post the hundred-forty-eighth, 2013

there was a wreck on the way home. i didn't see the crash but i was caught in the traffic jam with emergency vehicles zorching past on both sides. four lanes of road and i chose the rightmost and turned out it was the most right. i mean, correct. most correct. the wreckage was in the leftmost, so i didn't have to merge or anything to get past the two SUVs and the one car and the assorted emergency vehicles. when passing something like that, i always want to see if i recognize the crashed cars, but of course, with everyone trying to get-past-while-also-looking, too much rubbernecking will land you in a wreck of your own. so i looked briefly and saw the two SUVs and the one car and several folks just standing with their hands at their sides, wondering what exactly happened to their normal, run of the mill, bored-but-glad-it's-friday commute home. at least one first-responder was kneeling beside a body of whose shod feet i saw the soles. you see? this person was on his back. i say "his" because those were some big feet. so, one person on the ground receiving attention of some sort and maybe only the one... doesn't seem too bad of odds for a freeway crash. i mean, i drive on that freeway every day and let me tell you, the people out there show a marked disregard for the laws of both physics and posted maximum speed.

post the hundred-forty-seventh, 2013

hey, miley... i know you don't care what i have to say -- and you shouldn't. i mean, you should listen to people who know you, whose opinions you respect. and, i know it's your mouth and you can say what you want with it and it's your body and you can do what you want with it, but... well... this time? i wish you hadn't. not that you did anything "bad" or "wrong" per se. you didn't kill anyone, i mean, not anything like that. but what you did? it wasn't... well, it wasn't classy. it's a bit hard to explain because class has gone by the wayside these days, but when someone's in the public eye, as you are, there's a sort of unwritten requirement on that person's behaviour. oh, i know. "lindsay lohan". "amanda bynes". but, c'mon. do you really want to compare yourself to girls like that? anyway, like i said, it's not like you did something morally wrong, and i am not judging. i am not saying you should not have done what you did. no, that's not what i am saying. i am saying only this: i wish that you had not. i am... i guess i am just disappointed, is all. just wish you would have done something different. so, that's it, really. hope you're doing well and that you enjoy the weekend. yours aye - ace.

post the hundred-forty-sixth, 2013

as i may have told you before, my BFF in grade school was a blonde, blue-eyed beauty called "jennifer leigh". although her sleek silvery-blonde sheet of hair and startlingly blue eyes far eclipsed my mousy-haired, four-eyed, plainness, we shared a fondness for playacting (land of the lost!) and harassing our younger brothers.

you know how sometimes a thing will happen -- especially when you're a kid -- and it's minuscule, less than an aside to the rest of the world, but it makes A Big Impression on you? well this one time when i was maybe 9 or so, her mom was putting jenny's clothes into the warsher and i was there in the basement waiting on jenny to get down from upstairs, when her mom finds a dollar in jenny's pocket. she unfolds it and laughs and says something about how she always has to check jenny's pockets, but i hardly hear her over the noise of my brain being utterly stunned that anyone could have a dollar in her pocket and not know it. pluswise, how could my BFF jennifer leigh be one of those girls who has a dollar in her pocket and doesn't know it? right then i realized there was more difference between us than hair colour.

fast forward to earlier this week. as i was clearing the clutter from my wallet, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a bit more than one hundred and sixty five dollars. whaaat?? one hundred and sixty five freaking dollars! firstly, i don't carry that kind of cash. (do i?) secondly, i am not the kind of person who doesn't know what's in her wallet. (am i?)

working hard to think over the noise of my brain being utterly stunned that anyone could have 165 dollars in her wallet and not know it, i reconstructed the story: i'd cashed two pay-back checks and a disbursement voucher -- and summarily stuffed the cash into my wallet. i like to cash pay-back checks because it's free money. you've already paid the whatevers and you get paid back. woo! free money! disbursement vouchers are just another form of pay-back check, so - woo to that, too!

so, i reconstructed the story, but still haven't reconstructed my view of myself to absorb the fact that i am the kind of person who carries that kind of cash and doesn't even know it.

post the hundred-forty-fifth, 2013

when i walked in here there were two singletons using computers, a couple chatting, and a girl reading a thick mass-market. all but the girl have left, in the span of a just a few minutes, and i wonder sometimes why this happens. does a cosmic timer go off, and they all are suddenly reminded of somewhere else they are meant to be?

