Eddie, are you kidding?

The more things change...

2012-01-11T01:35:00.004-05:00

The 1% are repeating history because they never learn from it...

What saddens me most about the NDAA is that they can arrest me, detain me and then send me to Guantanamo Bay and execute me, but the truth will not change; The 1% are far more scared of the 99% than we are of them. In order to win they have to kill us all, for us to win we need only topple a few.

Merry Christmas 2011!

2011-12-24T14:14:00.003-05:00

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

It may have been a rough start to the year, but the end of it is being quite nice. I promise I'll blog more in the upcoming year.

(I've been very busy getting ready to "Occupy" the new year.)

I'm so tired....

2011-11-12T22:08:00.009-05:00

Bring the troops home...

As much as I support the Occupy Movement in Dayton Ohio it is my opinion that the toll the tent community is taking upon individuals in an effort to sustain the unsustainable is no longer worth the expenditure in resources required to keep the tents up and running as winter sets in. Field commanders, whether military or guerrilla in nature have long recognized the futility of attempting occupations under winter conditions. Such occupations violate the principle of, conservation of resources. Look at the picture above. The arrows clearly point out what my camera captured when I attended the GA on 11/12/11. The campers are clearly suffering from fatigue due to lack of sleep and improper nutrition. It isn't the resistance from the community that is killing the Occupy Dayton movement, it is the elements.

Occupy Dayton achieved a great victory when they were offered a table at the tree lighting event. They were offered recognition as a valid community organization and were extended an invitation to add their table to the greater table of this wonderful community event. It should have been a time to celebrate and it has instead been turned into an ill-conceived opportunity to confront and agitate. This would have been a wonderful opportunity to leave the city of Dayton with a positive image of Occupy Dayton and is instead souring the community towards us and our message. I'm sad the campers just don't see what they have offered to them.

The reality is that the camp is a danger...

All it takes is one child tripping over a cinder block or a tent rope and a confrontation is going break out. One that could easily turn violent. Is the risk worth it? As this picture illustrates, the tents are not properly secured to the ground nor can they be due to them being set up on concrete instead of on a dirt surface. This makes them a danger under windy conditions. Add in the fact that the tree lighting is a night time event and you simply increase the risk of something negative happening. Like it or not, the tents need to be removed. Yes, the message Occupy Dayton is trying to spread is important, but if spreading it comes at the expense of the goodwill of the community and the safety of individuals simply trying to enjoy the start of the holiday season with their families, then I can't support such a thing.

The tents are coming down across the entire country and it is time to take ours down too. The tents are the first fruits to come out of the fields of the first season of the Occupy movement, but they are not the only fruits. Look towards Spring 2012, the movement is looking forward and so must Occupy Dayton. Here is food for thought, Occupy the Mall.

Occupy Dayton-11/05/11

2011-11-06T10:54:00.019-05:00

Wild eyed revolutionaries...

Yesterday afternoon I had the opportunity to attend my very first "Occupy" event. I wasn't sure what to expect after having watched television news coverage for weeks on everything from tents on Wall Street, riot police in Oakland, Occupy demonstrators linking arms to protect a grocery store from black hooded agitators, to Guy Fawkes masked demonstrators parading through the streets of New York. What I didn't expect was the gathering of everyday people taking the time out of their busy lives to give voice to their disappointment in the banking institutions and the policies instituted by them that are removing folks from their homes and destroying people's lives. Many of the people I met were single, professional women simply trying to keep a roof over their head and their children in schools they were used to attending and close to the friends they'd grown up since childhood. These women did not talk about entitlement nor were they welfare-mothers leeching off public assistance programs as so many of my conservative friends assured me anyone participating in the Occupy movement would prove to be. These women were well educated, articulate and well spoken. They were not wild-eyed revolutionaries Hell bent on destroying the American way and replacing it with a Draconian system of socialism. They were just every day people trying to keep their homes as winter begins to settle in upon our small Midwestern community. They were simply mothers who want their sons and daughters to spend Christmas in homes they feel secure in instead of sleeping in grandma and grandpa's basement. Much to my surprise I did not encounter the wild-eyed revolutionaries my conservative friends rant on and on about, I met my neighbors and the people of my community. It was a humbling experience.

Lazy unwashed pot smoking hippies?

Every time my conservative friends talk about the Occupy Movement they completely ignore the message of the movement and focus upon the character of the individuals participating in it. Again and again I've heard the dehumanizing phrases; Dirty, ignorant, unwashed, uneducated, pot-smoking hippies. Imagine my surprise when I encountered bright-eyed, clean cut and well informed young people speaking their minds with a drug free clarity. As an individual who attended the counter protest at Kent State University the day after the National Guard troops opened fire upon students exercising the right to assemble and protest, I'd like to issue a warning. Once the forces that oppose you begin the process of dehumanization, they will begin to fire upon you in an attempt to silence your voices and quell your movement. As I've watched the growing police actions taking place in Oakland, California I am reminded of three events from my youth, the Democratic convention of 1968, the shootings at Kent State and Jackson State Universities in 1970. First comes the dehumanization and then come the bullets. Let us hope this time that the lesson is not learned too late, these kids are our children, they are not enemy combatants.

To serve and protect the rich, from us...

Erich Fromm stated in his book, Man and a Sane Society, that anyone who believed police forces exist to protect and serve the general populace are mistaken. His belief (And mine as well.) is that the police forces exist solely to protect the rich from us, the general populace. The flag we carried was said to be a danger to pedestrians, the car horns honking in support of our cause were said to be against the law and the noise of our rally a disruption to commerce. The corporate entity is afraid of the uprising they are witnessing and are equally afraid of the truth contained in the message the Occupy Movement is making public around the entire world. They, the wealthy ruling aristocracy, are bringing the forces under their control into the battle of our dissent versus their greed. We must stand together and not be afraid. Rubber bullets, riot batons and tear gas have never defeated the will of the people and often times have proven the last refuge of the desperate just before inevitable social change occurs. Remember, these are the people who stand against us. They are not ignorant of our plight, they mock it. They have forgotten another truth spoken by Erich Fromm, "Not he who has much is rich, but he who gives much."

I'd attend one of the Occupy Movements any time or any day. It was nice to hang out with my neighbors and discover they're feeling and thinking the same things I do.

Find the cost of freedom...

2011-11-02T17:27:00.010-05:00

Organize, occupy and fight injustice.

I hope to be speaking at an Occupy event this weekend. Below is a copy of the speech I hope to present. In case I'm not given the okay to deliver it there I'm posting it here. Comments are welcome.

I'd like to begin by reading a passage from, The Grapes of Wrath, a book written in 1939 by John Steinbeck. These words were spoken as a warning to the bankers and financial institutions of his day and are no less a warning to the bankers and financial institutions of our own time.

And in the night one family camps in a ditch and another family pulls in and the tents come out. The two men squat on their hams and the women and children listen. Here is the node, you who hate change and fear revolution. Keep these two squatting men apart; make them hate, fear, suspect each other. Here is the anlage of the thing you fear. This is the zygote. For here "I lost my home" is changed; a cell is split and from its splitting grows the thing you hate—"We lost our home." The danger is here, for two men are not as lonely and perplexed as one. And from this first "we" there grows a still more dangerous thing: "I have a little food" plus "I have none." If from this problem the sum is "We have a little food," the thing is on its way, the movement has direction. Only a little multiplication now, and this land, this home are ours. The two men squatting in a ditch, the little fire, the side-meat stewing in a single pot, the silent, stone-eyed women; behind, the children listening with their souls to words their minds do not understand. The night draws down. The baby has a cold. Here, take this blanket. It's wool. It was my mother's blanket—take it for the baby. This is the thing to bomb. This is the beginning—from "I" to "we."

If you who own the things people must have could understand this, you might preserve yourself. If you could separate causes from results, if you could know that Paine, Marx, Jefferson, Lenin, were results, not causes, you might survive. But that you cannot know. For the quality of owning freezes you forever into "I," and cuts you off forever from the "we."

The bankers and their financial institutions are taking our jobs, our homes and shattering our families in the name of greed and profit. While we the people, are left huddling in shelters, clothing our children in thrift stores and feeding them through food banks, these Capitalist profiteers are living like kings. While we the people squat upon our hams around our little fires, sharing what little we still possess with our neighbors, our moment of multiplication has come and the time for our revolution has come. To those greedy, self-concerned profiteers of Wall Street and the banking institutions of the world who control, those things people must have, we say, “Enough! We're sick and tired of corporate greed and corruption and we're not going to take it anymore!”

We cannot be stopped if we stand up for what is right and true. And what is the truth? The truth is not that these institutions are too big and too important to be allowed to fail. The truth is that these institutions have become too big, too corrupt and too greedy to be allowed to succeed. The truth is not that this is a Conservative or Liberal problem, nor is it a black problem, a white problem or an immigration problem. The truth is that all of us are victims of the real problem, corporate greed. All of us are being exploited by evil men who feel there is no higher power to answer to than stockholders. Wealth and the accumulation of it at any cost to anyone else is their sole aim in life and the truth is that this belief is extremely detrimental to the promotion of life and is as a matter of fact destroying life in communities around the entire world. Enough is enough! It is time to put a stop to these evil men and their economic philosophy of greed and excess and reclaim our humanity, our dignity, our hopes and our dreams of making a better tomorrow for the children in our care.

Anger is not enough. Protest is not enough. Only by laying siege to the ivory towers of greed and exploitation and demanding justice for their crimes against humanity instead of allowing them more bailouts and higher banking fees will we finally make these profiteers accountable for their actions. And I say that not even this is enough. Not only must we organize and occupy, we also need to deluge Washington with a tidal wave of letters telling those who stand in the way of our prosperity that we do want the green jobs President Obama is trying to bring to this country We do want to rebuild the roads and bridges that will carry our families into the future and yes, we do want to rebuild the power grids that will lead to a brighter and greener tomorrow. Fossil fuels and the automobile industries are no longer the path to a better future. They've carried us as far towards tomorrow as they can and the new vehicles towards a better day are solar panels, wind mills and transportation systems that are eco-friendly instead of environmentally destructive. Tell those who stand in the way of progress that we do want the green jobs that will inspire us, invigorate us and return to us a sense of dignity in the knowing that our efforts are indeed building a better future for our children.

I know the crowd here today may appear small, but let me assure you that our voices are now part of a larger chorus that is at this very moment being heard loud and clear around the entire world, “We're sick and tired of sitting around our little campfires talking about all the things we've lost to the bankers and the fat cats living it up on Wall Street and we're not going to take it anymore!” The time for this generation's multiplication has come. It is now our time to stand up together and fight against the greatest evil of our day, corporate greed.

Thank you to the organizers of this event today for allowing me to speak and thank all of you for listening to the words of a tired old man. I can not say this with any more energy, organize, occupy and deluge Washington with your letters demanding a better future, not after the next election, but right now. Take a stand and take action. Thank you.

Tales From Seattle...

2011-10-04T00:36:00.015-05:00

The dark side of the needle...

One day whilst strolling about the streets of Seattle I chanced upon a middle-aged homeless man. He told me a very sad tale about Craigslist and the impact of it upon his life. He shared a tragic story about first befriending a seventy-year-old man online and then, later on in their Internet-relationship, arranging a motel-get-together so the two of them could meet and have a bit of fun.

When the old man arrived he was everything the younger man expected. He was sad, old and lonely, wrinkled from head to foot and covered in skin blotches from failing internal organs. He could still perform though and after hearing the old man's tale of a wife who hadn't had a sexual urge in her body for thirty years, the young man decided to give the old man a hand-job. A really good one too.

Well, of course the old man died. Right at the sticky crescendo to his first senior fling too. It was horrible. The young man tried to do the right thing by calling the family and making sure their father's remains were respectably recovered. It was after all, the decent thing to do.

Well, when the police arrived and took the young man downtown for questioning he wasn't completely surprised. Later on however, in the months that followed the arrest and subsequent trial for murder he endured, he learned never to be surprised by anything ever again. Tagged, The Homosexual Slayer, by the local media, he was soon thereafter sentenced to prison for a good number of years and then quickly forgotten by the good citizens of the law abiding community. All for having taken pity on an old man and then having given him a hand-job. (A really good one too.)

Needless to say the young man spent many a long hard night in unprotected custody between the stained green walls of the State Penitentiary. (His nickname from the press saw to that.)

He learned a lot of things in prison. Things that would have killed the old man in that motel room, all those fateful years ago, a whole lot quicker than the hand-job he'd given the old man.

The only thing that kept the young man alive in prison was a magazine article about a lovely place named, Seattle, Washington. He read the piece again and again until at last he'd conjured up a vision of Seattle in his dreams where money sprouts free from the ground, the weather is always sunny and nice and people don't don't care if you sleep on the cold city streets as long as you have a bagel and a cup of coffee clutched in your hands to help keep you warm through the balmy Seattle nights.

Eventually he was released on good behavior and moved what remained of his ruined life to Seattle, Washington. These days he panhandles just enough for a Porter at the Pike and a Dick's Burger or two (With a small order of fries, if the fancy takes him.) and lives a very humble life in a cardboard box behind the, Troll Who Lives Under the Bridge. He is happy in Seattle where even the worst of his days are better than any of the best days he ever wasted away behind prison walls.

Life isn't all bad for the young man. After all, when your hand-jobs are registered with the police as a, lethal weapon, there's a certain attraction to that sort of thing, among a certain crowd in Seattle. He makes a tidy bit of side money and as he warns all those who befriend him, "If the troll is a rockin', don't come a knockin'. Should the afternoon's take from playing, Jack-in-the-Box, behind the troll in the morning is good enough, there'll be Ivar's Fish and Chips for dinner this night and maybe a hot cup of Chowder too instead of Dicks, again. Life is good for the young man in Seattle and he is happy there.

It was a good tale and I'm glad the fellow shared it with me. I am a better man for it.

Good night Seattle, God smiles upon you this evening and so do I...

Dream until your dreams come true...

2011-09-04T23:26:00.012-05:00

Ever since my divorce I've had any number of friends telling me that I need to get back in the saddle and start dating again. According to their sage counsel there are many fish in the sea and I just need to get out there and reel myself one in. My usual response is that at my age I'm just too old to hang out in bars playing the dating game and its been so long since I've played the game that I just don't know the rules for it anymore. These same well intentioned people then respond that I don't have to go to bars to meet women, I can meet them on websites like Craigslist.

Well, being the Internet savvy guy that I am I decided what the Hell, why not give it a try. So far the experience has proven less than satisfactory. More often than not I find women posting pictures like the one below with almost word for word ads with the accompanying messages.

SWF looking for Mr. Right for LTR.

Single white woman age 26 looking for single white man age 45-65 for dating/romance. Only serious reply, no males under 45, no married or bald men. Smokers are acceptable and drinkers too. I am also fine with 420 guys. Your picture gets mine. Put serious in the subject line. you must be local and willing to come to me, have your own transportation, home, job and credit cards. (I'm looking to be spoiled, I deserve it.)

Just for kicks mind you, I responded to a few of these ads and after the exchange of a couple of emails I'd receive an email containing a phone number. Invariably the phone calls always wound up going something like this. "Oh no, honey, I'm not her. She lives in the trailer next to mine and she don't got no phone so I lets her use mine. Hold on a minute and I'll go get her."

Well, it didn't take long for me to grow rather cynical towards these women and their ads so one night I placed an ad under the heading, Men Looking for Women, using the following picture and accompanying message.

SWM looking for SWF for LTR

SWM looking for SWF for LTR hopefully leading to marriage. Must be between the ages of 35-55. Looks are unimportant to me as I'm blind. I'm unemployed, but I do collect a monthly disability check. You must be on welfare and collecting food stamps to help supplement my monthly income. Must have your own transportation, (Current bus pass is acceptable.) mobile home and phone. Must be amenable to my dog being in the room during our sexual relations as he likes to watch. Please include picture in first email so I know you are serious.

Yes, I did receive a lot more responses than I expected, but that as they say, is a blog post for another day...

One hundred bottles of beer on the wall...

2011-08-23T10:07:00.011-05:00

More than a store, this is a celebration of spirits.

One of the bright spots in my life since my recent divorce is the discovery of Belmont Party Supplies. It all started one day when my grill buddy next door and I were shopping at the local Krogers store for goodies to grill and as we stood before the beer selection they carry I lamented about bygone days when my buddies and I would visit a place called Woody's Little Farm and purchase beers you couldn't find anywhere else in the entire Dayton area. Unfortunately the Little Farm has since been bought out by a foreign interest and is now staffed by individuals who all seem to be named Habib and when you ask for a recommendation you'll be led to a cooler filled with Budweiser products and assured, "Berry popular, berry good beer. You want twelve pack?" I've been looking for a new beer home ever since.

So my grill buddy looks at me and says, "Dude, have you ever been to Belmont Party Supply?"

"I think I've heard of it, but I'm not sure if I've ever been there."

"It's right down the street if you want to check it out."

Well, I went on to tell my buddy that I'm a real beer snob and what the average consumer might consider a good selection rarely lives up to the standards of what I consider a quality selection of beers. I didn't hold out much hope, but since the store was close by I decided to give the place a quick once over and if nothing else pick up a six pack of something imported that would go with the food we were about to grill.

"Hallelujah, Sweet Jesus, I've died and gone to Heaven!"

I fell in love with Belmont Party Supply the moment I walked in and discovered a beer selection like I haven't seen in years. For the next hour I walked from aisle to aisle like a kid in a candy shop asking my buddy if he'd ever tried this or that beer. He told me he'd never even heard of the beers I kept going on about and kept urging me to hurry up and buy something so we could get home and get our grills fired up before the sun went down and our grilling time wound up being sometime around breakfast the next day. About that time a young man named Mike came up, introduced himself, said it sounded like I really knew my beers and asked if he could help me find something. We talked, I told him what beers were among my favorites and then I asked for some recommendations. By the time he was done I wound up walking out of the store with a six pack of goodies including a couple of bottles of Arrogant Bastard Ale, (My new favorite beer.) a bottle of Trappistes Rochefort and a couple of other tasty beverages that made the evening's cookout a very enjoyable experience.

In subsequent visits I have come to love the atmosphere of Belmont Party Supply. Once the staff gets to know you, you can't walk in the door without someone giving you a smile, waving you over and saying the magical words, "We just got this in, we only get this once a year and you gotta try it." I love those moments and thanks to some quality recommendations I've experienced amazing beers like Devil Dancer and Farmer's Tan. I've been turned on to beers like Double Crooked Tree India Pale Ale, Samuel Adams, Imperial White and Golden Monkey. I've participated in conversations with customers who love good beer and it always seems like a celebration rather than a shopping experience. Everyone you talk to is always saying things like, "Oh, if you like this or that, you'll love this or that." It may sound corny, but going to Belmont Party Supply is a love fest. If you're passionate about good beer this is the place to go.

Did I mention they carry wine and liquor too?

Belmont Party Supply is truly a one stop shop when it comes to your party needs. Whether you're looking to host a tasting event, pair beverages to culinary dishes or just grab a little something different to enjoy with friends, you won't be disappointed with the wide variety of beverages you'll find within the friendly walls of this establishment. I strongly urge you to introduce yourself to the great people who staff Belmont Party Supply, tell them what you like and ask for their recommendations. You won't be disappointed. The only recommendation I passed on recently was a beer called Raging Bitch. Like I told the guy at the checkout counter, "Sorry, but I'm just coming out of a divorce from one of those and I just can't see myself taking six of them home with me." (Yeah, it got a good laugh out of everyone there too.)

Belmont Party Supply
2621 South Smithville Road
Dayton, Ohio 45420

Who can take the sunrise...

2011-06-26T19:01:00.012-05:00

As Bohemian as it gets.

One of the best things about following the band, Days of Future Passed, is the different venues they're playing on this particular tour. This past Saturday night, the rock and roll coterie; Phil, Elaine and myself found ourselves traveling to Eaton, Ohio for an evening of Moody Blues music performed by our new best friends, Days of Future Passed. The establishment for the evening's show was a little place called Taffys. My first impressions were not so good as tired and weary from the road trip we immediately sought food and beverage to restore our flagging spirits. Unfortunately. the food was not ready and I couldn't even get a cup of coffee. I was not impressed.

Phil, Elaine and I milled around for a bit until I was quite ready to call it an evening and return to Dayton, Ohio. That would have been one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. About the time I was going to give up on Taffys and head for the exit door a gentleman named, Manfred Schreyer, entered the establishment and brought with him a spirit of hospitality and friendship that brought the place to life. He immediately set about preparing delightful chicken salad sandwiches on Bagels and coffee creations that were simply delicious. He served up a generous helping of warmth and camaraderie that made me glad I'd stuck around. Seems we'd just arrived early. Heck, the band was still setting up.

Manfred R. Schreyer, proprietor and host extraordinaire.

Manfred is one of those rare souls that has never met a stranger. A simple handshake is a bond of friendship and once you're a friend you are a friend for life. He is the heart and soul of Taffys and it is his warm and cheerful spirit that breathes life into this small establishment. Taffys is a stage upon which Manfred performs the magical art of the good time. Surrounded with a clever set of props including the famous vault of beer and the coffee table book of performers who've played this intimate venue Manfred masterfully facilitates dining and the imbibing of quality beverages. The man puts on a show that makes the journey to Taffys worth every mile traveled.

I came all this way just to grill out?

