Circular Logic

I will now face the truth.

I was not made to amass wealth.

But am I to be a vagabond

for the rest of my life?

Is it so important

to do not what makes you happy

but what makes a living?

A house

a dog

a wife

and kids

401K

Roth IRA

your health insurance

you will pay.

If I am to risk

and face what's worth risking

is the answer my happiness?

Could I be

just another spoiled person

wanting to feel

valuable and important?

Am I finally reaching

the time in my life

when inaction

is slowing killing me.

I can only hope.

And hope I hear is more deadly.

Singing of Swans in everyday Speak

Sometimes the language of our everyday conversations can be so singsong.
Take for instance:
She was a swan...
just not yours.
She was not a swan...
she was a duck.
We thought she was a swan...
but now we know she's not.
Don't you know...
that you need to find a swan?
Your swan.
It's not fair to anyone else.

Close me up and pull the lid tight...I don't want any air getting through.

Looking for a glimmer of light

in the nightmarish dark of life

is not a way

to approach

each day

but it's happening.

Even when you win

you lose...again.

Sometimes saying something

just to avoid the silence

is the worse idea imaginable.

You can take a day off

to lie in bed and do nothing

but it only makes

things worse.

Compiling,

complacent,

you just avoid

getting up.

Your sick days

are shit days

and no shower is ever going to wash them off.

Even when you win, you lose

It's so pathetic that politics must seep into everything. Something that is supposed to be so innocent and fun as the Corporate Challenge has been befouled.

Recently, my team competed in the trivia portion of the challenge and won the bronze medal. Not only did I hear grown men quarreling over answers, but also pouting like little babies with their little baby lips stuck out. You're a grown man! You're a major financial force in this town!Grow up!

So, apparently, the powers that be wanted to take away our medal and points because there was "confusion." When our liaison asked them to explain confusion, they could not.

Also, my agency won the executive relay by a landslide but were not awarded the gold. They later received points for it, but the agency that should have received silver points got to keep their gold points.

Regardless, my agency is still number one in the corporate challenge standings and I hope to be at the end as well.

It's just too bad that some of the largest employers in town have to get butt-hurt over losing fair-and-square. Do you think you deserve some type of special treatment? Do you think you deserve more than the rest of us? I know how to settle it. A foot race. Yeah, the 5K. Bring your "A" game, but don't expect to crawl like the babies you have been acting like and get a medal.

I am the little man, the other man, the one you fear. Initially, it was about fun until you got tired of sitting in your soiled diaper and made a fuss.

Now it's about showing you that even when you think you've won...you lose.

A Pilot Light Ignites, but for What?

Sometimes I'll start writing a blog for an unclear reason and finish writing about something completely different. That may happen today.

I was enjoying my non labor time on Labor Day yesterday by flipping through the channels on television. I stopped on MSNBC when I saw our president giving a speech in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Lately, all I have heard about in the news is Obama's inability to enact anything and how is approval rating decreases slightly each week. That's great news to all those piece of shit journalists that make their money by running any trash that is going to cause a stink. I am not one of those cockroaches. I must get back on track here.

I'm watching the segment of the speech when Obama inserts that campaign anecdote about the little woman in South Carolina at the town hall meeting when Obama running for the presidency was still considered a joke who supplied inspiring words.

Obama was wet, tired, and not taken seriously, and here he was at 8 a.m. in a room of about 30 people listening to a woman chant "Fire it up, fire it up, fire it up." Obama indeed got fired up. And kicked major campaign ass. His message was one person can influence a group, one group a town, one town a state, and one state a nation.

What are you fired up about? Or better yet, what fires you up? Is it change? Is it self-inflicted drama? Is it adversity? Is it complacency? What will it be today that makes life worth living for you?

Spring to your Feet

I started having night terrors in middle school, or at least that's when I became aware of them and could rule out nightmares. For those of you that don't know, night terrors are psychotic smash ups of dream and hallucinations that come about in mid sleep. Normally, the terrorer is awoken with extreme fright and anxiety due to an immediate false doom-thus the terror. In most cases my terrors related to insects and snakes covering my bed or my room and I have to get out immediately.

Sometimes I would wake up and rip my covers off the bed and the pillows too, or I would run out of the room. In any case my heart pounds as adrenaline surges through my body and I have to catch my breath.

Last night at 3:30 I had a night terror. In a dead sleep I dreamt that I could see through the eyes of something entering my house and making its way to my bedroom. Terrified I sprang from bed and wrapped my blanket and sheet around my arm in one motion. I swung open the door to meet this entity head on in the hallway. Seconds later I realized that I was standing alone in the hallway with my blankets wrapped around my arm, heart pounding in the middle of a night terror. I calmly walked back to my room, fixed my covers, and lied down in bed. Whom or what it was I can't say. It was something. I haven't been that scared in awhile. The last terror I had I just sat up and felt as though I was having a heart attack. But this one was different. I was scared, but ready to face what ever it was trying enter MY bedroom. What can I face today?

