OUR AWESOME JOSH IS COMING HOME TODAY AFTER 2 YEARS OF BEING AWAY!
So, FAN FRIDAYS is dedicated to him with this song I wrote about having fellow feeling, and applying the Golden Rule to everyone, regardless of their circumstances, or past mistakes.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
THOUGHTFUL THURSDAYS
I have always had vivid, surreal, fascinating, dreams.
It feels as if I have lived two separate lives.
My dull, mundane life,when I'm awake, and my exciting, adventurous, travel filled, cool life in my dreams.
However, lately my dreams have been especially vivid, surreal, fascinating, wonderful, and VERY WEIRD!
I was thinking about going to a "shrink," and have him/her analyze my freaky dreams, but I changed my mom.
I've been to hundreds of "shrinks" my entire life, and have they helped me one bit?!
Heck no! I'm nuttier than ever!!
So I came up with a brilliant concept!
I'm going to let all of my faithful blog readers analyze my dreams, because I know you LOVE me and will tell me the honest truth!
HA! Maybe I'm not as CRAZY as everybody tells me I am!
By the way, these are all recurring dreams that I've had for years, for what it's worth.
Dream 1: I'm living in a regular, normal, 2 bedroom house, and find a secret passageway that takes me to a gigantic million dollar mansion next door, that has no one living there.
I enter in the underground area that has Egyptian looking sarcophaguses, or is that sarcophaguys, and then make my way upstairs to a fully stocked, abandoned mall that turns into a Caterpillar Tractor factory.
Dream 2: I am at a concert, convention, or church...I go outside and can't remember where I parked my car.
Then I realize it's been stolen, for the 100th time!
I decide to run home, and I can run as fast as a car, and then lift off and fly! (Who needs the stupid car now? HA!)
Dream 3: I am with a deceased family member or friend, but during the dream I don't remember that he/she died.
I don't figure it out until I wake up... so the feeling when I wake up can be happy or sad...it depends on the person I was dreaming about.
Dream 4: I'm back in the army doing basic training, and I wonder how I can keep up with all of the young healthy guys, because I'm old, and have all my old age ailments, and I usually can't keep up, however, I made it all the way through basic the other night!
I wonder if that dream will stop now?
Dream 5: I'm working at Caterpillar, or one of the other 100 jobs I've had all my life, or I'm in high school, and I am running behind, and don't know where I'm going, and am working really hard at some dirty, tedious job, and can't get anything accomplished, and I'm totally worn out when I wake up!
So even if you are not a "shrink," and only play one on TV, start analyzing!
Thanks for your free psychoanalysis!
WARNING: Don't go insane analyzing my bizarre dreams!
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
OUT OF THIS WORLD WEDNESDAYS
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A VERY LONG BLOG POST! YOU ARE UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO READ THE WHOLE THING! I WOULDN"T EVEN READ THE WHOLE THING! I JUST COULD NOT FIND A GOOD PLACE TO STOP! SORRY! THANKS FOR YOUR KIND ATTENTION TO MY SINCERE WARNING!!!
It is incumbent upon me to tell you about my close encounter of the “turd” kind. I’ll explain in a minute or two. Well, I was camped along the little stream that runs from Nederland down to Boulder; about halfway up the mountain.
So it was going to be a long difficult trek along the silver stream to Nederland, and the “Bob Barker Resevoir,” where they let me fish for free. ( So, I would always tell them, “The price is right!”)
Soooo, here I am trekking up the mountain, past rocks, trees, sticks, grass, weeds; “Hey! THIS must be the "hill" they were talking about in Boulder," I yelled to myself!
Yeah! Oh, yeah! This WAS the best grass and most awesome weeds I’d ever seen! I finally got it! ( Why does everybody consistently say I’m so dumb?)
Trekking! Yeah, that’s what I was doing...and sometimes climbing a little...also crawling at times; using my hands and arms to pull myself up over big rocks, while getting totally wrapped up in the glorious beauty that God created for our recreational needs.
