BITTERNESS; ONLY ONE THING I DID WRONG, STAYED IN MEDFORD OREGON A DAY TOO LONG

I guess it was about a year ago that I started this blog. I had just hitched to Medford OR thru the Cascades amidst rain and snow. Walking on the shoulder that was two inches wide, flashing my phone when I thought a car was coming. Living as the invisible man.

I got a ride into Medford and called Jamie. Such a pleasant voice.

Who is Jamie? You know. The cats pajamas.
WELL! This is going to take a while.
Physically she is extremely pretty. To put it into perspective, if you were to see us walk in together you would think "what's she doin' with him?"

Major gap.

When I was living in Santa Fe I decided to go up to Medford and drink some beer. Howie still had my old bike and I went out for a ride on a Sat. a.m. Cutting thru a park a boy of two stepped out in front of me. I muttered under my breath "keep it on a leash". At that moment the mother grabbed the childs hand. We locked eyes. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Leaving" was my answer.
She knew where to find me. We spent a wonderful nite together. Sheer. It is good to hear, but from a married woman it is a gut wrencher. I had to get back to S.F. Once there I was back at work. I had nothing to say. I had a friend to run interference for me. I cried about how she was sorry and that we were meant to be togethdidn't ask, but he was kind enough. I didn't speak for weeks. I listened to Dylans "Love and Theft" cd over and over. No one writes love poems like Bob. Any poo, had I left a day earlier I never would have reconnected.

A year later while living in Flagstaff I found her phone # in my wallet. Called, spoke, parted.
Then I'm in Pocatello. We connect again. I want to take a trip. No commitments.

Back to the top.

I get there late Thurs,. Jamie and I have a great Friday nite. Saturday is spent with friends. Sunday playing fatal phone tag. Late evening we connect only for me to be the honest man that I am. FORGIVE ME FOR NOT LYING!

I called her a viufhgiubgyo8s,kh

She is. Will most likely always be.

She is every beautiful lyric that Bob Dylan ever wrote
I remember the day before my brothers wedding, shedding
tears over her. Happy for him. Bitter for her.

Now I feel sorry for the two of us. Her for not realizing.
Me for not having smashed that so called friend/ mother
fuckers head in. (Not hers. See "Why John Wayne drank cheap Bourbon."
one of my early post. Funny thing, speaking of dreams, I have had this
dream about three times since I last saw her. I am strangling her. Squeezing
and wringing her neck. Right when her body is about to go limp I release. Ironically
my letting go shows that I have a hard time letting go.)

Hows that for a parenthetical thought?

It is a 15 year tale wrapped up in this snippet. Buy me a beer
or ten and you'll get part of the whole story.

I used to be a nice guy. I'm working on it again. If you know a pretty
girl that likes Bob Dylan and Belgian beers, send her my way.

that photo came from her website www.jamiebutler.com
I hate her, but you'll love her.
she's a fool
Tell her that if she's looking for dignity it is me.

Man I miss Dusty!

Maybe I should get Pink to put her on a sheet of acid.

"Homeless Man Causes Blackout; Riots Ensue"

It seems as tho every time I talk with my brother the topic of fecal matters arises. Arby's, Arthur Treacher's , Lucky Charms. Don't leave home with it. It is a fact of life. What goes in must come out. Well, again, way back when I was living in my '63 Greenbriar I was awoken by an intestinal prodding. It was 3 or 4 in the a.m. My options were to drive down to the 7-11, or just step outside and take a dump.

I stepped out and saw my restroom, a utility pole. I leaned against it and dropped more than just my drawers. I wiped my butt and thru the TP down on the fresh dung heap. Needles to say, it didn't look pretty. Anyone that saw it would know who, what, where...So to disguise it I thought it would be best to burn the TP. Maybe the heat and ash would be enough to distort the human factor. I lit the TP and took a couple steps back towards the van. I saw a flicker out of the corner of my eye. Freakin eddie, the creasol soaked pole was going up in flames. The flames were up to about my chin, 5 feet. I did a whole lot of kicking. If I hadn't just gone, I would have done a whole lot of pissing. None the less, tragedy narrowly averted.

Can you now see the headlines?

