Sincerity

Last night with the bright sun in my face I sat at a table in a ritzy subdivision and handed out brochures for the company I work for to all the pretty passing people. It seems the latest trend in shoes is long elf style with squared toes for guys and some kind of weaved straw effect sandal/shoe with a five inch solid heel for the women. Men don't pay as much attention to their shoes as women do but there were more vendors than customers and the chunks of steak on a toothpick were cold and too salty. I saw families coming out of $900,000 homes with 14 windows just in the back come over to the table where the guy was having a drawing for a free mounted wide screen TV and have all six people fill in a card like they need a new TV in that home. So the guy waited for them to leave and then removed five of those six cards from the drum. No fair having six chances while everybody else has one and he looks at me and says "I hate people. Twenty years in sales and all I know is I hate people." He didn't mind the women though. Guess they're not people.

I stand there forcing people to put my brochure into the goody bag they get on the way in and answer a nervous question. I've been on this side of the table too much myself. I wonder if people can tell, beyond my concern for their answer, that I really have no interest in bothering them. I wonder if the other sales people can tell how insincere I am about the whole thing. Well no probably not visible through their own insincerity.

There's another overly salty piece of blah corn fed beef on a stick. It's all there is for dinner so what the hell. I'm getting a good tan though because there's the sun just about to go behind the trees and it's reflecting off a plastic-coated sign from a vendor to my right, right into my face. So I don't need one of those chin reflectors to get all the wrinkles tanned as well. It's coming to me automatic.

There's the over-officious guy in the light brown boat shoes correcting everybody about their own product because he just knows. And one of the kids who filled out one of the six cards nonchalantly walks by and drops yet another card in the container and keeps walking. Big grin from the TV guy. Like we didn't see that and didn't recognize the kid out of the whole eight people who were here in the last hour. "I hate people," he shrugs.

Being a salesperson behind a table or a booth is something I haven't done in a few years and I'd forgotten it's a subculture and you see the same people at the same trade shows and whatever the hell this show was. Three or four of these folks know each other. And the woman who laughs at every. last. stinking. thing. seems to know everyone, including me. Somehow. We did two million last year / Our top earner retired and there was a scramble for his accounts / and did you know that blah is bopping blah after the NAHB show? Who the hell ARE these people? I never knew any of them even when I was doing it.

I'm the wrong mindset and the wrong idea. I don't have a pocket full of dirty jokes. My teeth aren't perfect. Yet even my little pot belly isn't as bad as some of these guys. Holy crap.

Can anybody tell I don't want to be here? I make contacts and make sales and people are happy with me and I hate it. Sometimes I wonder just what the hell...

Low Muzzle Velocity

By the way, that little Amazon ad over in the sidebar (you may not see depending on your browser settings) isn't there to make me rich but to give you a direct link to a book I recommended in a post a year or so ago. What's funny is that when I first put it up the book was advertised at over twenty bucks and now it looks like you can get it for under five! I'm not turning commercial. I used to sell cigars at another blog about restaurants and stuff like that and that actually made a little money for me, but I hate success so I changed venues. Anyway if you are looking for new favorite writers to add to your library that book will introduce you to them.

I have some kind of sleep disorder that really bugs me sometimes. It's usually difficult for me to get to sleep unless I am exhausted because my brain just doesn't want to shut off. I've tried all the stuff and techniques and there's no hope, so I've learned to live with it. But every once in a while my body seems to want to "catch up" and this is what happened to me yesterday. I conked out before 6PM and didn't wake up until 9:30 PM. That was great, except that meant that turning around and going to sleep last night right away wasn't in the cards. I remember seeing 4 AM on the clock and drifted a little eventually. Tonight the only answer is to go home and resist the desire to lay down until it's actually sleep time so that I can reshuffle the deck back to its abnormal normalcy. Pleh...

Speaking of which, what the hell is up with that? Who the hell's idea was it to have shit chit set up this way? Wake up and immediately get ready and go to work. Who says it has to be that way? I mean I know - I've worked - all about night shifts and all that, but this idea of you wake up, you pound down some coffee and you get out there and do stuff right away is stupid. It's odd how conventions get set up sometimes.

