Note to self: Get head Outta Ass!

I woke up this morning – always a good thing – with a renewed sense of purpose.  Or is it a prechewed taste of porpoise?  Huh?  Come on, it’s a cheap laugh, go with it, laughter is a good thing.

Here’s the rub -  recently, every time I open this page to write a new post I suddenly can’t write anything?  Hey, I just wrote anything.  Maybe it’s getting better. 

Recently I’ve been under the spell that if I don’t have anything of meaning to write, don’t write.  Inspiration has been fleeting….damn that’s an understatement.  Never mind the fact that I’ve been hating the world or maybe hating me and the world I’ve created.

In the spirit of get my fucking head outta my ass I’ve started a campaign to make my world better, more positive.  I truly believe if I feel like I am making progress, albeit there is a long way to go, I will be more positive and better things will happen not just in my life but in the people’s lives around me.  Man that was an awkward sentence.  Fuck it, it’s my post.

I am into day 3 of this campaign and so far so good.  A couple of days hiking with the dog (about 3 miles per day).  A couple hours everyday searching for a job (in earnest) and a few hours a day putting the wraps on my failed restaurant venture and an hour or two working on various writing projects. 

Come on, who out there doesn’t want to read about my continuing adventures back to 1800’s Nantucket and my visits with the Dildosytters of Nantucket?  Spell check really hates the word dildosytter.

So on this fifth day of January, in the year two thousand and ten – I hate that twenty-ten bullshit - unleash your inner monkey.  Slap on those monkey wings and fly, fly like monkeys fucking fly! 

What’s that, monkeys don’t fly. 

Bullshit. 

I got a Delta miles card with a ton of frequent flier miles that says I can book a seat right next to my favorite monkey and we both can fly.  Thhhhhhhhpppppt. 

Time to carpet the day.  See ya tomorrow

Ciao Mein

Dear Santa

Santa,

2009 has not been a great year for me and those around me.  As a matter of fact, I haven’t exactly been filled with that “christmas spirit.”  I can whine about breaking my leg, being unemployed and on the precipice of  financial disaster, but it doesn’t make it any better.  We can debate the negative impact commercialism and religous zealots have had on the message of Santa and Christmas.  Unfortunately I am just not feeling that pozitoodinal love right now and then I get stuck having to play you at a birthday party.

You can imagine how “thrilled” I was when I was the defacto choice to play you, yes you Santa, for the birthday party.  Great, here I was the King Grinch about to play Santa for a group of 30, eight and nine-year old unappreciative boys and girls.  Joy.

With much trepidation I donned the suit that is more recognizable and valuable than any suit that has come out of the finest Savile Row tailor shop.  As I put on your suit something weird started happening.  As I put the wig and beard on that weird thing started growing stronger.  When I was done I looked in the mirror and damn, I was Santa.  Yikes

As I made my way into the party I was stunned by the girls and boys.  They stopped what they were doing and looked at me long and hard.  They gave me the once and then twice over.  Hmmmm, who is this person dressed in Santa’s suit.  Hmmmm.  The eyed me suspiciously until I gave out the best  ho, ho, ho I could give.  It was perfect.  They stood wide-eyed looking at me. 

Then they started with the questions.  This was their opportunity to really see if this Santa had a clue.  The first question was a lay-up:  What are all the reindeer names?  I thought for a moment and then let out a loud Santa, “ho, ho, ho” and then said, “that’s easy; Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen.”  Then I looked at all the children and said, “and the most famous reindeer of all Rudolph.” 

That opened the floodgates:

Where are the reindeer now?  What do they eat?  Where do they poop?  Which one is your favorite?  Then it was;  Where is Mrs. Claus?  Why isn’t she here?  Am I on the good list?  Where are the elves?  Do you know what I want for Christmas?  Why are you so skinny?

“What?” I asked.  The little 8-year-old girl asked the question again, “why are you so skinny?”  I told her that Mrs. Claus always puts me on a diet during the summer so that I can eat all those cookies on Christmas eve.  She seemed to think that was a pretty good answer.

