and don't forget her uncle, uncle thomas payne.

he was a man of great common sense. but, alas, i am not, or i wouldn't be sitting in a library typing this after a 10 hour day.

the women of jet aren't bad, but you ought to see the ladies in helicopter. they are plane out of sight.

just realized that it is jordin sparks, not jordan sparks. thought you should know. sadly, that change in spelling will not improve the music.

next topic on american idol? great themes from the world of pornography, featuring such classics as "love for sale," "i've got you under my skin," "too close," and "i want to get freaky with you." guest appearances by r. kelly and michael jackson, who will perform "beat it" and then beat it live before a studio audience.

randy will say "yo, listen dog, you are a dog! once again, you have shown you are the king of pop, now pop that sucker back into your pants. i liked it dude, but i thought that last scream was a little pitchy. you didn't need that. just end it with class, you know? plus, i thought it dragged a little toward the middle. you could have had a little more energy, but i liked it man, i liked it. good job."

paula: "michael, first of all you look great, just like a ghost, dog, like a dead man. michael jack off, you are the king. james only wishes he had a brown thing like yours. you are a star. this will go down as the show where you really bared your soul to america, and showed what you are about. and you can hear the girls, they love you, because it came from your heart. keep stroking from your heart, stay pure. beautiful job."

simon : "i must say, i thought it was a small performance. i am not in paradise right now. michael, you are a stranger to me. each week, you come up with something different. you just don't have enough juice for me. that, in short, was pure dread, and i can not critique it enough. it was like dancing with the devil in church while the pastor leads the congregation in a version of amazing grace. it was as if one were reading war and peace in german while going through a heroin withdrawal. in bobby short, it was akin to being raped by a gang of wolves while neil sedaka plays in the background. you must do better, or you will be off this show for good."

and so, it has come to this; an idle american blogging about american idol. and the sparks have not flown. i am merely aiken for attention as i stand before you on feet of clay and contemplate a jump into the hudson river. in the end, i will likely dolittle to change my situation, but i refuse to locke up my imagination. hence, fantasia's persist, as i rue through the bin that is my mind, and carrie on amongst the hicks who will never be taylor made for my sanity.

yo, listen up dogg,

i'm done.

i'm coming on a jet magazine, while ebony and ivory plays in the background

it's a stevie wonder i haven't been arrested on a morals charge. as i sit blogging, a man sits next to me wearing a clash t-shirt, and i think to myself...what the fuck am i doing here? are the bad puns really worth 1/16th of my waking existence? and are they james worthy of your time. you could be listening to the drifters sing this magic johnson moment, or you could shoot a jay with some americans at the park. anything but this.

we really are fucked, aren't we?

thanks to dancing with the stars, the revolution will be delayed for at least another year. i heard the average guy in the army (i get my facts from the simpsons, but this sounds about right) makes about 14,000 a year. hey, that's less than me! i feel better already.

where have the male vocalists gone? when your favorite singer since 1970 is alvie singer, you know things are messed up.

started orwell's "down and out with paris hilton and jack london." good so far, although i thought it was wrong of him when he said "hit the road, jack london, and don't you come back no more." at that, jack got down, and went to the hilton in paris, where he listened to jazz with rebecca.

we are trapped in mental prisons of our own production. age, race, gender, class, sexual orientation, nationality. we can't escape these artificial constructs. they are now the only real things in our lives.

we don't need to be raped.

we are too busy fucking ourselves.

we are trapped. the henry louis gates will not open. someone told me to go cornel west, but that won't help either. you can try to keep that tavis smiley on your baby face and that bebe shirt on your chest, but nothing can protect you, for a charlie rose by any other name is still a rose. i am not trying to be stern, i only want to tell you the truth, williams.

each day seems to decrease in value.

i wan once excited by it all.

now, i settle for tolerable.

ah, the wonder of maturity.

