News from the Front.

So does everyone know about Central street? I deliver mail there and its well....GHETTO!! A friend and I decided that Central is it's own little world. the Republic Of Central. or R.O.C. Well today I was delivering to a cigarette store in the R.O.C. (technically it's ROC adjacent) when i walked in there was a woman laying in the middle of the floor. She was either A) napping B) dead C) planning some kind of lawsuit (which I'm sure would be settled for a few cartons of cancer sticks) whatever the case, there were people in there conducting business as usual. A man stepped over her and asked for a pack of Marlboros. Reds. I of course.........stepped over her as well and delivered the mail. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor woman on the floor.....

As I drove away I heard sirens in the air. Was it for her, or just another run of the mill domestic violence case? One never knows. Thats the way it be in the R.O.C.

Crazy is as Crazy Does

I was driving home the other night listening to talk radio. This was just after the Oscars, and the subject was the first woman to win the award for best director. Now when I first heard about that, my first thought was, really? It had never occurred to me that a woman had never won. I think that it 2010 this is a pretty healthy reaction. It should not seem so Otherworldly that a Non male did something amazing. So I thought, good for her, and then went on with my life. Well the good callers of Talk Radio took it MUCH more seriously. They had deeply thought out and emotion filled comments for the show host. This annoyed me to no end. I can't for the life of me, figure out why people become so emotionally invested in people or events that have absolutely no impact on their lives. The one saving grace was that these people were talking about a real event. I see this alot with Reality Tv. Why do people care about Kim Kardashian? Am I the only person thats not crazy in this world? Now that is a question that you don't want to ask yourself. I started thinking about it, and I realized, that if I am seemingly the ONLY one that isn't endlessly fascinated by these things, chances are that it's ME that's not normal. I now believe there is a good possibility that I am the crazy one. The sad part is that I was getting really angry listening to these people talk. It never occurred to me that I was doing the exact thing that was upsetting me to begin with. Getting emotional about people that I don't know and don't care about. It sucks to be blinded by anger only to have your vision return and realize that your staring in a mirror. Now at least Self Loathing is something I can get behind. I mean who has more of an impact on my life than me? Ok, my wife. Granted.

So since that night I have been trying really hard not to worry about what other people are doing. I am sort of known for not caring about such things. Another lie I have been living. Or maybe it is true. The one thing that I do care about is people who care TOO much. That's just how passionately I don't care. It's no coincidence that happy people are described as " not having a care in the world".

I think I will go have a stick of CareFree sugarless gum and enjoy my day. And I don't care how you feel about that.

Dick Leaves a Funny Taste In My Mouth. or Why I Don't Swear Except in Print.

When I was a kid, my dad cursed like a sailor. But like any good dad would, he insisted that my sister and I not use such language. I know that most people have a similar story to tell. Parents are great at the old "do as I say not as I do" routine. For some reason though, with me it actually took. I will admit that I did try to swear once. I didn't like it. It just didn't feel right on my tongue. That's ironic now that I think about it, since I do have a bad case of Scrotal Tongue.

Lately I have noticed that when I am writing/typing, many of the Seven Words You Can't Say On TV come flowing right out of my fingertips. For some reason I can't quite figure out this doesn't bother my delicate sensibilities at all. Words that I have never actually uttered feel right at home when I write. The really weird thing is that when I go about my day I don't even THINK swear words. It's just not me. Put a keyboard in front of me though and out comes the filth!! I am probably exaggerating, I'm not exactly writing about anal rape with a rusty cheese grater. Still, the occasional fuck does show up. That seems to be my fingers' vulgarity of choice. I think because it's so versatile. Noun, verb, adjective, and metaphorical conjunction.

It all does make me wonder though, which me is the Real Me? When I speak, I don't feel like I am holding anything back. When I really get into my head to write something though, there is a lot of fucking weirdness in there. Not saying all those naughty things out loud does give me a little sense of control though. As long as I can maintain my composure and control what I am saying I must be all good. Right? I'm pretty sure I need some therapy! I think I will go on line and play some video games instead.

PS: Shit and Damn!

I Can If You Can

I was sitting here wondering what I could do with the nearly one thousand aluminum cans I have laying around. My mind drifted toward 1976 and a faded memory of a beer can hat that my Grandpa used to wear on fishing trips. That's it. Now I just need to learn to knit. To be honest, my cans are all from Diet Coke. Nothing says STUD, or ProFisherman like a Diet cola hat! Ok, let's scrap that idea. Besides, that would require 5 cans at the most. I have so many I'm about to start using exponents when I refer to their mass. I could build a table or perhaps an ottoman, but my wife has far too much taste to allow that. I would love the kitsch though.

First Rule of Marriage: Defer to wife in matters of taste and or smell.

I believe I could produce a passable dog house from the Aspartame Shrine. It's silver-like sheen would reflect heat. Without liberal use of some type of mortar there would be great air flow. Knowing my dogs though, the slightest scent of something sweet and tasty would be too much for them. They would be certain to destroy it.