The soft cool Colorado breeze felt like……………………No! That’s not descriptive enough. The soft soothing Colorado breeze enveloped my senses and took me to a younger more carefree time when I would hang out of the window at the housing projects in south St. Louis at 4:30 in the morning, in April, to get the fleeting experience of nice weather, while I’d watch the drunks staggering down the sidewalk and trying to find their apartments in between episodes of puking and junk.
As I continued on my trek to Nederland, I came in frequent contact with a “poe- purrie” of many diverse and interesting fauna; including rhinos, armadillos, and a small multi colored snail that seemed to be following me to the “Bob Barker Reservoir.” ( He was quite fast for a snail!) Having a snail on my trail (LOL) was a bit unsettling to say the least. Frankly, it was starting to freak me out!
The clouds became dark and omnibus, and everything got real eerie, and I began to chant; rhinos armadillos and snails, rhinos, armadillos and snails, (louder) rhinos, armadillos and snails, Oh, my! (Even louder and faster) Rhinos, armadillos and snails, Oh, my!!!
Guess what? You are correct, Boulder Brain. I’m still trekking up the mountain; but now I’m listening to the vast and endless variety of birds that grace the arborous trees of Colorado. The Cardinals singing their,”pretty birdie, pretty birdie, pretty birdie, pretty birdie”; Hey! That’s what it sounds like to me. The Robins with their carefree, “Tweedle dee, tweedle dum, tweedle dee, tweedle dum.” (What a sweet tweet.) The Bluejays have a primordial, ancient sounding, earthy sound that I can’t describe. It’s too cool to describe. Just find one and listen to it, if you’re curious. The Starlings are awesome, because they are shiny and can mimic other birds and...
I had to poo-poo. Oh how I HATE pooping outdoors! I had to keep twisting my head around to make sure no one could see me taking a “dump.” (Quite the opposite of Colorado girls, who……..Well, you know.) It was bad enough ( remember Boris Badenov?) having that creepy, multi colored snail watching me. At least I had the forethought to stuff my pockets with toilet paper when I was in Boulder. ( Leaves are not very efficient and you’re taking a big gamble with them.) Oh, crap! (To coin a phrase.) The “cockadoodie” toilet paper had disintegrated from the stream water and I was “s_ _t out luck”, “up s_ _t creek without a paddle!” S_ _t fire! (Please shield that last part from the kiddies. Thank you.) Excuse me, but I need to stop the story for a while and go to the “Labonza.”
Whew! Okay. That was a double flusher! I feel much better. Sorry it took so long, but I got a Diet Coke or was it Pepsi (don’t want to tick off a future sponsor) and grabbed half a bag of “poke rinds” on the way back. Sooooo, where was I? Yes, yes, now I merember; In the middle of “ good grass” and “awesome weed“, er “weeds”, with an unusually large and speedy snail staring at me, and absolutely NO POTTY PAPER!
While still in the standard “squat” position and desperately seeking something; ANYTHING , to finish the “project,” I hear hysterical high pitched laughter. ( It sounded like a Jackalope on “pep pills”.
Who says “pep pills” anymore? I sure don’t!) However, I didn’t see anybody around. Maybe I was losing my mind due to tissuephrenia. (A condition that causes panic, fear and mental confusion when confronted with the fact you’ve done your duty and can’t wipe your “pooty”.) But where the “bejiggits” was the laughing coming from? The laughing kept getting louder and louder, and more hysterical, but I still couldn’t discover the source of the jocularity. ( Hey! Jocularity would be a good name for men’s briefs with one-liners printed on them. Or not.) So, still in my “natural” position, I tried to focus in on the laughter. I mumbled to myself,"Is it coming from behind that rock?” Then I heard a tiny voice say, “You’re cold.” What!! Whawazatt!!! “Who said that? Where are you? Behind that pine tree?” “You’re way cold," the squeaky voice replied. “Are you hiding in the “good grass” and “awesome weeds”, I inquired inquisitively. “You’re getting warmer, poo-poo boy”, the little voice answered. Then, all of a sudden, I saw him! ( It was like a movie camera zooming in on something. You know. Going from a wide shot to a narrow shot.) It was the “SNAIL!!” He was hiding in the weeds about 10 feet in front of me. However, as he started walking over to me I realized he wasn’t a snail afterall! He was a “cotton pickin” GLIRKAZOID!!! WOW!
