national grid

as i write this at 2 in the morning, national grid is still digging up my street! i called their number at about 1:30, and was immediately told "they are leaving." no, they are not leaving; that's the whole problem. if they were leaving, i wouldn't have been on the phone complaining about them not leaving. and how did this guy on the phone know they are leaving? such confidence. at that point, i opened the window so he could hear the noise. "they will be gone within the half hour" he then said. so, the simple act of my opening the window increased the amount of time it will take them to leave. yes, it's my fault!! if only i hadn't opened the window, they would be gone by now.

these people who answer the phones and speak for these companies...wow. what, did their dad start the company? are they taught not to acknowledge any of the points made by the person making the complaint? of course, they are the only show in town. i'm sorry lenny, but capitalism certainly doesn't cook for me. in fact, with my gas being turned off every day, it cooks even less for me than usual.

this guy also said "they ran into some old pipes." well, wasn't that the whole reason for the work they were doing? if they had ran into new pipes, they wouldn't have had a need to do the job. this is supposed to satisfy me? and if the pipes are old, whose fault is that?

so far, i have seen these workers drinking alcohol, eating pizza at 10:30 at night, watching a baseball game at the park across the street, and even frying up food of their own on a grill!! hey, do i sense my future career or what!

i suppose it is easy for these guys to dig up other people's streets. but, what if after they got home from digging up my street, a group of guys were digging up their streets? i believe they might find that to be a slightly more serious manner. and why is it that because their from a giant corporation, it's ok for them to make noise at all hours of the night? what if i decided to serenade them with a little "who can i turn to?" something tells me that some of these same pussy neighbors of mine who have kept deathly quiet in the face of the grid would have the police on me in no time. the same police, by the way, who have stood guard and hung out with the grid guys for all hours of the night. obviously my making a disturbing the peace complaint won't do much good because the folks in blue are already out there protecting the guys disturbing the peace!

these men are supposedly "keeping me safe." hey, i felt a lot safer, and saner, when i was able to determine the hour when i would go to bed. as if any of these assholes gave a shit about me. fuck, they don't even know me. safety. please.

these same guys put up signs saying their day will last from 7 to 5. more than 9 hours off that closing time. this was explained to tixon to be an "approximation." man, someone ain't too good at the old guessing game. so, it begs the question, what's the point of having a sign at all? if you told someone you would be working till 5, and could meet him at 7, and then showed up seven hours later, after the bar was closed, chances are good that you might not be hanging out with that dude again.

unless of course, that dude supplied your cooking gas and hot water, and there was no other dude in town that supplied those services. then he could fuck you all he wants.

living in america, where getting fucked by corporate america has replaced any notion of citizenship.

if any such notion ever existed.

books, and more

"detroit, i do mind dye-ing" a history of the anti-hair products movement in detroit.

"splendor in the ass." an oral history of anal sex.


this land is your land, from california, to the new york islands. always hated that. the funny thing is, this started out as a left wing thing, a guthrie tune. well, in 68, nixon used it for his inaugural. marcuse, anyone? the culture can't help us; music, art, film, are all well and good. they make our lives better, give us a reason to smile, but the system will never be fundamentally changed by them. hell, the system is what allows them to exist! and profits from them, i might add. so, write that song and paint that picture, but don't imagine yourself to be che.

if you think mode for joe is good, wait till you hear median for junior cook.

did you ever notice that no matter how big a sale is on an item, that same item is still cheaper at the library?

you know whose playing really bugs me? gnat adderley's.

i had to trade my lionel itchy record; it had a scratch on it. i suppose you can say i got rid of it in the knick of a time, or even in a new york minute. man, i probably should have skipped this whole gag.

the i love new york thing has given me an idea for other shirts...

i have missed feelings about boston

i am mildly positive about sacramento

i have heard good things about portland.

i have to stop blogging.

situation comedy

i was gonna jack benny up, and flip wilson on his ass, but it burns george up when i commit acts of violence, and he guilt trips me by saying "i hope bob doesn't find out about some of this shit you do." it would break rodgers hart if he knew that i had a violent streak. in fact, once i had a violent streak for 56 consecutive days, which really gave joe a jolt. in fact, he felt like he was in a mays, which gave him the willy's. ernie banks on the idea that he will snap out of it. but then, ernie came to a shortstop, and acknowledged that the situation may not get better. ah, for pete's sake, a rose by any other name is still a rose. you can bet on that.

speaking of baseball, for a few years in the 50's, the reds became the red legs. got to win that war on communism, you know. only gildo had the mahones to continue calling them the reds. george, on the other hand, was too tuckered out to do so. for al, the issue was neither black or white, but grey.

also, during this time, red garland became known as red legs garland. around this time, he threatened to punch out a fruit who said that he saw red drinking a cocktail.

sadly, larry died young (1940-1978) i'll grant you, he was by no means a green musician, but this is still way too short a life. mitchell, the whole thing makes me blue.

also, during the 50's, sonny red became sonny redd. the extra d didn't do much for his career, but we do know that he was never called before HUAC, so maybe it helped.

karl marx was referred to as karl grades for a few years, and engels became known as angles, and was only taught in geometry classes, where his left politics were rarely mentioned.

the red sea was rarely mentioned. perhaps it was marooned on an island? the phrase "ready set go" was changed to "bluey set go." helen reddy changed her name to helen not yet. for a few days, the american flag was only white and blue.

in the year 1954, blood was outlawed. if someone got a cut, they would hide, in fear that they would be beaten or even lynched if their neighbors saw that they were red inside.

in boston, the summer youth workers, known as red shirts, became known as yellow jackets. this made the work much tougher, and many of the youth began to pass out from the heat. the whole thing was something out of 2001.

yes, it was a scary time, as all times are. today's age, is equally, if not more, terror-bull. now, you can run, but you can't had, ji. now, every indian or pakistani guy who has a grocery store needs to put a little american flag in his window, just like all the jewish groups felt the need to condemn the rosenbergs. sometimes, they even tell us they are "proud to be an american." of course, they are not referring to costa rica, or peru, but to the united states. sad stuff. but i suppose they have to do it, especially after that crazy redneck played hide and go sikh after 9/11. there were people after this educating us that sikhs aren't even muslims. was the point that it would have been ok for the guy to kill a muslim? man, maybe we should have attacked white christian men after the oklahoma city bombings. hey, shit might have gotten better if we did that. too bad white store owners didn't feel pressured to put "proud to be indian" stickers on their store windows afterward.

yeah, when we get to the point where whites are proud to be indian, maybe we will reach the promised land.

ah, by then the promised land will be too filled with pollution for us to inhabit.

words

just saw a "jesus is lord" bumper sticker. isn't this bad english? shouldn't it be "jesus is the lord?" what would we think if one of our young said "i am student?" we would surely use it as an excuse to attack them yet again. "jesus is lord." fuck you and your mediocre english ability.

i'm also getting tired of "i heart new york." we are talking about a big fucking place. they surely can't love it all. do they love the poverty, the crime rate, the pollution, the high cost of living? i heart new york is a bullshit statement without meaning. i heart the new york public library system, or i heart central park, makes more sense. they are individual things that we can have an opinion, and yes, a love for.

speaking of bullshit, obama has called on europeans and americans to "defeat terror." how does one defeat a tactic? a tactic, by the way, that obama wants to use more of in afghanistan. you can no more defeat terror than you can defeat walking, or singing, or shitting, for that matter. maybe we should have a war on shitting? we could start by distributing 20 pounds of free cheese to every american. of course, we would have to round up the vegans, but there are casualities in every war.

