Friday Night Crazies

I am back. It is time again for Friday Night Funnies. I can actually say that even I was surprised by how things went with our home game of Friday night dinner. Again, it was the Outlaws and my brother in law as the guests. I decided to pick up some flowers for the Wife on the way home. I figured that it is her birthday weekend (yesterday) and she likes tulips, so I would try to get some tulips.

I stopped to put air in my tire and hit the place close by. She did not have good tulips so I settled for some baby roses (yellow rimmed with pink, very unique). When I was in the habit of buying the Wife flowers, I had a florist with some of the most unique colored roses. They were great. Then again, all they did was look nice for a bit and then die, kind of like a pet.

Anyway, I walk in the door after six and the Outlaws are there. The best was that I walk in, my brother in law has not yet arrived and we have not eaten, and my father in law says to my mother in law, "Let's go!" It had to be explained to him that we had not yet eaten and that there was nothing prepared for him to eat at his home.

I love how it is that "we" have put the person least capable of being responsible in charge of the whole production. He somehow calls the tune, at least as far as my mother in law is concerned (I do not care and will question everything that comes out of his mouth). He stands around looking at his watch, calling out the time as if he is on guard duty. The best part is that his watch is fast, so his time is wrong. He won't hear of correcting it, because the world is wrong and he and his watch are correct. Then again, what happens when he answers the iron (oh yeah, he is not blind just cognitively impaired).

It is explained to him that we have not eaten yet and that we are waiting for B. to come (though this has been told to him numurous times, but he has no way of turning short term memory into long term memory, which means I get to relive the same mundane bullshit and questions numerous times in a visit. Call it my personal version of Groundhog's Day without Bill Murray or conventional humor). He then goes on to tell me that when the Wife served him some beer, he was shocked to see how brown it was (I only have Guiness in the house right now). He did enjoy it, though. I am not sure why he is telling me something that I obviously know considering I bought the fucking beer, but again with cognitive impairment this is how it works. Then again, without the cognitive impairment, he would have done the same, so I am thinking this cognitive impairment thing has been there for a long time but nobody really noticed.

My brother in law arrives. We eat. It is great. Food with flavor and good mouth feel. My mother in law is not near the kitchen (she can handle cleaning detail very well) and as I said the food is great. One of the best Friday Night dinners since the last time we were at our house. We finish eating and it is,, "A. Let's go!" and it is about quarter to seven and still light outside.

Fuck! Not only have we not had dessert, but the crappy white birthday cake (they all say they like it but nobody eats more than a fucking piece, so how much do they like that crap. Then again, they make fun of me for MY choice of cakes for my birthday, I am paritial to Health Bread Marble cakes or their Double Fudge Cake, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Shit, I have to clean the drool off of my keyboard. Yet, I know with those, fuck you all, I will eat it again and again. Somehow, in that scenario, I am viewed as being weird.) They talked him into staying for cake or until 7:30, though I am not sure any agreement he makes is binding.

Anyway, after watching him pace and stare at his watch, my mother in law relented (folded like a cheap rug is really how it was, as usual) and they were gone before seven without cake. It is not as if he did much in terms of rearing his children other than fuck my mother in law (an image that really makes my skin crawl, but not as much as her sister and brother in law doing it, the Wife's aunt and uncle) so what does he care about honoring or acknowledging two of his three children's birthdays.

Obviously when the crazy voices in his head speak (there are no sane ones) he has to listen. They had put him on some sort of medication that was supposed to help relieve some of the anxiety he seems to feel (though I am still not sure why NOBODY questions his anxious feelings and engages to talk about them. I guess that would mean actually confronting the issue and dealing with it head-on and that is just not done in the Outlaws' world. It is comforting to see that there is no awareness or reflection, so there are no lessons learned. We can just repeat history and scratch our heads when the outcomes do not spontaneously change.). I cannot say it has worked because he seemed to more anxious this time around.

The Wife says there is "nothing you can do" and "this is how he always was". That is just bullshit. If he does not want to or is incapable of enjoying the moment (in his case that is all he really has, that and his old memories), then why do we allow him to ruin it for the rest of us. "What can you do?" Cattle prod is my answer. A couple of zaps and he may grouse a little less. What is that burning smell? Maybe it is not a great idea.

That is the story from another edition of Friday Night Crazies. Ciao!

Another Buffalo story

I am back. This is my warning to you all. Do not forget to wish the Wife a happy birthday on Sunday. She will be pissed. That does not bother me so much, as having to hear about it.

Well, what can I say? I did forget this event on Sunday in Buffalo. The Lad wanted to climb the rock wall in Dick's Sporting Goods, formerly Galyans. It is a two story sporting goods store with a faux rock wall from floor to ceiling. We have done it before, when it was Galyan's and I thought it was a hoot, until I looked down, then it was less hooty for me.

I have a fear of heights. This goes way back. I can recall being in grade 5 or 6 and using the climbers in gym at elementary school. They were just ladders essentially that folded into the wall when not in use. I can recall my friends climbing up one side and back down the other with ease. I would hit the top.....and freeze. I was too afraid to go over. I did it, but I was fucking scared. Sort of like being on the Zipper. I would be shitting my pants but fuck if I was going to let anybody see how scared I was. It is good to be a stoic.

Anyway, the first rock climbing foray was like that. I looked down and thought what am I fucking doing? Then, the voice inside my head said, "Don't be a pussy! Climb that fucker, hit the bell and then rappel down." I remember getting up to the top (yeah me!) and when I got down, the adrenaline was still coursing through my veins. My legs were shaking, kind of like the feeling when I had that run with the mouse in the house.