Sometimes writing fiction is like shoveling sludge. It seems like I've been going through a blasting rock phase for months now, putting down one painful sentence at a time. Probably related to why I have sleep issues. My thing is - if I end up at a dead end or something just isn't right or I can't imagine how to get to where I want to be from the corner I put myself in, that answer has always been to go back to the last part I liked and jettison everything that came after it no matter how much that means goes away. In the end I am certain I write 40,000 words just to get 10,000. I find the last spot I'm happy with and set the cursor there and hit enter twelve times or so. This sends the unhappy material far below the screen. So I always end up with many wrong directions and dead ends at the end of the paper that get deleted before submitting anywhere. But I keep them in case I get back to them from a different place or they suddenly become relevant to the story again. Why I'm telling you this is a complete mystery. Not like it's all that.

There was an article I'm too lazy to link to that talked about a study that showed that organic produce does not contain any more antioxidants than conventional produce and the speculation was you're paying more to get the same thing. What the article failed to mention is that there are people who buy the organic stuff to minimize their exposure to chemicals and pesticides. There was no mention of that at all. Makes you wonder who sponsored the "test" and sent out the "press release," don't it?

Anyway, man I love this stuff.

Big Hard Sun

In the great big history of the world a lot of stuff has happened. People do bad things to each other. I know of a web site that has photographs of dead guys from the First World War, including the dead rape victim, that have been "forbidden" for some time, that is proof positive that we can do some pretty outrageous things to one another and somehow figure it's alright.

I'm pretty much a putz. My mind doesn't go for conspiracies or secrets. It doesn't look for clues. I was recently told that my blog and I are "in our own little world" and that is very very true. Willfully so, I guess. The world washes by like a river and if I see a colorful stone I try to pull it up. Because of that I miss the tsunami once in a while - but hey - I get a lot of pretty rocks. So sue me.

I am quite sure that a hundred years after I'm dead there will be lies told and people treating each other shabby and murders happening and wars just like it happened a hundred years before I was born and way before that. And I'm sure I did my own shabby things along the way. I know I have - though not the killing part. I don't look for the story and I'd make a terrible newspaper reporter. My instincts lead me back inside, and I live in my head probably close to 24/7. So a lot of stuff can go on and I'm usually oblivious. And most of the time I remain oblivious even when the spotlights are set up and the dead body is bathed in white. Also I am not very sentimental about most things, and what I am sentimental about I try very hard to keep to myself.

And keeping to myself can be a problem. Sometimes it comes off as callousness, and sometimes it comes off as being aloof. I don't wish people ill - usually. And sometimes I'm more embarrassed for the person who did something really mean and stupid than anything else. I think that's because, having done some incredibly mean and outrageously stupid things myself, I remember what it was like to be so deeply mortified you wanted to just crawl into a hole and pee yourself to death. And I feel bad for the guy who is going to be feeling that somewhere up the road. It's living hell.

Which brings me to the issue of the guy who doesn't feel mortified or embarrassed or ripped apart by decency and conscience. A lot of folks I know - okay maybe everybody but me and six other people - use that as a reasonable measuring stick to determine whether or not someone is redeemable or not. If there is no display of conscience, if there is no change, if there is a refusal to make up for something, the person in question gets to have the label "jerk" - or worse - and that's pretty much that. But still and all / and all and still / even if I've been the one "wronged" (which in my world is pretty hard to do since I'm usually so out of it I probably don't notice I've been insulted), I have a hard time getting to that place, and am often the last person to realize that YOU are the Farco Barnes Head who killed my dog after all!

What I'm saying is that, sometimes, the pain you're about to cause yourself when and if your conscience breaks in - if it's real - is going to be pretty close to the torture you're probably exactly in line for. And that's going to be pretty Farcoing miserable in spades. It's happened to me and I wouldn't wish it on anybody.

The world. It ain't pretty. And there are - it would seem - good reasons to be in one's own little world after all. Because the bigger world out there can sure be one huge king-sized Farco.

My iPod Is A Million Times More, etc... Monday

Remember the rules... My iPod is on random and the first 5 that come up get listed. You rate and I read. Only stipulation? You have to AT LEAST listen up to the "hook". Knee-jerk "nahs" don't count.

A= I'd hit it
B= Good One
C= Better than just ok
D= Meh-be
E= Yawn
F= Please no more
G= What the hell is THIS crap??