i feel your freda payne

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on things that used to be there

got on the train today, and saw a girl i went to high school with. she graduated a year before me. she wasn't a great looker, but she had enormous breasts. today, she is still not a great looker, and she no longer has enormous breasts. it's like it wasn't really her. strange. i know they can put a strain on the back, and of course, she has every right to alter her body in any manner she desires. but, i couldn't help but feel a vague sense of loss.

there is another girl. this one i remember from college. her thing was she had a huge ass, sort of an r. crumb comic book ass. needless to say, she no longer has it. in fact, the ass seems to shrink a bit each time i see her. now, while i am aware of the medical reasons for a breast reduction, the ass reduction is not known for its medicinal purposes. perhaps the attention to her ass was a pain in the ass, and she was tired of her ass being the butt of many a joke. well, i suppose all of that is behind her now, but only for those who didn't know her the other way. for those who knew her before, it's almost funnier this way. in any case, this decision also filled me with a mild regret.

where do i go from here? the job still sucks. sadly, the one thing i would like to see reduced is the one thing i will have to keep on doing. while they may not be murdering my years, they are certainly wounding them. and the thousands of stolen hours will never be returned. ah, to be ira gitler.

where have all the asses gone, long time passing. steve nash has been a long time passing, while for the lucky old suns strolling down the frankie laine, it's been a long time coming. well, i don't want to blazing saddle you with guilt, for you may peggy sue for mel practice. in that case, i would brooks no anger toward you and i would pray for missile toe and buddy holly, but you would drop the bomb on me and say that i have no sole, and while i could tell you to walk a mile with gene shue, this would not solve the problem.

we are coming to the rear end of this blog, and i know that you would like to see me reduce my entries in the future. well, all i can say is get thee behind me, satan doll, for every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven. and while i don't want to fight you, i will duke ellington it out with you if i must.

for now fats, read my off the waller remarks, and learn.

on shit

completely forgot about the parent open house from my gig this saturday. i think it was my buried true self, blasting my body with the feeling that "it's all bullshit." of course, there were parents waiting to talk to me. what is there to say? i feel like saying "get your fuckin kids out of this program. let them enjoy the wonder of leisure. if you want to, talk to them, go out there and throw it and catch it with them. let them be themselves. realize before it is too late that school is just another form of senseless structure." none of this came out. instead, i repeated the tired lies.

n told me he would like to "rock my world" today in school. later, out of the corner of my eye, i saw him dancing in my direction, shaking his hips in a shakira like manner. later still, he pounded his fists against the desk and shouted that "he was fucking moving!" at this point, i suggested that he go speak to a social worker. i, of course, will not be able to verbally harrass anyone anytime soon. ah, the injustice of it all.

later still in the day i learned that a student tried to commit suicide today. perhaps it was a racist who just found out that the lead singer for hootie and the blowfish is black. the surprise to me is that more people don't try to kill themselves. out of uniform, that is.

five years and counting on the war in iraq. i repeat that the american soldier is not a hero but rather, a misguided fool, a criminal, a murderer. fuck him. alot of them feel bad? well, no one forced them to sign up either. unlike the average german, they had a choice. of course, the big criminals are the corporate fucks and the politicians, but all who have contributed to this conquest deserve blame. it is nothing less than a crime committed against innocents by the most powerful society on the face of the earth. think about that the next time someone belts out a 10 minute version of the star spangled banner, bruce, and you are debating whether you should stand or not.

it is coming. that feeling of dread, that sense of detachment. you can't deny it, you can't fight it. it is what it is. it envelops you, owns you. yes, it is that feeling that we are swimming, no drowning, in a sea of bullshit. and yet, we are too busy paying the gas bill to change our direction. and this one gets free weekend minutes, and this one emails on the train and that one takes a trip to the west indies. all the while, the bullshit piles up thousands of feet into the air, and we hold our noses, grit our teeth, try to catch our breath and we pretend that this is how it should be. the dumber among us think it smells good. they don't even notice anything is wrong. they debate who should win american idol and bitch about oil prices and plan yet another vacation and go to the mall and eat at tgif's. the ignorant, and the indifferent, the cynical and the defeated, all march together, an army of accomplices, alienated assholes. and we reap the results. bad culture, worse wars, poisoned food, contaminated water, poverty, music fit for the mentally depraved and deprived.

