This is the Sea

I am back. I was thinking of other "summer tunes" in my life. I would add the Waterboys album "This is the Sea" to the list. I travelled to Europe in 1986 and brought that album on a cassette (Level 42 "World Machine" was on the other side). I love that album, though I have never got it on CD or MP3. What is wrong with me? I have "A Pagan Place" (also excellent) and "Fisherman's Blues" (enjoyable in a Celtic way) on disc, but not my favorite.

There were two sort of epiphanic moments with that album. The first occurred as I was sitting on the train I had boarded in Port Bou, Spain after traveling from France. I sat in my seat, put on my headphones and hit play. The album starts with "Don't Bang the Drum" which itself begins with the sound of Spanish horns. There I was in Spain, hearing the Spanish horns. How synchronistic was that?

We move ahead about a month and I am working on two hours sleep, waiting to catch a bus, which became sharing a cab/car with four other people, to get to the port on Santorini to catch a ferry to Ios. It is about six in the morning and I am finally on the boat. I am sitting in the sun, put on the old Walkman (what an anachronism now) and catch the end of the Waterboys album and the song, "This is the Sea". I am sitting there listening to "...and that was the river. And this is the sea" while I was on the sea, the Aegean Sea to be exact. Freakily, synchronistic, ne c'est pas?

So, I wanted to add that one. Oh yeah, a birthday greeting to Cori, happy birthday to you, if you are indeed out there.

Ciao!

Death came a knocking this weekend/today

I am back. I was not going to post today, but something came up. Again, the muse is giving me the silent treatment, but the news is not. It has been the day of death announcements and both leukemia related (a sore or soft subject with me). It was just announced that both Tom Snyder and Bill Walsh had died (add Swedish film maker Ingmar Bergman, too, he had that great Swedish bit of melancholy that you can only get in the north with a lot of winter darkness and bleakness). Both had leukemia, though I know that Tom Snyder had chronic lymphocytic leukemia. I do not know what kind that Bill Walsh had.

I will start with Bill Walsh. I absolutely loved the teams he coached in San Francisco. He was the architect of those 49er championship teams in the early 80s. He took a 2-14 crappy team and with Joe Montana and other great player development won Superbowls in 1982, 1985 and 1989. He was a true offensive innovator and the NFL is the poorer with his passing.

Tom Snyder. I loved the Tomorrow show. I loved the parody that Dan Aykroyd would do of him on SNL. For those who do not know, or remember, in the time before Late Night, the show after the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson was Tomorrow. It started at 1 am (the Tonight Show was an hour and a half back then) and had the most ecclectic guests imaginable with one on one interviews with Tom Snyder in a darkened studio. I always recall the cigarette in his hands with the wisps of smoke wafting upward.

It was not until the summer of 1978. the summer that allergies were doing me in. I did not go to camp that summer and did not really work (I turned 14) so I hung out with friends, stayed up late every night and slept til noon everyday. Life was good, I am not sure I was living it but it was good (still is, really). I started to stay up to watch Tom Snyder. I recall interviews with Meat Loaf (wearing a Maple Leafs jersey), some people into S&M and brewers. Different strokes for different folks. He was a great interviewer and the shows were both entertaining and informative, even to a young teenager. He was a staple of the 70s in my mind and the evolution of television talk shows runs through him. It was Steve Allen, Jack Paar, Johnny Carson, Tom Snyder, David Letterman....Conan O'Brien.

Well, good bye to them and thanks for the memories. Ciao!

More of said same

I am back. This will be short as the muse still refuses to speak to me. She can be very tempermental and I cannot control her. I just go with the flow.

I have not come up with any more summer tunes. No time to think of such things, I guess. Oh yeah, I do have two more and they are recent ones.

"Hey Ya" by Outkast in 2004. That is one fine cruising tune.

"Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley in 2006. Another tune with a great beat and the dude's voice is great. Besides, they have one of the best names ever for a band. It is just so damn clever. There is a fine line between clever and stupid (see Spinal Tap).

Well, that is about all for me this week. Perhaps, something will come to me over the weekend. Until then, have a great weekend, be safe and Ciao!

More summer tunage

I am back. I want to continue with my topic of yesterday, namely, cool summer tunes in my humble opinion.