instead of i heart new york, how about i anus new york?

we know that god loves both silence and homosexuals, for he was heard to say, "the lesbian said, the better."

if we could only come up with a good slow-gun, we could put an end to gun violence.

we are always hearing about the country, but what about cunt-trees? man, i sure hope they don't chop those down! they help keep my head out of the sun. which reminds me of that great standard, "when sonny gets blue balls." he usually gets them for christmas. well, his parents are poor, and they do the best they can.

a great new documentary about shit will be shown at the upcoming can film festival. it should be a gas.

remember when nizer was giving a speech and all of a sudden, the pride march came down the street? he started exclaiming, in a key that would have intimidated mario lanza, "gay lesbian bi sexual two spirited trans community, we stand with you!!" well, first of all, of course he stood with them; he was in the community! what's he supposed to do, find another community to stand with? better yet, he probably wanted to lie down with them. and furthermore, what does it mean to be "two spirited?" it seems to me, one person, one spirit. if being bisexual means you are attracted to the body of both sexes, does being two spirited mean you are attracted to the spirits or souls of both sexes? and what the hell is a spirit? a group of two spirited people assumes that there is a group of one spirited people out there. ok, fair enough, but where are they? sometimes religious people sing about "feeling the spirit," but what if the spirit doesn't want to be touched? perhaps the spirit will claim that it has been molested? and what if the two spirits don't get along? what if one attacks the other? or, what if they disagree? who do you side with? it may be best to just stay out of it and wait for it to die down. man, it's all very confusing.

lee konitz with warne marsh. a good record. pink one, i must burn this for you in the future. perhaps in the winter, to help myself stay warm.

i leave you with this...

walk limply, but carry a big dick, and you'll never walk alone.

that line may not win an oscar, but it used to hammer stein. man, that one used to nail him.

actually, i leave you with this from the three stooges...

give me the tools.

what tools?

the tools we've been using for the last 10 years!

oh, those tools!

the return of cyborg

it was nica's dream that cyborg return, but of course, nica was a weird-o. i don't mean to blow her an ill wind, but she always had a hard time deciphering the message. once, she even exclaimed it's you or no one, but what else can you do, at the end of a love affair? in the summertime, she told me there will never be another you, and i'm sure she believed it body and soul. but alas, it was too late for this show. i suppose one can always try a little tenderness and take it nice and easy, but nevertheless, i would rather just dream, although the dream differs from nica's.

i am sure you are thinking this blog is ok, "but not for me." well, listen porgy, i am doing the bess i can, and it ain't neccesarily so that i can do better. so, if you don't like it, there's a boat that's leaving soon for new york, and if you don't go now, it will be gone, gone, gone. by george, that was clever. in fact, s'wonderful. yeah, i know you think i've got plenty of nothing, but i find this to be a swingin affair, and i would rather travel down a lonesome road from this moment on, than to alter my words to zoot suit you, sims. no one ever tells you, but you are an arrogant stiff, night and day, and you will be until stars fall on alabama. well, i guess i'll have to change my plan and write about something else. oh yeah, i already did. damn, i got it bad and that ain't good.

amusing ourselves to death is an ill book that makes me sick just reading it, and yet, it is just what the doctor ordered. in fact, i have no idea what the doctor ordered, as i was not in the restaurant at the time, although my guess is that he got a hot dog. is a hot dog angry? man, what a hot dog! so, pick up "amusing ourselves to death; pubic intercourse in the age of show business" today! don't wait. whip out the only id you need, and get to it this second! but yeah, i dig mr. postman maybe i'll even write a new song about him.

bill, your shirt has a holman! aw lou, levy alone! i hope my west coast readers dig this silly jazz. hey, we can't all be on the atlantic. without a dowd in my mind, i would engineer it so that we all lived closer together. i don't have the pacific details, so i am going to stop there, and pepper you with more art, but in a different vein, since art used up all of his veins. well, i guess he figured it was worth a shot. well, i suppose the straight life is not for everyone. if they asked me i could write a book. i could also wrong a book. it depends on the book.

i had an exterminator come and get rid of all my max roach records. i was blue till seven, but eventually, i realized that i did the right thing. and then, i sat down to the computer to do the write thing. naomi, oh how i want to cry wolf, and to end my blogging career, but that would mean the end of america, and so, i must carey on, jim. yes, the blog is my ace in the hole. even jesse the body ventura thinks so, though i wish he would mind his own business, for his feelings don't govern me. for you see, i am an independent, and though i may be green at this, it's my party david, and i'll eat corn on the cobb if i want to. hey, as long as i produce in my direct style, i'll be ok.

many people don't realize that the song strange fruit was really about an unusual homosexual. leave it to me to set the record straight. if only marvin gaye had sung strange fruit, but that bum could not get off the elton john long enough to do it.

the phrase "do it" reminds me of my first day as a sub in the somerville school system. i was working as a substitute aide in a special ed class. suddenly, out of the blue, a young black kid, maybe 12 years old, started yelling "do it do it do it do it do it!!!" the teacher sent him out of the room. about 10 minutes later, he was allowed to return. a couple of minutes after returning, he raised his hand. when called upon, he yelled out "do it do it do it do it do it!!!" and i thought, as i have often felt since, "what the hell am i doing here?" as i repressed the urge to laugh, for laughing would only "encouage him." and of course, the last thing we want to do is encourage the creativity and individuality of our young. or, of our middle aged and elderly for that matter.

i don't really have an ending for this blog.

i was gonna strong arm armstrong, but i decided to neil down to him instead. i used to neil down to the postman, who amused me to death with how many letters he seemed to know. the man had shear genius, and i would often exclaim bravo at his remarks.

yeah, the thing is you have to deal with others, and others are often assholes. everybody wants to make money, but nobody wants to be bothered, especially by those who they think are inferior to them. what, you are asking me for something? why, the nerve! you are lucky i even let you exist. and it's always these punks who have been given everything, but still pretend that they are hot shit. hey man, granddad made the bread, not you. fuck you. you are a result, not a cause. and i don't mean to credit the cats who initially made the bread either. fuck them too. probably owned slaves or fucked over some natives out of land or ran some corporation. there is an arrogance, what my dad calls a knack of disrespect, which seems to be endemic from these assholes.

when you get down to it, we are monkeys with hats on. we don't know what the fuck is going on. in fact, we are much worse than any other animal, as we play with our bombs and stare at televisions and pick off immigrants at the border. the white american male with wealth, especially, is the worst. thinks the world is his, and the problem is, it is. struts around as if he were somebody, talks as if his words, and not his wealth, have power. puts all the blame on you, holds court, drinks the wine while serving you beer, tells you how lucky you are to have your apartment while living in a mansion in the suburbs, drives a run down truck and pretends to be a working man as he counts his savings. tells you he is proud to be an american or that god made the irish number one. and you think, if they only excused murder in civilian life.

most americans said they would rather have a beer with bush than with kerry. what was not mentioned was that a majority of americans would rather have had a rum and coke with kerry. depends on the drink, you know? here is a full break down...

gin;kerry scotch; kerry vodka; bush wine; kerry hard lemonade; bush

so, the whole getting drunk thing was even, 3 to 3. furthermore, 3.4% of americans said they would prefer to have a beer with nader, as long as he went green and paid for the party.

continuing, most americans preferred getting a blow job from kerry, but favored bush when it came to anal sex. more americans wanted to go to the movies with kerry, though a majority wanted to watch tv with bush.

