Nature's Candy

I bought some raisins. To eat as a healthy snack. The rub is that I don't like raisins, but I want to like raisins. I don't know why I want to like raisins. The idea of raisins seems intriguing and something I'm missing out on.

Over the weekend I weighed in and after rechecking my math discovered that I lost 20 lbs. since January. Collectively, Lynette and I lost 30+ lbs. within the last few months. We're getting fit and reaping the benefits. Which at this early point in the process mostly occurs in the bedroom. This is our 40th year on this planet, and 14th in marriage, and yet I can't keep my hands off my wife. I wish I could show you how much I love her, but I spare your delicate sensibilities.

So, raisins. There's a lusciousness to them that you're probably missing out on. Don't miss out on them.

Music Appreciation: Crosby, Stills, and Nash

Do or Doo-doo?

I finally started waking up before my 5:00 a.m. alarm, which means my body's clock is on board with early morning exercise. So after getting dressed in the dark and making my way down to the car my bowels had other plans. The decision was made to abort the drive to the gym and go back inside to go to the bathroom.

So this morning I'm skipping breakfast to leave room on my daily caloric intake. I sacrificed a meal to take a shit. But don't call me a hero. I'm just a man. A slowly thinning man.

Note: I'm down 17 lbs. since January.

When do the leather pants go on sale?

There was a woman in my parking garage this morning dressed head to toe in tight black leather revving a motorcycle, filling the air with intoxicating fumes of speed and sex and go fetch me a beer, boy.

Yes, ma'am.

Later, after getting out of the shower I looked in the mirror and wondered if there was anything I wore or did that made women swoon. That's when I knew it was time to dust of my over-sized, foam cowboy hat. Giddy up.

But seriously, I should buy a motorcycle. Or maybe just some new shoes.

 

Sex and Gasoline

Yesterday a young boy approached me as I walked Leia and asked if my condo building was one, giant house. I was able to see on his face that he was hoping it was, and that I was a secret hero currently in a mild-mannered disguise.

I told him the helicopter pad was on the roof and occasionally Bradley Cooper and Jimmy Fallon drop in with as many attractive women that can fit in the chopper and we spend the night driving go-carts in the indoor track. Then orgies. Lots and lots of orgies. He didn't know what an orgy was, so I glossed over that topic. Then I told him we were hiring junior butlers, but he rode off on his bike.

As I continued the dog walk, I looked at the building and envisioned it as one huge mansion. Fuck yes, I'd have an orgy go-cart room.

Doctor Hobo is IN

Went on a BBQ tour of North Carolina, got food poisoning. It ain't easy being me.

Scratch that - it is easy being me. Very easy. However, I have had plenty of practice.

Back to NC: I picked up Ross, Austin, and Mike from the metro on Friday and then we drove down  to Chapel Hill and met up with Stuart and Andy. Note: Ross's new name is Rooster and I'm Doctor Hobo. Write it down. We ate plenty of of BBQ. And I did lose a day to food poisoning. I still managed to drive a go-cart. Twice. Then promptly puked my guts out for twelve hours.

North Carolina is beautiful. It reminded me of Montana and Wyoming. I shall be returning. Oh, I shall. Honestly, I can see myself living there. The tree to human ratio is nicely imbalanced in favor of the trees, and everything is peacefully spaced far enough apart. Actually, it's very much like Wisconsin.

There can be only one

There's a guy in my office that recently started wearing Hawaiian shirts every day. And I'm a little jealous, because he looks so fucking comfortable! And it's appropriate, too, because now he'll just be the Hawaiian shirt guy in the office. Some guys can pull it off. Usually guys with substantial, prominent, lustful guts. The problem with the office Hawaiian shirt guy is that there can be only one. So, in true Highlander fashion I must fight this man (probably in the parking garage) and take his status as Hawaiian shirt guy.

Never mind. He's kind of a doofus. I don't want to be the office doofus, too. Queen probably ain't on the soundtrack for a fight between two office doofuses.

Music Appreciation: Bob Mould

Heard this on the Classic College Radio channel on SiriusXM and was immediately whipped back to college... Suddenly I had a cigarette hanging from my lips and I lit it with the Zippo Lynette gave me for one of my birthdays. She had it engraved with "JC."  The biggest thing I miss most about smoking is having that lovely, metal Zippo in my pocket all the time. Cancer kills, but smoking made me look like a fucking champion. (Stay in school, kids.)

Warm and Painful

The warm weather has arrived. And it is glorious. I plan on eating lunch outside today. I've already scouted benches and have one picked out. It's the little things in life blah blah blah blah. Is this really what I want to talk about? The weather? Ugh. Somebody flick me in the scrotum.

This is 40

Our drunkenness from Friday night was a stark reminder. Life does its best to squeeze us down into tiny, little, easily identifiable cubes, but once in a while you have to put a Doors concert on and burn all your clothes in the middle of the room as people run and fuck around it in a primitive, selfish dance of ancient rituals, where bodily fluids are used as currency and an audience judges your lustful performance. Sometimes you have to let the ghosts from your past come in and you have to offer them beer and sexual favors in exchange for a few hours of remembering who you are. I would have gladly marked my body that night, just to be able to look at the scar and be reminded that I am not who most people think I am.

