dream #2

this one occurred one night during my honeymoon. yes, we were asleep at the time. and yes, we are still happily married.

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Beneath the main pavilion tent at the arts festival is a performance artist. He sits on the asphalt in a roped-off area designated specifically for his performance.

Without speaking, he draws a large chalk square around himself within which his performance will take place. At his side is a stack of cheap plastic Halloween masks. On top of the stack is a red devil mask.

The man is completely naked and has no hair from the neck down. He has no genitals whatsoever; only a large, puckered, protruding anus. His right leg is amputated just above the knee; his left leg is whole, but only as long as his shortened right leg.

He leans forward making sweeping and dramatic arm movements as if to stir up the air around him. He reaches over and grabs salt and pepper shakers that he has placed by his side. He sprinkles first the salt with a full movement of his right arm, then the pepper with his left in an arc around himself. He makes several more dramatic, flowing arm motions and then curls up, withdrawing into himself.

He freezes for a moment, then looks up with the proud smirk of a creative genius and proclaims: “I call it, ‘Return to Innocence’”.

dream #1

this is the first of a couple dreams i had several years ago. when they occurred, i woke up in the dead of the night, laughing my ass off. the bed shook, my wife woke up....i nearly vomited from laughing so hard. not because the dreams were necessarily hilarious, but they were weird enough to make me chuckle. and the notion that i was trying to stifle my laughter in the middle of the night made me laugh even harder. anyway, here is the first...

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The Merv Griffin Show is on the TV. Merv comes out and says, “Next up, we’ve got Tom Jones. But it’s not what you’re thinking---take a look at this clip.”

The video begins with a large black stage---everything is black: the wings, the curtain, the stage structure. Tom Jones strolls out wearing a silver leisure-jump suit. He has really big rocker hair. “I’ve always loved that Big Band sound”, Tom says.

The band, which consists of several totally amped guitarists, a horn section, all sorts of percussion instruments (including a guiro), and Paul Shaffer wearing a blue leisure suit with his collar open, starts cranking out a version of ‘Delilah’ that has never been heard before.

The style is a big band swingy waltz, but the sound of it is totally grunge/death metal. The camera pans back to show the audience consisting of about 25 people passing out and screaming wildly as if in a panic.

The entire venue is about the size of a community theatre and there are chairs overturned everywhere. On stage there are fireworks, flashpots, and fog, and musicians thrashing around. The crowd is maniacal. Tom comes to the edge of the stage, looks into the camera and states: “I really like polkas the best, because everybody loves to party.”

great stuff

Recently, I needled a co-worker into starting her own blog. We have profound conversations on a daily basis that, if taken to heart by the right people, would result in a much more reasonable world.

Her way of saying things often sums up with crackling brilliance what I sometimes struggle to assemble in my cranium. There are two qualities about her writing that most lack: unique, entertaining, rational thoughts, and the ability to express them in an entertaining manner with precisely the right words.

And although she would never admit it, she is a stellar photographer.

With that, I give you http://themutantweed.blogspot.com/

May you enjoy it as much as I do.

admitting defeat

Spring, 2005. I opened the door and looked out into the garage and saw seats that belonged in my minivan. No minivan, only seats. This could only mean one thing -- something ominous was coming home with my wife.

"Here it is!" she announced, as she pressed the magic door button. Inside were huge boxes roughly big enough to hold corpses. "Sale on caskets?" I asked. Several very big men must have loaded these things into our vehicle and all I could do was imagine the disaster that was about to unfold in the endeavor to remove them.

After flexing my arm muscles (which are no match for most 7th graders, I might add), I tried in desperation to budge the first box. Forget it. I called my neighbor and together, we became a suburban duo of sweat, brawn, and grunting. One by one, we lugged the insanely ponderous boxes into the garage. And there it sat: all 17,030 parts to what would eventually become my children's play structure. More wood than a forest, and more screws than Home Depot. Oh yes, and I am not much of a handy man. This was going to be good.

Spring 2005 became Summer 2005 and the boxes still claimed residence in much of the garage. "Too hot to start on it now" I proclaimed. Autumn arrived and there was a nip in the air. Perfect. Just enough time to get it done before winter and the kids could still get some play time on it. My brilliant and skilled friend Lonnie loaned himself to me for a day to get the ball rolling. By the end of one afternoon, it began to take shape -- sort of. Ok, so we got four posts in the ground and attached the top framework.

It is winter. I begin to think these mysterious wooden posts and beams would look nice with Christmas lights. No, it would make a nice gallows and using it as such seemed like the only way out.

"Daddy, is our swingset done yet? Can I try the slide?"

Despair set in and my wife sensed my dread each morning as I stared at this behemoth which was failing to take shape in my back yard. The mere sight of screws would overwhelm me and send me into fits of crying and gloom.