1. Happens to be my motto.
2. The Voice.
3. Never Fear!
4. Saw him in person = unforgettable.
5. The Mescaleros.

I Was A Good Boy

I didn't participate in Everybody Draw Muhammad Day . I understood the reasons behind the day and I also believe that it is a free speech issue. I don't think the threat of a handful of thugs to behead me or blow me up is a good enough reason to not participate. If anything when someone threatens you with violence in order to keep you from doing something that's exactly the time to make sure you do it because what else is that but bullying, and the best way to combat a bully is to not let them get their way. So I'm proud of my friends and the people I didn't know who treated the threats and warnings for what they were - childishness.

The irony of it all was enough to make anyone think the point was made, right? Well irony is something that is always lost on the brain dead and the fanatical because the last thing a fanatic can afford is the luxury of self-criticism. To second guess oneself when you're supposed to have total certainty about something is a dickey bird short of fanaticism. Question something and the club tosses you out, cupcake. So the fact that people were threatening violence to people who were demonstrating against people who threaten violence got kind of lost on the more pig-headed minions of Islam. Oh wait, did I just make a pun?

On the other hand the scheduled day did have a downside because though it targeted the 1 in every 250,000+ Muslims who would actually do harm to someone for making a drawing of Muhammad, it sort of put the other 249,999+ Muslims in an awkward place and - really - is as much an insult to their sensibilities without any good reason that it's enough to make a thinking person hesitate. After all, those who were silent probably also struggled with the incongruity; they also believe in free speech - especially the American Muslims, but they also understand the theological underpinnings of the tradition. In fact the "no image" tradition isn't just in Islam. It also exists in Christianity, except it's one of those many little things in the Bible that people tend to overlook - like stoning people who work on a Sunday or being forceful with your slaves. There isn't supposed to be an image of God anywhere in Christianity, but he's up on the ceiling touching Adam's hand and - if Jesus is the physical representation of God in the flesh - there's little Gods hanging all over the place. Some are even around people's necks. I guess people are too busy trying to find ways to condemn homosexual marriage, though it's a mystery to me why some edicts are remembered while others are conveniently passed by.

And the point is that the underlying reason that physical representations of the Prophet are not to be made is actually sane. It is a precaution against idol worship and that precaution also serves to keep people from placing Muhammad above God, which should not be done. In the mainstream of Islam this is how it is seen and this is how it is observed. And - truly - it is a bare handful of thugs - many of whom would be the moral (or, perhaps, ridiculous) equivalent of our own so-called "Religious Right" in that the key to their belief is strict adherence and the state-sponsored purge - who would actually go out and physically attack someone for making this image.

So based on my own self-criticism I didn't participate, and am even waiting to write about it or mention it officially until the "day" is almost over.

And then there was the self-criticism of the self-criticism. So there's this...



Have a nice weekend! May the peace and tranquility of God be upon you.

Four Things That Make Me Go....

When in doubt, post something about stuff that pisses you off. Pet Peeves, they calls it. I have a ton because, you know, people are irritating. My wife is convinced I would make a GREAT hermit. So long as I had stuff to read... I wouldn't dispute her. The sad part of that is that I often get tired of people who are actually friends so, don't get too close.

But there are some things that piss me the hell off and for no particular reason I'm listing them.

(note: piss and hell are not bad words. Piss used to be but it's okay now because you can say "pee" on TV while I still remember a time when that wouldn't be. And you can say hell on TV too so it can't be bad.)

1. Phony Farco Barnes* questions at the end of a blog post. Sometimes people who are full of chit** want to make sure they aren't caught being full of chit by putting a furtive "What makes YOU this way?" or "What do YOU do about that" question at the end of their chitty post so it doesn't appear to be all about THEIR fat jazz*** - which we already know it is anyway. Maybe it's not so much the question, but then when you answer they don't bother to respond. Reason? Just another Farco Barnesian trick to get you to read their chit.

2. VEE'-hickle. People...... the word "vehicle" is pronounced vē-ə-kəl or - phoenetically - veeya-kul. Now I realize that the dictionaries in the last few years have allowed the trailer trash, Appalachian, ignorant mid-western city dweller lug nut version (VEEhickle as in Popcicle) into their lexicon, but I remain convinced that they did that as an act of appeasement in the manner of Chamberlain allowing Hitler to waltz into the Sudetenland en route to swallowing Czechoslovakia, the fact that I have just violated Reductio ad Hitlerum notwithstanding. What is next? Myoo-neh-SIPP-ul for Municipal? I rest my case.