Funny, who would have thought I’d have to don a Santa suit to be called skinny.

The two hours flew by.  The girls and boys were transfixed by my rendition of Santa and so was I.  For those 2 hours I didn’t bemoan my personal challenges.  For those two hours I was a reflection in those children’s eyes.  Reflections of  innocence and hope.  For those two hours all was good for them and for me.

If you were looking into that magic spyglass you have I hope you looked in on my performance and were pleased.  It was a good reminder of the power and  magic of hope that the spirit of Santa brings for both young and old alike.

Safe travels this year Santa.  I am going to work hard to make sure I am on your “good” list in 2010.

If we don’t speak before, Happy New Year and I will leave out a plate of chocolate chip cookies for you and a few carrots for the reindeer.

Where there’s a will there are relatives

I slept on my arm all night and now I have to type with one hand.  The other hand feels like it is a balloon hand inflated with helium. 

Bob says,”hello.”  Yes, that Bob, my minature, talking, invisbile elephant friend. 

So I thought I’d do my annual fall cleaning of shit in my head.  Maybe that will get me jump started on the path to writing on a regular basis.  So hide the kids, put on your seatbelt (it’s mandated by the state of Massatwoshits), kick the car into overdrive, turn the radio up real loud (do new cars even have a radio these days) and take that fucking bluetooth thing outta your ear (it looks ridiculous) and get ready to feel much better about yourself.

From a sociological perspective I think the world would be a better place if we all didn’t try to force our “will” on people.  I mean, does it really matter what sex couples are who want to get married.  Much like, who the fuck are you to determine that your “religious” beliefs are better than mine.  Think about the strife in the world today and how much of that is related to one society imposing their “will” on another group of people.  I say, if it doesn’t negatively impact my ability to pursue happiness, my health or my ability to be who I want to be – why should I care what you do.

If every one of the emails I receive were true the following would be the case:

I would be debt free
My penis would be the size of a Sequoia and it would stay hard for way more than four hours
I can work at home and make $1,000 per hour
I would have so much hair that I’d need a damn weed wacker to keep it trim
I no longer would have to go to the pharmacy, I can get anything I want from this person who calls themself “me.”

Uggghhhhh – I love SPAM!!!!!!!

I have to admit, I didn’t think there was water on the moon.

The Large Hadron Collider is very intriguing.  My head hurts from thinking about the impact on physics and time-space theory.   Never mind being the potential vehicle to end the earth.  Don’t worry folks, even though this thing can potentially create microscopic black holes  it’s all cool.  This, from a CERN press release:

Microscopic black holes

Nature forms black holes when certain stars, much larger than our Sun, collapse on themselves at the end of their lives. They concentrate a very large amount of matter in a very small space. Speculations about microscopic black holes at the LHC refer to particles produced in the collisions of pairs of protons, each of which has an energy comparable to that of a mosquito in flight. Astronomical black holes are much heavier than anything that could be produced at the LHC.

According to the well-established properties of gravity, described by Einstein’s relativity, it is impossible for microscopic black holes to be produced at the LHC. There are, however, some speculative theories that predict the production of such particles at the LHC. All these theories predict that these particles would disintegrate immediately. Black holes, therefore, would have no time to start accreting matter and to cause macroscopic effects.

Although theory predicts that microscopic black holes decay rapidly, even hypothetical stable black holes can be shown to be harmless by studying  the consequences of their production by cosmic rays.  Whilst collisions at the LHC differ from cosmic-ray collisions with astronomical bodies like the Earth in that new particles produced in LHC collisions tend to move more slowly than those produced by cosmic rays, one can still demonstrate their safety.  The specific reasons for this depend whether the black holes are electrically charged, or neutral. Many stable black holes would be expected to be electrically charged, since they are created by charged particles.  In this case they would interact with ordinary matter and be stopped while traversing the Earth or Sun, whether produced by cosmic rays or the LHC. The fact that the Earth and Sun are still here rules out the possibility that cosmic rays or the LHC could produce dangerous charged microscopic black holes. If stable microscopic black holes had no electric charge, their interactions with the Earth would be very weak. Those produced by cosmic rays would pass harmlessly through the Earth into space, whereas those produced by the LHC could remain on Earth. However, there are much larger and denser astronomical bodies than the Earth in the Universe. Black holes produced in cosmic-ray collisions with bodies such as neutron stars and white dwarf stars would be brought to rest. The continued existence of such dense bodies, as well as the Earth, rules out the possibility of the LHC producing any dangerous black holes.

