SONG FOR THE DAY, I CAN'T LOOK AT HIS LONG RED HAIR...

WRITERS BLOCK

Tonight I have started then erased new posts about six times now. I always have questions and thoughts about life and reality, and nonsense. And I tried to get them into words tonight and just couldn't get it together. What's wrong with me? Nothing is the answer. It's tough to create, it's tough to actualize a theory, a thought or an idea. Usually I start with an idea and just start writing, and the result is usually nothing like I've foreseen it to be. And I'm ok with that. I'm more than ok with that, I dig it. I mean, how cool is it to just splash raw thoughts or emotion onto a page? I'm not channeling or speaking in tongues here. I'm just writing what comes out. It's really the simplest thing I do. But tonight I can't get that going. And I don't want to disappoint you, faithful reader. They say you should "write what you know", which I always do. So here is this post, which is going nowhere fast, but for some reason, on the seventh try tonight, I can't let it go.

I have plenty to say but can't get the words in the right order on this page. I've been thinking more about human connection, human interaction, human feelings. I'm wondering if it's really possible for things like ants, spiders or even raccoons to NOT have feelings. Seriously, how can they not? And this is my main thought lately. Maybe I just haven't figured it out yet and my mind is putting on the brakes every time I try to push it out. My mind is stopping me from putting out a theory that I just haven't crystallized yet. Thank you to my mind. The mind is a terrible thing (to waste). But I digress. I can't put out decent thoughts tonight, and even in this dialogue, my interest is waning fast. Please dear reader, check me out in a day or so. Hopefully I will have shaken this fog out of my head, or at least, will have thought of something else, something better to say. And since I don't have any good words to cheer you up or inspire you, I will leave you with a song. And because It's me, I'll leave you tonight with a song that I'm sure means something to me. I just can't remember why. Live Big.

SONG FOR THE DAY

IF WRESTLING IS "REAL" WHY ARE THESE CALLED "BLOOPERS" AND NOT "ERRORS"?

STRESS TEST RESULTS

I finally caught up with my Doc, she said everything about my heart is in good shape. No signs of anything wrong there. Healthy heart. Okay, good. So when my arms go numb, and my heart feels like its pounding out of my chest, it's not a heart episode. It's just a panic attack...the understatement of the week. I know all of you out there just breathed a huge sigh of relief. Go back to your lives people, nothing to see here. Move along.

WE'VE DONE THIS LIKE THREE TIMES NOW, RIGHT?

GO AWAY BRET. GET A HOBBY. GO FISHIN. MAKE SOME MORE OF THOSE JEANS COMMERCIALS. READ A BOOK. GOOD LORD MAN, RETIRE ALREADY!

FRESH MICHAEL JACKSON VID

156

I got on the scale on saturday, and I weighed 156. Thats the least I've weighed since high school. I was shocked. I have been focused for a few months, eating right (mostly) and getting lots of excercise. I never thought I'd weigh 156 though. That's just too light. I went to my doctor the week before, and weighed 160, which was my goal. She told me that for my height, at six feet tall, I should weigh around 175-180. That's too much for my skinny bone structure. So I'm wondering, who the hell makes these standards up, and why should it matter? So, I got back up to 160 and am hovering around there right now. I'll eat more, and drink more beer, I promise. BEER--GOOD!!! MMMMM BEER!!

NOSTALGIA

Has anyone ever died from nostalgia? I bet they have. I'm sure they have. I'm sure the doctors called it something else, like depression or a heart condition. But I'm sure it's happened. This is the definition of the word nostalgia I found when I Googled it: Dictionary: nos·tal·gi·a A bittersweet longing for things, persons, or situations of the past. I think I have a terminal case of nostalgia.

So, I'm not saying that my present life isn't great. I love my kids, my mom, my cat, my hair. But it seems that I am forever thinking about things that happened in the past. But is that bad? I mean, Hannah losing her front teeth was in the past right? It happened this year, in the year of our lord 2009. Does that mean I dwell? Maybe not dwell so much as maybe I pause. Does that mean I don't think about the future? Of course I think about the future. How can we not think about the future? I think I just like to savor the events that have had an impact on my life. Big or small, those events are what make me who I am, they are pebbles or stones in my river. I enjoy living. I like to remember. And, I have a terrible memory. Maybe I'm afraid of losing memories in this porous head of mine, so I keep tumbling these memories around, quite often, to ensure their safety and longevity. Maybe that's why I write this blog?

So if you could choose which memories you could keep, and which ones you could let go, would that be worse than not being able to choose at all? I may be a bit obsessive...sue me. Trying to rate and rank all things that happen in your day, from highly memorable to completely forgettable would be a daunting task. If you have an excellent memory, you can stop reading now for 2 reasons: #1. You Bug Me #2. You don't understand any of this.

So, do I miss my dad? yes..nostalgia. Do I miss High School? not a chance. Do I long for the days when I'd get in my friends' red convertible and cruise through McDonald's with some Van Halen playing? absolutely...nostalgia. Do I miss the times before hannah could walk? Yes, but I don't have all my memories from then, not sure why, but I feel very bittersweet about that special time in my first child's early days. That's nostalgia. And maybe nostalgia isn't an exacting thing? Maybe it's longing for a feeling, for an idea, for a mood from a time that has already occurred. And don't they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Could that be the way it is for memories? Could that be the way it is for me? Why don't I remember things? Why do I remember the idea of things more than I do the details of these things? It's been said that God is in the details. Maybe God handles my details and I handle the big picture? I like that. Maybe that's it.

Nostalgia, it turns out, is just a vehicle for making things stay relevent in my mind. We always think of the past, and have bittersweet longings for days gone by. It's not unhealthy to think of the past often, we just can't live in the past. And I will always think of the future. But the past is what we've lived, what we've learned, what we've taken from our experiences. The past is who we are today, and helps to determine who we will one day be. Its not a choice to be nostalgic, it's a requirement in human development, it's how we learn. So think about red convertibles, and think about baby steps, and think about cutting class and listening to Bon Jovi. The key is figuring out how these things become us, how they make us better, and keep us alive to make new memories. Why are we here? Why do we exist? Who knows, and it doesn't really matter to me. What matters is that I enjoy what I've been given, and how I use those things to make my future what I want it to be.

