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“The king of Marigold was in the kitchen,
Cooking breakfast for the queen,
The queen was in the parlour,
Playing piano for the children of the king,…”

The Beatles
Cry, Baby, Cry


The Beatle’s White Album is the best album ever produced. Sorry. It just is. Front to back, it’s great stuff.


“I like mine with lettuce and tomato,
Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes,
Big kosher pickle and a cold draught beer,
Well, good God Almighty which way do I steer…”

Jimmy Buffett
Cheesburger In Paradise

“People need some reason to believe…

Jackson Browne
Running On Empty

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in the wonderful world of fast food. It seems they’re raising their prices in collusion with each other. They’re bumping up their prices in a silent solidarity with each other.

Have you noticed this?

A Big Mac sandwich costs exactly four dollars now. A Whopper now costs exactly four dollars now. Do you know why this is?

I do.

It’s because of that candy-ass crap a month or two ago when the fast food workers were going out on that wild-cat strike until $15 became their wage! It didn’t last long. It wasn’t even effective for the most part. Pretty much, nothing came of it. But corporate heads probably saw it a lot differently. They saw it as that whole “Occupy Wall Street” schtick that worked soooo well a few years ago.

So, what did they do in retaliation? They up the prices because the peasants that work for them have become a bit unhinged. It also begs the question,….If they failed in their quest and things are still as right as rain, why stick it to the consumer who simply patronizes their establishments?

The answer is this….(and this is the right answer because I know everything.)…the answer is, plain and simple, corporate greed. There! I said it! Corporate greed!



What was I sayin’?….Oh, yeah.

Anyway, ya know how when you’re runnin’ on pure adrenaline for, like, three days straight? You don’t eat much, you sleep less…and are pretty much bitchy with people that surround you?….not to mention over-using the “dot, dot, dot” when you write an essay?

I’d like to say I was like that, but I really wasn’t. I was actually pretty cordial for the most part…..but I was pretty roached.

I’m getting old. Let’s face it,…my wonder years are behind me. Not old in the respect that I’m still in my forties. Forties are not old unless you’re my niece and wonder how short of a time it is before I die.

I mean, according to her, I could buy a dog as a puppy right now and there’s a very good chance that it will out-live me. That’s Ok. That’s fine…

But I have a fourteen-year-old dog who stands a good chance at out living me. He does! I don’t think this dog will ever die. I think he wishes to die when wakes up and can’t control his bladder long enough to get outside. Right now he’s in what I call, “Unrestricted hospice”. We keep him comfortable and feed him cheese,…but we know he’s not long for this earth.

Neither am I….


What was I sayin’?….oh, yeah….

Jimmy Buffett really blows, man. I can’t see what people see in him….

He really sucks.


“Now his feet begin to tap.
A little boy says I’ll take your hat.
He’s cought up in the magic of her smile,
And leap the heart inside him went,
And off acrosse the floor he sent,
His clumsey body graceful as a child…

He said there’s magic in the fiddlers arm,
There’s magic in this town,
There’s magic in the dancers feet,
And the way they put them down,
People smiling everywhere,
Boots and ribbons locks of hair,
And laughter and old blue suits and easter gowns…”

Tommy Makem and Liam Clancy
The Ballad Of St. Anne’s Reel

I was sitting on my bed the other night, cross-legged as usual, while writing on my ipad and listening to headphones that were dispensing music. I think I was writing the post, “Musings 2″.

In any event, there was nothing out of the ordinary about that. Just a run of the mill weekday. Nothing to tell me that there was any defining moment about to happen at any minute.

As I was sitting there clacking away to the Clash’s, “Death Or Glory”, something strange happened.

What happened was this.

As I was sitting there, I heard, through my headphones mind you, a cacophony of violent sounds. Sounds that I haven’t heard in my lifetime. It was violent. It was rough. It scared the crap out of me….

So much so that I ran and grabbed my gun. I didn’t know what to expect. Was someone trying to break in the house? Was someone beating on my aluminum siding with a baseball bat? The headphones were off my head and my piece was cocked. I could literally hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Needless to say, it scared the shit out of me.