in this year's election, 58% of americans say that they would rather eat a hamburger with mccain, but 67% of americans would prefer eating a garden salad with obama. 67%of americans would rather have sex with obama, and 53% would rather take a walk with him.

stupid ass polls. who gives a shit about who you would rather have a beer with? what is the correlation between having a beer and being president? am i missing a subtle connection, a metaphor of great power and meaning? i don't want to have a beer with anyone; i don't even want to drink beer by myself. fuck beer. it's like drinking piss. beer is a dumb fuckhead's high.

this just in; 89% of americans hate this blog. and hey, even in a fake democracy, the people ought to get what they want once in a while.

so, here you go....

body talk, tv's, the obama being dropped, and other things

i am going to go out on a limb with more body talk. for a second, i thought of knuckling under to the pressure of those who told me to quit while i was a head, but i have my eyes on the prize, so i will play it by ear and continue to satisfy myself with these tasteless puns. if this is getting under your skin, feel free to exit the sight, for i am turning a deaf ear to your complaints. hey, if you are gonna read my stuff, i demand blind faith from you. i don't expect you to handicap my words, but just to digest them. think of them as food for thought. of course, there are always a couple of rotten apples in every cart, but that is no reason for you to jaw at me when things don't go well. i hope you understand that your words are in vein, for when my blood starts to boil, no one can give me any lip that i will listen to. for i am foot loose, but strangely, unlike byrd, i am not fancy free. i don't know how these things don on me. i suppose it is a kind of art, like being a farmer.

i guess i shouldn't get angry. rather, i should turn the other cheek and butt out while others speak their mind. oh, if we could only see eye to eye, who nose what good would come? well, i guess i had to get this off my chest and keep you a breast of the situation. soon, i will turn on the boob tube and turn the knobs until i find a channel i like. if i could just get some elbow room away from the maddening crowd, i'm sure i could breathe a sigh of relief. the whole thing is so hard to swallow, steve. if i could only get someone to read about wrist management to me, all would be well.

good that you guys can still watch dvd's. however, if the screen is longer than my penis, i will be highly upset. (come to think of it, how couldn't it be?) meanwhile i am looking for a rare text entitled four arguments for the elimination of jerry mander's four arguments for the elimination of feces. shit, i'll probably never find it. mander, by the way, was accused of sexism because he refused to change his name to personder. this doesn't take away from his arguments, but i thought you should know. i am surprised that you tossed your tv without catching a few more episodes of family matters. well, all i can do is say an amen for you, for good times surely await you, my artist formally known as the fresh prince. now, you can go out and breathe that bell air, which is ringing for me and my gal. you guys are much too very very to ever be on webster, which didn't have too many different folks as guest stars. so, tv or not tv, that is the question? and you, my friend, have answered it, period. now, you ham, let yourself go, and enjoy the freedom that only mander knows.

half bright, eh? i'm not surprised. 500,000 dead iraqi children was worth it. worth what? i wonder if we threw in chelsea clinton and obama's children, if she would still say it was worth it. or, what about her life..."is the death of half bright worth it?" she must not feel that a half million children are worth her one life. there not "our" children, so, why not a million, ten million? didn't hitler think killing children was "worth it?" and why didn't police immediately arrest her after the show? if i oversaw an endeavor which led to the murder of 500,000 children (outside of a u.s. war that is) i'm pretty sure someone would come looking for my ass. come on police, do your job. better yet, stop doing your job!

was this blog worth it?

you know, it's a tough question, but i would have to say no, it was not worth it.

on tv and things

congrats pinko and frida on the elimination of television, even if it is only your own set. of course, you will miss some choice programs, such as the following.

peter fonda, air supply, peebo bryson, and others, hosting time/life cd infomercials. pinko, think hard in order to remember fonda in that tight leather. if you need a quick bathroom break, i understand.

pbs fundraisers, such as the chris botti concert.

the phone sex adds after 11pm.

why is it that i've had the harold land station on for over an hour and they have yet to play harold land? they played jimmy forest, but not harold land. what is this, a joke?

but, back to my point. frida and diego, you have made me proud. i wish i had your knack for getting rid of things. the thing is, i struggle with it. i'll go through my stuff for an hour and end up throwing out one sock. i fear change. and bills as well. i always end up standing still. pinko, i think it is harder for me to trade one cd than it is for you to cut a bunch of stuff loose. i make this declaration, that our constitutions are different in this regard. in short, i envy your independence from things. i like your fire within. while others are watching malle, or goin to the mall, you will be free of these gadgets.

and yet, a part of me is saddened, for how will you see my masterpiece, getting played, without a dvd player? not to mention glitter and gigli. and as far as the vcr goes, what of all those vintage russell meyer films? oh, pinko, you are a stronger man than i. in fact, you are stronger letter than i, for you are a g. my man, i rate you a g. in case you already forgot, that stands for general.

my general, you have won the war on terror-bull television. and now, i think of bukowski, in his room, with wine, radio, and typewriter.

and no tv, vcr, or dvd. of course, even buk dug jackie gleason, as you do.

don't worry, he's all over youtube.

now, to the books, art, and music.

friends, (not the tv show) i salute you.

body talk, part 2

we all know that you can walk hand in hand with someone, and you can also march arm in arm with them. but if things don't go well, you may butt heads. the old timers always tell us that they went at it hand to hand instead of carrying arms.

of hard workers, we often say that they have to shoulder a heavy load, which is no skin off my back, because i'm not gonna stick my neck out and break my back doing hard work. now, why would one shoulder a heavy load, or do back breaking labor? perhaps to get a leg up on their coworkers, or maybe they are trying to get a-head. in sports, if you comeback, you may also eventually get ahead in the score.
also in sports, they often tell us that certain players keep their noses to the grindstone, although i'm not sure how a grindstone gets in the picture, or even what a grindstone is. you can also "keep your nose clean," which may be tough to do if you are keeping it to the grindstone. if you are one who remembers to keep your nose clean, you may also eventually "wash your hands of the whole business." however, this is tough to do if you have "one foot in the gutter."

sometimes if we are late someone tells us to "shake a leg," which would only seem to slow us down. of course, you may be late because you "can't stomach" going out into this cut throat world filled with low brow culture.

a question...is it ok to ask for a girl's digits on palm sunday?

and then of course, there are clothes. sometimes we like to dress up what we are saying. for example, the word slow looks good in a pair of blue slacks. then there are others who wear the pants in the family, which makes it tough on the other family members, who are forced to stay inside. some of us live "in the hood." question...is it ok to have something up your sleeve if you live in the hood? and don't sugar coat your reply. roy haynes grew up in the hood, but i'm not sure about joe boxer. someone who did not grow up in the hood was illinois jacket, who, as far as i know, was never put in a straight jacket. and by the way, if we have straight jackets, don't you think we should have gay jackets? hey, give me some slack, i'm doing the best i can here.

sometimes, late at night, some of us go for a night cap. now, i know a lot of you were hoping i would skirt the issue of alcohol use, but i'm not gonna dress up the issue just to satisfy you, for this blog fits me to a tee, and if you don't like it, you can read something else. how do you like it now, now that the shoe is on the other foot. ah, put a sock in it before i give you the boot. for you see, this blog is for members only, and i am not gonna sweat it if you don't dig it.

will i go with the clothes hat trick with my next blog? to make a long story shorts, i don't really know.