3. It is what it is... It is what it is. I thought that's what it was but it turned out to be what THEY wanted so, you know, hey - it is what it is. This is the single most overused bit of frustrated chit going in the world today. And if you think I'm the only one who notices that "it is what it is" is bovichit just Google it. Go 'head. I'll wait here. OR... you could look into what it looks like to the technologically astute or ultra-observant people in the world. See what they think of the phrase by looking at the Urban Farco Barnes Dictionary definition of the useless, throw-away, catch-all, cliche-ridden, pointless, non-answer catch phrase, paying especial attention to definition two wherein the example relates...

J: It troubles me that you continue to put cyanide in my Yoohoo even after I've asked you to stop.

B: It is what it is.

4. Decimate. They were decimated. The barbarians DECIMATED Rome. Well, no, they didn't. And they weren't. And it isn't. Because "decimated" - you rube from Picayune - means "to reduce by one tenth." One tenth... as in "deca" or "ten" like in "decade". But people think "decimated" somehow related to "decapitated"... EXCEPT IT DOESN'T. And college professors, and people being interviewed as some kind of "experts", and The History Channel Just Farco Barnesically LOVE to use the term "decimate" in place of something that actually makes sense. You mean OBLITERATE. Or, sans hyperbole, just "destroyed." And "destroyed" ought to be enough. But No. You want to go beyond it. You want to make it HUMONGOUS, so the only thing you can think of is decimated. But unless you're only talking about a small fraction -THIS IS NOT YOUR FARCO BARNESIAN WORD!!!

That's all I have. I can't go further, though there are more and you can trust me on this. But I don't want my head to explode in your lap. We'll continue this another day.

So..... What are YOU'RE pet peeves?

AHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. See what I did thar? "You're" instead of "your" and refer to 1 while you're at it? Did you see that? AHHHHHHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!

_____________________________________
* Farco Barnes - forevermore the substitute on this blog for the f word because my wife does not like me, a grandpa, using said terminology.
** Chit - the other word's substitute.
*** jazz - posterior

iPod Is More... you know etc. Monday

Mixed media because LALA is changing things up a little bit and actually doesn't have everything I needed. Anyway a few of these go to YouTube... sorry.

Remember the rules? My iPod is on random and the first 5 that come up get listed. You rate and I read. Only stipulation? You have to AT LEAST listen up to the "hook". Knee-jerk "nahs" don't count.

A= I'd hit it
B= Good One
C= Better than just ok
D= Meh-be
E= Yawn
F= Please no more
G= What the hell is THIS crap??

OK, here's today. I warned you about the variety...

1. One two three four five
2. Some things you can't cover up.
3. She goes...
4. Here I go and I don't know why.
5. I used to care.

Sometimes...

"That's right. I'm just a fella now. I ain't no different than anyone else no more."

I have a lot of admiration for people who aren't quick to fire off an opinion; who wait and are patient before they answer whether it drives the other person crazy or not. Too bad. They're just careful with words because words are important. No more shooting from the hip stuff.

I admire folks who always turn the conversation away from themselves and put the focus on to the other person. Like the kind of uncle who is always asking how you're doing in your life, not going on and on about what he's doing like it's the only true thing, as if you care. People who always show an honest interest in others.

People who turn away any real or perceived slights; who just let that kind of thing just roll off their backs because they're that self-contained and at ease.

Folks who have a steady hand and a certain routine in their life and yet I'm buttered all over the place; closing in on 60 and still trying to figure out how I'm supposed to do this.

I don't want to be talking about politics and get drawn into all that crap anymore. I don't want to take the bait or set the trap. It doesn't matter if I'm right about anything. Who wants to be right all the time? Who can be?

I'm tired of being tied to what I was or how I was in other times. I don't want to be talking about the past any more. I'm tired of having the past tie me up and rip me apart. And I'm tired of having to prove myself all the time.

I need to work on the quiet better.

Shotgun - shoot em 'for he runs now

Yes the air displacement chart barely visible for a reason on the right says 206. But I'm using Las Vegas as an excuse. Spago's, late night hot dogs, lotsa vodka cranberries & no running. Now it's the real world again.

