Daughterly Advice

• Driving home with my children, one of my daughters asked where all the cars were going. I told her they were probably going home or to work. “Well, dad, if you see any bad drivers, don’t get mad and say ‘goddammit, do you want a piece of me.’” Now, I will admit to letting the blasphemy slip on occasion, but “do you wanna piece of me?” is not part of my vocabulary. I eventually figured out that she learned that phrase from the movies. Impressive that she could put that retort together on her own.
• A bumpersticker I saw: Who Would Jesus Bomb? I got a laugh out of that. An ironic musing, I’m sure, but it made me think. According to the book of Revelation, one of the trumpet judgments will release four angels bound at the river Euphrates who will kill “a third of mankind,” which would notch a body count of about 2 billion if done today. If He’s willing to loose genocidal angels, I’m guessing bombs wouldn’t keep Him up at night, so maybe it’s not so ironic after all. I love beer.
• Went to see “Short Cuts” at the local art house theater. There was an annoying woman down the aisle who wouldn’t stop talking, kept laughing at moments that weren’t funny and ate her popcorn very loudly. In the film, there’s a scene where a fisherman discovers a woman’s body in a river. Surprisingly, this elicited not a peep from the Noisy Bitch. Moments later, the fisherman was seen gutting a trout, and Noisy Bitch said “Eeww, I don’t want to see that.” To review: grossed out by gutted fish, not bothered by bloated, naked human corpse. Nice.
• Walking through Target yesterday, I spotted a cosmetic product known as lip-plumping gloss. The name? Sexy Motherpucker. It’s so subtle. I like it.
• Speaking of subtle, here’s a headline that made me chuckle: La Nina Threatens to Wreck World’s Weather. Again, subtle. I like that. No need to overstate it.
• Just sick and wrong.
• I’m trying to teach my daughters manners. For example, when they want some water to drink, instead of pointing at their glass and barking “arrgh!” Tim Allen-style, I tell them to say, “May I please have a glass of water?” They will usually replay with something like, “May I a glass water of please have?” They’re 3-years-old, and have never seen a Star Wars movie, so I don’t know where this Yoda impression is coming from.

Later I’ll you see maybe.

If You Could Read My Mind

• When I’m at a buffet restaurant, I sometimes find myself hurrying to the food line before an extremely overweight person gets there. I feel bad, but I blame my survival instinct. They should make a nature show with a whispering narrator: “The tall one now breaks for the pizza line to feed before the big one takes everything and leaves the tall one to starve for the winter.“
• Two days ago, at a stop light, I counted people in four different cars throwing their cigarette butts out the window. Nice to know this beautiful planet can serve as an ashtray. I’m not Captain Planet, nor am I an anti-smoking Nazi, but honestly, some of you smokers deserve all the smoking bans you’re getting.
• When did they do away with the light brown M&M’s? Those were my favorite as a kid. This is disheartening.
• Alice Ghostley had the coolest name ever.
• I must have the nicest ass in Omaha, because other drivers are always trying to ride it.
• Saw a TV ad for Viagra last night. The jingle was “Viva Viagra,” sung to the tune of Elvis’s “Viva Las Vegas.” There was also a disclaimer: Viagra does not protect against sexually transmitted disease. You know they wouldn’t say that unless somebody had written a letter complaining that “Viagra didn’t stop me from getting the clap.”
• I could really go for a big bowl of chili right now.
• There’s a song, “If the World Had a Front Porch” that contains the lyric: It was where granddaddy taught me how to cuss and how to pray. Did this happen at the same time? “Get on yer goddamn knees, boy, we’re gonna teach ya how to fuckin’ pray.”
• Police seized a photograph of a nude girl from Elton John’s private collection, suspecting it may have crossed the line. I love this quote: The picture is now being examined by lawyers at the Crown Prosecution Service. I’ll bet it is, folks. I’ll bet it is.
• I’ve been thinking about my strange nocturnal experience described below. I’m curious if it’s all in the brain, or something supernatural. Also wondering if there’s really any difference. I’m reminded of the quote: There are no miracles, only patterns we do not understand. So it can be explained by science or it is simply beyond the ability of science to explain at the moment. Either way, anything that happens is natural. And the same brain that dreams and shows us hallucinations when we trip on acid is the same brain that perceives “reality” for us. Everything that we know to be real is shown and confirmed for us by our gray matter. It could all be a dream within a dream. That’s cool, I think.