From one Collider to another Collider….no folks I don’t make this shit up!

 http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-1226672/Asteroid-scrapes-past-Earth-just-8-700miles-away–15-hours-warning.html

With all this super technology why is it that we didn’t know about this object until 15 hours prior to potential impact.  When I think about it, I am glad I didn’t know about it. 

 That does pose an interesting psycho-social dilemma for us all.  What would you do if  you found out the earth and life as we know it was going to end in 15 hours.  Aside from the perfunctory - spend time / contact your loved ones, what else would you do?

Way to heavy a thought for so early in the morning.

Dom Quinto is my hero.  You see he is credited with inventing the leaf blower and I am allergic to rakes.  Actually, I am allergic to the action of raking leaves.  No seriously.  My hands break out in blisters every time I try to rake leaves.

My prediction – I will get the H1N1 virus a week before the vaccine is available to me. 

Sorry, I gotta go.  Bob is burning the pancakes.

 

Dreaming of Wet Leaves and Bunnies

It’s 5am and Otis is licking my face.  Ughhhh.  He needs to go outside and take a leak.  Joy.

Being the responsible dad I get outta bed, slide into my sneakers, thrown on my raincoat, fasten his leash onto his collar and head outside.

It’s predawn (5am) cold (40 degrees) raw (raining) and I am standing with my dog and I am wearing a t-shirt, soccer shorts, sneakers and raincoat on my front lawn.  I am not cold, I feel, well, alive. 

Otis and I are both answering natures call when I am jolted out of my “nature’s call” meditation by the cries of coyotes not 50 feet from where we are standing….or should I say leaking. 

Jolted may not be accurate.  Accurate would be – “when I have the crap scared out of me and I piss all over my leg because I am confident that I am about to get attacked by some fiendish unseen ghoul.” 

The sound the coyotes make can best be described as a most heinous combination of laughter and death scream.  It’s a sound that I associate with vintage Stephen King.  At least it’s the sound I would create in my head when reading vintage Stephen King.  Vintage as opposed to formulaic.

To my utter amazement, my friend Otis (the dog with the genetic pedigree to be the protector of the flock) instead of responding to the coyote screams with barking and protection, runs and hides behind me.

I stand there not moving, searching the woods that frame my lawn with my eyes for any movement. 

I hold my breath in hopes of hearing the rustling of new fallen leaves indicating the ghouls are moving.

Nothing.  Not a damn thing.

Then, without warning a second flurry of coyote screams and  laughter.  No response from Otis.

Ok, now I am pissed (no pun intended).  I scream at the coyotes and then I hear the rustling.  They are moving away – I think they are laughing as they dance off deeper into the woods.  Laughing I am sure that they made me piss all over my leg.

I turn around to find Otis totally oblivious to any of the drama that had just occurred.  Nope, he is sitting there more interested in the leaf stuck to his nose than any death match standoff we just had with the coyotes.

I slog back into the house, wash off my leg and lay back in bed, soon joined by a 90 pound sheepdog who lays next to me and puts his wet leaf encrusted head on my chest.  Instantly he falls asleep and starts snoring.  I have no such luck.  The adrenaline from our encounter with the evil coyotes is preventing me from finding sleep.  Otis on the other hand is probably dreaming of bunnies and wet leaves.

