Where Are You Christmas?

I'd like to say I haven't been writing in a while for some cool reason; like I'm really Santa Claus and needed to take a couple of weeks off to settle a union contract dispute with the elves, that will probably bankrupt Christmas in five years. Unfortunately, as most of you probably know, I'm not Santa Claus. In reality though, the scum bag unions will bankrupt our country in another five years.
I digress.
This is not a union rant, I'd need start a whole other, “unskilled workers blog” for that. As is, I have a long backup of regular blogs from the past few weeks. This current blog is about my Christmas. Though not currently affiliated with any particular god (still looking for sponsors), my mom and my kids are Catholic, so we do Christmas.

Now for my background. As a child I was raised Catholic, went to Parochial school and had a Jewish step family. We celebrated a lot of holidays. Christmas has always been my least favorite. It's not just the commercialism. It's not 'good' Christians, killing their neighbors for the last widget 3000 at the mega mall or racing out of the church parking lot like they were running from God-zilla. It's the phony-ism of it all. Christmas has gotten to the point that it is not even a Christian holiday.

December 25th is an arbitrary day, well not really arbitrary (Actually believed to be Saturnalia in Roman times.), just not historically correct.
There are all the stupid reindeer, snowman and snowflake decorations. Like these people aren't cursing their beloved snow when it comes and they're shoveling out their car.
The insane traffic consisting of “Kangaroos”, women with an SUV or minivan pouch filled with screaming sugar induced brats while talking on the cellphone to a like person about the blah blah that she got at blah for only blah blah blah over her credit limit.
The 400th rap remix of, 'The Drummer Boy'.
Answering the advanced physics questions posed about Santa Claus by your 5 year old concerning flight trajectory, time space continuums and waist to chimney ratios. This is the five year who can't even count past ten yet.
Everything about Santa Claus (except the movie, 'Bad Santa').
The four hundred charities that find your phone number for the three weeks before Christmas and treat it like a child playing with a new toy regardless of your answer.
Cutting trees down for the purpose of utter embarrassment; Slowly cooking them with 1000 low watt, 'ultra white' bulbs, dressing them in more colors than a $5 whore during a $1000 gang bang and showing them, through the largest window of the house to their outside tree friends, who are laughing at them.

The only thing that makes Christmas special is the look on a child's face on Christmas morn. It makes you forget the rest of the bad things, for about as long as it takes said child to toss the first gift and ask for the next one.

Happy Holidays!

Just Breathe

Tonight was the annual Christmas pageant at the girl's school. The church was filled to the brim. I watched as each grade went and sung their carols. Lizzy being in the younger class came on before Emily. As Lizzy got on the stage, I could see that she was nervous. Her grade sang quite well. Lizzy sang her heart out, but the butterflies in her stomach seemed to be flying around her face. As a parent it is tough seeing your children in those positions, the learning positions that prepare them for later on in life. In a smile of irony, I remembered the anxiety and fear that I used to have speaking and performing in front of people. I saw my face in hers and remembered looking out upon the crowd of parents, staring, laughing and whispering in screams.

I wanted to scream out to her “BREATHE”, she looked as if she had forgotten how to do that. I know I did, when in boys cloths, on that stage, so long ago.  Lizzy is a lot like me when I was younger. She can be painfully shy. Seeing through her eyes, I remember the fear and anguish, but also the relief of getting through it. Part of me laughs when seeing her nervousness, knowing that the butterflies will die in time and with practice.

After several more groups, it was Emily's grade's turn. As much as Lizzy is like young me, Emily is like older me. She fortunately was smarter though and didn't have quite as long of a learning curve. Emily's performance could be summed up in two words, “Bored confidence.”. She looked as if she had done the songs all her life and the routine was wearing on her. She didn't smile much except for a few times during the Christmas sock song.

This would be her last pageant, her last year in grade school. To her I wanted to scream out, “Cherish these times Emily, these memories will be buried under makeup, study, friends and boys.”. How bittersweet, our young moments often get lost, only to emerge in our older minds; time capsule filled memories dug up when least expected. Then I thought to myself, “Wait, Emily and boys? Just breathe, Reed, just breathe.”.