pinko, for that bull, you should take uh bow

wow. what a tale. and though my grandfather said you should never lose your head over a piece of tail, i must say that my head is currently lost. the good news is i think i know where i put it. once, while walking through the very same chinatown that the the pink one writes of, a woman told me she gives great head, but since it wasn't the same head i often lose, i wasn't interested. and why is this one of the only body parts that people give? why doesn't anyone give brain, or ankle? back is different. you can have someone's back, as in "i've got your back" and you can also "give back." but "giving back" is very different from "giving head." furthermore, you can not "give face," but you can "save face." so one gives head and saves face, all the while having another person's back. then, they may "give the evil eye." at other times, we have to hand it to people, and sometimes, we even "give people a hand," as in, "let me give you a hand with that."

of course, if you are angry, than you can give someone "back talk," but you would not do this if you were someone who was willing to "toe the line." a man who toes the line will even "finger someone" if they are asked by the police or others in authority.

this whole thing can really get tricky. let's say some asshole asked you to "give head." instead, you would most likely fire back by giving him a "piece of your mind" instead. he might then say that he has to "hand it to you" for having such a "strong mouth." if it escalates, someone may even end up "bearing arms," for yes, often people will "arm themselves." in fact, you can play with your arm to such an extent that it shoots, and end up making an ass out of yourself. of course, if you do this, you likely have "shit for brains" and have no one to blame but your sorry ass for the trouble that is heading your way.

pinko, great tale of beantown. i remember that gig of yours well. those were some good days. until this moment, it never really registered with me how much cash you took from the cash register. all that cash must have made you feel like johnny on the spot.

thanks again for the heads up on this previously private tale.

peace

obama

yes, there goes that man again. a couple of things. he said that "we" need more troops in afghanistan. he wants to add 10 thousand troops there. why? because they are getting killed! it seems to me that if soldiers are getting killed, you remove them from the country, and then, they won't be killed anymore. the more troops, the more troops who can be killed. iraq, the big o tells us, is a "diversion" from the real war on terror. the fact is, the real war on terror is just as fake as all the other wars. to be for the war in afghanistan and against the war in iraq is like being for your left arm and against your right arm. it is not a viable anti-war position. obama tells us that his pull out plan in iraq would take 16 months. that's a pull out plan? it takes 16 months to get troops out of a country? at the end of 16 months, we will have been in iraq for 7 years. and of course, obama only says he will remove soldiers in 16 months. he probably won't even do this, because he will need to consult "the facts on the ground," and the facts on the ground are that we are getting our ass kicked. so, there is no pull out. what he is saying he will do is redeploy troops from one place to another. but the funny thing is i don't want afghanis to die anymore than i want iraqis to die. you see, to me, the whole war on terror is bullshit. and obama fits right into the middle of the bullshit. if he didn't, he wouldn't be the democratic nominee.

more obama. he gave a speech at the naacp a couple of days ago. he told blacks "they need to attend the parent/teacher conferences." oh really? this is surely a viable solution to their problems. something tells me obama is not caught up on his kozol, and if he is, that makes what he is saying even worse. he also told his black audience to "turn off the tv and video games." fair enough, but why is this stuff only directed at black people? he never tells any other group of people what to do. remember that one time he said that poor whites were afraid so they were hiding behind guns and religion? he got clobbered for that. he was portrayed as an elitist snob. but he can blast blacks all he wants, and is called courageous for doing so. and what about the corporations? do they need to take any responsibility for anything? this whole responsibility thing seems to be quite selective. what if while you are taking responsibility, you lose your job, the cost of food and fuel go up, and the war goes on? what if your rent goes up to a price you can't afford? does that give you the right to go up to the landlord and say "hey man, here i am trying to be responsible and you are not reciprocating. so, i ain't paying you one more cent." it's like telling someone to be nonviolent while violence rules all around them. man, i wish malcolm was here. this shit would sound so much better coming out of his mouth, or from his finger.

and then there is mccain. a snarling little dog whose claim to fame is that he was captured in war. i thought the whole idea was to keep from getting captured? being a pow is no great accomplishment, especially when one was a pow as a result of fighting a genocidal war of aggression against the vietnamese. i believe mccain would like to be fighting a war all over the place. harpo marx once said that he wanted to see a child looking out of every window in his house. well, mccain wants to be able to see a war out of every window. but the whole thing is really about degrees...obama wants 10000 more troops in afghanistan, mccain wants 15000 more. mccain wants to keep a full troop complement in iraq, obama is thinking of "dealing" with pakistan. they both need to show they are tough, particularly obama, who many americans likely believe is really a closet muslim. in fact, he is a closet muslim, but he is a christian in the rest of the house, so the voters have nothing to worry about. this is an example; obama, if he were a decent man, would say what does a man's religion have to do with whether he is competent to be president. he would defend any man's right to be a muslim, while at the same time, denying the claim. if obama were a decent man he would not have been angered that the clinton people supposedly made him look blacker in a photo. instead, he would have pointed this out to be the racist crap that it was, while at the same time, pointing out the equal beauty and equality of all skin colors. but he ain't that man. of course, the obama attacks are just beginning; he's really a muslim, he's soft on terrorism, blah blah blah. perhaps his plan is to be a preemptive asshole in order to take as much of the play away from them as he can. whatever it is, it sucks.

and of course, everyone has to show that they are safe, that they are worthy of the corporate donations and the backing of the elites. in the end, that's the whole thing.

king once said that we have to deal with racism, militarism, and economic exploitation, that you can't really get rid of one without getting rid of the others. well, obama wants to increase our involvement in afghanistan, has threatened pakistan, and has made strong statements in support of israel. so much for militarism. so far, he has said black men are acting like "boys," has said that black people need to stop throwing trash out of cars and has also stated that they need to stop feeding their children cold popeye's for breakfast. so much for racism. as for economic exploitation, a spokesman for wal-mart is one of his advisors, his contributions have come from some of the major corporations, he has yet to say a word in favor of rent control, or talked about redistributing wealth, or anything else that would show that he was concerned about economic inequality.

malcolm once gave a speech the bullet or the ballot. well, i don't know about the bullet, but i damn sure know about the ballot.

a bridge over troubled waters

jimmy said it would be a raney day, but stan never getz it and always forgets his umbrella.

you are all diseased. meanwhile, i am in perfect health. playin with your head was a good show, but in general, i don't go in for public masturbation. to me, it makes more cents to go into an italian restaurant and order penne from heaven, as you drop a quarter into the juke box and play a herbie nichols record. harold comments that the tune is rather maude-lin, so you land a right cross and knock his moody ass right into st james infirmary.

i was reading a book today that said shaq is the greatest basketball player of all time. i nearly shit my pants. in fact, there i stood, broken hearted, tried to shit but only farted. wilt was number 2, and jordan 3. jordan in the 3 spot?? madness.

more sayings that are bothering me

if you think education is expensive, try ignorance. so does this mean that we should all just accept that college should cost 40,000 a year? and, for that matter, what do education and college have to do with each other? in any case let's extend this sentiment...if you think gas is expensive, try freezing. if you think food is expensive, try starving. see, it's fucking stupid, right?

i can't make up my mind. you don't have to, you already have one. so don't worry about it.

when you see a sign for a pizza special that says "special, 2 slices and a coke, 5 bucks." but, as you look closer, you see that each slice costs 2 bucks, and the soda costs a buck, adding up to the cost of the special. so, it turns out the special is rather normal. you tell the guy this, and he just shrugs his shoulders.

i read today that "obama and mccain are courting latino voters." now, isn't that gonna be a lot of fucking between now and november? i hate that, they are "courting voters." are they taking them out to dinner and a movie?