No windows busted. No one outside. Just a calm night.

I did a quick inventory of my inner rooms. Nothing on the wall was touched. Nothing had bullet holes in it. My room door was locked. I kept studying the landscape of the room,…and then I saw it.

I have a Plaster Of Paris sculpture of Ludwig Van perched upon a milk crate that is fastened to said milk crate by pieces of velcro. It was gone.


I looked around the room, gun in hand, trying to find this bust. I found it alright. It was under my bed, against the opposite wall.

Let me explain something here. No one in the house slammed the doors because they were all sleeping. It simply flew across the room, past a night stand mind you, and came to rest underneath my bed, towards the wall.

I do not believe in ghosts. I do not believe in the paranormal.

This is just beyond comprehension however.

I have no answers.



“Down on the boulevard they take it hard,
They look at life with such disregard,
They say it can’t be won,
The way the game is run,
But if you choose to stay,
You wind up playing anyway,

It’s okay…”

Jackson Browne

I awoke to a rather disconcerting revelation this morning, friends. I also did my morning ritual before discovering this rather particularly disconcerting revelation.

(That, of course, is waking up, looking at the clock and realizing I didn’t have to be up for another hour or so. It happens everyday. I wake up an hour early. It’s a happy time for me as I pull the covers up over my head and and listen to the drone of my 8 hour “white noise-mystery rain” video on you tube. The video is under the quote at the top.)

I laid there for another hour. It was quite nice. Rain on the video and an actual windy rain outside. I sensed a bit of humidity in the air as my window was, indeed, in the open position. I spied all the dirty laundry I had on the floor.


I thought about the day that lay ahead. What was going to have to be done at work and what steps I would take to accomplish it. I tried to name to bills in my wallet and figure out if I had enough for a frugal lunch. I did,…but for an extremely frugal lunch. I comforted myself in the fact that I keep a stash of cashews at work so as to supplement (and act as a proxy to) a well-balanced lunch,…should I be in a position to not attain one.

The world was as right as rain.

Until I looked at the newsfeed on Facebook, of course.

I rolled over and went onto Facebook to see what all the people I haven’t seen since the third grade were up to. Each post sounded an alarm that seemed to get louder and louder as I scrolled up. Then I saw the coup de grace’. It said:

“Ebola walks up to the microphone and says, “Hellllloooo, Cleveland!”

Yes. I admit it. I live on the North Coast. I listen to Michael Stanley. I frequent the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame because I get tickets from my sister’s best friend. I live in Cleveland. (To those of you reading this, don’t tell anyone because I don’t talk about where I live on my blog. Mum’s the word…shhhh.)

In any event, this caused me to get my atrophying ass out of bed and go make a cup of coffee. Once that task was accomplished, I came back to the headlines. I began to read. It said that this woman came through Cleveland Hopkins Airport on October 8th and stayed until the 13th. It said she flew Frontier Airlines.

I hearkened back into my sleep-oppressed brain and thought about that.

I was at Cleveland Hopkins Airport on October 3rd and came back on October 6th. I went to Florida for a few days. Orlando to be exact,…for a family function, to be exact. I ate chicken and played corn-hole, to be exact. I also ate some serious taco salad and bakery, to be exact. I also played with some dogs, to be exact. I used the bathroom right by my bedroom, to be exact. I also napped quite a bit, to be exact.

I also flew Frontier Airlines,….to be exact.


Of course, I locked in on her dates and my dates,….and then breathed a big sigh of relief. I beat her by two days,…but it was still enough to put my butt in a pucker for a few minutes.

How do I feel about all this nonsense? I dunno. I don’t really feel anything about it now. People on Facebook are flipping out, but I’m just grateful that I wasn’t on the same flight as her OR walking through the airport with her. I don’t mean to sound crass or uncaring,…it’s not that at all. I just would hate to be “spreading the love” while not knowing it,….ya know?