Almond milk. No lactose, no soy-yech aftertaste, no goats. It's just that it tastes like skim milk, which is not among my favorite things. But I'm giving it a try and it's the closest thing to milk that isn't milk and still have benefits. Honest, you don't want to know me after dairy products. Can you say Siberian gasworks? That too much info there? Sorry.

We REALLY wanted to catch Penn & Teller in Vegas but the two nights we had open they were on a short hiatus. Isn't that the damn dungaree luck in the world? The consierge at Caesar's where we were saying said tickets would not be a problem, then when she checked her schedule she saw they were off. Farco Barnes!

Yes I said Farco Barnes. I'm trying to clean up my act after getting chastised by the Mrs. yesterday for my bad words. So I'll try to do better. Chip!

I'm not completely against genetically engineered food, if only because it's development has - in the past 20-30 years - been the prime reason larger famines haven't occurred. And it is true that pigs get colds just like humans so antibiotics help them from getting sicker. But my turn to local / organic / pesticide free / grass fed / pasture raised is a personal choice. I'm pretty sure that what they call "sustainable" farming can't "sustain" as many people as factory farms can. The debate is hidden costs. Even when I have a taste for a slider and gobble it up I know this CAN'T be good for you. So though I have this opinion about the quality and origin of what I eat (they estimate a fast food burger has the meat of at least 200 cows in it - not so bad until you think about that for a while), I'm not about to go fanatic on anybody else. And - still - if I want a damn Big Mac I'm going to get one. End of story.

So I'm playing the penny slots while we're waiting for the shuttle to arrive and take us to the airport. All I've done is sit by the pool and play penny slots and eat and drink & that was the trip. On the gambling side - I don't know, one day I was on the losing side and the other day a winner, but pretty much a little down on the bottom line as we're sitting there. And then I hit this $106 winning spin on a fifty cent bet. I don't know if that got me ahead of the game - I honestly wasn't keeping track - but that was a good cue to wrap it up. The old race track saw: "If you want to leave a winner, when you win - leave." I cashed in the voucher and stood by the shuttle station. Then we got upgraded to 1st class on both flights - Las Vegas to Phoenix and Phoenix to Chicago. Yeah. I never want to see coach again. Call me an elitist. Like I give a Farco Barnes.

Gahbless Mickey Rourke

This is a warning right now. There's going to be a lot of swearing in this and if you don't like that sort of thing come back tomorrow or the next day and don't read this. I'm not kidding. If you don't like language on the raw side without any boundaries this is not for you.

You were warned.

The other day Mickey Rourke let fly about his opinion regarding what "Hollywood" is like these days. He said what he said as he wanted to say it right here. But I'll quote some of it now...

“You can be less than mediocre and be a fucking movie star,” Mickey said. “I have respect for very few actors and actresses. Some of them get a lot of acclaim but just because their movie made $200 million at the box office, they still suck. I got no respect for them and I used to let them know it. It was important for me to put that aside and go, ‘You know what? This is a business. If you kiss the right ass and you get lucky on a movie or two, you could last 10 years.’ So, now, I just keep my mouth shut and pet my Chihuahuas.”

Damn straight.

They got fuckin machines you can sing into in front of everybody at a concert with your big name and nipples and even if - in real life - you actually sound like a plop of shit falling into the toilet it will make your voice beautiful. Robert De Niro and Jack Nicholson have been phoning in their shit for thirty years now and everybody still thinks they're the two greatest things since the Big Fuckin Bang. Doesn't matter that Nicholson is a fat ass who now gets his whole rep for fucking twenty year old airheads and is "cool" because he likes basketball. In ACTING he hasn't done shit since Cuckoo's Nest and what's more he knows it and doesn't give a fuck because he can demand the millions anyway and we're stupid enough to give it over.

Doesn't matter De Niro is the same fucking Italian New York guy in every one of his last six hundred thousand forty eight movies and hasn't actually acted since Taxi Driver - he's got a mole on his face and he sounds like your father and blah blah blah blah big fuckin blah. He can't act for shit anymore and that's that. I don't care what the hell kind of movie festival he puts on, he couldn't actually BE in any of those movies because they don't need a type cast New York Italian guy. Bull fucking shit.