This time, I thought the Lad was going to do it on his own. Then he says he wants me to go with him. What could I say but "okay". I cram my feet into those climber shoes, get my harness, and he does the same. He chooses the easy face and I take the one I had done the last time. He gets about half way up and that is as far as he is prepared to go. He did well and pushed himself, though I think that he could have pushed harder.

By the time he let go, I was about 6 feet above him. I stop and look down and try to get a grip. Fuck me for putting hand creme on earlier. It is now mixed with sweat and my hands are slippery and getting a grip ain't easy. Anyway, I am contemplating calling it quits, when my spotter dude says to keep moving up and move my foot up. I listen, and the next thing I know I am at the top, hitting the button and ringing the bell. I then let go and safely drift back down to earth.

I am sweating and my forearms are about to explode. The muscles are so engorged with blood. I am hoping to get the feeling back in them soon. I wipe my sweat and pat myself on the back for taking the challenge and not quitting.

On another note, I have a home game tonight. The Outlaws are coming for dinner, which means the Wife is cooking, so it will be edible, though my mother in law won't eat much. Apparently, her digestive system is geared to only handle the crap that she overcooks. They should be gone by seven, eventhough there will be a birthday cake for the Wife and her brother (born 4 days apart, with a seven year difference). That will be fun a bit of yelling between the Wife and her father.

It is times like that when I am reminded of one of my grandmother's favorite expressions, "Never argue with a crazy person!" Those are words to live by, so nobody argue with me! Have a great weekend on and all. I am hoping to get some sleep because I am getting tired of waking up at 5:30am for no apparent reason. Ciao!

BTW, if Willie is reading this, I guess I will see you on Monday at baseball. I look forward to it.

Boring Buffalo

I am back. In thinking about the annual pilgramage to Buffalo, well it was more of me getting dragged, kicking and screaming, I am left with the question of why we go. It is not for the culture, unless shopping is considered culture. The Wife may think so, but just because one thinks something does not make it so.

I can remember going there back in the early 70s with my family. It was really fun then. We would always stop at this place called Hansen's in Lewiston, NY. It was a hole in the wall that sold great fish and chips. It was take out, so that meant eating in the car or outside if the weather was nice. They had one of those old soda machines, where you pulled the glass bottle out of the cooler as it was on its side. That was cool. I think my father had one of those in his drug store back around then, but I am rather fuzzy on that one. I could give you a rundown of the history of that store from about 1979 to 1995, when we sold. Anything earlier than 1979 and my memory is fuzzy.

The problem there is that I would occasionally be taken down to visit my father at work. I just do not recall certain things. I do recall the counter and the selection of gum and candy bars. I remember the boxes of Black Cat gum quite vividly. I remember some of the stores on the street that are no longer there, but I do recall them with an eye to the late 70s. I do remember the old Nortown theatre that was across the road and is now Nortown plaza, a poorly designed and placed strip mall with parking lot.

Anyway, then going to the US meant finding many different things that we could not get here. Not so anymore, alas. Even as far back as twenty years ago, I can remember finding things that were just unavailable here. On occasion I find some bargains, but other than Target and Denny's what is the point?

We did hit the Denny's for lunch on the day we arrived. Of course, that meant Chicken Fried Steak and Eggs for me. Since Willie was kind enough, or cruel enough only my hardened arteries know for sure, to introduce me to that delicacy back in Florida in 1985, I HAVE to order it whenever I make only a single trip to a Denny's. The only thing is that in Buffalo, I do not get it with a side of grits, which I will do in Florida or Las Vegas. That was fine eating, though the pancakes that came with my meal were making me want to puke. Maybe they should add some more fucking butter to them, the fat from the eggs and chicken fried steak just aren't enough to kill me.

We then hit the Outlet Mall. Considering we have tended to go on Friday the last few years, going on a Saturday was interesting. We had the one hour wait at the border, which sucked. The Outlet Mall was fairly crowded, which is good for the merchants. As usual there was nothing there. I mean how many GAPs, Old Navys and Banana Republics do I need to see and are they really any different?

We hit the hotel after that, which was nice. Then it was on to Burlington Crap, er Coat, Factory. That place just scares me. The people, the merchandise, the people buying the merchandise, I am not sure what scares me more. There was more FUBU stuff than you could shake a stick at. The best are the polyester suits, shirts and ties. It is a veritable brush fire waiting to happen. Walk by an open flame in that ensemble and WHOOOOOSH your clothes have melted to you, as if you were freebasing with Richard Pryor. (sorry to dredge that one up, but I recall him telling the story of that unfortunate incident and saying how his polyester shirt just melted to his melting skin when he caught fire).

Dinner was the usual American trough of food at Applebee's. They have really built up the area with family restaurants. We had the choice of Ruby Tuesday's, Friday's or Applebee's, same shit, different name. The burgers were good and I got a beer sample that was a good tumbler full of beer. Nothing like getting my buzz on in the USA. It was all good though.

I did find Chocolate Cap'n Crunch. It tastes like Count Chocula without the marshmallow bits. It is good. We did stock up the old cereal pantry. Too bad, they have discontinued Kaboom, which I have mentioned earlier. I would have loved to find some Quisp, too, but since Quaker was bought by Pepsi, I do not see them going with the odd ball, kitschy type of products. What can you do?

We made it home without incident and all is well. Now, I do not have to think about going back until next year. Yippee! Ciao!

See no stories about fat, tattooed people this time, though they were there in droves.

Bye Bye Boris or is that Bye Bye Yeltsin

I am back. Though I want to go into the Buffalo stories, not that there really are any, I will do that later this week. Today must be dedicated to the passing of Boris Yeltsin. With his passing, vodka sales and consumption in Russia has declined ten fold.