More to Loathe is more like it

To FOX:

The comment has been made before that I don't like fat people. That's totally false. I love Santa Claus, The Nutty Professor, and Curly of the Three Stooges. Wait...all those people are fictional? Hmm, then don't take me seriously. I live to make people laugh and everyone deserves to be made fun of at some point in their life. I am a perpetual roast.

Now to the business at hand:

This new show "More to Love," has turned my stomach. I know, I know, the premise is that everyone has a chance for love, but this is exploitation.

You take one heavy set gentleman and supply him with a gaggle of heavy set women in hopes that true love will strike in the allotted weeks for filming.

This is what I noticed last night. These women have self esteem issues. Then, you put them in a contest where they are eliminated from the others for not being pretty or personable enough. Great, so they are no longer compared to skinny people, but now they are told they are not better than people of their own size. Way to go Hollywood. Has anyone killed themselves yet over being rejected on a reality show? Prepare yourself. You might be the first.

In addition Fox, you are perpetuating stereotypes. What does male suitor come home to from the ladies trying to woo him? A platter of nasty fluorescent colored cup cakes. What does one lady ask? "What's the way to a man's heart...through his stomach."

Gross me out. I will never eat another cupcake knowing that heavy hunk passed out that night frosting spackled on his face and crumbs on his stretched out wife beater.

Big people need love too, but do you have to parade them around like cows at the county fair for our enjoyment? I changed to Bizzare Foods, a show where the host eats foods that might be considered disgusting by our culture. Tell me there is irony in that.

Never will you know

I turned the light off in the living room last night before I went to bed at the end of a whirlwind day and noticed a couple of extra clicks.

The extra clicks resulted from the insignificant detail of the light requiring more clicks to turn it off that occurs ever-s0-often.

What is it?

Chance.

The tiny gears and tumblers turning and just happening to skip over the right slot to turn the light off all playing out randomly. So randomly operating in such a contrived device.

Don't we want it?

Don't we want everything to be in our control. Don't we want it all manufactured for a specific reason?

But we don't do we?

We never do.

Instead, life sparks and fires, and cools and goes out. And sometimes it takes 100 clicks to turn the light out and sometimes it comes on all by itself.

Luck?

Chance?

Design by a master?

Click it off tonight and listen for the extra click to see how many it took, but for what?

You Must Surrender

Some of you may not be aware that I have a heady past. At one time I was touring with Phish, had dreadlocks, and engaged in a drum circle or two.

That time of my life is over, but some aspects still remain. I will always love Phish. I experienced feelings with the music that I did not think were possible. And I'm not talking about just popping in The Moma Dance and getting down. I mean pure ecstasy. I don't know how else to explain it, but here it goes:

Some unforeseen force navigated some friends and I into Bacchus Friday night. Let me clarify. We had been there the night before thinking the band was going to be there, but wasn't. So, we sucked it up and tried again. The band was Namaste. They are a mix of blues, Zappa, Umphrey's, and Phish. Their original songs were impressive. Istrumentally, these guys kick ass. And the vocals weren't bad either. The band eventually covered Phish. And not whimpo songs like Heavy Things. Namaste went right for the throat, busting out flawless versions of Harry Hood and Mike's Song. It was somewhere during Hood that it happened. I surrendered. I let go of it all and felt it all. And I was in a bar in Owensboro. I looked over at Daniel and he had as well.

For one; you must surrender. You must be aware of everything and everyone around you, but you must also detach. The all becomes the one and you are every part of it. The music must move you and you within it.

Don't worry, I'm not going on the road anymore. And I'm not nattying my hair back up. I was just able to feel it all again and it was bliss. So let go. Let go. Let go.

Completely unrelated...As soon as Phish releases fall tour dates and Cincinnati is released I'm so raging there.

Taboo News 4 U, like stepping in Dog Doo.

Last night was a shit bomb of an evening.

Some friends and I were pretty psyched about seeing Namaste at Bacchus last night.

I did what any normal civilian would; I read in the free rag that said band would be playing at said bar on said night and decided to go. I actually planned a week ahead.

We noticed that as we drove up there didn't seem to be many cars. Upon entering I noticed the jukebox was playing. Maybe it was set break. Upon viewing the stage I noticed it was empty. There was no band.

What does one do when you're all made up on a work? Settle for beer and leave.

How about a Blue Moon-they were out.

How about a Magic Hat Num.9-they were out.

I drank a flat Shiner Bock.

It took about ten minutes to get that.

So, I'm drinking flat beer at a bar on the wrong night.

We decided to go to Blind Parrot. My first time there. Not bad. No paper towel or soap in the upstairs bathroom. I was freaking.

We stayed late.

I ate a granola bar that I found in the back of Daniel's Volvo...so heady.