speaking of obama, he keeps repeating that blacks need to "be more responsible." what does he want them to do, admit that slavery was their fault? this appears to be a favorite saying of his, but only for blacks. he doesn't seem to feel that whites need to take any responsibility for anything, and he has yet to lecture asians, latinos, or natives on the topic. but, i can see it coming..."it is time the japanese acknowledged that they really interned themselves, despite fdr's pleadings that they should remain free." "those mexicans being killed as they attempt to cross the border need to work on their reflexes. they need to take responsibility for protecting themselves." "native peoples need to accept that their grinding poverty and historical oppression have nothing to do with their high alcohol and crime rates."

obama's forthcoming race speech..."in today's america, the most important race is the boston marathon, kenya believe it? we have come a long way. yes, i know some of you brothers out there continue to smother your popeyes chicken in olive oil, but together, we are making great strides. today, if any person of color, is degraded, beaten by police, unjustly imprisoned, denied health care, educated in poor schools, and crowded together in substandard housing, they must remember that this is completely of their own doing. today's america is totally removed from its ugly history. look at me; i am proof that a white kenyan can make it. so, my impoverished, malnourished, depressed, uneducated friends, what is your excuse to not be running for president? as that great one eyed jew once remarked, yes i can. that is what you all need to tell yourselves...yes i can. so, the landlord won't rent to you? just tell yourself "yes i can." you can't get a job? just tell yourself "yes i can." the police are beating you upside your head? just remind yourself that "yes i can." there is nothing holding you back, except money, connections, and the ignorance of a variety of powerful institutions. remember that this is 2008, which means that the solutions of 2007 no longer apply. what would a job training program do if the father in the program still doesn't name his child after someone in the bible? don't blame the corporations for polluting while you throw your trash out of windows, and don't complain about police brutality while you continue to use double negatives and wear baggy pants. the problem of today, my friend, is not war, but rather, that of dread locks and do rags. you are raising children who idolize tupac but have never heard of warren g. harding, and you wonder why you are struggling to put food on the table. my foolish friends, i know you will vote for me, so hang in there with me, as i continue to berate you in public in order to satisfy the bigots of america in the hopes of getting elected. and jesse jackson, lick my balls."

rick, you have a flair for posting pictures

by the way, that's so raven of screen to have screen doors that light my fire. remember, in america, you can hail mary and heil hitler. adams told me to pepper this blog with puns, which he believes to be high art, and since art was always high, i had to agree with him. for, sometimes life is a bit too straight, and one has to try to make it a little more gaye, but this is tough to do when you are working the night shift. the night shift is quite a workout, baby, and many who work it are forced to get higher and higher in order to get through it. hey, it's better than crying lonely teardrops over what's going on. and later, when you return to your brick house in search of a little sexual healing, she tells you she would like a little respect from you, the latest in her chain of fools, before she goes all the way with you. to be frank, she is tired of your games, and lately, she has come to speak often of love and marriage, threatening to drop the obama on you and cut your balls off if you don't take her hand. you respond that you have no need for her hand, as you already have two of your own, an unforgettable line that may find you out in the cole if you ever repeat it. so, you end up spending the night at nat's house, chering his king sized bed with his sonny boy, who tells you that you haven't seen nothin yet, which gives you a jolt, son. in the morning, williamson gets up and makes stu, which he trumpets as the best breakfast on the west coast. meanwhile, jimmy rowles out of bed and tickles the piano, which is not known for its sense of humor. al eats an ice cream cohn, and is derided by his more health conscious living mates, who refuse to stand pat by calling him an average joe. they congregate at the table, while junior cooks over the stove. he tells hampton to slide over. hampton is all bone, which is why he has been eating more. all the while, eric works on sketches of melba, which, if he ever completes, will be feathers in his cap. well, they say he dug birds. sometimes, clad only in his haynes underwear, he would go outside with roy, and watch the flying creatures, who were already out there, outward bound for some destination a far cry from their current location. at the table, i said a little prayer for everyone. to be frank, lynn, i wanted only to go home, but i wanted to get my phil of food before i made a mclean break for it and headed back out to the woods to begin my journey home. to be honest, i was seeing red, and i was in no mood to walk through the kelly green of mother earth. in truth, i wanted to rest on my laurels, because sometimes life is just too hardy and you don't want to go on anymore. you just want to chuck the whole thing over board and go to some chaplin to ask for forgiveness. because, deep down, you feel out of step in these modern times, as the city lights have become the great dictator. you tell yourself that the lady is a tramp, and that you sould show some hart and refuse to return. but you are one of those cats who can't make the rent by himself, so the broad way is really the only way for you to go. oh, how you long to return to the great white way, but for the moment, you have been blacklisted. red has told you to go through the proper channels, but you refuse to name names, preferring to give only middle initials.

and then, you are back on the night shift again the next knight. a travis-ty of justice, you say, david? yes, but one needs to be brave, or life will continue to strike you as berry hard. so j, don't get to lo. carey on. alba seeing you, so remember to have a jolie old time. don't get depressed. remember all those in salma who marched so we could all have rights. keep smiling.

as time as goes by

i realize that i am lucky to know thompson, one of the best people i have met. when i listen to him, i realize that happy days are here again. jerome, if i had a kern for every time thompson made me feel good, i would be a wealthy man. to be candid, his tone is music to my ears.

you know, sometimes they say a man plays by ear, but that can't be so. don't they always play by hand? that's like when someone says they will keep their eyes open for you. you would think they would keep them open for themselves. hey, they are the ones driving, not me.

let's explore some more of this nonsense.

a penny saved is a penny earned. how? how do you earn something by saving it? a slice of pizza saved is a slice of pizza earned. see, it makes no sense.

what the mind can conceive, the body can achieve. well, i can conceive a world without war, but i can't achieve it. i can also conceive of telling the landlord that no one can really own land, and therefore, he is not entitled to my money, but something tells me i won't achieve making this statement.

shit happens. not if you're eating too much cheese.

think globally, act locally. what if there are no acting schools near my house? and what if i don't want to act. maybe i want to dance, or sing? think globally, sing locally.

how about when someone tells me that "jesus loves you." if this is true, should i tell my girlfriend? i guess i would have to let him know i'm not gay, and that it probably wouldn't work, with the age difference and everything.

celebrate diversity. well, anything can qualify under the term diversity. the klan, the mormons, and polygamist cults represent a diversity of thought, but i don't think i will be celebrating them anytime soon.

kiss me, i'm irish. no, i think i'll keep my lips to myself, tomato face.

terrorists, what part of red, white, and blue don't you understand? hey, can they help it if they are color blind? what this statement leaves out is that they have a deep understanding of purple.

these colors don't run. yeah, well those people near the world trade center seemed to be moving pretty fucking quick.

god bless america. is it possible for an entire country to sneeze at the same time?

support our troops. hey, i'm having a hard enough time supporting myself.

pow-mia, you are not forgotten. well, in fact, i never knew who you were, so how can i remember someone i never knew?

vote or die. this isn't really an either/or. millions of people have done both. my grandfather regretted voting for reagan, and then died a few years later. people have even become president and died.

ok my friends. thank you for your time.

to be frank

FRANK SINATRA

SINGS THE WORLD'S GREAT MELODIES OF LOVE...LOVINGLY

MOONLIGHT SINATRA

ARRANGED AND CONDUCTED BY
NELSON RIDDLE

THE RING A DING KID STEPS AWAY FROM THE BLARE, THE GEARS, THE ROCK, THE JAZZ, THE NOISE. LEAVES BEHIND THE SASSY SAYINGS, THE FLASHY FUN-FUN. ESCAPES THE STALE SMOKE OF YESTERDAY'S DISSAPPOINTNENT.

