OK

I irritate myself. I lost my glasses again. Or misplaced them in my apartment. I mean, I know that there are in the apartment and misplaced. Which can mean that they are lost for awhile. Now Cleanliness may be next to Godliness........but tidiness is no where close to jimmlyness. We don't come close. Not by miles. So what I did is took them off and put them somewhere I usually don't.

And here's the deal....I need them only for distance and can't read shit with them on....and do not need them in the apartment except for watching TV.....which I don't do anymore....anyways....so sometimes I just take them off and put them in odd places......those suckers could be ANYWHERE....I get absent minded, too, sometimes, sorta......anyways....I found them once in the refrigerator, once behind the cactus on the porch.....often I have to (CLEAN) tidy the whole fucking apartment just to find them....gimmee a break, huh?

And if I try to get around outside .... well after about two hours I feel just like I did doing that Blue-Micro Dot acid at the Who concert in 76. Really really fuzzy.

...and the Bug and I are headed to Dimly's son's graduation open house late this afternoon......
.....and I will not be able to drive...and we also do neat shit at Dimly's. He lives on high bank along the river and driving golf balls at the jet-skiers is a gas....jet-skiers are real assholes, anyways.....and Steve gets this great pharmaceutical pot from his brother in CA and we can go out on his boat and smoke and Christy makes the best goddam foo.

Shit....I gotta find those glasses....I might have put them in with the laundry....maybe if I just did the laundry.....or maybe they are on the spice rack.....I dunno

Dad

C'est un plaisir de présenter le Blog du Français qui a, à sa bonne nature et grâce, a sauvé la France du mauvais Fromage américain! Il est un méchant socialiste, mais a la qualité artistique fantastique!!

http://dadpaint.blogspot.com/

Salut, mon ami!!!!!

Fucking Translator!!!!!!

lessons

"Everything we are taught is false"

..... and most things we learn are suspect....


King Of Bohemia

Let me rock you in my arms
I'll hold you safe and small
A refugee from the Seraphim

In your rich girl rags and all
Did your dreams die young
Were they too hard won
Did you reach too high and fall
And there is no rest
For the ones God blessed
And he blessed you best of all

Your eyes seem from a different face
They've seen that much that soon
Your cheek too cold, too pale to shine
Like an old and waning moon

And there is no peace
No true release
No secret place to crawl
And there is no rest
For the ones God blessed
And he blessed you best of all

If tears unshed could heal your heart
If words unsaid could sway
Then watch you melt into the night
With Adieu, and rue the day

Did your dreams die young
Were they too hard won
Did you reach too high and fall
And there is no rest
For the ones God blessed
And he blessed you best of all

richard thompson

....all my melted tomorrows.

Thursday Night and the last of the Hop Devil

I leave work pissed off too often. It just happens. Kinda like athlete's foot. Nobody plans on having athlete's foot. You just get it. So when I get pissed off at work I just recognize it for what it is, Corporate Crotch Rot, and move on. For athlete's foot you use a medicated powder. For Corporate Crotch Rot beer works best. My kinda medication. And Oblio's has 27 different varieties on tap.

There is some kinda political rally in the back bar when I show up, State Assemblyman. I know the guy. He's kind of a jerk. Living proof that just because someone 'Teaches' Political Science does not mean they are a good politician or even necessarily smart. I think he favors big business like he favors big tits (I know his girlfriend) and I really don't want to talk to him. Not yet. I'm voting for him in the fall simply because he is a Democratic and the Republican running against him is really fucking looney. But I don't want to get sucked into politics so I go to the front bar. Schultzie hits me up with a 3/4 full pint. "Last of the Hop Devil IPA. Gonna change the keg. On the house." Life is just a bit better.

I finish that and head to the back bar. It is loaded with folks I know and if I don't say 'hi', well then I'm a jerk. I can be an asshole at times, but I never liked being a jerk. So I talk with the Assemblyman, yadda yadda, whoppee&stuff....and then chat with Jason from Cranky Pat's Pizza. He has brought pizza for the rally. Free Pizza! and Jason says he owe's me a beer from last week. Life is getting better. Never argue with free beer or pizza. And Jason is a superswellsweet dude. Always nice to talk to.

But I had enough of politics. Head back to the front bar and run into Sean. He just sent the August issue of his business magazine to the printer and thanks me for the article lead I gave him (which I do not fucking remember at all) and gets me a Red Seal Pale Ale. Now Sean is a really nice guy and that is three free beers. Life is not so bad. It's looking up and I am really not so pissed off anymore.

"Who let your ugly ass in here? I thought they had a rule about serving vermin in here!"
It's Joe. He loves to insult me. I love to return the favor. Ping-Pong without paddles. It is always nice to see him. Fun. And he buys me a beer last night. Mud Puppy Porter. His favorite.
He's taking off monday for his annual 'Golf Across Canada' trip. He starts in Missoula and goes all across Alberta, Saskatchewan and into British Columbia. I know he has been doing this for about fourteen years. Talks about it all year.

