Inspiration

Inspiration comes from many sources...like being stuck at work with a real bad country music radio station playing over the PA system (is there any other kind of country music station???).

I was inspired to write this, which could be made into a slightly racey, short, funny country song:

I Hate Country Music

We were parking at the drive-in late last Saturday night

Mary Jane was close beside me and I was holding her so tight

Before the movie started she turned on the radio

Tuned the dial quickly--but then I shouted “NO!”

I said, “I really hate that ‘music’,” as I made quotation fingers,

“The verses are as lousy as the smell of skunk that lingers.

Give me Ozzy or the Beatles, Aerosmith or Pink Floyd,

But don’t you turn on country music--that stuff makes me annoyed!”

Mary Jane just looked right at me as if I’d lost my head,

She reached across, turned up the radio, and this is what she said,

She said, “I just love Keith Urban, Toby Keith and Conway Twitty,

And if you make me turn this music off, then get your hand off of my titty.

You see, this music talks of life and love, of how men and women ought to be,

And if you’d listen to the lyrics, then I think that you would see.

But you would rather hear your rock n’ roll, your Chili Peppers and Mudvayne,

But when you turn that stuff on way too loud it gives my head a pain!”

I took my arm off of her shoulder then, just as my hand had reached it’s goal,

I sat back in my cordovan vinyl seat, and searched deep within my soul.

Just what was it about country that I really didn’t like?

Was it the sameness of the vocals, that they all sounded just alike?

Was it the themes that talked of losing love, losing trucks, and apple pie?

Was it written somewhere that country songs have to make you cry?

Was it the fact that every singer had the same ol’ Southern twang,

Or was it just the sound of the dobros as the good ol’ cowboys sang?

I had to be honest (to myself), the list of reasons just kept growing,

The stuff I hate about that music was beyond one person’s knowing.

But then I smiled a little smile, and looked at Mary Jane,

I turned up the radio really loud, wincing silently in pain.

But I got my touchy-feely at the drive-in not much later

And even her love of country couldn’t make me hate her,

But I’ve got to tell you, Mary Jane, and I hope you will forgive,

‘cuz I never will like country, not as long as I do live,

Give me Queen or Bryan Adams, Journey or No Doubt,

But don’t you turn on country music—unless you’re willing to put out!

©Aimless Rambler, 11/07/2005

And so it goes...

June, I'm home...June? JUNE!!!

This is some very funny stuff from the May 13^th , 1955 issue of Housekeeping Monthly.

This is “The Good Wife’s Guide”:

Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time, for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.

Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper, etc. and then run a dustcloth over the tables.

Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift, too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children’s hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer, or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

Be happy to see him.

Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first—remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.

Your goal: Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order, and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.

Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.

Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

A good wife always knows her place.

Wow. How things have changed in 50 years. Where is June Cleaver when you need her???

And so it goes…

Been long and long...again

Seems like I always get started on something...and never quite finish it. Like blogging, for instance.

It's been a busy month, but a fruitful one. Attended (and officiated) two weddings the weekend of October 15th, so that was a busy one.

Decorated my house for Halloween. That was busy and fruitful.

Did I mention that around the time of my last blog I was on vacation, but also had pneumonia? That was NOT busy, NOT fruitful, and just downright sucked the big one.

But all this has passed into the mists of time...and onto other things.

Creating sound bytes for my brother's upcoming exciting project (more as that progresses).

Getting the house ready for winter. Oh joy.

Getting ready for my youngest daughter's sweet 16...and golden birthday.

Getting ready for Christmas--and this year, if the weather cooperates, I'm going to decorate the outside of the house before it gets down into the single digits. Brrrr.

I'm writing again--not just blogs, but real, honest to goodness fiction. I hope I can keep the creative juices flowing long enough to at least finish one of my many fits and starts.

Guess only time will tell.

As Albert Einstein said: "The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."

Thank goodness for time.

And so it goes...