2. Life's Been Good-Joe Walsh (1978). I love the tune and it so reminds me of the summer of '78 on my bike, all allergic to the world and congested. It was a good summer of doing nothing but staying out late and sleeping in. Of course, there were no combustibles or bevvies getting into my system, so how good could it have been.

3. Peaches-The Stranglers, it was released in 1977 but was an anthem to me in 1983. From the first Stranglers album, it was a great, and still is, tune. "Walking on the beaches, looking at the peaches", great lyrics and bass line. How can you not like it? It really reminds me of the summer of '83 as I would let out a gutteral yell every time I heard it on the radio.

4. Sweet Dreams-The Eurythmics (1983), just reminds me of that summer. Getting my first car (1982 Mustang with no power), starting university/college, it was all good. Even the fire at my father's store, where I would work that summer (as I had the previous 5 and would the next 5, then return for an encore in '91).

That is all for today. Let me know some of your summer favorites. Fuck, I hate begging for feedback or contact, so do not make me do that anymore. Ciao!

A new list of one

I am back. I do not know where any of you are, however. Be that as it may, let me begin with this post. Notice, that I did not post on Monday. Writer's block again. The damn Muse (I apologize but I really do not want to piss her off anymore) is either on vacation or just refuses to speak to me.

I have been amongst you humans and there is nothing new or strange to report. It must be the summer doldrums. Then again, if it were, I would be better served lying in the sun, by a body of water, bevvy in hand just listening to some cool summer tunes and the water lapping up on shore. Add being given a blow job at the same time and it suddenly becomes heaven.

I am now thinking of a non-exhaustive list of what I think are the greatest summer tunes. I will not mention Katrina and the Waves and "Walking on Sunshine" as I fucking hated that song with a fiery passion. Here we go.

"Saturday in the Park" by Chicago (reminds of being a kid, hanging out with my older next door neighbor and going to the Ex with her and her parents {The Ex is the Canadian National Exhibition which is a big ass fair with Midway held every August in Toronto, it is a dirt pit that some love. My father NEVER took us there as children, that filth factor, and that was the first time I went. To keep up the tradition, I NEVER take the Lad and my brother refuses to head down there, so we learned well from our father}).

That is all that I have for now, but I will continue with these theme until the muse starts whispering in my ear again. I know that she will. At least, I hope so. Ciao.

Facial Hair Funnies

I am back. There was something I was thinking. I, again, have a goatee. I am toying with the idea of the Fu Manchu. I know the late 70s called and they want their facial hair back. I am thinking it would look cool on me. I have been toying with this thought for a while. Needing to trim the goatee means the time may be right.

We were at friends a few weeks ago with the friends' family. Her brother was there and he had this cool 70s porno actor moustache. I thought it was funny.

My main concern is that with the Fu Manchu and the general burliness of my facial hair, that I will look like the leather dude from the Village People. If that were to occur, I could no longer wear my leather chaps, at least not in public. Again, the 70s called and asked for its facial hair back.

That gets me to this. I am driving home yesterday and find myself behind a Cadillac. The license plate is "1*GWM*1". All I thought was does this "Gay White Male" think other gay dudes like guys who drive Cadillacs? I just do not know but maybe you can answer that question for me, are Cadillacs the car choice of the gay dude with good taste?

Have a great weekend. Ciao!

I do not like the sound of my name.

I am back. This will be short but not so sweet. I am beginning to hate the sound of my own name. I used to like my name, now not so much. It is not the name per se, but how it is used by others. That is the only way I really hear my name. It is used to either impose upon me or tell me "what to do" and "how to do it". I do not like that.

Back a couple of decades, I would work for my father. I am not sure how much actual work was involved but as I got older the work was more involved. Anyway, he had a woman who worked there (she was wonderful as both employee and person by the way) who had been with him for ever. I would have been fired if she had requested it so that should tell you the pecking order in the business (I am just documenting that because it was so and it was as it should be). She would say to me "Dave, please..." which was always a request to do something. I always did it, but cringed every time I heard "Dave, please" in her raspy voice (she was a life long smoker, who is now dead). For a time there I really thought she thought my name was "Dave Please".

I am hearing it again from another voice. I do not like it. I guess this is how it is in the real world (which is not the world inside my head in which I reside or at least seem to prefer to reside). Oh well, that is life.

That is my thought for the day. I am beginning to loathe my name or at least hearing my name. Ciao!

The universe talks through Larry?

