As the stomach churns.................

Most of the past 36 hours has been spent alternating between reading and pondering a turn of events that defies any logic or sense that I can make of it. There is an answer, but it is locked away from me for reasons that, likewise, defy any logic or sense to me. If you have an answer for me it would be a true kindness to at least give it to me.

I finished up Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling. If you are into the Harry Potter series I heartily recommend this one. With Goblet of Fire, the tone of the books seems to be growing more sinister, more adult. I suspect by the time books 6 and 7 are out, the idea that these are kids books will be left in the dirt.

On my last trip to Barnes and Noble, I picked up a book by Laurie Notaro titled I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies at least in part out of a determination to read more fiction authored by women. My reading over the years has been decidedly weighted towards non-fiction and to male authors. As I look over my shelves the only female author I can see prior to this years purchases, is Barbara W. Tuckman, an excellent author of narrative history.

At any rate, the Notaro book is a relatively short read (about 21/2 hours) and had the rare effect of causing me to:
A. Laugh out loud in a public place.
B. Find it almost impossible to put down.

I took a break from reading last night long enough to watch "The Last Samurai" with Tom Cruise. Though not generally a Tom Cruise fan, (for example: Sean Connery and Mel Gibson are usually good reasons, in and of themselves, to see a movie; whereas, Tom Cruise and Richard Gere are equally potent arguments to not see a movie)this movie is one of those inevitable exceptions. Of course, we're talking pure guy flick here. The sword fights and the battle scenes are fucking amazing.
Cruise's flashy white teeth are about as incongruous as a pair of Nikes, given that he plays a drunken, disillusioned 40 something Civil War vet. However, it is a small distraction from the otherwise meticulous accuracy that makes the film a standout.
I suppose it makes sense not to mess up the pretty boy lead too much so as to give the ladies a reason to accompany their old man to the theatre. Of course, they didn't seem to have any qualms about turning sweety pie Charlize Theron into a total hose-bag for Monster.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch.............. Last night I read The Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom. I'm not sure what possessed me to buy this book aside from the fact that it was only $11.00 at Sam's Club and another short read.
I think I rather expected something along the lines of the Celestine Prophecy. "Celestine...." is an illiterate piece of moronic psuedo wisdom. It still embarasses me that I paid full price for it. If you simply must read "Celestine...." (swayed, as I was, by the hype that heralded it's publication) try to find it at a book exchange in paper back for 25 cents. If, after reading it, you still think it's right up there with cold beer, sliced bread, and oral sex, by all means go out and buy a couple of yards of red velvet, some incense, and a gold plated hard-backed edition and convert the expandable part of your trailer into a shrine for it.

I think that was a rant................let's see, where was I???

Oh yeah............"Five People........" was a surprisingly charming (God, my testosterone levels just dropped 5% for using that word) and literate read. While I don't think it ought to be arbitrarily included in the Sacred Works of the world's major religions as a vision of the after life, it is an effective and fresh illustration of a way of looking at life. One that is so venerable as to be too cavalierly dismissed as fortune cookie philosophy by the fashionably jaded sophisticate.
It's a sweet little book, about a 2 1/2 hour read, and will give you a "warm fuzzy" in spite of yourself.

You've probably noticed that I've positively littered the past few entries with links.............(ok, so the dinosaur is trying to learn about HTML without the benefit of a resident 10 year old).
I am going to take this opportunity to direct your attention to the side bar........and the addition of a new "Books" link to www.abebooks.com. If you are a frugal bibliophile, please check out this site. Abe Books is an online broker for literally hundreds of used book stores all over the world and the prices for nearly new books (even with shipping) is not to be passed up. I've found out of print books and saved at least a couple of hundred dollars so far this year. The books were generally in my hands in 3 to 7 days.I read the descriptions and chose books with jackets and only a book "rater" with an eye comparable to the palate of a world class wine taster could tell that they weren't brand new.

I went to the grocery store last night to pick up a one thousand hit bottle of aspirin (mid-nite snack) and some coffee (breakfast) and spotted David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. I didn't know anything about the book at the time, but Naked was such a hoot (thank you Cricket)that I thought it would be worth the risk........( it was marked down if you used your Kroger Plus Card).

Time to wrap it up, for now, kiddies........."I've got blisters on my fingers."

Thus endeth the entry.........

The Girl, The Gold Watch and Everything.......

A couple of quotes from Tom Robbins' novel Villa Icognito, just because sometimes it seems like I'm living one of his most bizarre,convoluted, bemusing and ironic plots............sort of a magnum dopus.

"Just because you're naked
Doesn't mean you're sexy,
Just because you're cynical
Doesn't mean you're cool.
You may tell the greatest lies
And wear a brilliant disguise
But you can't escape the eyes
Of the one who sees right through you.

In the end what will prevail
Is your passion not your tale,
For love is the Holy Grail,
Even in Cognito.

So better listen to me, sister,
And pay close attention, mister:
It's very good to play the game,
Amuse the gods, avoid the pain,
But don't trust fortune, dont trust fame,
Your real self doesn't know your name
And in that we're all the same:
We're all incognito."

and I love this........but ya gotta think about it

"It is what it is."
"You are what you it."
"There are no mistakes."

Thus endeth the entry..........

Dreams............

I had a dream yesterday morning. I saw as beautiful a woman as I have ever seen. She was dressed to arouse the passion of the most lifeless creature............but I couldn't respond to that.
It had been so long since I'd had this dream that I didn't want to define it by what boiled in me. I wanted to waft on something ethereal. I saw it as a fragile thing, easily lost...........as something existing just on the razor edge of wakefulness.
I breathed, and drank, and tasted, and basked. It was a fine dream..........so fine that I honestly believed it to be real. So real and so fine that at one point I could see myself on my knees as earnestly thanking my creator as I have ever done.