Re-Rant

The world is still in a phase of the ongoing World War that began in 1914, and mankind has still not learned anything-unless you call the actions of terrorists something new.   I suppose that a complete and total lack of respect for your fellow human being, coupled with the ultimate act of theft of life could be called ‘new’, except that there have always been terrorists.   Until now, they just didn’t get the kind of press that brings their actions into our living rooms on a daily basis.
Ever hear of the IRA?   They’ve been bombing and killing their own people for many years, and they get page 8 in the newspaper.   But let some towel-headed person of Arabic descent put a bomb in a subway, and it gets front page, news at six billing.  
      I am a firm believer that we need to take a hard line against terrorists, and the countries that host their kind.  And by a hard line, I don’t mean hunting down the terrorists and putting them on trial; I mean hunting them down and eradicating them like the vermin they are!   And if the country that they are in puts up a fuss, then I believe it’s either time to move our troops from Iraq to that country, or take advantage of the neutron bomb, and wipe out the entire population of the criminal country, and then move in and make it our next state.   And if anyone has a problem with that, they can fucking well be next!
[Deep breath]  The more I write about this, the more pissed off I get.   By the way...did you hear about Mexico?  They have rebel leaders there who are willing to pay for the execution of American leaders.   And they are suspected of assisting al Quaida and other terrorist groups of smuggling operatives into this country.   Want a neutron bomb up your ass, Mexico?   Keep it up.
And the same goes for France.  We can get a good price for the scrap metal called the Eiffel tower, and the Louvre has some pretty pictures that would look good in the Smithsonian.
Don’t fuck with us, World.   Our leaders may not have balls, but our people do.

Komyunikayshun

The English language still manages to elude most of us who (nominally) speak it.

Today’s irritating usage comes from the Motion Picture Ratings, specifically from the movie “Robots”.

This movie is rated PG, and says “Some Material May Be Unsuitable for Children”, with specific information as follows:   “Brief Language and Suggestive Material”.

What is “brief language”?   Is that when someone speaks extremely fast, in staccato bursts?  Or is when they speak like, “Ths iz wht I wld cal brf lngwg.”?   Just how brief is ‘brief’?

And what is ‘suggestive material’?   Is that, like, fishnet stockings?   Or sheer gauze?

C’mon, people, say what you mean!  Language is here for us to communicate with—if not, then just grunt and point like our bestial forebears.

And so it goes…

Sick and Tired

Nothing beats a lazy Sunday afternoon, unless it’s followed by a lazy Sunday night.

I’m on vacation, but because I feel so crappy, it just hasn’t seemed like it yet.   I’ve been fighting off this respiratory thing for a week and a half now, and not getting any better—I just might have to break down and seek medical attention.

I hope that once I’m feeling better the rest of the week is just as lazy as today was.   I need the R+R, and will fight tooth and nail against any who would try and deny it to me!

And so it goes…

Hello, it's me. 

Sucking Blood

Speaking with my father the other day, the subject of death came up.   Neither of us liked the idea of traditional immortality, nor did we like the immortality that was gifted by the gods of old.

We finally decided that the undead immortality of the vampire might be best.   I would like to examine the options herein.

Traditional immortality—eternal youth—has its downfalls.   If everyone were to stop aging at eighteen, eventually the world would be overrun by a mass of perpetual teenagers.    The biochemistry of youth makes mature decision-making nearly impossible—so who would run the world?   Would we keep a few non-immortals around to run things, and if so, would they?  Or, better yet, could they?   Would not the very fact of their mortality in a world of immortals create a situation wherein they would lose any meaningful purpose? [see ‘Slayton Ford’ in Methusalah’s Children by Robert A. Heinlein]  Someone would have to run the show, or we would become a race of thrill-seeking, game-playing children with no future left to us, but no way to die.

The Greek gods gifted those foolish enough to ask for it with eternal life—but at a price too horrible to imagine.   For these gods, in their own vanity, punished the insolence of the mortals who asked for eternal life with just that—but not eternal youth!   Rather, the mortals became eternally alive, but continued to grow older and older, with death impossible.   Imagine being several thousand years old, and looking it!

The life in death of the vampire, while couched in myriad theological problems, i.e.; loss of the soul, never able to attain either heaven or hell, etc., also carries many traditional advantages.    For a vampire, short of the obvious perils such as a wooden stake through the heart or exposure to sunlight, is immortal.   And with that immortality comes the appearance of eternal youth—depending upon the age at which one is born to vampirism.  

At 46, I would make a chunky, gray-haired, balding vampire.   But that’s okay, because I would never change.   I don’t mind being what I am now—it’s what comes in the next 20 or 30 years that I fear, with death waiting at the end of a too brief span of years.