hope was the thing with feathers.

and it flew away a long time ago.

they call it good friday,

but easter is just as bad. you know, life is no judy holiday. judy judy judy said dean martin. i got the day off for good friday. i know jesus did something on this day, but i can't remember what. jesus died so that we could live. if he knew what we would make of the planet, he may have charted another course. of course he planned each charted course, like sinatra, but unlike sinatra, he had no nelson riddle to back him up. never mind the lp. yes, there was nothing back then. and we are back to it. we have taken up residence deep in the toilet known as america. just remember that a flush is a good hand, as long as you don't play the race card. i'm tellin you straight that gaye could sing. he could james taylor his version of how sweet it is so that even jackie would have to gleason. sally would have a fields day listening to his voice, which was the voice of reason. freud wanted her to have children, but i convinced her they would be too jung. then i left her malone and hung out with carl. we went out to eat, and moses picked up the tablets. it came to 74:75. he became angry at the ray price, and reminded the cashier that "thou shalt not steal" we did our part to remind him that the year was 2008, and that we all had gotten used to being fucked on a chuck daly basis.

and the whispers began...

the rape goes on.

back in the blazing saddle again

i'm back. been sick. it's funny, but when your head is hot and your feet are cold, blogging just doesn't have the same meaning.

remember "white hunter, black heart?" what the fuck does that mean?

work really seems stupid. the only thing dumber is looking for another job. work is the four letter word that none of us should ever say. or do.

sonny criss had a beautiful tone. and don't forget his great line..."the only thing real in america is ugliness." that, and his version of black coffee. tris speaking of which, this may be out of this world (good evening) but i remember that pinko liked his coffee black. when he told a waitress at a diner in southie that he liked his coffee black, she reminded him "that slavery happened a long time ago."

it's always about race in this country. don't let them tell you different.

you won't die, but dye your hair green, grant, if you muste, aj. aj, you muste remember this, kiss was a great rock group, that you can't deny, no matter what the future brings, as time goes by.

beatles on idol again. worse than before. someone actually sang back in the ussr. back in the ussr? fuck you, beatles. i believe your shit doesn't fly.

my only wish is that r kelly will test that theory about being able to fly. i would go to his grave just to make sure it turns out right.

i believe i can fly? you know what i say? i believe i can shit. if i stick to the right diet.

a humble blog, but i'm back.

80,000

the amount spent on hookers by spitzer. man, he could have built an imposing record collection with that money.

speaking of music, debating, silently of course, the "who is the greatest tenor player from europe" argument yet again. it's between barney wilen, tubby hayes, bobby jaspar, and ronnie scott. i've got to go with wilen, an acrobat that can hang with anyone. he made a record with milt jackson on piano that is one of the better things i've heard. you know, it just hit me that these thoughts probably won't do much to advance my social life.

spitzer is going to be replaced by a blind black man. i will save these jokes for the half assed late night comics. just one thing. i can hear geraldine now. nothing like being a blind black man to give your career a serious shot in the arm.

back at work today. it has no more meaning than it did before. eddie went after asians this time. they have a new social worker this year, an asian guy. this has attracted more asian students to the drop in center. eddie wondered out loud if "they watch anime in there?" eddie, keep looking for your brain. it has to be somewhere.

have been ordering cd's over the net recently. have to watch myself. well, actually, i don't have to watch myself.

pinko's pics are hard to top. my chum, pal o' mine, very fine work. you've got the juice. now, let me be so i can watch the simpsons. yes, i know that i have not hit a homer with this blog, but you can't always reach sal bass, jerry. yes, this whole thing has been a rushdie job, and i am going to have to book out of this library before ed long. ok, enough horsing around. we both know it's a rat race, but that's no reason to be a drifter.

the johnny moore you see, the les spann you know.