Last I heard, the fine folks at Hopkins were sanitizing the plane in a remote area of the airport and they were scrubbing down TSA lanes. (I say good on that! Put those TSA workers to work! Grab a mop!)

(I’m sorry to sound un-sympathetic to the TSA….but they wear blue rubber gloves and wear a badge that’s bigger and heavier than Joe Friday’s on Dragnet. There’s really no need for that since they really aren’t law enforcement officers at all, are they?)

Be that as it may,…

This was the headline of this morning’s paper. (The actual day that Ebola hit our fair city! They say an “outbreak is unlikely”. Somewhat smug and condescending, ain’t it? That we all probably have a cold and all and to not be alarmed and all if we have a fever,….because it’s “probably the flu”.)

An outbreak is one case, d-bags. And it’s here.




“Everybody walks right by like they’re safe or something,…”


“The grocery store’s the super mart,
uh huh
Little girls still break their hearts,
uh huh
And men still keep on marching off to war,
Electrically they keep a baseball score,…”

The Beat Goes On
Sonny And Cher

‘Tis the ending of another banal 7 day week. Nothing portends evil like the waking moment of a clammy and cold October Monday morning,…but, alas, that is a mere two days away and I have less on my plate tonight then I did when I started this odyssey in the early afternoon hours of this particular day.

I had to run to the bank and was forced to tarry there (far longer than I wanted to) due to the fact that it took four tellers to attend to the man that was parked outside in the drive-through,….no doubt attending to multiple (and possibly questionable) transactions from the comfort and safety of his own vehicle.

I was patently ignored. The man who actually got out of his vehicle and took the time to walk into said bank,…was, indeed, put on hold in favor of the ne’er-do-well who thought it perfectly ok to not leave his vehicle whilst conducting MULTIPLE transactions.

After my business there was complete, I motored over to my other bank so as to withdraw some farthings that might be needed during the course of this fine autumnal evening.

I withdrew the 20 bucks from the ATM and went on my way.

Has my life really sunk to this? Go to the bank, pay bills, go get a 20 spot that I can’t afford and then get a cheap sandwich to lunch upon while I work my increasingly boring job?

That’s all fine and good. I don’t care. I pay the bills and keep food on the table. I should be grateful for that,…not being in the red and all,…it’s just the dashed balmy-ness of it all.

I will do something crazy here and just take a random picture of something. How’s that?


My Paul McCartney bass laying on dirty socks and underwear near the dresser in my room. That was pretty exciting, wasn’t it? (I actually left it there because I will be recording a soundtrack for a movie on Sunday during the Steelers/Browns game.)

I did a list of ailments this week. (I bet you’re glad your reading this post, aren’t you?) I have determined that my left forefinger hurts sometimes and that my jaw pops. The jaw has never done that before. The finger comes and goes,…but the jaw has never done that before. It only pops at work. Not when I get home. I have to wonder if it’s stress or something. It kinda hurts when it does that….I don’t know.

I think the root of the problem is that I miss the 1970s. I am not old. I’m just nostalgic. I love nostalgia…but that’s for another post, I suppose.

Nothing like that Farrah Fawcett poster though.


Beyonce has nothing on her. Beyonce struts her ass all over the stage and then lights up the word “Feminist”.





Yeah, right. Really?

Gwenyth Paltrow just cooed to Obama that he was “so handsome that she can’t speak properly”.


Ok. Now how many of you think I’m a boring old fart because I miss the 70’s?


“The King is gone,
but he’s not forgotten,
This is the story,
of a Johnny Rotten.
It’s better to burn out
than it is to rust.
The King is gone,
but he’s not forgotten….”

Neil Young
Out Of The Blue (And Into The Black)

Totally bored tonight. I don’t know why. I had plenty of things to do. I think it’s just this Ebola thing. It makes me tired for some reason. It’s like mono. You think you got it but what’s really happening is your just really bored.

Spent the day cutting grass. I hate that. There’s no sense in it. You cut grass only to cut it again next week. Makes me wanna blow my brains out.

I dunno.