Plastic Bag Poop Picker Upper

A couple facts: 

I am a jerk
I love animals
I tend to avoid preaching to people about anything.  I do enjoy a good debate and I have strong opinions and respect others who may have differing opinions.
I am a forgiving person

However, this morning I am conflicted about whether I should be happy for Michael Vick given his new marketing deal with Nike or should I be angry with Nike about signing a convicted dog torturer and killer to help them sell their brand.

Funny how two plus years ago Nike couldn’t distance themselves fast enough from the troubled Vick.   Shit, they would have beat that Bolt dude in a 100 meter race hands down.  Yet now, after the NFL has welcomed him back into their fold, Nike once again, has entered into a contract with Mr. Vick to help them sell their shit. 

I know, he served his time….blah, blah, blah.  Here’s a guy who with no demonstrated remorse – until he got caught – either participated in or was party to killing of dogs by electrocution, slamming them onto the concrete floor or drowning them.  Three words – Fucking Douche Bag.

This was not accidental, this was not a crime of passion, this was premeditated.  Can you imagine waking up in the morning thinking about how you’re going to kill a dog today?  I am curious, how does the state or  the NFL rehabilitate someone from thinking that way.  Maybe an electronic sound soother that mixes happy puppy barking, whale sounds and rainforest thunderstorms?  No really, how does one rehabilitate someone who has no issue with killing dogs.  Is there somewhere in this country a rehab center for dog torturers and dog killers?  Is it true that one day you wake up and say I am not going to kill dogs anymore?  Bullshit. 

It makes me sick.  But what can I do? 

My guess is Michael Vick will be a model “NFL citizen.”  Shit, if I lost over $100 million due to my own evilness and had the chance to get some of it back by changing my colors I would do my best to convince everyone that I am a puppy loving, doggie grooming, plastic bag poop picking up dog lover.

Then there’s Nike.  The multinational, multi billion dollar corporation led by Mark Parker (President and CEO).  What can I do – not much.  However I will not ever, ever, spend a single cent of my money on a Nike or Nike division (Converse, Hurley, Nike Golf, Umbro) product again. 

I love this Nike Responsibility mission statement found on their website.  Mission position (bend over) might be a better phrase.

Nike sees corporate responsibility as an integral part of how we can use the power of our brand, the energy and passion of our people, and the scale of our business to create meaningful change.

The opportunity is greater than ever for corporate responsibility principles and practices to deliver business returns and become a driver of growth, to build deeper consumer and community connections and to create positive social and environmental impact in the world.

I wonder what those Nike marketing headliners like Tiger Woods, Michael Jordon or Lebron James think about adding Michael Vick as a Nike brand peer.

Hey Tiger – you and Mr. Vick going to play some golf soon?  Probably.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on Nike – they have a wonderful Foundation that is doing great things for adolescent girls around the world and they are committed to working for climate change and supporting rainforest preservation.

Maybe, I will come around one day and believe that Nike is doing more good than harm in this big world of ours.  

That day my friends, just doesn’t happen to be today.

Update – hot off the wire as of 11:05 am….remember when the wire actually meant something and it wasn’t simply a name for some cable show…..

Nike is now saying that don’t have a contract with Michael Vick. Nike is simply saying that have reached an agreement to supply Mr. Vick with Nike product.  

Stay tuned kids to this same bat channel for further Nike Vick updates.  NOT!!!!!!

While I am at it

One more thing on this fine Friday morning in central New England.  So here I am shaving this morning and notice a wee little hair protruding from one of my nostrils.  So in my infinite wisdom I grab tweezers and move to yank out the little fucker. 

Well, that was a big mistake.  How the hell did I know the hair was connected to the back of my optic nerve by kevlar reinforcing lines.   Sure enough I go to pull it out and just as I give it a good yank it slips out from tweezer grasp.  It slips out, but not after first pulling my optic nerve halfway outta my head and causing me such pain that both of my eyes teared up.  OUCHIE!

Great, so now I still have this little fucking nose hair sticking outta my nostril, tears running down my face and an optic nerve that is really pissed off at me.  I have no choice but to attempt to make the pull again.  So with great trepidation I make my move.  Damn this is gonna hurt.

