn, even those names are bad ass. If I had kids, I would definitely consider both full names.
Frank Serpico Aud and Popeye Doyle Aud. Maybe I'm getting off track.

I love the wardrobes of these movies. French Connection features European attire. Many of the characters are donned in Italian and French cut suits, jackets, and shoes. I love the fit. Their clothes actually correspond with their body type. It's so efficient. Oh, and the popped collars and overcoats just scream espionage.
Serpico features the same type of fitting attire. Although, Serpico has more flair than Doyle. Serpico is a chameleon. His array of hats alone impress me. I love the scenes when he comes in looking like a common hippy and the next day he's a rabbi. Genius! Serpico's transition from a clean cut rookie, to a mustached patrolman, to a long-haired bearded bad ass detective is amazing.

The color schemes are also what get me. I am now looking for that type of brown that's like an orange, but meaner. If I can find it in a jacket I will wear it now. I don't care if it's 94 degrees Fahrenheit! I'm wearing it and I'm packing a heater under it, too. That's right, a piece.

And doesn't anyone wear hats anymore? Everybody wore hats back then. It was so super spy cool! I' m bringing the hats back. I'm going out for the Fedora, the Bowler, and the Popeye Doyle. Yes, a cooler time when you could go into the brothers' bar and hear some nasty funk on the jukebox and cars were tanks. Yeah, want to be a seventies detective, but a name change would definitely be in order, maybe Sweeny Aud.

Back on the Bike

Yesterday was monumental.
Alright, so it wasn't actually monumental, but it was big.
I was able to get back on my bike and ride, baby. I rode like the wind.
After being grounded for just over a week after my toe-splitting wreck I was more than enthused about getting back on my hog. I'm talking about a bicycle, but so what? I can call it my hog. I never realized how happy simple exercises like riding a bike make me.
I spent a week limping around, constantly worrying about my toe getting hit by a swinging door, or some oaf clodhoppering all over it. It was nice to walk normal today and get on the instrument of toe death that maimed me. I showed you bike!
This is going to sound completely asinine of me , but what the heck. I felt like people were staring at me while I was limping with a bandage on my foot. I certainly could not handle a wheelchair, a walker, or any type of physical abnormality. I am shallow. I am vein. I am happy to look and feel the way I do.
I still can't run or play tennis, but when I do I'm going to kick my brother's ass.
Yes, I am back on the horse, back on the bike, and back on track.
p.s.
Yes, the picture truly embodies how I feel about it.

Double Green

I worked last night at my second job. I moonlight as a tex-mex server...lucky me. Last night was my first night back on my feet after my toe-splitting bike wreck. It felt good to wear shoes and move faster than a goofy flip flop waddle.
The night was pretty slow until about 8 P.M. when we got a pop. Big tops and other tops poured in the restaurant. I ended up making more than double of what I normally make on a Thursday night. After I cashed out I counted my loot and shrilled. I couldn't help but tell my coworkers the joyous news.
After I had proclaimed my superiority in tips and sales I felt something grip me tightly. Greed. I know I've said it before, but there is something about holding a wad of cash that makes my heart race and a cold sweat break out. I stared at the green, counted it again, and wanted to go stash it in a drawer and guard it. I wanted more. I didn't want to wait until tomorrow. The more I get, the more I want...always.
I'm like those old Goofy cartoons about driving when Goofy, or a creature like goofy, got behind the wheel and would be overcome with road rage. His expression, posture, and attitude changed. The Goofy character actually took on a demonic appearance. I know that the old videos were a cautionary, "how not to drive" lesson, and they were great.
I need to make a video about being in the grip of a money-loving, greed binge episode.
I can only imagine how a big time drug dealer feels with thousands of dollars in front of him/her or a slutty exotic dancer at the end of the night rolling in dough. I envy them, I envy their greed. I'm green with envy over their green.
I think I might have a problem.
p.s. The picture is from a line of books I absolutely loved when I was younger. I had several.

On the Mend and Loving it.