Give me a club where I can grill out and listen to good music and I'm one happy camper. All I did was step outside to grab a quick cigarette and the next thing I knew I was in charge of grilling burgers, but that's one of the things I quickly grew to like about Manfred. Everyone seems to play a part in the success of the evening's entertainment whether it is the patrons sitting in the beer vault making recommendations or in my case manning the grill and serving up fresh burgers. The atmosphere at Taffys is a group effort and it is all the warmer and more intimate because of everyone's efforts. I like that a lot.

And of course, there's the band...

Days of Future Passed couldn't have picked a more perfect venue to showcase their musical talents. Taffys is all about the music, there are no dart boards, no pool tables, no pinball machines or televisions blaring sporting events. Taffys isn't about trying to provide every form of entertainment to every potential customer. Taffys is about good food, quality libations and music. Distractions are kept to a minimum and guests are able to concentrate on the musical performances without having to tune out a myriad of noise sources. The atmosphere definitely enhanced the enjoyment of the evening and it was nice to see a gathering of people who came out to Taffys for one reason, to hear good music performed by talented musicians. The audience was not disappointed. Days of Future Passed have quickly become one of my favorite local bands. They're talented and they play Moody Blues music. They'll take you up, they'll bring you down and they'll plant your feet back firmly on the ground. I'd travel anywhere to hear them play and I encourage my readers to check them out. Seriously, they're doing something unique and so far they're doing it in a number of unique and interesting clubs.

Taffys and Days of Future Passed were a winning combination. If you live in or around the Dayton, Ohio metro area a trip to Eaton, Ohio to visit Manfred at Taffys is a refreshing change of pace from so many of the cookie cutter clubs that offer nothing other than a thousand distractions rather than a focused approach to good music and good times. Taffys is about people, music and good times. I fell in love with the place and I'm betting you will too.

Manfred, you're on my A-List and I'm hoping you'll bring Days of Future Passed back in the near future so Phil, Elaine and I will have a reason to come up and visit with you again.

Come together...

2011-05-31T06:50:00.010-05:00

A man, a ten dollar grill and an open invitation.

It is a thing of wonder that a ten dollar grill can take folks who've been strangers all winter and turn them into neighbors in Spring. All it takes is an open invitation, a few chairs, a cooler full of cold beverages and the next thing you know, people are coming out of their apartments, throwing food on the grill and getting to know one another. By the time the day ended there was a sense of community at the apartment complex and everyone was already talking about the next get together.

Even, Leon, came out and joined in the fun.

Leon is a bit of a recluse and really doesn't come out of his apartment much unless he's headed to the store to pick up another forty-ounce, Steel Reserve, beer. He's a Veteran. Leon was in the Marine Corps and doesn't talk about his service to our country at all, ever. It was an honor to have him come out and join us during our Memorial Day celebration. It really made everyone think about the sacrifices the men and women who serve our country make for us when the don the uniform and take on the responsibility of fighting to keep our country free.

Every good cook-out needs a good wing-man.

Turns out that, Brad, is as much a grill enthusiast as I am myself and his talent for creating glazes and sauces is second to none. I'll admit to picking up a few ideas I'd never thought of before and in future cook-outs I'll be adding a number of new concepts I learned from him during this one. The two of us kept the grill cooking for hours and no one was turned away or went home hungry.

Ying, serving up slices of ice-cold melon.

After a good meal the grown ups sat around talking while the kids played with the garden hose. It was a perfect ending to a perfect day. Slices of ice-cold watermelon were passed around to finish off our communal feast and everyone agreed, the first melon of the season is always the sweetest. This morning everyone greeted their neighbors with cheery hellos and talk about the cook-out. There's a new-found sense of community in our apartment complex, one that I hope to continue watch grow as the summer continues to unfold. Sometimes all it takes to spark an event is a grill, an open invitation and people willing to share just a little bit of what they have with strangers. By the time food and drink are served and conversation shared you'll find out that your neighbors were never really strangers after all, they were just friends you hadn't bothered to make yet.

God bless America...

2011-05-29T10:55:00.004-05:00

Presidential assets out the Wazoo...

What next, Mitt Romney, in a Speedo?

Broomshakala II, Baby!

2011-05-26T17:35:00.000-05:00

Brian, manning his post and, Phil, warming up chili.

Any broom-baller who wasn't at the, Trolley Stop, this past Saturday night for the season wrap up party missed a great night of revelry and celebration. The private party house at the, Trolley Stop, provided the perfect setting for a night of good food, good conversation and lot's of good clean fun and entertainment. There were door prizes! Really nice one's too.

Phil, wins again!?

Phil Cheesebrough had to have been riding a real hot streak of good luck as he kept winning door prize after door prize as the night wore on. It didn't matter who drew the numbers either, Phil just kept on racking up the prizes.

Cool moves on the dance floor.

There was plenty of dancing as the evening wore on as folks tried to burn off the calories from Phil's Famous Chili and awesome Sloppy Joes. There was a nice selection of sides too and even some very tasty homemade desserts. If you went home hungry, you just weren't eating.

Even the monkey had fun!

I'll just let the picture speak for itself on this on...

Like Folgers in your cup...

2011-05-24T09:41:00.003-05:00

I bought the grill, I'm gonna use it...

The rains continue, but I ain't gonna let it stop me from the activities I enjoy. If the forecast calls for rain in the afternoon, I'll grill in the morning.

My next cooking lesson? How to make, Tuna Salad, in the can.

Take me out to the ball game...

2011-05-22T22:01:00.004-05:00

Phil, Dirk, Ellen and Ken enjoying the game.

Thank you, Tracy, for the great, Dayton Dragons, baseball tickets this afternoon. They were the perfect ending to a fantastic weekend. The weather was beautiful, the company was good and the game was a thriller.

For, Joey's, "mouthy-little-chew toy",
"Great seats are no problem whatsoever. Bite me!"

Sorry, but this little shrew-of-a-self-righteous bitch stopped by my blog and left me a cowardly-anonymous comment which I will now publicly respond to; Just because your mommy and daddy pastor some insignificant hole-in-the-wall church, in some, God-forsaken little town in the middle of nowhere doesn't make you God's special little mouthpiece. One of these days, Joey, will tire of you and it'll be my turn to laugh in your face. Trust me, I know, Joey...

And they won! In the ninth inning! A real thriller.

Trailing 2-1 in the ninth inning, bases loaded as the dark storm clouds threatened to break open and drench the stadium at any minute, the Dragons rallied and won the game by a final score of 3-2 sending the, Lake County Captains, home in defeat. Man, I love Dragons baseball!

Straight from the heart...

2011-05-20T17:54:00.006-05:00

The greatest blessing I ever had.

Just in case the Rapture does happen tomorrow I just want the record to show that I spoke my heart before the event occurred and not afterwards. Felicia, the best days of my life were the ones I spent with you and our son, Micah. I may not always have expressed it very well, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel love in my heart every day we were together. You were my best friend. Being Micah's father was the very best job I ever held. Losing the two of you was the single most terrible and painful experience I've ever suffered through. I miss the two of you more than you will ever know. I still love you...

It's the end of the world as we know it...

2011-05-19T09:38:00.002-05:00

And I feel fine...

Just in case the predictions prove correct and the world does indeed end this Saturday evening at six-o-clock I'd like to thank everyone for being a part of my life and readers of my blog. Hopefully by Sunday morning we'll all be sitting in, Heaven, sharing morning Mimosas and listening to, God, entertain us with anecdotes about his master plan. I hope there'll be breakfast buffets in the afterlife. I hope each sunrise brings carafes of fresh coffee, muffin baskets, fresh churned butter and a waffle bar. I think that would be just heavenly...

Maybe the afterlife will feature free wireless Internet? Maybe, God, will friend us all on, Facebook? Maybe we'll all be playing, Farmville, and, Mafia Wars, with, God? I wonder what kind of porn sites, God, surfs? Will he share his links with us?

I sure hope there are some decent restaurants in Heaven. Earth food has just become so boring...

I wonder if, Heaven, will have shopping? You know, shelves filled with goods that aren't made in, China. That would be heavenly too...

And in the end...

2011-05-17T20:35:00.022-05:00

But I just had to look...

Sunday, at five-o-clock in the morning the breeze turned brisk and cold. Fifteen minutes later I witnessed the most unusual form of precipitation I've ever seen in all the years I've lived in, Dayton, Ohio. It was as if every drop of moisture simultaneously coalesced in the atmosphere around me and I suddenly found myself sitting in the midst of some giant Slushy. Not a frozen form of precipitation I'd call sleet, this was something different. Unlike rain, this meteorological phenomena did not fall, but seemed rather to hang in the air, suspended between the skies and the earth below. It swirled and danced in the atmosphere. It was like watching a swarm of watery gnats flying about in the cold morning air. And it made the strangest sound. It didn't make the pitter-pattering sound of a normal spring rain. It hissed. A slow-sibilant-serpentine hissing unlike any sound I've ever heard precipitation make before in my entire life. It sounded predatory and confident, almost evil.

By five-thirty the temperature had dropped into the forties, the breeze had grown into a full fledged wind and I was being pelted by water droplets that stung my face and exposed legs like hungry sand fleas. (I was wearing the shorts that had seemed so appropriate for the weather when I'd left the apartment on Saturday morning.) It wasn't long before I was cold and soaking wet. My teeth chattered. I shivered and shook with a bone-chilling cold that I thought would kill me before the McDonalds opened and I could warm myself with a cup of coffee and a sausage and egg biscuit. It was a miserable experience and I've had more than enough of these rainy weekend nights during what has been a miserable spring and I just snapped and started raging at, God.

"What the fuck, God! You've got nothing better to do with your omnipotent self at five-thirty in the morning on a Sunday than torture a poor soul with no place to be other than an aluminum park bench in front of a Krogers store in, Dayton, Ohio? What's the message here, God? What meaning is there in this experience? Just how in the hell does this night work to anyones glory? Just what the fuck is the meaning of the last nine months of my life and just exactly when does the bullshit stop? Where are my green pastures? Where is my shepherd leading me to still waters?"

And the only response I received was the hissing sound of stinging water drops that seemed hellbent on freezing me to death before dawn's first light. There was no message. There was no meaning or divine revelation. There was only me, sitting outside on an aluminum park bench, on a night not fit out for man nor beast, cold wet and miserable. It sucked. Eventually the McDonalds opened and I joined the crowd of homeless people waiting in line for cups of coffee and sausage and egg biscuits. We sat at our individual tables and shivered collectively while we dried our hair as best we could with white-paper napkins. By ten-o-clock in the morning, our alloted second refill of coffee consumed, it was time to head back into the elements. Out into a steady rain and slowly dropping temperatures.

By the time, Phil, arrived to give me a lift home at five-forty in the evening I was sleep deprived, cold, wet and exhausted. Gratefully my weekend on the aluminum park bench was at it's end. Robert and his kids had enjoyed a good weekend together and all was well with the world as I now know it.

Over the course of the last several months I've grown accustomed to weekends out of doors while Robert and his kids spend the last precious days together as a family that they may know for a very long time. It is a small price to pay for the generosity he's shown me in allowing me crash space when I've really needed it while I attempt to bounce back from the breakup of my marriage and the subsequent separation from my own son. I find myself these days much indebted to generous souls like, Robert, and also those of, Phil and Elaine Cheesebrough. I count myself very lucky to have these generous souls among the very few people in my life right now that I can call my friends. Without them I'd have probably wound up dead on the streets just another broken soul beaten down by the heavy-weight punches of life.

Monday was a day of sleep as tired old muscles ached and complained against the efforts of the weekend I'd just put them through. The rains from the weekend continued unabated and it was a gray, dreary and cold day. Again I looked to heavens and all I had to offer was, Really?". Tuesday morning I awoke and is my way, I got online to see what was happening in the world and was greeted with this post about, Stephen Hawking, calling, Heaven, a fairy tale. In that article one of the great minds of this or any other generation said, We should seek the greatest value of our action.” And it shook me to the core of my being...

It was still rainy and cold Tuesday afternoon. One of the coldest days in, May, that, Dayton, Ohio, has experienced in the past fifty years. I stepped out onto the front porch of the apartment building to smoke a cigarette and was immediately greeted by the sight of a fire engine parked in front of the building across the street from the one I currently dwell within. I watched with increasing interest as two police cars and an ambulance pulled up behind the fire engine and then everyone raced into the building. It was soon apparent what had happened inside the building as all the firemen, para medics and policemen made their exit, got into their respective vehicles and drove away. Quietly...

By the time the crew from the morgue arrived to perform cadaver removal at three-thirty in the afternoon, the death was the singular topic of neighborhood gossip and had only served to dampen further the already gloomy spirits of far too many people, who've endured way too many rainy days in what has been one of the wettest and dreariest Springs, Dayton, Ohio, has seen in a very long time. Again I looked to the heavens and asked, "What is the message here today? Where is the meaning? Where is the glory?" And then the words of, Stephen Hawking, came to me, "We should seek the greatest value of our action.” And it took only half of a nano-second for the words of a twenty-first century atheist genius to lead me to one of the most profound truths about, God, I've ever learned.

It doesn't matter if you're a believer or a non-believer, practicing or non-practicing, or even someone like me who daily wrestles with the very philosophical question of whether or not there is or isn't such a thing as a living god. There is something we all can do to bring meaning to each of our individual lives. Beyond all denominations, ideologies, philosophies or political affiliations each and everyone of us can seek the greatest value for our actions. Even if, God, doesn't exist, each and every time we seek the greatest value for our action, everything we do do will still work to his glory. Arguing or even worrying over the existence of, God, isn't what's important. The endless debate never solves anything. Seeking the greatest value in our action...

I wish I was more skilled in applying this simple truth. Sometimes my actions don't seem to have much value at all. I'll work on that, of that you can be sure. One thing I've learned in the past few days is that my life no longer needs, God, to give it meaning. It just requires my actions...

And the sound we make together...

2011-05-14T09:30:00.009-05:00

Jeanne Harmon, warming up at the Redmoor...

Last night it was my great pleasure to catch, Days of Future Passed, at the Redmoor in Cincinnati, Ohio. The Moody Blues have long been one of my favorite bands and their songs still move me like nothing else save, The Beatles and early, King Crimson. The Moody Blues produced some of the most spiritually profound music ever recorded. Period. The Moody Blues are not your average white band. Their music is more about being listened to and Grokked in fullness than being danced to. The Moody Blues songs are deep, meaningful and make no apology for believing in higher spiritual principles. Their music is different from anything else I've ever listened to and I can't recommend them highly enough to anyone who might be reading this post. Find a copy of, Threshold of a Dream, and discover for yourself what I'm talking about. You'll be amazed.

Days of Future Passed, are true to the, Moody Blues, sound without being imprisoned to a note for note recitation of the original songs. I found them to be far more interpretive of the music than mimicking of it and they put on one heck of a good show. More often than not their songs ended in silence rather than applause simply because those of us in attendance were in awe of the performance we were watching. It was different than your traditional, Friday night get drunk and dance show. It was church. And all of us there knew all the words and sang the hymns that have been such an important part of our individual lives for a very long time.

As much as I enjoyed the whole band I have to say that, Jeanne Harmon, on flute just flat out laid it down. She rocked. Again and again her solo moments drew appreciative applause from the crowd and she impressed everyone in the house. Yeah, I'd pay money to see her perform anytime and anywhere. She wasn't afraid to go for the big parts in a big way and her performance was simply awe inspiring.

My only complaint for the night was in song selection. Don't get me wrong, I walked away from this concert completely satisfied, but there were a couple of obscure selections and maybe a tune or two designed more to appeal to bar owners looking to fill dance floors than I'd have liked to hear myself. There were moments where they sounded like the Moody Blues doing Vegas and it dampened the overall profoundness of their performance. Every time they had the opportunity to really nail down a special evening they opted for a more commercial Moody's tune and it was a bit disconnected and jarring. My advice to the, Days of Future Passed, would be to dump soungs like, Peak Hour, from their play list and go full out for the spiritual material. Send the crowd home saying, "Wow, that's some of the most amazing music I've ever heard." Don't worry about playing pop music that's easy to dance to and has the bubble gum beat. (Thanks, Ken, for that little chewable nugget.)

Look, what you guys are bringing into clubs is different than any of the same old same old we're used to hearing over our buckets of Budweiser beers and baskets of stale nacho chips and salsa. Don't be afraid to go cosmic. Leave us glued to our seats in amazement, dance floors forgotten as we journey with you into forgotten realms where empires have turned back to sand. Be electric, be trippin', Hell, that's we'll come for if you serve it up boldly enough.

All in all the evening I experienced last night was a Friday evening I found unique, enjoyable and completely different than the usual fare I've come to loathe about the current bar scene. An evening of Moody Blues music performed by a very competent group of musicians who put on a really good show, what could be finer than that? If you live in and or around the Dayton, Cincinnati area, go and see this band. You won't be disappointed.

Thank you for being a friend...

2011-05-09T21:12:00.005-05:00

God's grace served up Cajun style...

A good day is a cup of coffee, a cigarette, a good book to read and a ray of sunshine to warm my tired bones. If I could just manage to bring all the ingredients together at one time life would be one big giant bowl of cherries with whipped cream on top. Today I'm a just a another broken toy with a broken heart fresh out of yet another broken relationship with no one to commiserate with save the other broken toys in the broken city of, Dayton, Ohio. I miss my guardian angels. They've been visiting family in, Colorado, the past few weeks and I miss the times in their basement watching movies, eating good food and sharing warm conversation over cups of gourmet coffee with dollops of whipped cream on top. They have been an oasis of serenity in the darkest and stormiest days of my life and my spirit has floundered in their absence.

You guys must have had me in your prayers this past weekend because a couple of good souls stepped in as pinch angels when I really needed them the most...

A tip of the halo goes out to, Charles and Shawnie, too. Thanks, guys!

On the highway to Hell...

2011-05-02T12:25:00.006-05:00

Born: Who cares? Died: May 1, 2011

Every single time I've watched the people of the Arab world dancing in the street, celebrating by the hundreds of thousands over the death of a single Israeli child or western society citizen, I have prayed for the moment this bastard would finally fall into our hands and get his just reward. I've never trusted any individual of Arab descent since the bombing of the World Trade Center and the resulting celebrations I watched such an atrocity unleash among the Arab peoples that danced with glee in their homeland streets.

Bin Ladin and his actions were celebrated by many, many, hundreds of thousands of Arab people. His actions were applauded and celebrated by the general populace of the Arab world and he is still a beloved folk hero to them. Whenever I picture an image of what the Moslem's spiritual philosophies bring to the table of peace and harmony among the many varied cultures and races of mankind, it is the face of Bin Ladin I see; just one more in a long line of warriors with blood-soaked hands screaming for, Jihad, and the destruction of anything that isn't considered Holy in the scriptures of the Koran.

The face I see upon the Muslim religion and those who follow it's precepts is one of hatred, intolerance and violence. I never see a smile upon the countenance of a Muslim unless they are standing over the body of a dead Jew, burning a U.S. flag or publicly beating or executing a woman for violating Muslim laws of conduct. I personally find the people and their religion one of the most savage and barbaric of cultures remaining in the modern world today. It sickens me to watch their celebrations of violence on television. I find nothing beautiful, sacred or holy about their land, their people or their philosophies.

Last night, Bin Ladin, the face of the Muslim religion to the western world, was at last delivered into the hands of justice and executed like the mad dog he truly was. He was shot in the head, DNA samples were taken from his flesh and then his body was cast into the sea where even now it is being devoured by spindly-legged crustacean bottom-feeders. Tonight it is the western world's time to dance and celebrate.

Now, I don't care what anyone else thinks, feels or does in reaction to the death of, Bin Ladin, but I don't plan on ending my celebration of this moment until such time as the face of the Moslem philosophy changes from one of never-ending violence to one of tolerance, acceptance and understanding of the reality that no matter how persistent in their path of violence and destruction they are, not every knee will bow to the will of, Allah, nor should they.

I am dancing in celebration tonight, as I will continue to do, each and every time, another one of these terrorist-bastard's faces is wiped from the face of the earth, cast into the sea to be eaten by their fellow bottom feeders and then joins up with Bin ladin in the firey depths of Hell.

There is no joy in, Rama, tonight and that makes me happy...

Here comes the sun...

2011-04-30T13:53:00.006-05:00

And I say, "It's alright."

After what seems like the longest period of rainy weather I've ever experienced in my lifetime the sun has finally come out and this is just being one of those perfect Spring days. Everyone's mood is happy and tempers so short only days ago appear to have been put away with winter coats. It looks like everyone is wearing shorts. Girls are decked out in their best, Daisy Dukes, halter tops bursting with the first fruits of Spring and it's a reminder that Summer and bikinis are just around the corner. I was beginning to think we'd never see the end of the rains in, Dayton, Ohio. It is a day that rejuvenates the spirit and invigorates the soul. It is the nicest day since my divorce and God knows I've needed it. I'm feeling alive again.

This is the kind of day that reminds us that no matter how dark a period we've been through, there are indeed brighter days to come. Yes, I've needed this day for months now and I'm feeling better spiritually than I have in many months. I don't even care that it's supposed to rain tonight and tomorrow morning. I'm enjoying the moment right now. I haven't done that in a long time either. Life is good right now, who could ask for more?

I hope, Micah, is outside playing and enjoying this day. I hope you are too...

That's all I've got to say this beautiful afternoon. I hope the sun is shinning wherever you are and I hope your spirits are basking in the warmth of it's rays. Get outside and enjoy it if you haven't done so already. You'll be glad you did...

And the truth shall set you free...