When I was coming up they used to say a good acting job was when you forgot the actor and just saw the character. De Niro and Nicholson rely on you not doing that because otherwise they couldn't play the same fuckin prick every movie and get away with it. I know I know - it's COOL to like them because they're so COOL. But as actors they suck the big phantom cock and laugh about the dollars they can command because people still buy their shit.

Be different every time out. Be the character in the story, not a cliche of yourself. That was what was taught to me. You know who does this? Meryl Streep does this. That's why her fellow actors love her and why people out in the real world are bored with her, because she's doing it right and they're used to mechanical Joe and Jane, fake voice machines and plastic food full of antibiotics and steroids. Phony rules, and most of the young culture thinks that's how it is supposed to be. What's authentic is boring. They want to see what they expect, and there are plenty of shitheads like Nicholson and De Niro and the horseface what'shername from Pretty Woman and any number of "singers" and writers going rote because that's how we like it.

Oh well RW - Jesus - they're millionaires so they must know what they're doing. They must be doing it right. --- Oh yeah? If you add up his gold and art Herman Goering was one of the richest men in Europe when his pals were gutting and burning the fuckin Jews under Hitler's bullshit. Did his numbers make what he did right? Fuck you for even thinking that the numbers in your bank account justify what you do. You may be exactly part of the goddam problem, Mr and Ms 21st century too-Cool for your shit.

Sean Penn is the only real actor who goes deep and brings it all out into the open. One of the greatest working actors going. But people don't see that because he can't keep his stupid mouth shut and he seems to like to suck dictators' cock as if he's some kind of Ezra Pound. Too bad. If he'd shut his big fuckin yap people might actually notice he's one of the few guys left still doing ACTUAL acting. Same goes for Hillary Swank and this I will never understand - a modern day actress who doesn't care what the camera angle makes her look like but people don't like her shtick so obviously she's not to be regarded as anything great. Well fuck you, you superficial star crossed piece of shit, if you can't separate the personality from the work it's no wonder you also probably think Sarah Palin is going to save your stupid ass trailer park country from itself.

But that's us all over. That's America 2010. We don't know what the truth is anymore. We eat shit food we don't know where it comes from or how it got here, we think people who go through the motions are great because we give them lots of money to get off their ass once in a while and real talent gets pushed to the wayside because we don't like their shtick.

Is it any wonder we don't know who we are or what's what anymore?

God bless Mickey Fuckin Rourke for saying the goddamm truth. The Pope Of Greenwich Village speaks. The Summer Wind baby. But I'll say this and then I'll be quiet. Because he's right about another thing - and after this I'm just going to keep my mouth shut and pet my Chihuahuas. Too.

Arf this.

"There Is No Way Your Inattention Will Stop Him"

I fret that you're forgetting some important things. I worry about the loss of cultural memory. Important stuff like that. It isn't enough to worry if you've never appreciated Jimmy Durante or Harold Lloyd - they're at least obtainable - no, I have to worry about names some of us never had that have now been lost. Work that one over.

Luckily in 2002 quite under my own radar a book was published to help this problem and it is here where I recommend it to you, though I know full well that absolutely none of you are going to go out and get it but as is said about one of the subjects of this book by Jonathan Williams - "there is no way your inattention will stop him".

It is a series of vignettes - which is important because everything has to be eminently readable by those of us who have had our attention spans completely fucked over and ass reamed since the coming of the instant gratification that's been shoveled into our guts by the internet anymore - of seemingly unrelated yet related reflections on people and places. It is not only painters and poets and photographers and sculptors and musicians and folk art masters that are put on easy display for you, but also some grave sites and an occasional oddity or three just to keep you on your toes.

For example did you know the grave of Vincent Van Gogh is just over a cemetery wall from the wheat field he blew his brains out in? Or that the head stone of e e cummings is slowly weathering into a blur - a living monster metaphor if there ever was one?

There's a picture and small blurb here of Simon Cutts, the greatest living poet you never heard of...

will the lady
who left
the imitation
snake skin
vanity case
in the cafeteria
please come to
the guards van

There's a photo of Ezra Pound, angry at the world, probably still a philosophical fascist, from his "silent period" when he spoke with no one but a handful of confidants and then only a word at a time.