METAPHYSICAL SILLiNESS

I JUST LIKE USING THE WORD METAPHYSICAL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS.

I cannot write a song. I have no idea how to do that. I cannot rhyme things. I could write a novel before I could write a song. I love to write, I would write in this blog all day long if I had the time. But I don't, so I can't. And anyway, does anyone know why I didn't get my degree in English like I intended to? Raise your hands, don't just blurt it out. Okay, you in the back. Do you know the answer? 'Twas the english that prevented the English, no? That's right. I couldn't write in measured beats. I couldn't do it. Iambic Pentameter? Seriously? Why do I need that? It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. So I can interpret 17th century poetry correctly, but I can't make a song rhyme? Who needs it? Make that 2 things I don't need in my life...iambic pentameter and song writing. If I'm ever going to start a band (never happening now) I will have to make sure that one of my mates is a good song writer. Because unless I start putting these blogger posts to music, with 3 part harmonies, song writin' aint in the future for me. No love lost there. And the beat rolls on kids...

MADONNA NEEDS TO EAT A PIZZA

AND A BUCKET OF FRIED CHICKEN, AND A SIXER OF BUDWEISER, LIKE EVERY DAY FOR A MONTH. SHE'S DISGUSTING. ENJOY!

HAPPY SUNDAY

ENJOY SOME ISLAND SOUNDS, I'M GOING TO THE POOL

MIRACLE ELIXER

Drink this tea, live forever. It's actually disgusting to smell, but the taste is actually quite interesting, and I totally crave it. You can buy it at Jungle Jim's. It's the healthiest thing I do all day.

GREAT, JUST GREAT, LIKE I NEEDED ONE MORE THING TO WORRY ABOUT

I ALREADY DON'T SLEEP, NOW I NEED TO WORRY ABOUT ROBOTS TAKING OVER THE WORLD? REALLY? THANKS JAMES CAMERON, THANKS ALOT.
CLICK HERE FOR THE LATEST SCI FI NIGHTMARE

NEVER HAS A STAR SHONE MORE BRIGHTLY

This afternoon I took a long run/walk (mostly walk, my hip is killing me lately) and my music choice was Queen Live at Wembley 86. What a great album, and what a terrific performance from one of England's most prolific and original bands, Queen. If you know me, you know that Queen is in my list of top three favorite bands. And, also if you know me, you know that I love live music, because in my mind that's the true test of a performer's talent. Mediocre talent can go into a studio and make good songs come to life, but to translate that talent onto a stage, in front of thousands of fans is truly a different animal. And when it comes to the top live performances of a group of bandmates, Live at Wembley 86, has to be one of the best ever. That's not to say that Queen is the best, most talented performers, but this one is pretty magnificent. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

When I was a little kid, maybe 8 or 9, my older brother had a record, a 45 with We Are the Champions on one side and We Will Rock You on the other. I was fascinated by this record. My parents had a stereo we used to play it on, and I had a little record player that was like a little tiny orange suitcase. That record player was state of the art then. And we'd sing those songs, not knowing anything about the artists or about the songs, we'd just sing them for the anthems that they were. And that's when I was around 9...1979. And I've loved everything about Queen ever since. I'd heard all the seedy gay stuff about Freddy Mercury and everyone had guitarist Brian May as one of the top guitarists around. I didn't care about that stuff too much when it came to Queen. I just loved hearing the guy sing. I agreed with the Brian May ranking of course, but Freddy was the man. And this was in a world where David Lee Roth and Ozzy Osbourne were as important to the rock scene as any other time. So I've always loved Queen, because of Freddy Mercury's voice. He was an amazing singer. Always will be.

And so I always had the Queen bug, and their albums and cassettes and you could always find Queen in my room or in my car. And then sometime around 1989, a friend, and sometimes girlfriend, Whitney, gave me Live at Wembley 86. I was amazed. I can't remember if it was a birthday gift or a Christmas present, but what a great gift. I don't think I can recall where more than maybe five albums I've ever owned have come from, but I do and always will for this one.

And so today I listened to this live album for maybe the 300th time (maybe more, no joke) and it was incredible. And Freddy Mercury is the reason why. Freddy was as talented, vocally, as 5 Elvis Presleys, and had more range than Pavarotti. And I love both of those dudes. But the way that Freddy captivates his already adoring audience is equal to none. He has his audience spellbound for the hours that they're together on this night. They'd loved him for fifteen years prior, and they had no idea they'd lose him five years later, but they were there for him. As far as rock bands go in England, it doesn't get much bigger than The Beatles and Queen. And walking through the bike paths here in Pleasantville, I relived every reason why I love this band, and respect this singer so much. Freddy is fiercely in control of his voice, he hits every note. He sings with such feeling and emotion that I kept catching myself singing out loud over my earbuds from my ipod. The band is spectacular but the star is Freddy. And for this performance, as well as countless hundreds of other Mercury performances, he was regaled as a rock god and was applauded for every syllable, every note and every octave that he produced. And never was a singer more worthy of fan adulation than was Freddy on this night. He was superb. He was unbelievably perfect in his singing performance.

My favorite song on this double-album is not my favorite Queen song but is in the top ten for sure. It's Love of My Life, for obvious reasons. You don't have to love it like I do, but please listen and realize that Freddy Mercury was a talent that won't soon be rivaled in rock and roll. He made some fatal choices in his life, but he's not to be blamed for it, and not to be judged by them. He was an artist of significant talent that has gone down as a true pioneer to his craft, and as a leader of many in the ways of singing and song writing. And on this night, for this performance, never has a star shone more brightly.

THIS CHILD IS ON DRUGS

But I have to agree with him, I like turtles too...