I took a shower today with two grocery bags tied tightly around my left ankle. Which, by the way, makes like a vegetable oil-slicked sled on the bathtub bottom. I nearly slipped and split something else open.
Oh, yes. Why am I showering with a grocery bag on my foot? Because I split my toe open in a bike wreck and I refuse to take anymore baths with my left foot hung over the edge like a floppy dead seal! A coworker suggested the grocery bag technique. It worked quite well. Just a tiny puddle of water seeped into the tied bag. My foot was safe from infection, losing the bandages, and amputation.
As I dried and carried on with my morning routine, I felt increasingly distraught. But why? I showered standing up. I should feel whole again. No.
This limping around, not popping my toes, effing flip flops thing has finally fried me. I want you mended toe now!
On top of the waddling and the scooting sandal crap the newspaper is finally deterring me from opening it. If I read one more bit about the economy in the crapper, my town's declining resources, or our administration b effing us I'm going to take the showering grocery bag and wrap it tightly around my head until I hear nothing but the calm of my heart slowly stopping.
And to think...today started like any other normal day.

Just a Bike Wreck

I know that it is cliche to refer to your life as a train wreck. So, I will not.

I will instead refer to my life as a bicycle wreck, which coincidentally, I just happened to have on Saturday night.

I'm riding with flip flops on like an idiot, and lose my footing. My left foot shoots like a meat rocket onto the sidewalk. I think my big toe bone acts as a wedge, if you will, and splits the end of my toe open upon impact.

So, I am sitting on my bike looking down at a throbbing, split open toe that's gushing blood. I am a block from my house. I have no choice but to pedal back and leave a blood trail home. Best part; I don't have health insurance. I sit in my living room with said busted toe, contemplating how much a trip to the ER would cost me "out of pocket," or as they say in the health care biz, "self-pay."

I call home to the parents.

I explain the booboo. My Dad asks several questions to evaluate the severity of the wound. Questions like, "How big is the gash? Are you spurting or dripping blood?" Needing medical attention is definitely in order. After my Dad curses me a few times for not having health insurance, we decide Convenient Care is a wiser financial risk.

I go, pay 120 bones, and get out with sticker-like tape holding me together. Now I must limp, keep it dry, and not wear shoes for about four days.

God, there's just something about opening the gash up right after I did it, and looking at my flesh resembling hamburger meat. I felt so inhuman.

So maybe me being a whiny, pansy, baby today is a way of taking back my humanity from the stinking bike wreck of my life.

I haven't ruled out karma or plain dumb luck, yet.

"Meat" your Maker...Market

I live in Owensboro.


That should be enough of an explanation for anything I write or say.


Today it is not enough.


I have written about, Bacchus, a bar in town a couple of times before, so it's only fair that I write about another "B" name bar--the Boiler Room.


I will be renaming it, today.


Meat Market.


I know you're probably saying, "Yeah, yeah, so what? Every bar is a meat market."


Okay, so if it is, disregard this blog and get back to your People magazine, and let me get on with it.

I was fortunate enough to attend the Meat Market Saturday night. And the sales were hot. All the cuts were there in herds. Tenderloins, sirloins, T-bones, chucks, rumps, and all! It was so tough making up my mind.

I wonder what cut I would compare to? There were fresh calves for veal, old hag cows for what I don't know, and there were the prize cows, real blue ribbon beauties.

Either entrance to the Meat Market resembles a death chute at a slaughterhouse. You are herded in and paraded in front of all the other grades. It's actually quite terrifying. There's booze and mediocre music, which I guess is there to pacify us before the slaughter. Occasionally, two bulls will get over stimulated and have to lock horns to show off in front of the females and other bulls.
I guess the only difference is that this is not a "by the pound" going rate. It's the exact opposite. The skinnier the better. The emaciated cow sells here. The emaciated cow with great milk bearing teats, that is.
God, I want a steak right now.

Power Lines. All cliches aside--this dream was whack.

I'm not the type of person that is going to blog about my dreams all the time.

But dammit if this one didn't get me in the thinkin' spot.

It's day time and I'm at my house and my ex wife shows up. She's saying something about lunch. I'm thinking, okay, what's for lunch?

Then she tells me her ex before me might drop by. A truck pulls up outside so we go out, but it's some maintenance guy from my work with a copy of some test he brought me that I had taken. I said, "Thank you."

He said, "It's getting dark."

I looked around and noticed it was dark. Then a car pulled up in the backyard of neighbors house. Sure enough my exes ex was in it. He had a little girl with him. They came into my yard. I said, "I said are we going to have to fight this out until someone dies?"

He said, "No. But she makes you love her, don't she?"

I said, "You bet."

While we were talking the girl with him had managed to throw her belt up in the power lines that weaved through an oak tree. Everyone was looking at me to do something. I proceeded through a chair up at the lines to dislodge the belt. It started to rain. Each time I chucked this chair in the air harder, the power lines connected to my neighbor's house shook violently.