2011-04-29T11:08:00.018-05:00

The father of all lies, Joseph Smith.

My dearest, Micah. I know that your mother is currently raising you up in the LDS church and at this point in your life you have little control over the ideas she's exposing you to and presenting as fact. Your mother is not always correct and simply because she believes something is true does not always mean that she's correct in her assumptions.

Question your mother's belief systems before accepting them as fact. Think for yourself and develop your own belief systems. Your mother is a member of a religious cult. She is deluded and blind to any criticism of what she believes to be true. Don't repeat her mistake. I've compiled a list of websites exposing the fallacies of the LDS church for you. Visit them and you'll learn the truth of the LDS church. It isn't pretty...

1. Joseph Smith, huckster and fraud.

2. Errors of Mormonism.

3. Real Mormon History.

4. Junk scripture.

5. Exposing the deceptions.

6. Mormons who walked away.

Books that disprove the infallibility of the prophets.

1. The Salamander Papers.

False Prophecies.

1. The most grievous error.

My belief...

Micah, I may not know the whole truth about, God, or fully understand his nature or purpose for us, but I do know for a certainty that, Joseph Smith, was a fraud and that the church built upon his fantasies of metal plates and the angel, Moroni, are completely in error. Study for yourself and you'll come to learn the truth for yourself. Don't follow in your mother's misguided footsteps...

Happy Birthday, Micah!

2011-04-24T09:38:00.002-05:00

Happy Fourth Birthday!

I'm sorry I can't be with you today, but I just wanted you to know that I love you.

I hope you have a wonderful day.

Hug your momma for me.

I love you!

And now to suit our, Great Computer...

2011-04-23T19:57:00.012-05:00

You're magnetic ink...

Last, Tuesday, my phone went dead. Daunted not at all, I made my way to the nearest, Cricket, phone dealer and purchased phone service through September of this year. I next managed to figure out the majority of the new phone features, sans manual, which has still, not as yet, been provided to me as promised at the time of original purchase.

Things seemed to be going well for a couple days until I discovered, through friends who quickly joked about the name my phone was coming up as on their caller I.D. boxes, that my phone was identifying me as someone else. A woman named, Norma. (The last name escapes me at the moment.)

I promptly called my local service provider and asked that this error be changed, as quickly as humanly possible, to correctly identify me as me to those I call upon a regular basis. I was just as promptly informed that it would be impossible to facilitate such a, particularly-complicated piece of technological-magicking, any earlier than the eighteenth of next month. (May, 2011)

Kinda bummed me out...

At eleven-o-clock in the evening, four days after purchasing my, Cricket Phone Service, I received an urgent text message on my new cell-phone informing me that my account was at risk. I immediately logged on to the indicated website and then, wasting no time whatsoever, promptly created the mandatory name and password combination necessary for checking the status of my brand new online, Cricket, account. Whee!

The bill for seventy-four dollars and eight cents waiting for me in my newly created in-box kinda caught me off guard. When I opened the the link promising itemized explanations for the bill I received an error message saying, "We are experiencing difficulties in accessing your account, please call our twenty-four hour a day support line."

I did so. Some guy named, Haji-god-damn-a-lam, (Again, the last name escapes me.) asked me a million questions about me to guarantee that I was indeed me and then he opened my account.

"Are you aware, sir, that the name you have chosen for your caller I.D. is, Norma? I believe that is to be being a woman's name. Is it not, Sir?"

"Are you aware, Haji, that the country in which I live possesses the most advanced military cruise missiles in the entire world and I can see the building you're sitting in right now? Did you know that, Haji?"

"Are you to be threatening me, Norma? Please allow me to gather my Pakistani posse around the monitor so we may all be laughing at your expense, Sir."

They were still laughing so hard when I hung up the phone on them that I still don't know what the charges are for...

Maybe I'll try again tomorrow, online where no one knows me as, Norma, that crazy American guy.

Happy Easter all you bunnies out there...

Where did our love go...

2011-03-30T10:49:00.018-05:00

Little did I know the lies her smile hid from me...

When I first met, Felicia Dellis, she was in the midst of an extramarital affair with a musician friend of hers named, Kirk. Even after a confrontation with the wife of her adulterous friend, Felicia Dellis, continued the affair and even as the flower of romance began to blossom between Felicia and myself the affair continued. It continued until we were riding together in her car one day and she decided to call kirk and end the affair right then and there with me sitting beside her as she called him on her cell phone. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but I loved her and I let myself be lured away from my better judgment and entered into a relationship with her.

It is only with the clarity of hindsight that I now see the fatal flaws in, Felicia Dellis, that should have warned me away from her during the early days of our involvement and kept me from suffering the pain I now experience on a daily basis. The mere fact of her involvement with a married man should have let me know two important things about her character: One, the feelings of others don't matter one iota when it comes to, Felicia Dellis, getting what she wants. As long as, Felicia Dellis, is pursuing her dream no amount of suffering inflicted upon others is taken into account during her decision making processes. Two, there is no higher authority in Felicia's, head than, Felicia. There are no moral laws or ethical codes greater to her than her own opinion of what is most expedient in accomplishing what she feels is her God given right to accomplish at any given moment.

The only thing I ever saw, Felicia Dellis, commit herself to with one hundred percent of her being during our time together was the pursuit of money. She was ruthless in her pursuit of it. Her marriage and her family came second to the acquisition of it and she sacrificed invaluable time with her husband and her son in the pursuit of money. Birthdays, holidays or anniversaries, it didn't matter to, Felicia Dellis, if she could make money by playing music somewhere that was what took priority over every other consideration. She often bragged about being a music whore. She gloated about the monies her music brought to her and expected her husband to share in the opinion that sacrificed togetherness was worth the financial gain. It was an opinion I did not share, especially with the birth of our son, Micah.

It scares me to think of our son being raised solely by, Felicia Dellis. Even now he's being shuttled from sitter to sitter as she pursues what is most important to her, money. He doesn't understand what, Felicia, always told me, "The music will always come first." To, Micah, it is time spent with the love object that comes first. It is togetherness that is most important to him, not the money mommy makes from playing in a never ending parade of musical gigs. His needs are secondary to, Felicia Dellis, just as the needs of others were secondary to her when she was involved in the extramarital affair she was involved in when I first met her. Just as the needs of her family were secondary to her during our own marriage.

If past behavior is often the best predictor of future behavior there is one incident in the relationship between mother and son that fills my soul with dread every time I recall it. It was a beautiful summer day. I'd gone out for a ride on my bicycle and Felicia was at home with our son, Micah. During my absence, Felicia, went out into the backyard with him and after getting his little car out of the shed she sat down upon the porch steps to read this stupid novel she just had to finish reading. Micah wanted to play with mommy. He wanted mommy to do what daddy always did with him when the car was out in the yard. He wanted to be pushed around the yard while he honked the horn and pretended to drive. Mommy didn't care what, Micah, wanted. Micah, began trying to get mommy's attention. He climbed up on top of the car and eventually stood up on the roof of it. It shot out from underneath of him and he fell face first upon the cement walkway. She rushed him to the hospital. The staff questioned her thoroughly about what happened and Felicia was outraged. How could anyone possibly question her skills as a parent? But they were right...

What, Felicia Dellis, fails to understand because of her complete lack of empathy is that, Micah, just like, Kirk's now ex-wife, her ex-lovers and her now ex-husband is that we have needs too. Ignoring those needs only leads to more high risk behavior in ever increasing attempts to gain her recognition that our needs are as important to us as hers are to her. Micah is going to fight for mommy's attention. He needs that togetherness and no amount of money, gifts or trinkets will ever compensate for those wasted moments when she pushes him aside to pursue only what matters to her. It didn't work when her own father tried it and it won't work for her either. I'm worried about the things, Micah, will learn from, Felicia Dellis. I'm worried about the emotionally crippled boy he's doomed to become under her care.

Loving, Felicia Dellis, nearly killed me. She is toxic because she's blind to the emotional needs of those surrounding her and makes rules that benefit no one other than herself. Felicia tramples love because she feels only the need for it and not the necessity of sharing in it. Felicia Dellis wants the flower of love without the work in the garden that comes with it. If you're thinking about entering into a relationship with, Felicia Dellis, I advise you to run as fast as you can before it's too late. Don't wait to learn the hard lesson that all the rest of us have learned from being involved with, Felicia Dellis; Happiness will only come to you, when you get away from her.

My girl...

2011-03-26T10:53:00.003-05:00

And this is her good side...

Not that I'm stalking my ex-wife or anything, but I just happened to have my digital camera handy the other day and managed to capture this very rare picture of her headed out for a bit of exercise. I'm not going to say my ex is fat, but when she sits down in the bathtub, the water in the toilet bowl rises.

By the light of the silvery "super" moon...

2011-03-23T00:31:00.011-05:00

Beauty is always in the eye of the beholder.

Once ensconced upon the aluminum park bench in front of the Krogers grocery store I settled in to read the novel I was in the midst of and observe the coming and goings of late night shoppers as a means to while away a few hours in what I knew would be a long and chilly homeless night. It wasn't long before my attention was captured by a particular individual. She was an interesting specimen, with a delightfully curvaceous body, a more than generously ample pair of breasts, but possessing a face that resembled in all of it's worst characteristics that of a, Chinese Pug dog. She had the same deep brown eyes common to the breed and she was wearing her long black hair pulled back into a single austere pony-tail. It was a jarring contradiction of human anatomy; from the neck down she was an angel, but from the neck up she was a canine nightmare and although her physical features may have been what first caught my attention it was the routine she kept repeating over and over again, with an almost clockwork precision, that kept my eyes glued to the woman.

Every thirty minutes or so she would come striding across the parking lot smoking a cigarette in one hand and talking on a cell phone with the other. “You better hurry up and get yer' fuckin' ass over here. I ain't got time to be hanging around all night waiting on your sorry ass. You know where the fuck I'm at, I'm in front of the Krogers. That's right, by the fuckin' bench. I'm already standing here, asshole, now hurry it the fuck up.” Shortly thereafter an automobile (A different make and model each time.) would pull up, the passenger door would open and she would get into the car and off she'd go into the night. Fifteen or twenty minutes later the vehicles would return, she'd exit the car stuffing a small wad of twenty dollar bills into the front pocket of her jeans and then walk back through the parking lot towards a small apartment building across the street from the, Krogers, store.

It didn't take long to figure out what she was up and where the money was going as her gait became more unsteady and her speech more slurred with every passing visit to the Krogers. I eventually lost interest in her coming and goings and settled back into my novel until she walked over, sat down on the bench beside me and asked, “Are you turning?”

"I beg your pardon,” I responded?

“You know, turning tricks.”

“No,” I replied.

"Are you gay?”

“No, I'm just hanging out and reading.”

“Do you suck dick?”

My first instinct was to answer with a sarcastic response along the lines of, “What part of, I'm not gay, did you not understand?” Instead I answered with a quick, “No.” and attempted to return to my novel.

Nonplussed she continued, “Cause if you do suck dick, I know how you can make some easy money. All I gotta do is make one phone call. This guy will come pick you up, take you back to his place, you suck his dick, he gives you a hundred bucks and he'll bring you back and drop you off right here. Fifteen minutes work tops and you make a hundred bucks. Easy money. Course I get forty bucks for making the hook up, that's only fair.”

“Thank you, but I think I'll pass,” I replied.

Her next date arrived and she got up and started towards the vehicle as the passenger side door opened. As she reached the car she turned around and dropped her closer on me. “He's black and hung like a horse and he's really into the white guys too. If you change your mind, I'll make the call when I get back. It's easy money.” With that she got into the car and disappeared once more into the night.

After she left I sat on the bench and pondered over the experience I'd just shared with this woman. I laughed and couldn't help, but reflect over the last seven months of my life and how much it has changed since my divorce. One moment you can find yourself spending precious moments with the woman of your dreams, tucking your son into bed at night, cherishing the goodness of life and the next find yourself homeless and sharing horrific moments with the woman of your screams, homeless and sitting on a bench in front of a Krogers under the light of the silvery super moon. If I've learned anything from this strange lunar encounter it is this; Sometimes you get the dick and sometimes the dick gets you. In the end you're going to get dicked one way or another, it's just a part of life. The secret to happiness is whether you walk away with your dignity intact or the hundred bucks in your pocket. My advice? Follow the example of the pug-faced woman and take the money, dignity doesn't buy dick these days.

Stupid is, as stupid does...

2011-03-12T10:21:00.010-05:00

What, as if you weren't warned?

Sometimes I think to myself that I must be living in a country populated with the stupidist people upon the face of the planet. I mean, seriously, what the blazing, Hell, is wrong with the people of, America, these days? When everyone else in the world received the, Tsunami Warning, they ran as fast and as far from the coastline as they possibly could before the waters came rolling in over their beaches. What did, Americans, do? They ran as fast as they could carry their digital cameras down to the water's edge to try and get the photo that would land them on television as an I-Reporter for, CNN, or at worst a local network affiliate. And of course it winds up being a real tragedy when a twenty-five year old boy is swept away and killed by the rushing waters. Duh...

Dude, you most likely looked at your buddies and said something like, "Dude, let's burn one and then go take some pictures of the, Tsunami. That would be like, totally awesome, Dudes."

Was it awesome, Dude? Was it just the coolest thing you've ever experienced in your brief and insignificant life?

Sorry, no sympathy for idiots on this blog.

Momma told me not to come...

2011-03-08T08:20:00.042-05:00

Phil Cheesebrough, puts on his game face.

Last night was the grand finale to the inaugural season of the, RiverScape Broomball League, in, Dayton, Ohio. The evening featured two semi-final matches between the top four teams in the twelve team league the, Warren County Whalers, Holten Wellness, So I Thought I was Curling, and, Super Monkey Ruckus United, followed by the, Championship Match between the winners of the the two semi-final games. There was a chill in the air that seemed to deepen as the night progressed, but as the action on the ice grew hotter and hotter the fans in attendance warmed up to the Broomball festivities and a good time was had by all those who braved the elements to come out and witness this historic sporting event.

To the victors go the spoils.

As in so many successful community endeavors it is often the efforts of the people behind the scenes that contribute to the overall success of these of events and many thanks must go out to, Chris and Robin Sassenburg, owners of Dayton, Ohio's, popular restaurant and bar, The Trolley Stop, for their generous contributions in making the inaugural season of the, RiverScape Broomball League, such a great one. Chris and Robin, provided the finances necessary for the winners cup and donated gift certificates to each member of the championship team. Chris and Robin, are big supporters of both, Dayton, Ohio, and the community that calls this city, Home. (The next time you're looking to spend your hard earned dollars on an evening's entertainment, I hope you'll consider spending them at an establishment that believes in giving back to the community a generous portion of what they take in from it.)

Holten Wellness goalie, Charles Gelm,

proves himself a tough nut to crack.

In the first semi-final match of the evening the, Warren County Whalers, gave the, Holten Wellness, team everything they could ask for in a match and then some. Through two twelve minute halves and one five minute overtime period, the favored, Holten Wellness, team went toe to toe with a determined and feisty group of, Whalers, that simply refused to lose. Equally determined, the, Holten Wellness, team stormed the, Whaler, side of the ice again and again, firing shot after shot upon their goal. It was an epic display of Broomball. When at last the smoke cleared the teams were faced with a shootout to determine a winner. Sudden death, the first team to score would win.

Both teams lined up at center ice and one by one each team would sent a shooter in to face the opponent's goalie. Shot after shot was turned away until it seemed the game would never arrive at a conclusion. In the end it proved to be the iron-will of, Holten Wellness, goalie, Charles Gelm, that made the difference and, the team of, Holten Wellness, clawed their way into the finals with a one to naught victory over the Whalers.

Super monkeys on the move.

The second semi-final match of the evening saw the teams, Super Monkey Ruckus United, and, So I Thought I Was Curling, face off for the last remaining spot in the finals. From the outset of the match the, SMRU, put the, SITWC, on their heels with a dazzling display of pressure offense. It seemed as if the, SITWC, team was continually on defense and despite their best efforts they just couldn't move the ball out of their side of the ice and into the, SMRU, side of the ice. The, Monkeys, scored once in the first half of their match and once again in the second half for a convincing two to naught victory over the, SITWC. The, Championship Game, would now see the teams, Holten Wellness, and, Super Monkey Rukus United, face off in what promised to be one of the best matches of the night.

Ah, dear friends, the Championship Game, did indeed live up to expectations and I only wish my digital camera had been as up to facing the elements as were the players on the ice. Unfortunately, such was not the case and the pictures I thought I was taking simply did not turn out when I got home and tried to download them, but let me tell you, it was a battle royal from start to finish with neither team asking or giving quarter.

The, Holten Wellness, team scored quickly on the, Super Monkey Ruckus United, goalie, Phil Cheesebrough, who up until that point hadn't allowed a single goal during the entire season. You could feel the spirits of the, Holten, team lift and likewise the spirits of the, Super Monkeys, sag just a bit at what both teams knew was an important first drawing of blood. Once the, Holten Wellness, team obtained the early lead they went into a, turtle defense, designed to defend their own goal at all cost. Every time the offense of the, Super Monkeys, moved into scoring range the, Wellness, team would collapse down in protection of their goal and create what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of sticks and bodies. At the end of the first half their defensive tactic proved superior and the, Wellness, team held a one to naught lead.

The second half saw both teams moving back and forth upon the ice in a furious display of, Broomball, at it's best. The, Wellness, team desperately wanted the second goal they believed would win them the coveted, Trolley Stop Cup, but the, Super Monkeys, played with grit and determination, turning away shot after shot by the, Wellness, team and frustrating their every effort to put the game away. Still, it appeared that the defensive scheme of the, Wellness, team would hold, but with time running out the shell of the, turtle defense, was at last broken and the, Super Monkeys, scored the the goal they needed to tie the game up at one goal apiece. When the buzzer sounded the teams were tied, one to one, and headed to a five minute sudden-death overtime period.

In the end it all came down to two players, Kyle Kaminski, one of the leagues leading scorers who choose the pass over the shot and, Neill Mullett, the rookie, who took the shot and scored the winning goal to give the, Super Monkey Ruckus United, the win and the first ever, RiverScape Broomball League, Championship Title. It was one of those grand moments that every player participating in any sport, at any level, lives for and plays for, hoisting a, Championship Trophy, and being named the very best in the league.

Charles Gelm, and, Katie Zimmerman,
rivals on the ice and friends off the ice.

This is one of my favorite moments of the night because it represents one of my favorite aspects of the, Riverscape Broomball League. The league is a coed league and teams are comprised of both male and female players. Now, it isn't just the aspect of men and women competing together that I like so much, although that is a pretty cool aspect of the game. It's the idea of men and women learning the characteristics of what makes a successful team, things like trust and depending upon and standing by your teammates, even during the hard times when things aren't going the way you'd hope they would. These are lessons that build successful teams both on the ice and off the ice too. These are lessons that both men and women can apply to any relationship and it's nice to see an endeavor that teaches these important concepts to both men and women at the same time. The, Riverscape Broomball League, has a lot to offer anyone who chooses to participate in it and I can't wait to play a more active role in the league next year.

Neill Mullett, and, Phil Cheesebrough,
enjoying the spoils of victory.

This was my first experience with the sport of, Broomball, and I came away from the evening's festivities with a real respect for the sport, the people who participate in it and the fellowship among the folks who come out to enjoy the social aspect of the game. Congratulations to the, Super Monkey Ruckus United, team. Enjoy the cup while you can because I've got a hunch the, Holten Wellness, team is gonna be coming back next year with vengeance in their eyes.

Batman, Batman...

2011-03-05T12:14:00.017-05:00

If, Michael Jackson, had been photographed
sleeping with one of his wards, he'd still be
alive and in prison today.

It has often been said that a single picture is worth a thousand words. If that is true then what are we to make of the illustration above? We are presented with a disturbing look into the private life of one, Bruce Wayne, and his young ward, Dick Grayson, waking up in the morning after having shared the same bed all night long. Is this normal behavior between a single adult male and his adolescent ward? As far as I'm aware, one of the basic requirements for foster care is that wards be provided with their own bedroom. Is, Bruce Wayne, exempt from such legal statutes simply because he's wealthy? Why is young, Dick, wearing pink pajamas? What were the two of them up to all night long that now requires a cold shower and a big breakfast? And what about the room decor, pink lamps on the nightstand and purple comforters upon the master bed? Could any room be gayer? In my mind, this one picture raises serious questions as to the care being provided to the underage, Dick Grayson, by the older and still to this very day unmarried, Bruce Wayne.

“Is there any more of that lotion left, Dick?”

Once again we are presented with a disturbing glimpse into the night time activities of, Bruce Wayne, and his young ward, Dick Grayson. An older man and a young boy sharing an evening of nudity and sunbathing. Again one is forced to ask, is this normal behavior between a foster care provider and the ward entrusted to his care? I think not. The more we look into the private life shared between, Bruce Wayne, and his adolescent young friend, Dick Grayson, the more we are presented with images such as the one above that lead to serious questions about both the moral character of, Bruce, and his abilities to provide proper care for the young boys so often entrusted to his care.

"I don't know how to love him... "

It is often the case that an individual finds himself conflicted between the inner sexual feelings he feels and the need to conform to the sexual roles expected by the society of which he is a part. When in the public eye, Bruce Wayne, dons a mask and a cape to protect his true identity. What about the message this sends young, Dick? How is the young adolescent boy ever to grow comfortable with his own sexual identity if, Bruce Wayne feels so uncomfortable and conflicted by his own?