now, back to my monk like existence.

bya.

geraldine

ferrara, mondale's female running mate from 84, (big brother, where art thou? by george, i don't have a clooney where you could be) has made the statement that "obama would not be where he is today if he wasn't black." supposedly, being black has helped him quickly ascend the political landscape. this got me to wondering how much more successful george bush could have been if he were black? how about reagan? maybe they would have been made kings, or made presidents for life? if a white guy is a stiff, no one ever says he made it because he was white, though this is often true. bush came from a wealthy family and his father was president. this would automatically make him white, as we have never had a black president. so, certainly bush rose much more quickly as a white man than he would have as a black man. in fact, there are millions of well off whites who go to good schools because their parents went there, and/or because they can afford it, and are given employment opportunities because they know people already established in certain careers. in the political field, there are thousands of mediocre pale skins who seem to have done quite well despite the curse of having been born a cracker.

funny, but in the films i've seen, it was the blacks getting lynched and beaten and forced into abject poverty and thrown into jail and hosed with water by powerful white cops and politicians and private citizens and military men. guess i must have missed the metaphorical message.

took a day off today. had to get away from the repetitive nightmare. the teacher i work with keeps referring to sam cassell as an "albino" even though i've told her he isn't. by the way, what is her fascination with sam cassell?

i was gonna kill my hair, but decided to dye it grant green instead. tina won't brooks many of more of these puns, and junior told me to cook up something funnier, but i don't care if the duke of jordan himself tells me to stop, for i have the impressions that i will keep on pushin.

yesterday, was the music of lennon and mccartney on idol. sadly, i watched it. for those of you who didn't, you missed a country version of eight days a week which was one of the worst things ever seen by human eyes. the other 11 songs were also horrendous. a metal version of eleanor rigby also stands out, unlike my penis. america, if you insist that the show be between a bunch of attractive 20 year olds, (of course, attractive in a superficial, skim milk, untroubled, plastic way) you will continue to end up with melodramatic oversingers who haven't learned enough about life to be able to sing. but, i suppose while the bombs drop and the people starve, i should find more relevant things to bitch about.

like who is going to win this year's "dancing with the stars."

come on, jason taylor, you can do it!

create a new york post

i am creating a post on this big apple surrounded by fruits and vegetables. at least i'm still in the produce section, as i produce puns of w.e.b. dubious import. yo, my food for thought is about as profound as a lunatic's rantings, which is likely what they are.

semi is finally over. some kids liked it, others didn't. what a waste of money. it's a wonder that students spend all that bread to go to a dance. look dear, you won't have any dough if you keep spending that johnny cash. what is wrong with this country. it's like we are in some western, and we are giving each other flack, as we persist in killing people softly with songs sung blue in a bland society. a dance? 55 big ones? why can't they just all hang out? get a group of friends together and just hang? the thing is, we keep waiting on the world to change, but the only thing that changes is that greek guy in the dressing room. the man is gay and is in a room without windows in lawrence, and he sadly contemplates the fact that god created adam sandler and eve arden, not adam's apple computer and steve lawrence kansas. oh, dorothy, where are you? where is that dream you started? i can't believe we've parted. oz believe it may have been pinko all the time. well, i am over here by rainbows and will tello everyone i see that the emperor has no clothes. not only that, but he was just arrested for indecent exposure. the man was caught singing without a thong in the nude, so he was sent to a colony. in his defense, he argued it was warm out, and then sang don't let sonny catch you redd handed. ah, he was a foxx, that one.

so, where are we are? walking corporations running for president, while the people running who have done things of merit are attacked and mocked. a sick society with no marie curie available. life is no sweet science. i would cell my life if i could, but atom wouldn't buy it. well, i'll keep my ion anyone who would be interested. but yet, is there hope? elmo, i just don't know, gordy howe i cannes continue to walk down this sesame street without exploding. if i only had a big bird, but sex isn't everything, it's the only thing, but we can't all dance to the music of guy lombardi. ah, this is vince-sanity! carter away before there is more trouble. i kidd you not! life is filled with knots that no mafia don can untie, and that is a crime. chu on that, jonathan. you, who cost me my grad degree.