I don't know what happened. It happened in some small moment.
I was awake...........in a worse place than I was before the dream, bereft of the hope that had sustained me, feeling as though some cruel joke had been played on me. Bewildered.........

Thus endeth the entry...........

Thinking out loud.................to a "new" old friend?

You have to know that I have a lot of questions. You would too if the shoe were on the other foot.
As much as anything else, though, I want to find a way for us to relax and have a good time again. I can't imagine being able to easily deal with the questions unless we can re-create that comfort first.

You knew I was there when you logged back in, and you had to manually give me permission. I thought perhaps you had come to the same conclusion and had decided to just go for it without a word. You've got to admit, that would have been fun, it wouldn't have been out of character for either of us and would have been as good a way as any to ease the tension.....to leave us with a warm fuzzy. I hope you can see how I might have misunderstood. I'd have been there earlier if you'd given me a clue...........I know you're not shy.

In almost every communication since we started talking again last fall, I've tried to help you understand..............it's just me. Sure, I've got questions...........questions you, yourself, would feel a right to ask if the situation were reversed............and some of the things hurt..........but damn, where did you ever get the idea that I was going to beat you up with them? You've done a good job of beating yourself up without any help from me.......and none of it was ever necessary.
Whether you can truly allow yourself to believe it or not,I am your friend, and it has hurt to see you torture yourself over something (however large it may seem to you) that could have been quickly and easily and gently dealt with........and left us smiling........and able to go back to having a good time together.

Some of the feelings of discomfort, or guilt, or embarrassment you've felt around and about me go back to last fall.............all I've tried to do is give you as gentle a way as possible to unload them.......leave them behind, and still have the friend that you wanted from the beginning.

Lovers come and go (dont we both know it) sometimes no matter how hard we try to make them stay or want it to work........but a friendship.................damn, that's worth a shitload of effort to repair if things work to damage it......you've got to appreciate that by now.

Yes, it really is ok.........and no, it won't hurt a bit, and yes, I really am sure.

Inebriated aftermath sort of comments................

I did a little bar-hopping tonight. As I greeted and conversed with people I know about town, I brought up the concert I bought tickets to today.............(kind of a public service sort of deal). It occured to me to wonder when was the last time I'd been to a concert.
It was 1980..............Blue Oyster Cult. Springfield, Illinois at the National Guard Armory. Piss poor accoustics and I got ripped off for 50 bucks worth of window pane acid. I took Miss P...........and ran into Debbie L. (sweetest tasting woman I've ever known, bar none........like a pretty little pink piece of candy).
Aside from all that, it was a pretty good concert. The Cult is a no nonsense rock and roll band.............a set of drums and guitars. Smoked the place.............made Godzilla come to life somewhere in the vicinity of your testicles.

I didn't lose track of music so much as I got bored with all the "variations on a theme".............(so you've developed a round thing with an axle in it....re-invented the wheel....how nice for you dear)...........and rap.......(gee,lets tell a joke with the words "fuck" and "nigger" in it........that will get a laugh)

Come on folks, impress me............invent something, show me something new, or at least cover something that is raw and has some guts to it.

Some outfit did "Whiskey In the Jar" to a heavy metal beat........now that was pretty cool.........a 200 year old Irish Folk song that you can fuck to.

Did I mention that I'd done some bar-hopping tonight.

Brigette cut her hair really short again............she keeps threatening to come up and let me shave her head.....(the Captn leers)....Brigadoon was a pretty little teenie bopper when I first met her......God she's gorgeous (see last post).

I can't go on from here.............(did I mention that I'd done some bar-hopping tonight).............but some people are just perfect........not forever, but for right now........and the devil take forevers.

The regret is in wishing that you had......and knowing that it's too late and you never will.

I know that need drives you, darlin...........but don't wonder what my hands feel like forever.

Thus endeth the entry...........

Odd bits................

I forced myself out of the house last night, more out of a conviction that I ought to stretch my legs and socialize a bit than a true desire to "go out".
It took about a beer and a half to determine that my first instinct, to stay at home with a book, was the correct one.
I sat, briefly, at the bar next to a youngish sort of fellow who was absorbed in a book. It's fairly odd to see someone other than myself take a book to a bar................so, when he had laid the book down to order a fresh beer, I asked him what he was reading.
It turned out to be a compilation of blurbs about strange and freakish deaths, gleaned from news stories from all over the world.............ooooooookay.
His drink replenished, he went back to his reading, but from time to time until I left the bar, he would hand the book to me to read whenever he found someone's demise to be particularly chuckalicious.
Among them, two that I recall:

A couple in eastern Europe who were run over by a train while having sex on the tracks.

A lady who collapsed and died at her husband's funeral. It seems one of the friends of the deceased was a ventriloquist who thought it would cheer up the mourners to hear, "Let me out!!!" issuing from inside the coffin. Police had to let him go because: "Throwing your voice isn't illegal."

I had intended to be up fairly early this A.M., but over the past few nights I've sort of drifted into a 3am to 9 or 10 am sleep pattern. Not nearly so idiotically distressing to the brain chemistry as the up all night routine I was following from last August until this February, but still not ideal.