My X-Rayed Chub

I just bought a plane ticket to Minneapolis. Then realized I haven't flown in years. Years! From what I understand, there's x-ray machines now that allow the TSA to view my naked penis, and tiny government-sanctioned nano robots that enter my body by burrowing under my eyelids. Because, hey, any one of us could be a Mexican drug mule. Or worse, a terrorist finally exacting his revenge on Minneapolis.

Great. I used the T-word. I just sent several red flags up at some secret basement email surveillance center and now when I try to check in at the airport next month I'll be "randomly" selected to have my rectum scraped for unpatriotic, anti-American cargo. My ass is always up to no good.

But seriously, are they gonna see me naked? Because I'm a grower, not a shower!

Primavera

By Louise Gluck

Spring comes quickly: overnight
the plum tree blossoms,
the warm air fills with bird calls.

In the plowed dirt, someone has drawn a picture of the sun
with rays coming out all around
but because the background is dirt, the sun is black.
There is no signature.

Alas, very soon everything will disappear:
the bird calls, the delicate blossoms. In the end,
even the earth itself will follow the artist's name into oblivion.

Nevertheless, the artist intends
a mood of celebration.

How beautiful the blossoms are—emblems of the resilience of life.
The birds approach eagerly.


(Note: In college I submitted a book of poetry for publication and Louise Gluck was the judge. Her rejection letter hung on my bathroom wall and I looked at it every time I took a shit.)

Canvases

How do you teach ambition? Do we tell our children that it's important to win. Or do we emphasize participation? Do we give trophies to everyone just for showing up? Or do we value first place above all else?

The world I grew up in made me feel like a peasant when the high school quarterback walked past us in the hallway. Or when the smartest kid in the class always made the honor roll. How do we handle mediocrity? Or, what is mediocrity?

We can't all be special, can we? ("You're unique, just like everybody else!") My parents taught me that the most important thing in life was to get a stable job. Graduate and then get a job. "A stable one." They probably assumed I'd learn all the other stuff on my own like exploration, curiosity, and love. The most artistic thing in our house was a small replica painting of DiVinci's Last Supper.  When it came time to choose a musical instrument in 5th Grade, my parents gave me my older brother's used clarinet, because they probably didn't want to spend money on a new, cooler instrument (like the saxophone!) that I would eventually give up anyway.

I ended up quitting the clarinet just like my parents predicted, but not before earning Second Chair.

I worry about nurturing my son in ways that won't subconsciously push him one way or another. Truthfully, my parents wanted me to graduate and find a stable job. There's no room for musicians and poets in their world. They didn't say it, but it was taught. It wasn't until I reached a college-level class before I discovered my love for prose. How sad is that? I go through it in my head the things my parents could have done differently to nurture my literary awareness. It would have taken some creativity, because I was a terrible student. When it came to creativity I was left to my own devices, usually involving Wookies in galaxies far, far away.

I owe a lot to my parents. I don't know many people nowadays who had to start working at a young age  to earn enough money to buy their first car and pay for their own car insurance. I did. I never received a car as a gift, but my blue collar upbringing taught me how to take care of me and mine no matter what. My parents taught me how to survive. And I'll be forever grateful. But I don't want my son to accidentally discover late in life that he was a poet all along.

Adventures in First World

Chapter One: Dead or Alive

So I just spent an exorbitant amount of money on a new wallet. Well, exorbitant might be an exaggeration - I've never actually purchased a wallet before. Always just used the wallets given to me by distant relatives at awkward Christmas parties. "Aunt who?"

But I saw this company online that had some stylish looking wallets and I dug in. Why not, right? Well, now I can't decide if I want to keep the new wallet. Once you spend near one-hundred dollars on something that probably should only cost about twenty-five or thirty, it becomes bigger than it should.

So, now I have the wallet in hand and I don't know if it suits my needs. On one hand all my usual wallet items won't fit. But on the other hand, it'd be nice to trim the fat. Here's the thing: I would never give this bullshit one second of thought if it didn't cost me almost one-hundred dollars!

Meanwhile, there's really nothing wrong with my old, worn-in Dockers brand wallet that's been molding itself to the shape of my upper thigh for years. It's a bit bulky and heavy, I suppose. It works like a wallet should. And that's what's important, right? But this new one... wow, it sure is stylish.

Is it wrong to trade up from old, worn-in to new, stylish? The philosophers (and lovers) among you can discuss. Get back to me with your results.

Opening Day

Today is the day we get our beloved baseball back. Thank God for the slow movement of time which has brought us through the chill of winter to this glorious day of days: The day our Nationals retake the field and start all over again, hopefully to reach the playoffs again

Today is the day we declare our excitement for things. Spring is here and coats are disappearing. Soon cute girls will bare their legs and feet as they flip-flop down these DC streets. Swimming pools will open and my son will discover the enormous joy of swimming on a hot summer day. Grills will cook burgers and fill the neighborhood with delicious smoke.

Today is the day.