I dislodged the belt with one final heave that knock the lines loose on my neighbor's house. The lines sparked and caught fire. So, in the rain I hopped the fence and filled buckets of rainwater from the ground to put out the fires while everyone watched.

I extinguished the fire and went back to my yard. I said to my ex, "He's drunk, and driving his kid around."

She said, "I know, and that's not his kid."

I woke shortly after and my whole body was sore like I had swam the Ohio.

Yeah, just a dream, but it means so much.

I'm sorry I couldn't spare you of the cliche symbols of fire and rain.

Balance and the Night

This weekend I discovered the true cyclical nature of our existence.

I'm sure that in the fashion world there is a term for when a trend hits, goes out of style, and then comes back in style.

In a similar relationship, I have realized that a simple invention, that was rendered obsolete, is now back, and I was using it last night.

Since gas is grossly overpriced, I now bike just about everywhere. Biking saves money, the planet, and it's exercise!

I rode my bike to the grocery last night and stuffed as many groceries as I could in my backpack. Again, save the planet. Unfortunately, I could not place all of my groceries into my backpack. I had to use a few plastic bags.

So, I'm on my bike, where do I put them?

I hang them on my handle bars, test the weight, and take off for home. As I rode home, I recognized the similarity of my handle bars and bags to the baskets and balance system you might see a villager using in a Central/Southeast Asia.

It is a perfect invention. And, in someway, me riding a bike and using a primitive, but effective invention, was kind of like giving oil companies and conglomerates the middle finger.

I was not spewing noxious fumes. I was not wasting any resources. There was me, the Earth, and two simple, man powered machines. I was perfectly at balance with the night, the day, and my conscious.

I was almost hit by an SUV, which made the experience perfect.

Seconds, Only Milliseconds

A few miles off a South African coast, which is heavily vacationed, is a phenomenon that takes place a few weeks out of the year.

An island that is home to thousands of seals become the site of a brutal exercise of nature's perfect killing machine...the great white shark.

Photo journalists, documentarians, and tourists flock to this area at this given time to witness the awesome power of predator/prey in the raw.

What makes the spectacle all the more astounding is the fashion in which the great whites rocket out of the water as if shot from a canon from the deep. This death plunge is the initial hit that typically stuns the seal. And rightly so. Seeing a 16 foot torpedo with razor sharp, serrated teeth flying through the air almost makes me piss myself.

The difficulty with filming the event is that the attacks last only seconds, and that's a long attack. Most will last milliseconds. So, a super slow speed camera is used. The super slow camera takes only one shot at a time and takes 15 minutes to download. So, if you blow the shot, you have 15 minutes to wait, and probably miss many other shots.

I heard on e cameraman say, "You know, it's seconds, really milliseconds that we have to catch this. And that's only if we are staring in the right direction."

My God! Is that not the most perfect explanation of life...ever!?

So much depends on those seconds, those milliseconds, and only if you're life is headed in the right direction.

Think about how many times you've nearly been involved in a fatal wreck, or ran into the love of your life, or maybe even just missed that movie at the store that someone snatched up right before you.

Yeah, it's tough looking at life in those terms, but I guess it's true. One could get hung up on that sort of thing if they had a tendency to obsess.

For now I'll just thank God that I am not a seal off the coast of South Africa, or any coast for that matter. And, I won't let time's precise manner bother me.

Punching Bob Dylan in the Face

There's no reason to get excited...

This is not a blog about literally punching Bob in the face.

No, this a blog about people covering poor Dylan's songs and just destroying them. I know there are some people out there that can do a cover justice...Scarlett Johanis...burg....but, there was certainly none of the homage covering going on last night.

First of all, don't go to an open mic night and introduce yourself and ask, "does anyone wanna hear some Dylan?"

No, asshole. We don't. We wanna hear Dylan play Dylan. We especially don't want to hear you sing in his voice either. And what the hell kind of song is there of his that last 20 minutes and sounds like one continuous verse? Seriously, does anyone know that one? Would this guy make this up? This is also the same guy that I heard sing a "children's" song like Bob Dylan about a monkey, frog, and a snake, or some shit.