At any rate, this morning didn't go as smoothly as I'd planned, but it worked out okee-fine, as I am now the possessor of tickets to see Willy Nelson and Bob Dylan on Aug. 25, 2004.
I got two tickets for my son and his lady (sort of a late birthday present), two tickets for my daughter and a guest of her choice (sort of an early birthday present), and a couple of tickets for myself. I don't really have anyone in mind to take at the moment, but I left myself the option. It's not likely, but at least possible, that, between now and August, I might meet someone who has a fair degree of control over her gag reflex and can hold my interest for more than 15 minutes outside the confines of the posture-pedic.

As a venerable and antient hippy, even I am surprised that I haven't seen Dylan before the middle ages of my life, but I suppose it's better late than never.
I have an old photgraph of a woman that I once kept time with.......I still, from time to time, look at it and feel that old sensation of seeing as beautiful a lady as I've ever known.
I see her from time to time around town, and though she has aged and faded, I see only the girl in the photo reflected in her face. I think its like that with the musicians of our youth. A young friend of mine once remarked that it was time for Fleetwood Mac to hang it up and write a book........I didn't contradict her, but to me they still make magic with their intruments and their harmonies. Likewise the Moody Blues, or Roger Daltrey, or Stephen Stills. God knows their voices have suffered from exertion and excess and time...........but the echo is still there, and memory does the rest. (The only exception to that rule may be Mick Jagger, who stikes me as a prancing, cartoonish old fool........but then I regarded him as a prancing, cartoonish young fool at best.)
I hope to still be around, and talking to my young friend when she hits fifty. Then, with her cocksure, judgemental,youthful chauvinism laid to rest by a long look in her own mirror, perhaps she will remember and understand.............and believe me when I tell her how beautiful she still is to me.

I'm not sure how the subject came up at Tomcat's this afternoon, but I found occasion to paraphrase a sage friend of mine, "F" Wayne: "If a man wears womens underwear because it feels good, that's alright..........but if he wears them because it turns him on, that's sick!"
I'm not sure what he would have to say about buggy whips and motor oil.

Thus endeth the entry............

Moment in time......

The Battle of the Little Bighorn took place 128 years ago today.

I think it's only right that we take a moment, in honor of the event, to reflect on the last words of General Custer.

"Jesus Christ, look at all them fuckin' Indians!"

Thus endeth the entry.....

Eeny, Meeny............

I spent some time at Tomcat's this afternoon. I drank iced tea, polished off some correspondence and tore off another chunk of my latest read.
Tomcat's has become a sort of an unofficial afternoon meeting place for Chillicothe's literati and intelligentsia lately, and ultimately I laid aside my book, ordered a cold glass of Foster's and a dozen wings and joined in the topic du jour.

I mentioned in my last post that the marital peccadilloes of republican senatorial candidate Jack Ryan and his lovely former bride, actress Jeri Ryan, have been the hot topic in Illinois lately. So it was in Tomcat's today.

As might be expected in such an erudite crowd, the issue was quickly distilled to its most critical essence.

To wit: Who really is the hottest Star Trek chick? We boiled it down to two.

I leave the final decision to you faithful readers. You may vote by comment or e-mail.

Is it........


Jeri Ryan.....Seven of Nine from Startrek Voyager ?

or.........


Jolene blalock......T'Pol from Startrek Enterprise ?

The decision is in your hands.

Thus endeth the entry..............

Damned if you do.........

Before I proceed with this story it must be clearly understood that I am a democrat. Lest that statement fail to convey the full weight of my convictions, I will amplify by further stating that I wouldn't vote for a republican if Jesus Christ himself went on the stump with him and declared him his blood brother.........so help Him God!

There is currently a huge flap raging in my home state of Illinois concerning republican senatorial candidate Jack Ryan.
Jack Ryan was formerly married to actress Jeri Ryan who played Seven of Nine in the Star Trek Voyager series. For those not familiar with that series, Jeri Ryan is the perpetual wet-dream of the adolescent male that lives within every man.......seven feet tall, blonde, drop dead gorgeous and stacked like the proverbial masonry toilet facility.

In the divorce papers filed by Mrs. Ryan, she alleged that Mr. Ryan was continually taking her to sex-clubs and insisting that they have sex while others watched. As a three time veteran of the divorce wars, I tend to take with a grain of salt any allegations put forth in a petition for divorce. If I wanted to be really kind, I could say that the allegations made about me were "exaggerations"............but I'm still not feeling very kind so I'll just roundly state that they were a parcel of malicious and deliberate fucking lies.

Now, this is a huge deal here. Ray LaHood, one of the party hoodoos, is calling for his removal from the ticket. The editors of The Peoria Journal Star, (my local paper) have castigated the poor guy with the kind of blue-nosed verbiage you'd think would be reserved for serial child molesters. (If it gives you any idea, the editors of the Journal Star in their position of the protectors of the public morality routinely censor "Doonesbury".)

I'm pretty sure that if I ever got a shot at Jeri Ryan I would want some witnesses too, but that is beside the point.

Whether or not Jack was selling tickets to their sexual activities, the fact of the matter is that he was indeed nailing Seven of Nine on a regular basis.

If anything in the world could possibly induce me, an insane, foaming-at-the-mouth democrat, to vote for a republican, it would have to be undeniable evidence that the man actually had a pair........way to go Jack.

Thus endeth the entry......

Mine...........all mine!

Sometimes people give us things.....
Sometimes people bring things out in us.
What is given can be taken away....
What is brought out can be locked away again.
All too often we give them credit for giving us things that were there all along......
simply reflecting things that were obvious to everyone except ourselves......
and let them take away what is ours and ours alone....
and bury things that are,in fact, ours to wield and display as we see fit.