"Gees, Joe, I bet they don't see too many middle-aged six foot seven black guys golfing in Alberta, huh?"

"No, they don't, son, it adds to the fun like you would not believe! I think I am the first Brother most of the dudes have EVER seen! And I get to play through as much as I like!"

Now I have totally forgotten why I was pissed off. Joe tells nice stories. Lotta detail. How pretty the golf courses are. How someone once mistook him for Bill Russell and bought him dinner and drinks. "I'm no fool! If some dumb Canadian wants to buy me dinner.... I should stop him?"

Friends are good. Life can be good. I can buy some powder for the athlete's foot tomorrow.

I love my Corporate Activities Committee

I thought the 'Hawaiian Shirt Day' thing was a dumb joke. Really. I didn't believe it. Thought it was a stupid-joke email. It wasn't. I love fucking corporate America. Breaks me up.

But a chance to wear sandals to the office is too good to pass up. So I dug out some piece of shit shirt that Cathy Cute Cakes gave me a few years back, before we broke up,

(hey, her loss! How many other guys can she know that can lick their eyebrows? That shoulda counted for something, huh!)

that really sorta kinda looks like curtains my Grandmother once had, found a pair of shorts that were reasonably clean, and got really excited about going to work and having some good time corporate fun!

Wowsers! Wearing a Hawaiian Shirt and Sandals to work really elevates the ol fun factor! It is even more fun when the IT guys try to do you a favor and fuck up your data base. It is even more fun when your boss hasn't got a clue about what you do. Seriously. She hasn't got a clue!!
I got the project from one of the Senior VP's and was assigned, nominally, a manager. Now, I gotta be fair, she's Ok&stuff but complex information, like what year did the War of 1812 occur or who is buried in Grant's Tomb really throw her off. We made a congenial deal last year. I kept it simple. Run the reports and don't fuck with me. It works great!

So my data base is being reloaded, the lunch room is full of free fruit and punch....I'm at my desk barefoot.... life can be good. And just to show what a team-player I am....to get in the spirit of things....I skipped wearing underwear this morning. Whoa, is that a banana in my pocket or am I just happy today!

LET’S TALK DIRTY IN HAWAIIN
By John Prine

Well, I packed my bags and bought myself a ticket
For the land of the tall palm tree.
Aloha, Old Milwaukee, Hello, Waikiki
I just stepped down from the airplane
When I heard her say,
"Wacka, wacka, nooka likka,
Wacka, wacka, nooka likka,
Would you like a lei?"

Hey!Let’s talk dirty in Hawaiin,
Whisper in my ear.
Kicka pooka mok a wa wahine
Are the words I wanna hear.
Lay your coconuta on my tiki,
What the hecka, mooka, mooka, dear,
Let’s talk dirty in Hawaiin,
Say the words I long to hear.

It’s a ukelele, Honolulu sunset,
Listen to the grass skirts sway,
Drinkin’ rum from the pineapple
Out on Honolulu Bay.
The steel guitars are playing
While she’s talking with her hands,
"Gimme, gimme oka-doka
make a wisha wanna polka,"
Words I understand.

I boughta lotta junka with my moola,
And I sent it to the folks back home,
I never had a chance to dance the hula,
Well, I guess I should have known
When you start talkin’ to a sweet wahine,
Walkin’ in the pale moonlight
"Ohka noka whatta setta
knocka-rocka sis-boom-boccas."
Hope I said it right.

70 years old&still good stuff

Let America Be America Again


Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Langston Hughes 1938

I love work!!

WANT TO GO TO HAWAII ???
THAT’S RIGHT -- HAWAII !!!

WE WILL BE OBSERVING HAWAIIAN DAY
ON THURSDAY, JUNE 19TH
IPC AND CC IS GOING HAWAIIAN!!!!!

COME TO WORK DRESSED IN HAWAIIAN ATTIRE
HAWAIIAN SHIRT OR T-SHIRT (MUST HAVE SLEEVES)
SHORTS (NO MORE THAN 3” ABOVE KNEE)
SANDALS OR FLIP-FLOPS ALLOWED,
NO SWIMSUITS, HALTERS, OR MIDRIFF SHOWING

REFRESHMENTS AND HAWAIIAN LEIS WILL
BE PROVIDED BY THE ACTIVITIES COMMITTEE


***** I really love my Corporate Activities Committee*****

I just gotta remember not to wear my halter.

Billy Lang Breaks me up!

No one breaks me up like Billy Lang. Schultzie says it should be pronounced 'Bill-a-Lang', but it hardly matters. Breaks me up every time I see him. I do believe he has had his smile surgically implanted....and then he killed the surgeon so no one else could have it done. No one has a grin like Billy. I think his perpetual good humor may be a drug induced side effect from the 70's, a living testament to the benefits of heavy drug use.



