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“Sometimes it’s hard to believe,
That you’re never coming back to me.
I’ve had this dream that you’d always be by my side.
Oh, I could have died.

But now I see that you’re so happy.
And ooh, it just sets me free.
And I’d like to see,
Us as good of friends,
As we used to be,….”

Wilson Phillips
You’re In Love

I had to make the move today. It had to be done. I hate starting over but it’s a fact of life. It happens to the best of us, I guess.

I had to change the pass-codes on all of my devices today. I couldn’t bear typing in that same four-digit number again. Today was the day that it had to end.

I might miss 7734 in the future. I don’t know. The number has served me well since it’s been with me. It’s nothing against the number itself, of course. It’s just that the chemistry between us has grown stagnant in recent days. It was always there for me when I needed it….like when I would be standing in a checkout and there would be someone taking their good sweet time in front of me. 7734 was always there to help open up the wonders of electronic connectivity to the world that was just beyond where I currently stood.

It’s not 7734. It’s me and my selfishness that is to blame. I know this. But it’s better to have been served by 7734 than not at all! I would’ve missed so much of the world had it not been for 7734

I loved 7734.


There were also those great instances in which 7734 would actually let me by-pass itself. It gave me the freedom to soar without choking me with inane legalities. If I ever wanted to use the calculator or the camera on the fly, 7734 was always fine with that. If I had to check under the hood on a rainy night, 7734 was there with the flashlight. That number always knew what was important and what wasn’t.

7734 always knew what was best for me.

If I wanted to access my personal information, it made sure I had it’s proper sequence before I did….and that’s ok. I trusted 7734 to always look out for my best interests all the time. 7734 always made damn sure I had it’s number before it would let me flit Higgledy-Piggledy onto Facebook, YouTube and even this blog you’re now currently reading….providing that you even got this far into this post.

(Which, by now, is pretty much a miracle in and of itself…..T’a’int it?)

I loved 7734….but I had to move on. Our relationship had become somewhat trite and banal. It was time for a change. I’m the bad guy in this scenario. I don’t deny it. I just had to walk away. Some of you may call me a coward,…I suppose I deserve that.


“Para bailar La Bamba,
Se necessita una poca de gracia,
Una poca de gracia,
Para mi, para ti, ay arriba, ay arriba,
Ay, arriba arriba,
Por ti sere, por ti sere, por ti sere,…”

Ritchie Valens
La Bamba

Ya know, friends? We have this little thing here called “making a run for the border”. It seems to be the cogent thing to do now-a-days. Everyone’s doing it. They’re running for the border. Unfortunately, they’re running for our border and not theirs.

Be that as it may. I decided to run for the border today. I did. I don’t do it often. I don’t do it lightly,….but today, on October 23, 2014, I made a run for the border.

I bought a 12 pack of soft tacos from Taco Bell. I got the mild sauce and Salsa Verde as the compliments to the tacos,…(the soft tacos, I mean. I can’t do the crunchy ones. I simply do not like corn tortillas. They hurt my teeth.)


I picked them up on the way to work. The box was as heavy as a small turkey.

As I drove to work, I wondered to myself as to the storage of these soft tacos.

I looked at the box. It looked at me. I knew I was going to have to transfer them to a non-descript form of packaging so as to guarantee it wouldn’t be pilfered from. I decided on a plain brown paper bag that was stapled 17 times lest some ne’er’do’well decide they would accost my coveted soft tacos.

I put a skull and cross-bones on the plain brown paper bag. I then wrote the word “poison” on it.


That seemed to do the trick. The soft tacos were intact at the end of the night when I went to go and get them. The world was as right as rain.

I ate four at work. I’m about to have four right now. That leaves me three for tomorrow morning.


(four plus four plus three,….)

WAIT A MINUTE!!! That ain’t right! Four plus four plus three,….equals eleven!



“All Alone, I Sit Home By The Phone,
Waiting For You, Baby.
Through The Years,
How Can You Stand To Hear,
My Pleading For You Dear?
You Know I’m Crying Ooh Ooh Ooh Ooh….”

Paul McCartney/Michael Jackson
Say, Say, Say.

The time is getting late. I have nothing to say because I’m in a panic to get to bed. I can’t get to bed because I feel like I have something to say. Even though I have nothing to say, I feel like I can’t get to bed until I say something. There’s just nothing to say. I want to say something but I don’t feel like it’s the right thing to say. If I said what I wanted to, I’m afraid I would regret it and I would regret the things I say. But words not said are words said in haste.

Like,…ummm,…Paul McCartney actually recorded with Michael Jackson? (You gotta be kidding me!? Really!? Good heavens….where have I been?…just take me out behind the garage and shoot me now!…)


“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.



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