I am back. Funny thing. Watched "The Last Mimzy" on Saturday with the Lad and his friend. It was actually not a bad film. I am not sure about the why this occurred or that. Near as I can tell, the assumption was that "Through the Looking Glass" was actually non-fiction but not recognized as such. Anyway, it has Rainn Wilson (Dwight from "The Office") in it. He is a teacher, named Larry, who has been having these vivid dreams. His wife is in to Tibetan mysticism and sees the signs.

In one of his dreams, which he does not really believe, he sees the kids he supposed to save. Anyway, as he finds the kids and questions them, his wife says, "Can't you see the universe it talking you. You are at one with the universe, Larry". (or something to that effect).

I was struck by that one. It is the cynic in my talking here, but I have to wonder about a universe where somebody with a common name is at one with it. Hey, did you hear? Gus is at one with the universe. The universe is talking to Bob. Larry can see the future.

It just does not work for me. It makes it all homey and safe, but it does not sound regal or important enough. Then again, I am at one with the universe and I have a common name. I guess, I should give up on all those, obviously wasted, years of cynicism and accept that Larry or David is at one with the universe and that it talks to and through us all. There is the spiritual thought for the day.

Ciao!

Just thought you should know

I am back. I am a lean, mean, posting machine. Besides, it is Friday the 13th. In addition to walking under a ladder, I purposely broke a mirror and then a black cat crossed my path. I proceeded to punt that pussy across the street. That will show that black cat, devil's minion, who is the boss. I figure if I am going to receive bad luck, I might as well earn it along with negative Karma points.

I am hungry. Just thought you all should know that. Well, the world's tallest man just got married. They are from Mongolia. I bet you did not know that they made Yurt's tall enough for this dude. He is a 7 foot nine inch herdsman. His wife has to stand to blow him if he is standing. Just thought you should know.

Apparently, there is a robot that visits patients when doctors cannot. I heard that one before. Of course, the version I heard ended up with an anal probe, so perhaps it was robots and not aliens. Now, that is a good one. I think it may be less embarrassing having a robot bugger you up the asshole, okay colonoscopy (tomato, tomahto), than a doctor with his female nurses hanging around. Just thought you should know.

Dog is finally off Washington state voter rolls. Apparently, they have been sending this dog absentee ballots for the past three elections. He was also about to run for governor as Spuds MacKenzie (a little 80s trivia for you). He had Bill Gates support, too. Just thought you should know.

Russian plane returns after drunken brawl. Apparently, all the passengers were drunk (something about mixing up water and vodka), but the brawl was between a drunken pilot and co-pilot. It all started innocently enough when one asked the other to "pull his finger". He did but it was not a fart but a "shart". The plane turned around for a change of pants...and to reload the vodka dispensers. Just thought you should know.

Vultures make Rhode Island house a tough sell. Apparently, there is a four bedroom house on a half an acre of land for sale well below market value (I love deep value) in Rhode Island. The trees around the Hopkinton house are a year-round nesting ground for turkey and black vultures. The previous owners blamed the birds for polluting their well, scaring their children and causing various illnesses. Vultures are always getting a bum rap. Okay, they are vultures and like their food good, dead and decomposing. They do stink, but you would too if you ate rotting flesh, you cannot hold that against them. You could if they were working out at the machine next to yours, though. I am with you there. There has to be a buyer who is a real animal lover, or a dead animal lover, in which case the vultures eat again. Just thought you should know.

I am off to the Outlaws, I need a drink already. Just thought you should know.

Ciao!

Just another psychotic Sunday by the Bangles

I am back. Willie, in all deference to you last week, I am THE King of Idiots. I have been waiting for my new cheques (checks to you Americans) to arrive but I just found out they were sent to the bank (like I always have them do). I am such a fucking dope sometimes.

I do not like cheques, though. It goes back to something that Jerry Seinfeld said, "a check is like a note from your mother. If you contact the people here, you will see that I have the money." Credit cards are so much more adult. Cash is king really since it can be untraceable. With a credit card, your every fucking spending move can be traced. Did you not see "The Net"? Scary stuff, I say.

Then again, who is after me? Which brings me back to the land of the psychotic, I have been getting numerous calls (I avoid them for a while, I love Call Display) from the former customer of mine who is, well, psychotic. She continues to call me to tell me that she will be arrested. She heard bank tellers talking about "her". This has been going on for over 12 years and she has yet to be arrested (fucking life re-runs). I have finally stopped buying into her "you believe me, don't you?" line.