Then, his friend gets up after him and plays a lame cover. His second song, "Hit me baby, one more time" was funny; I'll give him that. But his buddy, the Dylan ripper, sat there watching and listening like the Rodan sculpture. I could just hear his thoughts, Oh, wow. Brittany Spears, it's so smart. It's so inventive. So fresh.

So, the main idea I want you to leave with is; don't cover the shit if you just can't do it. Cover something you know. Cover something you can make your own. Cover something that will actually entertain people. Don't befoul yourself and Dylan, which is the equivalent of a punch in the face of a generation. And don't write blogs when you're hung over and just trying to keep your eyes open.

Last Day, First Day, and Magic Time

The longest day of the year is typically around June 21st, the summer solstice. I distinctly remember this day last year. It was when I noticed the beauty of a phenomenon my mother and her friends call 'magic time.' It's that time of day when dusk is just beginning to say goodbye to you and hello to the night.

Everything, more specifically organic, takes on a temporary bio-luminescent glow. Even your skin, which you think you are familiar with, takes on an eerie glow. I'm pretty sure the event has to do with the spectrum of light and your pupils dilating. And even if it can be explained, that still won't take away from the wonder it arouses in me.

I was in my parents friends' garden that is a stunning ornamental sight on it's own, but with the magic time element, the view is simply irreplaceable. At that moment time stood still. My life was all there in front of me in the reflection of the last few ultraviolet rays radiating from the sun to flower, and through me.

Staring there I realized the cycle of it all. This was the pivotal moment when the day gives way to night. Summer gives way to the fall, and life gives way to death.

Every moment from now on will just be a count down to the time we all dread the most. The time of year when the sun clocks out early and goes dark by 5 P.M.(Central.)

The time when possibilities are not endless anymore, you no longer have extra time to do work in the yard, and you expect that first morning chill. I know it will be ungodly hot until September and probably even until October, but just knowing that the day will already be shortening in a week is just too much today.

I see magic time already, and two days ago I happened to notice it, which reminded me of the solstice. I realize i get hung up on the finite nature of things when I should be seeing them cyclically. So, I guess today I'm trying to see the infinite, rather than the finite.

Sea of Tranquility

"Well I'd like to visit the moon...but I wouldn't like to live there..."

There is a special reason I have been listening to this song so much. I am now learning to play it, as well. It's for a friend. But, I've passed the point of learning it. I'm obsessing over it, listening to it over ten times in one day.

But there is a greater reason. I now know that when I get on track with a song, movie, or television show it's always for a reason.

I had a friend call last night who was down in the dumps. And don't we all from time to time? See, us normal people, who don't self-medicate, actually feel sadness, depression, and anxiety on a regular basis. What do you do when you're really feeling the sting? You call a friend. It's much better than going out and transforming into a drunken, belligerent asshole who runs everyone off and then ends up crying alone at the end of the night. Call a friend!

I was able to use my necessary obsession with the above mentioned song to help my friend out. The song is about staring out of your window at the moon and wanting to visit there. It's a very sweet song about wanting to get away from the moment and do something new. It's that old cliche about the grass always being greener, aside from the fact that there is no grass on the moon(it's just an expression.)

The point is, even if you are a felt, cotton, and polyester puppet, you're still going to want out temporarily--even if it's on the moon. I hear it's quite nice and peaceful, especially the sea of tranquility.

Bachelor Brunch

I definitely had a "40 Year Old Virgin" moment this weekend...and it's not depressing in the least.

Instead of staying up late, drinking too much, and abusing my body this weekend, I took care of myself.

After my second job I picked up some fast food, went home to binge, and fell asleep watching a documentary.

I woke up Saturday without an alarm. It was fantastic. I arose, slowly. I fixed coffee and whole wheat toast (standard), and played on the computer for awhile. I worked out, ran errands, and came home for lunch.

This is where it gets all "40 year old virginy." I made some soup and a sandwich. But not just a lunch. It was the perfect lunch. Perfectly prepared soup, and perfectly toasted bread cut into triangles, people!

I looked down at my perfectly centered plate with napkin and icy drink and could not get away from the vision of Steve Carrell in "40 Year Old Virgin" where he makes the perfect breakfast. I did not walk around all morning with a boner like he does during the opening of the movie. Oh, and I didn't play with action figures...this weekend.

I think my point is that I noticed, for the first time in awhile, I was comfortable with me and just me. Yes, the house is empty. Yes, I am alone, but this weekend I was just fine with it. My Catherine Keener is out there somewhere, so I won't rush it. I just hope that doing yard work, working out, and perfectly crafted lunches will tie me over until I do.