I will remember on the tank, riding to the rescue, when the military and other Communists tried to overthrow Mikhail Gorbachev back in 1991. In fact, they functionally did get rid of Gorby as he was then too "weak" to run the fallen empire. Yeltsin stood up to the would be usurpers of power and took a stand for the people. It would have been seen as a brave move, if he were not vodkaed (I have turned vodka into a verb) at the time.

It was a turning point point in Russian history. Then, Yeltsin would lead a reformist government. Of course, it was one rampant with Cowboy capitalist and the rise of the so-called oligarchs, men who became mega-wealthy when they took/acquired formerly state assets for a song (or bottle of vodka, man, I keep belaboring that point, don't I?).

Of course, the pains of moving to a captialist society with the rule of law from a communist/socialist society with the rule of the Communist party and the KGB watching was difficult and fraught with pain. As Yeltsin weakened both physically (the drink?) and politically, he made a deal with the Devil. This allowed Vladimir Putin, a former KGB operative, to take over.

He has done his best to restore Russia's rightful place in the world, which I am not sure what that is, by cracking down on the Oligarchs (see Mikhail Khordokovsky languish in a Russian jail on trumped up charges and found guilty by a kangaroo court for daring to oppose Putin and his former KGB minions) and getting the state involved in any and all resource deals. This way, Russia benefits from the rise in oil and natural gas prices and basically "steals" the necessary techonology from Western companies to produce and move the stuff.

That is life, I guess. Yeltsin was an historic figure for a short time. He did some good and could not fight off the forces of "evil" to get Russia to capitalistic nirvana. Of course, unlike China, Russia never had a mercantile history. They went from one form of autocratic rule to another (serfdom under the Czars to forced communism and such luminaries as Lenin, Stalin, and Brezhnev).

I guess Russian history can be boiled down to vodka and big, burly, bushy eyebrows. That about sums things up, at least for me. I will miss that white haired, vodka swilling, blini and alcohol smelling dude.

There. Now for the title, which has a more Broadway musical feeling, "Bye Bye Boris" or "Bye Bye Yeltsin"? I am also open to suggestions.

Ciao!

Poison me quickly and stop having me suffer!

I am back. I received another comment about that Jehovah's Witness post. It was another blogger who received the same comment to a posting in 2005. What is going on here? That Anonymous Jehovah's Witness skeptic must be on some sort of search and comment mission. I have to say that I am over that, but then again, that could be the ADD talking. Which would explain why I cannot finish a sentence here, and the incoherence. Oh, the ever present incoherence.

Anyway, I do have a tale of a journey to the Western New York, aka Buffalo, area. I would like to begin with a rant of Friday night though. My father in law was his normal confused self. As I say, ad nauseum, he writes nothing down and remembers nothing current, so it is frustrating when he decides he has an opinion or thought that differs from those of us who remember...5 minutes ago. There is always this grousing about taking his pills. There is the dinner dose and the bedtime dose. At bedtime, he gives the "Didn't I just take them?" line. I am now thinking that given the fact he really has no memory of it, that we should just say he did not take anything and it is time now.

Anyway, this rant is on my mother in law's cooking. It was the worst fucking meal EVER! Thankfully, the Wife made some soup, which was good. Though, my father in law found it too spicy or peppery, who listens when he comments? It had too much thyme, if anything, so it was a bit woodsy. There is no excuse for the crap that my mother in law served Friday. No excuse.

If I did not know better, I would say that she was trying to poison us all. Then again, the poison could not hurt, only help. She made some sort of breaded chicken breast in rice with mushrooms. I will not go into the fact that she uses canned mushrooms. That I can handle. How her rice has the consistency of mashed potatoes, though, I will never understand. I know it was grossly over cooked, I just do not understand how she can think that is the proper way to make rice. She has eaten Chinese food (well it is that Canadian Chinese stuff, all things deep fried and served with flourescent red sweet and sour sauce that my father in law seems to think is food) so she does have an example of how a simple steamed rice, or fried rice, should look and feel in the mouth. Yet, she butchers it, badly.

The chicken was also grossly overcooked. The breading, which should be crispy, is so wet it slides off the chicken. She used boneless chicken breasts, thinking of the Wife, who will not eat chicken on the bone. There should be no connection between her food and where it came from. I am thinking that the Wife would be satisfied with Soylent Green, but I digress. The worst part is that the chicken also had the consistency of mashed potatoes. The saddest part is that her mashed potatoes would start prison riots if served there. They are dry, flavorless and just plain suck donkey.

Then there were the meatballs. They were in some sickly, sweet canned sauce to be served on overcooked pasta that stuck together. Blahhhh!

In bed later that night, I asked the Wife about that meal. I mentioned the crappy sweet tomato sauce. Here is how the conversation went.

Me: "What was with that sweet canned sauce on those meatballs?"
Wife: "She does not used canned sauce."
Me: "She makes that from scratch? Who are you kidding?"
Wife: "She adds stuff to canned sauce."
Me: "Then she uses CANNED sauce!"
Wife: (laughing)"She adds stuff to it though."
Me: "Like a pound of sugar?"
Wife: "No, I think it was grape jelly."

What the fuck?!!!!! It is not bad enough that this lovely woman is slowly killing my taste buds, but she is also trying to make me constipated and diabetic. And she wonders why I do not take seconds and why she is left with leftovers. Fuck, that shit was not edible the first time, I am not going to try to force it down a second time.

The saddest part is that it is far too late in the game to set her straight. Then again, she could not silence out the voices in her head long enough to listen to the comments and make changes.

Oh yeah, the Wife said that her meatball recipe may have come from my aunt via my mother. I will admit that my aunt does make meatballs in this sweet sauce, yet hers is not nearly as objectionable. It was like two weeks ago when I saw the label on the stuff and it read "Italian chicken". When asked what made it "Italian", she had poured some sweet canned tomato sauce on it. That's Italian?! It is really crap, and that is an insult to crap, in any language.