And I see photographs taken by the author of Thomas Merton, William Carlos Williams, and Martha Nelson - whose folk art dolls she made because she was too poor to have store-bought ones were stolen and franchised into becoming the "Cabbage Patch" phenomenon (she did get a settlement and the bastard industrialized versions you grew up with are still perfect shit in comparison).

There's the graves of Jelly Roll Morton and Charlie Parker and also James Thurber's with a whimsical note.

There's unforgettable charcters like St. EOM ("Back in the old days a man would just want to get his rocks off. Now he says: LOVE ME!... Shit."), Outsider Art giants like Vollis Simpson and Elijah Pierce, a detail of a door, a picture of a dome, a sedate photo of Henry Miller with his ancient erotic nature all calm and quiet, a photo of Lorine Niedecker (who was probably Emily Dickenson the last time out) in horn-rimmed glasses, and a beautiful picture of the dead-too-soon, lithe and obvious warming grace of Sandra Fisher which alone is worth the price of admission if only as an introduction to the seeking out of her work which you will surely do after meeting her.

It is a collection of people and places that Williams, the intrepid champion of the underdog and the marginalized, knew and supported in his fantastic life. Except when it isn't, and is just pictures of the graves of people you could never have met but whose memory needs to be returned to you. And I am FLOORED by the amount of baseball fans amongst these esoteric originals.

I highly recommend this book you won't buy. It is called "A Palpable Elysium. Portraits of Genius and Solitude." And don't worry about the off-size (somewhere between a large paperback and a coffee-table book), coffee table books don't have words like "fucking" or pictures of guys the writer would stay gay for in them. You won't get it. But you really should, you know.

The Lure Of Faces And Places

My very good blog-buddy Faiqa Kahn was musing about places she would go if she could just go and that's that. She mentioned seeing stops along the ancient Silk Road, and what a thing that would be to see, wouldn't it? A place or a series of places that have been used for human communication between many cultures, races and languages through the ages. Maybe the key connection between the many spheres of human influence and growth going back before Muhammad (pbuh), before Christ, even maybe before Moses? Not to mention a route that crosses the heart of the lands influenced also by the Buddha. Faiqa's reverie there was an inspired bit of reflection.

Then Earl wrote a piece along the lines of the question - what would you do if you could do something for which there were no repercussions? And a good many people piped in about their ideas - most of which touched on one form of self-liberation or another. We all seem to live in a world of constrictions imposed from within and without. We know right from wrong. We know what the responsible thing to do is. But we can say... "just once..."

A person with whom I've broke bread with several times now, who is tentatively making a foray into new territory in his life, just wrote about his recent trip to Atlanta to attend a gathering of friends and a wedding. ---Note to people who haven't seen Adam's blog (all 6 of you) please understand that the lead-banner/logo is a PARODY. Just sayin'.--- But revelations can be seen happening to him just the same as they would for any other human seeing something new.

And many of you who read here are already very familiar with Dave Simmer, whose work in the first place and penchant for exploration in the second place have led him to -I think? - every continent there is except Antarctica by now. Not to mention his many experiences with slow drivers between here and Wenatchee. How many of us would like to have seen half the places he's seen (and be able to take 1/3 the quality of the pictures he's taken)?

And it's true - a part of me falls into line with everything previously suggested. If I was completely unfettered and grounded no where at all there is no question you would find me in either Jost Van Dyke or Capesterre-de-Marie-Galante, if not Arles once and for all and to heck with all of you who can't bring yourself to understand and appreciate France.

And as we begin to pack for our trip to Las Vegas for a long weekend I suppose I could let my imagination run free and concoct an entire universe of wonderful places and magnificent scenarios and place myself in them with a sense of reverie that would take your (and my!) breath away.

But the truth is, my most favorite place in the world is my house, where I am six miles away from my grand-daughter, know every room I live in and I can walk blindfold every step I take. Where I can have a cigar on our modest deck in the back in the summer if I want, and have a room to set up my Christmas Train in every year. Where the lot is not so big and it seems we've been in a state of renovation now for twenty years. In the house my kids grew up in and moved out of. Where the guy behind us plays his car's audio booming bass line loud enough to hear in the FREAKIN SHOWER every day. And where I can be myself, with the person I love, no matter what has happened or will happen, for as long as I want to.