STEPS OUT INTO THE TIMELESS NEW NIGHT AIR THAT SURPS AT THE FACE, FELT. IT IS A QUIET WORLD HE STEPS INTO: INTIMATE AS TWO ALONE, SOFT AS TWO TOGETHER. WHEN THE ONLY CLOCK THAT TICKS IS LIFE'S. WHERE THE ONLY SOUND IS THE SOUND OF THOUGHTS THAT ARE HONEST, UNBORROWED. IN THAT SETTING, REFRESHING AS YOUNG LOVE, THE STARS COME TWICE CLOSER TO EYE, APPROACH NEARER TO HAND. THE ROMANTIC MISE EN SCENE, MENDELSSOHNIAN IN ITS ALUMINUM NEWNESS, CLOSES IN AROUND HIM.

IN THE NIGHT SILENCE, HE SINGS OF LOVE.

IN A WORLD WHOSE PEOPLE SELDOM LOOK FOR LOVE ANY FARTHER THAN THEIR OWN PALMS, FRANK SINATRA PUTS HIS WHOLE HEART ON THE LINE: HE LOOKS TO THE MOON.

THE MOON: WHO IS OUR EARTH'S CONSTANT LOVER, WHO COMES ALIVE ONLY IN DARKNESS, WHO COMES BACK TO US AS INEVITABLY AS NIGHTFALL. TO SING OF THE MOON, AND NOT OF MISSILES, OF ROMANCE, NOT OF FUDGE, OF LOVE AND NOT LOLLIPOPS, IS OLD-FASHIONED. SOMETHING OUT OF GRANDMA'S DAY. OUT OF DATE, LIKE THE STARS. NON-CHIC, LIKE VALENTINES. CORNY, LIKE YOUR OWN HEART'S BEAT.

BUT IF A MAN CHOOSES TO SING OF THE MOON, HE CANNOT BE PINCH PENNY WITH WORDS OF PRAISE. HIS SONGS WILL FALL ON GREEDY EARS.

STANDING SMALL ON EARTH, AWAY FROM THE NEON CLATTER, LOOKING UP, BELIEVING, FRANK SINATRA SINGS TO EARTH'S CONSTANT LOVER.

MOONLIGHT BECOMES HIM.

STAN CORNYN

ironies

carlin once pointed out that it was strange that he was fired in vegas for saying shit when the main attraction in town was craps. never mind ass.

i've been hearing a lot about how obama is a "centrist." just what the fuck is a centrist? are they putting the 7 billion people on earth in a line based on their politics, and calling the ones in the middle centrists? in fact, it's a bullshit term. obama is on the right, as they all are. he may not be as far to the right as his opponent, but of course, that too remains to be seen. others insist on calling him a "progressive." please, someone hand me a puke bucket. and when is tim not as wise as i thought gonna write an article condemning obama's negative comments about black people? is he too along for the ride? so many want to buy in, we so want to believe. but what is it that we are believing in? in the political realm, one should believe in concrete things; affordable housing, an end to war, universal health care. where are these ideas today? belief in obama has a blind spiritual quality to it that is kind of scary. in general, the supporters of the party out of power seem to feel that the extent of our problems reside in the policies of the other side. for sure, eight years of bush has been no picnic, but you might want to ask a serbian at random what life was like under the funky clinton administration. to the anti-war democrats out there, you might want to recall that the two world wars, as well as the korean and vietnam wars, were fought either in whole or in part while democratic administrations were in power. i could go on, but the whole thing is rather depressing.

just remember that behind it all lies the power of corporate america. which ever party resides in the white house, corporate power rules. their rule may be a little more daring, more out in the open when a republican is president, but they rule either way.

in any case, i have made up my mind.

now, if i could just make up a better body for myself, i'd be all set.

shoot is just shit with two o's in the middle

sometimes we call this shit we are in the rat race, but who is the last rat you heard of who dropped an atomic bomb on his fellow rats? it's the human race, my friend, or my enemy, or whomever may be reading. and why is it that the miles solo on bird's star eyes is flatter than a heroin addicts stomach? but yeah man, the rats got nothing on us. in fact, i think it's the end of the line for the human race; we should just let the other primates start running tests on us now to see if we can be of any help to them. they say we share 98.7% of our dna with chimps; maybe if they run some tests on us, they can cure chimp cancer. hey, you don't have to be nim chimpsky to realize that it might be worth a shot.

when did small pizzas become personal pizzas? man, these things are smaller than a castrated penis! and the price stayed the same. they think they are fooling us, but we know man. the price went up. if i get less for my buck, that's a price increase. i don't mean to stagger you, lee, or to alter your personality with this information, but i've got to call them as i see them.

from the library, i picked up the complete roost recordings of stan getz. i was almost too chicken to pick it up, but istan told me to cut the bul and stop acting like a jive turkey, so i went and grabbed it. getz once said that his one regret in life was that he had not been a better person, but who would want to spend their life at the casino? al cohn once said that his one regret in life was that he had not been a worse person, and zoot sims said that his two regrets in life were that he never met chuck person and had never played people.

woody allen's one regret in life is that he is not someone else. my one regret in life is that long pun featuring something else in an earlier blog. in fact, regrets, i've had a few, but then again, too few to mention. but of course, i just mentioned them. and the truth is, i didn't always see them through without exemption. what is this, a tax return? no, god damn it, i didn't make less than 8 grand last year, and my job was not seasonal. can i just not pay you?

did you ever notice that when the cost of food goes up, it still tastes the same?

they have collected all of woody's prose in one book. it's called "the insanity defense." cool title. like this country; guilty by virtue of insanity. sure, if we were sane, we wouldn't do a tenth of the shit we do. eric, fromm here to eternity they tell us that we live in a sane society, but i say it's all one big escape from freedom. has man a future? that is the question. only if it is a soybean future.

are any of my friends still alive?

mr. monroe, you have to realize that all of your friends have been dead for close to 200 years.

but they all ate organic rice!

especially anne and jerry. man, what a mickey mouse joke that was.

jesse jackson said that he would like to cut off obama's balls. i hope he puts him to sleep first. jackson was upset about how obama has been talking down to black people. he thinks obama should stop standing on a podium, and face his audience eye to eye. by the way, the boston banner, the local black paper, said that it took courage for obama to denigrate black men on father's day. i immediately cut the paper up. the thing is, i didn't realize there was a microphone on at the time, which caught the sound of the cutting, thereby giving mccain an edge.

stitt is blowing i can't give you anything but love, which was recently remade as i can't give you anything but a sexually transmitted disease. got to stay hip, you know. this is from an album that stitt made with the oscar peterson trio, which monk never heard, as he was in the bathroom the whole time.

which is probably where i should be.

shit

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life in the torture chambers, paul.

i feel off bass after watching the fire within, which burned me bad. i could use something lighter. if i could only watch something that was a good match for me. ah, i suppose it will all go up in smoke.

dahr jamail received an award along with a young palestinian writer. when the palestinian writer went back to his home, he was tortured by israeli police. go to democracy now for more.

colbert reminds us that democracy now will be followed by anarchy later, but of course, he is a goodman to have amy on. i'll bet you ten to juan, he is on the left, practically a young lord.

obama reminds us all that there is only one national anthem. touching. yeah, and there is only good dude running for president too, and it ain't you.

things you'll never hear...