I have taken the honest route. I believe you THINK you heard that and believe that YOU believe it. I have heard the same fucking story for 12 years now and there has been no arrest, so until one happens, I am not buying what you are selling. I then questioned what she claims to have heard. I got her to admit that she only saw the tellers talking and she did not hear what they had said. I then got off the phone and giggled. I am cruel, but that is what you get when call the Madman during a psychotic episode.

Who will be there for me when I cross that line? I do cross it at least four times a day, but then I listen to the voices in my head much like I listen to the voices outside my head. Oh well.

Oh yeah, she always says that she is not coming on to me. The thought of her doing so gives me the creeps. She is not what I call attractive. She did tell me once that she was a lesbian. You know it is "bad" when I cannot even stomach that thought. It is in the same creepy vein as imagining my parents having sex. No, actually that is much worse considering my father is well into a state of death. My mother must be one sick fuck to be having sex with a corpse that has been that way for about 17 years. I may have to have her checked into a home for that one.

Okay, so that is not a good example. I could use my in laws, but better yet, it is like imagining The Wife's aunt and uncle (don't matter which) having sex. She, the aunt, once said "I like to get laid as much as the next person" EWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! is all that I can say to that one. I have to now go and scratch my brain to get that image out of my head. I just cannot imagine her getting plowed from behind by my wife's uncle, nor do I want to. Blahhhh! I think I have to drink some bleach just to see if that will get rid of those thoughts.

I have to go. I have to look at some young silicone enhanced tits and well groomed pubic regions. It is time for an Internet porn search (not much of search if you ask me) just to get those images out of my head. If you do not hear from me soon, check to see if my hand has not frozen into some sort of deformed claw or held chisel me out of my underwear.

On that happy note, ciao!

The heat and humidity have given me something else to ponder

I am back. I will be brief. The heat seems to have broken. I came home yesterday only to have to barbecue. I guess that is better than heating the whole house up. Anyway, as I was out there in front of the heat, I could feel a puddle building in my underwear. I felt like I was a woman, getting all "moist" down there.

That notion was soon removed when I had to unstick my ball sack, okay scrotum, from my thigh. I knew I was still a man. It did leave me wondering somethings. I accept that one cannot really KNOW what another person feels or even perceives. We are all products of our own experiences and that frames how we relate to our realities.

The given is that as a male, I cannot fathom a female orgasm. I can understand and relate to one by another male (as long as it is not "directed" at me). I just have no first hand experience with these things female. That is the way it is. The question I have is this, when a woman gets "moist" does she feel it? Can she feel her juices flowing? When does that sensation of flow begin? Does it begin as she "lubes" up or only if it starts to be absorbed by her panties, assuming she is not going commando, and that wetness is felt on her flesh? I just do not know the answer to that one and I am curious.

I guess I could ask the Wife but that is too simple and direct. I will leave it to you dear readers to help me in my quest to answer that question. I welcome all responses, no matter how banal or trite they may seem to you. Keep the cards and letters coming. Ciao!

My own personal Sanat Ana Wind

I am back. Not much new to report. I am another day older, not necessarily wiser. I did breakdown yesterday in the heat and try the A/C in the Beast (my father in law's, I take no ownership of it, Impala, that I am driving). We have had the car about a year and a half and I have not even tried to use the A/C. As much as I like the car A/C, I prefer the moving wind. Besides, unless I am in a suit or going somewhere "special", I find that I do not use the A/C.

Anyway, I am coming home yesterday, when I thought I would give it a try. It was like a fucking Santa Ana wind blowing in my face. For those who do not know Santa Anas are hot, dry winds in California that just help fan those brushfires, making those firefighters with all their heavy gear even hotter. The Western Canadian version, the Chinook, tends to flow east from the Rockies to Calgary in the winter. That is why they can get up to 70 degrees and then when it stops fall back below zero.

I had the Santa Ana blowing on me. I soon chose the windows down. Okay, I kept it on long enough to soak my shirt in my own sweat (I have never wanted to try wearing a wet shirt drenched in somebody else's sweat). It made me appreciate the home A/C all the more.

That is my message on this monumentous, at least for me, day, appreciate all that you have and do not dwell on what you do not have.

Ciao!