Exactly the question I'd like to have an answer for...

Hanging out with the other super guys worried about who they may have touched and who is the individual, Batman, is most worried about? That's right, once again it is his young ward, Dick Grayson. Just exactly what, touching, is Batman concerned about? Did it occur while they were sharing a bed at the mansion? Could it possibly be the touching shared during the late night “sunbathing” party for two hosted by the sexually insatiable, Bruce Wayne? Just how rough did things get between the two of them that, Bruce Wayne, was forced to hide his true identity when picking the young boy up at the hospital? The poor young lad had to be carried to the Batmobile for god's sake! Am I the only person asking questions about the relationship between, Bruce Wayne, and the young, Dick Grayson? Must the young man die before someone does something? I hope not...

The End?

Party, party, party...

2011-02-28T13:33:00.026-05:00

Phil and Elaine Cheesebrough, my best friends ever.

Up until this past, Saturday, night I'd never even heard of an, Eagles Club, let alone ever attended one of their social functions. All that changed when my wonderful friends, Phil and Elaine Cheesebrough, invited me to be their guest at the annual, Mardi Gras Party, held at the, Springboro, Ohio, Eagles Club, each year. From what I gathered from dinner conversation this little soiree has been an ongoing event for over ten years now and according to everyone I overheard talking about it it just keeps getting better every year. The ten dollar ticket price includes an all you can eat buffet, complimentary Mardis Gras beads, an open bar, great music performed by, Mark Laurens & Zydeco Fire and a guaranteed evening of dining, dancing and just plain ole' good clean Cajun fun.

Cheryl and Dennis Caskey.

As anyone who's ever attended any manner of social function knows, table company can make or break an evening. The "social gods" must have been smiling on me, Saturday night, because I had the pleasure of sitting at a table with some of the best natured folk I've shared an evening with in a long time. Dennis and his wife, Cheryl, are simply charming people who know how to have a good time. They livened up the table from the moment they sat down with us and I couldn't have asked for better company to spend spend an evening with. They had it all; everything from funny stories, anecdotes and a digital camera full of pictures of their dogs, friends and family. Looking through the collection of pictures on their digital camera was really cool. They danced and sang with the band and, by golly, they really added to the overall perfection of the evening. If you're ever looking for a good time, sit down at whatever table, Dennis and Cheryl are sitting at and you won't be disappointed.

Katy Laurens, Mark Laurens wife.

In my travels I've met any number of those, "girls that run with the band." They are generally among the most shallow of people I've ever met and incapable of carrying on conversations beyond the acquisition of drugs, alcohol and how long they've been sleeping with any particular member of the band. As a rule they bore me to tears and I avoid them at all costs. Katy is the antithesis of everything those girls represent to me. She is articulate, cultured and educated. On the couple of occasions I've now had the opportunity to talk with her I've found her to be one of the most engaging people I've ever had the pleasure to interact with. I'm glad she sat at our table and shared the evening with us. She listens and genuinely takes an interest in what you have to say and her comments are insightful, positive and encouraging. Mark, you're one lucky guy to have such a genteel and refined lady in your life.

Mark, Cheryl, Phil and Seth laying it down.

Okay, I'm not really familiar with, Zydeco Music. If it weren't for, Phil and Elaine, I probably wouldn't even know the genre existed. Saturday night, woke me up to what this music is all about and after watching, Mark Laurens & Zydeco Fire, perform at the, Eagles Club, I'm a believer. Let me tell you, folks, I don't care what genre of music any particular group of musicians is playing at any given moment, good music is always good music and this group of guys were laying down some really solid tunes. They were a pleasure to listen to and my ears were plum tickled by the variety of music they put forth over the course of the evening's festivities.

Mark Laurens, Dennis Caskey and "Cowboy" Joe Donley

Did I tell you that , Dennis and Cheryl were fun people or what? Now, maybe I got the wrong impression it being my first Mardi Gras party at the, Eagles Club and all, but Zydeco Music seems to encourage group participation. Watching, Mark Laurens & Zydeco Fire perform I just got the feeling that they weren't just performing for the crowd, they were performing with the crowd. Mark was jumping up and down on tables, I think, Seth, spent more time on the dance floor with his rub board than he did on stage with it and at one time or another during the course of the evening I think every single individual in attendance wound up on stage singing, dancing or playing one instrument or another. It was amazing. It was a house party and, Mark Laurens & Zydeco Fire just kept things rolling the entire night.

And a plate of goodies to take home...

This piece wouldn't be complete without mentioning the amazing food the chef prepared for the party. There was a little something for everyone's taste and it would have been impossible to leave this event hungry. They served up everything from a variety of Cornbread, Red beans and rice, Jambalaya, Dirty Rice, a boil including Crawfish, potatos, sausage and corn on the cob, chicken and noodles and so many other culinary delights that I can't even remember them all. They served these, "Poppers" that were to die for and I must have nibbled on them the entire evening. (I'll sign up for club membership if it includes the recipe for those tasty little devils.)

All in all it was an enjoyable evening from start to finish. I met some wonderful new people, ate some truly well prepared food and enjoyed the the music of a remarkably talented group of musicians. Mark Laurens & Zydeco Fire put on a real show and I'd go see them perform anywhere at any time. You want guitar? They've got it. You want killer bass? Dude, they've got it. Drum solos? Their drummer will lay it down and leave you begging for more. Now I must confess in all honesty that I never knew much about "rub boards" before, Saturday night, but I watched a man bring one to life and add a flavor to music I would have never imagined possible if I hadn't witnessed it myself. Truly, these guys rocked the house and the music they brought to this Mardis Gras party would have been worth paying double or triple what the tickets for this shindig cost. If these guys are coming anywhere near your town, go and check them them out. Again, you won't be disappointed.

Phil and Elaine, thank you for what turned out to be one of the most enjoyable evenings I've experienced in quite some time. Now that I'm single again, I hope we'll be sharing many more nights like this one. And, Eagle Club members, you folks sure do know how to party!

Toys in the attic...

2011-02-25T12:12:00.004-05:00

Fun things to do at the, Burkhardt Library.

Libraries are one of the most important resources in the homeless community. Unlike many restaurants and places of public commerce one can sit at the public library for hours upon end without having to spend money or risk being forced to leave the premises by management staff or security officers. Within the confines of the local library one can surf the internet looking for work, communicate with friends on social networking websites such as, Facebook, or simply check email accounts or play games. Books, newspapers and magazines provide a much needed respite from the tedium of hours spent out on the streets with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Libraries provide a sanctuary against the weather and a place of safety where homeless women with children can go and watch their children play in a wholesome and secure environment.

In, Dayton, Ohio, the downtown branch of the library, located at 215 East Third Street, is a major gathering for the city's homeless community. Computers fill up quickly, comfortable chairs are quickly gobbled up and it can sometimes prove problematic if the daily newspapers will still contain the employment section before you get the chance to read the paper. In my experience it has proven a wise decision to look for quieter and less crowded libraries in the suburbs surrounding the city of, Dayton, where the crowds are thinner and the competition for available resources is less fierce. One of the little gems I've found in my own personal search for a bit of suburban relief from the hustle and bustle of the downtown library is, the Burkhardt Library, located at, 4680 Burkhardt Rd.

One of my favorite features of the library.

The Burkhardt Library, is one of those quiet little neighborhood libraries that offer a variety of services to people of all ages. One of my favorite things about this library is that they have a wireless computer network that offers people with laptop computers the option of using their personal machines instead of having to go through the process of signing up and waiting for library computers to become available. Speaking as a person owning a laptop computer it's nice to able to walk in to this warm and cozy environment, set up my laptop and instantly begin surfing the net and work on my blog without having to wait for a library machine to become available.

Another one of my favorite features at the, Burkhardt Library, is the bird cage containing a pair of Cockatiel birds. sometimes they fill the library with the soft sounds of birdsong and it's just impossible not to feel better about an afternoon and yourself as you sit in an environment filled with books, plants and birds. I love this quaint facility and even after I'm not homeless I plan on remaining a regular visitor and spending time in a place that has earned a special place in my heart.

Last, but certainly not least, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the quality staff that keep the library running like a well oiled machine. I love listening to the sounds of, Story Time, on, Wednesday afternoons. They draw a big crowd and the sound of happy children giggling and laughing is always a joy to the heart. The staff are so nice to everyone, including the obviously homeless visitors and the atmosphere they maintain is friendly, warm and welcoming. They are the heart and soul of this library and they work very hard to keep the environment warm, friendly and respectful. Good people are always the key to success in any endeavor and and from what I've experienced in the time I've spent here, good things will continue to pour forth into the community surrounding this little gem for a long time to come.

If you'll just, gimme shelter.....

2011-02-22T00:39:00.004-05:00

Why do homeless women with kids
always get the best spots?

As stated in my previous post, the good-hearted soul who has so generously allowed me to couch-surf at his abode since my release from, Miami Valley Hospital, last, Tuesday afternoon had custody of his two children over the past two days. (Sunday, February, 20th and Monday, February 21st.) Again, since he's currently in the midst of attempting to gain permanent custody of the kids and image being everything right now to, Children's Services, it was decided that a rapscallion such as myself might not properly embellish the desired familial image he's trying to maintain as the loving and devoted father and perhaps it would be best if I vacated the sofa during their visit.

Again, as previously posted, Sunday, at ten-o-clock in the morning, I first prepared and then saddled up my homeless-survival-gear and then headed out the front door of the apartment building and into the harsh and cruel elements of, Dayton, Ohio in true homeless fashion.

As stated in my last post the day began as a good day to be homeless and I spent the best part of the afternoon and early evening in the friendly confines of, Bethel Christian Church. Alas, as we all know, all good things must come to an end and as night began to fall it was time to find shelter for the evening and settle in for a long night out on the mean streets of, Dayton, Ohio. Having visited the local K-Mart earlier in the afternoon I couldn't help, but notice they had a nice awning above the front of the facility with a convenient little bench located in a shadowy little spot near the place where they stored their shopping carts. Thinking this would provide a nice bit of shelter from the rain we were expecting later on in the evening hours I marked it as a possible lodging spot in the afternoon and decided to return later and stake my claim to the bench and the shelter of the awning for a good night's sleep.

One more time I began the arduous journey from, Bethel Christian Church, on, Smithville Road, down the long hill towards the, K-Mart, on, Woodman Drive. Let me tell you dear readers that the brush along the sides of the asphalt path I walked was filled with the feral glow of beastly eyes peering hungrily from dark and hidden holes, waiting for a single misstep on my part before pouncing and assailing me with sharp tooth and razor claw. (They know full well that the homeless make for tasty meals and usually travel alone and not in packs.) Still I continued the trek towards the, K-Mart, on Woodman Drive, ready to stake out my small spot for the night and defend it against any and all potential predators.

Using my finely honed homeless skills I chose a, Speedway, gas station across the street from the, K-Mart, from which I might discreetly reconnoiter my chosen spot and wait for the store to close and all of the employees to leave for the night before strolling over and settling down upon my bench for the night. (How I do love a good plan.) Everything went as expected and soon the store lights dimmed, all of the shoppers were sent packing and the front doors locked. Now it came down to waiting for the employees to go home. It wasn't long before the lights of the store were turned out, workers began filing to their cars and leaving and I knew it wouldn't be long before the parking lot was empty and I could make my move.

Soon I was settled in upon my bench and ready for whatever the night would bring. My first course of action was to text my good friend in, Seattle, Kirk. Now, Kirk, is perhaps one of the fastest texting people that I know. Once he gets going it's hard to get a text in edgewise. I'm telling you, the man is fast. well, by the time, Kirk and I got to texting back and forth my phone was beeping like an alien space ship looking for cattle to mutilate. We were having such fun I didn't notice the police cars entering the, K-Mart, parking lot until they were right up on me. Turns out the cleaning staff heard the beeping sounds and unsure what was going on they called the police and asked them to investigate.

After a thorough frisking the officers ran my drivers license for wants and warrants. Once it was determined that I wasn't a wanted criminal they asked what I was doing sitting on the, K-Mart, bench and I told them that I was only waiting for the rain showers to let up before continuing on my way home. Mollified, they sent me on my way into the rainy night and the spot I'd so carefully scouted out during the day was gone and I was forced to formulate a, "Plan B." Regrettably, I once more began the arduous journey back up the hill towards, Smithville Road.

By now it was getting late and indeed the rain we'd been promised was coming down pretty steady. Sleeping out of doors in the elements is one thing. Sleeping out of doors in the elements soaking wet is quite another. I knew I had to find shelter and find it fast. As I walked down, Smithville Road, I noticed a church with a little playground attached to it's lot. There was a slide with a small wooden cabin on top enclosed on three sides and most importantly, it had a roof. Giving both praise and thanks to the gods I climbed up the rope ladder and into the dry shelter of the cabin. At last I thought to myself, I'm safe and secure against prying eyes, animal and human predators and the weather. I laid my head down upon my backpack and prepared to go to sleep.

I don't know how long I'd been sleeping before the harsh white glare of the spotlights woke me up and of course as soon as I looked out the little window of the cabin I was confronted by a small contingent of police cars. (The Dayton Police Department, this time.) After another thorough frisking this group of officers ran my drivers License for wants and warrants and after determining that I still wasn't a dangerous criminal they asked me what I was doing on top of the slide in the middle of night. At this point I opted for the truth and told them the story of being out in elements for the evening because of the children visiting their father. They sympathized with my plight, but like the, Sugarcreek Policemen, they told me I couldn't sleep in the slide because a neighbor had complained and once again I was rousted from my shelter and sent wandering into the rainy night once more.

As I walked down, Smithville Road, yet one more time a small mini-van pulled up alongside of me and when the passenger side window rolled down I walked up to the car and peered inside at the driver.

"You look pretty wet and cold," he said.

"You aren't kidding," I replied.

"Tell you what I can do," he said. "If you're willing to give me a blow job, I can pull into one of the parking lots and you you can at least get a little warmth inside my car for a while."

I just stared at the man for a moment. "Really, that's your best offer," I said. I just couldn't believe I was being propositioned by someone for oral sex in exchange for the temporary shelter of a warm car. As, God, is my witness he looked at me and said, "You don't expect me to take a homeless man into my house do you?" Yeah, I got angry and told him off. He rolled up the window and off into the night he drove leaving me once again cold, wet and now angry as well. It was just the cherry on top of what was turning out to be a wonderful evening...

Okay, I'll make this quick so you can get back to your life and the important things like Facebooking your friends and watching, American Idol, or Fox News. I wound up sitting on a bench in front of a, Kroger's, watching the rain fall until nine-thirty in the morning when I made my way to the, Burkhardt Library, where I dried out, used the Internet and waited for, Robert, to get a hold of me and let me know it was time to return to the couch and get some well needed rest. Let me assure you, once I hit the sofa I just about cried with relief.

I'm just too darn old and weary for this crap. I've got a terrible cold now and am sick as a dog, my legs still hurt from walking so much and the best part of all this, the kids are visiting again this weekend and the weather forecast is for even worse weather, Friday, Saturday and Sunday! And you folks wonder why I'm feeling suicidal these days...

And in my hour of darkness...

2011-02-21T11:33:00.010-05:00

Bethel Christian Church, Smithville Road, Dayton, Ohio

The kind-hearted soul who has so generously allowed me to couch-surf at his abode since my release from, Miami Valley Hospital, last, Tuesday, afternoon has had custody of his two children the past two days. (Sunday and Monday.) Since he is in the midst of attempting to gain permanent custody of the kids and image being everything right now to, Children's Services, it was decided that such a rapscallion as myself might not properly embellish the desired familial image he's trying to maintain as the loving and devoted father and perhaps it would be best if I vacated the sofa during their visit.

Sunday, at ten-o-clock in the morning, I first prepared and then saddled up my gear and headed out the front door of the apartment building and into the harsh and cruel elements of, Dayton, Ohio in true homeless fashion. Hey, it's not my first ride on this pony, I was ready for whatever awaited me. Or so I thought...

As it turns out, the home church of my good friends, Phil and Elaine Cheesebrough, is a mere two blocks (As the homeless crow flies.) down the street from the couch I'm currently surfing. Phil, had recently encouraged me to visit the church and see what I thought of the place. I figured, "What the heck, the library is closed today, why not check it out." So off to the stone-block bastion of, Bethel Christian Church, I trekked, braving the elements and unknown perils of the three block journey.

From the very moment I entered the building and made my way to the sanctuary I felt as if I'd at long last found my spiritual home. The facility was elegantly simplistic with white walls and graceful arches that reached for the heavens. The stained-glass windows running along the two outside walls bespoke a quiet grace that added an almost tangible air of serenity to the chapel. The oaken pews were the perfect accessory to a beautifully designed structure and from the moment I sat down I felt that blissful feeling I get whenever I'm in the presence of, High Church. It felt right and good, I liked it right off the bat. This was starting out to be a good homeless day.

The service began with the obligatory hymns, nicely performed by a small group of adequate male and female singers and much to my surprise was followed shortly thereafter by members of the congregation speaking in tongues and prophesying. It was if they knew I was coming and had prepared a fatted-calf just for me. These people were speaking my language. Have you ever heard a prophesy that just lit you up inside with the resonance of the, Holy Spirit, confirming the truth of what you've just heard? There ain't nothing like it, folks. And before you go to thinking I was in the presence of snake-charming, writhing-in-the aisles-poison eaters let me reassure you that in that sacred space, people spoke in tongues and prophesied in a manner of quietness and deep respect. It was beautiful and quite profound.

Okay, here comes the fast montage to move this post along. After the morning service I made my way to the, K-Mart, on, Woodman Drive, ate the fried chicken and doughnuts they'd blessed me with at, Bethel Church, in the morning, drank coffee, did a drawing and then made my way back up the hill to, Bethel Church (A trek of unimaginable hardship.) for the six-o-clock lecture on the twenty-three sure fire signs that the end times are indeed a coming. Uh, it rocked! The speaker and I agreed on many points and talking with him afterward was a real pleasure.

Let me make a long story short by simply stating that by the end of my first day of activities within the cozy confines of, Bethel Church, I wanted a whole lot more of what they have to offer a soul within this cozy, warm and friendly house-of-God. I don't care if I am currently little more than a penniless, homeless, hippie-rapscallion, I'm planning on going back to, Bethel Christian Church , and getting me some more of what they're serving up to folks who drop by their humble abode. You'll find yourself properly nourished, both physically and spiritually.

You folks can count on seeing me, Wednesday night! See ya then...

I ain't got no cigarettes...

2011-02-19T14:50:00.017-05:00

Just hanging out at the library...

One thing I can say for being homeless is that you never know where a day will take you when you start out on it. Today was somewhat cloudy and overcast to begin with, but by the time I'd I'd checked my gear and was up and ready to venture forth into the world, things had changed considerable and it was turning out to be a wonderful afternoon.

The libraries in, Dayton, Ohio, are where some who are homeless or soon to become homeless go to escape the trials and tribulations of the street. There is a gentler, kinder class of the homeless huddled together within it's walls. Individuals with children let their kids play in small groups among the bookshelves. Men sit in front of computers pretending to search for jobs, but the sad reality is that most of them have given up finding work in, Dayton, Ohio and are simply killing as much time as possible before heading home to the homeless shelter at day's end. There just isn't a lot more for any of us to do in this city these days.

Whenever I'm on the internet I don't feel so disconnected from people. I don't feel so alone and adrift upon the barren landscape of what was once a thriving city. The internet provides companionship at a time where it seems I've become some sort of leper to those around me who seem to feel that even acknowledging a homeless person will someone infect them with the same malady I suffer from these days. One moment you're a real person with a home and everything and the next you've become one of, Those People. I'm still me on the inside, but no one seems to see that person anymore.

We've been hard hit by the recession in, Dayton, Ohio. I went to the, Dayton Mall, recently just to hang out and enjoy a cup of coffee. I went upstairs to browse through what had been on of my favorite bookstores only to find the entire second floor empty. All of the things that used to be such an important part of the Mall experience have vanished like shadows in the night. It now looks like this.

This is what a dying Mall looks like.

I think what struck me most about this photo was how close so many people were to the situation and didn't even see it. I think that's how it is with so many of the people living in, Dayton, Ohio right now. There is a general sense of uncertainty in the community these days as the industrial infrastructure and the jobs it provided dries up, leaving more and more people with no other option than to sell their homes, pack up their belongings and move out of a city that has been their home for most of their lives. Schools are closing, homes on the market here stay on the market for two and three years and sometimes even longer. You just can't sell a home in a city where more and more people are abandoning it instead of choosing to move into it. Those who remain in this city are sleep walking through their days. As long as everything is still alright for them they assume it must be okay for everyone else too, but things aren't alright for so many of us and they're just getting worse for all of us with each and every passing day. It's like a cancer, by the time you realize what's happening inside of you, it's too late.

I should get out of, Dayton, Ohio. Unlike so many of the folks living here my eyes are wide open and I see the graffiti written on the walls. My town, the place where my roots have been settled for most of my life is dying, if not dead already. It is time to move on and leave the dead and sleeping to bury what was once a thriving and vital mid-western town. But where do I go? Indiana, Illinois, Kentucky or Michigan? Their towns are no better than the towns here in, Ohio. The recession seems to be killing everything, everywhere. Do I stay here where I am and wait for the inevitable or pursue a ever dying hope that things will be better someplace else? If I perish in, Dayton, Ohio I'm at least I'm on home turf where people know me and I won't fade away in the midst of strangers. I just don't know what to do...