thank you. i was starting to realize it was all bullshit anyway, but you put the nail in the gerry coffin. you, paul bearer, will make it easier for me to bear, as i bare down, and stan getz back to the basics.

now, i shall undertake other endeavors, as you wrestle with the tenor of this blog.

is america ready for that picture that pinko posted?

yesterday was the day of the junior semi-formal. by semi-formal, i assume the guys will be showing up in a tux and shorts, or in slacks and a white t-shirt. the teacher was getting on nolan to shave and cut his hair for the dance. i snuck in with "why don't you go for the military look?" they never dig my shit. the teacher was also bitching about a list of tunes the students had selected for the dance. "can't you guys write in english" she exclaimed after looking at a title that appeared to her to be gibberish. but then, i looked at it, and noticed that the title started with "yo." "this is probably spanish" i said, at which point she got quiet, and said "yeah, maybe it's spanish." at least, she's one of those white people that knows when they have been busted. but, that only works for a few seconds. another student is going to peru for a few weeks. this made her angry that he would go to "puerto rico" in the middle of the school year, and she thought this demonstrated "their" lack of appreciation for the importance of education. well, i guess all those "so called latin american" coutries are alike. perhaps a certain teacher didn't realize the value of geography. i feel the need to repeat that i am probably working for one of the better teachers in special ed, one that is popular with the students. what a sad commentary.

back to the dance. bullshit. kids getting dressed up. students renting limos. 55 bucks to go. girls describing their dresses, telling all how great they are going to look. you wouldn't know a war was going on. you wouldn't know people are starving. you know, i'm kind of tired of kids. they are the same as the others. judging by appearances, comparing clothing, shit multiplied by shit. fuck them too. who among them selected sinatra to be played. who among them has even heard of him? i repeat, fuck them. they are mindless followers, trapped in a sick society that they will do nothing to alter. who among them will say "leave him alone. if he wants to wear his hair like that, let him." who among them will say "55 bucks for a dance? damn, i could turn the radio on and start moving my body for free." not a one of them. if they don't go, it will be because they don't have a date. no statements will be made, nothing profound will be spoken. they are lackluster adults in waiting.

lucky me. i get to a view an integral part of the transition.

so listen, mr dj, keep those records playing
especially if the lyrics are in spanish

the people look like etta james at last

my love has come a long way from st. louie, but she still has a long way to go before her life is a swingin affair. i told her to take it nice and easy, but she said only the lonely would give advice like that. it seems clear that no one cares what i have to say. she insists that she can't do things my way. at times, i feel that we are strangers in the night. last i heard, she was in new york, new york. well, that's life.

yes, i gotta take it one pun etta time.

speaking of the "are we ready" refrain, we have heard a lot about whether "america is ready for a black president" or if "america is ready for a female president." we have not heard if america, or more to the point, if the power structure that runs america, is ready for a president, male or female, black, white, or covered with polka dots, who will do what they can to make the world a better place. is america ready for a president, or more to the point, a power structure, that fights to create equitable, sustainable, policies in the areas of economics, foreign policy, race relations, and in the cultural domain? how many ways can you yell no?

is helen reddy ready for this america? ugly betty your life that she is.

enough of this feel good, pat on the back crap about how far we have come. obama is doing well largely because he is a centrist who does the bidding of corporate power. as far as his race is concerned, he is a tiger woods, an oprah. it is to the extent that he transcends his race that he does well, but what does it mean to do so in a racist society? beware of a black man that can make white america feel good. white america has little to nothing that they should feel good about. the fact that he is doing well is the thing that damns him the most. cosby is doing well too. so, the question then becomes "what kind of black person and/or woman is america (ie white america) ready for?" as far as i can see, too many of them are ready to vote for mccain. and the ones who should be out there overthrowing the government, are too ready to support obama and clinton.

spoken like someone safely tucked away in their local branch library, writing words that 3 people will see, as we drown in a sea of confusion, which is no ball for sure.

short one

no, this isn't about my penis.

i just saw a headline on yahoo that asked...