I was awakened by a buddy saying, "Dude, my car's gone. What do I do? By the way I threw up taco bell, but it was outside."

His car had been towed and we spent half the morning finding it.

I was notified another person threw up in my yard last night, too. What is it about my yard that makes people want to throw up?

I wanna throw up when I think about News 4 U's inability to publish reliable material that incidentally ruins my night.

I heard there is a much hipper and reliable mag in town...hahaha.

Tara, you're a great neighbor.

From the Private File (my new journal)

Last night the Perseid meteor shower event occurred. The Perseid meteor shower originates from the comet Swift-Tuttle. Many people consider this to be the best annual shower.

Perseid meteors occur throughout the sky but every path can be traced back to the constellation Perseus, particularly Eta Persei, a star near the constellation's northern end.

The constellation is named after Perseus, the hero of myth, son of none other than Zeus(ruler of gods) and Danae(a mortal.) Danae was impregnated by Zeus in one of his multitude of forms. In this case he assumed the form of a shower of golden light.

Perseus is predominantly known for slaying the Gorgon, Medusa, whose gaze could turn any living creature to stone.

After decapitation Perseus took Medusa's head to the ocean's edge and summoned the Kraken, another Gorgon who was holding his love Andromeda in bondage.

I missed the meteor shower last night. Was this entire epic turn of events reoccurring while I was tossing back and forth all night?

I dreamed that I saw the shower last night.

The following is a poem that resulted:

Last night I had a dream

that I was watching the Perseid meteor shower

at my parents' house on the hour.

I dreamt that during its occurrence

I was able to pick up the tiny fragments

that fell to the Earth like a hailstorm.

Tiny pieces from astral giants

held in my little hand

looking like sea shells and gravel

I brushed the particles of ice.

I compared it with another.

My neighbors were shooting of fireworks

from up on the hill.

I shot off bottle rockets in correlation.

They were all I had.

Shout out to other Amber, I didn't forget about you, sweetheart.

Land of 1000 Sighs...and Auras

No, this is not a chapter in The NeverEnding Story saga; this is real.

It is Monday and the work group is quietly chipping away at the tremendous load of paperwork due on the 15th.

From cubicle to cubicle we are loudly sighing like electrical discharges from storm clouds. Some are louder than others...Sharon.

So every couple of minutes you here a breathing stretch and the creak of a chair as the build up to,"uhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Ever-so-often it's funny because we can detect the amount of pure agony in each whimper.

Just in case you can't visualize let me guide you:

You are typing on the computer and you have been for half an hour. You look at your list and realize you haven't made any progress. You lean back, raise your arms, tilt your head and breeeeeeeeeathe out.

There.

Do you feel better?

Me neither.

That's what the land of 1000 sighs is like today.

Now to auras.

As you know, auras are mystical collections of power that surround a person and can reflect many things ranging from their personality, their energy, and mood.

Friday I was in tune with the mystics. I saw many auras. I saw many intriguing auras and some of romance...and almost amber glow if you will.

Even meeting people for the first time you can experience an aura.

Kelli's entire family had an aura and it was comforting. Her little girl's was shining so brightly I could hardly see anything else.

Kids...they are wonderful because they have no way of trying to contain their aura like us adults do. Pure. And especially when they are being mischievous.

What is your aura today and can you make it last long enough until in the morning?

P.S. Shout out to my girl Ashley.

A Connection?

According to the UCLA Slang Dictionary 6th edition, obama now means cool. So, if I were to show up to work rocking new kicks and a coworker admired them, she might be inclined to say they were "obama."

Oh, why am I talking about this?

Well, for one today is my birthday and just so happens to be Mr. Cool himself, Barack Obama's birthday, as well.

So, by association I happened to have been born cool since I was born on the birth of cool. Beat that. I asked someone special what was better than being born cool and she nonchalantly replied, "being born cooler." Damn. I guess I'll settle for cool today and cooler tomorrow.

Also, there are some other birthdays to be recognized to today. Louis Armstrong was born on this date, enough said. And Percy Bysshe Shelley, one of the major English Romantic poets, critically regarded among the finest lyric poets in the English language was also born today.

Lastly, let me give a shout out to Kelli and Sarah...booyah.

Watching Comfortably

During the drive to work today NPR's Morning Edition really interested me. The subject was the time that humans lived in before artificial lighting and how this way of life resulted in what is referred to as "Two Bout Sleep."
Without artificial light humans endured up to 14 hours of darkness during the winter as opposed to our current zero hours, if an all-nighter is needed.
The researchers studied documents from that time period that suggested the two stages being referred to as first stage-dead sleep and second stage-morning sleep, with a watch or watching period in between.
So, are we waking in the middle of the night due to our ancestors sleep patterns? Or are we just so obsessed with being productive that sleeping is becoming a worrisome activity?
Regardless of your sleep stages, your worrying, and everything you can't do in a day comfort is my focus at the moment.
Comfort.
I experienced a new level of comfort this weekend that I have not experienced before. I laughed deeply and it set me free.
Certainty.
Calm.
Clarity.
All in the confines of a relatively new situation with a furry puppy on my lap no less.
That night I slept wonderfully.
Comfort was at an all time high.
I dreamed vividly.
And the next morning came with the sun slowly to rise and dew thick on the grass. I couldn't help but think I was still dreaming. But I wasn't.
I had just slept a full night in the middle of the comfort vortex. It could have been the full dead sleep or the full morning sleep. I don't know. I just know that since then I have been in the watching stage and what I see is beautiful.