Thus endeth the entry........

Sing a song of sixpence..........(or "Quoth the Raven......?)

It's official, I have a cold. It wasn't immediately recognizable as such, insofar as it is not that unusual for a 50 plus year old smoker to occasionally feel like shit and cough a lot.

So I have reverted to the tried and true method of dealing with a cold, to wit; Sleep a lot, take aspirin, drink OJ, and leave the barley and the hops out of the water you consume for a while.

I had a Tarot reading at the Olde English Faire saturday that foretold all my ice cream dreams were going to come true........

This morning I was roused from sleep by a bird screeching and flapping against something...........one hell of a racket. I assumed it was coming from outside, perhaps a retarded bird thinking itself trapped under the porch near the front door.
I felt puny enough that I elected to go back to sleep rather than investigate.

When I did finally get out of bed, I went through my usual routine of making coffee, retrieving the paper, scraping the bunny guts off the front porch, saying unfriendly things to the cat (in a deceptively soothing tone of voice) and the recently added (and delightful) exercise of checking how many new hits I had gotten on this page and where they came from.

As I sat at the computer, a small bird (possibly a wren or a sparrow........I didnt have my glasses on and I lose a bit of detail with distance) flew into the living room and lit on the camera tripod. He paused there for a moment, trilled a bit and then flew off to perch on a drapery valance. I opened the front door and walked away and the bird flew out and away. Exactly how the bird got into the house I haven't a clue.......

I know much of nothing about omens and auguries, but in light of my Tarot reading, I will take this as a powerful one........not in the least diminished by the occasional dropping I have been finding since then. It has to mean something that i found one of the droppings just inches from my coffee cup on the kitchen counter as opposed to finding one IN my coffee cup.

On the way out of the Faire, Saturday, Cheyenne wanted to stop one more time at the petting zoo. She likes little animals but is wary to the point of fear of large animals. Thus she hadn't petted the llamas or the pony on the first two visits to the zoo.

She also turned down the pony ride on the first go-around. However, she did see all the other kids enjoying themselves with the ponies and the llamas and I could tell she was talking herself into overcoming her fears. In this, she could serve as an example to those much older and much more possessed of a logical thought process than she is at four years of age.

She finally decided that she wanted to ride the ponies...(she was scared to death and didn't enjoy it much).....and finally (cautiously) approached the llamas and petted them. I pointed out to her how soft their wool was and told her (ever the fucking pedant that I am) that their wool was so soft that people knitted sweaters out of it. The following conversation ensued:

Cheyenne: "They sure don't need a sweatshirt, Papa."

Me: "No they don't, Sweety, they'd be pretty hot if they had a sweatshirt on."

Cheyenne: "Yeah, Papa, they'd be sweatin' to hell if they had a sweatshirt on."

Me: "ummm..........that's 'to heck' Sweety.........'to heck'."

Cheyenne: "OK Papa..........they'd be sweatin' to heck."

And here I've been worried about asking my Mom to "pass the fucking butter" ever since I got out of bootcamp.

I have laundry to do, a book to read (book VI of the Dark Tower series, "Song of Susannah"), and I think I'll buy a lottery ticket.

Thus endeth the entry.........

An Observation..........

Any creature, as an expression of the instinct of self-preservation, will seek to control, or exercise power over, the source of anything it perceives as a need.

Likewise any circumstance or other creature seen as a threat to the continued satisfaction of that need.

In any human relationship, the party who cares the least (or who can bluff the other into believing they care the least) wields that power or control.

If you need love, you cannot love.

If you cannot love, you cannot be loved.

Thus endeth the entry............

Of swords and sorcery......family and friends

I'm certain that this will turn out to be a somewhat disconnected ramble, as it attempts to recap a crowded and fun weekend.

It was my every intention to make a return trip to the Olde English Faire this morning. I had a great time with my grand-kiddies and my Son and his Lady, but I wanted today to do some serious shopping for odd things that caught my eye yesterday.
Cheyenne is not very patient with my distracted browsing.
I spotted some very nice costume jewelry, and odd items to scatter about the house, and wanted to return today to shop them properly or at least gather cards and web based catalogues. I also wanted to fill up my camera with more costume and crowd pics.

Alas, it was not to be. I woke up this morning and very shortly discovered that I felt like 7 tons of shit..........I went back to bed and slept til afternoon. I believe a cold or something crept up on me...........

I think the thing that I enjoy the most (and am most amazed and pleased by) about these Medieval Faires is the incredible mix of people and ages and interests and levels of involvement that is represented. In the following pictures I have tried to capture a bit of that sense of variety interspersed with shots of me and my family, followed by a few pics of the evening that ensued upon my return to Modern day Chillicothe.

While waiting in line for Cheyenne's ice cream, I got into a conversation with a pair of young ladies immediately behind me. One was a pre-teen and the other couldn't have been much older than 14. Both were in costume and I asked them what prompted their interest. Were they there and in costume because their folks were really into it (and insistant about their attendance) or were they genuinely into it themselves? Their answers to that and a few other queries, ( I asked them what books they had read about the Middle Ages, for instance)left me feeling very good. I gave them an excellant book reference to check out.

All in all, the encounter with the girls in the ice cream line, and the experience of the Faire in general was heartening for reasons that can best be summed up in the words of Lazarus Long

So without further "rambling", here are some pictures:


A young belly dancer at the petting zoo


Mecca...........


A celt in a kilt.......a goth on a phone


Whatever else may be said.....they're not sitting on their butts in front of a computer


Poet-warrior...........