"is america ready for a gay american idol?"

oh, dear god, i pray that we are.

then, and only then, can we begin to heal.

unbecoming

a video has appeared on youtube of a marine holding a puppy by its neck, and then throwing the puppy over a cliff. they are saying that "if this video is true" (how could it not be?) he could be tried for "conduct unbecoming a marine." as opposed to bombing a defenseless village, which is conduct becoming a marine. the most unbecoming thing a person can do is become a marine.

it has never seemed sillier, more meaningless to me, than it does right now. it's time for some action before i go one step beyond. but alas, there is no way to make a mclean break from it all. each day, a slightly altered replica of the one before it. the same stories, did you see american idol, the patriots resigned moss, racist jokes, insults from retarded students, stupid next door neighbors, banging pipes as the heat turns on, 6 hours or less of sleep each night, prancing male divas as coworkers, rednecked coworkers who can't forget they are irish, all the records beginning to sound the same, 24 hours feeling like 24 seconds one minute and 24 years the next, a sea of activity in my mind that doesn't correlate with the drop of water that is my life, alienation from the crowd, criminals in power and innocent men behind bars, a war on drugs as millions sit in the bars, peace shouted as wars are fought, freedom a mindless mantra, death the only truth, governments run by ignorant shits, music too mediocre for words, films not worth being paid to see, friends who aren't friends, family that bores you beyond boredom.

we are in an age when only our dreams are real, as reality has become a demented fantasy world run by semi illiterate murderers.

too much coffee and not enough sleep gets me every time. i suppose one stays up in the hope that it will somehow turn around.

i expect little to no sleep again tonight.

name associations

sonny rollins jason kidd herbie mann warren moon sonny boy that lucky old sun sonny stitt horace mann i am woman thomas mann isiah thomas allison mann i got a woman helen reddy helen way helen earth mother earth emma goldman the blast from the past he who controls the past controls the future back to the future the future took us george orwell all's well that orwell 1984 we are going to party like it's 1999 it's my party and i'll cry if i want to the party's over lesley gore al gore florida flo-rida nat cole king records james brown jim brown barry white blue mitchell grant green sonny redd redd fox rick fox foxy brown coffee tea ice tea ice cube vanilla ice chocolate thunder white chocolate jason williams jason alexander george king george george bush don't beat around the bush don't beat your johnson lyndon johnson woodrow wilson nancy wilson nancy stone jackie wilson lucy stone lucy parsons albert parsons fat albert kenny close the door, ham green eggs and ham it's not easy being green i get the blues when it rains rainn wilson snow white the blizzard of 78 storm the invisible woman the invisible man hg wells ralph ellison orson welles ralph kramden ralph gleason nat hentoff ira gitler ira gershwin ion keep your ion the prize god created atom and eve molester young steve young god created adam sandler and steve young don't cry joe montana you go elway and i'll go mine you are sitting on top of a gold mine demond wilson he's a demond in the rough rough riders carry a big stick have a big dick the hick from french lick larry bird donald byrd bird parker bop bam pow

el fin

on why i didn't ask my girl to the game

we are hanging around, me and the coworkers. i tell a couple of them that carlin opened his latest hbo special by saying "fuck lance armstong." they only get about 10 percent of it, miss most of it. a little later, eddie, brother of the teacher i work with, lays one on me. he says he saw a comic, "alot like carlin," who said "obama is always talking about change. change this, change that. what is so different about a black guy around the white house begging for change?" then, he laughs at his (someone else's) "joke."

fuckhead, this stiff is nothing like carlin. carlin fucks with the favorites, the punks in power, he doesn't tell tasteless gags which appeal to our ignorant heritage of white supremacy.