But to be immortal!   Sure, I would never get that all-over tan that gives my skin a healthy glow, and other than looking through a shrouded window, I would never get to see the sun again.   And the diet is distasteful to me—but to the vampiric me, I guess it would be second nature.   Superhuman strength, agelessness, and the ability to perhaps shapeshift holds an allure for me that goes beyond obsession.

So, if there are any vampires out there looking to swell their ranks, and they have read this blog, feel free to contact me.

I’m ready for the next step.

And so it goes…

One of Those Days

Did you ever have one of those days when you wanted to write, but the words wouldn’t flow and the ideas wouldn’t come?

This would be one of those.

And so it goes…

The Human Race

I remember growing up.   Or at least growing old.   For they are two very separate things.

When I was 6 or 7, and attending a parochial school in northern Illinois, I remember having to make a scrapbook detailing what the future would be like.   I found pictures in magazines of ‘cars of the future’, artists’ renderings of what the cities of THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY would be like (with flying cars, glowing white buildings, and happy people), and other such dreams and fancies of the 1960’s.

What a disappointment my species is to me!   Those cars of the future are here, but they don’t have Plexiglas domes, they don’t fly—hell, they don’t even hover!  Instead, they roll around on marginally improved rubber tires, with engines that, for all of their pollution control, still spew out noxious gases (like I do after a couple of Taco Bell burritos).

The 21st century has many marvels, but cities with slidewalks, flying cars, and most of all, happy people are non-existent.  

What happened?

I think that we became cynical and spend-thrifty, but most of all, I think that we got scared.   People are basically animals, and as such, do not adapt to change very well in the short term.   Sure, if all of the marvelous changes that have occurred over the past 100 years or so had happened over, say, 50,000 years, then we would have had time to adapt.   But the changes happen daily now, and it’s hard to keep up.    

Life gets in the way, most of the time.    Working for a living, taking the kids here and there, etc., leaves little time for even the most technophiliac among us to do more than just skim the news and make mental notes of the newest technology—which, by the time we get it, is last week’s or last year’s new stuff, and we’re that much farther behind.

Is it any wonder that so many people just shut their eyes to the newstuff, and look backward nostalgically to the past and the ‘simpler’ days?

But were the simpler days that much simpler—especially to those who lived then?   Or did the frontier family trying to squeeze a living out of a hundred acres of rocky topsoil look back fondly on their ancestors’ way of life.

We must look forward, but it’s hard to keep up with the race when the entire world is passing you by.   But that’s what living is all about; and we are, after all, not called the Human Race for nothing.

And so it goes…

Googling and Looking Around

I never thought that I would have a hard time finding someone online, but when they have married, and you have no idea what their new surname is, it’s almost impossible.   Vital records are only available online, basically, for dead people.   The living might have sensitive information in their files.

And if you want to look up records in person for someone who is still living, you had better be the person who you’re looking up, or forget it!

Damn.   Frustration.   I will persevere.

And so it goes…

Burden

Today is a brighter day…and not just the weather.   My mood has improved, even if my health still sucks.

It’s amazing how getting something off your chest helps you to breathe easier, isn’t it?   As if the mental burden was an actual physical weight crushing the life out of you.  

Cast off the burden, and the weight of the world lessens.

And so it goes…

Destiny

     It happens to all of us, you know—that time of life when we sit back and have to re-evaluate our goals, our place in the world, and what we plan to do with the rest of our time on this planet.    Discovery of what we want, and where we want to take it, can be as near to fulfilling our destiny as fulfilling that destiny in actuality can be.   One can only hope that in trying one does not fall flat on one’s face like a probe crashing to the surface of a distant world.
     So, with that in mind, when your time comes to look forward to the rest of your life, take the bull by the horns and go out to live the rest of your life.   It is a daunting task, but one at which you can succeed—as long as you don’t have to go it alone.
     Call a friend.

And so it goes…
     

     

Quantum Leap

I just looked back at my first blog (5-22-2004), and realized that I missed a golden opportunity for reflection that day.   You see, May 22 is the anniversary of my high school graduation, a milestone that I look back on more and more as the years go by.

If it hadn’t happened the way it did, the year it did, I would probably be a much different person that the one I am now.   Better?   Don’t know.   Different?  Certainly, but I can only speculate on the differences.

If I had graduated, for instance, from the high school where I went through the end of my junior year, I would have never been so anxious to leave that town and head out for places unknown.    Heck, I might still be there now (AAAARRRGHH!!!).