..... ..... .....

we got up early this morning, because he was off to golf, so i decided to make good use of my time and made out this do-list:

as you can see, i accomplished all the tasks i laid out for myself.

wow, ace. that's impressive. how did you accomplish it all?

well....

immediately upon his departure, i suited up and went for a run. i was going to do the usual routine of dishes, etc., before going, but then i was like - hell, the dishes will certainly still be here, best to get the run in while it's still relatively cool out. so i did, and it went fairly well.

next, i showered and dressed (of course) then i did the dishes and started some laundry. after hanging up some things to dry, i checked the sheets in the dryer and found they were cold and wet. ooooohhh, terrific. "get groceries" was on the list--it's not like i had planned to stay in all day--so i couldn't sit around and wait on the clothes to dry (which they eventually will, even tho the air is cold). i decided to just pack up the wet things and visit the laundromat, then swing by and get the groceries. that worked out pretty well, except for the whole "why the hell do i have to go to a laundromat anyway, stupid dryer" thing. got home and boiled some eggs for tomorrow's breakfast, made some salads for tomorrows lunch, and got the sheets back on the bed. all my chores were done in plenty of time to sit in front of the television munching peanut butter crackers and watching adam scott win at the barclays. all that, PLUS time to come sit in the coffee shop pondering where all the people that were here have gone.

post the hundred-forty-fourth, 2013

on the way to pick up supper, i was driving past the walmart where there's a traffic signal and i had the green and i was in the leftmost of two lanes with walmart on my right.  suddenly, someone made a right on red and i thought they were cutting it close to me and in fact, omg!, they're sliding all the way into my lane! i laid on the brakes and the horn. they cut it so close i very nearly hit them. my brakes did that slippy-jerky shuddery-juddery thing, but i did get stopped. they just kept on going to the next red light, where they got in the left turn lane. i was going straight so i pulled up beside them and rolled down my window. the man, husband i guess, passenger - he rolled down his window too. i was on my best behaviour and smiled real sweet. he smiled back. i said -- you scared me back there. then he did that "two fingers pointing at eyes" thing and said - "pay attention. you need to pay attention better. there was no one there when we put on our turn signal to change lanes." i was floored and couldn't think of anything smart to say, like, what - pay attention for idiots like you to pull out in front of me? nope, couldn't think of a thing before they went left and i went straight. 

what the hell?! what did he mean, change lanes?! they did a right on red and crossed 2 lanes right. in front. of. me. i had the green for godsakes. 

why does this keep happening to me??

post the hundred-forty-third, 2013

yesterday on the way home from work, i was driving straight thru an intersection on a green light, when from the starboard this guy in a pickup glides thru his red light completely abusing right-on-red to cross three lanes and cut me off. i honked. he braked hard. i braked hard. he shot several birds at his side-view mirror and yelled "bitch" a few times plenty loud enough for me and everyone else to hear. what the hell? um... okay. we pulled up to the green left-turn arrow, me behind him, and he stopped. i was like, hey buddy it's green, but he just sat there with a verkakte grin on his face. muther... anyway, he just sat there blocking the intersection until the light turned yellow, then he gunned it, laughing maniacally into his side-view, and fled down the freeway ramp. what the hell? um... okay.

my only regret is i didn't snap a pic of his license plate whilst we were whiling away the moments at the green arrow.

post the hundred-forty-second, 2013

a week has 7 days
and there're as many ways
as there are days
to spend 'em.
monday is the first.
some say it is the worst,
that it is cursed
and then some.
tuesday follows next.
the perfect day to text
(although not sext)
your dear mum.
wednesday's middle man,
a steadfast sentry stands--
with no hands--
attention.
thursday, though fourth place
and out the medals race,
is no disgrace.
that's just dumb.
friday starts the end
so let the fun begin.
drink a gin
or some rum.
saturday's the day
to celebrate and play,
the other days
are all done.
sunday get some rest
(an afternoon nap's best)
the weeklong quest
soon's begun.