I realize that I am now hungry. I am done. Ciao!

This is why they call it Crappy Tire

I am back. I had an adventure in Crappy Tire yesterday. It appears that it is the time of year when light bulbs start to blow in the Madman, like there is a hint of anonymity with me, house. Anyway, one went in the kitchen and two in the basement. I could have lived without one, but two made it like a cave. Given the coolness of the basement, it was like a fucking cave. I am about to set out the crayons and draw on the walls. I am sure that would go over well with the Wife. Of course, if she cannot see it, then all is well.

Even if she did "see" it, I cannot be sure she would take notice of it. She comes from an unaware background, where the only thing noticed are the voices in their own heads. Of course, when those voices do not agree with any sort of objective reality, the objective reality is wrong. That, of course, is a story for another day or some sort of family, not including me, psychiatric session. There is an idea, the whole lot of them need some sort of psycho-therapy.

I know. You are saying "well, what about you?" Good question. I have had mine. I have no problem speaking of it. Unfortunately, I am one of those people who is hyper-aware so while helpful, it was not anything that I was not doing on my own. I am too honest and objective with myself, so I am not sure where somebody can point out things that I did not see or think of in terms of explaining myself.

Anyway, I have to go to Crappy Tire, so I set off to the one closest to me. At Lawerence Square, also known around here as Felony Square owing to the area (Lawrence and the Allen). I get there and look for my light bulbs. I go upstairs and there is a sign that reads "Light Bulbs". I, like an idiot, go down that aisle only to find flourescent light bulbs. What the fuck? What is the point of the signage when you have split the stuff off. Fucking Crappy Tire! That is some good customer service. And try to find somebody who works there, fuck!

I wander a bit and find that there is a wall of lightbulbs. Finally, but the lack of signage and staff have me annoyed. I am perusing the compact flourescent bulbs. I notice this two pack and see the price. I look at the singles (same wattage and size) and they are less than half the price. What the fuck again?!!! Where is the bargain in buying a two pack? I can get double the packaging for less with two singles. There seems to be something rather perverse here. I am using CF bulbs to "save" electricity and resources (same light with less power) but I get to double up the waste? Am I the only one who sees the disconnect?

In fact, it was the same with a number of different bulbs of varying Wattage. What the fuck?!! i settled on the ones that look like floods for aesthetic reasons. I then saw the line to pay. I came close to saying "fuck that shit" I will sit in the dark. There had to be about 6 people lined up to pay and only one cashier. Again, where is somebody on top of this. I have put down my stuff and walked out of stores for such a reason. If you are going to make it inconvenient or hold me up to pay, fuck you, I will not buy from you. Bad service, sale lost.

I needed the bulbs so I went to the cashier by the mall entrance. Nobody there. I pay and walk out the front where I parked. Of course, by then, the crack customer centric staff had started to open up another cashier lane. It made no difference to me. I had light.

I put up my bulbs only to find that the flood type is merely a CF spiral covered by a plastic dome. I paid extra for that? I do not care, I kind of like the spirals. I can see the spirals behind the plastic. When those burn out in 5 years (or less, which will necessitate a call to NOMA and freebies coming my way), I guess I will stick with the spirals.

Again, it was another fine shopping experience at the Felony Square Crappy Tire. I will not be going back to that one for a long time that is for sure.

With that, have a mondo cool disco weekend one and all. Ciao!

I can be one funny dude

I am back. I just received a comment from somebody named Anonymous. Anonymous, what kind of name is that anyway? Anonymous, posted a comment about Jehovah's Witnesses, divorce and lawsuits from and on behalf of their children when they have refused medical treatment for their children based upon their religious beliefs. The comment is cool, but it was from my post "What's a false prophet got to do to get a drink around here?" in October.

A comment from a post six months earlier, how is my drug and alcohol addled mind supposed to recall what I had written? I went over that post. I suggest that you do as well. In fact, go back to that post and the previous couple as well. As I read it, it made me giggle again. I can be one fucking funny dude. I am truly demented, perverted and twisted in the most delightful way.

I am wondering where that comment has come from. It was so out of the blue and well past my attention span. I really do have to go to my archives and pull out the gems. I may have a book there. A book with no plot, but a book. It would be like having a conversation with me.

To those who know me, and those who do not, a conversation with me, I think, ends up being like a collage. Many ideas, thoughts and stories are told but not conventionally coherent. I leave it for the listener or reader to put the pieces together as they see fit. That way, I become interactive, with no two people coming away with the same meaning. It is cool, but it may be infuriating to some. Also, it means that much of what I say and think can be taken out of context, leaving me to be judged. What do I care?

There is my insight for the day. Then again, I could be full of shit and completely delusional. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. With that I must bid you all a fond adieu. Ciao!

A trip to the mind numbing mundane thing I call a life

I am back. I guess my streak of 5 days in a row came to an abrupt end. Then again, it ended on Saturday, so what can I do as I stare reality in the face. I would say "fat face" but I can only go so far when anthromorphing reality. That is your long word for the day. "Anthromorphing". I do not even know if it is a real word as I try to say it to myself. Either way.

It means, or is intended, to mean giving human characteristics to non-human things, like dogs, cats and children.

As your intrepid observer of life amongst the humans, I just do not have much new to report. The weekend was pretty uneventful for me. Dinner on Friday was as usual, something that could cause me to stroke out if I let it. They, the Outlaws, were in fine form. It was not a good evening for my father in law, believe it or not more confused and less with it. I was glad to go shoot hoops with the Lad so I would not have to listen to the same questions.