If I hadn’t left there for the town where I graduated, I would have never met the woman who became my first wife…and the mother of my oldest child.    I would never have met the woman who became my second wife…and the mother of my other two children.   And I would have never met my third wife.

And I would have never had to go through two painful divorces, lose the affection of my eldest child, fall into economic ruin, work for fifteen years in a thankless but fulfilling profession, met countless friends, made as many enemies, had so much fun, had so much heartache….etc.

One simple misstep in the past can alter so much.   Ray Bradbury called this “the butterfly effect”.   Step on a butterfly in the past, and for want of that butterfly, a mouse goes hungry; the mouse dies, and does not give birth to many generations of mice, so a larger predator goes hungry, and does not give birth to future generations…ad infinitum.

One can play the ‘what if’ game with life forever…but would any of us, knowing what we know now, really go back and change one cusp of our lives?   Really?

Sometimes I think I would—but then, would I be here writing about it?   Probably not.

But who knows?

And so it goes…

Does it rhyme? (Part II)

FATHER

I cried out to my father, and this is what I said,
“Father, what will the world be like, after you are dead?
You know you’ve always been here, at least for all my life—
You’ve been around forever, to help me through my strife;
To see me ‘round rough corners, and troubles as they came—
Oh Father, without you here things will never be the same!”

My father, he just smiled, and gave me a tight embrace,
And said, “Son, I’m going to a better, brighter place.
At least, that’s what they’ve told me since I was just a lad—
I’ve faith that they have told the truth—and truthfully, I’m glad
To be fading into the background of this long and fruitful age,
I’ve been going down this road so long I’ll be glad to turn the page,
To see what comes right after this, and then right after that--
Son, you needn’t worry,” and he gave my back a pat.

I looked at him, not certain that the old man knew the score;
It always seemed to me that in this life there should be more
Than living out your years, be they eighty, two, or ten—
It never seemed quite fair to me that our living had to end.
“But, Father-- “ I began to say, but he didn’t hear me talk;.
He had sat beneath an old oak tree, too tired now to walk.
As I watched his eyelids flickered, and his eyes grew dimmer still
And he smiled a quiet, tired smile, and he whispered, “Son, until
We meet again somewhere, someday, keep my memory alive,
Tell your son and his sons that I did my best just to survive.
Because that’s all that we can do, is live from day to day,
Until our days are all used up. Now that’s all I have to say.”

And his eyes closed oh so slowly, the eyes I knew so well,
The eyes reflected in my mirror, and I stammered out a yell—
“Don’t go, Don’t go, “ I shouted, too late to do much good.
I dropped down to my knees, pressed my forehead on the wood.
Held the hand that once had held my hand as I crossed a busy street.
Touched the face whose bristled whiskers had once tickled tiny feet.
Kissed the forehead across whose brow I had etched more than one line,
And knelt there feeling loss for this dear father of mine.

“Goodbye,” I whispered harshly, through the acid of my tears,
and inside I felt the passing of about a thousand years…

copyright JB 2005

How I feel 

Disconnect

Increasingly, I feel disconnected.    I can’t seem to reach out to my children or my wife, and when they reach out to me, I am out of reach.

I take refuge in anger and frustration, which only alienates me further; it is, however, the only way I know.   It seems that I’ve been angry all my life, but I am often able to sublimate it, and not take vent in the temper that is my heritage.

Keeping the anger in just leads to more frustration, which leads to more anger, ad infinitum…

…and the lid of this teapot is about to burst.

And so it goes…

Blue Skies

Today is one of those rare, special days when the sun is shining warmly, drying out the past night’s rain, yet there is a cool crispness to the air that tells with a hint of sadness that summer is gone.

The wind chime peals its bells in the breeze, and squirrels run to and fro collecting their winter larder.   Leaves from the drought-stressed trees pepper the ground in hues of gold, brown, and deepest red.  

The lawn needs mowing, but the morning stillness is too beautiful to interrupt with the staccato roar of the mower.    Or at least that’s the excuse I give myself for not cutting the grass.

What I would like most is to pull on a sweatshirt, open a hammock, and nestle in the sun with a good book.   Perhaps a light doze would steal over me, but if I had nothing better to do—well, sleep is always in order.

Instead, I will use the day like a tool for cleaning the yard,  and try to get something real accomplished besides the laziness that I would prefer.