I repeat the process and this time I get the little bastard.  However,  again it goes with a fight and tears are running down my face again and there is a pain deep in my head that really, really fucking hurts.

So what did I learn today – clip it don’t rip it.

Fall Classic Reprised

Below is an original post of mine from October of 2007.  Based on a few animated conversations with friends I thought it would be appropriate to update it for 2009.

The Fall Classic – nope, I am not talking about the World Series of Baseball.  Nope.  I am talking about the Fall Classic.  The championship of championships.   The only sport that encourages the use of performance enhancing drugs, is violently opposed to dog fighting, supports all efforts to decriminalize the use of David aka Mr. Puff Puff and is still in search of that corporate sponsorship and ESPN coverage.  I can see it now – signs all over the 1970 Sport Fury from our sponsors -  Ez-Wider, Oreo cookies, Lays potato chips, Stone Brewing Co., Greenflash Brewing, High Times.  Shit, for the right coin I have no problem selling out. 

I’d love to hear the commentary on ESPN.  They could have the dudes that do Nascar races cover the Fall Classic.  Shit, it would be more interesting than talking about cars making only left turns for 5 hours.

It could go something like this:

Daryl:  Well then Brad it looks like Nick has taken a more aggressive position since he was handed the keys to the car from Pat.  Nick inherited a line of 5 cars behind him and he has already increased it by 3.  He does have to be careful because at 42 miles an hour in a 50 MPH zone he is quickly moving into that neutral speed activation range.

Brad:  Well Daryl, I think you’re full of crap.  Pat had a fine run going and the only thing Nick has done is fog up the windows and …..

Daryl:  HOLD ON NOW BRAD, I think Nick just spilled his Greenflash IPA – if so that is a 10 point deduction for alcohol abuse.

Brad:  Holy Jeebus Daryl, I think you’re right.  Let’s go back to the slo-mo replay and see if some of that fine Greenflash IPA actually tumbled from the cup and into Nick’s lap.  YEP, I can see it clear as day Daryl….

I could go on…… 

Before we kick off the Fall Classic we need to acquire a few things.

First is a big ole car from the 1970’s.  You know one of those cars from a time when Buicks were cool.  Actually, I am not sure Buicks were ever cool.  There are a lot of decent choices.  The Chevy Impala or Caprice are noble choices as is the Ford Galaxy 500 series.  My choice is the 1970 Plymouth Sport Fury GT.  Why the Sport Fury?  Cuz it’s the embodiment of all things american.  Shit, it had enough metal in it to build 4 or 5 Subaru’s.  It’s one of the largest two door coupe’s ever produced and was powered by a 440cubic in. engine capable of producing 390 horsepower.  This engine also generate 490 ft. lbs. of stump pulling torque.   Plus there were less than 700 of them built!  Less than 20 had the “6-pack” option (3 dual carburetors)  vrooom, vrooom.

It was almost 18 feet long (think Chevy Suburban) and over 6 and a half feet wide.  In this instance, size does matter.   It makes a fucking Hummer look like a Geo.  Plus, it’s great, great, great grandma was the 1958 Fury which was Stephen King’s Christine.   Talk about a bitchin car…..

OK.  We got our car.  Next we need some big ol’ fake glasses and a gray or blue haired old lady wig.  Also, as recommended by my my friend Nick, we need some baubles like a pearl necklace (don’t go there), maybe a strand or two of Mardi Gras beads or maybe a fine “Easter like” bonnet. 

Finally, the Fall Classic would not be complete without a cornucopia of synaptic provocateurs for the ride.

Here’s the game.  We load up the car with stuff for the weekend and put on our wigs and glasses to complete that “Leaf Peeper” look and then head out to the back roads of New England to terrorize all those folks looking at the foliage….we’re gonna leaf peep the leaf peepers.   