FOR MICHAEL

I came across this video today, (sorry I can't embed this one, you'll have to click the link). I was actually watching music videos while I did dishes (no, not MTV, they don't play videos, it was FUSE). Anyhoo, this is one that I know my boy Mike the war-dog will drink vodka to, while cleaning his gun in the middle of the night. He'll wake up his wife with his drunken singing. And he's totally entitled to it. God Bless the USA. And Semper FI bitches.

CAPTURE THE FLAG

Capture the Flag

i remember playing capture the flag when i was around 12 i guess. summer days were amazing then, like each day was a sun drenched, wheelie poppin marathon. we rode bikes, stole cigarettes and acted tough. we had no idea then what tough was. but i guess ignorance is bliss. and at the end of each daily marathon, we'd all gather in the front yard at my folks house. there was jeff and his brother scott bowling. nancy simpson and mary jane griesinger. greg niehaus and his brother steve, their cousin eric and my next door neighbor mike and his beautiful little tomboy sister Kristina and her supermodel beautiful friend eleni and some of the girls would join us. and me, jim and amy and abby. and oh yeah, deron foster.

sides were drawn. flags were hidden. plans were made. we were always so serious about this game. it was all out warfare. it was a military operation executed by kids. we wore dark clothes, we waded through the creek in our tennis shoes. kids were hurt and cut on barb wire fences. girls screamed in terror, boys became men. it was an hour or two of tactical espionage. there were no guns, there was spying and sneaking and stalking and hiding. we had prisoners to capture and friends to rescue. it was as serious and intense a game as i've ever played. and yet it was the most fun game i remember as a kid.

i can remember the days being long, hanging out after dinner in the dugout of the high school baseball field. we always stole smokes from my dad. we'd smoke and cuss and sweat. we were future kings after all. and we'd make plans for the next day and what we'd do, and where we'd ride our bikes tomorrow. we'd remember the things that happened to us during the day. all details exaggerated and memories were much funnier than the reality ever was. but i can remember that we'd always make the plans for the next day, and what time and all that. but we never made plans for capture the flag. kids just showed up at our yard every night. showed up, picked sides and hid flags. it's where we went. it's what we did. it's how we played.

i think that was the greatest summer of my childhood. i'd always see all my friends at night, we'd go to war together. and every night would come to an end with my dad whistling at us from the front porch, telling us the game was over, telling us to come out from our hiding places. i remember our arms and faces sweaty and blotched with dirt, mud and sometimes blood. we were happier than we'd been all day. and we'd stand on the driveway and drink coke's or kool-aid. and God it was great to be 12. And long before my Pop died, and my brother before him, I felt the world was a great place to be. If I shut my eyes tight and i think really hard i can smell the sweat, and hear the voices of my childhood friends. see the smile of my brother. it was the greatest summer.

Date: Sat, 14 Mar 2009 23:07:29 -0400

UMMM, WHAT?? HANDER PANTS?? OK, HERE'S MY MASTER CARD #

THE REDS SEASON IS OFFICIALLY OVER, SEE YA IN 2010

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMY

My older sister turned 40 yesteday. she's extremely old. and grumpy. i'm not even sure if she reads this blog, but she should right, it's like the highlight of your day, right? So, even if she ran across the country ten years ago, and i've not been out there in like 5 years, she knows i like her like family. right? you're hearing me, right? i like her much. she's almost like family. and well, anyway, she's the one that turned me onto the Beatles when we were kids, so this one's for her. I swear i won't tell anyone how old you are Amy. Happy 40th!! oops.

MORE STAR WARS STUFF

Ok, so, Star Wars Saturday was 2 weeks ago, and it's still on my mind, and I don't know how I missed this gallery But even if it offends you, you gotta respect it right? Talk amongst yourselves.

KNOWING THIS SONG MAKES YOU COOLER

DEAR LIVER

Dear Liver,
It's been a while since we've spoken. I know you thought that you would be one of those anonymous organs your whole life, but I've made you an MVP on a perennial all-star team. I don't know why we haven't ever spoken, and I'm sorry for whatever lead to our "falling out". Who knows when these things go wrong, ya just never know. But I think about you often. I know that life was good until we hit the 10th grade, and we started to go to Bryan Huber's house every day for "porch parties" around 3:30, monday through friday. And I know you didn't appreciate all the years of "i don't really drink much, but i DO work in a restaurant". And these days when it's just a little on a daily basis, and then a drop into the deep-end occasionally, I know it can be confusing for you. But the truth is, I appreciate you. I've never told you before, but I do. You mean the world to me. I hope we have many decades of fun together still. I wish we could talk. I wish we could, ya know, hang out. But your job, your very purpose is one of superior value to me, and I understand that we're not supposed to break professional protocol. But if ever you want to talk to me, and need a friend to lean on, I'm your guy. I love you, liver. Please don't fail me now. I love you. But, have you seen the bottle opener anywhere?

BULL DURHAM'S "I BELIEVE IN" SPEECH

Annie Savoy: Well, actually, nobody on this planet ever really chooses each other. I mean, it's all a question of quantum physics, molecular attraction, and timing. Why, there are laws we don't understand that bring us together and tear us apart. Uh, it's like pheromones. You get three ants together, they can't do dick. You get 300 million of them, they can build a cathedral.
[Crash laughs]
Ebby Calvin LaLoosh: So is somebody going to go to bed with somebody or what?
Annie Savoy: Honey, you are a regular nuclear meltdown. You better cool off. Ha ha, ha ha!
[to Crash]
Annie Savoy: Oh, where are you going?
Crash Davis: After 12 years in the minor leagues, I don't try out. Besides, uh, I don't believe in quantum physics when it comes to matters of the heart.
Annie Savoy: What do you believe in, then?
Crash Davis: Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.
[pause]
Crash Davis: Goodnight.
Annie Savoy: Oh my. Crash...
Ebby Calvin LaLoosh: Hey, Annie, what's all this molecule stuff?

DEALING WITH A LOTTA SHIT IS NEVER EASY

THIS DUDE IS STRAIGHT MAGIC. BELIEVE IT!

THE KING, AND HOW HE GOT TO US ALL

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO JORDIS? HOT AND GOOD VOICE? C'MON!