Two-Bit Blog in a 3-Bit World.

Color is one of those things that differentiates the sexes. Men basically see in eight colors. Something is blue or green or red. Never when we were younger did we ever hear the word midnight used before the word red, it was a time, actually it was precisely 12:00a.m.. We as men, see things very clearly and never have issues describing things. I bring this up because I was wearing a new green sweater that I purchased. A woman I was talking to complimented me on it and commented on what a nice heather forest it was. Heather forest? Flower forest? The lady three doors down forest? No, just a suffix that women use to describe a material that has flecks of color in it with the word forest appended to the end.

When I was younger I learned the colors of the rainbow as Roy G. Biv. (Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet). These colors make up the clear light spectrum. I didn't see the girls learning another acronym like, Flortentino H. Floggendoggencollinsworth III, so I assume they too at one point only saw the original eight colors. At what age do people decided that colors should be described by items? It's always some strange, nice or exotic item. You never hear colors like transmission fluid, midnight fart or heather dung. Now when I buy clothes, the colors include Turkish Java, Shark, Midnight Rose, Grey Heather. I don't want to eat or smell my clothes, just wear them.

Yes, I know very well that this is marketing, but I think that we should put in effect some form of self control when giving items color descriptions. Maybe limit the colors used to those in the original 64 Crayola Crayon boxes, you know the ones that had flesh color as some eerie orange and pink mixture. Yes, I do think that it was racially insensitive. The people who complained about this color were racially insensitive to associate it with Caucasians. Do other races actual believe that caucasian skin color looks like a Pinky ball mated with an orange peel?

Anyway ladies, as most of you know, men are very simple creatures. Please refrain from telling us about your passion fruit blouse and red sunset skirt, just tell us the pink blouse and pink skirt and we'll figure out the rest.

Tuesday Tip For Living Alone #4 - Repair Victories

When you live with other people, you fix something and move on, when you are alone, every repair is a celebration.

I'm not sure whether it is because, when you are alone, you don't have the constant nagging and complaining and need to rely on your own motivation or whether it is the ability to celebrate the little things without fear of someone seeing you look outwardly silly.

I've owned two houses and did the majority of the work on both of them, even fully automated my first house without even a high five.

So where is this going?

My toilet began running several weeks ago. I decided that rather than have a huge water bill, I would fix it. I quickly deduced it was a faulty flapper valve. It's a real simple repair. I ran down to the local Lowe's to pick a new one up. Lowe's actually sells them in 5 packs. Who has five toilets that's flapper valves all go at the same time?  I had a toilet that needed the flapper valve replaced once a year at my last house and it still wouldn't warrant buying a five pack to save a nickel a piece.

Well, after about thirty seconds of repair work, the toilet was back in commission. I was so happy, I did a happy dance and flushed the toilet over and over. I went downstairs, got a beer, went back up and toasted my toilet with several more flushes. By my celebratory nature you would have thought I had repaired the Sistine Chapel.

I'm sure when I get my water bill, the celebration will be a sour memory.

The tip for the day, celebrating life's little victories is fine, just think before you flush.

Tuesday Tips For Living Alone - Overcoming Partial Procrastination.

One thing that seemed to happen to me when I started living alone was that I began to procrastinate. Not so much put things off as start them and then realize there was something else to do, partial procrastination.
The conversation with myself went something like this.
“Wow, I really need to, fill meaningless task in here.”. I'd start it and then inevitably, “ You know what, I think I'll pay my bills and do it tomorrow.”.
The next day would come and I'd be like,”You know, I could, fill meaningless task in here or I could read that new book I got. 'War and Peace' here I come.”.
This progressed until day five, when it became, “I could fill meaningless task in here, or I could continue to read 'War and Peace' or I could finish paying my bills or I could watch 'Two and a Half Men'.  That Charlie Sheen sure is funny.”

I'm not saying that I didn't procrastinate before, just that the level of alone procrastination has the ability to neutralize time itself, “Hey I need to take down those Halloween decorations, it's the day after Halloween. Wow, is it Christmas Eve already, why are my Halloween decorations still out?” It's almost Halloween, great, I don't have as much to decorate this year.”.