The Aud Fraternity

Yes, today, I am a man. Not in the sense that...wait. What does it mean to be a man? A mustache? A ponchie stomach? A respectable Roth IRA or investment portfolio?

No.

I know exactly what it means now.

My Father's birthday was May 26th and Father's Day is this weekend. So, my Dad, two brothers, and I went out for a male bonding extravaganza to celebrate both occasions.

There was beer drinking, darts, pool playing, steak eating, and talk about women and a little sports(not so much by me.)

It was, in most typical definitions, a "manly" night. But, there was a side of tenderness that probably went undetected by most bystanders.

There was a sense of unity and companionship that had not necessarily existed before. The "guys" had never been out before, so we had a toast to acknowledge that and a few other things with out first of many pitchers. I remember my Dad and brothers saying numerous times, "God, this is great. I'm really having fun. We should do this annually." I agreed. Imagine that, four men, never having a night out when they can get together and talk. it was a monumental night.

It was, and I will probably regret saying this later, reminiscent of a "Sex in the City" brunch. There was "men talk" centered around food and drink.

I also would like to add that us three brothers took our turns on the machine that measures your punching power. My younger brother copped the high score, it's funny if you compare his stature to my brother's and mine. But, it was fun none-the-less.

After dinner at a steakhouse, go figure, we ended back at my parent's house. But, before we went inside there was a "man hug." All four of us grouped together saying we love each other and stubble all over the place. My younger brother happened to suggest it. Good idea. It was a very tender moment.

We ended the hug saying we would do it again, and we will. The Aud boys had their night out in the name of their father, and it was grand.

The Electronic Glow and Us

It's Tuesday night around 8 P.M., on the cusp of prime-time television watching. I'm on my bike riding around the neighborhood formulating a poem about childhood and such.

I'm not telling you this to be pretentious. I'm not saying I'm any better than the people glued to their television sets. I love them. I love that their wood doors are open and just a slab of glass or Plexiglas is all that separates me from them and their living room. What's on? What are we watching tonight? God, I'm full. I ate way too much pot roast. Way to go, Mom. That's what I would say if they could hear me. But they can't. They don't even notice me.

Of course not everyone is watching television. Some are reading on their couches or in their favorite chairs. Some people are watching me from their patios and porches. It's a beautiful night. The humid weather broke and the temperature dropped about ten degrees. There are men tinkering in their garages with the doors open and classic rock or country is trickling out under bravado and engine talk.

And there's happy little me riding by, soaking it all in. I think summer is my time. Most people have about three options of which their whole year revolves around. Some peoples' years revolve around a birthday(his/hers, wives, parents), then there's the Christmas people, lastly is summer. I'm beginning to think that my year revolves around summer. Time slows down. I;m not afraid to say, "I think I'll just take my time mowing the lawn or walking to the library."

It's the unification of summer that gets me. Every one's doing "it" together. Summer is the time when you barbecue with the family, you work on the yard as a family, or you watch television as a family.

Bike around the streets of Owensboro during prime time in the summer when the sunlight is just about to say goodnight and you see it at every door.

I, warrior PENGUIN

I had a very relaxing day after work. Not one bit of exercise for me, which is unusual. I came home, watered the plants, and relaxed until having dinner with a friend of mine. It was calming to talk to her about all my worries concerning the MFA submission I have been putting off. I know that applying to a program does not mean you are committing, but it certainly is significant enough to make me worry. She applied for the same program and has not gone yet, so that makes me feel a little better. She has the experience and the inexperience to view both sides of the spectrum.

Another concern I'm having is about the essay that I must submit. I have to identify two of my favorite poets, critique them, and then explain why they are so influential on my writing. Guess what? I really don't have two! Does that make me a horrible writer? Probably. Great. There go all my hopes and dreams as a literary lover.

After dinner I plopped on the couch for a couple of discs from the "Blue Planet" series. That series is amazing. I watched the "Coastal" and "Tidal" portions of the series last night. There is something so calming about watching the cascading light on coral reefs and marine life "soaring" through the water.

I was disturbed by the poor penguins that can't fly and were just picked off by disgustingly fat elephant seals at the water's edge. The waters of the Antarctic are icy and deadly. It's terrifying thinking that hiding under a crashing, nearly frozen wave is a pair of giant tusks waiting to take to out to the water and skin you before devouring you. I'm not going to get all "March of the Penguins" on you, it's just that these penguins have to put up with an awful lot. Today, I'm giving it up to all the penguins that have to face the elephant seals of the world.

weekend wars

I'm sorry if you thought by the title, this was going to be about that really neat MGMT song. It's not.