I've got a peaceful, easy feeling...

2011-01-30T00:20:00.004-05:00

Doing the things I most enjoy doing.

Have you ever reached one of those epoch moments in your life where you've worried, sweated, stressed and endlessly mulled over a situation only to finally realize there is absolutely nothing you can do about it? There's a calm that comes upon you in that moment and you simply surrender to the inevitability of whatever is going to happen to you. You relax. You say, "Screw it!" and simply enjoy the comfort and security of the space you are in right now, where things are still under your control and life is still comfortable and good.

Tomorrows always seem to come soon enough. Worrying about the troubles today that you'll inevitably have to face tomorrow is a waste of energy and the precious good moments you have right now.

Monday, is two days away. I'll deal with the challenges that arrive with it then, but for tonight, my room is toasty warm, scented candles are aglow, I've got a fresh pot of coffee and I'm busy at work on my laptop. Life is good, right now. Sometimes that's all any of us can ask for in a moment. I'm enjoying myself this evening. I'm doing the things I enjoy most; Writing, social networking on, FaceBook and blogging. I'm at peace with myself and the world around me. I'm going to savor and cherish each and every minute of the hours I have tonight and not waste a single one of them worrying about the future. It will arrive soon enough, abundantly laden with whatever challenges life chooses to set upon my table and I will face them then to the best of my abilities. Tonight, I enjoy the bounties of goodness I still possess right now. Can you feel me? Good, now set your own troubles aside for the moment, light some scented candles, put on some music if you wish and enjoy these precious moments with me for the remainder of this evening too.

We live in interesting times, people. Life seems to grow more complex and challenging with every passing day. Jobs are scarce. Times are hard and many of us are struggling to survive from pay check to pay check. All of our tomorrows will arrive soon enough, so let's all just relax and enjoy the good moments we have right now. We've earned it. Each and every one of us.

One more for the road...

2011-01-29T01:55:00.009-05:00

"The bad news? You're all fired!"

I have to admit that I've always lived for days like these. History is in the making. In Egypt, a land settled, civilized and sending forth art, mathematics and culture into the world long before, America was little more than a gleam in the star-spangled-eye of the, Mayflower. Set against a backdrop of the still-standing-pyramids and the endlessly shifting sands of an ancient desert, an event is occurring of potentially world shaking importance.

While others may prefer to sit mesmerized by the caterwauling of those poor sad souls who will never come anywhere close to becoming the next, American Idol, I prefer something with a little more, substance. What is happening in, Egypt, at this very moment is reality T.V. at it's finest. Events like this are as rare and wondrous to behold as any celestial event to occur in the heavens above us. This is history in the making. Children will sit someday in a classroom and study this event long after you and I have ended our journeys through the world and are nothing more than dust and bones in the ground. This truly is must see T.V. and I haven't missed a single moment of it yet.

Do you realize what is happening right now in, Egypt? A president is about to be deposed. One form of government is about to be swept away and replaced by something new. There's a movement of the people, for the people, to free themselves from a tyrannical regime and it's ruthless leader, Hosni Mubarak. The single most awe inspiring aspect of the event? Not one single, American soldier has died in this struggle for freedom. Without the support of, American Made, helicopter-gun-ships, cluster bombs or cruise missiles these revolutionaries have toppled a regime supported by one of the largest and technologically superior military forces in the entire Arab world. Hell, the only boots we've had on the ground during this event have been worn by journalists, reporters and tourists.

And just how in the world have this loose-knit band of merry pranksters managed to accomplish such an amazing feat? By using cell phones, Blackberries, laptop and personal home computers. Using the long range tactical superiority of the, Internet Delivery System, they've unleashed a devastating barrage of, Tweets, blogs, text messages and facebook postings against which, Hosni Mubarak and his oppressive regime have no defense. This brave young band of revolutionaries have brought down a tyrant using nothing more than the free wireless at their local, Starbucks and a handful of electronic gadgets. When have you ever witnessed such a thing in your entire life?

And if things continue as they have in the first twenty-four hours of this war, they will break the longstanding record of the, Six Day War, set by the Israelis in nineteen-sixty-seven. (Hey, I thought it would never be broken either.) If the Hippie movement of the sixties and seventies had possessed these same electronic toys, you'd all be wearing tie-dye, living in communes and smoking pot by now. It would be a very mellow world, dude...

What we are witnessing here is changing the world. And it is doing so in ways that will be analyzed, talked about and studied for many years to come. Tune in, you won't be disappointed. Now if you'll forgive me, I'm outta here. (I've got some history to watch.)

What are words for?

2009-03-28T16:24:00.000-05:00

Micah putting on a signing demonstration.

Having taught Micah sign language has proven its worth time and time again. Its certainly nice to have a form of communication that allows him to express his needs without tearful bouts of frustration. Micah can sign cookie, banana, cereal, apple or any number of food items. It's nice to know what he wants, when he wants it, and not have to spend a lot of wasted time trying to guess what he wants in the refrigerator or cupboard. He's just as prolific when it comes to signing for beverages too. I love being able to communicate with him and watching him sign fills me with such joyful wonder. If Felicia and I hadn't taught him this skill I'd never have believed that infants and toddlers were capable of such a feat.

I love my little man. he is the best thing (Along with his momma.) that's ever happened to me. I know I don't blog as much as I used to, but it is awfully hard to spend time doing anything other than watching him grow. Can you understand?

God bless America...

2009-02-01T22:22:00.003-05:00

"Wow, even my parents look cool in 3D!"

The best moment of the Super Bowl for me was the performance of the National Anthem by, Jennifer Hudson. She flat out sang her butt off and it was the most profound, stately and beautiful rendition of the song I've seen in a very long time. After Aretha's disastrous performance in Washington D.C. during the inauguration Ms. Hudson deserves extra kudos for her wardrobe too. Truly, she did the moment proud.

My favorite commercials: The one with the odd pets was hysterical, The Coke one with the bugs was awesome and last but not least was the 3D movie one where the red ball came right out of the television and in to my living room.

The Boss, Bruce Springsteen, just plain rocked the halftime show. What a great performance.

Wow, what a game. I didn't think the Cardinals stood a chance going into the fourth quarter. It was a battle and a half and truly the Steelers earned their record setting sixth Super Bowl title. My hat is off to them.

All in all an enjoyable game.

Take this job and shove it...

2009-01-28T01:00:00.005-05:00

At last, having a child pays off!

And yes, I did keep the fifty dollars he earned while shoveling the walks of our other neighbors. Oh come on, I left him enough for a pack of cigarettes and a Red Bull. He's got to learn the importance of hard work so he doesn't grow up with a sense of entitlement.

By keeping the lion's share of his earnings I also taught him about taxes and government spending.

Its not easy being a good father, but I try my best.

Put your hat on...

2009-01-15T01:38:00.007-05:00

Sometimes you wake up and it's just silly hat day...

He's to the age where I never really know just exactly what he'll do from one minute to the next. One thing I do know however is that I really like his style. He woke me up, he pointed and pointed until I got the point and the next thing I knew, it was silly hat day. He is the most wonderful thing, (along with his mama) that ever came into my life. He makes me laugh, he makes me cry with such joy and he fills me with eager anticipation of what he'll learn each and every day.

I'm so glad he'll never know the horror of being educated in a school run by the likes of hate filled minds like Hezbollah or Hamas. I'm so glad he'll never grow up believing in Jihad. I'm so glad he'll grow up with an open mind free of the poison of the teachings of Allah.

I'm so glad he'll learn to settle disagreements with his neighbors without rockets or acts of terrorism.

I'm so glad he's being raised as a little boy instead of a little soldier whose only purpose is to fight and die for a cause no greater than ignorant prejudice.

Do you see what I see...

2008-11-07T14:46:00.005-05:00

"Oh have I got questions for you, Daddy!"

Now that the more mundane trivialities, such as presidential politics, have been taken care of it’s time to return to more substantive issues. As a stay at home father my eyes are opening up to a wide variety of things that weren’t important to me in days gone by. I am finding my son is increasingly asking me questions that require thoughtful and delicate answers.

For instance, yesterday, after a particularly mindless piece of children’s programming, my son looked up into my eyes with a puzzled look and I had to tell him the truth no matter how painful for him I knew it would be.

“That’s why the dinosaurs are extinct, son. We had to kill them for our own good. Purple isn’t always good, remember that as you go through life, Micah, sometimes purple is evil.”

I also have to wonder why does Higglytown have a pizza guy “hero”, but no organic farmer “hero”. The delivery driver of death-by-Mozzarella cheese-and-pepperoni is an individual to be looked up to and admired but, the Higglytown janitor doesn’t even warrant a name? (Are the writers of Higglytown Heroes Christian Conservatives?)

Not too long ago Micah said to me, “Dad, the Doodle Bops don’t have jobs, they just hang out in their clubhouse all day, then they get on a bus and go play music for three songs a show and they’re rolling in the money. Don’t you think it might be smarter to put money aside for me in a musical instrument fund instead of wasting it in a college fund? And by the way, dad, have you ever considered how much cheaper a motorcycle is than a car”

This morning he looked up at me after watching C.N.N. and said, “Daddy, Barack Obama and now Rahm Emanuel, are you sure Obama’s not a Moslem?”

“Well, Micah...” I replied. “I only know what the media tells me.”

Sometimes I wonder what he’ll be like when he’s two...

Come together, over me...

2008-11-02T09:59:00.002-05:00

Sarah Palin and William Ayers in 2012?

Felicia, Micah and I attended her church's "Trunk or Treat" on Friday night. Imagine the photo opportunity when I in my William Ayers outfit ran across this Sarah Palin look-a-like in the parking lot.

Yes, it did indeed have the Mormon Conservatives screaming in terror.

They did the, Monster Mash...

2008-10-30T19:33:00.005-05:00

"Jihad or treat, smell my feet, give me an American baby to eat."

It was a good Halloween this year. Micah went as the dragon in the book of Revelations symbolizing the reuniting of the European countries into the original Roman Empire, thus heralding the coming of the anti-christ, and I went as the loyal friend and supporter of Barack Obama, Jay Habib Ayers.

I got tons of candy from every Republican house we visited and John McCain asked if I would be interested in participating in a photo op.

Democrats were not nearly as supportive...

Looking for adventure, or whatever comes my way...

2008-10-13T22:45:00.015-05:00

"So, you girls ever been to a Holiday Inn?"

Hello everyone! Mom and dad have a lot to do today with Bob’s memorial so I thought I’d help out and do a post for daddy’s blog. I know mom and dad are a little sad today so I thought I’d try and cheer them up with a recap of our trip to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It was a really good family trip and I’m lucky to have two such super parents who share such adventures with me instead of leaving me at home with baby sitters.

What do you think of the cool bike my dad got me? I’m talking to a couple of hot chicks here and trying to get them to swing by our hotel later and join me in the hot tub. My daddy was right; he said the girls would go wild for a guy on a Harley. He says if I learn to play a few chords on the guitar I’ll be a legend by the time I reach second grade.

"You should hear this lady yodel!"

One of my favorite times during the trip was when we went to Dolly Parton’s, "Dixie Stampede". It’s really cool and has lots of horses and pretty girls doing all kinds of amazing things. Believe it or not; daddy was asked to help out in the show and he was really funny. I don’t know how he does it, but he always seems to get into the show and make people laugh.

"Mom says I look good in my swimming suit."

Here I am hanging out poolside and waiting for that waitress to bring me a sippy cup with my Pina-Colada in it. Man, life is good...

"I will deny this ever happened."

Yeah, mom thought this was a pretty funny picture. I hope none of the first graders see this or I’ll be the laughing stock of recess. Dad keeps trying to help me with my cool and mom keeps trying to work me into this cute thing. Mommies, what’s a kid to do?

"Nice doggie."

I found this really neat looking dog outside and rode it into the Christmas store. It really seemed to upset folks and they made me go outside and let the nice doggie go. Grownups just don’t know how to have a good time.

"Whew, I was just worn out from all the fun."

We did lots of fun things and by the end of the trip I was completely worn out. I thought I’d let mom and dad handle the driving on the way home and catch some Z’s. I really had a good time in Gatlinburg and I’d recommend the place to anyone looking to have a good time. I know my mom and dad are sad about the loss of their friend, but I’m sure glad they’re my parents and I hope we get to share many more good times together. Take care everyone, make every minute count, enjoy life and be good to those you love...

You don't take nothin with you, but your soul...

2008-10-11T16:12:00.009-05:00

Robert Mueller 1936-2008

I met Bob Mueller through Felicia when we first started dating. He was opinionated, sarcastic and sharp witted. I liked him right away. We developed a loose friendship and enjoyed spirited conversation over many a fine evening’s dinner. Bob didn’t have a lot of people he considered friends and I count myself lucky to be counted among those he did. Bob always had theater and show tickets for Felicia and I and they were always in the best of seats. Bob was a good friend to have.

Bob didn’t have a lot of family. (I think his nephew was perhaps the last remaining familial contact he had.) He did have an active social and professional life and was a big part of Dayton, Ohio’s music and theater scene. Bob played a wonderful piano and was always in demand when someone needed a quality backup. His students loved him and so did the many young performers who knew him from, The Muse Machine. Yes, he was an old coot who smoked like a train, but he was a person you just couldn’t help but love and respect.

Bob was never married nor did he ever have any children. (Perhaps this was because his parents and his fiancé were killed in a car crash on a long ago Christmas Eve.) Music and theater was his life and he gave it his best efforts and the best of his time. I don’t think he knew what to do when he wasn’t rehearsing or performing. The arts were his family and every performer he ever met was a child of his. It will be a sad day when the show season begins in Dayton and Bob is not there to greet the new cast members. There will be many moments of reverential silence I’m sure.

Those of us who knew Bob outside of the theater knew he was sick. Felicia and I were there when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was a devastating piece of news. Bob underwent radiation and chemo therapy. When he returned home he maintained a carefree and positive front, but I knew from the new ring, the bowls of his favorite candies and the new sound system that something was wrong. He was spending money like there was no tomorrow.

Felicia and I were just days away last week from our annual trip to Gatlinburg, Tennessee when we got the call that Bob was being admitted to hospice. We were going to cancel our trip, but Bob assured us that it was only a temporary stay until he was strong enough for more chemo therapy and that he’d be fine. We went on our trip and had one of the best times we’ve ever had as a family. Having Micah with us was a wonderful experience and he had a great time.

We were nearly home on Tuesday afternoon when the cell phone beeped and Felicia got the news that Bob wasn’t doing so well after all. We raced home as quickly as we could and Felicia made her way to Bob’s bedside even quicker. After a brief visit she called me and said Bob didn’t look good at all. It was a worrisome homecoming. We went to bed early and around five in the morning Felicia woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. She got up, went downstairs to read a little and turned on the television. At five forty-five in the morning she got the call. She woke me up to keep an eye on Micah and out the door she flew. By eight in the morning, Bob was gone.

We’ve spent the rest of this week cleaning up his affairs and the apartment he lived in during the final months of his life. It has been a difficult experience and a sad time for us. Clearly Bob knew the end was near and he’d already cleaned out anything potentially revealing or embarrassing that would have left tongues wagging after his passing. What was left was window dressing and the few things he needed to enjoy the remaining days he knew were left to him. He was to all intents and purposes already packed and ready to go. It was almost as if he was in a hurry to get somewhere.

Bob filled a lot of lives in our city with music. He was an integral part of many special moments between loved ones as they shared the gift and the joy of live theater. I can’t even begin to imagine how many lives he touched with his music. And even more, he filled our lives with such magic while he carried a sadness in his own heart that few of us knew he’d ever experienced. He was a remarkable man and a kind spirit. He will be missed.

As the holiday season arrives and I embrace the warmth, celebration and joy of family in my home this year, it is my hope that Bob will enjoy the best Christmas he never knew with his mom, dad and the woman to whom he was to be wed. I hope it will be filled with love, reunion, celebration and that he’ll be happier than he ever imagined possible. He deserves it.

Blowin' in the wind...

2008-09-22T23:31:00.009-05:00

"Don't worry, Dad, I'll save you!"

Oh the travails I’ve witnessed in the past eight days; I’ve seen righteous men turn feral over a piece of meat that wasn’t prefaced by the word, luncheon, I’ve seen neighbors turn violent over the possession of a Coleman Lantern and I’ve seen noble women reduced to tawdry acts of lewdness for cups of hot coffee and a soap opera update.

Hurricanes bring out the best of folks and the worst of folks.

It was a Sunday like any other; I’d just put Micah down for a nap and decided to have a little lunch before turning on the television for some football. I decided to put the pasta in the microwave before I warmed up my cup of coffee. A decision I will rue until the end of time...

The winds came...

The house shook and I feared for my life... Thank God Micah volunteered to act as my human shield!

The power went out...

Eight days of savagery later I am in love with electricity and worship the very wires that bring it sizzling into my home. God Bless Electricity!

Eight days of no coffee maker...

Eight days of no computer, emails or blogging...

Eight days of primitive animal savagery.

It was barbaric and inhuman!

We had to go to the bathroom in total darkness. It will take me weeks to clean the walls...

Eight days without C.N.N....

Given the performance of every level of Ohio football teams, not having power for two weekends may have been the only blessing to come out of our hurricane experience.

Eight days with a seventeen month old boy and no “Little Einstein” video distractions...

As God is my witness, I will never eat lunch meat again.

Felicia and I celebrated the return of power this evening by watching television in separate rooms and not having to talk to each other at all.

It may have saved our marriage...

Well, I’m going to go now and turn on every single electrical gadget I own and then do a naked dance of joy and celebration.

More later?

For those who may not recall it, my very first post of the year and my predictions, pretty spot on so far, eh?

Pretty soon we’ll all be living in FEMA trailers...

I like to ride my bicycle...

2008-07-17T11:49:00.007-05:00

Just shy of 400 miles now...

Just a little over nine weeks ago I posted a picture of myself on my new bicycle and proclaimed my refusal to pay four dollars a gallon for gasoline. Most everyone, including my neighbors, laughed at my silly looking bike and the fat guy sitting astride it. No one thought I'd last very long on the thing and most folks just couldn't wait until the day it appeared on the front lawn with a for sale sign hanging from the handlebars.

My P.T. Cruiser has now remained parked in the very same spot in front of our house for sixty-four consecutive days now. Rain or shine, nice or not so nice I've either walked to the grocery store for what I needed or to the Walgreens for my prescriptions. The bicycle takes me wherever else I want to go for fun and entertainment. No one in my neighborhood is laughing anymore let me tell you.

I'm now down under two-hundred pounds in weight for the first time in a very long time. I feel better physically than I have in several years. I was taking eighty units of Insulin a day and still couldn't keep my blood sugar levels under three and four hundred. I felt like death on a stick with a side order of crap every waking minute of each and every day. I was contemplating taking up the cigarette habit again because I know it to be a guaranteed form of suicide with the added benefit of being slow enough that should a cure for diabetes be found I could quit smoking and get myself cured.

I take maybe twenty-five units of Insulin now every other day or so. My blood sugar levels stay within a range of one-hundred and twenty to one-hundred and forty. (Yeah, I've changed my eating habits too.) I feel like a new person. I look like a new person too.

Now, a lot of people have started asking me a lot of questions about bicycling and I normally don't mind answering them. However, I recently noticed that the vast majority of questions people were asking tended towards the negative; "What do you do when it rains? "What if you get a flat tire?" "What if you get attacked?" What if you need to get to California?" "What if you need a week's worth of groceries?" . No one ever asks me; "How far can you go in a day?" "Did you lose all that weight biking?" "How much have you saved on gasoline?" "Has your sex life improved?" (The answer to that one would be yes! I now masturbate up to four or five times a day.)

You can ask all the questions you want to ask and easily convince yourself that you simply couldn't use a bike in any degree in your life. It's very easy to do and takes very little effort to accomplish. I'll just finish this post by saying that I am a fifty-four year old Diabetic with a wife and a son and yes, our lives are actually a bit better because of the benefits accrued from bicycling; we have extra money from what isn't being spent on gasoline for two automobiles, daddy is saving big money on Insulin and quite frankly a healthy daddy is a fun daddy.

There are ways to beat the system. Yes, they take a little bit of effort on our part, but in the long run the benefits are well worth it.

With a Little Help From My Friends...

2008-07-10T08:28:00.005-05:00

Going to See Ringo Starr!
(Image courtesy of Dayton Daily News)

The day after Ringo's sixty-eighth birthday Felicia and I were fortunate enough to have tickets for his performance at the Fraze Pavillion in Kettering, Ohio. Little did we know that we were about to enjoy one of the finest evening's of music we've ever experienced. Ringo's All-Starr band included an amazing array of talent including, Edgar Winter, Colin Hay, (Former frontman for Men at Work) Billy Squier, Gary Wright, Hammish Stuart (Yes, from the Average White Band!) and Gregg Bissonette (He's worked with almost everyone including Carlos Santana.). Each of these talented musicians is a recognized star in their own right, but together they proved a stellar group of performers.

The evening began with Ringo Starr walking out on stage flashing peace signs and smiling as the crowd rose to it's collective feet cheering wildly. He proceeded to belt out a solid rendition of "It Don't Come Easy" and no one sat down for the rest of the nearly three hour performance. It wasn't long before Ringo commented, "This place is wild. Either that or the bar has been open all day.". Soon he was seated behind his familiar set of elevated drums and for the rest of the evening it was a non-stop parade of great performers rocking down the house.