There are several ways to deal with this problem.
1. Write down tasks that you need to do in a dated list. This usually fails epically as you wipe your cheek off with a napkin that has, “Buy a notebook!”, scribbled on it.
2. Use your phone or computers calendar function to keep the items that need to get done in it. This also fails in a big way. Substitute, in the above sentences, fill meaningless task in here with look at phone or computer calendar.
3. Begin to do things as you think of them. This is the winner. As you think of doing the bills, sit down and do them. Need to go shopping? Get up and do it. Light needs replacing?, run out to Home Depot and buy a new one.
You'll be amazed at how much gets completely accomplished and how much free time you'll have left over. This will not guarantee that larger tasks will get done in one sitting, just that they will get done. Well, it's almost Wednesday, I think I'll write my Tuesday Tips For Living Alone blog and post it.

The Best Seafood In The World

Last night I went to dinner with my partners to the Oriental Garden Seafood Restaurant in NYC. I've always referred to this place as the Chinese Seafood Palace. I don't know how that name got into my head, but it did and it stuck. I know I've been doing a lot of rants lately, but this is going to be a rave. If you want a rant go to the last posting that mentioned this place, here, Peanut Butter on an English Muffin vs. The Best Seafood in the World.

There is no place in the world that does seafood as great as this place. The fish is all kept live in tanks up to the moment they cook it, just minutes before it hits your plate. The shrimp is cooked with the head still on, though a turn off to some, no need for alarm; you can pop the head off, just like the tail, with a good pinch. The flavor of the shrimp is indescribable, so I'll just say, heaven is a place where you could eat them all day. The scallops are visually stunning, served on the shell with an amazing sauce and noodles.  I've eaten many different dishes there and can sum up every one of them by saying, spectacular.

I wish my kids liked seafood and as soon as they show interest, I am going to take them to the garden. It may ruin any other seafood for them, but at least they will be able to say that they have had the best seafood in the world.

Besides the amazing culinary skill of the chef, the scale of these fish (pardon the pun), is not to be believed. Crabs that have better than 3ft claw spans. Hardy shrimp, Horror movie sized lobsters, Oysters that could be a meal each. I wouldn't be surprised if I saw the giant nautilus from the original Doctor Dolittle, cleaned, cooked, plated and on it's way out of the kitchen.

If you are a seafood lover or want to be one, you have to go to the Oriental Garden Seafood Restaurant. It is located in Chinatown across from the police station on Elizabeth Street. You'll see the fish tanks in the window. Tell them Reed sent you, they'll have no idea who your talking about, but I've always wanted to say that, so tell them anyway.

Creative Thursday - Guess Where I Was Tonight?

Full Body Scanners

OK, with all of the press this was getting, I had to put in my 2 cents. People are freaking out about the new TSA body scanners at the airport. Really? Is your life that empty that this is a cause that you feel compelled to fight for? World hunger? Nah! World Peace? Nah! Airport scanners? My God! That is the most important cause I could have, I may even have to miss a PETA meeting.

Basically this thing produces an outline of your body. There have been fake scans on the Internet showing a naked woman,but if your stupid enough to fall for them, you probably shouldn't be trusted to pack your own luggage. What makes people so scared of the human body and even more scared of their own? So some unknown watcher can see your outline. Trust me most of the bodies going through that scanner aren't exactly Playboy material and if they were, probably wouldn't be so upset if someone saw them. If anything, I think the ex con TSA workers should go on strike over this. Would you really want to see the majority of those scans?

This is just a simple security device, at airports, one we wouldn't need if law enforcement were allowed to do their job in the first place. Unfortunately to do their job correctly they need to exercise those dirty words, “good police work”, I meant to say, “Racial Profiling”, sorry, easy to confuse. If the airports only needed to scan people who would be suspects, the seventy year old woman in front of me, wouldn't be subject to a body cavity search (but I think she may have enjoyed it.).  That lady may have been filled with gas, but my guess is she didn't have a bomb on her.

