Tags, Peace & Love

There are certain bloggers who are above playing along with the “tag, your it” posts.

I am not one of these.

Well, not this time at any rate, because this time I was tagged by one of my favorite writers out here, Nowan Zen from I’m Not Lost, Just Weird.

And just as I was beginning to compile the reams of documentation required for these types of posts, who should drop in, but Shannon from The Squeaky Wheel Blog, who also asked if she could tag me (that’s right Nowan, Shannon asked…)

So what will follow will be a Frankensteining of sorts, between the (2) tags, and since both require that additional people are then – well – tagged in a “play it forward” fashion, I am simply saying screw it, and throwing this right back onto the two who first nabbed me, with each being tasked to figure out just what parts pertain to them (if you’d like to be tagged as well, start gathering your paperwork, and just let me know).

OK, ready?

Both require a picture. Both will receive the same one. This is me and my boys at Pride 2013. Simon is an agnostic who believes in Jesus more than a lot of Christians do, and he wanted to express the idea that J.C. was all about love and inclusion, versus hate and exclusion. Hence his marching the parade (as he came be known by the crowd) as “Rainbow Jesus.” I’m the lumpy old guy in the middle.

•

Both require 11 random facts. Why is it always 11, and why must they always be random? Never the mind, here goes:

1. Technically, I suppose the “lumpy” bit could count as number 1.

2. Simon caught a lot of flak from his mother and her family for his decision. He stuck to his guns anyway. Fine, not actually a random fact about me, but I’m proud of him regardless.

3. Yes, our t-shirts say “Jesus Is Not A Homophobe.”

4. “Homophobe” refers to a person who is hateful of Gay and Lesbian people. Apparently scared that this sort of thing is contagious…?

5. Yes, we’ll get off the subject of the damned photo already.

6. Random fact # 7 actually comes in at # 6.

7. See above

8. Sorry – just one more thing. Ian is going next year in full drag.

9. I’m damned proud of him as well.

10. Lookie here, we’re already at the second-to last one!

11. When I was young, I used to suck my thumb. It soothed me greatly. I recently tried it again, but it just didn’t have the same affect. Damned thumb.

•

Both have a bunch of questions. Some I will answer honestly, others I will simply bullshit my way through, and for none of them will I actually be funny, insightful or in any way engaging…

Nowen asks:

1. What is your quest? To dream the impossible dream, of course. Duh!
   
2. If you could select any character from the Big Bang Theory to describe yourself, which one would you select and why? (Losing Nerd cred), I’ve never watched the show, but (gaining Nerd cred), if this were about Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy, I would be the lorry driver who doesn’t realize that he is actually the God of Rain.
   
3. When was the last time you laughed hard enough to snort (aka Donkey Honk) and what was so funny? The last time was when Ian (pictured above as not Jesus) came up to me and asked if he could go to Target.com to “buy a set.” Turns out, he was actually talking about legos.
   
4. If you could travel anywhere and live all expenses paid for a year, where would that be? (No you may not select Uranus. Stop giggling!) The sky. No lie. Just up there in the blue. Not to get away from it all, but rather, above it. Incidentally, and since neither asked, flying is also my superpower of choice.
   
5. What was the last book you read that you actually enjoyed and why would you recommend it? Andrew Davidson’s, The Gargoyle. Because it was creepy, sexual, inspiring and scary. Long before my divorce ever came down, this book showed me that True Love was not what I had. That and it made me cry. Oh, it’s also a nice weight and size to place in the small of your back, should it be aching in the middle of the night.
   
6. What is your motto or mantra for your life? To dream the impossible dream, of course. Duh!
   
7. You have one chance to witness first hand any event, you cannot alter it only witness it, what would it be? In all seriousness, I would like to be there on Easter morning. Not to prove to myself that it actually happened, but just to be able to give Him a hug and say thank you.
   
8.  A book is being written about your life by an observer, what would the title be? Wonder How Many People Are Actually Gonna Buy This Book?
   
9. What would creep you out the most? (seeing me naked is NOT an acceptable answer!) The very thing that I most desire – an actual visit from an angel. I’ve known a few who have told me of this experience, and I chose to believe them all. It’s the one thing I’ve always longed for to happen, but it would also creep me right out of my skin if it ever did.
   
10. You have a friend who really needs a laugh, how do you get them to laugh? (dress in a hamster suit and dance the Macarena is funny) Depends on the person, but I can usually get people laughing just by walking into a room…
11. What is the worst pick-up line you have heard used that worked? My little brother used to use it to great success and often, and it really can say a lot about certain members of the female of the species. He would say simply, “Get Away From Me.”