GUILTY PLEASURE

IT'S MY BLOG, I'LL POST WHAT I WANT.

MY FAVORITE MOVIE "MUSICAL"

GOOD READ

I read this article a week or two ago, and posted the Giraffes here (a punk band) for you to listen to. I personally think they rock like crazy. You can form your own opinion on the mater. But here's the article. I love how the lead singer Aaron Lazar took this illness on, kicked its ass, and made it work for his crazy punk lifestyle. The kid's a keeper in my book. Good read too.

MY AUNT BARBARA or I LOVE THAT MEMORY

Two years ago, my Aunt Barbara died after living her entire life in Roslyn New York. Rosyln is very small community on the North Shore of Long Island. It's actually a very nice place to live. Barbara was actually my Pop's cousin, which truthfully makes her my second cousin, I think. But being that she was my Pop's age, it always made more sense to call her Aunt rather than cousin. Barbara was single woman all her life, she'd had some boyfriends that had gotten serious at times, but for whatever reason, she never walked down the aisle of matrimony. And although I didn't know Barbara well, she never really made it seem like she cared about any of love's near misses in her life, so I don't really care either. She lived in her mother's house all her life. When her dad died (long before I ever met her), she just stayed with her mom, my Aunt Marie. And they lived in this small 4 bedroom tri-level for my whole life. Aunt Marie died years ago, but I remember her. It has been such a long time though for me and my Aunt Marie though, that I only remember her as a very old lady, and me being a young boy. And Marie was a beautiful small, strong, thin woman, who lived for her flowers and her patio and spoke with a German accent. She had wonderful flowers as I can remember. And when she died she musn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds or so. But she was a good woman. And her daughter, my Aunt Barbara was an apple that didn't fall too far from the tree.

Barbara used to come to Ohio twice a year, a hold over from when Marie and Barbara came to Ohio together once or twice a year. And like i've said, Barbara wasn't close to my age, unless 40 years is close, which it isn't. And so it was one of those things where we see them and are cordial, but not exactly a laugh a minute gathering. Barbara could have her moments...very set in her ways. She might have even come off as crabby to some. Be that as it may, she was my aunt. And that stuff didn't matter too much to me. But one year, maybe ten years ago, I think it was Christmas time. She was in town, and i was late 20's early 30's then. And I remember thinking how nicer she was to me this trip. Maybe someone of that generation was finally accepting one of us "kids" as an adult. She was staying at my mom's house and I'd gone over to help with food preparation for a big dinner. And somehow, she was supposed to help me with cutting vegetables for our huge crudite that i had to build. And when she picked up a knife that was like a cleaver or something, i first took the knife from her, and secondly, walked her around to the other side of the bar, gave her a glass of chardonnay, and told her to just look pretty, i'd do all the work. And so I went back around to the sink side of the bar and this way, we were facing each other and we could talk without me worrying about her cutting her fingers off. And talk we did. I don't remember any of what we spoke about, but I remember really enjoying the conversation. I do remember the vegetables though...carrots, celery, broccoli, radishes, red and yellow bell peppers, cucumbers, squash, zucchini and maybe something like squash or something. And i was no stranger to a chef's knife. I was very good with the knife, still am to this day. And she started with the "oh!" and "whatchit!" and then she relaxed. I had gained her trust. And as i washed the veggies then patted them dry and peeled what needed to be peeled, we talked. I'd slice the long colorful pieces into long strips and then julienne some of them, course chop others. the smaller things needed maybe a chop or a twist and then we'd have more wine. And we continued talking through that hour. And late that night and then later that week, at dinners, or functions, she told everyone how lovely it was to spend that time with me. She enjoyed the show, the wine and mostly the conversation. And that's the most I remember from Barbara. That;s actually the best memory of her that I have. And it's a great one.

Every year after that, Barbara would send a Christmas card to me, with maybe 50 bucks in it or maybe 100. And the girls would get $20 checks on their birthdays, and at Christmas, the girls would actually get gifts from Barbara. And in most of her cards, along with these funny little checks, would be a handwritten part that told me she remembered the night we made the vegetables. She'd told me many times that I have good hands. And I loved every card she sent us.

And so when she died, (I'd known she was sick for a while,) mother called and told me the bad news. My mother has given me the death notices of almost all the people in my life that have died, probably all the family members for sure. I had just pulled into the office, and we spoke for a few minutes about Barbara and mom was sad, she'd known her as a friend/relative for years. But every time I think about Aunt Barbara, I think about that night we made that huge veggy crudite, and our conversation that evening. She is a rock in the river of my life. And she'll always live there. And that's what it means when I say, "i love that memory". Because i do love that memory. This is not a sad story, Barbara traveled the world, was part of a great family and had a job she loved and one that paid her well apparently. When she died she left about a half million dollars to her school and her church in her will. God Bless Her. I do love that memory.

CLASSIC

PROOF GOD EXISTS

On my evening jog, I came up the gravely hill by my street, the one marked "Trucks Only" and came up it. Usually, when I get to the top of the hill, I cross the street and pick up the bike path there. Tonight, I decided to stay on the black top that the gravel led to, and low and behold, I found my insurance card that was in my wallet 9 days ago when those assholes robbed my Honda. So I checked around the area, and also found my Zoo Memebership card. I mean, this is around the corner from my house! So I double timed it down this street, and out onto the main street, looking for anything, checking scraps and all the garbage, to see if there was anything else that might have been in my bag. And in front of the Elementary School, I found a small Ziploc with about 50 of my business cards that I'd kept in the leather shoulder bag that they jacked from my car. So I headed home and took one more pass by the spot by the gravel road. And low and behold, I found my Dental Card. This all took place 9 days ago, I've been up and down these streets daily, on foot and in the car. Doesn't this sound like a Miracle to you? I mean, it's not like a burning bush, or like I parted the sea or anything, and maybe I can't feed a thousand men with one fish and a loaf of bread from Panera. But it's still a miracle, right? I mean, the Honda got robbed, and God protected the little things in my wallet, right? You're seeing this right? You're with me? Ok, good.