Speaking of strip search, why don't we get rid of the scanners all together and instead of making one TSA person suffer through the outlines of 'The World's Biggest Losers', subject everyone to it? Shoes, shirt, pants, skivvies in the bin, you can meet your clothes at the other side. This would probably be more effective then a scanner anyway and cost much less.

The airport would even be a much friendlier place. No one would cut you off to get into the security line quicker and I'm sure there would be a lot less conversation between friends and coworkers on their way to the gates, “So...”, looking up, “how's... the weather?”

Until we decide political correctness does not mean that we have to cater to every last individual in this country, we better get used to more invasive technologies in all of our lives. For those people that complain about the scanners:  If it is because you are ashamed of your body, work on your self esteem.  If it's because you have no better cause to argue, than maybe the scanning you need to worry about, is not that of your body but of your life.

Black Friday

OK, I'm not into the whole early morning rush to the stores to get a little bit off of a product thing. Come to think of it, I don't like the whole early morning thing the other 364 days of the year.

At around 2:30p.m., I was coming back from visiting relatives and Best Buy was on the way. I needed a new GPS. People may say I wanted and not needed a new GPS. Those would be the people who did not drive with me before I had one.

As I walked into the overcrowded store, I was greeted by tables and boxes of GPS units, but not the one I was looking for. I continued to the back of the store to the GPS section. After searching for a few minutes, I figured the unit I wanted probably sold out. An employee there was helping a customer pick out a GPS so I figured I'd ask him when he was done.

Here's where I feel bad for retail employees. The customer was going to each unit on display and asking him the features. Every time the employee told him the features of the unit, the customer felt the need to argue about whether or not the unit actually had that feature, or if it worked as described. After about five more units, the customer walked away. I say to the employee, "Don't you hate people who waste your time and argue with you about the product, then don't buy it?". The employee gave me a blank stare like the customer before me broke something in his brain. I continued, "I'm here to actually buy a GPS, do you have this model in stock?". The employee pauses for a second, "Uhhh, the store only has GPS's on these shelves right here, so if it's here we have it.". Really? The store only keeps them right here? What about the ones locked up underneath the shelves, the ones on the end caps or the ones on display up front?

I find another employee and ask him about the GPS. This guy is really competent. He tells me I can order the unit online, but that he has the same one on sale with a slightly smaller screen for about thirty dollars cheaper. Well the smaller one is the same size as the one I have, but has free maps and traffic for life, so sold.

Anyway, in NJ we have a law that, in a parking lot, cars must yield to pedestrians. It's the whole 2 tons of death and destruction vs the much less flesh and bones weight. So on my way out of the store with my new GPS, an older couple in a Mercedes feels that they should have right of way. The man says to his wife, with the window open, "Vy are dese people just wawking in front ov us?". I'm going to make a flash judgment on their nationality/religion here and say that if I were them, I would not get in a metal box made by Germans that had locks on it and was filled with gas. I sure as hell wouldn't be proud that I paid $60,000 plus for it.

So I gave him a dirty look and continued on to my car, leaving the mass hysteria of Black Friday behind me.

Happy Thanksgiving?

Can You Find The Native American In This Picture?

Ah, Thanksgiving, one of my least favorite holidays. I love the family aspect of Thanksgiving, it's the origins of this holiday that confuse me. I think Thanksgiving should be like Passover, you should invite a guest; only the guest should have to be an American Indian. They were invited to the first Thanksgiving. There are several problems with this though. One of them being that the amount of American Indians seen whoring Thanksgiving in ratio to actual American Indians is only trumped by the amount of fake Santa's whoring Christmas in proportion to the real one. Another is that you'd have to lock up the liquor cabinet.

This rule would limit the amount of families celebrating to, oh, six.  How many people actually know any American Indians. No cheating, the guy who owns the Seven-Eleven on the corner does not count. Speaking of which, why are Native Americans even called Indians?
Either:
Some dumb guinea got lost, landed on a whole new continent and because the natives there looked and talked soooo much like people from India, he called them Indians.
or
The natives seeing how well the British treated the real Indians decided it would be a good thing to call themselves.

I digress!