Just depressed today I guess. There’s just nothing going on.


“We gotta install microwave ovens,
Custom kitchens deliveries.
We gotta move these refrigerators,
We gotta move these colour TV’s….”

Dire Straits
Money For Nothing

So, I am getting two brand spanking new credit cards this week. Neither one has a zero balance, of course. Just two new credit cards that assimilate into my already active accounts.

Why, you ask?

Because some jackanapes in some banana republic hacked into the computer system of a store that I would frequent to buy various plumbing and household items! The bastards broke the security wall for The Home Depot! These pirates apparently have access to all the information used when I procured my cards in the first place… the banks, being johnnies-on-the-spot, are issuing me new cards to replace my old ones.

But that begs the question,….are my new cards going to assimilate with my existing accounts? I don’t know. I can still log in to online banking and stuff,….but they don’t ask for the card NUMBER when you do that. Can I still write checks on that account? The mind boggles. I mean, it’s a totally different number now,….or is that new number a “shadow” number? Like a stealth number that, when entered, the machine will actually direct it to the proverbial Bat-Cave of my hidden account.


It also begs the question, who’s paying the banks for the gazillion re-issues of credit/debit cards to the hapless owners of said? That’s a lot of labor on their part, ain’t it? Narrowing down each card holder that used their card to buy 15 cents worth of screws at Home Depot. I would think that Home Depot would be tagged with the bill for that….but are they? Who knows?!

For all the stupid things that have recently happened in our country, this is just the icing on the cake.

I heard today that Jimmy Johns Sandwich Shop also got hacked. With each new hack, is there yet another reissuing of the card that you just got? With each new hack, do you really get another card? If I went to Home Depot and used my old credit card,…then went to lunch at Jimmy Johns,…as I have been known to do,…do I get one new card because of both of them or do I get two new cards because Jimmy Johns and Home Depot are separate entities?

I can’t seem to wrap my head around this….

Either way, they’re both new cards. And you know what that means. A nice, smooth swipe.


“It never felt so good,
It never felt so right,
And we were glowing like the metal
on the edge of a knife….”

Ellen Foley
Paradise By The Dashboard Light

I made it a point to scrub the word “vanilla” from by vocabulary today. I don’t know why. It just seemed time, that’s all. Vanilla has taken on too many different meanings now-a-days. Oh, sure,…there’s the flavor of the ice cream and the extract. That’s what it supposed to mean and, had it stopped there, the word vanilla would’ve remained in my vocabulary.

Unfortunately, the word has taken on various meanings as of late. It has become a synonym for the word “bland”. It is also the last ice cream eaten in a carton of Neapolitan. The word and the flavor get a bad rap now. I think we should let them exist as they are but not acknowledge them in conversation. We should just Let It Be, as it were.

Another point I want to make is that here, on my blog, I would like to fully recognize a person who has been forgotten by history. Her name is Ellen. (pause) Ellen. Her name is Ellen.

One Ellen Foley to be exact. She was gangly. She was goofy. She didn’t possess the graceful timings of others like her. She probably had adenoid problems and she probably had a perpetual cold all the time..



She played the public defender on Night Court’s second season. Her gangliness probably got her the job on that show. However, what people don’t know about her is that she is the actual lead female vocal on Meatloaf’s, “Paradise By The Dashboard Light”. The woman was a powerhouse in the vocal realm. You wouldn’t know it was her because Meat actually switched her out at the last minute for Karla Devito. Unfortunately, that was one of the biggest scams ever perpetuated on the American public. Ellen sang it but Meat wanted everyone to think Karla did.

I just think, in 2014, she deserves her due.

(real singer)

(fake singer)

(Fast forward to 4:05)

(The song,…on the whole,…is absolute dreck. Her vocal performance, however, is outstanding. Bravo, Ellen! Booo, Meatloaf,…you stupid fat pig.)

Truth be told? Freebird and Money For Nothing are not hard songs to play on the guitar. You need distortion, no pick and a simple mind. That’s it. It’s a perfect fit for me. I have distortion, no picks and a simple mind.