Edgar Winter laid down a show stopping version of "Frankenstein". Gary Wright awed the crowd with a cosmic version of "Dream Weaver". Colin Hay brought everyone in the neighborhood of the show to their feet with a romping stomping version of "Down Under". Hammish Stuart led the band in a fast and funky trip down memory lane with the instrumental song "Pick Up the Pieces". The entire evening was one great hit after another and the crowd loved every minute of it. Billy Squier proved himself an accomplished guitar player with a rocking version of "Lonely is the Night".

Felicia and I have now seen both of the remaining Beatles. As much as I enjoyed an evening with Paul McCartney I have to confess that I enjoyed my time with Ringo Starr even more. Don't get me wrong, I loved watching Paul McCartney perform Beatle songs and hits from his own catalog of great music. Ringo Starr however was more a celebration of great music from everyone in the business and the joy of collecting talented musicians together and doing what they do best, playing music and sharing a good time with an appreciative audience. It was a very special show.

As the evening began to wind down and the show began moving towards it's inevitable conclusion Ringo Starr looked out at the audience and said, "This is where we'd normally run to a dark corner of the stage and wait for your cheers to bring us back out. Tonight, you know we're coming back out and we know we're coming back out so we're just going to stay right here and do a few more numbers.". Yeah, we all just went crazy... Then he broke into, "A Little Help From my Friends" and the house truly came down. As Ringo Starr finished his final bows and walked off the stage flashing the same peace signs he started the evening with the band broke into John Lennon's "Give Peace a Chance" and we all joined in singing and waving peace signs of our own. It was a wonderful finish to a grand evening of entertainment. If you ever get the chance to attend an evening with Ringo and his All-Starr band don't let the opportunity get away from you. I promise you won't regret it. This will go down as one of the very best shows I've ever seen, and I've seen some of the greats in their prime. Ringo Starr rocked!

When I was a younger man...

2008-07-07T14:25:00.002-05:00

My very first pet, until he ate mama and dad
made me get a brontosaurus.

I'm so old I don't bother telling anyone how I lived in the country as a boy. Hell, when I was a kid we all lived in the country. Buildings hadn't even been invented yet. Caves were all the rage...

Teach your children well...

2008-06-30T13:49:00.004-05:00

Nothing could be better...

Once I get the photos downloaded from our Mammoth Cave trip I'll post some of them, but in the meantime this one just sums up the trip for me. Carrying one's son through the woods on his shoulders has to be one of a father's great moments. It seems like such a simple thing but it just meant the world to me. Again, I love him so very much.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy...

2008-06-15T23:19:00.002-05:00

He's made Father's Day my favorite holiday.

He's walking. He just decided it was time and the next thing we knew he was up and wandering all over the place. I just love him so much...

Happy Fathers Day all of you other lucky guys who have miracles like this to brighten your every day. Truly, children are the greatest blessing imaginable.

Here comes EZ, EZ Rider...

2008-05-19T08:04:00.007-05:00

The neighbors aren't laughing now...

Once gasoline hit $3.95 a gallon here in Dayton, Ohio and my P.T. Cruiser started sitting in the driveway it was my turn to laugh. The oil bastards are getting nothing from me and I'm not polluting the atmosphere with the remains of burnt fossil fuels.

Yes, I do use it to go everywhere. Only in America is the bicycle considered a toy. In every other country in the world the bicycle is considered a legitimate transportation vehicle. The Vietnamese drove the British out of their country using bicycles to move a Howitzer Cannon across their country and up a mountainside. The British awoke one morning to their compound being shelled and promptly beat feet for home. (True story, look it up in the Library of Congress)

And as an extra bonus, I'm beginning to lose a few pounds too...

In your faces, you corporate oil bastards. I'm also doing a lot more shopping at second time around stores. Screw you too, Walmart corporate swine.

I say, "lawyers, guns and money..."

2008-04-03T15:51:00.005-05:00

So good looking he might just be mine...

In the great chain of events that lead from infancy to the eventual ascension into manhood yet one more rite of passage occurred yesterday afternoon; the first haircut. Micah was starting to look just a bit shaggy around the ears and mama was threatening to take matters into her own hands if I didn’t do something and do it quickly. Now, I was all for leaving his hair alone until he could decide for himself what hair style best represented the inner being dwelling in his earthly vessel, but when Disney started calling and asking if he’d be interested in the starring role of the new Shaggy the Canine D.A. movie I figured it was either time for a trim or teaching him how to bark on cue. (The trim turned out to be cheaper than the chair and whip for training would be so it was off to the stylist.)

If I’d have known what a chick magnet babies are I’d have adopted one many years ago. It turns out that women go absolutely crazy when a man walks into an establishment holding a baby. (Jay, if you’re reading this post let me tell you that even the lesbians were coming up and talking to me and one such couple even invited Micah and I over for dinner and a movie of some sort!) Who knew? Does anyone think it was wrong to stop by the neighborhood bar on the way home and use Micah as bait while I fished for a girlfriend to have on the side?

Seriously folks, indoor seating next year?

Speaking of cold, the P.T. Cruiser Club had its first event of the year. It was a Cruise In at Ritter’s Famous Frozen Custard in Kettering, Ohio. With twenty-five mile an hour winds and temperatures in the twenty degree range the yogurt wasn’t the only two scoop item frozen solid, if you know what I mean. Everyone stood around for fifteen minutes or so and then headed out to warmer confines. I think they call it the April Fools Cruise In because only fools were hanging out with their frozen yogurt clusters blowing in the wind. (If you know what I mean?)

And speaking of two scoops of cold...

It seems as if my sister, Robin had a secret will drawn up naming her not only the executor of it, but also the sole beneficiary of my father’s assets. No one including my father’s life partner knew of its existence. No wonder she’s not picking the will up and setting a date for it to be read. No wonder she’s been carrying stuff out of his home faster than a crack-head stealing his mama’s television set. I wonder if she’s cleaning out his bank accounts as quick. I guess she figured that what we didn’t know we couldn’t contest. It’s a shame she overlooked the copy still on the estate grounds and I had the opportunity to look it over. Gosh, it must be nice being married to a lawyer, who just happens to handle estate planning and wills. Does anyone else think I should talk to the Bar Association and inquire about the ethics of such activities? No wonder Robin has worked so hard to create such animosity among her fellow siblings. As long as none of us were communicating she could maintain her veil of secrecy. Bad news for her though, we’re all talking now...

Someone once said to me, “Dirk, if it looks like a lawyer and smells like a lawyer the chances are pretty darn good you’re standing in the midst of a cow pasture.” I think I’m beginning to understand just what they were trying to say.

Thirty days in the hole...

2008-03-30T18:49:00.005-05:00

I'm stuck in Folsom Prison

There are rules in this household and everyone knows what they are. You break them and there is a price to pay. He's lucky I didn't stick him in solitary confinement.

Here comes Peter Cottontail...

2008-03-23T08:52:00.006-05:00

"I got Peeps! Mom, I got Peeps!"

Having this little guy in our lives just gets better with every passing day.

I hope you and yours are having a wonderful afternoon filled with the joy of family and friends.

Happy Easter Everyone!

Lost in a supermarket...

2008-03-20T23:46:00.001-05:00

I just want to know what they have planned for my birthday.

Today Felicia and I celebrated our four year wedding anniversary. Micah and I have been playing some bizarre game of viral tennis with this bug we just can’t seem to shake. Every time I think we’re done with the damn thing it just rears its ugly head and we’re right back in midst of runny noses and lungs of fire. We were so excited about going to the new IKEA that just opened up in our neck of the woods. It was supposed to be a grand day of shopping and of Swedish meatballs. Yes I know, you know you’re getting old when you and your posse’s motto is, “Sto’s befo ho’s.”, but shopping and eating is what we do. It’s how we roll...

So we gathered up car seats, diaper bags and our good boy and off we headed to IKEA, the Mecca of household décor with the intentions of shopping until the store closed and forced us to vacate the premises. We had such big dreams. We arrived shortly after ten in the morning and by twelve-thirty, if you listen to Felicia tell the story; a crack team of paramedics resuscitated me in the kitchen wares department and helped me back to our car on a stretcher. Two and a half hours. One of the worst shopping records we’ve ever posted. It was humiliating.

We were going to have such a fine anniversary dinner at Johnny Carino’s. We were going to dine upon the choicest of Italian delicacies and celebrate yet once again the mysteries of the universe that brought us together four years ago and have kept us together until this very day. Instead we wound up driving straight back home where Felicia fixed her two sick men turkey sandwiches and vegetable soup. We tried to take a nap afterwards but Micah was not in the mood for sleeping.

Well, there was simply nothing else to do but rally ourselves as best we could and make our way to our favorite Target department store and spent some of the unexpected windfall of cash we’d been blessed with by Felicia’s father. I bought a Sony surround sound system for the game room and Felicia bought Easter baskets for her boys, acute yellow duck for Micah and the coolest Green snake one for me.

Afterwards we went to a favorite steak house of ours and had a pretty good dinner. I enjoyed a petite steak with a lobster tail, Felicia had a Portabella and steak thing and we shared an appetizer of firecracker wraps. Micah enjoyed sampling a little bit of everything.

Once we arrived back home I headed upstairs to assemble my new toy, Micah curled up with his favorite fuzzy-grey-bear and went to sleep while Felicia stretched out on the sofa and got some well deserved rest. It wasn’t long before I was watching March Madness with my eyes closed and enjoying the sweetest basketball surround sounds I’ve ever heard. Man, I sure do love the good folks at Sony...

Did I mention that Felicia and I both nailed the gift thing? It was the cherry on top of a perfect day.

Perfect day you ask? Yes, in spite of everything we had planned going awry and our trip to IKEA being ruined by the viral bug of doom. It was perfect because it was a celebration of what marriage is all about, better or worse, through sickness and health until death do us part. In the end it was simply doing what it is we do together on a daily basis that made this day as special as every day we share. It was perfect because at day's end we were all together in our little home with the animals curled up at feet enjoying the warmth and joy that only comes from spending time in the company of the loved ones who give such special meaning to the word, family.

It was a wonderful anniversary...

Thanks honey, and you too, Micah.

Wooden ships on the horizon...

2008-03-16T11:03:00.009-05:00

Did you say, join me on the poop deck?

Four years ago the winds of fate turned to my favor and Felicia came sailing into my life like a gentle and loving breeze. Since the very first day of our journey together across the sea of life our love has been carried into any number of new and exotic ports and harbors by the currents of destiny. Some of the places we’ve visited have warmed our souls like a tropical sunrise on a quiet pacific ocean. We have weathered storms and survived sudden swells of adversity that nearly threatened to overwhelm our tiny boat and send us sinking to the bottom of the waters of adversity where a muddy graveyard of broken relationships awaited us. We have been mariners set upon an odyssey of discovery by a guiding hand whose purpose we may never fully understand. She is my first mate and she keeps me on course and safely guides me through the shoals and eddies of my daily life.

Felicia is the sextant by which I plot my course by the stars through the night and the moral compass that guides me to the safest of harbors. Without her I would be adrift and alone. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, she is more of a treasure than this old salt deserves. What did I ever do to be so blessed?

Four years ago the sun came up over the horizon of my loneliness and a stillness came to the waters of my soul that I’ve never known before. Felicia cleanses the salty brine from my pirate’s soul on a daily basis and brings me closer to the divine hand that has quietly stayed my course throughout my adventurous and buccaneer life. With the help of Felicia’s loving tenderness I have come to look forward to the day I visit my final port of call with a sense of peace and dignity. Someday when I stand before the great harbor master and I am asked what I have to show for my journey I shall turn and point to the two treasures that in the end have made my life worthwhile and of value, my lovely wife Felicia and Micah our wonderful son. They are more than I could ever have hoped for and the greatest gifts I could ever wish to share with the almighty.

Happy anniversary my love...

And thank you for putting up with this Black Beard of a soul. You and your endless love are making me a much better man than I ever believed I could or would be.

On the cover of the Rolling Stone...

2008-02-29T15:53:00.009-05:00

Extra, extra...

Felicia has missed days of work now and has been throwing up and sitting on the toilet for the last two days. Micah's nose is still a running ooze of snot and I'm feeling like death warmed over.

This is one of the worst bugs I've experienced in a long time. Every time I think I'm on the down side of this thing it rears it's ugly head and pulls me right back in.

We'll be back. I hope...

Waiting for the bird to come...

2008-02-17T20:37:00.004-05:00

Take these broken wings and learn to fly...

Okay, so I already knew I hadn’t been feeling so great lately. I seemed to be walking around in a never ending state of fatigue with every joint and muscle in my body screaming in agony. Sometimes there would be an odd tingling in my feet and my ears would ring on occasion. Yes, I tried pretending it was simply arthritis or the natural process of growing old, but I knew it was something different.

I just didn’t expect my doctor to tell me the fun is over and put me on Insulin. He thought I wasn’t taking my medication at all. As a matter of fact he questioned me quite thoroughly about it. It took a lot of reassurance on my part to convince him I was taking the medications and not simply flushing them down a toilet or something. Perhaps I’d have bought a bit more insulin free time if I had been less convincing.

He said that as a doctor he simply could not condone or permit me to continue on with the numbers my recent blood tests had returned with without doing the right thing. Then he played the child card and began lecturing me on how my son needed me to be around for him. He followed that up with the wife card and suddenly he was holding a far superior hand to my denial flush. God, I do hate doctors...

At this point however I’m willing to do almost anything it takes to make the pain go away. Yes, denial is a pleasant enough experience for as long as it lasts but eventually the novelty wears off and reality can no be held at bay. Don’t get me wrong, most of the time I’m a big fan of reality, insofar as it doesn’t interfere with a pleasant life of blissful ignorance.

The pain in my extremities had almost become a close and enduring friend; it was something I’d come to know on a daily basis, it was a part of the most intimate moments of my everyday life and by God it let me know just how alive I still am at my current state of advanced years. Nothing says I am alive and can still feel like pain. It keeps you sharp and on your toes against the stalking death that haunts your every day.

The very thought of the needles makes me cringe in revulsion. I hate needles. I’ve hated them since a hospital stay during my childhood where they were a very unpleasant part of my hourly routine. The worst part of the experience was the shots only made things worse and no one figured it out and they kept increasing the number of shots trying to fix the problem. Experimental vaccines don’t always work.

The last time I saw my mother she was already lost to the diabetic coma. The doctor in charge of her said that she was a flat line. I spoke to the nurse in charge and made the decision to remove the oxygen and bag fluids keeping her trapped in her physical shell so she could go on. Not believing in the concept of God myself I have no great fear of dying. After all it’s something we’ve been doing as a species for a number of millennia now.

I do believe however that if such a thing as God did exist he would be subject to the very same universal laws of thermodynamics as the rest of us; all matter moves from organized states to ever increasing states of disorganization. When I look up into the nighttime sky I see it as Vincent Van Gogh saw it. The great and terrible beauty of the universe is in its demise as it occurs in and around us infinitely. Alpha and Omega, all things have a beginning and an ending. There are no exceptions. Vincent looked into the heavens and saw the true nature of God, as he dies slowly upon the canvas of the stars and takes every vestige of our hopes and dreams of immortality with him.

What shattered the spirit of Van Gogh has always served as a reality check for me. We’re born, we blaze through the universe until the fire within us fades and then we crash and burn in death and the ride is over. I’ve reached my apex and now come the insulin and the needles.

I feel old this evening. I hurt all the way down to the marrow of my bones. It is as if crushed glass courses through my veins and fills each and every nerve ending with a hot liquid fire.

I’ve been living with diabetes for some time now. I don’t blog about it because I really don’t care for disease blogs. I don’t wish to waste time commiserating with others about our mutual pain and suffering. I do not want my disease to be what I am remembered for. I want to be remembered because those who are my friends never knew what would come out of my mind next. I do not want to be remembered as a brave soul who battled bravely until the very end. I want to be remembered as a clown or a fool on the hill.

I want to be remembered exactly as those who know me truly experienced me. If I am remembered as an asshole or a prankster, a moron or a genius, a teller of truth or a liar it will be a valid memory in the mind of someone and that is the reality of who I’ve been. I was more than diabetes. I was a multitude of things and a variety of personalities during the course of my life. And that is how I want to be remembered...

I want to be remembered as a man, a husband and a father sitting on a corn flake...

Super freak, super freak, she's super freaky...

2008-02-14T14:40:00.003-05:00

Happy Valentines Day!

Here's hoping your day is filled with love in all of it's many forms of expression.

May your heart be filled with gladness and the joy of fulfilled hopes for that someone special to share your daily moments with.

May you cherish your loved ones and rejoice in each and every day you share with them.

May you celebrate the memories of loves lost or perished for they were candles in the darkness that illuminated the path to a richer and fuller life for having known them.

Love each other and treat each other with loving respect for friendship is often the greatest of all love.

Look around you and embrace someone who is alone today...

Who knows, the love you spark could be your very own.

Oh the weather outside is frightful...

2008-02-11T23:42:00.000-05:00

It's about he started pulling his weight around here.

It's so cold in Dayton, Ohio I just tried to pee and wound up snowing into the toilet. I’m talking cold, people.

I once dated a witch whose tits were so cold I got my tongue stuck on her nipple for a day and a half and they were still warmer than this.

It’s colder in Ohio than Mitt Romney’s chances at the White House.

It’s so cold my Frosted Flakes really are.

Tonight it’s supposed to snow and get even nastier.

Yes, this is the kind of evening where it’s nice to have a room filled with D.V.D.s and video games. I think I’ll spend the evening curled up in a chair watching movies and drinking hot cocoa.

I might even make a cup for Felicia once she finishes shoveling the driveway and sidewalk around the house.

Be safe and warm wherever you are, gentle souls. I’m off to salt the grounds...

Cause its one, two, three...

2008-01-28T21:07:00.000-05:00

"Will I still be the apple of your eye?"

You know how you get that piece of news that just shakes your world to its very foundations? Everything is about to change and you’re not sure whether it’s going to be for the better or not. Sometimes life just throws a curve ball at you when you were expecting the slider and all you can do is stand at the plate with the bat on your shoulder while the pitch sails right on by you for a called strike.

If only you’d known what was heading your way you’d have done things differently. You might have done some research or prepared for the event. Once you’re caught by surprise there’s nothing you can do but react and hope that your decision is the right one. Whatever you decide to do, you’re going to be living with the consequences for a long time. Sometimes life just comes at you so fast...

Yeah, you’ve probably guessed what I’m talking about by now and chances are pretty good that you find yourself in the very same situation. Do you remember where you were when you heard the news? Were you enjoying your lunch and listening to the radio in the break room? Maybe you were at home watching the Ellen show? I was in the computer room working on a blog post when Felicia called and told me the news.

At first I didn’t believe her and I told her so. I think it may have hurt her feelings a bit that my reaction wasn’t more positive, but like I said sometimes you’re caught by surprise when the curve ball comes at you. I asked her if she was sure and she told me she’d double checked and wouldn’t have called me if it wasn’t a sure thing.

So now I’m looking at a new addition to our humble home. I thought one would make me happy forever, but the thought of a second one is kind of exciting too. And to think it wouldn’t even be possible without the government’s help. Oh yeah, without the twelve hundred dollar tax rebate check Felicia and I are expecting this opportunity wouldn’t even be possible.

So now it comes down to which little bundle of joy I want to add to the household. Should I go with Sony’s PlayStation III or the Microsoft X-Box?

Either way, I think my family will be much better off than we were before...

Monday’s Market Numbers

DOW + 176.72

NASDAQ + 23.71

S&P + 23.35

I'm just hoping things don't improve too much before I get the rebate check in the mail.

And if there's one thing that he don't need...

2008-01-26T00:57:00.000-05:00

"I'm starting to wonder about those M&Ms' dad is giving me."

And why does he keep calling me his little, Jerky Boy?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me...

2008-01-19T18:35:00.000-05:00

Warning: Old person ahead!

Okay, I’ve finally reached the age where the reality of growing old can no longer be so easily ignored. Mentally I seem as sharp as I’ve always been. My ability to solve relatively difficult crossword puzzles remains intact and I have yet to find myself standing in a public square with my pants down around my ankles wondering how I got there. Physiologically is where the most obvious signs of old age are beginning to creep in and I am beginning to experience peripheral glitches in my biological processes.

Last night my wife and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite Italian eateries. We started off the evening with an antipasto sampler consisting of deep fried slices of Mozzarella cheese, Bruschetta with a delightful diced vegetable and olive oil topping and Calamari. I followed this up with a cup of delicious lentil and spicy sausage soup and bread. Just before the entree of shrimp cooked in a lemon butter and garlic sauce and served over angel hair pasta arrived I enjoyed a Caesar salad with fresh anchovies. For dessert I enjoyed one cup of espresso and some wonderful Cannoli.

It was a feast fit for a king and afterwards I was completely sated. It was a while and a second cup of coffee before I could even consider standing up and leaving the table. If not for the grumbling crowd of eager diners waiting in the wings I’d probably have stayed until a nap had been completed. Felicia usually frowns upon my public after dinner naps but she’s grown used to them and I can usually get in a good ten minute rest before she kicks me under the table.

So we pay the check, the waiter thanks us for choosing Carrabba’s and feigns a passable show of hoping Felicia, Myself and our child will dine in with them again in the near future. We exit the establishment and begin crossing the parking lot in preparation of heading home. Little did I know that I was about to experience one of the most unexpected, loud and embarrassing moments in recent memory.