The last time, I even saw a real Native American was about two years ago. He slowly got on his knees, put his ear to the ground and proclaimed, "Me Hear'em Jackpots Comin'.". At least I think he was a Native American, I was at Mohegan Sun Casino at the time and he had a feather headband. Honestly though, what do the Native Americans have to be thankful for? Our great harvest this year? 24-7 casinos that lure stupid people of other races into unregulated gambling? There are some endangered species that have greater numbers than the Native Americans.

So this Thanksgiving, while you are among family and friends enjoying a hearty feast and good times, be thankful and look carefully around the table at the faces you'll see. If this Thanksgiving is like the first, at least one of those faces will eventually con you out of resources, call you names that you didn't want to be called or slaughter you.

Happy Thanksgiving Native Americans.

Bartender, Make It A Double.

Maybe I'm just picky, but here is how the bar scene has been going lately. All the women I meet that are around my age have been falling into four categories.

Category 1: I'm The Best and I Owe It All To Me.
These are the women you meet and while first talking to them, they sound perfect. They start out telling you how great of a mom they are to their kids. A plus. Then they tell you about how they love their job. A plus again. Then they elaborate on how they went through a brutal divorce and are now completely self made. They own their own house/condo, they bought themselves a new fancy car. They have money in the bank. They lure you into thinking that they must be a high powered lawyer or corporate exec.. Then they tell you what they 'do for a living'. "I work in retail", or "I'm a administrative assistant", (I think that's code for secretary). I have no problem with people working in these professions, but you didn't buy a house, a car, put your kids in private school, or become wealthy by working at your job. You earned money the same way my ex wife did. You married a sucker, divorced him, get more money a year than the average family makes in your state and now your touting financial independence. F minus. If you want a shot at a guy who makes money, tell it like it is, you are a hard worker who is subsidized by your ex to afford a lifestyle you could not possibly afford on your own. Tell me that and you'll keep my interest.

Category 2: I Haven't Found The Right Guy Yet (Because he doesn't exist).
These women all start out the same, “I've never been married, don't have any kids and can't seem to find the right guy. I've had a string of short term relationships that end with me having a broken heart.”. If you are my age, that's a really long string. D minus. They go on about how they are looking for a guy with looks, money, personality, fancy car, fancy house, likes to cook, likes to clean. Basically these women want a gay guy who will support them while they sit on the couch and eat bonbons or go to the mall so they can smell the scent of his burning plastic. They usually avoid telling you what their career is at any cost, but are not ashamed of telling you your faults. F minus. Basically, these women are looking for a guy that doesn't exist and are going to take it out on any guy they can.

Category 3: Some Call Her Easy.
Ladies, some of us guys are still old fashioned. If you want to sleep with us, that is great. I understand and enjoy the fact that women are a lot more forward than they were when I was younger. Please refrain from throwing a condom on the bar. I don't want to have to play, “How many from the 100 pack she bought on Monday does she still have on Friday?”. At least make me believe I am one in a million, not one of a million. F minus, and have that checked.

Category 4: Mrs. I Was Divorced/Broke Up Last Month And Am Ready To Date.
These women are usually found at coping with divorce meetings and the like. I know men and women who started dating immediately after divorce and done fine doing so. These women are not them. These ladies believe their ex should be part of their next relationship. They find it important to mention things like, “You fill in quality here, just like my ex.”. I can't go lower than F minus, can I?  These ladies will go insane if you make a joke about their ex, yet feel they can spew trash about him until, just like him, you leave. F minus.

I'm not saying I'm the end all be all catch and yes, I am very critical of people. Thanks to the above type women, I no longer go to bars thinking I'll meet any long term prospects. I always say, “I'm not actively looking”, the reason why, is that it is proving difficult to find a normal woman without the emotional hang-ups or drama. Most people will say it is my fault, bars will probably attract the above type women. I agree, that is why my next attempt is going to be on Craig's List.

Some Lessons In Life Need To Be Experienced.

My teenage daughter proclaimed to me that, "A life without love is not worth living.". Ah to see through the emotional eyes of a thirteen year old. I can't fault her. When I was younger, I believed in love above all. I was even more of a hopeful romantic then, than I am now. As much as I'd like to shake my daughter out of her hormone induced euphoria, I know that lessons in love cannot be taught by a parent, but only by life and experience. There is a different lesson plan for everyone when it comes to love and sadly, I'm sure there will be many a tear shed in the name of learning by my daughters.