There a lot of things they all miss. A Sherlock Holmes could not be found amongst the Outlaws, all of them. They all seem to push the responsibility or work of observation (seeing, hearing/listening, and tasting, my poor assaulted taste buds) to others, then argue when they do not like the observation or what you conclude from it. I say if that is how it is then you fucking look and listen and stop relying on me to do that for you.

Anyway, my mother in law did not cook this Friday. It was smoked salmon and a lasagne. It was a tasty meal. She cannot screw up lox. Though, my father in law did try to extol me on the virtues of Concord Grape kosher wine. Fuck, the man has the sense of taste of a goat.

I did have to hit the Home Depot on Saturday. I had a leak in my basement bathtub and like all leaks it was not getting better on its own. I had asked for a Moen replacement cartridge before and got a run around about bringing the old one first or how the leak was "normal". For the most part, the people at Home Depot have become fucking useless. Besides, Sherlock, I need the instructions and plastic thing with the new cartridge to remove the old one to bring it in.

Well, surprise, surprise, the dude actually gave me a cartridge to try. I was not sure of size and it was too big. I brought it back and he gave me the right one. It was pretty easy after that. Well, except for the fact that I forgot to shut off the water before I removed the leaking cartridge. I remove it and water sprays out of the hole and I get a soaker. I felt like a porn startlet with Peter North (how is that for a graphic adult rated reference) and his money shot, with out the facial omelette, of course.

I then ran to shut down the water in the house. I forgot that when I replaced the cartridge in our upstairs bathroom, I could and did, shut off the water at the valves under the sink. No such luck with a tub. It all got done and presto, leak no more.

Beyond that, that was as exciting as the weekend got. The weather was crappy, cool and damp. I have a backyard full of fallen branches that I have to clean, or set fire to. That will happen when things dry up a bit, I guess.

That is all for now. Ciao!

5 in a row

I am back. It is a shock but I am getting to post on my favorite post day, Friday. What a Friday it is. It is the 13th. Nothing bad, or unusual, has happened so far. It has all been pretty mundane really. Speaking of which, I got that dinner at the Outlaws coming up. I am stalling.

I actually brought my basketball shoes without the Lad asking. I came to the realization that I would rather shoot hoops with him than sit around watching Jeopardy with my father in law. I do not enjoy the same fucking questions and the grousing.

I had and have the same issue with an old customer of mine, whom I have mentioned. She is the one with the psychosis and seizuer disorder. That is one great combination. Anyway, she continually calls me with her paranoia running amok. There is the fear that she will be arrested for something she has done in the past (like farting and claiming she is having an olfactory hallucination. Man, if I weren't so nice back then. I am much more blunt now, it was retail and I was not about to piss off a customer, even letting one go in my presence. Well, she cuts one, it stinks, but I do not want to embarrass her so I say that I do not smell anything. What? Am I hard of smelling?) As I think about it, it was rather cruel to let her think that she was having olfactory hallucinations.

I had never even thought of olfactory hallucinations. I mean hearing the voices (auditory) sure. Seeing things (visual) absolutely, having dropped acid and done 'shrooms, visual hallucinations can be cool (auditory too, but only to a point). What is next gustatory hallucinations? I am tasting.....(fill in the blank for yourself, as I have so many graphic thoughts on that one, it is like sensory overload).

Anyway, after hearing the same story for about 10 years, I finally put a stop to it. I heard the same old story, and it always ends with "You believe me don't you?" That is a loaded term. It is not so simple. I believe that she has heard the voices saying these things. I do not believe it is anything more than the voices in her head, and those voices are idiots. Yet, she believes them. I guess they drown out the rest of the world. Kind of like my father in law. He puts his faith in a sensory and perceptive system that is and was, as far as I can tell, not trust-worthy.

I would not trust it. Hell, I would not trust any of my Outlaws', including the Wife, sensory and perceptive abilities. They have the knack for pointing out the obvious and never exploring an option or thing that disturbs them or they do not like. Then, they cannot understand why things recur. I guess to the man with a hammer, every problem is a nail.

Anyway, I would rather not have to be annoyed by the loop of bullshit. That is why I have taken to playing ball with the Lad. Besides, he is young enough and short enough that I can still beat him without much effort. That ain't gonna last, so I best enjoy it while I can. I cannot bring myself to foul him hard. I cannot do it to my brother, though I know the feeling is not mutual. That is the price I pay as sensitive older brother and father. I am so fucking noble!

Have an awesome weekend, dudes and dudettes! Ciao!

"Breakfast of Champions" is no more

I am back. It is on a bit of a sad note, though. I am marvelling at 4 posts in a row, but that will change, it always does. Anyway, it was sad reading the passing of Kurt Vonnegut today. For those who do not know, Kurt Vonnegut was an American writer of dark satire. He was 84 and was recently in the news because of his deteriorating health. I believe he lived in Indianapolis, so he saw his Colts (if they were indeed his) win a Super Bowl.

His writing, such fine pieces of work as "Slaughterhouse 5", "Dead-eye Dick" and "Breakfast of Champions". It was tinged with a bleak view of man that he seemed to connect with as a result of his experiences as an American POW held in Dresden during the Allied bombing of Dresden. In fact, Slaughterhouse 5 had the protagonist in Dresden, as an American POW, at the time, though the story flowed from past to future. It was a good book and I may just have to re-read that and "Breakfast of Champions".