(That’s not me. That’s this hot looking chick playing guitar way better than I can….)

My last meal? I mean, the last meal I ate before I potentially make it to my next last meal?

-Chicken stuffed with bacon and pepper-jack cheese, buttered and salted peas, mashed potatoes and gravy, tomatoes with Roquefort, wild berry tea with sugar.-



(I don’t know what my next last meal will be. I may not make it that far….)


Yeah. I said a whole lot here, didn’t I?


“Do I have to spell it out?
oh, no,….”

Cheese And Onions
The Rutles


I love going out to eat these days. New food, new atmosphere,….new tupperware.

Have you noticed that they actually give you what’s basically tupperware to take stuff home in? It’s great. The containers last forever.

I got some cuban stew tonight and they gave me tupperware to take it home in. It’s like a whole new set of take-about dishes. Take them for lunch at work,…take them and freeze stuff in them. It’s tupperware.

The food service industry just did what the scientists in the 60’s couldn’t. Make disposable tupperware,…and it’s not even disposable because it lasts forever. Who couldn’t love that? It’s even got the button that you press down in the middle of the lid so as to keep the air out.

This is the new take-home container! How fortunate we are to live in this gilded age!

We got a White House that has committed more crimes than the Nixon Administration,…I will give you that,…but we also have free tupperware! I would say the one cancels out the other.


Sleek. Trim. Designer.

Free tupperware. Just don’t go to the restaurant hungry or you won’t get it because your ate all you dinner…..


“Do you like green eggs and ham?
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.
I do not like green eggs and ham!
Would you like them here or there?
I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere.
I do so like green eggs and ham!
Thank you! Thank you,

Dr. Seuss
Green Eggs And Ham

I went to the public library today. I know that this is earth shattering news to some of you. Me going to the library and all. I was pretty stunned myself actually. The reason why is simply this: They had amnesty this week. I am not altogether sure if it had something to do as a precursor to Obama’s impending thing on illegals or if it was simply to get asses in the seats, as it were.

It was painless enough. I walked in and told them I was a wanted man and that I was there to turn myself in. They asked for my address as I stood holding out my hands so they could cuff me and process me. I just dropped that dime on myself. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time type thingy. They looked at me like I was an idiot,….which, of course, I am.

The Librarian pulled up my rap sheet and read the charges: $11.00 in fines. I began to fidget. I began to sweat. $11.00 is a heavy rap, man. That’s almost a felony in library speak. (I just wished I had counsel at that point.)

She cheerfully told me that I was the lightest pardon of the day. She had processed over $2,000 in fines in the previous four hours. I breathed a sigh of relief. She wiped my bill clean. I was a free man.

I told her that I lost my library card about three years ago and would really like one back. She was more than happy to issue me a new one. She even pulled out a bunch of templates that I could choose from. There was one that looked like a Starbucks card. It had emblazoned on it: “Borrow, Return, Repeat”.

I told her I would take that one because it had commands on it instead of fallow suggestions. I need to be reminded,….because I’m a fugitive from justice…..”right now!”

(Gil Garcetti. L.A. District attorney during the OJ flight from justice.)

I paid my meager dollar for the new card and went in search of items that I could brazenly “just take”. I felt like I was wilding. I was on the hunt,…and woe to anyone who was in my way whilst I did it.

I found a CD entitled, “Neil Diamond’s Greatest Hits” and a DVD entitled, “The Smothers Brothers: Season Three”! I can’t believe all those idiots who were just sittin’ there on the “free” internet just missed these gems! What a bunch of three-toed sloths.


I grabbed my stash and headed for the self checkout! I checked my items out, got a printed receipt and just walked out the door,….un-molested. Not a word was spoken as I brazenly just walked out. Babies.

The library is like Neville Chamberlain. If you hold their head in the toilet long enough, they will cave.

Appeasement, my ass.

I think the next course of action is to order up a bunch of “Project: Runway” and just not pick it up when it comes in…..




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