As far as a life without love, I don't know. If the statement is about romantic love, I think there are times when romantic love is slightly overrated. I love my children, my family, my friends and the small joys and moments that move me. Romantic love is more difficult though, it is a lot of work. It is not without reward, just not always a priority.

Yes, sadly I have become older and more cynical. I now see both sides of the glass. I see friends who are 'happily married' envy the freedom of single life as much as I see single friends who envy the security of married life. I wish there was some way to walk the line, unfortunately it doesn't work that way. For now, I'm walking on the freedom side of the road.

Advice I can give my daughters from a parent, “Follow your heart.”. In matters of the heart, it is wisest not to envy others for what you don't have but cherish that which you do. The heart will bring you on wonderful adventures, some not to your liking, but others to the place where you will ultimately be happy.

Good-bye Confidence Road.

I went out to dinner at the bar the other night and was feeling pretty good about myself. Women were checking me out and I have to admit my confidence was pretty high. I decided to make it an early night though, because I needed to go to the library the next morning and also had to clean my place. Still feeling pretty good, the next morning when I got to the library, I held the door open for a nice elderly lady. While sitting in the library, I noticed an attractive mid thirty something woman looking my way. So now I'm like, I may have a few more wrinkles and a lot less follicles, but I still got it. The whole day, I was strutting. When I got home, I did some cleaning and decided to go food shopping.

The lady next door to me is dog sitting for her kids, so on my way out to my car, the dog begins to bark at me. It's a small black poodle looking thing, so I do what everyone does when they see a small dog, I talk to it like I'm five years old. I lean over and start saying, “It's OK... I'm not going to hurt you... you don't have to bark at me...  I'm the friendly neighbor.”. The dog wasn't buying it and continued to bark. I usually keep dog biscuits in my pocket for just such an occasion, but I'll tell you about the dog biscuit, dog park incident some other time.

Watch this, this is where my overinflated confidence gets flattened like a supermodel in bed with a sumo wrestler. The lady next door looks over and starts calling the barking dog. I tell her, “It's OK, the four foot fence is enough to hold back his scourge.”, My neighbor, who is very sweet smiles and yells back, “Do you know who you look like?”. When I was younger people would say Keefer Sutherland, so I thought, this should be good. She says, “Elton John!”. Craaaaash! Somehow I went from feeling like Casanova, to being told I looked like an over the hill gay rock star, whose waiting for death. Now don't get me wrong, I like Elton John as much as any other heterosexual man, but to look like him is completely different. I shout back to my neighbor, “I don't know if that's a good thing?”. She replies, “Oh, it is.”.

Now I start thinking, the ladies who have been checking me out, have they been scanning thinking they could find a new gay friend? I don't have anything wrong with gay people. Even have some friends who are gay. The neighbor three doors down is flaming. Never met him, but during the summer, he had some friends over and the neighborhood reeked of gaydom. All you heard coming from his back yard was what sounded like a group of low pitched chicks who kept getting their tongues stuck to the roof of their mouths. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

So now as I'm driving to the store with wounded confidence, I start thinking, 'Hey, at least she didn't say I looked like the Village people or that crazy dude that dated Ellen and is now with James Tupper.'

Blenders, Blenders, We Don't Need No Stinkin' Blenders.

Another item that I found in storage was my juicer. This isn't one of those Mam-be Pam-be auger jobs that cuts grass, this is the real deal. Nothing says Man-pliance like a ¼ HP, 4500 rpm. blade of spinning death and destruction surrounded by stainless steel and held together by a plastic nut. With my ape brain it's amazing I haven't lost a limb to this thing. It is 100% made in the United States of 'God Bless America'. Safety, there is no safety on this thing. You can turn it on, open the lid and watch the blade spin out of control.