Just as Felicia is about to complete the task of securing Micah in his car seat I let rip with one of the longest, loudest and smelly farts ever to escape my butt cheeks. It happened without warning and no one was more surprised than me when it happened. Now, we’re not talking your every day run of the mill fart here. This was a trumpeting blast the likes of which have not been heard in the Miami Valley since the great Tyrannosaurus Rex roamed the fertile forests of the world.

It shook the very ground upon which we were standing and shattered car windows and set off alarms in a forty foot circumference around the initial blast area. It wasn’t until I heard the muffled cry of a woman slightly behind me and to my right that I realized anyone else was in the vicinity of our car. As I turned to apologize I watched as the woman wilted like a dying lily in an English garden and fell to the asphalt gasping like a fish out of water. I was mortified and even more so when her husband and son had to fireman carry her out of the death cloud and into the safety of the restaurant foyer before they fell to their knees and began retching and vomiting themselves.

Micah burst into laughter and before it dawned on me what she was doing, Felicia had closed the car door, raced around to the driver's side, entered the vehicle, locked the doors and started the engine. The last I saw of her she was nothing but screeching tires and red taillights screaming into the night. Although I don’t fault her I sure expected a bit more from her being the father of her baby and all.

Well, it wasn’t long before the restaurant managers and curious patrons began coming outside to see what was happening. After the first few individuals began turning green and hitting the pavement people were soon trampling each other to get back inside to the air-conditioned safety of the dinning room. Shortly after that the fire trucks arrived along with a couple of Hazmat teams. I was then stripped, isolated inside a decontamination tent and hosed down with a variety of air jets, foams and chemical agents. It was anything but one of the high moments in my life...

Yes, I agreed to pay for the unfortunate family’s taxi ride home, seeing as it will be a while before their car is fit to drive again, if indeed it ever will be. After bathing in a washtub of tomato juice for three hours, Felicia finally let me into the house where I got to sleep in the basement for the night. Again, although I don’t fault her I sure expected a bit more from her being the father of her baby and all.

It was a tough night and I guess I learned a valuable lesson. I think it’s maybe time I begin accepting the fact that I’m not nearly as young as I used to be. Can anyone tell me if Depends are as effective at absorbing accidental gaseous discharges as they are the liquid ones?

I think I have a need to know.

Paperback writer...

2008-01-13T23:56:00.000-05:00

* I've received a few emails recently asking how I come up with all the material for my blog. It is a question I get asked on a pretty regular basis so I thought I'd post one of my short stories and I hope it answers all of your questions.

Yes, I write short stories too. What, you thought I only blogged?

Monkey Business

Dirk Bauman

Just the other day I was sitting at my typewriter, waiting for inspiration and wondering what the devil I was going to write about. I knew it wouldn’t be him because I’d just finished a story about the occult, and the cloven hooves were back in their box and consigned to the closet floor along with the rest of my footwear collection. The bachelor’s usual assortment of tattered sneakers, beach sandals and mismatched flip-flops. I digress...

Nothing was happening. Zip... Nada... No matter how hard I stared at the blank white sheet of paper sitting in my typewriter, it stayed pristine and unsoiled by any words of plot, exposition or dialogue. I couldn’t even think up a decent title to get me jump started. The minutes ticked by. Slowly... And slower still... When at last I could stand the mockery of the plain white surface before me no longer, I stood up from my work desk and walked across the room to stand by an open window.

The day was lovely. The sky was clear of clouds and the sun shined down upon a group of small boys playing a game of baseball in the street below. “Swing, batter, swing,” chanted a sandy-haired boy of about eleven as he crouched down in the short stop position between second and third base.

“You swing like a girl,” yelled a pudgy boy wearing a Red Sox cap. “Come on; send one out here, if you can!” The pitcher looked in to the catcher and delivered the pitch. There was a loud crack, the hitter dropped the bat and began running to first base.

“No inspiration there.” I turned back and faced the typewriter across the room. “You will not defeat me, foul mechanical beast.”

What, like you’ve never talked to an inanimate object? Spare me your judgmental attitude. Have you ever so much as written an original word in your life? Oh, I know where your ideas come from. You find them on the Internet; where you purchase them from cheaters dot com. You disgust me.

I am a real writer and the words that I type are my very own. The plot lines and dialogue of my characters come from the very depths of my soul. I am an artist and the white page is my canvas. Again, I digress...

I paced back and forth across the room and concentrated on composing myself. I focused my thoughts and regulated my breathing until I felt calm and centered.

Once more I sat down at my desk and took a long slow breath. I exhaled slowly, clearing my mind of all external distractions and focused upon the clean white page waiting for the first line of a new story. I leaned slightly forward and with my hands hovering over the keyboard wiggled the tips of my fingers. “Come on baby,” I muttered quietly. “Daddy needs a new concept. Come to Papa.”

* * * *

Nothing. The big blank. The cold dark vacuum of inner space. Only silence where there should have been characters clamoring for self-expression. I lifted my hands and rubbed my eyes. I rolled my head once and then shook it as if trying to shake off the fog that seemed to engulf the creative side of my brain. “A-r-r-r-a-g-h,” I let out a primitive growl hoping to connect with my primal inner lion. “Come forth, oh great tawny beast and prowl the hot steamy veldt of my imagination. Hunt down the hiding gazelle of a story-line and leap upon it like the fierce predator that you are and bring me its flesh.”

Again I perched my fingers above the typewriter keys and waited for the magic to happen. The great lion lifted his great face to the skies of my mind and sniffed the air. He prowled the fields of my hopes, my dreams and even walked the normally fertile trails of my darkest fantasies. He searched and hunted like a prowling animal. He looked in the tiny holes where the inklings dwelled. Nothing stirred. He could not find a morsel to feed upon, not even a hint could he stir forth from its mouse-like burrow. I began to grow fearful, and warm shiny beads of sweat broke out upon my brow.

“Its writer’s block!” you bellow. “You’ve fallen into a quick-sand pool of writers block. Don’t move we’ll throw you a line.” Oh you and your shallow puns.

The answers are always so apparent to the reader. You have the advantage of hindsight, so conveniently provided in the finished product; whereas, I am stuck wandering lost and blind in the uncharted immediate moment of the creative process.

Oh yes, I hear you now, but where were you when I really needed you? Were you writhing in the throes of ecstasy as you shared the lust-filled pages of some other author’s tales of forbidden love? You think I don’t know, but I am well aware of how easily you share your affections with any old Tom, Dick or Patterson. You are literary nymphs flittering from one book to another. You are novel whores!

The truth of the situation dawned upon me at last. Horrified, I trembled as the realization sank like a plumb-line into the dark waters of my deepest fears. I was indeed stuck in the quagmire of every writer’s worst nightmare. Sobbing I rose from my swivel-chair and lifted my arms to the ceiling above me and cried out to the heavens, “Why has thou forsaken me, Muse? What have I done that you would abandon your humble servant in his hour of need? Why, oh why, why!”

Lowering my arms I held my face in my hands and cried like an abandoned child.

* * * *

Washed up at last upon the shores of humility I wiped the tears from my face and lowered my eyes to the floor. I knew what I must do. And, though I dreaded what was next to transpire, and yea though it filled my stomach with a fluttering queasiness, I steeled myself for the ritual I had to perform.

(My fellow writing brothers and sisters, I pause here to offer an apology in advance for revealing esoteric secrets of our craft which have remained hidden for so many eons. But, our readers deserve an answer to the question they so often ask of us. “Where do your ideas come from?”)

* * * *

Wait for it impatient readers. All will shortly be revealed.

In that moment of clarity, striped of my foolish pride I prayed to the Muse and uttered the magical words, “Not my will, but thy will be done.”

Trembling, I unfastened the belt holding up my trousers. I dropped my pants down around my ankles and removed my boxer-shorts. It was done. Now would come the moments of waiting. Would the muse hear my pleas and send the agents of her creative spirit? Sweating, I could only wait and pray.

* * * *

Oh, the horrors we, the humble authors, endure to bring you, our ardent fans, the tales for which you continually clamor. If you would only dine upon our words at the same pace in which we pen them. Instead, you feast upon our efforts like ravenous beasts of the field. Sentences upon which hours were spent, chapters over which we labored for days, stories worked and reworked for years. You treat our labors as if they were fast food items. You scan, you speed-read, and you ignore entire sections of our labors, choosing only to chew lustily upon the tawdry bones of innuendo and the occasional side order of sleazy sex scene. You ignore the subtle interplay of complex story lines and character development. You demand new books as if we were short order cooks.

* * * *

Suddenly, I began to feel the first rumblings from deep within my bowels. Could this be the sign I was waiting for? Were my fevered supplications to be answered at last? And then I felt the first stirrings of movement. They were coming...

Like rounds being loaded into the chamber of a gun. I felt the tensing in my colon. Then the inevitable pressure, building slowly at first and then gathering force as the alimentary canal began flexing in preparation. I looked to the heavens. “Thy will be done,” I uttered. Then I closed my eyelids and embraced the darkness of my mind.

B-r-r-a-a-a-p! The great sphincter cannon fired.

Once more the gaseous trigger erupted, and the cannon roared again! B-r-r-r-a-a-a-p-p-p! P-h-u-t, P-h-u-t...

Only when I heard the buzzing did I open my eyes.

* * * *

They had come. The simian servants of the Holy Muse had indeed flown forth from my buttocks and were swirling around the room. Ping-pong ball sized bodies, burnt sienna in color with black stripes around the midsection, translucent tan colored bumble-bee wings between the shoulder-blades. A great brownish cloud of anal-incense surrounded the swarm as it whirled around the ream of paper sitting beside my typewriter. I watched as their soiled white faces broke out in terrible toothy grins. Around and around my desk they flew, wings buzzing and gnashing their tiny sharp teeth. The butt-monkeys, the primate angels of the great and powerful Muse.

Soon they began pooping little orange balls of excrement upon the blank white sheets of paper and then strewing the pages every where around the room. It was a sight that every writer knows all too well. I bowed my head, closed my eyes and listened as the idea monkeys whirred, buzzed and pooped their way to a literary creation. Judging from the time that passed, and the speed at which sheets of paper floated to the floor like rustling snowflakes, a brand new series was in the making.

At last the noise ceased and I began the process of gathering up the fallen sheets. I paused now and then to read a paragraph or two as I organized the pages into chapters.

* * * *

Yes, dear readers, at last the awful truth is revealed. Now you know why we smile when you approach us at book signings or conventions and say things like; “Hey this book really stinks! Your book is a real piece of shit.” It is because you are closer to the truth than you suspect.

The next time you are standing in the presence of your favorite writer, do not bother to ask where their ideas come from. Instead, smile conspiratorially, give them a little wink and check out their ass. You just might be rewarded with the muffled sound of the sphincter cannon. Who knows, you may just have witnessed the birth of a new story splattered upon the white canvas of his or her underpants. After all, the Muse works in mysterious ways.

--end--

This is ourselves, under pressure...

2008-01-12T17:09:00.000-05:00

I've got blisters on my fingers...

It is now January the twelfth, two thousand and eight. I think it is fair to say that the New Year is well under way, the holiday season is well behind us and it is time to turn our attention to the daily issues that are important to we the people. If you’re anything like me you’re probably under some real pressure right now. I imagine you’re losing some sleep over decisions that are weighing heavily upon your sense of well being. Doubts are creeping in and it is getting more difficult to ignore them with every passing day.

Did I really make the most informed decision? Was I a bit too hasty in what course of action I decided to take? Is this truly the course I want my life to be on? Maybe what God and country think isn’t as important as what I feel is best for me. Maybe conforming to the expectations of my friends and community isn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped it would be. Is it just too much of a commitment for me to accept? Maybe I’m just not meant to walk in line with the elephants. Yeah, these are some of the very same questions I’ve been asking myself lately.

For me it has come down to one key question; am I really interested in continuing this commitment? Is the reward truly worth the expenditure of time and personal effort I’m expending to keep it? Quite frankly it has proven to be a lot more work than I ever expected it to be, the pressure of potential failure is stifling and the fear of disappointing those who have come to depend upon me on a daily basis is almost more than I can bear. I’m beginning to think it’s more of a burden than I can reasonable carry on my weary shoulders.

With all of that being said I have to ask my readers; is it too early in the New Year to give up on my New Year’s resolution? What is the protocol for giving up on one’s resolutions? I’m not sure what to do because I’ve never made one before. I only decided on this one because it seemed so easy at the time and I figured what the heck, I think I could actually do this one standing on my head. Here’s what happened...

A couple of days into the New Year I stopped by my good friend Asara Dragoness’s blog and discovered a thing called Blog 365. Well, when I surfed over to see what the site was all about I got caught up in all the excitement and before I knew it I’d signed up and committed myself to posting a blog entry e-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e d-a-y. Sure, most of you are thinking, “well, heck you’re already so prolific a writer and clearly it comes easily to one as verbose as yourself. How hard could be for the “Mayor of Bloggerville”, the great and powerful DirkStar?”

(That’s what I thought at first too.)

But then comes the reality of having to write something clever, witty and heartfelt on a daily basis. Yes, I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but it’s not as easy as I make it appear to be. There are days where I spend thirty to forty minutes staring at my keyboard shaking in terror that an idea simply will not come and I’ll have nothing to post. I’ve actually sat here and cried sometimes as the pressure threatened to overwhelm me. I just can’t blog like this...

So I’m asking you, my cherished readers and good friends, is it too soon to give up this resolution or should I guts it out and honor my commitment? Will you think less of me if I just give up and go back to blogging as I’ve always done it in the past? I mean, its not as if I haven’t learned from the experience. These past twelve days have made me a better and more tolerant blogger. Now that I realize just how hard you people are working to get a post up each and every day I won’t be nearly as quick to judge the quality or content of your efforts ever again. I mean it.

I’m leaving it up to you good people. My year is in your hands. Is it okay to give up on a silly, impetuous promise made in one rash moment of non-thinking impulse or are my fingers doomed to a never ending pain of carpel tunnel agony as I try to provide a selfish audience with a non-stop stream of political insight, family entertainment and comic relief. Remember, I have a child and can only afford to replace so many keyboards and I’ve already spent a small fortune on band aids trying to ease the blisters on the tips of my fingers. Please, can I just quit now?

Friday’s Market Numbers

DOW - 246.79

NASDAQ - 48.58

S&P - 19.31

I may have been a bit hasty investing Micah’s college fund in the market. How am I ever going to explain to Felicia that we can’t even afford to home-school the boy now?

Thank God I’ve still got the sock money in my dresser drawer. I can still recoup my losses if I play things right.

What was that rule again? Oh yeah, buy low and sell when I’m high...

Electric light orchestra...

2008-01-11T09:57:00.001-05:00

"Oh I double-dog dare you, little man."

Okay, I’m completely perplexed. Felicia and I are pretty good parents. We do everything in our power to make sure that little Micah lacks for nothing in the world. The little man dines on the choicest of delicacies. He is dressed in only the very finest of fabrics. Why, if I’d had only a quarter-portion of the benefits he’s enjoyed in his early years I’d probably be president today.

Along with all of the physical comforts we’ve tried to provide for we’ve also tried to stimulate his intellectual abilities to their fullest capacity. Spread out across the living room floor of our home is a vast selection of cleverly wrought devices (hand colored with only the highest quality of lead paints) designed by the most innovative minds at Fisher Price Toys. My I.Q. has increased by four points (And yes, both Wizards and Pepper that does indeed now make my I.Q. a whopping 4.5.) simply by spending time with Micah as he plays with them.

So, with all the advantages we’ve worked so hard to provide our son with there is one thing that has me completely perplexed. Why, with all the cornucopia of goodness that surrounds him in our home is he magnetically drawn to only one thing in the entire house? No matter where I set him down to play or what toys I give him to play with, he will perform one quick spin on the floor to survey his surroundings and then immediately start crawling towards the nearest electrical outlet. For the life of me I just can’t figure it out.

Is it something I’ve done? Is it me? Is it perhaps my blog and my over-the-top Liberal politics? Why does my son have this death wish? I know I’m a bit difficult at times, but I’ve never walked into a room to discover Felicia French-kissing one of the outlets. (She does however keep a quart of vodka and a rather large bottle of sleeping pills atop the nightstand on her side of the bed labeled, ”In Case of Emergency”.) I don’t get it; he just arrived on the planet. Do you think he knows I invested his college money in the stock market?

I’ve tried to reassure him in any manner of ways. I’ve told him we do change presidents every four years and Bush won’t be running the country for much longer. I’ve tried to let him know that God is not the hateful punitive ogre the Christian conservatives make him out to be. I’ve even tried to console him about the current state of music and entertainment. Nothing seems to work. Every time I set him down he makes a bee-line for the juice.

Are all children like this or am I just raising a future Goth kid? I wish he’d start talking so we could work through his obvious angst together.

Should I start him on sugar?

Thursday’s Market Numbers

DOW + 117.78

NASDAQ + 13.97

S&P + 11.20

I think I' m going to let Micah's college money ride a little longer. Come on Market, daddy needs new shoes...

Death of a salesman...

2008-01-08T16:17:00.000-05:00

We're going door to door...

As the majority of you who read my blog on a regular basis are aware, I am a fairly mellow soul who rarely (if indeed ever) gets my panties in a bunch over the vagaries of daily life. That being said there is something that has been percolating in my brain until I am unable to further refrain myself from venting.

When I was a young man one of the most dreaded daily occurrences was the parade of door to door salesmen knocking on the front door. These guys did everything humanly possible to wheedle their way into the home where they would then harangue the helpless housewife with never ending sales pitches concerning such essential household items as bibles, encyclopedias, miracle cleansing solutions and brushes, vacuum sweepers and any number of assorted sundries.

Usually these sales calls ended with father coming home to discover a stranger in the house with his wife, dishes undone, no supper on the table and his cold beer, house slippers and newspaper nowhere near the front door. Shortly thereafter the salesman was sitting on his butt out on the lawn amidst a pile of his broken and smashed goods. The rest of the evening consisted of T.V. trays and dinners, father watching anything but the usual family fare of Roy Rogers, Lassie and Lost in Space. Children grew up hating the traveling salesman and vowing never to participate in such a despised and reviled profession.

Now, as most of you who read my blog on a daily basis are also aware of, I am a house husband. My wife, God bless her self-employed industrious soul, earns more in a day than I could possibly earn in a week and my talents are better employed keeping the home fires burning. I take my responsibilities very seriously. Every day I am up at the crack of noon and is customary among domestic divas, I don the traditional uniform of hair curlers, fuzzy slippers and plaid housecoat before beginning a rigorous day of childcare and household chores. (Once or twice every three or four weeks I even try to have dinner cooked and ready for my wife when she gets home from work.)

Okay, so once I have Micah settled in front of the T.V. with a Coca Cola filled bottle in his eager hands I begin my rigorously scheduled afternoon. First, I stack the dishes in the kitchen sink to make sure they really need doing. Folks, there’s absolutely no sense in wasting water and dish soap on less than three sink loads of dishes when there are paper plates and plastic utensils in the cupboard. Second, I make sure I’ve got fresh coffee brewing to keep me alert during the rigors of vacuuming the house. This chore, as any house keeper knows is the critical chore in maintaining the appearance of a clean house. Nothing says clean like a well made bed and a vacuumed floor.

So, the other day I’ve got a cigarette in one hand, (no, I don’t smoke it’s just a prop.) a cup of coffee in the other and I’m vacuuming the heck out of the downstairs living room when it suddenly dawns on me that the dogs are carrying on a bit more than usual, so I turn off the sweeper and after a couple of minutes I hear a knock on the front door. I’m not expecting company so when I look through the peep hole and see a girl I have no clue whosoever she might be I return to my sweeping. Ten minutes later I turn off the sweeper and no sooner am I preparing to enter the kitchen and start my dish stacking when I hear a knock at the door.

Sure enough, when I look through the peep hole there is the same woman standing as still as Lot’s wife after the salt incident holding a piece of paper. Well, I’m thinking maybe Felicia is being served for something and maybe I ought to open the door and see exactly what is going on. Well, I pull the folds of my robe together in a show of decency and modesty then I open the front door just far to stick my head into her field of vision.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Hi, my name is Heather and I’m with so and so. Our company is doing some work in the neighborhood and we just wanted to let you know ahead of time so you won’t be concerned when you see us on your neighbor’s property.”

As I prepared to shut the door I gave her a sincere and heartfelt, "thank you." I was just glad Felicia wasn’t being sued or even worse. That’s when the unfortunate incident happened.

Just as I’m closing the door concluding our interaction...

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

She held out a piece of laminated paper towards the door and without thinking I opened the screen door as little as possible and reached out my hand for it.

“Which of these home improvement services would you be interested in receiving some free information about?”

As soon as I opened the storm door to take a hold of the proffered paper a gust of cold air blew in through the breach and it happened.

Oops dere it is, oops dere it is. Who let the dog out? Whoot, whoot! Free Willy...

As my face reddened, hers took on a look of abject horror. I let go of the door and she let go of her laminated sales sheet. I reached for the folds of my house coat and she turned and fled from the porch faster than Brittney’s sister after a pregnancy test at her doctor’s office.

Look, sometimes I wake up in the morning and it just looks so nice out I think to myself, hey, I think I’ll just go ahead and leave it out all day. It’s not like I’m going anywhere. I’m a house husband after all. I’m not expecting unsolicited callers and sales people. Why should I? Aren’t they a long gone and extinct dinosaur of the distant past?