One Chance and Many

A supernova exploded once and created worlds, yet another supernova exploded and destroyed more.

A person once fell and split his toe open and learned a lesson about picking himself back up.

A person once fell and decided to stay down since that was so much easier to do than trying to get back up and risk falling again.

There are unlimited avenues for every scenario in your life.

Why aren't you exploring them?

Are you exploding or creating,

are you falling or failing?

Maybe you don't know?

Maybe I don't know?

Maybe the answers are falling with the snow

but you're just too darned lazy

to get out there before it goes.

The Afterglow

I couldn't sleep last night.

And I have had trouble sleeping lately.

I had a most awesome weekend, which might have contributed to my insomnia last night.

I took Unisom and still woke up at 12 A.M. and didn't fall back sleep until about three.

I had a few ideas so I flipped on the light and wrote in the notebook while sitting up in bed.

The ideas were not that significant, but as I threw the notebook and turned the light off something significant did happen.

I was leaning over looking up at the compact fluorescent bulb that was just turned off and I noticed a faint glow. The room was dark so I could see it perfectly.

How many times does this happen? How many times have I not noticed?

I took a moment to reflect.

The after glow means so much.

It was as if that moment in time was still there and had I not seen the glow I wouldn't have noticed.

What is it in life that we do to create an afterglow?

Even if it is just for a second, how have you done something lasting enough to keep that moment frozen in time?

And if you have, has anyone noticed, or do they just roll over and shut their eyes to go to sleep?

Starting to day I will be seeking the afterglow.

Is it worth Knowing

You can't stop yourself from having one of those "moments." The moment that you try to put your life into perspective. You evaluate your place, your position, your progress up to now.

I couldn't sleep last night. Maybe it was sleeping in from the sick day I had to take or my restless legs or pondering the "moment."

I still feel sickly today at the office.

It's cold and I am weak and speaking quietly. Here's a poem to reflect on:

It's so cold

in this office.

They keep it refrigerated

to slow the process

of decaying flesh

and make the ominous odor

of the stinking dead

less noticeable.

Some are too many

some just not enough

maybe we are in slow motion

and the only ones conscious

are we asking the world

to feel sorry for us?

Considering the content to be so dark, I only want to brighten your day. Take light knowing I'm exercising an artistic freedom at the moment.

Feeling What I Should

After careful consideration last night, I accepted how small we are in comparison to the universe. The following is the first of many poetic thoughts reflecting those feelings.

Look at us
a speck of dust
on the surface of a planet
with a core pressure
3.6 millions times
what we withstand.

A molecule,
of a grain of sand
blowing in the wind
pitched around
across a desert
thousands of miles long.

For Sprites Only

Everything worth loving
I will love.

Everything worth doing
I will do.


You are beautiful
You are beautiful
You are beautiful.

Pickles Has Passed

A sad event occurred last week, and due to my busy schedule, I have not had the opportunity to write about it until now. I know that there are worse things happening these days like people losing their jobs and the threat of nuclear holocaust from Iran and North Korea, but I have to acknowledge my little buddy going to the other side.
I had an extremely busy day Thursday of last week. I had only a moment to slip inside my house to grab lunch. Much to my surprise Pickles was not chirping as he normally does when I open the door. I found him laid out in his cage laboriously breathing. He was nearing the death rattle, a sure sign he was near the end.
I had no choice but to go back to work.
Sure enough, when I returned home that night, he was gone. His furry little body lie stiff on his wood chips.
I buried him in a shoebox with his food bowl, a chew toy, and these two jingle balls he liked. I said a couple of words, mainly apologizing for being a bad owner, a prayer, and covered him up.
See, I had originally bought him during a time of extreme loneliness and depression. He was quite the cure for company and just an extra dose of energy in the house.
I had actually used Pickles as a metaphoric guinea pig for trying to build relationships after my last one had crashed.
I think he actually improved my ability.
Thank you, Pickles.
You helped me through a time when I really needed you.
I am much stronger now and think I can face things on my own.

Tiny Inspiration

I am not an inspirational speaker nor an author of a self-help book.

I will never make a million dollars.

I sometimes think I am slowly going deaf and blind.

I sometimes worry myself half to death about life.

These are facts.

Facts that may not always be the best reflection of me.