Spring 2006. We are $400 poorer. A bearded, sunbaked, drill-wielding man named Jack is my paid contractor hero. There is no shame in defeat when in the end, your children are happy. My pride was no longer important. Jack took precisely two days to accomplish what would have taken me until my 3-year-old daughter's freshman year in high school. There is nothing better than the giggle of children in swings, wind in their hair, and the free time I now have to watch them enjoy it.

happy! happy! happy!

Oh golly jeepers. It appears as though from time to time, some folks read my blog and leave some comments. I think that's great. Not all comments are favorable, although most are. It has come to my attention that I am bitter and negative. Maybe so -- or my writing is, anyway. Actually, I am a pretty happy person. It's just that I don't always enjoy writing about flowers, sunshine, and pretty colors. It is because I am happy that I find amusement in absurdity that lies all around.

There are all sorts of blogs out there. Some great, some mediocre at best. My blog is about the things I want to say. It is about my opinions, my observations, my perspective. Your opinions may differ. I accept that. Go ahead -- disagree with something I say. Go start your own happy blog to counter the force of my overwhelming negativity. Just don't be a butthole to me because we disagree.

a long story that sucks

If you ever receive a call from Silver King International, don't answer it. They had been calling us for months and we never answered. One day, my wife gave in and answered their call with the intent of telling them to turn blue. Instead, we were enticed by the wonderful promise of a no-strings-attached, no-timeshare-selling weekend for two.....IF we participated in a survey and market study for steam cleaning equipment.

I had participated in market studies and focus groups before and received compensation for my time, so it wasn't beyond belief that I really might receive something swell in exchange for providing my opinions about this product. All we had to do was sit through a demonstration, then provide our input. The guy showed up at our door as planned with a couple of large boxes containing the product. He set up shop right in our family room and began to demonstrate a very industrial looking vacuum cleaner. "Wait" we said. "Isn't this a survey?" "Well, I'm going to demonstrate this product and if, in the end, you are interested in getting one, I will tell you how you can buy one. If you are not interested, that's fine -- you just complete the survey."

Ok, we were still on board with the idea until he asked us what kind of vacuum cleaner we had - a Dyson recommended by numerous trusted friends - and then implied that we were complete morons and suckers for effective marketing. It was then that we realized without a doubt that we had been trapped by a VACUUM CLEANER SALESMAN!! Horror!!

He proceeded with his rapidfire pitch. He fired up our month-old Dyson and ran it back & forth over the same area about 15 times. Then, he flipped the switch on his magic machine which had been fitted with black, grime-revealing demonstration filters, and made one pass over the same spot. Amazing -- it was as if our Dyson picked up nothing! Then he started in with the allergens and dust mites tactics. My wife was mortified. I could see the wheels turning....we must get one of these. How could we have been so stupid to have been suckered like lemmings into the Dyson? I could only think about entire societies around the globe who live in dirt huts and eat bugs, yet they survive. I told the man this. He was not impressed with my worldliness.

Once we were fairly convinced that this hideous piece of machinery was the answer to all of our woes that suddenly seemed to exist, we popped the question he was dying to answer: "How much does it cost?" We had done some serious budgeting to find a way to pay for our Dyson - more than we had ever paid for a vacuum cleaner before. But this....this thing was $3,200. Three thousand, two-hundred dollars.

And then we immediately learned that there were a multitude of convenient ways we could pay for it. I could see the glazed "we must find a way" in my wife's eyes, and it was time to step up as a man. No. There was no way. We had just consolidated a bunch of bad debt that was the result of many stupid, senseless purchases, and this was not going to be the one thing that launched us back into distress.

He called his "boss". "Yep, I'm all done here....nope....filling out the survey..." This was code for 'no sale'. "What's that? Ok, I'll ask them." His "boss" was willing to make a deal -- our last chance to get the big discount on this night only. Growing angry and weary, I said, "Look -- if I am going to spend that kind of cash, it will be for a new carbon fiber bike. I am not about to get into debt and make VACUUM CLEANER PAYMENTS while struggling to put dinner on the table, let alone pay my daughter's pre-school tuition."

I felt particularly good about my chest thumping "I am master of my castle" routine the next day when I discovered that our Dyson had been left on the 'bare floor' setting during the demo rather than the 'carpet' setting. No wonder it didn't pick up as much filth.

I will say this: if you are inclined to fork over $3,200 for a vacuum cleaner, I can recommend a $400 Dyson instead. Then with the remaining cash I just saved you, please donate the remainder to the Lance Armstrong Foundation and put it toward a great cancer fighting organization.

Oh, and our prize? It ended up being a $1,000 internet shopping spree at WOArewards.com. Actually, it "entitles us to obtain up to $1,000 worth of merchandise." From the research I have done, this is a complete sham. Silver King International, you suck.....in every sense.