Saturday, February 28, 2015

An unrequited day - or is it?

Today is, as several people have reminded me, the anniversary of my birth. "Happy Birthday," they write or say, and I appropriately respond, "thank you so much. Sweet of you to remember."
But what I'm really thinking is, "what the f@$* business is it of yours? And why would anyone want that dubious (at best) anniversary remembered?
Oh sure, it's nice to think "well, I've lasted another year above ground. Hooray for me." But then there's those aches and pains that accompany aging; those loose, rattling teeth, the hair loss, the gray pallor that seems to creep ever-wider across one's face. 
I shan't go further bemoaning the fact of the matter, except to say, who cares? Who really gives a flying s@*% about someone's birthday? And why? What's the point?
Seems like it's another sham excuse to line the pockets of retailers, not to mention bakers, and other shrewd business enterprises. 
Nonetheless, to all who took a moment of time to wish me a happy birthday, I sincerely and humbly say, "thank you, very much!"
Hypocritical of me, I know, but that's too bad. I'm not put off by the human capacity for sentiment. I'm put off by the baffling traditions that sometimes create discomfort for those of us who's age is a siren song that portends death's inexorable approach. 
So please forgive the rambling, disjointed nature of this tome. I intended to write something pithy and humorous and, sadly, failed miserably on both counts.
But it didn't take much time, so there's that.
Stay warm. Be happy.
And if today was your special anniversary; a recollection of the moment you drew your first breath and began your journey toward humanhood, then by all means - happy birthday to you, too! 

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Another media-gone-rabid waste of time!

Did Tom Brady cheat by releasing air from the footballs during the conference title game?
Did the NFL slip someone into the locker room (or wherever the game footballs are stored before the game) who surreptitiously bled air from the footballs to set up the Patriots so they would be plagued by a two-week media-fueled hell ride before the Super Bowl? Perhaps the intent was to distract the Pats so much that they fail to fine-tune their game plan for the Seahawks?
Maybe the Seahawks had someone in the stands who had the diabolically clever plan of letting air out of the game footballs, thereby besmirching the Patriots win against the Colts?
Maybe aliens from Zeta Ridicula traveled billions of miles and hundreds of light years to sabotage the footballs at the AFC title game, thinking it would make a good joke.
Why not. Any scenario is plausible at this point, at least according the ever-enterprising and wise media crews who cover the NFL.
It's a kind of cock-and-bull story that petty, amateurish media hordes try to sell every week, because most of the hapless reporters haven't a clue about how to craft a good, worthwhile story, or piece together a bit of actual journalism.
Of course it stands to reason that Tom Brady and the whole Patriots franchise would jeopardize their win against the Colts by performing an idiotic stunt like letting air out of the game footballs. That's just the kind of behavior that winners embrace, right?
And of course, the rush to judgment by many in the media is justified because the Pats were caught video recording opponents' practices some years ago, so cheating is in their DNA - right?
Do you seriously think that the Pats were intimidated by the Colts and, therefore, felt compelled to squeeze a few ounces of air out of the game footballs?
If so, then please call me ASAP. I have a golden-egg-laying hen for sale.
Do you truly believe that Brady needed a theoretical edge in order to feel comfortable about playing in another (his 6th?) AFC championship game against an inferior team?
To the sports media mavens who are prancing with delight and pillorying the Pats for an unproven assertion (where did this story come from anyway???) and one which, on its face, is absurd, I say take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself if you're in the right business?
The conduct that many of the reporters and talking heads are displaying with regard to this non-story is a slap in the face to any sports writer/announcer/analyst who respects the game, the players, and not least of all, journalism.
The circus might be a better fit for you fools who have been strangling this rubber chicken for the past week. You certainly don't belong in a newsroom or sports studio!
Go flog your sad, self-serving delusions in private, please. And please allow those reporters who recognize the difference between news and malicious gossip to report the NEWS.
Nonetheless, thanks for your buffoonery!
Now go home and give yourself a spanking.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

A long time since I posted on Moblog909.