Oh my. I love moments of inspiration. If I combined my two favorite things in the world, charity and irony, I might have a wonderful pop song on my hands! Or, I could build a house of cans for the homeless. Thank you. I know. How do I do it? The beauty of this is, I would be building the shelter from what amounts to Hobo currency. It would be shelter, bank, and an exercise in self restraint. If, as the new resident of the (now poorly named) Coke House, you were having an economic rough patch, you could always do a little remodel. "Add" a window for instance. When you have an unusually good day of can hunting, build a patio. Add a second bedroom. There are valuable lessons to be learned. Hard work, ingenuity, moderation. It is true that most problems can be solved by a little out of the can thinking.

To celebrate the start of this new endeavor, I would like to buy the world a Coke. It's the real thing. Have one, and a smile.

Coke: We never set Micheal Jackson's hair on fire!

Cheers everyone. Pop that top and let's open up the beginnings of a new foundation.

Hot Water Burn Baby

You can't judge a person by appearance. As the axiom goes, judge one by his actions. What if you can't even use that criteria?

There is a man I often see on my route. He is older. Perhaps mid-fifties. He always makes a point of waving to me and calling out "Hey Mailman." He always looked as though he might be a little on the slow side to me, but in an effort to end judgementalism, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Lately, he has decided that we should have a little talk time each day. First he just stopped and offered me candy. I was glad to have it, and thanked him very much. Soon that offering had become cookies. I'm not crazy about eating unwrapped (possibly home-made) treats, but i accepted anyway. This went on for a few weeks.

Last Saturday, the Fashion show started. He came wandering past my truck. I said hello, hoping that it would be enough to keep him moving. It was a hot day and I was ready to go home. He stopped though and asked me, "Do you like my boots? They are new." They did indeed have that new boot shine. I said I did, and seeming satisfied he went on his way.

Monday: Here he comes again. He stops. Again. "What do you think of my shirt?" Hmm...I think I hope that it stays ON!

"It looks great"

"Thank you." He turned to leave but stopped short. "It's blue."

I had to take his word for it. I am color blind you see. I'm not sure what the significance of the Tee's color was. At this point I felt justified in thinking that this man was quite daft. Feeble even. He had moved on after the what I am now calling, The Pigment Proclamation. I was left to shake my head and wonder.

Tuesday: I was making my rounds when I noticed a man walking down the street in my direction. For some reason , he was wearing a full face-mask motorcycle helmet. When he came closer, I realized that it was my buddy Raymond, as I had taken to thinking of him. Oh boy! This should be good. I imagined a quite a conversation ahead. "Yes, that IS a nice helmet. Safety first I say!" He walked right past me though. I have to admit I was a little disappointed. Oh well. There's always tomorrow and all manner of head gear possibilities.

I moved on and rounded the corner to the next street. A very shiny, very LOUD motorcycle was barreling down this street. Mr. Raymond at the wheel. He glanced in my direction as he passed me, waving and revving his growling engine. Then he made a sliding, one foot on the ground, half donut move. Course reversed, he waved at me again, this time goodbye as he drove off out of sight.

I did not judge Ray by the way he looked. I even wanted to give him a pass on the way he acted. Maybe he was just lonely right? But over those past few days I had decided that he had some mental deficiencies. I couldn't imagine that he was even capable of handling a motorbike, let alone be ok with the fact that he was anyway, like it or not. I thought about calling the police. What would i have said? "Hello, there is a fashion conscious old man riding a motor cycle here! Send back up!"

After seeing the sweet U turn he had pulled though I couldn't rightly complain that he was not capable of handling his machine. Hell I couldn't have done that. I decided to let the dude have his fun. One thing is certain, if I see him coming down the street wearing say..... Scuba gear perhaps, I will NOT let him walk on by. His apartment complex has a swimming pool so I have a good idea where he would be headed. One should never Scuba alone!

To Do List....

I was thinking about all the cool things in life that I have yet to do. So I decided to make a list of what I want to accomplish before I die.

Fall out of a skyscraper window and land safely on an awning. Possibly falling from that into a waiting convertible.

Catch a fish that is larger than I am. Don't want to kill it, just tire and humiliate it. Catch and release.

Start a fashion trend that sweeps the nation.

Yell fire in a crowded theater.

Lead a protest rally.

Wrestle a Bear.

Foment a Revolution.

Box a Kangaroo.

Be pursued in a Low Speed chase.

Jump from/onto a moving car.

Learn to affect a perfect English accent, win Brittan's Got Talent, then stun the world by revealing that I am an American.

Roll down a hill in a barrel.

Teach a Parrot to swear.

Visit the Great Wall of China. While there, fight off a band of ninjas.

Through a case of mistaken identity, become President for a day.

Free a Slave.

Foil a Terrorist attack.

Fight an Alien.

Hack into my bank's data base. Give myself five dollars.

Come from behind to win the Tour de France.

Own a bicycle worth as much as my car.

Own a car worth as much as my house.

Acquire a cool one word nickname. Perhaps Spike. Or Snake.

Play Russian Roulette. With a Russian.