It's about the idiotic execution of merriment that landed me in hell---all of Saturday.

I stayed up way too late on Friday night after fifteen hours of work. Instead of going to bed, what do I do? I go out and booze it like a prohibition bender hankering for a gin blossom. The thought of even smelling alcohol is making me gag...and today is Monday!

Although I am miserable, as usual in the office, I am much happier now than Saturday.

I woke from about five hours of sleep dehydrated--strike one. I brewed a pot of coffee and wasted it--strike two. I only ate a stale bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch before my 2 o'clock shift--strike three. I didn't shave, so I was reprimanded along with three other guys at work--strike four. I had a killer headache all night--strike five. My stomach was eating itself and making terribly nauseous--strike six. A friend came in to see me at work and sit in my section after I was cut and I was too hung over to hang out after work--strike seven and eight.

There's probably more, but since I suffered brain damage, I can't remember anymore.

Why again do people do this to themselves...? Thank God I'm a grown up and I don't do that anymore...

Bacchus bedlam

I'm not negative.

I will not use my blog as a soap box or a formal bitching forum.

I'm simply giving the reader(s) an account of my life.

Last night, among many other activities, I met some friends at Bacchus. Bacchus is a bar downtown(that term is used loosely) that on the surface seems like a great place to go. The name alone suggests great wine, merriment, and the occasional orgy, all but one actually do occur.

The friends and I have decided Thursday night to be the best night to go since the bar is not full of drunken idiots(just us), and Thursday is open mic night. The open mic host, Allen, has long hair, a small jolly gut, plays guitar when no one else will play, and is quite merry. I guess you could say if there is a Bacchus there, it's him. Or at least a representation of him. Allen definitely portrays Bacchus in a much more flattering light than the crudely painted monstrosity hanging to the right of the bar.

So, last night I was able to hear the usual butchered Pink Floyd, Grateful Dead, Sublime, Talking Heads, and any other readily covered song with minimal chords and horrible singing. Luckily, I did not hear any Dave Mathews or Jack Johnson. I was able to hear two of my friends play open mic and there was actually some variety in the performances. I should be happy? I had the opportunity to hang out with friends, have an ale or two, and a laugh, so I should be happy? No.

We have decided to liven up the open mic night a little bit. Next week it's on.
We are planning to do an acapella---barber shop quartet style, maybe I'll play a song, and read a poem with psychedelic music playing behind me. It's at least something we were talking over. I'm just saying that Bacchus needs some lived blown back into him or else he's going to die from boredom exhaustion.

Bonnaroo brainfart

I know this is going to sound weasely of me, but Bonnaroo, I don't think I will make my annual trip to see you.

I have been to Manchester evey year since Bonnaroo's inception, and this is the first year that it's not looking good for our relationship.

Please, don't say that I'm not tempted by My Morning Jacket, MGMT, The Raconteurs, Rilo Kiley, De Novo Dahl, Vampire Weekend, and Les Claypool. Of course I want to see others as well. And I do want to brave the heat, stink, and Bonnarehea. I would miss the slight burning sensation of my skin all day and the constant grit of dirt in my mouth. It's definitely worth it.

The only problem is money. I need money, so I work a second job. But I would have to ask off from this second job to go. Is that contradictory?

I don't even care if I go alone. I would do it. That way I could go to any show at any time and not worry about who else wants to go where. Does that make me antisocial? Does that make me like a hermit? A dirty, sweaty, Bonnaroo hermit? I just want to jam! I want to dance, and I want to feel free; feel free for a weekend. Every second of my life is taken up by something else already.