I actually bought this thing at the beginning of my divorce. The math was simple, 3.am. + Deal site + depression + the decision to be healthier + free shipping = Acme Supreme Juicerator. I thought, I 'd be leaving the house soon and eating healthier and home cooked meals, might as well start early. I also enjoyed going to the orchards and farms in NJ and was always annoyed at the fact that a lot of fruits and veggies, I bought, would go to waste. The juicer would solve all that. Sounded like good justification to me too.

When this thing came in the mail, I was like wow, it's heavy. What do I have in the house to juice? Nothing. Off to Eastmont Orchards with the kids. 3 bushels of apples later, I was ready to try this thing out. I plugged it in and flipped the switch. With the sound of a jet engine, the juicer jumped to life, I think I actually grunted when I heard it. I fed the first apple slice into the chute and with a zzzziiiiing noise the apple disappeared and juice started to flow. It was magical. For the next several months, until I left the house, I was juicing one meal a day. I juiced every vegetable and fruit known to man and some that hadn't even been discovered yet. The only problems I ran into were:
     A. Humans were not meant to go from consuming less then normal quantities of fruits and vegetables to the amount that it requires for a single cup of juice without explosive consequences.
     B. Cleaning a juicer is one step below being beaten by a stick for 12 hours while listening to Barbara Streisand.
     C. Normal people don't care about other people making juice, they have more important things to worry about. There are however two warring factions that seem to think you give a crap about their opinions.
          1. Juicers: These are the people you could usually blow over with the air that escapes from your eye sockets. They think that juicing is the equivalent of milking god. They will be happy to tell you about a Tibetan monk who lived to 4 million years old on just juice and yogurt. Where the hell would a Tibetan monk get electricity for a juicer or a refrigerator?
          2.Anti-Juicers: These are the McDonald swigging, Walmart shopping, we need to adjust the clothing size scale creatures that feel it is their duty to snuff out anything that could be remotely considered healthy. They tell you that juice is empty calories. By the looks of most of these people, someone has been overfilling their calories for years.
     D. Your poop looks like Kermit The Frog's head popping out of the toilet.
     E. Some vegetables and fruits taste like crap when they are juiced.

When I left the house, the juicer was plunged into the darkness of storage. Yesterday, I unpacked the juicer, bleached it down and set it up on the kitchen counter top. I haven't been drinking too many bloody mary's lately, so I had a bag of limping celery. I also found some apples and carrots. I cut up the victims and flipped the switch. With the roar of the electric motor my testosterone level jumped and I quickly pushed down the celery, carrots and then apples into the chute. Each ziziing producing more and more juice. I shut off the machine and grabbed a gulp. It tasted great. I guzzled it down. I felt energized, alive, curious.

For those of you playing which one does not belong, curious was the bad one. I quickly scooped the fruit pulp out of the juicer and ran outside to the butterfly bush. I threw the pulp down and ran back inside. My ape brain had been given a natural sugar rush. I wondered, 'What else can I juice?'

Just so everyone knows, vegetable chips, do not produce juice in the juicer, however if you add a drop of water to dust of said chips they reconstitute. Twizzlers licorice sticks, don't juice and probably did some damage to the machine. Almonds are rather loud in the juicer but produce a remarkable amount of juice. No I'm just messing with you, but the almond dust may be good on some recipes. I knew this before, but had to try it again, onions produce a large amount of juice, but you would rather drink the Veggie chip and almond dust covered in camel piss then the onion juice.

Creative Thursday - The Last Sunset and a Poem.

The above picture is probably the last picture you will see taken with my old Sony Alpha camera, I thought it would be fitting to be of a sunset.   It served me well over the last few years.  Due to problems with Sony customer service though, I have upgraded to a Pentax.


Last night, I was going through some of the stuff that I recently got out of storage in my mother's basement and found another bunch of poems I had written when I was about 21 years old.  I laugh at some of my writings,  but am glad I did them, they give me insight as to how messed up I really was and how far I've come.

Not so... ... ... Fast Food.