post the forty-first, 2013

in weeding the front shrubbery beds this morning, i removed a good deal of shamrocks. if what we were trying to grow were shamrocks, we'd have a thriving business, but despite their reputation for luck-bringing, their hardiness, and their downright cuteness, they're not welcome. what i literally thought was, we're not cultivating shamrocks.

cultivating shamrocks.

huh. i like the sound of that.

first, it's ironic, because shamrocks aren't something that's cultivated. they just grow. what cultivation do they need? to be left alone, that's what. so, cultivation by neglect.

second, most of the time, they grow in an inconvenient place. they like to be right next to other plants, sort of tagging along on the nutrition, space, and attention the wanted plant gets. so, cultivation of the unwanted.

third, shamrocks are known as lucky, and who can argue with cultivating luck.

sometimes you'll get an idea about one thing while you're doing another. you'll solve a work problem in the shower, solve a homelife dilemma while you're swimming laps, solve a fitness question at work, solve a family issue while reading a book. some puzzles don't respond well to being continually noodled over. you have to put them aside and look away. while you're busy doing something else somewhere else with someone else, the answer is growing like a shamrock in the shadow of your brain and with a little luck, you'll recognize it and garner a life improvement.

so next time someone catches you staring off into space and asks what you're doing, tell 'em you're cultivating shamrocks.

post the hundred-fortieth, 2013

when you're dating a boy, there's a thing that happens when he's driving you somewhere in the dark. just to the movie maybe or home from the date. anywhere at night. boys tend to drive fast and reckless -- they just do -- and when you add the incentive of a girl to show off for, you'll get some actual dangerous situations. so while that's going on with the boy, the thing as a girl is there's a sort of thrill in trusting a stranger to keep you safe. if you've never felt this, you might not be able to understand, but it's not a bad feeling at all. i'm sure it's this thrill of placing your trust in a stranger that gets girls into all sorts of trouble and i'm just as sure it's some sort of survival-of-the-fittest thing. girls have a primal need to trust the dangerous boy because he represents the strongest gene pool. something. anyway. the thrill of trusting a stranger to keep you safe is one of the things that makes dating so exciting and makes girls not care if boys drive recklessly while they're in the car. in fact, it's more than "not care"... it's like a girl wants a boy to be reckless while simultaneously keeping her safe. 

but. 

what about 5, 12, 20 years later. there's no thrill in a familiar man's reckless driving. it's at best mildly annoying and at worst, it's fodder for the sort of perennial fight only long-committed folks can pull off. so one of the very things that attracted you to him is now supremely unattractive. 

but the car is dark and if you don't talk there's an excellent chance he won't. just relax. let it go. listen to the radio and choose to forget you know the man beside you. 

you might be surprised how easy it is to brush the dust off that old feeling, how closeby it's been, and how easily you can experience that thrill again. 

post the hundred-thirty-ninth, 2013

in case you didn't notice, this isn't exactly a biographical blog. it's not a diary, i mean. it's not like i haven't done the diary thing, because i have, but after a while, you're down to writing the same thing day after day or else you're culling the wire for inputs. if something exciting happens, if i have a story to tell, you will be the first to know; if you want to see dailies, subscribe elsewhere.

now, what being said, the other day i DID think of something cool to tell you, and i had it planned down to the analogy, down to the _____:_____::_____:_____. it was way solid, all out, off the hook, to the limit. "what happened?" say you. well, i forgot, didn't i? i imagined the analogy whilst crossing the car park to my office door, and i remember everything about the moment... well, everything except the content. i know the structure was an analogy. i know the location was the car park and i was walking across. i think the thing had to do with publishing or books maybe, but that's all i can come up with, and even that doesn't feel quite right.

how can a brain do that? remember everything except the key facts, i mean. why did i retain what i retained and throw away the rest, when it was the very rest i truly wished to retain?

mystery:brain::_____:bareyellowbulb

the brain's a mystery, for certain. what is this place, then?