They were easy reads but very poignant. Funny but dark in their humor. I guess that is what I like about them. They are me, funny but dark. He saw shit that you cannot imagine. Yet, he seemed to feel that the Germans deserved that Dresden bombing, which they probably did. He was there, and on the wrong end, as that city burned. Damn phosphorus bombs blow up real good and burn hotter than hell. It would have been hotter than the Outlaws' condo unit, if my father in law had complete control. (he does not, thankfully, but he does control his bladder and bowels, but for how long? I am amazed he has not found a way to make put my mother in law in control of his bodily functions)

You got an added Outlaw shot here. I had no intention of writing that and I could get far more graphic, but I won't. There may be kids reading. Well, I have said all that I want to say and give tribute to a great auther, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Ciao!

Tampon Talk

I am back. To show you where my mind is, I had a thought, just one unfortunately, on Friday. The Wife and I were watching television after we came home from dinner at her parents (man, I do go on about that). I caught a commercial for Tampax Pearl and it dawned on me, there has not been much innovation in the world of tampons.

I know that this is not a subject that really concerns me. I mean, it does, but not directly. I mean, it is not as if I menstruate. I, obviously, do not need to in order to be moody. My moodiness is biochemical and not really hormonal. I am a human emotional roller coaster, though the fucking highs are just not dizzying enough.

Anyway, what innovation has there really been. It is still really just a wad of cotton, with strings attached, that gets stuffed up a woman's nether regions, okay, vagina, when she has her period. I mean it beats the hell out of leaving a trail of blood as they walk or those old maxi pads that are so wide that a girl looks like she has just gotten off a horse.

The only thing that has changed has been the delivery vehicle. You have the cardboard Tampax applicator and then the plastic one, Playtex. Oh yeah, back in and around 1980, the time of Toxic Shock Syndrome, you had those OB tampons designed by a female gynecologist. Those came with no applicator and the woman inserted them herself. I do not recall any of my teenage friends of the time using them (that would have meant touching their vulvas and it seemed they did not do that. Then again, it did not stop them from allowing me, and my friends, to do it for them, but that is a story for another day).

What gives? Where is the innovation? They have innovated toothpaste (it took a while, though. Remember the 80s? The greatest innovation was putting the shit in a pump, that would clog, instead of a tube) but not tampons.

I told you it was just a thought. Which reminds me of a 23 year old story. I was going to my intro psychology class one morning. I caught two of my friends outside class, a male and female. Somebody said something and the female sort of snapped (it was a bit of an overreaction, but who cares really?). My male friend, who has been known to read this, says, "Somebody's in a bad mood." To which I responded, "You'ld be in a bad mood too, if you had a string sticking out of you." Oddly enough, there was laughter and I did not have my female friend whack me with her thick text. In retrospect, I may have enjoyed that, too.

Well enough about that and time to go. Ciao!

More of the Friday Night dinner that was.

I am back. I think I wanted to continue my Outlaw rant of yesterday. I have nothing else going in my life, obviously. Here it goes.

While eating her soup, eating is really not the word, as she is too busy fucking talking, not saying anything, mind you, just talking. I have said, and the Wife finds it insulting, but when my mother in law begins her sentence with "Here's something you will find interesting...", I know invariably I will not find it interesting. Since, she asks questions but cannot stand to listen to the answers, how the hell would she know what I may or may not find to be interesting?

Again, I understand the psychological reasons for her incessant talking and she is a giving and nice person. That still does not mean that I will not follow her need to avoid anything and everything of substance.

Anyway, she is telling me about her trip to the butcher's and how some "old" lady was very picky about the beef brisket she was choosing. I like how my mother in law referred to her as "old". This woman is about to be 75, was this other woman the wife of fucking Methusala?! I do not know. So this other customer kept having the butcher show her different "fresh" cuts but eventually chooses one that is vacuum packed.

My mother in law says that if she was the butcher she would have done harm or confronted this other woman. That was when I looked up from my bowl of soup, looked my mother in law in the eye and said, "Who are you kidding?"

She has not smothered the demented old dude who keeps waking up at 1:00 am, convinced that it is 8:00 am and tries to get her to wake up and go out and enjoy the morning with him. She is going to do something to this indecisive "old" woman or say something to her.

This is a woman who NEVER honks her horn in the car. She did it once and her poor victim was a blind person. Kind of like the midget story. So, she has vowed not to honk again, but she is to tell a woman where to go if she were a butcher.

Will the delusions ever stop?!!!

That is my story for the day. I hope you have enjoyed it. Ciao!

Another Weekend, another descent into insanity

I am back. It was quite the weekend weather-wise around these parts. Winter just does not want to give up the ghost. Of course, it is April and that is just the way it is. I am used to it and really do not complain. Any snow was in the form of flurries and did not stick around. This is usual April weather.

I can recall snow still on the ground, a lot of it up north, at this time in the mid 80s and even the late 70s. Hell, I can recall a real SNOW STORM back in early April in the mid 70s. That was freaky. They, the Carnies (you know if you took about 40 of them together you would have a full set of adult teeth) used to set up some rides (bumper cars, the Scrambler, and the Zipper, usually) at the strip plaza by my mother's where I grew up (the strip plaza is now near death with tenants leaving but the rent so cheap that others stay. It had added on another row of stores back in the mid 80s, but those stores were torn down. The anchor tenant was a grocery store, but has been vacant for a good decade and the liquor store has since moved, but the bank and Shoppers Drug Mart remain). It was always a thrill.

I recall being there one Thursday in early April (must have been about 1975) when the snow began. By the end of the night, I was trudging through a good 6 inches to a foot of snow to get to school. It was freaky.

Enough about the weather, I can talk of dinner with the Outlaws. Here it goes. We arrive late on the Friday, which was good. I notice that my mother in law has made "Italian" chicken. What the fuck?!!! I ask what that means. She put tomato sauce on it. Of course, it was store bought and kosher for passover (ie full of chemicals that no human should ingest, then again, no human should ingest that which she cooks). I look at her like she is from another planet. How can you call it "Italian" just because there is some sugar laden, canned tomato sauce on it. How can you insult Italian cuisine that way?