Maybe I'm convincing myself to go...

latitude and longitude

I found it. I found the exact position of happiness today, on planet Earth and it just happened to be Owensboro at the very moment I arrived there.
Let me back up. The day started gray and threatening rain all morning. Everyone at work asked each person walking in if it was raining yet. When I left my dungeon, to my surprise, it was sunny, warm, and the wind was blowing enough to completely muss your hair. Perfect.
I raced home in the car, ate the top of a blueberry muffin, and my ass hit the gel-cushion seat of my bike. I started in the direction of the Greenbelt, a paved path through Owensboro. After a brief time on the trail I realized today was one of those days that I did not need a given path. I was following some other sense. I found myself going out Carter Road, which has a steady incline that peaks at the overpass. I was tired so I stopped. And there it was. It was maybe 6 P.M. at the sun was burning it's way home for bed. On either side of me were countless cars speeding at approximately 70 mph. The wind was vortexing me. My hair blew across my scalp in all directions. This warmth overwhelmed me. It was like when you open an oven and the heat hits your face. This heat was just the right temperature, though. The clouds were spread across the sky like pulled cotton. My shirt was unbuttoned and the breeze sneaked in and cooled the sweat across my back. I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment. I sat there on my bike thanking someone. I biked for another half an hour, but nothing close to the feeling of being at the latitude and longitude of a perfect day.

not so "case of the mondays"

I have reported that my chronic depression has only been afflicting me on Mondays--not so. Today is Monday, and although I hate it, today I'm alright. I wrote a mean ass poem. I think that outlet helps. Crosswords definitely help me through the day, and a viking writer's blogs. There's more.
I bought a bike this weekend for three reasons: to save money, exercise, and to save the planet. Okay, the last one maybe not as much as the other two. I take that back. Of course it's for the planet. I recycle. I use compact bulbs. I minimize all trash output. I love the Earth. And I make it prettier. Yeah, Earth, I'm a pretty good boyfriend...aren't I? Earth and I have been dating for sometime now. It's not serious, though.
So, I can make it through Monday and I've got a relationship with Mother Earth, I guess you could say I'm in an okay mood today (which isn't the best for my writing.) But I'll take it.

day break--not what you think

I have recently discovered that my work week is nothing but an accumulation of extra time. I start my week thinking, how much time can i build up to leave early? Is that healthy? Is that my unconscious telling my conscious it's time for a change already? Could I ask myself more questions in this blog?
I did some landscaping yesterday, on a very small scale. I realized while doing it that the pleasure I get is from seeing the extension of myself. The extension is also for the neighbors to see. So, really, landscaping is all about showing off. Yes, it's very green of me to add flowers and shrubbery, but really it's selfish. That's why men get so hung up on having that perfect yard. The perfect yard must reflect the person who created it, right?
My patch of land is not perfect. I have bare spots in the grass. Does that mean I'm balding?
I'm building up time just so that I can leave early to do yard work on Friday. I'm giving myself a break to rake and any other garden work. It's just not making sense.

memorial day madness--not quite

It's Tuesday and I'm back in the office. This weekend was great due to my company, but shitty due to the weekend. I was happy to make half the money I normally make this weekend. So, what did I miss out on while I was working? Evidently there was a parade downtown, a drunken gut-busting barbecue, and boating. I probably would have taken part in all those festivities if I had not had so much fun slinging salsa and sour cream all weekend. Boo hoo.
I did learn that my capacity for chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies is six in one day. Anymore than that and i will throw up. Yeah...life is about finding your boundaries and going past them.

feeling overly sentimental

I'm sitting at the computer listening to Old Crow Medicine Show sing "We're all in this thing together" with the smell of a slightly burnt, frozen pizza in my nose thinking I feel your song, but I sure ain't living it.
Why is it that all my depressing thoughts come to me in the form of a country/western song? Do I have a doppelganger somewhere writing out these very words as I speak them? Maybe it's God's way of telling me to write country music songs for a living. Maybe I will start, and the first title will be "I'm hearing your song, but I sure ain't living it."
Eh, I'd rather be doing this than vegging on the couch watching Letterman. Life is grand.

Finally, me to you!

For anyone who will read this; this is my first blog ever! I'm as excited as when I got a Super Nintendo for Christmas one year.
I must conform to punctuation and grammar rules for this blog. That sucks, but it will make it easier for us all.
I thought I could just do an introductory blog for the first one.
So here goes:
I am 26 and a college grad. I work for a mental health agency and serve at a southwestern restaurant. I have been writing essays and mostly poetry for the past two years trying to find the writer somewhere inside me. I hope this will help. I know what you're thinking; life is grand. Not quite.
I, as of today, diagnosed myself with being chronically depressed on Mondays only. Oh, and I live in Owensboro, Kentucky's third largest city. Or as I like to refer to it as the one of Cinderella's sisters that didn't make it in the story. Not evil, but no beauty either. I'll explain the rest in my next thousand blogs.