PROOF GOD EXISTS PART 2

Tonight I went for a run, around 7, and about ten minutes into it, I was going over a bridge on the bike path, in the middle of the woods. Ahead I could see two boys, looked around 12, looked to be nerds. I'm totally ok with nerds, but they all need to admit it when they're nerdy. These two were. They each had one of those toy light sabers from Star Wars, the kind that if you swing it, the colored shaft shoots out of the handle, kind of a telescoping thing a ma bob. The skinny one was blonde with glasses and the other fat and dark haired. Their poses seemed as if I might have caught them in a light saber duel, and they stopped as soon as they saw me. And again, I ain't mad at em, some of my good friends are nerds, and I'm sure I went through this same period as a lad too. But when I could hear what they were arguing about, it made my day. They were arguing over who killed Emperor Palpatine. One was saying "it was Darth Vader, when he threw him down that shaft, and all the lightning came back up, and that's what actually killed Vader too." And the other was saying, "No that wasn't him dying. so and so killed him when...blah blah blah". And I couldn't hear all of it. But I was so happy hearing young men talking Star Wars, and playing Star Wars like I did as a young jedi apprentice, er, um, I mean when I was a kid. And there's no way these boys knew I'd be coming through the woods tonight, and there's no way they saw my ALL STAR WARS SATURDAY blog last weekend. But God knew. And God was watching. And He did all this, for my entertainment. So theres your proof, sinners.

HAPPY SUNDAY, ENJOY THE CLOUDS

CLOUDZZZZZZ

When was the last time you looked at at cloud? I mean really looked at it? This weekend has been packed with clouds. And there hasn't been much else to the weather, but clouds. All the clouds today are massive and totally ominous, but not scary, just big dark clouds. So when me and my girlies were looking at the clouds, we did what kids are supposed to do, we found shapes in them. I started it off, i saw a huge fish, and it wasn't a stretch at all. It was a fish. And the girls told me about what they were seeing. I saw some. But I loved hearing them telling me about stretching their imaginations into making themselves believe they saw something in the clouds.

Remember the clouds from the cartoons that we watched as children? I want my clouds to be like that. I want Tom to be able to sit on one and shoot his tiny arrows at Jerry from Heaven. I want the clouds to be made of cotton or pillows. I want to be able to pull one out of the sky and put it in my backyard for the girls to jump on instead of the trampoline. I want to fall off one cloud and bounce down to the next one, lose my footing again, and bounce down a few more clouds. I want that. If anyone can tell me where to find that, I'll get you a golden ticket for Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. We'll trade straight up. Let me know. If you can get me a cloud like that, send it to joeschaos@gmail.com.

Live Big Hannah Cheetah and Sarah Bear!

TIGER MISSED THE CUT AT THE BRITISH OPEN

I've watched the British Open for years. It's generally one of the better tournaments of the year. And no matter where they play the British, its always some ridiculously crazy hard course. I mean, one year Phil Mickelson chipped out of the sand backwards, in order to advance his ball. That's how crazy it is. It's almost not golf at times. And so Tiger missed the cut there this week. OMIGOD I'M GONNA SLASH MY WRISTS!! No. Tiger is human, and each year he gets more and more human. Father Time marches on, and all that. Tiger went home on a Friday. It happens, and i'ts only happened to him a handful of times in his career. It's almost apropos that he missed the cut at the British Open. Those courses eat people for lunch, and if you're off your game, even just a little, even if your name is Tiger Woods, shit happens. I think when Tiger reminds us that he's human we're so shocked because he's actually SUPER HUMAN. He is. The dude is amazing. You know it, I know it, and HE knows it. I actually felt bad for him giving his interviews. I did. He's unprepared for failure, but he always says the right things. This time, it was a little canned, but what do you expect? HE'S TIGER WOODS! I think I end up liking him more when he shows that he's human. I'm glad that he's around my age, we'll grow old together, me watching him on most Sundays. He won't be watching me, but if he did, he'd see me cheering him on. Take a break Tiger, get some rest. Back at em again next week...

SAMMICH

this plus this plus this on this equals this.

GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND EXERCISE TODAY PEOPLE!!

I just got back from a 40 minute run/walk. I feel great and it's gonna be a great day. As for calories, as a friend of mine says, "I'm in the negative". So I'm gonna have a few margaritas, and make a cheese and cheese omelet, topped with cheese and some cheese sauce for dippin. BAM!

UM, GOD, I HATE TO BE A NAG, UM, BUT THE WEATHER? WHATTUP DUDE?

When is summer starting? I'm not a geologist or a botanist, or any ist, but I know this: July in Ohio is supposed to be hotter than shit. With stifling humidity and no rain at all. Did we move to London? Did someone forget to flip a switch somewhere? High of 71 today? Seriously? It's supposed to be too hot to lay in a deckchair today,,,weather that makes us stay in the pool. This is a conspiracy. Somewhere, somebody is hiding something from us. They can't hide the weather, so they're all just acting like this is fine. Like the whole "off by 30 degrees" thing just ain't no big deal. What are they hiding from us and why did it take me to point this out? This is bigger than you and me. This is the biggest cover up ever. Who's to blame? What's happening? Nuclear meltdown? The sun is losing it's power? All the plant life and vegetation in the world as we know it will die off. The fruit and vegetable supply will wittle away. Cucumbers that survive will be sold on the black market for $30 each. Broccoli will be $40/lb. People will be hoarding those cans of canned new potatoes and soft asparagus like family heirlooms. Who is responsible? How high up does this go? This might lead all the way to the White House? You have to ask yourself 3 questions: Who is powerful enough to extinguish the sun? Who stands to gain from this? Who stands to profit the most from the loss of solar power? It's the oil people. George Bush has done it to us again! How am I always the first to figure these things out? How is it me? Um, does Bush still have access to those silent black helicopters? There's one behind my house right now. Um I'm starting to feel like Mel Gibson in that Movie Conspiracy Theory. I'm so paranoid, I finally concocted a theory that's correct. And now "they" want me dead for it. I'd say more now, but I can't. I have to go unlock my coffee and tapioca pudding. George Bush killed the sun. Remember you heard it here first.