He was about 4 inches tall, multi-colored; antennae, or is it, antenna sticking out of his head, and cute as a babies belly button! Man, Oh, Man! This was the absolute, one and only, very first time I had ever seen a Glirkazoid, apart from my childhood years time traveling with my faithful pup, Fluff and……………………….Wait a minute. Wait just one “galdurn” minute! ( Harp music starts playing, like in a movie when somebody starts remembering the past.) It was all coming back to me.
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A VERY LONG BLOG POST! YOU ARE UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO READ THE WHOLE THING! I WOULDN"T EVEN READ THE WHOLE THING! I JUST COULD NOT FIND A GOOD PLACE TO STOP! SORRY! THANKS FOR YOUR KIND ATTENTION TO MY SINCERE WARNING!!!
I started remembering frequent encounters with Glirkazoids on summer vacations in the Missouri Ozarks, and playing Euchre with them. They must have erased it from my memory, and now this little guy was bringing it all back! In fact, I knew this Glirkazoid back then. His name was Greggatton. ( With the emphasis on the “gat.”) “Hi Greggatton”, I said in a joyous manner. “Hi Danny”, he replied. “How’s it hangin’?” “OUT, right now, Gregor! I’m kind of in a sticky situation at present.” “It’s all good, man. Stand and pull up your pants”, Greggatton said, confidently. Miraculously, Greggatton had somehow zapped “everything” clean and sanitized! ( No shit!) (Talk about a friend in need!) Greggatton would constantly change colors, from a metallic green (metal flaked), to blue, to amber, to just about every color imaginable. The colors didn’t change according to his mood. (Like a mood ring) They just changed for no apparent reason, in beautiful, fascinating ways.
He told me many wonderful things, like the entire history of the Glirkazoidian race, their love of Jesus and Ronald Reagan; but he eventually told me the story of the “Game.” I honestly had the feeling he was crossing the line by telling me about the sacred Glirkazoid “Game”, but he knew I needed all the help I could get. After educating me on everything of any importance in the universe and beyond, he whipped out a candy cane, put it in his mouth like a cigar ( Remember Will Smith and that skinny actor in “Independence Day”, pulling out cigars “when the fat lady sang?) and “beamed out.”
On the exact spot from which he departed I saw a magnificent musical intrument! A shiny, new guitar! Above the guitar, written in smoke or fog or something; it said, “You’re gonna need this, Danman.”
I got it! I understood! This guitar was left for me to help me win the “Game!” Too bad I couldn’t play the guitar. But, wait till you hear this! I picks up the “git-fiddle”( By the way, it was a Martin D-45) and start messin’ wit it. Guess what happened? Right. I couldn’t play a note. Man, I thought Greggatton would give me the ability to play! Didn’t you? What a rip! Maybe that would have been viewed as cheating in the eyes of the “Glirkazoid Game Masters”, I don’t know. It was a really cool guitar, though. Worth more than a 1971 Corvette!
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A VERY LONG BLOG POST! YOU ARE UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO READ THE WHOLE THING! I WOULDN"T EVEN READ THE WHOLE THING! I JUST COULD NOT FIND A GOOD PLACE TO STOP! SORRY! THANKS FOR YOUR KIND ATTENTION TO MY SINCERE WARNING!!!