See you in the ether.

Almost Projecting

Last night I had a strange experience. In bed for the evening, I read until I was half-asleep. Then, after lights-out, I fell into what I can only describe as a waking sleep. My body was heavy and limp. My breathing was deep. My eyes were closed, yet I could still see around the room (it wasn’t in total darkness). I was asleep, but still conscious. I began to dream even as I could see around the room, like two movies superimposed upon one another. It was, without a doubt, one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I felt like I was on the path to something higher, more intense, like an airplane at takeoff speed on the verge of leaving the Earth.

Just then, my daughter arrived to wake me and request a changing. After I tended to her, I returned to bed, unable to fall asleep, tossing and turning for a couple of hours.

Not sure what I did (or didn’t do) to bring this about, but I’d like to do it again. Has anyone out there ever experienced anything like this? I wonder if this isn’t some form of mild astral projection.

The day of my little trip, I remember having a very strong sense of spiritual optimism, as if answers to questions I’d long had were going to be answered soon, that I would soon experience some sort of illumination. I remember the intuition being so strong I got a little emotional.

Open the pod bay doors, Hal.

Firming Up the Gluteal

Women are paying more attention to our butts, fellas. Some of the top-of-the-line bottom treatments include: scar and hair removal, “butt therapy,” hip reduction, hip implants, fat reduction and removal of chicken pox scars . . . .

Or, you could shave your own ass, stop scratching your butt when you have chicken pox and do a few lunges.

Next patient, please.

Legs and Ass

• We got a recorded message on our answering machine from a company urging us to extend our vehicle warranty so we could have the “peace of mind you deserve.” Well, that’s pretty presumptuous, isn’t it? How do they know I deserve peace of mind? Suppose I deserve all the mental anguish I get all the way to the grave? Hmmm?
• I saw a commercial for the TV show “Hell’s Kitchen.” A prick of a chef berates his contestants in ways that only the truly self-hating would tolerate. Is it just me, or is there an overabundance of asshole behavior on TV? When did this become entertainment? If I were rich, I’d offer one million dollars to the contestant who bludgeoned that lout into a two-month coma. Girls, if you ever put up with that kind of treatment, I will hang my head in shame of the failure I was as a father.
• It’s not my fault, Honey, I have sexsomnia.
• In a recent news story, I read that Mayor Ray Nagin gave a speech bellowing that New Orleans is coming back “whether you like it or not.” I wasn’t aware that there was a large constituency opposed to New Orleans’ recovery, but I do know that a certain mayor’s crybaby act is wearing thin.
• I’ve decided I don’t like air conditioning. I don’t like the artificial cold. You can never set it to a comfortable level. Give me a warm breeze any day.
• A pizza delivery dude brought me the goods last night, and before I was even done signing my name on the dotted line, he said, “You can add the tip if you want. Helps out with the gas.” I had company, so I didn’t have time to tell him that “reminding” me to tip is unacceptable, white-trash behavior, and that his gas expense is his fucking problem, not mine. Tipping, shit. Sorry, folks, I loathe the practice. I long for a day where I can get service without someone sticking their fucking palm out. Whew, now I feel better.
• My next screenplay is likely to be about vampires, so I have the enviable task of immersing myself in vampire fiction and folklore. During my research, I discovered that the term “nosferatu” is not Romanian for “vampire.” In fact, it is a meaningless word that does not exist in any language.
• Speaking of vampire fiction, I came across a book of vampire stories from the last 100 years. Eager to dive in, I turned to the first story, “The Story of Chugoro,” a translation of a Japanese vampire folktale. Irresistible, right? Well, I began to read and was confronted with this: A long time ago there lived, in the Koishikawa quarter of Yedo, a batamoto named Suzuki, whose yashiki was situated on the bank of the Yedogawa, not far from the bridge called Naka-no-hashi. And among the retainers of this Suzuki there was an ashigaru named Chugoro. Um, before you call something a translation, aren’t you supposed to actually translate it?
• My girls refer to “yesterday” as “last morning.” Not sure where they picked that up, but I think it has a nice, romantic ring.