Here’s the skinny – you got this huge fucking car that, when the accelerator is depressed to the floor, will generate enough torque to rip your head off  right off your fucking shoulders.  The car is the key.  You will use it to create a rolling road block.  Nothing better than slowly cruising up route 103, 5, 100, 4…etc. in Vermont with a funeral parade of cars behind you and some great tunes flowing out the windows. 

Hehehehehehehehehe.  

The scoring is as follows:

1.   You get one point  for every car that you can get stuck behind you.  You get 2 points for every car stuck behind you if your speed is less than 25 mph.  If you get more than 10 cars stuck behind you there is a 2x multiplier for every next car that ends up stuck behind you.

2.  For every car that tries to pass you that you speed up and block from passing you get 10 points.

3.  If a car passes you successfully it’s minus 5 points.

4.  Every time someone beeps the horn at you, you get a point.

5.   Every time some one flips you the bird you get 2 points.

6.  If you get pulled over by the police and escape with nothing more than a smile and laugh you get 100 points.

7.  If you get pulled over by the police and get a ticket (not sure for what) you get minus 25 points.

8.  If you have to stop and pee and anyone passes you lose 1 point per car.

9.  If you have to stop and pee and leave the car in the road blocking anyone from passing, you get a 20 point bonus.

10.  If by chance a car of elderly males pulls up and asks you to have a drink you win automatically.

11.  If you are within 5 miles an hour of the posted speed you enter the neutral speed activation range in which you score no points for adding cars behind you.

12.  Any spillage of beer or droppage of David results in a 10 point scoring deduction.

You alternate driving every 2 hours.  The first driver to 200 wins.  The length of the game is until it is over.

Game starts next weekend…gotta go car shopping today….heheheheheheh

YEEE FUCKING HA!

Don’t look at the sun when the washer is on its 25th spin cycle

Holy fucking shit – the Sun already began it’s solar cycle # 25, totally, I mean totally skipping solar cycle #24.  Holy fucking shit!  You can read about it here http://xrt.cfa.harvard.edu/resources/pubs/savc0707.pdf . Also if you can translate the following into english I would appreciate it:  

 

 The velocity of this transverse motion is, on average, 20kms−1. The direction of the transverse motion, in combination with the standard reconnection model for jet production (e.g. Shibata et al. 1992), reflects the magnetic polarity orientation of the ephemeral active region at the base of the jet. From this signature, we find that during the present minimum phase of the solar cycle the jet-base ephemeral active regions in the polar coronal holes had a preferred east-west direction, and that this direction reversed during the cycle’s progression through minimum.

I ain’t stupid but what the fuck does that mean.  Do I need to build that underground solar cycle #26 shelter yet?  Yikes.

How about this paragraph:

We also separated the sample of jets in the two poles in time, in order to check for differences with the evolution of the solar cycle. It seems that earlier (during Cycle 23) -23 Nov 2006 – 71% of the transverse moving jets (or 62% of the total number of jets from Cycle 23) at the North pole move westward while the data from September and October 2008 (Cycle 24) show that 69% move to the East. Similarly, for the South pole in early 2007, 70% of the jets with transverse velocities move to the West while in late 2008 and early 2009 84% move to the East (or 37% of the total number of jets). This hints at a dependence of the jet transverse velocity direction on the solar cycle. The information on the number of jets with both directions of transverse velocities for both poles and both cycles is summarized in Table 1. We have proposed a plan for regular South and North pole observations for the extent of the entire Hinode mission to further confirm this result.

Holy crap bat boy, I can barely see the computer screen it’s covered in blood and brain matter because my fucking head just exploded.  Damn these dudes are wicked smart.

The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on.
He took a face from the ancient gallery and then he walked on down the hall.
He went into the room where his sister lived and then he paid a visit to his brother and then he walked on down the hallway.

He came to a door and looked inside………

and sure enough, what did he see, the damn sun in it’s 25th cycle, leaving the poor 24th cycle to wonder what it did to get skipped like it was chopped fucking liver.

So I got an email the other day and it simply said, “What the fuck have you been up to and why aren’t you writing?”