Shannon asks:

1. What smell instantly takes you back to a moment from your childhood?

Sixlets. When we were little, every year Christmas morn found us craddling hollow tube candy canes, packed to the brim with m&m’s. But these m&m’s smelled different. Tasted better. Ma n’ Pa said it was because they were Christmas m&m’s delivered by Santa, but they lied. Not too sure about the Santa part, but definitely about their being m&m’s. They were not, they were sixlets. I still like them better than m&m’s, and I still get mentally thrown back to Christmas 1970-something every time I open a bag. (Incidentally, this simutanlously makes me miss terribly the Godzilla Shogun Warrior I also had from around the same time – yeah, the one with the launching fist.)

2. What song will make you headbang/car dance/waltz around your living room no matter what kind of a shitty mood you’re in?

There is only ONE song that needs be played for this. “Jesus Built My Hot Rod,” by Ministry of course.

Or, “Got Some” by Pearl Jam I suppose.

And again, there’s also “Dont Fuck Me Up” by Cracker. And you can’t forget “Going Nowhere” by Therapy?, and I suppose I would have to mention my quizzer’s son’s near-namesake, The Exploited’s “Daily News.” And, well, I guess there’s at least a couple that trip my anger trigger.

Oops! Almost forgot “Hell Bent For Leather” by Judas Priest!

3. If you had to pick having to smell roses everywhere you went all the time or never being able to see the color blue, which would you choose?

I hate roses. And no, not because they “really smell like poo, poo-poo.” I hate them because they are so widely regarded as beautiful, with little or no actual reasoning behind this assessment. And in my experience, anything – or one – who is looked upon like this, can quite often have a deep inner ugliness that, when stumbled upon, destroys any semblance of the previously held viewpoint. That being said, if I chose the latter over the former, I would never again be able to look up into the deep azure sky, and long for the day that I will be able fly up there, unaided by man-made plane, controlled by heaven-made pilot. So I will simply have to resign myself to smelling those fucking roses all the time instead.

4. Would you be more afraid of a rhinoceros charging at you or a hippopotamus?

I would be more afraid if neither was charging me in fact. I mean, how could they not? Look at me, I’m freakin’ delicious.

5. Which, to you, would be the most flattering way to finish this sentence: Your writing really reminds me of _______.

The love-child of Douglas Adams and C.S. Lewis. With the full understanding that Mr. Lewis couldn’t actually bear Mr. Adams a child, resulting from his religious convictions.

6. Is it hard for you to stay on task from beginning to end, or do you jump around and do a little of this and a little of that and eventually cross the finish line?

Wait! There’s a finish line???

7. What is your biggest pet peeve about yourself?

43 years later, I still fall into that old trap of believing that my best will never be good enough. “Never,” as in the deepest, bleakest, most worthless never ever.

8. Do you plan to write your own epitaph or let someone else do it? Or, I guess conversely, cremation or burial would need to be answered first. TWO-PARTER! So that’s 8 & 9, because I multi-task like a motherfucker!

I’m going to answer this as a politician would. Which bascially means the answer will have nothing to do with the question. I’ve told my kids I want exactly (3) things for my funeral, and they can do whatever else they want with the rest of the service. 1) no wake. NO. WAKE. I’ve been to many, they’re all creepy, and not a damned one has actually worked. No wake. 2) bury me in pajamas (or if I die in the summer, nude is fine). Seriously, a liftime of corporate strangulation, and then you get stuck in a suit and tie for the big sleep? No thank you! 3) Bobby Darin MUST be played at the funeral. “Artificial Flowers,” to be exact. Don’t ask why.

10. All time favorite curse word, either one you’ve heard or one you’ve made up in the heat of the moment?

Douchery, fuckery, jack-assery. Catching a theme here? Basically, you can take any swear word, simply place a “ery” at the end, and it instantly becomes cool. Now, lets stop dicking around, and move on.

Incidentally “dicking around” could possibly the coolest, most nebulous swears ever. Use it often. People will think you’re smart if you do.

11. What vanity license plate would put “YOU” out there for all other driver’s to know?

“Can you believe that this cat actually thinks it’s cool to say ‘fuckery’?”

•

Both require a litany of new questions be generated and parceled out. But I’ve only one. Well, more like 2 – 3 in one.

If this is all that there is, and there is nothing else, either after or before, are you happy? I mean, truly happy? If “no,” then what can you do to turn that? And if “yes,” then where can I get what you’re having?

•

So there we go.