But facts that I accept.

So, let me say this:

If you think that I will lie down for you for even one second you are gravely mistaken.

I am strong.

I am strong in a way that you will never be able to understand.

There is always a storm brewing somewhere on the sunniest of days.

I always feel it coming.

Is your hair standing on end?

DudeandBrah; Just for Fun

I will open by saying that any great business venture never achieved success strictly by a name. But please, once you hear the name you will change your tune.
Dudeandbrah.
Here's my pitch:
Are you tired of drinking your grandparents' brew that they grew up with? Do you feel like a nobody because you go to the bar and have to settle for a beer that just doesn't suit you? Do you feel homogenized by drinking a beer-flavored water like Bud Light all while being told that it is your demographic's beer of choice?
Of course you are.
You want something that speaks to you.
You want a beer that the moment its name leaves your lips everyone around you knows what kind of dude you are.
You're a dudeandbrah, dude.
Reach for the beer that's brewed for you, brah.
I'm sorry, but the name is enough to sell me.
I' m looking for a heady brew that's not big on the hoppy, grainy after taste. I want a rich color with a caramel froth. I want you to get to the bottom with not taking off the top. More when I go into the experimental production phase.

This+That Does not Equal the Jah...Mon.

Initially, it sounded like a good idea.
And I could certainly see how it could be:
A drink special for the ladies, a relaxed atmosphere, and a DJ spinning reggae and dancehall music.
But inevitably, all non-honest-effort endeavors go wrong and do so noticeably within the first five minutes (This is not a professional opinion).
The DJ was Wine It and according to the Jamaican-clad flier the night was Wine It Wednesday. This led me to believe that there was in fact, a wine special on this night as well as the ladies' night special.
No. Just a hastily made flier.
Wine It, as I am told, is a traditional spelling of something.
WI was late. Well, not really late, but had to go back home for his records. He is a DJ and all, and his profession necessitates them. The spinning didn't start until after 10. Coming on late in the music biz is very important to any diva wannabe. It wasn't necessarily his fault. In his defense our lion of Zion had a splinter in his paw. And you can't spin with a spleeeenter.
Can you?
The music, you ask?
Pretty good, actually.
There were some tracks where the vocalist seemed to be dealing with some type of tracheal affliction. Maybe even polyps on the vocal chords, but their instrumental accompaniment was still good.
From time to time there was an interjection of, "Jah!" or "Yeah!" or "Huh, huh!" in addition to finger pointing straight up. Still don't know what the finger means. Maybe he giving the listeners the finger in the style of what a Reggae DJ would...
The guy must be cool. He looked like Buddy Holly wearing an Eminem costume. He is a character. He is unique.
I know, I know, I know.
Why so negative, Casey?
I'm not all piss and vinegar. I promise you that.
Here comes the merit.
A reggae night with a drink special in a low key bar is an awesome idea. The thought of it happening in Owensboro excited me. And if the situation improves; I will come back. But you have got to feel it. You have got to be confident of what you are doing. You got to sell it and you've got to be sure of what you're selling. Put butts in the seats and keep them there. Don't nonchalantly spin with headphones tucked on your shoulder like you're listening to the NBA game behind you on the screen.
Be in it.
Be a part of what you are doing.
Own what you are doing.
Owensboro needs you just as much as you need Owensboro and just as much as the boro needs a satirical writer. Kudos, Bacchus for trying. Keep growing and showing US what you can do.

Italiano Ristorante

All I can say is you bring it on yourself.

I had the unfortunate opportunity to eat at an Italian restaurant the other day, and I can't go on knowing that you...are not knowing.

Standing at the door a patron might think this place is worth giving a shot.

Then, said patron will watch several workers of the fine establishment walk by and look right through them. Luckily, a bus boy has enough sense to point in the direction of the guests standing at the door.