Weird guy on stilts.......

Cheyenne was fascinated with the belly dancers,(well, so was Grandpa) and went up to them and talked to them and spent the rest of the afternoon acting out "belly dancer moves" whenever she heard the music. Notable also was the numbers of ladies, young and old that opted for the belly dancer costume...........


Real belly dancers....


A close up.........of the girlamydreams


Princess Cheyenne........


More Princess.....

On the grounds of the Faire, they have this small mock-up of a type of catapult (I can't recall the name of it.....shame on me). They fill it with hundreds of pieces of candy and launch it into the air. The candy goes soaring and rains down about 50 yards from the device at which point a swarm of little kids rushes out to gather the candy. It reminds one of what happens when a school of piranha sets upon an unfortunate water buffaloe that stumbles into some jungle stream.............within 10 or 15 seconds there was not a piece of candy left on the ground. The whole thing is so frenzied that I noticed one little girl nursing a bloody nose...............


Candy catapult!


The frenzy............

Every year that I have attended this event, I have shopped for a sword. I wanted something real..........but within reason price wise. I didn't want one of the chrome steel replicas..........some of them look really great, but they aren't "real". They are suitable for hanging on a wall, or wearing as part of a costume, but if you tried to use them to cut anything more formidable than a ham sandwich, they would chip and shatter. Don't ask me what it is about my character that wants a weapons grade sword....(I do like to travel, however, and should time travel ever be perfected, I am at least armed for the journey). I have found honest to gosh sword makers, and their products are just what I wanted, but the frugal part of me wouldn't allow me to part with the major bucks they are asking for their weapons. I always knew there had to be some middle ground, an authentic factory made replica with an acceptable price tag, and this year I found it. Imperial Weapons had a tent at the Faire and I bought not one, but two swords.........a 15th century Scottish single hand and an Irish hand and a half. What I didn't buy (and wanted to very much) was The Sword of Brian Boru. I would have if it had sported a solid brass pommel and an unwrapped wooden hilt(like the Scottish single hand)..........but I may talk myself into it after all.

I also bought a simple linen tunic type shirt.........Uncle Cecil my attend armed and in costume next year..........


Me, posing with a big knife, trying to look hot..............


More of the same........

Meanwhile, after I had stashed my "toys" in the car, Casey, Diane and Hallie showed up........here are some pics of the family........



Casey, Dianne, Hallie (in backpack), and Cheyenne


Close-up of my son and my Hallieberry...


Waxing rhapsodic on the turkey leg.......


Hallie can't get enough turkey........Cheyenne spotted the ice cream stand.....


Hallie chows on turkey.....Cheyenne goes for ice cream



More Hallie......


Close up of my sweety...........

As we were having lunch, a gang of Casey's friends showed up........all had purchased swords. Of course I had to take them to the car and show them my armory and snap a pic or two........


Matt, Carl, Tony, Casey and me........Prepared to sack, pillage, plunder, wench, feast and drink..........perhaps not in that particular order


Athos, Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnon and Moe.......All for one and one for All

After much wandering around and more shopping, It was at last time to part company and get Cheyenne back home.....


Papa Cecil............


Tuckered........

I got back into town, retired to Tomcat,s and was surprised by my daughter. She had canceled her plans for the evening and accompanied me to Newt's, where my neice was doing a Karaoke show. As it turned out, my voice was so burned out from talking to people all day.........so I wasn't much good in the singing department, but I ran into my brother there, had a good time and managed to get another picture or two.


Cass.........


Amy poses with my brother..........it wasn't his idea Claudia!


Dianna and Jocelyn doing their best "Fuck Me" stuff...........


Shannon, my niece, who was born to sing.....

So there you have it.........all the news that fits, and I've got to say, if you've hung in there and read this whole thing, you either love me very much or you are way too fucking bored to be healthy.

Thus endeth the entry...........

Life is good................

I had a great time today.....................and I am really tired and hungry and drunk right now. I have a ton of pictures to post and a tale to tell.....................and I will have more after tomorrow.

alas, however, I must pass out...........I'll splain it all later........or something.

I have only one thing to impart tonight.............

In my entire life I have only been asked one question that has a simple, direct and immediate answer, and that question is: "Would you like a blow job?"

Everything else is complicated.

Thus endeth the entry...........

random neural firings............

I'm just going to run off at the head for a while. I've been jotting little things down for the past couple of days, and now I've got all these assorted, scribbled on bar napkins scattered around every where.........so, it's either write something or start baling them.

I took another excursion to Peoria Thursday and as I drove from my appointment to Barnes and Noble (do we see a pattern forming here?),I happened to fall into traffic behind one of Peoria's new motorcycle policemen. As we sat and waited for the light at the intersection of Knoxville and War Memorial Drive, I noticed his license plate frame. It said, "Smile, I could be behind you!" I cracked up! When I stopped chortling, I stuck my head out of my window and shouted up at him that I liked his license plate. He turned around and grinned and gave me a wave.

Some darling lady recently made the mistake of telling me how pretty my handwriting was. This, of course, went straight to my head. I went out and bought a medium tipped calligraphy fountain pen and dug deep for excuses to write more letters. I've been an essential non-correspondent for over 25 years and now, all of a sudden, I want to write everyone in the world. I had spotted a beginner's calligraphy pen set at B & N on my previous trip to the big town and, after mulling over it for a day or so, decided I just HAD to have it. Now I have this overwhelming urge to copy the King James version of the Bible in longhand and send it to someone who thinks of themselves as the voice of God on earth like the Pope, or Pat Robertson, or Rush Limbaugh.........or re-copy the works of Shakespeare and send it to V. C. Andrews or Danielle Steele. You've created a monster Emmy Lou.