See you all next morning.

A Dream I Had

I’m in the small town I grew up in. I leave a grocery store carrying two plastic bags of stuff. I walk over to the street I live on.

As I pass a house where a friend of mine lives, someone opens fire with an AK-47. I’m hit. Three in the neck, two in the back, two in the ass. I’ve never been shot, but in the dream, it feels like hammer blows, with acid poured into the holes.

I make it to a house and try to take shelter. A man runs by and says “I’ll get him.” That makes me feel safe, so I stagger back to the store and crash through the doors.

“I’ve been shot,” I cry out. People scramble. What a mess I’m making. A middle-aged man in a fedora and raincoat runs into the store and comes over to help me. He helps me to my feet.

Instead of the hospital, he takes me to a small theater. A performance of some kind takes place on stage. As I scan the crowd, I notice something odd: every seat is occupied by somebody I know or have known—friends, lost friends, family, dead friends and family, ex-girlfriends, you name it. People I havent’ seen in years walk by as if I’m not there. Nobody recognizes me or says hello or inquires as to what I’m doing at this reunion with seven bullet holes in my body and blood spreading out underneath my chair.

I turn to my Good Samaritan and ask if we hadn’t ought to get my perforated ass to the hospital.

“No,” he says.

“But, aren’t I bleeding internally?” I ask.

“I doubt it.”

I accept his answer, even though there’s no way he can be sure. A few minutes later, I insist on going to the hospital anyway. He drives us. On the way, he speaks again:

“We really don’t need to go to the hospital.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to make it.”

At that, I lose my temper, screaming at him for wasting time taking me to a play and saying I wasn’t bleeding internally. What a dumbshit. Then, I calm down. We’re at the hospital. I stumble out of the car and run through the hospital.

“Where’s my family?” I ask, searching for my wife and two daughters. “Where are they?”

I keep searching until everything goes dark.

I never found them.

Don’t Think, Just Answer

What’s the first thing you think of when you hear the word “mystery”?

Some Crap I Thought About

• The American Museum of Natural History in New York City has a new exhibition: “Mythic Creatures: Dragons, Unicorns and Mermaids.” One thing we learn is that Christopher Columbus once reported seeing three mermaids while at sea. “Many scientists now agree that what Columbus probably saw was a manatee, an aquatic mammal that resembles a flippered hippo.” Now, I don’t know if mermaids are real or not, but these scientists would have us believe that Columbus thought he saw this, but he really saw this. Hey, it’s a mistake anyone could make.
• I exited a giant bookstore the other day, and another lady exited just before me. The security detector thingys went off, and she went back in to see if an employee needed to check her receipt. Nobody came, so she started to walk out again, and the alarm went off again. Back in she went. Again nobody came. I advised her to just leave. I ignore those alarms. I just walk out. I’m not a thief, and won’t go slinking back into the store, asking for permission to leave. If you think I stole from you, you’re free to chase me down in the parking lot, but be careful about jumping me–this is not the fat Jimmy from the days of yore, heh-heh.
• Not sure why, but I was reading up on the presidential candidates of both parties, and something jumped out at me. I read that Barack Obama wants to take the “tit-for-tat” out of American politics. Coincidentally, I read that Bill Clinton is fine with removing the tats, but would prefer to keep the tits.
• A Tennessee deputy lost his job for accepting a blow job from a porn star in exchange for ignoring the drugs in her car. Yeah, well, he still got a blow job from a porn star.
• I saw a bumper sticker on a car whose driver must’ve had a death wish. I can’t remember the specific wording, but it was something about George Bush and what a Big-Brotherish dictator he is. This kid was swerving between lanes, driving dangerously fast and riding peoples’ asses and finally running a red light. Now, if you want to express your hatred for Bush on your car, you’ll get no complaint from me, but if you exhibit the kind of selfish, reckless, irresponsible behavior that forces governments to pass more “nanny state” laws, I think you’ve forfeited any moral high ground. Don’t complain about the solution when you’re part of the problem.
• I spent last night watching John Wayne movies. The Duke would’ve been 100 years old today, Pilgrim.
• Last night, I thought I heard something in my daughters’ room, so I looked in on them to make sure they were asleep. They were laying in bed, on their sides, facing each other and just talking. No rowdiness or arguing, just having a conversation, enjoying each others’ company. I am not worthy.