Your server will take you to your table, lazily dragging her feet, as if her entire body is saying, "Mom, Dad, I hate you for making me work." Before you sit down she's asking what you want to drink. She doesn't know what they have...but she'll find out. She comes back and asks again what her patrons would like to drink. Ooh, still don't know if they have that. Patron asks, "do you have a wine list?"
"Yeah, I think...let me go check," server disappears.
Server reappears with wine list in her hand. She seems so proud of herself for recovering it.
She flops the list onto my girlfriends bread plate. The accordion-folded paper was also wrinkled as if it had been thrown away...once. I lift it up and look at it. Curious...there is some illegible writing on the back, too.
"How about beer? Do you have bottled beer?"
"Maybe bud, a bud light or two, I think," server vaguely replies.
I settle for a Heineken.
I freaking hate Heineken.
I have what looks like whip cream on my bottle and patron's girlfriend has a piece of a label on her bottle.
What goes great with beer?
Bread sticks.
Two wrinkly, turd-like bread sticks in a paper towel-lined basket.
The paper towels...probably used before. The corner of one paper towel was stained with what most certainly could have been a spot of blood.
Patrons order, regretfully after asking themselves, "Do we want to stay?"
Our salads arrive quickly. Easy since the salad bar is 20 paces behind our table. That's where our server tonged our salad, a reminder that this place was totally a Ponderosa.
She has the Italian restaurant staple Chicken Parmesan. Other patron orders something Pomodoro...it doesn't matter by this point. Her' s is swimming in Sav-a-lot Marinara Sauce. The chicken breast is so thin it is virtually invisible when looked at on its side. The pasta? Half a box of said brand linguine.
My pasta tastes like week old Waffle House bacon grease.
I didn't even get close to finishing it, and that's saying something because I can put down a plate of pasta.
Oh, did I mention that every 20 seconds our server came by asking, "Are we doing alright...so far?"
No, server, our food sucks.
The service is laughable.
I've been staring at the Ponderosa bathroom tile since I sat down and the only entertainment has been the table of 4 obese people with the fattest sitting legs-spread, so his fat can hang between his legs laughing, snorting snot, and making pig noises.
Do we want dessert? Are you effing kidding?
Server cyphers our bill, a daunting task.
The manager emerges from the kitchen and mumbles something to the servers separated by a lattice partition whom are talking about back tatts and partying after work. She then says a name of someone and how he better get his ass up here if he wants to make any tips tonight. She's rough looking. The manager looks like she rolled out of bed into a hangover and slapped blush on her face. It's 8 something at night, by the way.
Our server returns and places the bill cautiously on the table. She should. I'm still wondering if I should be paying for torture. I didn't even get my rocks off. But then I think, she looks as though she's deciding whether or not she wants to quit tonight based on my tip. No, she's not. She's just standing over my shoulder watching me tip and sign the check. I was extremely uncomfortable to say the least. And believe me I am. Had I possessed a Molotov cocktail at that time, that place would have been toast, man.
So much for fine dining in a dingy, once Ponderosa Italian dive on a Friday night.
Incidentally, my GI has not been right since.
p.s.
If you really want to know the name and destination for the truly horrific dining experience just beg in the form of a comment to the blog.

A poem, A poem, A poem.

This house is empty
this house is cold,
this house is quiet,
this house is home.

I woke up on the couch
peeked my head from under the covers,
and felt the cold
I was hiding from.

The DVD
was on the menu screen,
with no sounds playing,
just some lights flashing.

I was afraid
for only a moment,
thinking the rushing from the electric fireplace,
was the blood pulsing in my ears.

Where are you
and why is the house so still without you?
The draft blows so much faster,
when you're not here to block it.

The way you wrap up
in just one more blanket than my own
has always made me,
keep the thermostat down.

One more toothbrush
leaving a trail of droplets,
back to the holder,
that only collects dust on one side.

Those drops are frozen
in this still house,
that creaks while I'm listening,
but always quiets when you are here.

Get well
get well.

Rumbling Meditation

What is it about the thunder that draws us in?
Why must we sit and listen to the rumbling above?
Why can a flash of light and vibration of foundation distract us from...television?

If you were up late enough last night as I was, you would have heard the storm.
The waves of rain and wind forcing the branches of our battered trees to twist and break again.
But why do we do it?
Why do we sit and watch the storm?

I looked across the street to see neighbors on their porch, just watching.

Is it mere fascination with a force we cannot control?
Is it a primitive calling to harness what once was our only source of fire?
Is it the idea that God could be doing this out of rage or boredom?
The rain ticked on the window and I found myself just staring into space somehow entrenched in quiet meditation at midnight, when most were asleep.
Why?
Ask the thunder, ask the rain.

As Spring, I Sleep

I
too
am the spring,
clinching tightly,
to the blankets of the frosty Earth
hugging them, nuzzling,
up to my chin
as I solemnly mutter
"just not yet."
The sun is hot,
but the ground is cold
and a wicked winter chill
still threatens to blow.
Young lilies
and daffodils
hold fast,
steady your blooms in waiting,
the time is soon,
but just not yet.
Spring will sleep
for another hour or two.

I just could not get out of bed this morning. What was it? Was it lack of sleep? Was it work-related depression? Whatever it was is over now. Until tomorrow. That is of course I could awaken to a sprite(as in blond-haired fairy like creature) slumbering beside me. Now, that would be worth waking up to. And would get spring's ass out of bed.

Your Power and Not

Yesterday was a glorious day!
My power, after being M.I.A. for 2 weeks, was restored.
Let us take a moment, in silence, to mourn the loss of all but one of my house plants. Naturally, Pickles survived since he vacationed at my parents' house with master.
A vacation from using my energy, but a vacation from privacy.
And just as normalcy is returned, Mother Nature threatens to take it away.
Oh, Mother Nature, what can a poor boy do to please you?
I know our relationship has been rocky lately, but I can't have you stomping your foot, blowing, and acting so unstable.
How do you convince the most powerful, bi-polar force on our planet to level out on some Lithium?
What's next?
Calling incessantly in the middle of the night and not saying anything at all?
Or is Mother Nature going to bring me a puppy, and then later sit out in front of my house all night watching me?
I'm happy for the electricity again, but Mother, Gaea, I implore you, mellow out, please.