I also, of course, found a book or two........(you didn't really think i was going to get in and out of Barnes and Noble without buying a book did you??) I spotted a paper back entitled "I Love Everybody (and other atrocious lies)" and subtitled "true tales of a loudmouth girl"............I mean, peepul, I think I know this woman!! (figuratively speaking).........it is by Laurie Notaro and though I know nothing about her I had a good feeling about the book. I got "Who Were the Celts" (to feed my fascination with the Irish and all things Irish)............I dont know if it is good history or not but it was cheap and not too formidably thick, so what the hell. Also cheap (and more than likely an excercise in farcical speculation on the part of a hack masquerading as an historian), was "Freemasonry and the Birth of Modern Science".........I am a Freemason, twice Past-Master of my lodge and have an abiding interest in things that pertain to Freemasonry. I am also an auto-didactical life-time student of History.........and god-damned picky (and a fair authority) concerning what is good writing in that genre. I'll let you know.............and, someday, when I'm up to it, probably address Freemasonry (in more detail than you ever wanted) in a future entry.

Over the past three years, it has become somewhat of a Father's day tradition to attend the Olde English Faire. My daughter is tied up with work all weekend, but Thursday my son IM'ed me to see if I wanted to go. I had planned to contact him, but was delighted that he thought of it first. So, tomorrow I will pick up Cheyenne from my former spouse (shudder) at 9:30am and Casey, Diane and my other little sweety pie grand-daughter Hallie will meet me out there. It plagues me so that they live so far away............my son is my little boy and a solid and enviably good man, his partner is a sweetheart and a lady that I like and love very much, and HallieBerry is a darling and I want her to know her Papa like Shiney face does. I miss them. I am excited to see them tomorrow.

The Olde English Faire is one of those surreal nostalgic Medieval love-ins that totally dismisses the reality of the Middle Ages. The middle ages was mostly noted for its filth, disease, poverty, ignorance, superstition and fear. All but a brutal handful of thieves and thugs (given noble status by their partners in crime, the church) lived in a system of bondage that made american style slavery seem fairly benign by comparison. At least, southern slave owners threw their human chattel some pig parts and corn husks for supper and valued their slaves at least to the extent that any good businessman would protect and nurture an investment. I have to wonder how much of a crowd this shindig would draw if they had some realistic portrayals of life in the 12th and 13th century........say, for instance, Theodoric of York Medieval Barber performing a root canal with the same tools that he had just used to shoe a horse and filling cavities with molten lead....I daresay the shrieks of the patient would attract a "faire" bit of attention (aren't puns a sick, cheap shot?). A nice mix of rotting, third stage syphilis victims and lepers wandering amongst the jugglers and minstrels might bring things into focus more sharply or perhaps they could randomly round up about half of the crowd and either subject them to the auto de fa or send them and their families home with a nice case of souvenir bubonic plague. It never fails to just throw my brain into one of those logic defying mental lockups (similiar to a computer meltdown) to comtemplate the fact that at a time when the people of Europe didn't even bother to wipe their asses, ate out of a trough with their unwashed hands and couldn't even spell soap (let alone make it)...........and in fact, considered bathing a mortal sin, the people of asia (with whom Europeans had had trade relations for centuries) had opiate anesthetics, tooth brushes ( they brushed their teeth with baby urine, but hey, with no Proctor and Gamble around its a start anyway), public baths (and prided themselves on smelling good), a rudimentary system of public education and were mostly literate (the most bone-headed moron in China could quote you a line or two of Confucious).

That was a rant, wasn't it??

At any rate, the Faire is a fun thing. It is an duke's mix of old hippies and bikers, and goth chicks, and unfuckable geek-boys wearing fake swords and kilts, imagining themselves to be the true sons of William Wallace and looking more like well armed transvestites with terminal acne. There is enough grilled animal flesh to stop an elephants heart (no fucking beer though) and colorful garb and quaint songs accompanied by instruments that sound like rubber bands strung over a cigar box and jugglers and story tellers. It is vivid and lively.............and it is my father's day celebration..........and I wouldn't miss it for the world.
Next post will promise pictures..........

Before I forget, I would like to clarify one important and critical point about the "Abby shot"......... I TIP WELL!!!....................nickle-dicks need NOT apply.

In another vein, I have been mulling over the things I want to do with this site as I become more adept at tweaking the template..........my head's just spinning with ideas. I have gobs of things to link to and long years of anecdotes I'd love to tell to anyone who will listen (tell me a story Uncle Cecil).....Dedicated "side blogs" to deal with other things that interest or occupy me, and a "real" bio of Gutz the man is in the outline stage...... So hang in there, and tell all your friends if you find me in the least worth perusing.

Thus endeth the entry...........

One night at McCool's (alright River City..........whatever)......

I promised a picture of an "Abby Shot" and I have delivered.........can you see how they might get you in trouble............this particular glass is brimful (minus a sip or two) of Tullamore Dew, a nice Irish Whisky but not one of the better Irish Whiskys. Which is as much as saying that Irish Whisky is sort of like a blow job..........even a bad one is pretty good.

I thought of tons of stuff to write about today, but it will have to wait. It took an embarrassingly long time to get these pictures on here and I must crash. There has to be an easier way.