Needless to say I was not eating that shit. It was a meal full of meat, all grey. She did make a zucchini pudding. Why the fuck does she have to kill the shit out of food? What did the zucchini ever do to her? Then she tells me to take this or that and that it is good.

Either she is lying to me (which I am guessing because it beats facing reality and actually having to take action and improve) or her past cigarette smoking has rendered her with an inability to taste anything. I only say that because at best her food is tasteless (like cardboard), so obviously she does not taste her food as she cooks. She just assumes it tastes good as she cooks the ever loving crap out things.

Again, I do not understand why when she finally prepares some vegetables that she feels the need to make a pudding out of it. Why destroy the integrity of what you are eating/serving? Then again, she has been cooking for my father in law who has the palate of a fucking goat. That is with or without the dementia.

He was the type of dude that when in the US liked to go to Sizzler. It was shit but you got a lot of food. The Wife would say it was crap and his reply was you got a lot of it. So there you have his philosophy of life, EAT TONS OF CRAP! The gustatory experience is too refined for him. Hell, any good sensory experience is too refined for him (now and then).

The Wife made some soup. That was good. In any event, I noticed that my mother in law cannot shut up. As we are eating our soup, she has to talk between spoonfuls, hers (it is no wonder that she was the last one to finish, she does not shut up). The worst part is that she is eating and talking, so that some food gets lodged in the corner of her mouth. Then she will want to kiss me, and she is a fucking lip kisser.

Thanks but not thanks. I am not a fucking bird and you are not my mother! I would not take ABC food from either one (already been chewed)! It is fucking disgusting! Then again, I may take it from some hot chick, but even then I would have to think about it. One of these days I am worried that she is going to slip me the tongue. There won't be enough Listerine or therapy to get me through that trauma.

I will leave you with that. Ciao!

As promised

I am back. This will be short as I am heading out the door to celebrate the Thursday night before Good Friday. I do not know what that means, either. I said that I would mention the evening at the Outlaws on Monday.

I needed a drink the moment I arrived. The buzz, useless buzz, that occurs there before the big event. I should have cracked open the wine earlier. It was hotter than Hades in there. My father in law cannot stop himself from turning up the fucking heat. As I think about it, I should have doused him with the fucking Galliano, tossed a match his and then ask him if it were hot enough for him. He would have still been shivering, looking for a coat. Of course, he would have been looking in the fridge, but at least he would be looking.

At one point, he is showing his grandchildren, my neices, "how" the heat works and the vent from which the hot air comes. I do not know if it was so much for their benefit (judging by the looks on their faces, I think not) or his own. Again, he cannot, nor has he ever, as far as I could see (nor does anybody in the whole Outlaw clan) thought that his listener was actually interested in what he was saying.

At one point, I am sitting with my brother in law (he is married to the Wife's sister) and listening to the cacaphony of voices. Every member of the Outlaws is talking. At the same fucking time! This is a bad family trait, nobody LISTENS. None of them can silence the voices in their own heads to actually listen to somebody else. I had to laugh (or go postal).

As the aunts arrived, I was sort of out of it. It was good. I did not listen to them or see anything because dammit, the NCAA final Basketball game was on. I will not socialize when I could be watching college hoops. That is what I did after dinner. Then, I went home. It was actually uneventful. Of course, I did not have dessert.

The Wife made a number of vegetable sides, because my mother in law obviously suffers from some sort of hysterical blindness when she hits the produce section of the supermarket. Those were great. My mother in law was supposed to have bought a smoked turkey all prepared and stuff, but then got cheap. That is okay, she is entitled, since the rest of the family do pretty much sweet fuck all (my father in law refers to them all as "Schnorers"-mooches, and he is pretty astute in that one, but being the non-confrontational people they are, never said anything, so 40 years of the same behavior ain't gonna change now). She made a turkey.

I was getting excited for the smoked turkey. It was a throw back to my families Seders back in the 1970s and 1980s. They tended to be held at our house (after they locked my paternal grandmother in a home--well she was in a vegetative state by then and lingered for about 15 years). I loved when it was delivered and taking a slice or two. Now, I am stuck with my mother in laws cooking of a turkey.

She then asks me how it is. She is fishing for a compliment. Yet, her cooking is crap. As I have said before, she overcooks everything. There is no flavor and bad texture. I changed the subject, but not that she would have listened to what I had to say in any event.

Well that is about it for now. Happy Good Friday all. Ciao!

Well, I will be damned. There is insanity in my own family, but at least I share no DNA with this one.

I am back. After two nights with extended families, I have lived to tell. I am somewhat amazed by it all. This time I have stories of my families' insanity. Well, it is my uncle and he is married to my aunt who is/was my father's sister. So I do not share any genetic material with my uncle (at least none that I know of).

He was always a strange bird to me. I spent a bit of time with my aunt and cousins when I was growing up and these were the cousins closest in age to me. I always liked hanging with them. My uncle was a lawyer, though not much of one. He retired and actually did a stint as my delivery car driver, which was always interesting.

I, my father as well, could never figure him out. He is a bright guy. He was too good and competitive to play bridge with my mother and aunt. He played with the big boys. He also had a pipe, though I do not know if he was a pipe smoker (see pole smoker as well).

According to my cousin, his eldest son and a psychiatrist, my aunt and uncle set up my cousins for doom. Where my aunt taught them to fear the inside world of your mind and body, my uncle taught them to fear the outside world. He has not been the same, so I am told, since his brother died (at 40) over thirty years ago.