The Momentum Starts Now

Yes!
Yes!
Yes!
Finally, my city's paper has delivered the news that I wanted to read.
As of today the city and county have approved the tax hike to help pay for the Downtown Development of Owensboro.
Owensboro will have a district. Owensboro will have an area. Owensboro will be a place to go and grow.
Not to mention the newspaper printing that corresponds with the release of VENT's article talking about the future of Owensboro by yours truly.
This is the first step.
The first of so many.
It all starts here.
Now?
Lobby
Lobby
Lobby
for the work to go to local firms.

Hermit Is

This infernal ice storm has finally chapped me entirely, much like the winter does our gentle lips.
Oh, man.
Tuesday, when the rain was freezing down, it was exciting. The thought of being off from work and playing in the snow was fun.
But then more and more kept coming down and the fun started to freeze over. I spent
Tuesday night up to this morning at my parents with varying relatives and friends of the family.
Wednesday night was capped off with the creaking of ice and ancient trees breaking and falling in the night. Not to mention the multicolored transformer explosions. My family sat on the front porch listening to the eerie demise of the once forest that we call our neighborhood. "Creation from disaster, creation," is what I kept saying. Oh, the naivety of my eternal optimism at a time like this. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Luckily, I sought solstice in Jenny and at her house Friday and Saturday. It was a brief period of peace.
Yes, I have no power at my house, and my toilet is leaking, but there are others worse off.
I just am in need of privacy. A person like me has to recharge. I must recharge. It is only now, when I can't recharge that the hermit in me comes out.
If you see me today I will be frowning.
But somewhere inside me my little hermit self is smiling knowing peace is near.

The Slush and the Trodden

I must tell you that while I was typing this title the power clicked off, and then back on. Maybe it is a sign from God that I need another title.
Or maybe... there are more important events to worry about.
We are under ice.
This morning was beautiful with everything looking sugarcoated, but with the beet juice, salt, and sand, it has all started to melt.
All around me tree limbs are crashing to the ground smashing cars, gutters, and anything else in the way.
It's as if the sugarcoating got sick and now has a cold like half of the people I know. The drippy ice is like the snot that is being propelled into tissue around this infirmary... I mean office.
Don't lose hope, tonight it will all freeze again, like Owensboro is taking an antihistamine.
I have not stopped and I will not. I have been working all day, unlike some who I am totally envying right now.
But it is good.
I get caught up on paper work, wear my boots, and stomp holes in the slush so you can see where I have tread.

Arms/Alms Outstretched

Well, I guess some thanks are in order.
Let me take a moment to say, "Thank You, Big Guy."
I asked for snow last week, and sure enough it came this morning. There was enough of the white stuff to blanket everything in sight. Doesn't everything look a bit more romantic smothered in snow? And please, let me clarify, at first. Not when the city has plowed and the sand, salt, and prune juice have turned it into a filthy mess. It's the moments before anyone does anything about it. When everyone just stops and says, "Okay."
Luckily, most children were out of school thanks to Martin Luther King Jr. and the strides he took for civil rights. Not for me. I'm still working today, kind of.
Let me also be thankful for new beginnings.
For the opportunity to start fresh with talented, like-minded individuals, and enthusiasm for the ability to make things different.
You must start somewhere, and I'm glad to be starting here.
I look for energy and vision in people because that's what I have.
Thank you for that.
Thank you for them.
No longer will I let the "what ifs" disable me;
I'm 27 years old and don't have time to.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Against the Wind

I am a writer.
So, when something happens that's so significantly symbolic, I must speak up.
I am ecstatic to announce that I am writing for Vent Magazine, a proactive magazine geared to inform, entertain, and energize Owensboro.
I conducted a sit-down-and-talk with the President and CEO of Owensboro's Economic Development Corporation, Nicholas Brake, and the head of Vent Magazine, to talk about several topics.
The sit down generated more excitement and enthusiasm over Owensboro's growth, and opportunity, than I have ever experienced. It was electric and I was a super ion.
The man has ideas that are so advanced, yet feasible. I will not go on about them now. You must wait for the Vent Magazine feature...more on that later, for sure!
So, after the interview, the head of Vent, and I left the coffee shop.
The wind was biting yesterday. It was ushering in a cold front from the North that sank our region into the teens that night. Around 2 P.M. the wind arrived. It fiercely blew over the Ohio and into the streets of downtown where our sit down had taken place.
The coffee shop entrance is located in a block of buildings that shields one from the wind. As my friend and I spoke about the future and the magazine, we turned the corner and were blasted by the nor'easter. It was the type of wind that takes your breath away. I remember him saying something like, "God, I can't breathe."
We leaned it and laughed.
Our clothes were stretched back and our voices sounded distance with the wind bursting in our ears.
Here comes the symbolism:
This sit down was for the second issue of the magazine. The magazine, which has become a force that I am willing to do anything for and the boss as well.
So here we are, two guys, going into the unknown together, laughing, having our breath taken away. At times, he would turn his back to breathe while I would face the wind. Then I would turn my back while he would face the wind. We did not stop and won't stop. Even if we are leaning, even if we are fighting, even if we aren't breathing, we will make this happen, together.