post the hundred-thirty-eighth, 2013

would you be in a band, or are you more of a solo artist? i bet you think i'd say i'm a solo artist but i... i'm not. i am a band mate. i mean, i don't want to be a lead singer. (well, not since jr high when i imagined a whole band called anglefire where i wore thigh-high go-go boots over a satin jumpsuit. hey. it was the 70s. c'mon.) anyway, not the lead. and as much as i love the thought of being a drummer, not that either. i'd just play bass, which, unless you are paul mccartney, is fairly simple. you know. boum-boum-BOUM-boum. just a bassline. i mean, i'm not a slacker. it's not like that. i just want to hang out with people who are talented... i want to be in a good band. like, people will say, ohhh - you're in [insert good band name here] and they'll respect me. like, by association. not that i'm not respectable on my own. sheeee. not explaining this well. it's like... i want to hang out with people who are better, more talented, more skilled. i'd pull my own weight and all. i just don't want to hang with losers. when i hang with losers, that's what i feel like. a loser. i want to hang with winners, and if i have to lay down simplistic basslines to make that happen, you know i will. 

post the hundred-thirty-seventh, 2013

you'll say that you will

but you won't. 

you'll say that you'll do

but you don't. 

you say that this wind 

will not blow these walls down

then it blows through again

without making a sound

and it takes us both with it

just blows us away

and we fly over treetops

and out into space

and we float around stars

and we land on the moon

then you hold out your hand

and we're back in this room. 

you'll say that you will

but you won't. 

you'll say that you'll do

but you don't. 

post the hundred-thirty-sixth, 2013

when i went from the room i took all the blood

oranges

from where they're left right there

in a bowl by the door

then i left right then 

by the door. 

i stepped outside

to the step outside

where the hot summer rain

hit the step

on the steppe 

where i stepped. 

and i wondered how--

when i'd wandered out--

how i'd've done without

all the blood 

oranges. 

post the hundred-thirty-fifth, 2013

if you could see my love for you,
you would see red
because my love is vibrant and strong
and demands attention
and keeps you warm.

if you could count my love for you,
you would count to 156,842
because my love is large and myriad
yet not ridiculous or imaginary
like infinity.

if you could taste my love for you,
you would taste apples and honey
because my love is sweet and juicy
and maybe a little messy sometimes
but always natural.

if you could hear my love for you,
you would hear a solo harmonica
because my love is simple and solitary
and something i alone give to only you
(though possibly difficult to appreciate).

if you could read my love for you,
you would read the alphabet
because my love is primary and functional
and can build miracles
with just a bit of encouragement from you.

post the hundred-thirty-fourth, 2013

when you were a young man,
did you work at the parties
where the rich people cel-
ebrated their success?



did you?

post the hundred-thirty-third, 2013

we had overnight company, so i took the day off work. it was a last minute decision and left me feeling i was playing hooky in a way that planned vacation never does. i checked email several times and replied to quite a few. after our visitors left, we did sit around a wee bit, but then worked in the yard a couple hours and followed that with a movie matinee. we went to see "2 guns" which isn't an intellectual masterpiece, but it's solid action entertainment and stars marky-mark, which is always a bonus. finally, we went to get some pizza. we ordered something different and didn't like it. that's right, "we" didn't like it. usually it's just the one of us (you know who i mean) but tonight we both didn't like it. the waitress apologized and offered to get us something different. we took her up on it and while the new pizza was baking, the manager stopped by our table and congratulated us on being adventurous, and said it was no problem to get us something different. we ended up taking the remade pizza home, and it was perfect. i left a 25% tip. too much?

post the hundred-thirty-second, 2013

she was born in omaha but before she was five, she knew she didn't belong there. she didn't get the opportunity to leave until she was fifteen but when it came, she was ready and she left so fast you'd get whiplash just thinking about it. where most kids in omaha learned things like softball and farming, or messed about at the community playhouse, she was only interested in music, specifically - dixieland. that unique form of jangly jazz had risen fully-formed from her like lazarus from his bed, running through her heart and out her fingers straight into that pawn-shop guitar. she cried for it when she was three and had fully mastered it by six. when elias "eli" buckner overnighted at the truck stop on his way to new orleans with a shipment of idaho potatoes, she saw her opportunity, and "eli" enjoyed the company over the long haul.