A Career in Advertizing

This a.m. in the shower I had an idea for a PSA regarding safe sex. It shows the Flying Wallendas flying around on the trapeze apparatus. At the end one of them steps up and says "Even the best performers work with a net". Then the voice over, "Play it safe, www.penisnet.com".

Speaking of which, I actually sent this idea to Lifestyles condoms. There is a couple sitting on the couch drinking wine. The guy gets up and grabs his girlfriend by the hand leading her to the bedroom. Once there he opens the top drawer of the night stand, pulls out some hand cuffs. Dangling them in her face he smiles.
"What do you have in mind with those?" she queries.
"Just a little captivity" he responds.
She then whips out a condom waving it in his face.
"And what did you have in mind?" he asks.
"Just a little protective custody" she replies.
Again, the voice over.

The next one actually got a response from Nike. (Neither positive or negative)
Rain is pounding the wind shield. The person in the passenger seat is looking at a dashboard pc.
"It should be right up ahead."
"There it is, there it is" the driver shouts.
"Get closer"
A shot thru the windshield shows a funnel cloud.
Passenger again, "Here, here"
The vehicle pulls over onto a dirt road. Camera angle shows the foot stepping out with YOUR BRAND HERE of running shoes on. The passenger walks back to the asphalt, looks over his shoulder. A tornado is closing in. He starts running. The gap between him and the twister widens. Again the voice over. "When running like the wind just isn't enough....."

My Harley commercial:
A stupid little car is at a red light, thumping and vibrating, with the roop scoops inside "dancing" around. A guy pulls up next to it on his bike, looks over and smiles. He hits the throttle. The camera focuses on the car. It vibrates even more to the point of disintegration. Voice over "Nothing matches the thunder of V twin power"

Miller Lite:
On the steps of where ever the St Louis Rams play, a beer vendor walks. A fan calls out.
"Miller lite please"
Vendor opens his cooler. The camera zooms in. Its full of Miller Lite.
"Sorry, all out. How 'bout a bud lite?"
"No thanks, I'll just get a bottled water."
Post game in the vendors warehouse all the guys are sitting around drinking Miller Lite.
One looks at another and asks "How'd you do today?"
Raising his beer he says "This job may not pay much, but the benefits are great."

I also have a Culligan commercial but why bore you. Oddly enough, if you want a career in advertizing you have to go to college. It appears as tho that diploma means a whole lot. Strangely I work with a lot of people who have diplomas/degrees.

Yes, I may be a dreamer/loser, but at least I didn't pay $50,000 to get here.

Beer of the Moment

The Dissident from Deschutes Brewery
This is a 2008 reserve so I don't know
how long it will be around. The best American
impersonation of a Belgian I've come across.
A Flanders style brown ale. Great tartness. 9% abv

Pinball Wizard, Quitters never win?

This Thursday the 23rd Bob Dylan starts his fall tour. This story dates back to another Thurs in Oct. this time the 24th 2002. (Simple twist of dates?) I had recently moved to Flagstaff after having transferred there with Dillards. However after leaving SantaFe I no longer had my own little world in the suit dept. I was now thrown out in the general roop scoop population. I was always bored there and usually made my way down to Ruby Tuesdays for a quick couple of beers every now and then. This nite was different tho. I had a restless hungry feeling. Bob was playing down in Phoenix with Phil and Friends, Robben Ford being the guitarist on that nites menu. I was a little bummed, so instead of hitting on ruby I walked over to Safeway only semiconscious of what I was about to get myself into. First stop, bottled water, second the liquor aisle, vodka. Once outside, out went the water, in went the vodka.

I clocked back in from lunch and headed back to the sales floor. Nice guy that I am I offered Jenny some water. Politely she accepted and I then retreated to my corner. As the store manager made his rounds he came by to see how things were going. As I stood talking to him I picked up my water, winked at Jenny, and proceeded to take a drink or two. Well it wasn't long, maybe two hours that a fifth of vodka was poured down my gullet. I was off my rocker and acting crazy. We had just gotten some desk top pinball machines in, 18"x24" plastic numbers, and Jenny had been playing all nite. Hitting an all time high score she brought the machine over to me "Beat this". I knew I could, so I took the machine and started beating it mercilessly on the counter, shrapnel flying every where. The looks on every bodies faces made me think that they didn't see this coming. "Beat this"? That's a gift horse. After a brief nap on a counter I was escorted out by Tiani. Despite her best efforts there was no hiding my condition. Oddly enough, the last time I saw her I learned that she was working for a federal prosecutors office. Talk about a little stick of dynamite!