Shannon, Nowen, swap questions and get back to me, ya hear? Oh, and I’m also tagging Twin Daddy because I really respect his writing (though he has no idea I exist), and because He was the one that got me into this mess with Shannon in the first place.

So there.

If you’ve read this far, you deserve a little treat. So here, have a Cracker…

Birthday Wishes

As much as I don’t quite understand them, I love my kids.

Let me step back for a minute, to explain that last comment. You see I don’t really feel as if I understand my kids, simply because they sometimes totally knock me off guard with the ideas floating about in their heads.

Take for instance my daughter. When I recently asked her what she wanted for her birthday, her response was that she hoped I wouldn’t mind “publishing” one of her poems on my blog.

Pretty awesome, right? I mean, don’t get me wrong – she also asked for the latest album from Of Monsters & Men – but I was somewhat taken aback that she would think enough of my endeavors, as to ask that hers could also be included.

Of course I said “no,” but I was just kidding. Cuz I’m a daddy douche like that.

Now, without further ado, and recreated as accurately from the source material as possible, here is what comes from the mind of my beautiful daughter when she puts pen to paper:

• The World After I Am Gone •

Growing up.

A hard experience.

O   b  st  acl  e  s

at every turn.

The swiftly moving

 sd
c  u
 lo

in the     v              a               s               t

sky, reminder that

the days are

ending and starting

 again. Acting as a clock.

A red sun on the horizon

blazing in my

eyes, aging

me.

The future holds great

possibilities

if only

the minutes

wouldn’t

tick by

so fast.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

It is my future.

I am older now.

The swiftly moving

 sd 
c  u 
 lo

Still reminding my

elderly body

that everyday and everybody

has a start

and a

finish.

Now it is

The world after I

am gone.

I am one with the sky and I watch the

aging people

look up at me,

the swiftly

moving

 sd 
c  u 
 lo

in the     v              a               s               t

sky, reminding

them that

their

futures

are

close

and

that

everyday

has

an

end.

And

a

new

beginning.

•••

Happy Birthday, darling

500 Words Plus A Sentence, And One More After That

No self-imposed word count this week kids, as the conversation required much more breathing space than that.

Here is week # 8’s submission for Master Class 2013, who’s twist involved two prompts* being used, one at the start, and the other at the end.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

“The past cannot be cured.”

“That’s how you always lived dad, but that was on you, not me. And definitely not him.”

“I’m only saying, some day he’ll look back on the days of tramping around the house in your wife’s high heels, pretending to be a drag queen, and he’ll be mortified. He’s my grandson – I don’t want him to live in shame.”

“Now why would he feel like that dad? Again, please don’t attribute ‘your thing’ onto his life. You were the one who could never let go of your past, never feel good about who you were naturally. He’s a totally different being, a being of Light versus darkness. You and I, we’re the opposite of him. And dad, our family has had more than its fair share of our ilk, don’t you agree? Let’s give his approach a try for a spell, shall we?”

“You’re not listening to me. And you’re once again trying to fill the conversation with a whole bunch of flouncey words that don’t really mean anything.”

“Slew, dad.”

“What?”

“Slew. I would have chosen ‘slew’ over ‘whole bunch,’ dad.”

“Whatever, smartass. Listen, it’s a sin, OK?”

“No dad, it’s not OK. You see, I don’t recall anywhere in the Bible where Jesus busted on any of that. He DID, however, tell people not to judge others. He also told us to love each other, and He told us to live by His example, not Rome’s. No dad, there are all sorts of sins in this world, but my son’s orientation isn’t one of them, and it upsets me that you would feel that way.”

“But do you think I would actually feel that way? I mean, if I were alive to be there? If you recall, I was the one who bought him the Baby Doll he wanted. Do you think I would now choose my ideology over his? Would I choose myself over him?”

“I don’t know dad. I would hope not. I would hope that – like so many other times in your life – you would eventually change your mind for the love of your family, begrudgingly at first, and then in full-out abandon, to the point of being a public embarrassment. You know, like you usually did.”

“Hmmm, most likely. As we’ll never have this conversation, I suppose we’ll never really find out. Hey, are you going to tell your mother?”

“Are you insane????”

“Heh, I didn’t think so.”

“Dad, do you think I’ll handle this correctly? I really don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Listen to that girl, what your friend Mary said – you won’t. You don’t give yourself enough credit, son. You’re much more a being of light than darkness yourself, you know. I’ve told you, you’re a good father. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks dad.

Dad, I miss you.”

“I miss you too Troy. And I’ll be right here, waiting for you when you come over. But not just yet, not until many years from now, when you have entered the winter of your life.”