It caused me to pause and think, hmmmm what the fuck have I been up to and why aren’t I writing?  I immediately opened the next 15 emails that promised me that they’d enlarge my penis to a size that would be astronomical and maybe the cause for the sun to skip yet another solar cycle.

How long is a solar cycle.  No offense ladies but we can only hope its nothing like the menstrual cycle.  According to some internet resources the solar cycle is determined by counting the placement and frequency of sunspots on the sun.  The cycle historically has ranged from 9 to 14 years.  YIKES!

Here’s a cool website dedicated to the Solar and Heliospheric atmosphere….wicked photos….http://sohowww.nascom.nasa.gov/data/realtime/eit_171/512/ 

Getting back to the email…..I’ve had a terrible case of writers block and to be honest hating the world.  Or at least the world I’ve created.  But who the fuck wants to hear my whiny ass shit.

Gotta go, will write soon.  I have been working on my time machine and it’s just about ready to go.  Go where, who the hell knows, but go we will and I look forward to having you along for the ride.

Till then…….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know

 

My fave dead tune.  For those in the know, what song is it typically proceeded by…….hehehehehe

I know you, rider, gonna miss me when Im gone;
I know you, rider, gonna miss me when Im gone;
Gonna miss your baby, from rolling in your arms.

Laid down last night, lord, I could not take my rest;
Laid down last night, lord, I could not take my rest;

My mind was wandering like the wild geese in the westThe sun will shine in my back door someday.
The sun will shine in my back door someday.
March winds will blow all my troubles away.

I wish I was a headlight, on a north bound train;
I wish I was a headlight, on a north bound train;
Id shine my light through cool Colorado rain.

I know you, rider, gonna miss me when Im gone;
I know you, rider, gonna miss me when Im gone;
Gonna miss your baby, from rolling in your arms.

On the thin ice

Damn, I love when the karmic world throws you a softball toss that you can smash over the fence for a home run.  Today, was one of those karmic home run days.  It was a day I met a new friend, his name is Chris.

I am a big believer that things happen for reasons.  Today was a good lesson.

Chris….can be found at www.kidswhoroam.com  .   The fact our paths crossed was karma working at its best.

Chris is on a journey of discovery.  A journey that I am not sure will ever end.  The discovery is the journey, that’s how it always works, that’s how it’s suppose to work.  It’s never about the destination it’s about the journey.  What’s the German word….wanderlust.

Chris and I talked for a while, I have to admit I was jealous.  Jealous of his freedom to wander and his ability to wander.  Still dealing with my leg issue the ability to wander is something that still challenges me physically.

When I really think about it, as much as I would love to wander, I am not sure I’d ever have the security of person to wander.  Most of my wandering is spent between my ears and trust me, there’s a lot of room to wander in there.

So I say to all of you pozitoodinally righteous fools – when you see that person wandering up the road with a heavy backpack on, stop, open your door and give them a lift.  Who knows what journey they are on and what journey they’ll engage you in. 

Chris, enjoy your journey, I can’t wait till our paths cross again.

And now a little ditty from Jethro Tull…damn I love these lyrics:

Meanwhile back in the year One — when you belonged to no-one —
you didn’t stand a chance son, if your pants were undone.
`Cause you were bred for humanity and sold to society —
one day you’ll wake up in the Present Day —
a million generations removed from expectations
of being who you really want to be.

Skating away —
skating away —
skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.

So as you push off from the shore,
won’t you turn your head once more — and make your peace with everyone?
For those who choose to stay,
will live just one more day —
to do the things they should have done.
And as you cross the wilderness, spinning in your emptiness:
you feel you have to pray.
Looking for a sign
that the Universal Mind (!) has written you into the Passion Play.

Skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.

And as you cross the circle line, the ice-wall creaks behind —
you’re a rabbit on the run.
And the silver splinters fly in the corner of your eye —
shining in the setting sun.
Well, do you ever get the feeling that the story’s
too damn real and in the present tense?
Or that everybody’s on the stage, and it seems like
you’re the only person sitting in the audience?

Skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.