stage diving into frog execrement

For those of you keeping score, I come up BIG – Number 8 out of 1.02 million – when you google “jock panties.” I have written so many words that I am not disturbed at the ranking. Turns out my position is from the crack I made about “lunatics with bunched panties and jock itch” running for president. What does disturb me is someone sitting in Melrose Park, Illinois, USA, at 11:20 PM, and searching the net for such a thing. Melrose Park claims to be a “village,” and it sits just west of Chicago. Every village has its idiot, I guess. Look at the mayor on their website, Ronald Serpico. Looks like the panty type, eh? Bushy eyebrows, head like a thumb. Probably looks nice in pink or a very light shade of purple. Not that much different from J. Edgar Hoover in his dress. Sorry, Ron, no offense meant. I am sure your butt is way nicer than J. Edgar’s. Brrrrr, eh? That boy just didn’t exercise enough. Nasty rice pudding thighs leading up to rotten-grapefruits-in-a-plastic-bag cheeks. Packing all of that into queen-size tummy-tucker pantyho-- I’m gonna throw up. brb.

Let’s see what other sick f*cks we have out there scraping through the bowels of the internet … ah, here we go. Google Number 6 of 47,100 for some puke that searched “pictures frog excrement.” Um, WTF? Was it a scientific inquiry? Maybe since the sun was set in Jacksonville, Florida, USA, at 11:12 PM it was just not possible to walk around and find some. But one would think a flashlight and a little diligence would yield an abundance of specimens. Although, why go looking when you can surf the net and find high quality pics from other vermin such as you. You know, pal, when you google something, hit the “images” top left and you will get your pics. Your way just yields narrative. You wanted narrative? You wanted to read about people and frogs and excrement and … just go away. Now. Dry heaves. brb.

One search made me sad. Ask.com was queried, “what is the meaning of three crosses on the side of interstate 81?”. I came up on the second page. The searcher routed through LA, but Route 81 is a local interstate that ends in the south, nowhere near SoCal. I hope he found the link to the Bible on the right. How can someone be, presumably, old enough to drive and not know the story of Christ in even the most fundamental of ways? I may be a real dick sometimes, an incredible sinner, but I know where my salvation lies. I know where I push the limit and where I cross the line. At least the guy is searching for answers. I hope he finds them. God has a funny way of reaching back when you reach for Him.

Reminds me of when I was 15 or so. I wanted to read the Bible. I was living in a home with other people, but was truly alone. I figured you started to read it like any other book – so I opened to page one. A few days into reading, I got mail. I never got mail. This letter was mass-printed, but addressed to me. It read, “We understand you are just beginning to read the Bible. Might we suggest you start with the Gospels.” I hadn’t told a soul, and did my reading alone at night.

Yeah, reach out to God, and He reaches back. Remarkable.

I took my daughter to see Blindside at the Knitting Factory in NYC a week ago. In the video below, you may be able to see the back of my head. We were at the stage, right side, directly in front of the bassist. Nuf said. Hurts to watch this. Back left side of my side begins to twitch.



See the clown on stage? Christian, the lead singer, pushed him off. Kinda funny. I think it was the same guy another time that got back on stage and didn’t survey the crowd very well. He “stage dove” to our side. Everyone just moved out of his way. Thump! Smile.

You can view nine videos if you like. Have fun.

Although, to be honest, we met the band afterward. Genuinely nice guys.

Alright, enough procrastination. Gotta focus.

daydreams

I wonder if there are any documented instances of curiosity killing a cat.

Here’s a good story, discussed on the Australia version of Mythbusters. If you touch a toad, you'll get warts. False. Warts are caused by a virus, which are usually species specific. Almost all viruses that infect frogs do not have the correct receptors to infect humans as well. That’s good. One less thing to worry about. I always worried that those lonely girls who kissed frogs in the futile attempt to find something anything better in life would get sick. I can put that concern aside, too.

I had a picture come to me. Still not sure what it means. I think it was a dream. I was awake, but I dream while awake sometimes. I was sitting on the end of a pier fishing in the ocean. I have fished or walked on several coasts in the US, and have walked the ocean’s beaches in a few different countries. One thing I always do is orient myself to understand what I am facing, albeit at great distances. This seemed to me to be the panhandle of Florida, a place I have never been. I was picturing the touristy side of Mexico in front of me.

I was reeling in my line. A youthful man was somewhere behind me. I had not paid specific attention to him, as people came and went but pretty much left me alone. I do recall nodding a wordless hello now and then – tip-of-the-hat type of thing.

As I reeled my line, this younger fresh-faced guy was becoming excited. “What do you think you have?” He was all atwitter. I said nothing but concentrated on my line. He seemed to understand my need to focus. I wasn’t focusing, I was just reeling. Didn’t much care for conversation. It was clear that he was an in-lander not used to local practice, and had for some reason been given a day pass from his custodians.

I brought my line out of the water. “Wowwee!” he said, “neato! What kind of fish is that? Must be 5 or 6 pounds, hunh?” I said nothing.

“What did you use for bait?” he asked.

I turned toward him. “I didn’t. This is the bait.”

That’s it. Still processing.

I was in Philadelphia today working with my old co-workers on an accreditation doc I wrote for them. It was nice to see them. I got some time to chat and catch up, albeit briefly. I wanted to spend some more time socializing but the environment isn’t conducive to it. There’s a palatable power structure that simply needs to be honored. I don’t mind it at all.

It was funny to watch the dynamic present itself again and it immerse in it without losing a beat. I got to see some past students. They all asked if I was coming back. It was weird to say, “no.” One girl I saw is graduating next term. I remember teaching her for her first two or three terms. Very focused on studies. Wrote well. For some reason I think she’ll be a cop. I hope she is safe. I worry about such things.

I have five trips in the next nine weeks. Illinois, New York, Connecticut, Virginia, and Florida. Going to be busy. Will be time for another trip to the women’s shelter afterward to drop off my booty of toiletries. I love collecting them. It is silly how much money is wasted in hotels.

The weather is changing so quickly. Cool nights are already here. I want to go to a cider mill this fall with my twin. I have pleasant memories as a kid of stopping at Northup’s Cider Mill in La Plume, PA. The building was still there when last I drove past a few years ago, but it is no longer in use. I remember seeing it closed and unused that fall. I stopped the car and peered into the window. It was clearly done. I recalled being in a bar somewhere years before – Scranton, Factoryville, Clarks’ Summit, I forget. One of the grandson’s was there. We talked about the mixture of apples, and how the later cider was best. He said how hard it was to get field help. I knew lots of illegals from my federal criminal work and assured him if he could lend me a truck, I could fill it with day laborers.

Some periods of time are harder than others. It is not measured by length.