No real revelations

I am back. I was out with some of the boys on Thursday. They did ask for a sound out or at least a mention. I will get to that shortly. I wanted to comment on some feedback they were kind enough to give me. It was something that had occurred to me as I was writing. I was falling into the habit of writing about the Outlaws, especially the mental deterioration of my father in law. I knew that I was doing it and I also sensed that it was no longer funny, just sad. I am thinking that if I had some "happy" melody and musical feel, I could put those sad stories to music and it would be a masterpiece--juxtaposing a "happy" sound with melancholy or emotionally painful lyrics. In short, it would be like a song from The Shins. Given that those stories are not put to music, I will refrain from writing about my weekly visits to the "madhouse" unless there is something cruelly funny.

Thursday was quite the evening. Willie was in fine form. He had claimed to have quit drinking, though when I had arrived, late, after eight, he was on his third double Jack Daniels and coke. I, and perhaps it was watching too much "Animal House" in my formative years, prefer my JD on ice without the mix. It was good to see Sambo as he had to trek into the city from his expansive suburban existence. 53 was his mellow self. He carries a big burden. He is single and has to carry the married dudes envy of being able to whore, man-whore, himself. That is not him or his personality, so he got an earful from us all on that one.

Not to put any pressure on him, but our fantasies are riding on him. Should he stumble, like a race horse who pulls up lame, it is the glue factory for him. Can you live with that pressure now 53?

The big shout out goes to JLC. He put down his radio and stopped listening to Wally Crouter long enough to enjoy his meal. He was in good form and it was excellent to see all those dudes again. I would like to do it more often, but damn if other things, my own laziness and insanity, do not get in the way.

I am fabulously socially anti-social. I am a walking contradiction. I could never figure out if I were a pig with class or someone with class who is a pig. I still cannot figure it out. I will one day, then I will die. Well, I will die in event, and there ain't nothing funny about that, unless you are able to profit from it (win the Madman Dead Pool). Good luck. Ciao!

When Hypocacy Ruled the Planet

I am back. In honor of yesterday's Live Earth bullshit, I had something to say. I always have something to say. I saw the clean up needed for one of these shows and was left to wonder this.....is the best way to make people aware of their "carbon footprint" to create an enormous carbon footprint? Does that not defeat the purpose? Or is it just another instance as do as I say not as I do?

Is it not hypocritical to call for sacrifice from others when not seeming to sacrifice for yourself? Does Al Gore deserve praise for his huge, not just his gut, carbon footprint? It is great that he is trying to "save" the planet, but it seems his cure is more harmful than the disease. He is offering us toxic chemotherapy to save us all. He has to kill the planet, to save the planet. He would make George Orwell proud, or leave him spinning in his grave.

I saw the mounds of plastic water bottles and garbage left to be cleaned in the aftermath of those concerts yesterday and was left to wonder, was it worth it? I heard one organizer say it was worth it because "it raised awareness".

Is that testable? Is there an objective standard to say that the "awareness" raised was worth the carbon costs expended to put these shows on? Why is/has this whole fucking issue become an act of faith instead of an act of science? The whole Global Warming debate has been clouded in near religious fervor of those who see man as the cause of all the Earth's ills (as opposed to some mixture of man and natural forces and regular cycles of warming and cooling). I find it hard to listen to any of this when I see assumptions that are not tested. I find it even more difficult to follow a side that does not invite debate or question those assumptions. I just cannot drink the Kool-Aid that so many have drunk.

Al Gore and David Suzuki are not much different from Jim Jones in that respect. If you question, you are denounced, without the questions being answered. They are apparently smarter than all of us, so they must know better. My only question is this, if Al Gore is so smart then why could he not defeat a half-wit like George W Bush in an election?

He can come up with any excuses but that question remains unanswered. Ciao!

I could still be in the lobby

I am back. I did not get the chance to recount this tale yesterday. It is funny, yet sad. It goes back to last Friday evening. I arrive at the Outlaws' condo building and I am in the lobby. I ring up to their unit for somebody to buzz me up. My father in law answers the phone. Fucking kiss of death. Here is the conversation (keep in mind, he is more unaware of his surroundings than the rest of his family).

Him: Hello
Me: Hi
Him: David? Is that you? When are going to be here? Soon?
Me: I am down in the lobby. Buzz me up. Hit "6".
Him: That's great.
Me: Hit the number "6".
Him: It is nearing 6. It is quarter to 6.