And so it goes…

Crash

The movie is called "Crash", and it deals with people, predjudice, and power in Los Angeles...but it is much more than that.

It is a spiralling, entwined story of how we are all interconnected, acted out by a ethnically varied ensemble cast including Matt Dillon, Don Cheadle, Ludacris, Thandie Newton, and others. The actors do an admirable job of 'keeping it real', and each intertwined story holds surprises for the viewer.

An excellent fable for our times.

Watch it, think about it, talk about it.

And so it goes...

Does It Rhyme?

This is entitled

MORTAL


I wake up from the nightmare,
an iron band around my chest.
That thought has come unbidden,
and again disturbed my rest.

Someday you are going to die,
that horrid statement falls--
a vision with no vision,
a voice that never calls.

A future lies before me:
adulthood, age, and death.
I cannot quite imagine
what comes after that

unless

the ancient stories tell it
the way it really is;
but still I cling to life
because

that is all there is.

copyright JB 2003

Did I mention???

I haven't posted for a long time...guess that life has intruded once more into my playtime.

My thoughts still ramble aimlessly through my head; it's just the putting them into place that takes so long, and saps the little energy I have.

Oh, to hell with that! I'm just plain lazy!

And did I mention how disorganized I am? I'll probably do posts for the next few days, and then sometime next year, my brother will mention how long it's been since I blogged, and I'll do it again.

Or maybe this time I'll stick with it.

Did I mention my good intentions?

And so it goes...

Aimless 

Absent Friends

Her name was Sarah, and she was once my friend.

Many years ago (more than twenty), I knew her. She and her husband Frank were among the best friends I ever had. Frank was a funny man, a true and natural humorist. Sarah was beautiful, not only in the physical sense, but her spirit as well.

Frank and I had a falling out shortly after he and Sarah divorced; I won't get into details, but when your best friend decides to celebrate his divorce by sleeping with your wife, things go downhill from there.

Sarah and I remained in contact for a while after their divorce; too soon, however, she moved back to her old hometown of Phillips, Wisconsin. And I split with my wife soon thereafter, and began to rebuild my life.

Unfortunately, I found little or no time to keep in touch with any friends that I had made during my ill-fated marriage--and that included Sarah. She was often in my thoughts, even if I never took the time to bring her back into my life.

Fast forward twenty years or so. Two marriages failed, and a third going strong. My wife and I began to vacation 'up north' as we say here in Wisconsin...and the 'up north' area we were in just happened to be within striking distance of Sarah's hometown.

For the past three years, I had asked around in Phillips about Sarah, using her maiden name (which she resumed after her divorce). All to no avail. No one seemed to know her. As it turned out, I was just not asking the right people.

This summer, on my way out of Phillips enroute to home, I stopped to fill up the gas tank on our rented van. On the spur of the moment, I happened to ask the clerk at the station if she knew Sarah's family (I used her maiden name). To my surprise, she replied that she knew the family --and mentioned that Sarah had married a Phillips resident. She told me that her mother still lived in Phillips, and looked up the phone number for me.

I thanked her, and remarked that I was looking forward to getting in touch with Sarah. She asked me to wait, and called out to her co-worker, and asked if she knew Sarah G.

To my dismay, the worker replied that she did--and that she had died earlier this year.

Numbly, I thanked them, and I went back out to the van. All the way home, my thoughts revolved around Sarah, and the unusual grief that I felt at hearing of her death.

Perhaps it was my own mortality that I felt at the point; perhaps it was the thought that I had lost yet another absent friend. Regardless of what it was, I resolved to never put off contacting someone who was in my thoughts again--because if I did, it might just be too late.

I am old enough now to realize that I am not going to live forever. If I ever thought that, I was just being foolish. More often now, I am faced with mortality--the death of a friend, a family member, even the death of a friend's child.

None of us live forever, and today is all we have. Tomorrow always comes, but not for all of us. I could be dead tomorrow--or one of my friends could be.

So I have resolved to live today, and make the most of what life I have left, be it a day or fifty years. I have friends and loved ones who I need to be in touch with more often, with more quality, if for no other reason than the fact that if I die tomorrow, the memories that people have of me are my only real immortality. As long as someone remembers me, I am not truly gone.

And I want to be remembered. Fondly, if possible.

But remembered nonetheless.

And so it goes...