Not wanting any scratches or dents on this awesome masterpiece, I looked up at the sky and yelled, ”Hey, Gregor! I need a hardshell case!” No case dropped from the sky, so I figured the “game masters” were against it. “Stupid, nerd bird, “game masters”, I mumbled to myself.
At that, the beautiful Martin D-45, with the ivory inlay and ebony trim and real gold tuning keys, was “zapped” out of my hands and “beamed” away! (Ebony and Ivory, They took my guitar away from me; Sung to the tune of Ebony and Ivory.) (Whoops. I wonder if I ticked off the “Game Masters” a bit.) (I did find out later, that my odds of winning went from a million to one to 100 million to one, because of this unfortunate incident.) So now you see why I said I had a close encounter of the “turd” kind. That’s funny! So, why aren’t you laughing? Oh, sorry I touched on such a sensitive area. Did you use Ivy Dry? It’s good stuff. Yeah, you can put it down there. I didn’t mean to make you the “butt” of my joke, er, uh, I mean, make any “cracks”; Sometimes I’m such an “a_ _hole!” Hey, just “scratch” everything I just said; I’m “itching” to move on, anyway. O.K. This next part is extremely important. So, LISTEN UP!!!!!!! Greggatton is a legend among the Glirkazoids. He has won the “Game” 4,222 times! He takes the “Game” seriously, but shows deep concern for each contestant he mentors. After I “forfeited” the guitar that Greggatton had so kindly and benevolently given me; he beamed back down for a minute. He had his hands on his hips ( or whatever hips are called in the Glirkazoid lingo ) and was shaking his head back and forth in disgust. His unflinching stare was one of anger, sadness, and pity; all at the same time. Following his unforgettable display of righteous indignation, he immediately beamed back to where he came from. ( That’s just a wild guess. How would I know where he beamed to!)
Whew boy! I thought my Mom had the ultimate stare but this was far superior! It made me feel ashamed, a little scared, somewhat verklempt and depressed, but at the same time, warm and fuzzy; loved and cared for. Go figure!
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
TRAVELIN' TUESDAYS
TRAVELIN' TUESDAYS
Hey, all you hitchin’ heads, listen up! I promised to give you ALL the secret details, pointers, and fun facts of hitchin', so get ready ‘cause here they are in this little ole blog.
Everything you’ve been waiting for is right here, at last! Whew boy. What a relief. No more waiting. But first, I want you to picture this in your mom. A perfect world. No, not A “Whole New World” like in the Little Mermaid. A world in which all inhabitants are happy and at peace with one another. No crime, violence, cruelty, cereal killers ( Although, I wouldn’t mind if someone killed Grape Nuts cereal), preverts or nuttin’ honey.
The afore mentioned PERFECT world would be a great place for hitchin’. On the other hand, you would have to be a total nutcase to start hitchin’ NOW , in this viscious, hate filled, a.b. normal 21st century! Since everyone who reads my blog IS a nutcase, we will proceed.
To begin with, hitchin’ requires lots and lots of walking. Why? You ask, with that stupid look on your face. Well, it’s because there are good places to hitch and bad places to hitch, you silly knuckleheads!
Some of the bad places are in front of a mental hospital, prison, or rehab center; in a sloppy, muddy area, or where there is no room for someone to pull over; and on an unlit street corner in the “baddest part of town” at 1:30 A.M. with an axe in your hand; and I’m not talking about a guitar!
Sooooo, you will be required to WALK to a good area for hitchin’. Even if you have to walk halfway across town, it’s worth it. Some of the GOOD places for hitchin’ would be in front of a non-denominational church or Bible college, or where it’s easy for a driver to pull over, and it’s not muddy or dusty; and where there are lots of flowers in the background, if possible.