I do not care what fucking time it is. Just let me UP!!!!!! The conversation goes on like this for a bit as I try to get him to just hit the fucking "6" on his phone, but he either cannot comprehend or is not listening (quelle surprise).

Me: Who is there?
Him: The whole gang.
Me: Could you put somebody else on the phone?
Him: That is great.

Then the line times out. I am about to call up again, hoping that somebody who listens (fat chance) or at least understands what to do, answers. Fortunately, some lady was entering the building so I came in behind her.

I did shake my head all the way up the elevator. Then I was treated to listening to him answer the phone, talk to a telemarketer for about 5 minutes and then hand the phone to my mother in law, who had to play the "bad" guy and say "not interested". Then, I realized that it has always been like that in their household.

Also, I got up and there was no booze. If there was a need for it, it was then.

Ciao!

Happy 4th to One and all!

I am back. I guess that is obvious but what can you do? I do want to take this opportunity to wish all my American friends and all those who sail in her a Happy 4th of July. Enjoy the holiday, though it falls midweek and fucks up any long weekend plans you may have. Unless, you work in the markets and have taken the week off, which is really what is happening.

That bit of pleasantry completed, it is time to get on with the show. We had a beautiful long weekend around these parts. Sunday was a bit cool, not killer cool, but with the wind, it was cooler than one would hope for July. Then again, the breeze blew in and cooled the house, which is always nice. I was also able to get good and liquored up, though not Friday night, when I needed it most. I know I went over that yesterday.

I think that I need a drink. I think that I need this drink on a dock overlooking the water. A large body of salt water, with sandy beaches, would be my first choice, though I would take a lake north of the city here as a second choice. Man, I have to live by the sea. Water is power and knowledge is power, so obviously, knowledge is water. Water is used well to "cut" less aged Scotch or as a chaser. Then, I figure that you can get smarter by drinking Scotch and water.

Then again, I saw that they were selling (only 6 in Ontario) this 33 year old Glen Livet single malt Scotch in these parts for Father's Day. I loved my dad, but I am not sure I would have paid the $800 for that bottle of Scotch. Then again, I have had 18 year old and 25 year old single malts and like women, they do get better with age. I really want to taste that stuff, though I do not want to pay for it. Ahhhh, there is the rub.

Speaking of rub, I have to run. Ciao!

Is it live or Memorex?

I am back. I know it is a holiday Mondy up here in the great green North, but why should that stop me. I got to see, and hear, my father in law twice this weekend, so I have to report. It is getting to be very sad, yet rather funny in a cruel and demeaning sort of way. I would like to say that his grasp on reality is slipping but it has been for some time and I wonder if he ever really had a grasp on it.

On Friday, he, not once but twice, had to tell me that "he cannot get over how clear the picture is on the television". I think he tells me this every week, which is why I have been avoiding being in the room with him when the television is on. Eventually, I will snap, but not quite yet. The truth is that he cannot get over how clear the picture is. They went for about 25 years with a fucking Zenith television with big ass wood console in their living room. We, us and my sister in law, bought them a new television because the color on that Zenith was shot, not that my father in law would admit it, or possibly could see it. People had orange, green or purple faces. They looked like fucking Oompa Loompas, but he could not see it. It was not until the "new" television that he realized that the color was off.

Beware the dude who clings to the past and believes his senses to be not only infallible but true. These people are dangerous because they cannot see but think they see all. They avoid reality like the plague and hope others do their bidding for them.

This story gets more bizarre. He cannot get over the picture yet that fucking piece of masking tape remains because he cannot comprehend the red LED light. It is better to hide it but he does not question the fucking tape on the television. My head starts to spin when I ponder that one.

We jump ahead a few minutes later and there is a commercial with a baby on it. My father in law calls out, "Hey, big boy." and then proceeds to do his "bird call" which he does to children. He believes that kids like it so he tends to do it to any toddlers he sees. To him, they like it, to those around him, he is just a creapy old dude, but of course, he cannot see that. Anyway, there I am, left to wonder. Here is a man who cannot get over the picture on the television, which suddenly becomes apparent when he is talking to the screen. Is it live or is it Memorex?

Well, there you have a tale of the downward cognitive spiral. Sad but true, yet funny when you take a step back. Gotta Run! Ciao!