Sunday sermon: One moment to note the importance of....

I'd like to take a moment to recognize what to me is one of life's greatest inventions: the garbage disposal.

How many times have the glories of the garbage disposal been shouted from the hilltops? Nay, "seldom" is the word, my friends. So it would behoove you to take a moment and give thanks for its existence.


When you go forth into your week; when you feed it leftover rice, beans, sludge, slush and science experiments; just remember that although you may only see one set of footprints, do not fear. It was those moments when the garbage disposal was carrying you. Otherwise your plumbing would be shot to straight into the pits of eternal hell and damnation.


Of course, I *did* clean out my refrigerator this morning. Hence the fervor.

***Side note: When I was in grade school and junior high and we had to take all those tests for suitable careers, mine was "clergy." So there ya go.

It's a fine line

I've been doing a lot of writing the past couple of years. I enjoy it immensely.

I'm disappointed in myself though, because I lack the edginess that I had when I was in my early twenties. Now this is not to say that I still don't have the necessary anger (although I am much better at displacing it, thank you) to come up with some good writing...but I don't have the balls.

See, this is the thing. Back in my early twenties in Lawrence, when I was hanging with the Burroughs crowd, I'd get to go to a reading by some controversial author and then afterward, we'd all go eat dinner (usually at the restaurant in the basement of the Casbah).

I learned that although the authors' writing absolutely pushed the limits of the imagination, the libido, and the censorship act, for most of these folks it was merely a catharsis. In person, they were thought-provoking yet functional and polite. Maybe it was because of Burroughs, I don't know, but why would you really want to be polite in his presence? He sure didn't give a shit.

By this point in my life, I have learned to channel my energies in a way that's functional within our society. But at what cost? Because when I read writings like Lester Bangs' or Victor Bockris', I sure as hell know I have that insanity within myself as well. I have crates of writing from those early days. I have the capability (and more importantly, the URGE) to write how I REALLY feel.

But my ego wants it to be put out where others can read it, and therein lies the problem. I want people to know what I think. But as it stands now, they never know what I REALLY think because I am constantly censoring my words so as not to offend the sensibilities of many people I know. And I sure as hell know most people really don't care what I think, too. After all, I only care what a few people in my life think, but not much more than that.

I also am a musician and a promoter (although obviously on a small scale), which requires a certain modicum of behavior. I need to be mature and respectful of others, or at least, that's how I feel. I guess I'm just so used to adhering to this that somewhere in my life, I've lost the 'full-force' me and ended up with a "healthier," more watered-down version of me.

I don't think this is what I want. I want to find the extreme in me and not be afraid to make it known, whether in word or in action. Is this "grown up?" Is this even a good idea? I don't know.

The bottom line is, I need to stop worrying whether the real me is too much for some people. I want to make no apologies and have no worries if I piss people off (in a professional sense).

We'll see how it goes.

Valentine's Day kvetchfest

Let's see: Let's have a holiday where we can automatically raise a woman's expectations to toxic levels, so that any man who cares one iota about her had better get her a diamond, a bunch of flowers, or a piece of chocolate...or ELSE! Haha.

Come on, people! Out of the 365 days of the year, there's just gotta be an official "obligation" day?

Just what the world needs. Women in offices everywhere, engaging in the subtle but telling 'mate comparison.'
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WANDA: Oh, Tess, those are really gorgeous flowers. Did Bill send them to you?
TESS: Oh yes, that Bill! Always has to show he cares. And what did Egbert do for YOU?
WANDA: Oh, he always does the same thing; it so predictable, ha ha ha. He gave me ANOTHER diamond tennis bracelet this year, and tickets to the opera. Really, I always tell him he shouldn't go to such extravagance, but he never listens. I guess he just loves me too much.
TESS: Well, you are certainly lucky! I wish Bill loved me that much. *looks unhappy, looks around the office at the other women typing busily.*
Hello, June! You got THREE vases of flowers? How nice! Did you get them from John?
JUNE: Yes. He sent me the pink carnations you see here. I only wish that was all, but he had to go and buy me a small country to prove his love! It's all so unnecessary. I had a threesome last night with Bill and Egbert, anyway. Those other two bouquets are from them.

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Let's see, how should I put this?

I guess...this way. If February 14th were to be used as an instrument to show one's love, I would much prefer this to the requisite candy and chocolates:

"Hey, let's go down to Casino and get shitty drunk and look out the window laughing at all the carnations and pink shirts these sniveling idiots are forced to wear because if they don't their bleached, tanned, Hello Kittied, 'enhanced' girlfriends will deny them sex for an undetermined amount of time."

OR:

"Here's a coupon book I made for you, honey.
Page one: "One order of Casino wings, on me, once a week for a month."
Page two: "Good for one night of whiskey and cokes until your head falls off."
Page three: "Need some muscle to help with your Valiant? Done."
Page four: "Good for one night of humoring your ridiculous ideas without making you feel like a schmuck."
Page five: "Good for hot monkey sex, unlimited, starting now."

You can see where this is headed. Of course, any guy, after having read this blog, will probably *dream* of getting off easy with a dozen posies and a box of chocolates. Or set off in search of a woman who isn't so demanding. Hehehe....

Ahhhh, women. So damned complex sometimes.

*hic*

Current mood: drunk

I just wrote a new country song...in the vein of "Motel Time Again" by Johnny Paycheck, but called "Drunk at Work Again."

Here are some lyrics off the top of my fuzzy little head:
*to be sung like the bastard child of Buck Owens and Johnny Paycheck*

DRUNK AT WORK AGAIN
Oh...I'm... Drunk at work again
See, last night never has to end
I'm swivelin' and swishin' in my chair

Drunken emails to my boss
Belligerence adds to my job loss
And I can smell the bourbon in the air

How I wish I had some more
But to stand up's just too big a chore
And where is Taco Lady when you need her?

To AA my presence I should lend,
For coffee is the greatest sin
Cheetos and OJ sure look grim
Now that I'm drunk at work again.
Drunk at work again.
Drunk at work again.