As you may have guess, I lost my job. Not a big lose however. If it weren't for that I never would have come across this joke. "A mexican, an indian, and a white guy walk into a bar..." At the time I never realized it, but my friends Mirales and Naha walking into a bar with me was a good lead in for a joke. Also, as you may have guessed by the title, that was the nite I quit drinking hard liquor. In retrospect I have both quit and been fired a lot. Makes me wonder what this Thursday will bring. Dylan starts his tour up in BC. It is highly unlikely that I will quit drinking beer. As for my job? You try playing black jack without face cards. Sure you can still hit 21, but the odds are slimmer, and its a matter of all the cars falling into place. I'm not a gambling man.

The Last in a Series of Dreams: straring death in the face

As anyone that is capable of reading this is aware of, death, be it natural, violent, or random, is a part of life. I recall the death of a few older relatives when I was no more than eight. Then in my teen years a couple friends died. Within fifteen years I would see death first hand, not just once but three times. Those were dream series of their own. A good time turned bad, or a misspoken phrase in a foreign language. (another reason not to cater to mexicans!) Yet after all that I was still invincible. I had no fear of death, that is until the following dream.

I am not sure what nite the state of California performs their executions on, but it was that nite. The gurney was in the living room of Jack Hymans house in Sepulveda CA. There was a small crowd of about a dozen witnesses along with my brother and mom. Ten to Midnite (not the Bronson movie) and the director of events tells all to leave except my mom and brother. Ten minutes to do what? Apologize? Not sure who I killed, but I know I would have done society a favor.

There I am (put yourself here) ten minutes until the big gauge needle is in your arm. Time to think about it. I freaked! For so long I was ready to die, inadvertently pushing the envelope. Now I had to live. I knew the layout of the back yard. The patio, pool, and brick wall. I split.
Like thunder in the northern Arizona sky I rolled across miles.

Since then I have had many ponderings of my death. Sometimes I freak out. Oddly enough, my greatest concern is "this world is going to suck even more without me".

Recurring dreams

Often times children are afraid of Santa Claus. Personally I wasn't but I lived in great fear of a Santa Claus effigy. When I was a wee lad my Grandma had this mechanical santa that she got from, I believe, Gimbels. He had an arm that would move his glasses up to his eyes so that he could read his naughty or nice list. She would have it sitting on a lower landing of the stairs right inside of the main entrance. This thing was freaky and creepy. I wouldn't look at it. I would close my eyes or shield them with my hand. Things soon went from bad to worse...Santa moved in with us. He lived down in our basement tucked away in a corner. I just didn't trust this guy. He seeped into my psyche, and then the dreams, rather nightmares began.

My mom would ask me to go downstairs to retrieve some meat from the freezer. Hesitantly I would go, putting myself with in a few yards of this creature. Out of the corner of my eye I would see a movement. It appears as tho I was on his naughty list. At that first twitch it was lickety split time. A mad dash to the stairs followed by a panic driven ascent. Sometimes I made it up clean. Other times he would manage to take my feet out from under me, but in a scramble I would end up on the kitchen floor kicking the door shut behind me. Thats just one more reason not to celebrate xmass. One minor dyslexic episode and Santa becomes Satan. Coincidence?

Lately tho I have been having a dream where I am the tormentor. About every other month I have this dream where I am strangling this girl. My hands around her neck squeezing and shaking. Right when the body is about to go limp I let go. To me this one is obvious. It also shows me that in the fury of the moment I can be a very evil person. We all have that in us no matter how much we try to deny it. If the right buttons are pushed we can all snap. However, if reality, as in the case of my repeating dream, has time to look us in the face before the dastardly deed is completed, our internal moral majority wins out...

Heavy man, heavy.