But I sure know where I’ve been

Hello, everyone. Hard to believe it’s been over three months since I’ve posted, but I have good reasons. In early April, I started the Body-for-Life program, which involves a mix of weight lifting, cardio and six carbohydrate/protein meals per day. It’s been going well. I started at 229 lbs., and I’m now at 206. Twenty-three pounds gone in 6 weeks. I lost the first 16 lbs. in the first three weeks. I now wear jeans that would’ve been tight ten years ago, and I can see my jawline again, ha. My energy has returned, and I’m getting muscles on my chest for the first time. It’s exciting and a little strange all at once.

Also, I’ve been working on my screenwriting. I’m determined to make a sale in the next year, so nearly all of my free time has been devoted to writing and studying the craft.

I’ve started the girls on Hooked-on-Phonics. They’re doing well, learning the different sounds that letters make.

This exercise program require a decent amount of rest, so the days of staying up until midnight on the computer are over. I have to be up to get my workouts done before my girls get up around 6:30 or 7, and I have to have lights out by 11 p.m. at the latest. So, you can see that time is at a premium, but I have missed you all. I check in on your blogs regularly, but I haven’t commented much since I haven’t had time to engage in the kind of conversations we used to. However, now that I’ve streamlined my schedule, I hope to come around more often. I’ll see you all on my rounds.

Later.

And We’re Back

Hello, everyone.

• Sorry to have been away. I’ve missed everyone, and missed our little coven. It was time for some much-needed hibernation.
• Today I am 36 years old. I am now closer to 40 than 30. Eh.
• Doug Peterson, spokesman at Johnson Space Center in Houston, said the following about nutjob astronaut Lisa Nowak: “Everything I’ve ever seen gave evidence to me that Lisa was one of our good astronauts . . . ” Where, exactly, do they keep the bad ones?
• Have you seen that commercial where people are in a cafeteria, dancing around like it’s a Broadway show, perfectly choreographed as they get their food and pay with credit cards. Then some poor sap tries to pay with cash, and the entire production is thrown into disarray, and the dancing folks stare daggers at the money user? A not-so-subtle nudge toward a cashless society, eh?
• Nebraska recently made it legal for citizens to legally carry concealed weapons, provided they pass a background check, register the weapon, take a gun safety course, etc. The other day I went to the Golden Arches for a cheeseburger, and saw a sign on the door declaring that weapons were not allowed. These are popping up everywhere in the wake of the new law. I found it interesting that they never posted such a sign before, and wondered why the contempt for law-abiding gun carriers. If you disagree with me on that last point, surely you would agree that it’s a horrible idea to advertise that everyone in the building is unarmed. If you’re a robber, which establishment will you choose? The one with the sign? Or without?
• Does anyone else share these weird movie-watching habits with me? 1. When characters are underwater, I hold my breath to see if I would survive. I never would. 2. When bugs are onscreen, my scalp itches like crazy. 3. When characters are nude onscreen, I look away. Haha, just kidding.
• A child molester in California was recently sentenced to 800 years to life. In case he serves the 800 years, he’ll have to serve the rest of his life. Better to just throw him to the sharks. I’ll buy a ticket.
• My daughters are trying to learn to jump rope, and I tried to teach them that old double-dutch rhyme “one, two, buckle my shoe . . .” but all I could think of was “one, two, Freddy’s gonna get you . . . ” Guess I showed my age on that one.
• I’m trying the new Blogger, so bear with me if anything goes wrong.

I’ll see you all on my rounds.