Have a drink named after me.

Call my stock broker and dramatically scream, "SELL! SELL!"

Tame a lion with only a three legged stool and charm.

Get kicked off of a reality show.

Get struck by lightning. Twice.

Get a hole in one.

Be a benevolent cult leader.

Host a morning radio show.

Accept a diploma while naked under my gown.

Ask a policeman if I can have a bite of his hot-dog.

Stand up in court and state strongly, "I object!"

Hang a jury.

Badger a witness until he/she confesses on the stand.

Grow a prize winning pumpkin.

Set explosives and demolish a building.

Punch a horse, but only if he deserved it.

Fumble the football to kill a game winning drive.

Coach Fresno State to a National Title.

Become and International Jewel Thief.

Make love. Not war.

Win a B.E.T award.

Land an airplane after the pilot dies mid flight.

Design a phone that JUST makes phone calls.

Walk on stilts.

Ride in a sidecar while wearing aviator goggles.

Armed with a sledge hammer, free the lobsters at Red Lobster. Grab some Cheddar biscuits on the way out.

Make the perfect potato salad.

Go "All-IN" at the World Series of Poker.

Challenge the Devil to a Duel.

Nap on a hammock strung between two palm trees.

Make a snow angel on the Moon.

Have a foot race with a horse.

Become the tallest jockey to win the Kentucky Derby.

Sing in the rain.

Break up a bar fight.

Step into quicksand.

Swing over a roaring river on a vine.

Take a walk wearing only a fig leaf.

Rescue a hostage.

Receive an Indecent Proposal.

Deliver a letter via Pony Express.

Win an Oscar and send a Native American to accept as my proxy.

Smoke a Peace Pipe.

Sit on the couch and think about things I COULD be doing.......Finally. A good starting point.

If you have any cool goals of your own please let me know. I would be VERY interested.

Battle Stations!

Quite a few years ago I used to enjoy a website called WorlWideWebFights (WWWF). The good folks there would hold theoretical battles between any number of pop culture icons. I loved that crap. With apologies to them I am about to stage my own battle.....

Today's bout will be between those two titans of teen-pop music. I give you.....Madonna Vs. Brittney Spears. Our commentators today will be Brett, on behalf of Madonna, and J'main, who supports Ms. Spears. I will be your humble moderator.

J'main: Well now Brett, this could be a very short night. The last time we saw Britt and Madge together they were swapping spit on stage at the MTV awards. It's safe to assume that Madge would be...shall we say Trusting of Britt. Ms. Spears will invite Ms. Donna to carpool with her to the teen choice awards. As we know, Britt does not ensure that passengers are properly secured by safety belts (or infant car seats). We also know that she speeds. One well timed stomp on her break pedal will send Madge through the windshield. Game over. And it will all look like an accident.

Brett: J'main....tsk tsk. You clearly have not done your homework. Madonna, if you didn't know, is Italian American. She is, shall we say, in the "Family" She of course would not like to speak of that. Still, members of that group are not very trusting. They know all too well the damage that can be done to a person with just a simple, innocuous automobile. She will send a couple of Goomba...I mean friends over to inspect the car before hand. I know you think your plan is so air tight because they will find nothing unusual. This will only make Madonna more suspicious. Luckily, she has been preparing for this for a few years now. You might have heard her interviewed recently. Did you notice the faux British accent? Or the hat that looks like it belongs to a balding Cuban cab driver? Clearly if this ride to Teen Choice were to ever take place, Madonna would be the chauffeur. Driving Miss Britney.

Once they get to the venue, Madonna, who is known for her ability to constantly reinvent herself, will don a disguise, probably a gay back up dancer, and then the waiting game begins. She will bide her time until Britt has her time on stage. When Britt floats back stage on one of those crazy harnesses that she seems to love so much, and, forgetting her microphone is live announces that "ouch! my [vagina] is caught"

Just the moment Madge is waiting for. She will attack Brittney, pummelling her to death. Good night sweet princess. Long live the Queen.

J'main: Clearly you have not heard of a little thing called the Internet. On this Internet, you can see a NOT so little thing called Brittney Spears' vagina. I believe that Stretch Armstrong comes to mind. When attacked by Madge, she will grab her Match Game skinny microphone, pull back her labial Bow String.....and shoot Madge squarely in the chest. Her name IS Spears for godsake.

Britt: Please. Do you really want to argue vaginal elasticity? Madonna has been servicing the steroid enhanced ROD of Alex Rodriguez. I don't think you want to battle on that front.

J'main: Point for you Britt. Madge is definitely the bigger whore. But she did not have the technical skills or the Deep Down Rage to do what was necessary to win. Maybe it was Alzheimer's. Game Set Match.

What J'main did not realize was that Madonna had been saved by Jesus. Her adopted son from south America. He had given her a Solid steel Saint Christopher Medal, which had taken the brunt of Britt's microphone attack. I would have to give this match to Brittney Spears. She gets points for being on the offense and also for ingenuity . If you have any further commentary or suggestions for other match ups, feels free to leave a comment.