Beaches and historic routes and fabulous cathedrals and hip growing cities are wonderful. But, in the end, I'll stay here. Check back in a few years and see if that resonates.

In the meantime we're off to Las Vegas. See you on the return.

Beer Bullets

I didn't forget about iPod Monday, it will resume next week for sure.

I still have a very long way to go but didn't get a chance to run last week at all. However I still noted a 1 pound drop in weight this morning from last Monday. That seemed unusual as I was ready for worse, but I know what happened. 1 measly pound may seem insignificant but it's interesting to me in that I actually ate MORE than normal last week. The difference is - as you might expect - was what I ate. Last week I made a very concerted effort to hit a target of 30g of fiber a DAY, which was a recommendation I read for men my age. And when I tallied up what I had been doing I realized that I fell way short. What I read was based on the idea that it isn't calories from fat that hurt as much as carbs without the fiber. So I found some spelt whole wheat pasta that had... get this... 7 grams of fiber in a serving (OK I'm lucky in that I like how that stuff tastes, so sue me). I added a 1/4 cup of sunflower seeds and a small box of raisins (that is a total of 6 grams right there) to my daily intake and found a bread... Ezekiel something or other... that contains a whopping 3 grams of fiber in each damn slice. ANYway I figure if I can hit 30 a day AND do the running we may be on to something. Just sayin.

We're going to Las Vegas Wednesday so I'm assuming everything I just said in the above bullet is about to be all shot to shit.

A guy at work told me they have legalized prostitution in Las Vegas. Is that true? They do that? It's not I'm about to be a customer so don't get funny over there, I'm just amazed I'm such a naive little twerp is all. Jeeez. Is that for real? Sometimes I am amazed by just what level of insulated ignorance I have attained in my boring little life.

We didn't die from the free range chicken I cooked up this week and the free range eggs are certainly yellower with bigger yolks but I must say a more delicate flavor than I had expected. I'm a believer. After the wild-caught, spring water packed sardines and my whole 6 oz of grass fed steak I had last week I must have Omega3 coming out my ying yang.

Did you know that a regular, normal old sized can of organic salad bean mix (navies, kidneys and pintos) has 21 grams of fiber in it?? Holy crap....

"Just Another Boring Old Horse Race"

was what someone I knew said once when I tried to show this video to them, and so I turned it off and more's the pity. To be honest up until a certain point in this video it is a fairly standard race without too much to recommend it. Yeah there they go, yeah there they turn, yeah yeah ok.

But at 1:55 everything changes, and for those of us who were around in 1973 and got to see it when it happened, it's something that, sorry, has simply been impossible to forget.

The set up is easy. They ran the Kentucky Derby today, which is known as the first leg of the "Triple Crown." In 130+ years there haven't been many horses that won, in succession: The Kentucky Derby, The Preakness and the Belmont Stakes - which gives you the Triple Crown. The Derby is the marquee event, they sing "Old Kentucky Home" and blah blah blah, but the Belmont Stakes is the big test. It's the longest of the three races and comes at the end of a series of long travel and competition amongst the best 3 year old horses of the season. Famous, fast, and really good horses have run and not made it work. This is one example of a time in 1973 when it did.

I should mention that three things happen or are "caught" in this video that are all part of the Legend.

1. At 1:55 the entire race changes with breathtaking suddenness.

2. ABC (the network that televised the race) had been touting it's super-advanced high tech 1973 close-up and wide range super duper cameras, which became superfluous by the 2:10 mark in this film because what was happening the cameras were already stretched to their limit to try to catch.

and 3. at 3:40 in this clip one of the other "mythical/mystical" things that super-fans of this horse swear was happening is actually caught and run in slow-mo' namely the famous human-like, uncoached "bow to the crowd" in response to the applause. It's debated, but you tell me.

This is the equivalent of a game-winning slam dunk through four defenders. It is the equivalent of a game winning home run in the bottom of the 15th inning. It is a 109 yard touchdown run in overtime. An undeniable thumping by clearly the best in the ring. Certainty. A no-doubt about it kind of thing. Only more so.

See for yourself. And, why yes, I DO play this at the opening of every horse-racing season. So?

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you one of the greatest moments in sports, the 1973 running if the Belmont Stakes with the immortal Secretariat... LIKE A TREMENDOUS MACHINE.

No words needed. Just click the pic...