He is mute until he gets liquored up. That is with great regularity. He likes his rum and diet Coke. When at my mother's, I end up fixing his drinks. The best, can I call it that, was when my father was in his final death throws. He is lying in bed not quite fully in this world but not quite in the next (?) one either. He sees my uncle and turns to me and says "Did you fix your uncle a drink, yet?" Yeah, dad, I brought the fucking liquor cabinet to the hospital! Besides, if I had, I was not sharing with him or anybody else. That was my drunk and nobody was going to stop me.

Anyway, I have gone a long way for nothing, I am about to leave my mother's with the Lad. It turns out that my cousin needed a ride to the subway as he has a Metropass and lives on the line. He always liked the subway. His parents were going to take him, but I live on the line one stop from him, so I volunteered. It just made sense to me. Besides, this is a cousin that got me into music, so I owe him something (just not sure what).

It is while I am waiting for him that my uncle is trying to explain to me that his son has a Metropass. It dawned on me that either he is a blabbering idiot or he thinks I am a moron. I mean, who cares, and besides I know what a Metropass is and would assume that if he just wants a ride to the subway that he has and uses one (like my brother in law). I am just not sure why he felt the need to tell me about that. Was he making conversation? If so, he just should have maintained the silence that we engage in. I do not speak to him and he does not speak to me.

Besides, he made it abundantly clear at my brother's wedding, that my brother is his favorite. He said that while the video tape was rolling at his table with the microphone in hand. I am not bothered as he is not my favorite uncle. That one falls to my mother's brother in BC. As well, I really liked my aunt (who died last year) Rita's husband, David, who died in 1980. He was the first adult that never talked down to me, he spoke to me as a human and not a child. He also drove Jaguars, let me sit up front, and play with the toggle switches as he drove. He was a cool dude, smoking those More cigarettes.

I may go into the evening at the Outlaws' tomorrow. Ciao!

I should have an Insanity contest as I will see many potential contestants tonight.

I am back. That was no April fool yesterday. I did not mention that it was 23 years ago yesterday that Marvin Gaye was shot and killed by his father, Marvin Gaye, Sr. Pretty fucked up that.

This is short. Wish me luck. I want to say I am headed into the viper's den. That is not appropriate. These people are too self-absorbed and ignorant to be real evil. I could handle real evil. I am, unfortunately, about to be subjected to the real banal. Yes, people, talk to me as if I really give a shit. Notice how I do not make eye contact. That is because I do not care what you have to say. My thinking is that if you had something important (or useful) to say, you would have said years ago. Since, it has been close to twenty years of this, inductive reasoning tells me that the probability of importance will be low this time as well.

Yes, it is Passover time (a happy one to all those out there celebrating it) which means I am about to lock myself, 25 floors up, in a large room with 20 odd (odd is the operative word here) members of the Outlaws. I need a drink, NOW!!! So think of me, in my own private hell with a full complement of Outlaws. My mother in law dragging herself, fragile and crying, saying, "Never again" until the guilt hits her and she does it again next year.

Given my story about Friday and my father in law, my mother in law has to host this monstrosity of uselessness. She cannot take my father in law anywhere but with family. He would embarrass her with one of his seven o'clock we have to go outbursts. Ahhhhh!

On the bright side, I should have some tales to tell. I will keep y'all posted.

Ciao!

A story of spit and balls.

I am back. I had a moment and figured that I would do my thing here. The Outlaws were over on Friday. They were gone before seven. Dinner was done, before dessert, and my father in law was ready to go. It is always the same story. "Let's go. I want to go." "But, we haven't had dessert yet."(as spoken by the Wife). "I don't want any dessert." "Maybe, mom does." "She doesn't want any." "How do you know?" "We have to go. It is getting dark." (unless it is already dark, in which case he may leave that out. Then again, I do not think it really matters.)

Then, my mother in law relents and away they go. Again, if it were me, I would have kicked him in the balls by now. I actually would have smothered him in his sleep, just for some peace. He is so damn dependent. It is like a two year old. He reasons, that is a lie, he has lost any capacity to reason, assuming that he had some in the first place of which I am not sure, like a two year old. I guess reasoning is a higher level memory function. Since nothing makes its way from short term memory into long term memory, he cannot anticipate the future in the near term and cannot figure out cause and effect relationships. Sadly, unlike a two year old, he will not grow out of that phase. It only gets worse.

I saw something that I never saw before. I was at Mayfair. I was in the steam and watched as some old dude moved my stuff to sit his sweaty ass down. Looking at the hair line, he could not have been born in North America. He did have a big pair of old Eastern European man balls. What is with the talk of "balls" today? Anyway, I grumbled and that passed.

I was getting dressed and saw him again. Here is what I have never seen before. I see him putting on a pair of Slazenger or Puma sweat/rain type pants. I look down and see he is wearing those black sport type nylon shell pants with black socks and black dress shoes. What the fuck is with that look? Must be an Eastern European thing. Then I am putting on my boots and I hear the sound of somebody (the old Eastern European dude with his big Eastern European dude old man balls) spitting. Then, I hear the sound of something rubbing against nylon. You know that "whooshing" sound. I could only surmise that he had something on his pants and wiped them off by spitting in his hands and rubbing out the "stain".

If he had just asked me, I am sure I would have obliged him by spitting on his pants. I could huck up a good, thick loogy for him to clean his fucking nylon pants. Nylon pants that he is wearing with fucking dress shoes. Dude, you come to a country, please learn how to dress. Oh and by the way, in North America we do not clean our pants with spit. It is like how your mother used to clean dirt off your face as a child, by licking a kleenex and rubbing the dirt away. Thanks ma, why not just spit on my face and wipe it off? It really is not less degrading.

Well that is all for today. Ciao!