THE MOST TRUSTED MAN IN AMERICA HAS DIED

NOW WHO DO WE TRUST??

Walter Cronkite died yesterday. I remember him a little from when I was a kid. I think the highlights of his career happened before I was born, but he seemed like a good man. And who hasn't watched those old news reels of him announcing that President Kennedy had died? He led an incredible life. He was 92.

THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

I love this song. Older sis Amy introduced it to me then younger sis Abby became a huge Beatles fan. The Beatles are strong in our sibling group.

JOHN HIATT

My creative juices ain't flowin' today. I guess i'm a little tired and a bit hungover from the game last night. I just need a relaxing night, to recharge. I promise you guys i'll try and write something that makes sense this weekend, maybe something will occur to me later, and you'll see it posted up. In the meantime, and in between time, enjoy John Hiatt.

HALLELUJAH ITS FRIDAY

You just gotta love this. I do.

THIS LOOKS GOOD

This looks like one of those popcorn movies that you don't have to worry about kids laughing at inappropriate times, or having to take your own kid to the potty. dats 'cus ain't no kids allowed in movies like dis one.

Ok, so the Reds might suck this year again.

I went to the game last night, and the crowd was loving the kids on the field. And I was thinking that the Reds are close to being a good team. They need a few major upgrades. Instead of going small in center field, they should've gone big on one of the corners, and put Dickerson in center, which they still may do. Taveras is not helping this team, they can bench him for the remainder of the year. But my thought last night was, as much as this town loves anyone who does well, like Joey Votto has, who's really only been a full time player for a year now, and who is not a big name star, what would we do for a big time player? We came out in droves for Griffey, and well, that didn't really work out very well, but that doesn't mean we don't still need a big star in the outfield. If we go get a top line player, a 120 rbi guy and 40 homers, folks will love him. The other piece is they need a solid #1 starter. Aaron Harang is still struggling, and yes, he doesn't get the run support he deserves, but he seems like a decent #2, not a #1. So go get Roy Halladay and Vernon Wells in a package. Use some minor league chips. You save for things like this. Mr Castellini, please go blow your bank account, and make this team good again. Bring back the history to this city, bring back the honor. I need a World Series in cincy before I die.

IMAGINE

I SWEAR, I USED TO SLEEP

I can't imagine what it's like to lay down, close my eyes and go to sleep. I can't imagine that. Can you imagine me not being ABLE to imagine going to sleep? But that's the way it is for me. Well, this is actually the way it is for me: I lay down, I close my eyes, my mind races. If I have nothing to worry about, which never happens, I worry about stuff from my past, and my future. I think about stuff that was part of my childhood, I think about death. I think about my girls. I worry if Hannah's front teeth will come in straight, I worry about Sarah's speech, and the scar on her nose. The list of things to worry about, think about, or conjure is eternal. I could go on and on. Can anyone out there imagine this? I can't sleep. In silence, with music, with the TV on, without it. It just doesn't matter. But that's life. Well, that's MY life. And then you die. I'll get plenty of sleep when I'm dead.

YESTERDAY

Dairy Yum Yum II

Last summer, my boss Jeff and I were traveling to Maysville Kentucky, and on the way we decided it was lunch time. We had an appointment with a school system in Ripley Ohio and decided to take in some of the local fare. We asked around and were told to go to the Dairy Yum Yum 2. So we got there and it looked alot like an old time greasy spoon/ice cream stand. And when we got inside, we were appalled by what we took in. The place was a wreck. Not dissheveled, just dirty man. It was dirty. The "hostess" told us to sit wherever we'd like, so we did. We chose a booth toward the back by a window. The window had a screen that was halfway there, and on the window sill was a dead fly, you know how flies die, they just lay there, on their wings, feet up...not a good sign. So the girl that was waiting on us came to the table in her shorts and t-shirt that had no affiliation with the restaurant, and gave us menus. We ordered sweet teas. They were delivered in huge, like 40 oz red tumblers with no ice, but they were wet, and sweet and hinted of iced tea. I asked her what was good, and she said everything, 'cause mom was on the grill that day. I hope she meant that figuratively and not literally. I said I needed a burger and she recommended the Yum Yum Burger. So we had two Yum Yum Burgers with fries, and everything on them. She wrote the order on her pad and walked to the kitchen, which was in full view, and handed mom the ticket. Mom first grabbed a bag of Ore Ida Golden Crinkles and dumped them in the hot fryer. Then she threw 4 patties on the grill, and set back down on her stool in front of the fryer. At this point I looked at the guy in the table across the aisle from us. He was an old man, with "hard life" worn all over his face. he had water at that point, and made me happy we'd ordered the tea, by the looks of his water. He was an older guy, in his late 60's, with white messy hair, unshaven for a few days and he was moving around a lot. I made uncomfortable eye contact with him and realized for the first time, that his eyes didn't match. One ey was dark brown, and the other was pale, pale blue. They didn't move together, his dark eye would move and the pale blue one would point down. weird. but so it goes. And we made small talk discussing the cobwebs and the dirt on the tables and the vintage booths with their red, sparkly pleather covering. Luckily the burgers came quickly. I was thinking that the health department surely had not made any trips inside here for years and years. But the burgers...THE BURGERS WERE AWESOME! Two patties with tartar sauce, cheese, pickles and lettuce, like they were made in heaven. The patties were cooked through, like they should be in a place like this, and the bun was white and brown and soft and warm. It was a great greasy spoon burger, and the golden crinkle fries held their own. We both ate the burgers quickly, and both of us commented on how good they were, and we weren't kidding. So she brought us the check and we asked if she took AMEX. She said only cash. So we scraped our wallets and came up with the $8 total and managed a 20% tip too. We watched as mom took out the garbage through the back window, then walked across the street and into her house. The lunch rush was over, and she needed rest, i guess. The food was good, and the service was fine, and the memory just won't go away. I always wonder how many flies were dead in the kitchen? Don't know, don't really care, we both lived. Jeff slept half the way home that afternoon.