•••

A note concerning today’s tune. It doesn’t have a direct link to the above per say, other than the fact that it is the song that has been stuck inside the heads of both myself and my beautiful, heel-hoofing darling boy as of late.

Don’t listen, unless you want it getting stuck in your head as well…

•

* The first quote was from “Shadow of the Night” by Deborah Harkness. The second, from “Winter Journal” by Paul Auster.

Last Friday’s conversation, with a dash of Ethel

This is gonna to suck.

You’ve no free time whatsoever this weekend to go off and pretend play “writer”. So instead, you’re going to use up your lunch period today to shove one thousand plus words together into some sort of coherent thought, with hopefully a touch of literary “flourish” thrown in as well?

I’m telling you man, it won’t work. It’s gonna suck.

Why not skip a day? Why not just not post something on Monday? Weren’t you the one who just said today that the world would carry on regardless?

Well, yes, but they expect me to post on Mondays. You see, I always do. And besides, the week following that will find me not being able to post at all, as a result of my business trip.

“They.” Nice word choice. Is this the same “they” that will some day award you a publishing contract? You know, shortly after you and “they” are the only five people left on the planet?

Now, hold on. There’s a touch more than five. Besides, that’s not the point. Even if there was only one – like there was at the very beginning – I’d still stick to it. It’s important that I do.

Yeah? And why’s that?

Well, for my adoring fans, of course!

Cut the crap. I really want to know what the importance of all this is.

The hoped-for post-apocalyptic publishing contract?

Stop dicking around, and tell me why already! Why do you feel the need to thrice weekly write weakly? Why do you put so much time and effort into a task that garners you no cash, no advancement, and no visible benefit of any kind? What I’m asking is, is why do you spend every goddamned weekend pretending to be a writer?

WHY?

Wow. This just sort of turned ugly now, didn’t it.

Then just answer the fucking question already…

Fine. You wanna know “why”? You wanna really know? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you, and then you’ll laugh at me and think even less of me, but I’ll tell you all the same, you son of a bitch.

I do this because I love it. All of it. I love being able to take two words and make each look prettier simply by placing them side-by-side. And I then love being able to repeat the process, until I have sentences full of pretty words. I love being able to take a seed of an inane thought and flesh it out into a diatribe one thousand plus words long. I love being able to bully pulpit my way through any number of topics, and wrap it all up with a little song at the end. And yes, I know I stole that last bit from Lance, it’s a good idea. And I’ll give him credit in due time… I love that burning feeling I get deep within in my gut whenever a new topic bubbles up. A burn that pushes me – sometimes even out of my sleep – to write it all down before it vanishes from my head, vanishes from existence.

I love the writing process, even if it’s done from my tiny phone keyboard late at night, after being awoken from the burn. Hell, I even get a little hard when I find *just the right* picture to accompany my posts. I love it all. And I love reading the other writings, from the other writers – most of whom are far more talented than I. I love the community of it all, the Tribe. I love the fact that people I will never meet have still inspired, educated and transformed me. Made me laugh, cry and feel things I’ve never felt before, or at least not felt nearly enough. And I love knowing that – again – most do it not for profit or gain, but simply because they too hearken to, and enjoy the burn. They too, love to create. And yeah, I actually do love checking my little stats tab every morning to see how many read me the day before. I love the fact that the numbers keep climbing, that I’m somehow being embraced by this Tribe. Recognized.

But most importantly, I love this “weekly writing weakly” because of everything else I have ever done, it is only the second instance in my life in which I find that I am literally forced into being proud of myself. Why? Because there is no one else at this beaten up and bruised keyboard with me. Every little dollop that falls to the screen does so from my own head. I must take the blame for everything that appears here, and I must also take the credit. There are no Drill Instructors that I can say did more than I. There are no friends or family that I can say helped in my endeavors. There are no coworkers who can share in any forthcoming success. No, similar to my first instance of forced pride – when I quit smoking – there is not one other living soul who I can blame for this blog, it’s mental meanderings or it’s potential success. And I love it because it’s good. Not perfect, but good. Damned good. And I did that. And after forty-two overdue years, it feels exhilarating to finally be able to take this kind of pride in myself.

And that’s why I love it. OK? Will that suffice into shutting you the fuck up now?

Will it?

Yeah. It will. I get it.

And hey, I’m proud of you too.

But you do realize, this post still does kinda suck, right?

Now, why don’t you wrap it all up with a pretty song, and let these good people go until Wednesday.

Right. Can do.

Here goes – a ditty to help me pummel through all the weekend crap I need to get done before weekend’s end…

(Bet you can’t listen to whole thing…)