And that’s when I had the epiphany moment. I realized how often this scene is being played out on a regular basis lately. The door to door sales people have returned. It has been slow to penetrate the national consciousness because they’ve changed their appearance. Gone are the trench coat wearing guys with the black cases at their side. Gone are the free brush samples. Gone are the leather bound Bibles in hand. Now it’s all about installing doors, windows, patio decks, room additions and roof tiles.

God I hate door to door sales people! My home is my castle and I hate having it assaulted by hawking hordes of demonic sales people.

If you are a door to door sales person, let me give you some advice. First, if you hear someone at work in the house, say maybe vacuuming, knocking on the door until you force them to answer it is probably not going to work to your advantage. Second, if they answer the door in a robe it is a signal for you to apologize for interrupting their morning and then quickly as possible make a graceful exit. Third, if you don’t want an eyeful, don’t make them open the door on a windy day.

Last but not least. Stay away from my door. I know who you are now. I won’t be fooled again. If I need new doors or windows I’ll call someone. Please, don't make me have to kick your butt off of my front porch and onto the lawn.

As a side note; thank you, Heather for the follow up call and the very kind words. Also, the flowers were very sweet and quite appreciated.

Monday’s Market Numbers

DOW + 27.31

NASDAQ - 5.19

S&P + 4.55

Thank goodness for a rally of this magnitude. I was beginning to think 2008 was going to be a very bad year for Wall Street.

Are you ready for some football?

2008-01-07T02:25:00.001-05:00

Man, these rules are complicated.

Tonight is the National Championship game between the Ohio State Buckeyes and the L.S.U. Tigers. I’m not really all that concerned with who wins or loses the contest; after all it is just a game. As long as the event is played cleanly and with a spirit of fair play I’ll be content. I just enjoy watching athletic college kids playing a healthy Christian game of tackle football.

I of course will not be indulging in any alcoholic beverages as I believe this would set a bad example for the younger bloggers who look up to me as an example of decency and all that is good in the world today. I strongly encourage everyone who is not as disciplined as myself to plan ahead and provide a designated driver. Remember; driving with beer in your head is a good way to wind up dead.

(Yes, the preceding was a public service announcement.)

I know that anyone leaving a comment today will do so in a fair and impartial manner. Any non-bipartisan comments favoring one side over the other are strongly discouraged. Although not so strongly discouraged as to injure anyone’s feelings. Let’s all just root for no one to get injured and for the game to be unmarred by unruly acts of unsportsmanlike like behavior. Please, can’t we all just get along?

Remember; it’s not whether you win or lose that matters, it’s how you play the game. Let’s all just try to enjoy the festivities without any emotional turmoil. It could be a real learning experience for the children, and after all, aren’t they what its really all about?

As I wrap up today’s post I thought I’d add a new feature. Everyone seems to cover the Market on a daily basis only. Yesterday’s closing numbers disappear faster than Britney’s kids after a custody hearing. Each day I’ll post the closing numbers of the previous day’s Market and we can all watch the fun on a long term basis.

Friday’s Market Numbers

DOW -256.54

NASDAQ -98.03

S&P -35.53

I'm sorry, so sorry...

2008-01-05T20:15:00.000-05:00

Alright, I’m a little surprised by the vehemence in some of the emails I’ve received concerning my January 3^rd post about my diapering techniques. Yes, I admit it, I’m new to the whole daddy thing, but I’m doing the very best I can and if anyone has any suggestions, I’m willing to take them under advisement and do my best to upgrade my parenting skills. With that said, I’d like to take this opportunity to respond to a couple of the emails that took me to task for being an uncaring father.

Trailer Gurl in Festering Sore, Arkansas wrote: Dear Mr. DorkStar: I can’t believe what a lazy father you are! Even my husband has the decency to go outside and hose down the baby after the diaper falls off. You are probably too busy sucking down your double Mocha Latte snooty Espresso coffee to show the slightest genuine iota of caring towards your son.

Dear Trailer Gurl: First off, I am lactose intolerant and simply cannot drink Lattes. Felicia is insistent about this and says, “If I’d wanted a house run on gas I wouldn’t have installed all the electrical appliances.” As for being too lazy to hose down my son once his diaper has fallen off in the yard you have sorely underestimated my attention to details in perfecting my diapering technique. You see, it has been a bitterly cold winter here in Ohio and it has been my experience that every time I hosed the boy down from the comfort of my back porch he became encased in a block of ice and froze solid to the ground. The dogs just couldn’t pick him up and return him to the warmth and safety of the house. As a caring father I just couldn’t continue leaving him outside like that until his momma got home from work.

Granola Mom in Mother Earth, California wrote: Dear DickStare: It is because of dung-hole fathers like yourself that our planet is in the shape it is today. Have you no consideration of the planet at all? If you weren’t so busy sitting on your sofa, sipping your Highlander Grog coffee and reading Cigar Quarterly magazine while polluting your mind with Rush Limbaugh on the radio you wouldn’t be wasting God’s precious gift in your little one’s diapers. Don’t you realize how easily recycled your baby’s poop is? House plants are a wonderful way of recycling baby poo-poo and as an extra bonus they fill the home with fresh oxygen. Surely you want your baby breathing clean air.

Dear Granola Mom: First off, you clearly are not a regular reader of my blog or you’d know that I would never expose my son to the toxic ruminations of Rush Limbaugh. I’d like my son to grow up with a healthy and poison free mind. I did run your house plant idea by Felicia and once she stopped laughing at me she sent me to the computer and had me type out one thousand times; I will not take advice from bloggers on the Internet. Yeah, it took me all night to do it too. Thanks, not!

Jeez, you people act like I’ m Brittney spears or something...

Cause I'm mobile...

2008-01-03T23:20:00.000-05:00

It is one of the great mysteries of parenthood that although you go to sleep knowing who your child is, upon waking you have no idea who will greet you. You can’t imagine it until you have a child of your own. They change faster than the patterns in a kaleidoscope. They go to sleep having loved green beans for a month and the next day they’ll never eat them again. Yesterday’s favorite toy is tomorrow’s forgotten relic.

Watching a child grow and develop intellectually is a marvel to behold. As you spend time with them there are moments where you can watch the light come on in their eyes. One second they are flailing and wailing and the next they’ll reach out a tiny finger as deftly as a concert pianist and push a button on a toy again and again and again. They’ll squeal with joy and give you a look like they just completed their college thesis and are bursting with pride in the achievement. It is a magical process that occurs on a near daily basis.

As I sat on the sofa this morning nursing my first cup of coffee I knew from the moment he worked his way through a three hundred and sixty degree spin what was coming next. I saw the lights go on in his eyes. As quickly as possible I sprinted for the new video camera and prepared to catch the magic moment. No sooner had I turned on the camera and adjusted the focus he crawled for the very first time. It was simply amazing...

On the darker side of parenting, there are things beginning to appear in his diapers that simply cannot be the result of any natural biological process I’ve ever heard of in my lifetime. When I open his diaper to confirm my olfactory suspicions, as God is my witness, cockroaches come crawling out their hiding places and die in writhing agony. Neighborhood rodents have placed tiny signs on lour lawn that read: Abandon all hope ye who enter within.

I left one sitting on the front porch a while back and we haven’t been bothered by a door to door salesman in weeks. We haven’t had much mail either but hey, no news is good news. I just can’t figure it out. We’re putting only the purest of ingredients into him. Where are the hot-steaming, foul-smelling, toxic piles of horrendous byproduct in his diapers being produced? This is the apple of my eye, the very fruit of my superior loins we’re talking about here. Surely this can only be the result of something contributed by the mother.

I’m working on a technique where I undo one of the Velcro fasteners, scoop him up with a snow shovel, roll him out of the back door on to the lawn and wait for the diaper to fall off before sending one of the dogs out to fetch the boy back inside the house. (The snow we’ve had lately has proven to be a Godsend because now he’s clean when the dogs bring him inside.) If anyone has any other ideas on dealing with the situation please don’t hesitate to pass them along because at this point I’ m willing to try most anything.

This home fathering thing is definitely not turning out to be the cakewalk I envisioned it to be when Felicia first agreed to the idea. (I should have known something was up when she kept grinning and chuckling all the time.) She thinks she's so smart, but what she doesn’t know is that I’ve been saving up my allowance and I’m going to hire me a nanny. I just hope she doesn’t quit on me when I ask her to change one of his diapers.

Now do you people see why I’m so cranky about my politics?

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose...

2007-12-31T23:51:00.000-05:00

The yuletide holiday has been pulled down, put in boxes and put away until next year. Only moments remain in 2007 and I hope they are filled with merriment for all of my blogger friends across the world. Felicia and I will be bringing in the New Year with Micah. It will prove to be an evening free of lead contaminants, drunks, Neocons, illegal aliens and Christian conservatives. Oh, sweet serenity.

Did you have a good Christmas? It was a fine one here in the Bauman home, filled with lots of goodies under the tree and a warm and loving spirit in our hearts. My favorite gift from Felicia was a camcorder the size of a pack of cigarettes called Flip Video. Within minutes of unwrapping it I was taking videos of Micah. It is easy to use and connects with both the television and computer so I can post them to my blog. How cool is that?

Our trip to Gatlinburg, Tennessee was fun and Micah seemed to have a good time too. It was fairly crowded and at times it was a bit difficult to maneuver through all the people walking through the strip but we still had a good time shopping and eating at some fun restaurants. The weather could have been more cooperative, but again, we worked around it just fine.

It has certainly been an interesting year for Felicia and I and I’m sure we’ll have our fair share of adventures and learning experiences. I’m sure most of them will wind up as posts of one sort or another. Speaking of learning opportunities...

Spending a week with Pepper and her mother Jane was one of the best times of my entire year. Truly I mean it when I say they are two of the most incredible women I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Several days after they departed for adventures further on down the line I began to experience a spiritual malaise. For weeks and then months I felt as if something had been taken from me and I was spiritually wounded. I couldn’t figure out what was going on with me and for the life of me I couldn’t put a name to the aching in my soul.

I couldn’t blog. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t leave the house. I took care of my son and that was about the full extent of my life. It was as deep a funk as I’ve ever dealt with in all my fifty plus years. Then one night the answer began to percolate in my mind and at long last bubbled forth into my consciousness

The epiphany I’d been refusing to accept was that I found myself filled with a terrible jealous envy of Pepper and Jane. I was shocked...

All of my life I have journeyed with the wind. Whenever the breezes have beckoned I have hoisted my sails and traveled wherever whim or fancy has called me. I’ve always had the option of leaving wherever I am for some other adventure. Even in my marriage Felicia has always left me the option of moving on if I’m not happy. I have lived free and unfettered for a very long time. All that ended when the little man entered my life. My journeys with the wind ended with his birth and it wasn’t until I ran wild with Pepper and Jane for a week that the realization of it truly dawned upon me.

Don’t get me wrong. Yes, the option of running with the wind is a wonderful freedom, but Micah is not something I can ever leave behind. No option exists, he is my son and I have no choice but to love him and spend as much time as I have remaining to me loving him and preparing him, as best I can, for his journey with the wind. I have no regrets about losing my options. I just had to grieve a bit for something lost that had been an important part of my identity for a long time.

Fatherhood and being a husband to Felicia are the best experiences of my entire life. Period. Love and a son are more than ample compensation for the loss of a little freedom. I can let go of the wind...

My dad died Christmas Day leaving me as the oldest living survivor in the Bauman family. I find myself this New Year’s Eve thinking more about time than any illusion of freedom. Will I have enough time to spend with my son? Will I have enough time as the patriarch of the Bauman family to mend old wounds and heal broken familial ties? Will I have enough time for Felicia’s love to bear fruit and bring forth the best in me she sees but which I still have trouble believing exists in my broken soul?

Family...

A word I thought I’d never understand let alone experience.

It is the greatest freedom a man can ever know.

Thank you, everyone for reading my blog. I know that I anger people sometimes. I know I perplex people sometimes. I’m just an enigma trying to make sense of things and sometimes my frustration gets the best of me.

Happy New Year, everybody. I hope we all find the time we need this year to tell our loved ones how much they mean to us and how much we love having them to share our lives with.

2007 Eddie Award Winners

2007-12-30T18:14:00.000-05:00

2007 Eddie Awards

Winners may click on the Eddie Award at the top of the page and collect the code for your award. Simply copy the HTML code then paste it in your page or sidebar and the Eddie will be there for all the world to see.

Welcome to the second annual Eddie Awards presentation.

As the year 2007 draws to an end I again wanted to acknowledge a few of the blogs that I believe surpass the normal standard. Some of the awards are based on content while others are based upon the characteristics of the people who post the blog.

My first award goes to Rookie of the Year-Aileen. The "Horch Family Blog" is a wonderful example of free thinking and even freer writing. You never know what you'll find at the Horch Family Blog and I always get a kick out of reading whatever Aileen is talking about on any given day. I've had the great joy of meeting Aileen and her family and let me tell you they are a wonderful group of folks. Check out her blog. Its a hoot!

Congratulations!

My second award again goes to Best Travel Blog of the Year-Little House on Wheels. There are no greater people on the face of the earth than Pepper and her mother. Felicia I had the pleasure of spending one of the best weeks of our entire year journeying along the roads of Ohio with these two delightful women. Felicia and I will never forget these two incredible souls and if they are ever in our area again we will never forgive them if they don't come visiting. This continues to be a inspiring story that will truly enrich the daily reading of us all.

Congratulations!

My next award goes to Most Inspirational Blog of the Year-Meander. What hasn't this girl endured? On top of all the other challenges life has tossed her way this was the year she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. What I find most inspirational about this woman is the way she deals with each and every new day. Whether in a good mood or bad you can be sure that each is faced with verve and passion. Meander lives in the moment and speaks of her life with honesty and integrity. I admire her because she does not waste precious moments trying to answer the unanswerable question, why. Life isn't about why, it is about how. Why things happen isn't as important as how we live the moments we are granted. Do we waste the wonder of our daily lives constantly dredging up the past and sobbing why or do we accept the reality of each moment and live it as best we can? Meander lets me know it is ok to have both good and bad days. I don't have to know why, I just have to live as best I can.

Congratulations!

My next award goes to Best New Voice of the Year-Wizened Wizard. Last year I awarded this blog for being the best nature blog of the year. I loved her photographs and marveled at her photographic skills. This year I have marveled at the way her writing voice has come alive. I may not always agree with her views, but I have become increasingly impressed with the way she expresses her opinions. This blog is as interesting to read as it is to look at and I highly recommend reading her blog on a daily basis.

Congratulations!

My next award goes to Hardest working blogger-Cynical Bastard. What can I say about the cynical bastard that hasn't already been said by almost every other blogger handing out awards? What trophy hasn't this man been awarded? What possible recognition is this man lacking? What accolade has this man been denied? Only one and now that oversight has been corrected. Seriously, I love the humor and the joy this man brings to the blogosphere. His mom is pretty cool too.

Congratulations!

My final award goes to Best Blog of the Year-Brokeass Weave. I love the writing on this blog. This girl presents a richly detailed world populated by vibrant and entertaining characters. Whenever I need a laugh to brighten my day this is the blog I visit. Please visit this amazing site and spend some time with Lurlene and her friends. Warning: This site is adult-in-yer-face-funny. Christian Conservatives should read only with a faith healer standing by.

Congratulations!

I hope you will display your award with pride. You earned it with your creative efforts.

Blue, blue Christmas...

2007-12-25T20:04:00.000-05:00

My father, born on Christmas day, died this afternoon at approximately 2 p.m. at Mercy Hospital in Springfield, Ohio. My niece, Melanie, whom I had not heard from in many years called to give me the news. Quite frankly, I was more excited to hear from my niece than I was saddened to hear about my father's passing.

No, don't be sad...

My father was a monster who beat me like I was a punching bag throughout my entire childhood until I ran away from home and never looked back. I carried scars of both the mental and physical type well into adulthood. Thanks to Felicia, my loving and wonderful wife, many of the scars I believed would never heal have at last begun to fade from the fabric of my heart and soul.

My family shattered many years ago and the pieces have never come back together, not even when my mother died. We are a terribly wounded and hurt group of individuals. Melanie was afraid to call me. Somehow reunions in my family are never wonderful and she feared, as I always do, opening the door to those we have avoided for so many decades. The pain is simply too much to risk. The hurt is always so slow to fade away.

She called and we talked...

When you have children it is funny how important family becomes. Melanie and I both know the sorrow of having no family at our weddings. We know far too well the pain at holidays of having to face the inevitable questions; Aren't you going to see your family? Why don't your family ever call? Why doesn't you ever talk about your family?. Yeah, it sucks hard.

We talked...

We exchanged addresses and phone numbers and vowed to show our children a different kind of family.

My father died. It was almost a relief...

I hope my son never feels such a thing.

I hope Melanie's children never feel such a thing.

Merry Christmas everyone. Please be good to each other.

It is so very important. Trust me, I know from personal experience...

And so this is Christmas...

2007-12-22T01:19:00.001-05:00

The spirit of Christmas to come...

As I sit here typing this Christmas post our house is filled with the scent of fresh baked cookies and rock and roll carols. Felicia is giving Micah a bath after his teething cookie. The lights are low and the Christmas tree is aglow with twinkling lights. It looks and feels like the holiday in our home. We are lucky to have it so good.

This has been a year of great contradiction for me. I’ve been blessed with the addition of my son and the continued celebration of love that is my life with Felicia. Truly, no man has been given any greater gifts than I. My little family is the most wonderful experience of my life and I cherish every moment we all share together.

I only wish the world was as warm and filled with love as my home. This has been a year filled with such terrible sadness around the globe. We are all suffering through a war that shows no sign of ending. We are all suffering from the effects of global warming and its affects upon the environment. I worry for my son and can’t help but wonder if the world he grows up in will be as lush and green as the one I knew as a boy. Will he be able to journey into the woods and swim in a pond? Will he be able to poke turtles with a stick and watch them withdraw into armored shells? Will there be any honey bees left for him to watch pollinate wild flowers in the fields?

Will my son’s future be as a soldier in a faraway land fighting a war that did not end by the time he turned eighteen? Will he fight for a people who view him only with hatred never knowing the wonderful little boy he was as a child? Will he die on the sand instead of at side of a loving wife who shared the same joy of marriage as Felicia and I have enjoyed? I worry about his future and therein rests the crux of my current angst. I am so afraid that I waited too long and that my son will know only a world as it dies and fades into a bleak world of desolation. Did I bring my son into a world devoid of hope and a real future?

I worry that I will not have enough time to prepare him to deal with the challenges I know he will have to face. He is not yet one year old and I am already fifty-three. I am diabetic and towards the end of this year I’ve felt the disease weighing upon me more than I ever have before. I’m tired and soul weary. I am afraid Micah will grow up not even remembering who I was. I love him with all of my heart and soul and I’m afraid that he’ll never really know that.

Fatherhood has proved to be an incredible experience so far. It has created feelings inside of me that I never imagined possible. I just want to do the best possible job at it that I can. I love every moment I spend with Micah and I’m trying to get as many photos of him as I possibly can. I hope that someday he’ll look at them and see himself as I saw him through a father’s loving eyes.

This has been a very interesting year for me. I hope next year is as amazing as this one has been and that the world will settle down a bit and we’ll all spend more time fixing our broken planet than we spend killing each other over stupid theological differences.

Merry Christmas to you all. I hope you and yours are safe, warm and filled with every possible joy. Cherish each moment with your families and for God’s sake put aside whatever small grievances you have with anyone and use this season as a reason to make peace with those you love and miss. Our lives pass so quickly, time spent fostering ill feelings is wasted time we can never reclaim. Be the first to reach out and embrace, you’ll be glad you did.

God rest ye merry gentlemen...

2007-12-08T21:24:00.001-05:00

Minstrels greeting guests of
the manor to the Madrigal feast.

Last night Felicia and I had the delightful pleasure of attending the twenty-fifth anniversary of Wright State University’s Madrigal Dinner. It was our first experience with the event and we were unsure just what we should expect. To our complete satisfaction the evening turned out to be warm, wonderful and witty. It was a good way to kindle the flame of Christmas spirit and I would certainly recommend the Madrigal event to anyone who has never participated in it before.

The table settings were lovely
and the performers delightful.

We were lucky to share our end of the table with good company. Conversation was warm, comfortable and as satisfying as the fare that graced our table. We enjoyed the added benefit of sitting with the wife of one of the performers. Felicia and I were regaled with tales of her and her husband’s travels and the many dance troupes and period performance organizations they are a part of.

Toni and Tom Tumbusch,
Charming folk and a pleasure to sup with.

One of my favorite entertainments of the evening was a rendition of “Old McDonald Had a Farm” performed in Latin. It was cleverly done and everyone in the audience was clapping their hands and laughing in delight. Towards the end of the evening audience participation was encouraged during the performance of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. The room was divided into groups and as each of the choruses came around each one would pantomime an action corresponding with subject of the verse. Our table was fortunate enough to get “eight maids a milking” and every time the phrase came around we all stood up and did the milking motion with our hands. It was great fun.

Milord and Milady's table filled the feast
with laughter and song the entire evening.

As the feast wound down traditional yuletide carols filled the room with a warm and gentle spirit. Everyone joined in and it was like listening to a heavenly choir hearken the coming of the babe for whom the holiday is celebrated. It was a beautiful moment and one that did indeed kindle the flame of Christmas Spirit in everyone who shared the evening together. The event was truly delightful and if there is a similar Madrigal Feast in your neck of woods I would certainly suggest you give it a try.