At any rate, this is party night in downtown Chillicothe..........I suspect we could show a New Yorker, or an Austinian, or a Denverite an good time or two. Fuck, this would be like goin' up-town to a cheese-head.


An "Abby" shot of Tullamore Dew


singin "Brown Eyed Girl" for Amy


Leslie.........who doesn't know how pretty she is


Amy.........who
is sweet and dances with me and makes me believe that I am not really old


Another Amy...........whom I lust for




My daughter.........my darlin




Cass
wails.........I'm so proud


Ooooorah....yeah


Check out the screen and write your own caption


Fred takes us to a house in New Orleans.

Thus endeth the entry...........

I have slipped the surly bonds of earth...........

I rather suggested last night, that I had something on my mind that I was too drunk to articulate, but was a concrete idea in my mind notwithstanding.........( I absolutely love to use the word notwithstanding).

I was referring to the lady at Newts (you know who you are darlin) that I had harbored an unrequited lust for since first I saw her. I was at a loss as to how to express how I saw her and thought about her. Though I am in my cups yet again tonight,(thanks to Abby and her infamous "shots".......I promise a picture of the "Abby shot" tomorrow night though, alas, the lovely Abby will not permit a picture of her sweet self to be broadcast to the internet).......I have had the sober day long to reflect on my thoughts about the lady in question and I believe that I have come up with the perfect metaphor to express my feelings for her.

A muslim believes that if he dies with one of the nine billion names of God on his lips (and no bacon or beer on his breath) he will spend eternity being fed high quality ripe olives and opium coated hashish by a hundred virgin playboy centerfolds.

If I were a muslim, I would discipline myself to constantly mutter the name of God (no matter how nutty people thought I was) throughout my entire life, in the hopes that Annette would be waiting for me at the gates of paradise with a giant jar of manzanillas, a smoldering bowl of blonde hash ...........and 99 of her twin sisters.

Thus endeth the entry...........

Beer glass confessions.................

I've been up since 7:00am monday morning. The ogre that has taken up residence in my back denied me rest last night. To my credit, I used most of that time learning a bit about HTML, rearranging this web site, and thinking about what I want to include on it and how I want to organize it.

I ducked off to Grecian Gardens, (heretofore referred to as "The Greeks") for a bit of reading and a bowl of gumbo, at about 2:00 pm. At about 3:30pm I stopped in to schmooze Yanni, the lovely lady of mediteranean descent who reads and presides over the tobacco shop.

At 4:07 pm I was esconced upon the bar stool I was to occupy for several hours thereafter at Tomcats. Alas, the art deco girl has moved on to bigger and better things, but Lisa is comforting. constant, and smiling, and more than a mere substitute. Oh, to be 35 again (he says, with that dervish mix of chagrin and leer).

A bit over 100 pages of Harry Potter, a thousand glasses of ice cold Fosters and several hours later.............having held forth with Mike and Moe and an assortment of hapless souls, I started to hop my way from bar to bar back home.

At Newt's, downtown, I happened upon the lady I would like to write about. I am far too drunk to articulate what I have wanted to say about her for nearly ten years. This is not the entry that I want to write. The things I want to say about her are concentrated within my brain like the purest and most perfect crystal, but I am far too drunk to even attempt to translate that diamond essence into words. That will have to wait until rest and sobriety have given me back some small capacity.

I told her the truth tonight, but she didn't believe me. How many of you ladies have feared the truth to be a lie, and embraced a lie as the breath of god.

Thus endeth the entry.................

To know oneself is to be wise indeed..........

I was recently playing in the sandbox with my grand-daughter......

cheyenne 

She was shoveling sand into a plastic sifter that I was holding over a bucket.
There were hundreds of tiny pieces of gravel left in the sifter after the sand had run through and at one point I was absent-mindedly looking through them for the tiny fossils that we, as kids, used to call "Indian Beads".

She put up with this for about two heartbeats. The ensuing dialogue went something like this:

Cheyenne: "Dump it in the bucket, Papa."
Me: "I'm looking for fossils, Sweety, hang on a second."
Cheyenne: "What's a fossil, Papa?"
Me: Well, it's a piece of a plant or animal that died a long, long, long time ago and turned into a rock. We used to call the ones that came from plants "Indian beads"."
Cheyenne: "Welll, dump them in the bucket Papa!"(clearly exasperated by the delay by now)
Me: "You're a big girl now, Sweety, you need to be start being a little more patient."

Cheyenne: (with her hand on her hip)......"But, Papa, I'm just a little kid, I don't know HOW to be patient!"

How silly of me.

Thus endeth the entry.........

Folowing the parade to the elephant's graveyard.........