My how the time flies. Flies and flies
out past the horizon and into the boundless clouds.
A feast of pigeons floats above, teasing and tantalizing the red-tailed hawk, which creaches and screams and circles confidently, knowing it will soon sink its claws into the fat body of a grayish-purple pigeon. That curved, razor-sharp beak will soon crunch through the breast bone and muscle of the pigeon's beating heart, and the life that spills from that bird's blood will sustain the hawk another day or two.
Changes keep evolving, mutating, mutilating and distorting time and space, and my body seems to slow to a stillness that defies belief, but which demands acceptance, despite the masquerade, as steady, relentless motion.
Who can say what reality is? Truly? What fabric, light, aroma, sensation comprises reality in this moment without you?
Where you are is not where we all are at this moment, so what now?
Can you reach out across the void and sink the putt, hit the shot, nail the field goal, speak the truth?
No. You cannot!
But you can try, so please do. It makes for an amusing moment outside time and space, and it might relieve the heartburn that God feels this very instant. Who knows?
Indeed! Who knows?
Life is a pliable, mid-spilling bouillabaisse that never quite reaches the floor.
The goons act tough, and the killers don't talk, and the madmen strike out at the delusions and nightmares that haunt their broken souls.
If you happen to be on the "stage" when the lunatic finally snaps, well, whatever happens remember, it's not his fault, he's crazy. Use the opportunity to hone your craft, practice your lines, push your imagination into corners of perception that you've never before perceived.
Maybe you'll survive.
Who knows?
And the paint that covers the pain drips from my fingers, dappling the concrete floor with rose, green, purple and black.
That's Friday night in Texas, folks. That's the unsettled unraveled day moving into night beneath a cloudy sky.
I say to you all - good luck, good life, good love, and goodnight.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Just want to say "thanks" to President Obama

Thank you, Mr. President, for being courageous enough to take on the HUGE interests arrayed against ANY KIND of national healthcare program, even one that holds promise for MOST interests in the long run. Thank you for fighting to pass the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, instead of fighting for higher approval ratings.
The law is not perfect, not by a long shot!
But it is, for me, an affirmation and an indication that public servants, yes, even federal public servants, can act in the interest of the people and the nation, and LEAD without being consumed by self-serving, partisan political motives.
I hope that the law begins a process that reshapes our national healthcare system into one that effectively serves people, and continues to excel in the exploration of complex medical issues.
Mostly, I hope that the medical care law reigns in the crazy profiteering by BIG INSURANCE and some pharmaceutical manufacturers, and allows both over-burdened healthcare consumers and over-burdened hospitals regain some stability and, yes, some hope that we can provide healthcare to people who need it, without trashing our medical system and without crushing the lives and hopes of millions of patients and families.
I'm all for profitability. But when it comes to saving lives, it seems to me that there should be a higher motive than money, a deeper commitment than greed and the bottom line, and a purer hope than that of an ever-climbing quarterly statement.
At the very least, Mr. President, you've again reminded us that humanity is more important than corporations, and that, doomsayers be damned, it's better to do something than do nothing. And sometimes we have to take chances to keep a vision for a better world alive, no matter what the risk.
If people only did the safe thing, the "sure" thing, we humans would have gone extinct 100,000 years ago.
So thank you, sir.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

To my children grown

What is there to say when it has been years since we've laid eyes upon one another?
What is there to do when the clock keeps ticking forward - never backward - and the muteness inside the space between us reigns supreme?
I, too, came from a broken family, a divorced mother and father, and a screwy world to run through, so I have a sense of what you might feel, what you may have been through, what your "evil" twin must have said between your ears in those dark moments when your heart was breaking and your confusion choked the life right of your body.
I'm betting you are strong and filled with light, now. I'm betting that those damaging lies we tell ourselves to explain away the pain have had their instant of command, and have slipped beneath the seas of your true "self," leaving you peace and confident serenity to hold you up when the going gets tough.
I'm betting you are yourself, and that's the best one can hope to be, truly!
No matter what, I love you.
No matter the distance, the silence, the absence - I love you.
And when I'm finally gone and your questions about me remain unanswered, that curiosity will drive you to become a better person, a better parent, a better human being than I was.
Every moment I had, I loved you. Every moment I lived, I loved you. And every pain-filled tear that watered the garden of my grief, let me know that you would be strong.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

121212 Concert - Magical music!

Holy smokes! Just listened to Eric Clapton play a beautiful rendition of "Crossroads!" His licks just get better and slicker with time's passing. And his band, a kickin drummer and a funky, deep rumbling bass player, kept the string of pearls dripping like cool, clear, water.
Sometimes an event occurs that arouses the soul of the world and connects with the widest range of people from all backgrounds, bringing us all  together in a dream-dance. This 121212 concert is just such an event.
Musicians and celebrities making themselves available to the masses for merry-making and booty shakin!
Very cool. Very warm and fuzzy, too.
To whom it may concern - the people who produced, networked, hustled and sweated to put this thing together - Thank You. It's a good thing.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Nothing to say

Hot Summer Wanderings

Freedom to watch life from the balcony