my reaction? i mumbled "that ain't right man," because, sadly, murder wasn't an option. ah, the burdens of whiteness! i get to hear the unedited bigotry of my fellow crackers, who think, because of my pale skin, that i will dig their racial backwardness. furthermore, this guy is one of my better coworkers!!! of course, his idea of a seven course meal is a six pack and a potato (i figure if tixon was ever gonna excuse this line, this was the time to use it) but he is still tighter than some of the others. also, his sister is the teacher that i work under, (i was gonna throw in a lazy sex joke about how she likes to be on top, but i wouldn't touch her if the fate of herbie mann depended on it) so, any static with him would blow the vibe for the rest of the year.

the moral? never underestimate the racism and arrogance of white people, even poor ones of limited intelligence who have no reason to feel superior about anything.

and to tixon, i apologize that i don't feel more comfortable bringing you around these fuckheads, but know always that my hesitation is a condemnation of them, not of you. my god, it is hard enough working with them as it is. if the eddie's of the world saw us, they would get very quiet. i would no longer be seen as white and i wouldn't hear as much shit. and the silence that would proceed would be louder than anything i have heard so far.

believe me, we will seen by many stupid white motherfuckers before our lives are over.

they aren't going anywhere.

remember what country we are in, but let us always keep plugging with everything we have.

and that is why i didn't ask my girl to the game.

even though the line was spoken 5 days after the game.

all the lines are the same.

the white man,

always repeats himself.

and the lines never get better.

man oh man

i can no longer blog from my job. they are denying access to my blog on all the computers. this means i will likely blog less. also, they are no longer leaving unopened roles of toilet paper in the bathroom. what will i steal now? don't you see, the perks are slowly being taken away. they already have my soul, must they take the perks as well?

the basketball game was exciting. unfortunately, the other team won in overtime. i was screaming much of the time. i felt very different this time around. i made a connection to it this time. i was yelling at the refs, screaming at the coach, and in general, carrying on in a manner that continues the mania associated with the silberg name in relation to sporting events. as the coach is 6 foot 11, i plan on staying away from him for a while. at least i didn't call him a cocktail pianist.

into the wilde, which hopefully wins an oscar, as i look up into these dorian grey skies, and feel blue. it feels like berlin, 1933, but nobody else seems to notice the soldiers marching down the street. it is like i am living in a blind world, and only my glasses work, but since no one else sees, it seems as if i were the blind one. they remain trapped in the same old world of race and sex and money and pop culture and war. they still play the game, even though the final score was never in doubt.

they found a picture of obama dressed in traditional muslim clothing. this is a crime? obama should have condemned this as a crass attack against muslims and an appeal to narrow minded, beer drinking, short dicked, red necked, sentiment. (well, perhaps not in those exact words) instead, he reminded us that "he is not a muslim." hey, 1.4 billion people are, and they should be able to dress and believe in the manner they want to. this guy is supposed to be the change candidate, but other than changing the color of the guy in the white house, i'm still trying to figure out the change he actually represents.

kidd looks reborn in dallas. watch out nba. he's gonna be thirty five in march, and he's hungry for that first ring.

i ran into a gay guy who told me he thought chris has a great botti. i expressed my oral opinion that i would much prefer a strumpet with sax appeal to botti's body. then, when it is over, i will put the buble on ice, man, grab the mike, and sing a ballard to my butler. yes, i will run to this world of sole as fast as my feet can take me. and while it may be a big connick job, i will harry on in the bob hope that life will not george burns me again. gleason here, eddie harris, when you do it, it is electric, but i don't like your varitone of voice, and you can bettis your life i will take a bus to hear trane before i'd walk across the paul street to hear you play. get tim wise, that was a zinn on your part to compare yourself to jc, you richard gott to admit that. that was the nader of your career. i'm not gonna beat around the bush, i would gore you for it if you were in my sight. i would give you nixon, i would draw blood and get a b in art class. don't you like how i pepper this blog with puns. to me, we are all one big adams family, and to be frankenstein, if we can't laugh, why should we go on?

maybe we shouldn't.