please, i insist you stop this blow job this second

i want this job because i need to eat

there are worse things than shitting your pants

i'd kill myself if it wasn't a crime

zeppo was the funny marx brother

don't let the sun catch you masturbating

don't let the son catch you masturbating

my favorite show was amen

sometimes i feel like a childless adult


remember the british empire? we thought they were bad. but our shit is something else. their cannon balls were nothing like the shit we have. man, we can bomb you from miles away, until all the notes you sing will be blue. the art of war? forget it man. when we get the jones to kill, we kill, be they named hank, sam, or whatever they may happen to be called. when you add-erly up the dead, the numbers are high, although they are not numbers that colin powell, or few of the rest of us, are much interested in. francis, i know it seems that i am crying wolff with my anti war platitudes. i wish that i was lion, alfred, but it is all too true. how many times can a man bob his head, pretending he doesn't see, as he counts his weinstock and becomes more rich than any buddy of mine will ever be? only a shelley of a manne can live in a penthouse while others read penthouse while still others have no houses at all. i realize this ain't newman, but the hustlers of the world still make my fathead fill with anger. sometimes, i want to chuck the whole thing, but then there is a ray of hope, and i think of a newport, something that i have yet to feel and know. then i recall that i have rhode down this island before, and by george, i cease to wein, and i get back to the monkey business, this off the marx world we all inhabit. and still, the bombs fall, every davis they fall, and i can not trumpet a new beginning. and so, i remain kind of blue, workin, cookin, relaxin, searchin for my bit of prestige. sometimes i go to the pond, so i can walk down by the riverside and russell up a bit of nature in my life. by george, nature, how much more abuse from man can you stand? wayne you strike back, i believe man will be on the shorter end of the stick. but of course, we shoot the messenger. it's the same old jazz. we max our credit cards to the limit, but don't complain to the land lord when we see a roach. we drum up some excitement for things that are not the key to contentment. perhaps we become organ donors, but what do we do while we are alive? great scott, shirley we can do better than this! is it too late for the average joe to become a newman? for now, as i think about it, i am blue as the clock strikes 7, and the sonny is movin out. but, the tenor of my madness remains, and it is not even worktime! oh, we are passing over the cliff, and we have turned this earth into brown shit. i will grant you, there is still some green left, but in general, it is a bland earth, and this makes me blue.

the thing is, can we reach basie, or will we be counted out? the least we can do is go down swinging, with a miller in our hand, from glenn to glenn, and down the mountain side. irish you understand the tenor of these remarks.

now, was that something else, or what?

get rich, or almost die hanging out with them

before i begin, yes, ray-gay-ton is sick. that's the problem. not only is it sick, it's "ill," perhaps even on life support. i think this comment shows the true color of the man who made it. my friend, you are pink down to your underwear, which i fully expect you to wear on the outside, so we can check. my compadre, you tell me that "you hate anyone who hates loud music." well amigo, i tell you here and now, if i hear ray-gay-ton once more, i will puke as if i swallowed a puck, and that is not puckish humor. in the mean time, i will stick with baretto, mango, and candido, and any other prick whose name ends with an o.

now, to the order of business. the july 4th celebration took place on the 29th floor of a rich high rise in the town area. said building is home to manny ramirez, and some bitch who was giving the parking lot attendant a hard time. shortly after arriving, i found myself surrounded by more jive than can be found in the finest louis jordan collection. after grabbing a drink, i headed toward the dip, making sure to double dip. there stood before me a brother from another planet far from mine. he jumps right in and hits me with a "so what do you do?" here was my opportunity...

"don't tell anyone, but i moonlight as a male prostitute."

"for the moment, i am attending a july 4th celebration and am being asked a banal question by the lone black man in the building."

"temporarily, i am living off my savings."

"i specialize in public masturbation. here's my card."

"i watch youtube, take walks around a pond, and visit my parents twice a week."

well, of course, i blew my chance, and i told him "what i do." but there is no one thing that someone does. there is one thing that someone does to make money, but that is another issue entirely. oh, that's right; i am in america at a 4th party. yeah, i suppose the question does make perfect sense. but, think about it..."what do you do?" an honest answer to this question would take a life time, for you will be "doing" things until you die. what you do is constantly changing. for the moment, i am blogging. later, i will shower. still later, i will sleep. these are all things that i do. the question is really, "so, how do you make your money?" better yet, it is more likely, "so tell me, are you somebody worth talking to?"

oh yeah, i forgot another comeback...

"what do i do? i say fuck you to people who ask me what i do."

shortly afterward, i was sitting down watching the end of the sox-yankees game, when the man of the house walked in. of all places, he elected to stand right in front of me! picture him; a white man in his 50's rich enough to wear a beard and not take any shit for it. he was casually dressed. had on a pair of faded jeans and was wearing original converse all stars. he began to talk to the brother, a man who was obviously for sayles. talk of travel developed..."they say that berlin is like new york in the 80's." "yes, i've heard that many times." two stiffs feeling each other out, which made me go limp. it was a real status deal, as i vainly turned my head for a better view.

the cracker, who clearly had the bread to put on the ritz, had a book collection that was by no means butter. he owned books by two black authors, charles barkley and magic johnson. to his credit, he did own a george carlin book, bud sadly, nothing written by tim wise. he had no records or discs that i could see. punk. he was a pontificator, a prick that likes to hold court, a man whose money has enabled him to do just that for far too long.

the crib overlooked the city in all its shitiness. in the day time, one had a view of the various tall buildings that the white man has buried the earth under. at night, it looked better, but of course, even the elephant man looked better at night.

the ritz cracker with the bread had a couple of kids at the party as well. they seemed about as smart as a brick wall. the son was talking too loud, also holding court, and using the word shit as if he were somehow sticking it to the man by doing so. the daughter was overly loud, the type that says like, like 5643 times a day. children of undeserved privilege. somewhere, as i write, there is a man holding out his hand for change that is richer by far than these two children of plenty. in fact, many of the down and out are right down stairs from this family, while joe ritz spends his time building a wine collection. i had a thought to take a bottle of wine and throw it, or maybe to just ask if it would be ok if i took a couple of bottles home.

think about the money this man has spent over his life time on wine, or on vacations, or on his houses. and then think about the hurting homeless right under his windows. suddenly his good nature is anything but. how do the rich accept such things? does it naw at them while they sleep? do the thoughts sneek up on them as they idle on a carribean beach, far from the masses of poor in those countries who will never be able to afford a vacation in their own country? no, they have probably come to think, if they think about such things at all, that they are somehow different from these poor, that they have earned their status and economic success. the fact that they are still rich, or that they even got rich in the first place, seems to argue for this.

to be fair, every one was cordial. there was a cute three year old there, some wonderful dogs, and all of the women were pleasant and friendly.

ok, now back to bitching.

the fire works started at 10:30. you could see them clearly from joe millionaire's window. but first, two fighter jets flew through the sky, i suppose to remind us that when it comes to dropping explosions, either real or fake, america is still number one. and here, we come to another problem. how is one to justify celebrating the 4th of july? how many people will america have to kill and injure before this becomes a day of protest? surely the human race will come to an end before this will happen. in the meanwhile, i am a yankee doodle dandy working on a porn movie entitled "my country, tits of thee." living the dream, baby. but yeah, i heard not one ironic comment, not one mention of the hypocrisy of celebrating freedom while we occupy far away lands, while we house over 2 million people in prison, while close to 50 million people, including me and tixon, go without health insurance, and while prices for food, gas, and housing sky rocket with each passing month. and neither did i speak any truths either. it was all so very proper, something to tell the grand kids about when they ask me where the good americans were while the world burned.