WHY BASEBALL MATTERS ON ALL-STAR GAME DAY

The MLB All-Star Game is tonight. It's just a game. Its fun to see all the stars, fun to wish that my Reds had some of those guys. It's fun to see all the stars gawking at each other. And it's fun to see them have fun, after all, they've gotten to play a game as their job. I don't get to do that. I'm glad to see them smile and ask each other to sign their autographs. I like seeing the players outwardly happy and emotional, and hear from them about what baseball means to them. This is an exhibition game, Bud Selig will tell you that it matters. It does matter. It matters to those of us that watch it, and to those that actually play it, but not for what Selig thinks it does; he couldn't be further from the truth. It matters because it's fun. Once you get through the marketing, and positioning and advertising, you get to see a game played by a collection of that year's finest players. How could we not like that? It matters because there's only one per year, and so it's a special occasion. It matters because it's interesting to watch, to those of us that love baseball. The players don't play as hard as they used to. It's ok. I don't want anyone to get hurt and screw up their regular season, and let their everyday teammates down. I really don't want to see that. I remember the year in college basketball when Kenyon Martin broke his leg in the C-USA tournament. Can you imagine if that were an exhibition game?? They would've burnt the college to the ground that night. But the all-star games are always fun. And that's the point right? Baseball as entertainment? Baselball as an escape? Baseball as a distraction from the stresses of our everyday lives right? You can agree, it's ok. The all star game is fun. Say it, you know you want to.

Baseball matters to me. It matters to millions of people, and to some girls too. And today, because I was thinking about baseball, and how it does matter to me, I started thinking about Todd Drew, the excellent New York Yankees writer and essayist. I didn't learn about Todd until he died last winter, at 41 years old. But I've read his work since and think he was a very talented story teller. I would have liked to have known him. Please read this wonderful peice of work and maybe read more while you're there. Baseball mattered to him. He grew up a Yankee fan, and died a Yankee fan. He was also a great boxing writer. But baseball mattered to him for the reasons I mentioned before. Baseball is fun and its entertaining, and makes us root for things and to cheer. I cheer at home in silence after my kids go to bed, while watching a game with the sound down. I remember when Aaron Boone hit that magnificent home run to put the Yankees in the World Series in 2003. We were in a hotel in West Virginia, on the way to South Carolina. We had a suite, and I was in the front room watching that game in silence, and when he hit that homer in the 11th inning, I was standing and cheering in silence, alone,with the TV muted, while two-year-old Hannah slept in the next room. And that's why baseball matters. Thats baseball. Thats fun. And it's also the escape I spoke of. It's a hobby for millions, and that's why baseball matters. We love following it. My Reds haven't had a winning record in 8 years. And I've watched or listened to most of the games in that time period. I said MOST! Baseball matters. It does. It mattered to Todd Drew when he was dying. This is the last thing he ever wrote, he wrote it before he went into the hospital for treatment, and died a short time later:

Baseball and Me

By Todd Drew

I went to a baseball game after my father’s funeral. I also went to one after finding out about my mother’s brain cancer.

It was selfish and heartless. I felt guilty before and embarrassed after, but for nine innings I felt only the game. That’s the way it’s always been between baseball and me.

It was my friend when I didn’t have any others. And it has always been there to talk or listen or simply to watch.

Baseball helps me forget and it makes me remember. That’s why it was exactly what I needed on the worst days of my life.

But there were no games when a doctor told me that I had cancer. The neighborhood was out of baseball on that cold November day. No one was playing at Franz Sigel Park or John Mullaly Park. And there wasn’t even a game of catch in Joyce Kilmer Park. The last game at the old Yankee Stadium was long gone and Opening Day at the new Yankee Stadium was long off.

So I went home and wished for one of those summer days when I was a kid and my mother would send me to the ballpark with a paper sack stuffed with her famous tuna-fish sandwiches. That was back when you could slip through a delivery gate with the beer kegs and watch batting practice. And it was always okay to come home late with a beat-up scorecard and popcorn stuck between your teeth.

The doctor told me that tomorrow’s surgery and chemotherapy treatment might keep me in the hospital for 10 days.

“At least it’s December,” I said. “There aren’t any ballgames to miss.”

And I will be ready to slip through a delivery gate with the beer kegs when the new Yankee Stadium opens. I’ll watch batting practice with one of my mother’s famous tuna-fish sandwiches and come home late with a beat-up scorecard and popcorn stuck between my teeth.

Cancer can’t change the way it will always be between baseball and me.

Here's the complete page when this was published...

Baseball matters. Watch the game tonight, and have fun with it. Its your hobby, or it's not your hobby, it's your fun time. Enjoy the All-Star Game. Bet ya Todd Drew will be watching it with one of his mother's famous tuna-fish sandwiches, rooting on Jeter and Texiera and the Mariano.

PEBBLES

Ages ago, when I was a pup, I had no idea what life was about. Today, at 38, I still have no idea about life. But priorities evolve, as does life, and we turn out sometimes completely differently than we set out to be. But as I've said before, we are simply what we have lived, what we have experienced. We take those pieces and make them our own, and then those pieces meld and become one. And we are individually, whats left. Hopefully for you, thats a complete picture of the human existence that you created, lived, loved and died for. But tonight I'm thinking of those pieces. Not each piece of the puzzle, just all of them. I have a theory for them, I hope I do that theory justice.

We all learned in geology or science class as kids that when stones or pebbles are left in water, over time, the edges become smooth and rounded. And these stones, when in a river, brook or in the great ocean itself, become part of the fabric that IS the ocean or river. And my thought is that every person, every conversation, every experience that I can remember in my life, has become a pebble, a rock or a stone, or even a boulder. This is the bedrock of the river of my life.