Spitting Snow and Schooling Joe

Greetings.
How I wish I was blogging in a winter wonderland, sadly I am not. The sky has been doing nothing but spitting snow all day long and I'm just sick of it. To me, nothing goes better with freezing-your-knickie-knocks-off cold weather than snow. But it just won't blow.
This morning when I went out to my car and the flurries were starting to stick to my windshield I became so excited. Each person that came into the office was asked, "Is it snowing, is it snowing yet?"
No, with every co-worker.
And to think that just yesterday we were talking about the silent snow that falls and blankets the earth. Everything is so still and peaceful.
Instead...just the knickie knocks.
So, what have I done to combat this?
I explained to a co-worker what a blog was and then showed him mine (shameless way to add a reader.)
Joe...meet the Internet. "Hello, have we met?" (In binary code of course.)
There was a bystander, whom was scolded for not reading mine for some time, too. So, this one is for two.
P.S.
Being cooped up in the office all day drowsily awaiting snow has made me super impish. I sassed at least half the people I work with half to death.
So, God, I guess what I'm asking for is to please give me snow so I can stop annoying everyone, and thanks for letting me school Joe.
P.S.S. I have so much more to blog about, especially important changes in my life, but these must wait.
P.S.S.S. The picture is not of me or Joe.

Busting Dawns's Balls

Yes.....today I win, Mr. Rooster.
Today, I beat you.
I was up even before you.
I was up early enough to kick Monday morning in the balls before he knew what happened.
For what seems like an eternity, I have been hitting snooze on Mondays just praying to feel rested. I've come in late, called in sick, and just been a grumpy ass.
But not today.
I woke up at 5:30 this morning on my own volition and said, "Screw it. I might be crazy for doing it, but I'm doing it. I'm getting up."
I arrived to work while it was still dark...ugh, that's not something I could get used to. But let me tell you, the silence was great for morning meditation.
A side note:
I just happened to wake up this morning due to a nightmare I was having about my other job. Does that mean I'm working too much? Does that mean unconscious me is trying to tell conscious me something?
Whatever the case is, I have accomplished quite a bit since I was awakened by a nightmare before the crack of dawn.
The following is a list:
I was able to take my time getting ready. Not once did I say, "Oh, shit!" when I looked at the clock.
I did a load of laundry and even folded it, son!
I paid 3 bills online.
I did one crossword, not completely.
I checked my online statement and balanced my check book, figuratively of course.
And wrote this little blog, all before 8 A.M.!
I just love feeling on top of things and not lazy. I just think that if I can start the week off right then this week won't be so bad. Maybe something great will come my way. Maybe something like the next step in my career and/or direction with education. So much for just getting up!
Alright all you paperboys, newscasters, and farmers, don't get huffy over me bragging about how much I've done before 8. I give you tons of credit for doing it every Monday. Just give me a nod for doing it once.
Yeah, Monday, you're not so bad. And you, Rooster, don't even think about making a peep tomorrow morning; I'm sleeping in!
Ooh, sleep. I think I'll do take a nap.

It's "that word, the word, it," and everything else

"ain't it a shame...how a word can tell you more than words can say-ay-ay-ay?"
It's true, and it's not.
Are you confused yet?
You should be.
Love, being in love, describing love, knowing when and how to say "I love you" is all so hard. Writers have been writing about for as long as anyone can remember, and yet, there is no definitive answer.
Is the perfect time in the embrace of a new year's eve kiss while love is all around you....?
Quite possibly.
My opinion, be it as it may completely individualistic, is yes.
My God, love is a feeling that pours over you like a waterfall. An icy spring shower than comes upon you instantly and will most certainly take your breath away. A shower that happens and it an instant leaves you drenched and speechless. You don't know if your eyes are watering from the rain or emotion. You stop, because at that moment, everything else is secondary. Compare it to the beginning of a nervous breakdown, your brain is saying holdup! But your heart says let go. And you do. You let go because it feels so natural to do.
Then you hear it...I love you, too. So much!
Forever you are linked.
Linked because of the moment you shared.
Yes, writers, I have taken a heartfelt stab at what it feels like. Maybe not for you, but for me and am putting it out there for you to see.
I will be back to blog....sometime...when I'm able to come back down from the clouds.