and then we saw the works. joe six pack (or shall i say joe wine cellar?) opened the windows so we could better sustain the illusion that we were under atomic attack. i would have preferred sitting on the john, or eating a hersey bar, but by the window i stood pat, as i realized that osborne in the usa. fire works are indeed colorful, but so are the thoughts of the mentally ill. and while the display was quite impressive, even more impressive in its ugliness is a society that would spend so much on mindless celebrations while millions of people go to bed hungry and homeless.

while many of these same people, and millions more, look on and watch.

hey, don't forget to catch the holocaust memorial after the fire works.

wouldn't want to just be another thoughtless american, you know?

a picture is worth a thousand words

though that one might be worth only a couple hundred. in fact, that picture of 3rd bass was so out of left field, that initially, i came to a short stop, and had to center my thoughts before going on. luckily i was home at the time. i decided i needed to take a break and eat, so i walked to the kitchen and put some food on my plate. i filled up on grub, which unfortunately gave me the runs. so, i sat down on the john and had a ball scoring with a couple of craps. then bare foot, i watched dice-k pitch for the sox.

mulligan and desmond go good together, don't they? miles once said about desmond that "an alto ain't supposed to sound that way!" oh yeah? well fuck you miles. my dad once stood outside of peps while miles was playing. all he remembers is miles muttering about "white motherfuckers" in between tunes. so, i suppose he wasn't all bad. and i seem to recall an album called kind of blue balls, featuring cannon balls and his penetrating horn, e.

he also stood outside of a coltrane gig. this time, he tried to understand what was going on, and just couldn't do it. this was during the end of trane's life, when his music was often hard to dig. still i envy a time when one could stand outside of a club where trane and miles were playing, whether you enjoyed it or not.

the fourth has come forth, and is now here, i hear. on this day, i want us to think of all the lives we have taken so the world can live in pieces. on this day, we shall all celebrate freedom by either setting off fake explosions, or watching while others set off fake explosions. still others, the heros among us, will set off real explosions, and perhaps receive medals for their deeds. many more will pontificate about our great nation, while others will listen closely, deluded that they are hearing deep truths. the hip among us will dig the twilight zone marathon, but the most hip among won't be able to see it, since it is on cable. others will drink. one man, who feels more like a woman, will say that all he wants to do "is eat, drink, and be mary." well, on this day, i salute the fag, and not only that, but i stand with rainbow fags for mumia. i knock on nick wood that mumia will see the light of day, and we will get to the martha root of the evil that is embedded in our criminal justice system. i hate to peltier you with these random thoughts, ron, but i feel the need to cey what is on my mind. my AIM is to speak truth to tyrone power, so that i can help to create a society of young lords, god like creatures with minds that are quick like a panther. you may snccer at these remarks, but remember to be civil, for i too have rights, and by exercising my rights, i feel liberated, as if i am no longer at war with myself. iraq my brains to think of the words to describe how i feel, but there is a gulf between my thoughts and the words that come out. i am syrias about this. as i sit here in the east, i feel caught in the middle, waiting for the obama to be dropped on me. kenya believe it? for, it is all true, and while i try to raise mccain, no one seems to care. sinatra once said that no one cares, but when he said this he was not quite in the september of his years. i hate to reprise these old lines, but they are the only capitol i have left. perhaps my problem is that i don't fall asleep until the wee small hours of the morning. yes, i suppose the whole thing is a riddle that may or may not be solved. in the mean time, i think of hitting myself over the head with a billy club and ending it all, but all i do is sy as tixon watches oliver. well, as long as she needs me, i vengco were i must be.

well, this has been pun, but it is time for me to depart. i have played depart many times, and it still doesn't seem reel. and so, its been another bloggy day in old beantown.

until now.

hombre means man

and paul new-MAN is man. in fact, newman is now oldman, which is why i mentioned him in the first place. but, who is link boy? certainly he can't be hombre. why, he's just a boy. perhaps he is little boy blue?

just read on yahoo that "someone on the packers should tell brett farve to be quiet." why, is he in a library? and what evidence do we even have that farve is talking?

instead of newman, what if you could change your name as you went through life? you could start off as paul boy, move on to paul teenager, then paul adult, and finally, end up as paul senior citizen. this seems a little more truthful than always being known as newman.

speaking of the packers, how about a gay football team known as the fudge packers?

since none of the major athletes are ever gonna came out as gay, for fear of being mocked and made fun of, i think we should just go ahead and create gay leagues. the ngba, ngfl, gmlb. yeah, go all the way with it. have a judy garland impersonator come out and sing the anthem, maybe even honor the village people during a half time. of course, it wouldn't be too radical, kind of a will and grace deal. we could have commercials questioning don't ask, don't tell, but none questioning war, as the army would likely be the main sponsor. yeah man, we can kill people too. just give us a chance. we too love god and country. think about it; why would a gay dude want to be in a church or a war? i would think not having to be in these places would be one of the best things about being gay! "oh, please let me worship next to people who hate my guts." what sense does that make?

how about these guys who claim they used to be gay, but now they have found god, and now they are no longer gay? well, first of all, where did they find him, behind the couch? motherfuckers have been looking for god for thousands of years, and i'm supposed to believe that a guilty gay dude was able to do what nobody else has done? and, how do you "stop being gay?" you can stop having gay sex, but that is something else. you can repress your thoughts, but that too is something else. you can no more be "cured" of homosexuality than you can of heterosexuality. and this whole being cured thing bothers me. what is this, a sprained ankle? it's not like a doctor can say to a gay guy, "if you take these pills and get plenty of bed rest, you should be straight by the end of the month." this concept is horribly homophobic. it's the dominant society that needs to be cured, not the victims of that society.

one thing though, i'm getting pretty tired of parades. every punk and his brother has a parade now; the irish parade, the columbus day parade, the puerto rican parade, the dominican parade, the greek parade, the west indian parade, "wake up the earth day" (fuck you! let the earth rest. haven't we bothered it enough?) and the pride parade. now, i've got nothing against homosexuals. none of my best friends are gay. but, i take issue with this whole concept of pride. what does any human being have to feel pride about? as carlin says "if you are a member of the human race, you are guilty. next case. next fuckin case!" hey man, make love to whoever you want. and yeah, you should have every right and respect given to everyone else. but pride? isn't pride what fucks everything up in the first place? "i'm proud of my country!" yeah man, ain't that the problem?

larry david on curb your enthusiasm was whistling a wagner tune, when a guy walked up to him and accused him of being a "self hating jew." "i do hate myself" david responded, "but not because i'm jewish." and while i'm on the jews, hey guys, it's ok to question israel every once in a while, you know? hitler's got nothing to do with some poor kid in gaza. get off the victim trip, and start showing some integrity! not you zinn. and chomsky. and blum. i'm thinking more about my aunts. life is complicated. you can be a victim for a thousand years, and still become the oppressor. at least acknowledge it. that's all i'm saying.

well, i suppose i should make a mclean break of it, and jack off while there is still time. ah, the whole thing would be too greasy, and the last thing i want to do is put new soil on my byrd. i don't know how this stuff dons on me. well, on that blue ball note, i think i'll go play silver's version of juicy lucy. but, more thoughts; isn't the nickname "a rod" just a little vulgar? i think that name is way off 3rd base, and should be struck from the record.

bye friends. so long, seinfeld. peace, frasier.

the show must go on.

and this blog must go off.