We plotted once to put some buckets of horse shit under his Christmas Tree, but then someone pointed out that Billy would just think that the pony got away and would spend too much time looking for it. And that he would immediately calculate how many board feet he would need to make the corral and how much it would cost, all nails and hardware included. How much room and board for the pony would be, how much he could charge giving pony rides, and how much he could sell it for as dog food once it got old. It would all be estimated to the penny..... and worse, he would spend weeks telling us about it.



Last year he stumbled across some info that 'Wild' Wisconsin ginseng fetched more that $300 per lb on the Chinese market. The next time I saw him he had already purchased a harvesting license, found brokers for ginseng, and had a grid map of where the best places to find ginseng in Wisconsin were. The plan never reached fruittion, but it was fun hearing him talk about it. And even more of a relief when he gave up talking about it.

This year it is aerial photography. The cost of aviation fuel went sky-high (damn, I love a pun) and Billy had to figure out a way to keep his plane in the air without putting undue strain on his rum&coke budget. This time he may have something. http://airaffairphoto.com

I told him I would demand a pint for every photo he sold with this reference, and a shot of tequila for any order over $200. He thinks I am asking too much. I get tequila only on orders over $350. Cheap bastard. Tell 'em jimm sent you.

Bubba

Ok. I could just scribble a bunch of stuff about who I am and what churches I don’t go to and what my politics ain' and what TV shows I will not watch or some such shit but I am sure that would be, at turns, boring or not suitable for the faint of heart.

Oh, or maybe, eh, I could wax eloquent about how there is nothing finer, after a long tedious day of trying to sell turbine lubricating oil to nuclear power plants, than to kick back with a Leinenkugel’s Creamy Dark and some fine aged Swiss with crusty French bread; pop some Wood Brothers on the stereo and just chill on the porch. But that is my escapism, not yours….so get your own cheese, thank you very much!

Or tell you about Bubba’s eyes.

Last Friday he was flooded out. He had moved back into his mother’s basement until his new apartment lease starts in September. Thursday night’s six inches of rain left three feet of water in the basement. All his boxes were underwater. CD’s, DVD’s, clothes, TV, Stereo, futon. And most importantly, all the tapes from the TV show he had made as his senior project last semester. He had financed it, wrote it, directed, produced, rounded up actors, sets, location. I know he had hundreds of hours into it. Looking into his eyes, though, I could see that he felt he had lost everything of his 22 years.

“Major-League fucked, Dad,” he said. His eyes were really hollow.

“ Well, Bubba, it’s not how often you get knocked down--- it’s how many time you get back up.”

I knew it was a cliché and I knew it would piss him off a bit, and that he was expecting me to say something just like that. He was prepared to be pissed.

“That’s pretty lame, ya know, and it doesn’t help at all. I don’t need that shit. Don’t hand me that stuff! You don’t understand!”

His eyes flashed a bit.

“Ok,” I said.

“I mean….I am really screwed! EVERYTHING is LOST! EVERYTHING! What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay at Mom’s….she’s a basket case, too. I’m crashing at Cody’s. I feel homeless…And Tessa is not talking with me….she won’t answer my call’s…I don’t know what is up with her….I didn’t get any security deposit back from the Cherry St house…. I just feel Major-League Fucked! What am I supposed to do?”

“Get on your bike. Go long distances. Do the Larsen Trail. Go shoot hoops till your fingers bleed. Drink lots of water. Don’t try to figure anything out. Just stay in motion.”

I talked with him last night. He was twenty miles out on the trail. He has replaced his basketball shoes, even bought a new ball.

“Hey, Old Man…..I’ll meet you for a beer tomorrow, Ok? We’ll talk, Ok?”

His eyes sounded a whole lot better.

ok

So I don't know where the instructions are. I never was very good at instructions anyways. BFD! And I am doing this on a second hand laptop that I don't know how to use. Great Fucking Combination! It would be enough to drive me to drink.....but shit&stuff....I have already walked to Oblio's and I am already drinking....so that is not a problem......I never drink and drive (which means my driving is minimal)

Ok. So I'll post a poem. It seems to be a Blog-Person thing to do.....when all else fails post a poem....


you shall above all things be glad and young
For if you're young,whatever life you wear
it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love
whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on;and his mind take off time
that you should ever think,may god forbid
and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave
called progress,and negation's dead undoom.
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance

ee cummings

.....ok...that's enough.

The lights are dimming. I need another beer

Dead serious

This is like a new coloring book and I forget the crayons somewhere else. I haven't got a clue to where I put them. I am figuring out blogging. So the next thing I will have to understand is how to delete thingees. Boy where was the delete button when I needed a divorce.....at woulda been great.

"Are you sure you want to Delete this marriage?"

just click yes.

I haven't got the slightest idea

I really have no idea what I am doing. Why should today be any different?
I will figure out what I am doing.
Just like life, it takes some time.
And even then, I am not sure about the results.