A veterans hospital is good, but you better really be a veteran! ( Don’t try to fake out a veteran that offers you a ride; It’s not possible)
Like I said, make sure your background is one that is totally non- threatening and aesthetically pleasing. ( Did I mention that flowers are a good backdrop?) Yes, a safe, welcoming environment that fools, uh, I mean, invites folks to stop and give you a lift. Make sure your backround is not dark and sinister, graffiti filled, terrifying, dirty, or a questionable institution, business or Mafia headquarters.
Hitchin’ can be very ecsausting, or is it exhausting; any way, it makes you plumb tuckered! So why waste your energy hitchin’ on cars and other vehicals that will never pick you up? Why get up and flash your sign to “no-way-hosay” drivers? Here is a short list of cars and drivers that 99.7% of the time are going to ignore even the best hitchers, like me: 1. Fancy Schmancy cars like Rolls Royce’s and Bentleys.
2. Sports cars, like Vetts, Lambourghinis, and Jag-U-ars. (That’s the way the dude says it in the commercials).
3. Hot chicks; Only in the movies, bro.
4. Semi’s; Against company policy. (Another, only in the movies; unless you find a crazy, rogue driver with a death wish, willing to throw caution to the wind, and risk his pension that he’s waited 40 years to cash in on. (Or, if you're a hot babe!)
Don’t waste your energy on the afore mentioned drivers and vehicles. If, by some miracle, one of them picks you up, well, just count your lucky stars, my friend, count your lucky stars! ( What does that mean, anyway)?
You need to give your full undivided attention to the cars, drivers and trucks most likely to give you the ride your little heart desires so eagerly. Pick up trucks are real good for rides. If they don’t have room in the front, they’ll almost always let you ride in the truck bed. (That way, you can also get some un-bumpity bumpity, disturbed-bumpity bumpity, sleep-bumpity bumpity bumpity!) Don’t complain if there are a few chickens, pigs or stinking manure back there. You don’t want to jeopardize a good lift.
Dirty, beat up, ugly vehicals are probably your best opportunity for a ride. The drivers are usually very cool, down to earth, nice; and they don’t care if your filthy, smelly body screws up their interior.
Soooo, in review. If you see a pickup truck ( especially an old one), or a nasty, junked up, beat up, disgusting car; what do you do? Right! Very good! You jump to your feet, hold your sign high, and put that pitiful look on your face. What pitiful look? What do you mean, what pitiful look? I told you about the pitiful look, didn’t I? Wow! Sorry! The pitiful look is one of the most important things about hitchin’! It’s the same look you get from your unbelievably adorable 4 year old when he/she wants something REALLY bad. It’s the look your doggy gives you when he/she wants a treat REALLY bad. It’s the look you get on your face when Angelina Jolie calls and says she’s coming over and then cancels! ( Of course, this all depends on your gender, uh, or maybe not. Oh, I don’t know).
Furthermore, you do NOT, I repeat, NOT want to stand there with a stupid smile on your face OR a mean angry frown. Either one turns people away, unless they’re psychos, and who wants to ride with a psycho, except for me? ( Hey, lets face it; they’re more interesting than accountants). Uh, oh! I hope I didn’t offend any accountants! I just had a scary thought. What if I offended PSYCHO accountants! How scary is that? Pretty damn scary, if you ask me!
O.K. So here is a good “snapshot”, shall we say, of what the perfect hitchin” scenario would be; You are standing by a big Olympic Stadium with a gold medal around your neck in front of a flower garden, in a wide clean area that has lots of room for a vehical to pull over, with a pitiful look on your face, holding a sign, wearing non-threatening clothing, ignoring the fancy schmancy vehicles and zeroing in on the filthy junky cars and picks-em-up trucks. Questions? Go and watch “It Happened One Night”, with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. (She was soooo cute!) All you need to know about hitchin’ is in that wonderful movie.
What? You thought there would be more? You want some more? ( “Please, Sir, I want some more.”-“YOU WANT SOME MORE?”-Oliver Twist).
Well, “that’s all folks!” Remember, hitchin’ ain’t brain surgery.