I had an appointment in the nearby metropolis of Peoria this afternoon. As is my usual habit, I stopped at Barnes and Noble on the way home. To my huge joy and surprise, the 6th installment of Stephen King's Dark Tower series, "Song of Susannah", is on the shelves. (I finished book 5, "Wolves of the Calla" not 36 hrs ago..........and immediately launched into book 4 of the Harry Potter series, "Goblet of Fire"). It shouldn't come as any surprise that I bought "Song", and on the way to the check out passed a "three for one" deal of B&N classics from which I selected Voltaire's "Candide", Kafka's "The Metamorphosis and Other Stories" and Henry James' "The Turn of the Screw, The Aspern Papers, and Two Stories".............my personal hell will be a penniless eternity outside a Barnes and Noble, piteously begging spare change from semi-literate yuppie assholes whose only real attraction to the place is the magazine selection and the foo-foo coffee concoctions.
Lately I've been craving something, food-wise, and up until tonight I really couldn't put my finger on it. Barnes and Noble sits next door to one of those "all you can eat" buffets, and as I drove past it I had visions of vast mounds of mashed potatoes, covered with that brown, hundred mile an hour, gravy-in-a-drum that is served in every restaurant in the known universe. Lately I've been on a sort of "hot-wings and beer" diet, broken by the odd meal of soup and crackers and the occasional bloody slab of well marbled cow muscle (sizeable enough that it has to be cooked in a state no smaller than Massachusetts).
To my credit, i started with a salad. I do like rabbit food, and, aside from the sensible "voice-of-your-mother" wealth of nutrients it is packed with, it can be eaten in hundred acre salad farm quantities while depositing in your body no more potential energy than it takes to wipe your ass. Thus, my salad served the same prior restraint on the over-indulgence I was about to commit as not going to a bar before 9:45 or 10:00 pm.
As I sat, chewing my cud, I had time to observe my fellow diners. I noticed two things. First, Hometown Buffet must have a representative waiting on the dock to greet every ship from the Phillipine archipelago,insofar as the place was literally crawling with cutie-pie asian mini-screamers. I have fond memories of my time in the orient and the professional ladies I made the acquaintance of there, so this was a good thing. Secondly, however, I noticed how many outlandishly fat people were there. Now, we're not talking, "looks like someone could stand to skip the mid-night snacks" fat people. We're talking "three inches taller and they could be a perfect circle" fat people......"one chair for each cheek" fat people......"take a deep toke on a helium tank and see the Macy's parade from the air" fat people.
I'm sure that you all have, at one time or another, had a mouthful of some sort of liquid,and been in the act of swallowing, when someone said or did something in your presence that struck you as ungodly hilarious.........thus spewing whatever you were drinking through your nostrils. Well, I was contentedly pillaging my salad as one well fed couple waddled past me on the way to the exit. One said to the other; "I dont think the aisles are as wide as they used to be." People, you haven't lived until you have shot a raisin through your nose.

Thus endeth the entry............

Things that go bump in the night.......

Two weeks ago, at about this time of the night, my daughter showed up at my front door holding a washcloth to her face and dripping blood on her shirt. My first panic thought was that she had been in a car accident. As it turned out, she had been bitten in the face by a dog at a friend's house. No-one there was sober enough to drive her to the emergency room. She is mending well, though there was some infection, and what scarring there will be is slight.
Tonight, I watched Peter Pan with my grand-daughter.....(this is a recently released, live action version that I enthusiastically recommend .......even if you don't have a 4 year old to help you watch it). After I tucked Cheyenne into bed, I watched Master and Commander........which has to be, hands down, the best "sea movie" that I have ever seen.
(In a total aside, i still think that Russell Crowe would make the perfect James Bond........he was Richard Harris' drinking buddy fer chrissake and that has to be tough enough. Pierce Brosnon is too much of a fop to be a good James Bond but, in all fairness, he did make a great Robinson Crusoe.)
The movie over, it still wasn't quite bed-time so I digested another chunk of "The Wolves of the Calla", book five of Stephen King's Dark Tower series. About an hour later, I finally got droopy enough to attempt a bit of sleep. I battened down the hatches and crawled into bed next to my munchkin.
I had no sooner started to doze off, when I thought I heard a noise at the front door. (you knew there had to be a point to all this rambling didn't you?........but then what else is there to do at this time of the morning except think of ways to annoy the neighbors?) Wide awake, I lay in bed quietly for a few minutes. I heard it again, a thumping, scratching racket at the front door. With visions of my daughter crumpled on the front porch, feebly beating at the door with the last of her strength, flashing in my brain, I went to the door to investigate.
It was Cricket (the divorce cat). She had yet another poor little bunny rabbit cornered on the porch, playing the mind games with it that precede breaking its little neck, eating its heart and liver and leaving its gutted corpse on the doorstep for someone else to dispose of...........good Kitty.
Now I'm fucking wide awake and wound up like an eight day clock.
Thus endeth the entry............

BOZE'S POSTULATES: #1

The difference between ignorance and stupidity is CHOICE.

isnt it ironic

I held forth at river city bar and grill tonight for an evening of beer and karaoke (lubricated with a wee dram of 15 yr old scotch). It may be helpful here to point out that i live in the sort of small town where you either know someone or know someone who knows them and at sometime or another you have seen most everyone somewhere.
Sitting at the bar, and looking a little out of place, was one of the local lawyers. Years ago Mike was a sort of fixture at one or another of the local watering holes, perhaps a bit more than is healthy for a professional man, but, be that as it may, he met a nice girl, got married, had babies and disappeared from the bar scene.
Lately, I have been running into Mike fairly frequently. In the afternoons at Tom Cats, where i go to read, drink Fosters, and drool (in a dignified middle-aged guy sort of way) over Laurie the art-deco bartender, and at River City on the more mellow karaoke nights.
Tonight, after I had greeted him, I remarked on the fact that after 20 some odd years of not seeing him except when I needed a lawyer, all of a sudden I was seeing him everywhere.
He looked at me and by way of explanation simply said: "The big D." I, of course, sympathized with him and spent most of the rest of the evening trying to illustrate, by stories gleaned from my own post divorce years, that life really doesn't entirely suck for the middle-aged divorced guy.
Mike handled all three of my divorces.............aint life a hoot?
I solved a "crypto-quote" in the paper a day or so ago........i cant remember who said it and i cant quote it exactly.........but the gist of it was; The difference between real life and fiction is that fiction has to make sense.
Thus endeth the entry.........