As a kid, I dealt with all the things I should've. There was friendship, and sports, and parents and girls and trouble. This list goes on. But inspite of all those things, I've made my way to here, to today, to right now. mmmmmmmmmmmm Sometimes the river of my life smooths the little rocks into pebbles, sometimes the boulders take years to break down, to become part of the path that is my life. Some of the boulders will always be there, and the river might run its course around them. The boulders in my life will always be there. The bottoms of which have been worn smooth, and have adjusted to the waters of my life. They have become part of the flow, and the things that rub against them, when the waters are rough tend to smooth the sides of those boulders a bit. But no matter what, the boulders will always be there. The little stones have grown smaller, almost familial, and the water flows over it most freely. And thats not to say that the smaller things have less impact on my life, just have become easier to sculpt, for me, into what i need them to be. and the boulders remain protruding from the water as markers that remind me never to forget these big things. They are part of me, part of my river. And the little things will lose their individual meanings and purposes as they grow smoother under the current of my life, but they will always be there for what they were meant to be...to help shape the overall feeling, or theme of my life.

I JUST WANT 2 BITES OF THIS...THEN DIAL 911

A half pound duck and pork patty, cheddar cheese, seven pieces of maple bacon, sauteed onions and zillion island sauce on a kaiser roll.

Hat Tip to Nick Brunker's blog http://www.1530homer.com/pages/brunker.html ...Daily Foodporn

HOME RUN DERBY SUCKS

Two And a Half Men and The Big Bang Theory are light years better than Chris Berman's fatass. BACK BACK BACK click.

OF HUMAN CANVASS

I've been feeling human lately. I guess it's because I've been confronted with mortality some lately, with some health suspicions. Hopefully it'll all turn out relatively minor. That being said, I still have new feelings about life, death, health and happiness. Sometimes, when I don't have answers, I go to the root. By root, I mean to the definitions, to the book, to the dictionary. I remember when i was around twenty, I was trying to come to grips with racism. so i looked up a bunch of words, and nothing really was helping. then, I looked up the word prejudice. It referred me to the root of the words...to pre-judge. and without a literature lesson on prejudice, that was when I developed my understanding of the dangers of pre judging. I still do pre judge all the time. only, I make sure not to do it in a very serious or in a hateful or harmful way. Nevertheless, my point tonight is feeling a sense of one's own mortality. Here's dictionary.com on mortality: the state or condition of being subject to death; mortal character, nature, or existence. Not a lot of help huh? so I guess I need to think on. But for now, here is my resolve: life is good. money doesn't count. cars, houses, watches, golf clubs...they're all just things. Humans are collectors of things, it's our job. If I live in a grass hut in the jungle, my whole life, I'm a collector of bones and sticks and things to use for bowls and utensils. I appreciate good rocks for throwing at pray, and I appreciate good water holes. I collect these things, because my position in life requires it. I can't live without them. If i'm a hobo living on the street in New York City, I collect bottles for cash, cash I collect for cigarettes, booze and drugs. I collect boxes and slightly worn shoes and clothes. If i'm a banker, I collect people's debt and monetary assets. If I'm a poet, I collect verbs, nouns, adverbs, pronouns, ideas, thoughts and tempo. If I'm a musician, I collect notes and chords and licks and instruments and maybe tour dates too. And on and on, you get my drift. But what's the bottom line to this? What is the common characteristic of all these positions in life? Humanity. That's right, say it with me..huuu-man-ahh-tee. We are all humans or human collectors. We collect pieces from other humans. We collect thoughts and ideas and philosophies and we make them part of us.

I am a 162 pound, six foot collection of all that I have seen, smelled, felt, touched, tasted and heard. Do we steal? Maybe some, and maybe it's not thievery, but just someone has perfected a thought or an idea that we run with, and make it our own, make it part of us. Friends will tend to dress alike, talk alike, and have similar opinions on things. That is us. That is human. And I, like all of you out there, am a working piece of human art. The brush strokes began the day some pretty nurse wrapped us in a blanket and put us in our mothers' and fathers arms. From potty training to learning to talk and eat with a fork, we have collected these things that make us up. Yes, I'm describing learning too. But learning seems to be a bit caged, a little forced. Who we as humans have become, on our dying beds is a complex, elaborate collection of all we have seen, all we have experienced. If I don't take the side of one of my racist friends, i still have collected from that friend an experience that will go on to help define my moralistic composite. I am a work of art.

In the end, when we're lying on the slab, toe tagged and chest cracked open, being prepared for our own funeral, it's just meat. Thats not who we were. That's the canvass. But the paint is in what we felt, what we preached, what we learned, how we were. Think of the last time you visited a grave. Did you tell the tombstone that they were strong when they were alive? No, we say we miss YOU. We miss your love for baseball, miss the passion for our kids we'd had. We say we miss hearing your voice, and miss your optimism or cynicism. We miss the smile, which is a complex discussion for another day. Smiles are, after all, totally original. When I go to see my Pop in the mausoleum, I know I miss our conversations and his love for baseball and football, and his love for Mom and the girls. I miss how he used to make me feel, how he treated me, and i miss how he made me feel like noone on this earth ever made me feel before he died, or ever has since.

Collectors we may be, but what's important is what you can take with you. I don't know whats on the other side of life...death, heaven, hell. But what I do know is that when I'm remembered, I'll be remembered for me, as a son, a father, a lover of baseball, beer, discussions and my quasi cynic/optimist personality defect. Its the pieces I've collected along the way that have made me this person. If I'd collected nothing along my path, there wouldn't be much to remember or miss. So what's important to me when I die is that I'm known for what I believe in, what I did, how I lived and loved. And it's not so much about what I take with me, but what I leave behind. I always hope I'm making memories with my daughters and my friends, so that when I'm gone, they'll say "remember when Daddy did this....?" "Remember when Joe did this...?" Thats our legacy. That's who we are, who we were. We can't take golf clubs, houses or cars with us. And we won't be remembered for those things. And if we are, those memories will be shallow, worthless memories, that will easily fade when tested by time.

I'm not here to tell you what I'm about. If you're reading this, you know the answers. And in the end, that's all I want.

I seriously doubt the end is near for me, but was just thinking about my own mortality and wanted to write down some thoughts on the subject. And in closing, i would like you all to remember that its about who you are, not what you have, in the end. Memories fade, but the finest, defining memories will never be gone. So, Live Big.