Yeah, I've been a little edgier lately, I blame it on my diet. I did something I hadn't done in years.  I actually ate fast food twice in under two weeks. My first experience was when I was coming home from the city. McDonald's was on the way and the Granola yogurt concoction I ate on the train, though tasty, just didn't cut it. Driving from the train station, an older woman (think Methuselah old with a Buick) was driving in front of me going 20, regardless of the various speed limits posted. I decided I'd lose her by going to the McDonald's drive-thru. I put my directional on, after seeing she had not, and as I pulled into the entrance was almost clobbered by her car cutting over the curb and into the parking lot in front of me. What are the odds of this woman going through the drive-thru. 100%! She pulls up to the menu and order box and as a disembodied voice screeches, "Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?", the lady grumbles back, "It's going to take a few minutes, I have to see what I want. In fact, I'll tell you when I'm ready.".

REALLY, You pull into a McDonald's drive-thru and have to scrutinize the menu? You're only options are crap, crap that looks like beef, crap that looks like pork, crap that looks like chicken or a Crappy Meal. So after four minutes, yes I was looking at the clock on my radio, my zen-like attitude disintegrated. I yell out my window, "If you don't know what you want, go into the restaurant, they have a menu board in there.". The lady looks back but realizing I'm about to go Chuck Norris on her mummified ass, quickly looks at the box and says, "I'm Ready Now!". She then asks, "Is it possible for me to get just a cheeseburger and a coke?". The voice at the other end of the box squawks, "Cheeseburger and coke, that will be $2.37. Please pull up.".

Really? You have to ask if they have a cheeseburger at McDonald's? Seniors, do the rest of society a favor. If you are having a "moment", please slow down and pull over to the side of the road. Make sure it is the side of the road and not the center and take a nap. So now I pull to the box with a line of 50 cars behind me and I ask for a McRib. I haven't had one of those things since I was a teenager. For those of you who haven't tried this messy, gooey, pressed mystery-meat on a roll treat, it looks and tastes like cardboard and artificial barbecue flavored gook. I wonder if McDonald's has actually gotten to the point of saying, "Ah screw it. Change it's shape, market the crap out of it and watch the money flow in. Make it taste good? Don't bother, these idiots will eat anything."

So now, last night, I had a function to go to and it ran late. On the way home, I was hungry and saw White Castle. I have to admit, I love White Castle. Something about steamed onions and a patty that look like it got in a gun fight with Al Capone makes their burgers irresistible. It also conjures up the memories of a group of teenagers in a van traveling forty-five minutes to buy a 100 sack(Yes, they used to sell 50 and 100 sacks) of their trademark sliders (a.k.a. belly busters, a.k.a. hamburgers). Even as a teenager though, the next day after White Castle the bathroom effect was quite pronounced and was the equivalent to the two peso Mexican buffet in Tijuana.

Back to the story though, I pull into White Castle and there is a line of about six cars. I think, six cars is worth the wait for those onion flavored delights. Five minutes later, there are still six cars in front of me. Wait a car moved. There are now five cars and I'm starved. Twenty minutes into drive-thru hell and they get to the car in front of me. The lady starts spouting out like a bad 70's Burger King commercial, hold the pickles, hold the onions, hold the ketchup. What else is there on a White Castle burger? There are only five basic ingredients, 1tsp meat, 1tsp ketchup, 1 paper thin pickle slice, a butt load of onion squares and a roll.

So Now it's my turn, I pull up to the order box and a pleasant voice comes out of it, "Would you like to try a sack meal?". Barring the humor of that statement, when taken out of context, I say, "Yes, I'd like a number 2 special with a coke.", no response. I wait a second and say, "Are you there?". Now I realize I was talking to some stupid sales recording that asked me if I wanted a sack meal and not the sub-human that I am about to engage in conversation with. In a voice that sounds like a woman who has 40 kids, insomnia and the weight of the world on her shoulders comes,"Can I help you?". I think about the question for a second and say, "Yes, as I was telling your electronic counterpart, I'd like a number 2 sack meal.". Silence... silence...,"Huh?". "I said, I'd like a number 2 sack meal with a coke.". The reply was unpredictable, "What would you like to drink with that?". Now it's my turn, "Uhhhh, the coke."

Oh, if that were the end of this story. I got my total and started the drive around. The line of cars that built up behind me was astronomical. In a few more minutes they would have to close the highway. So now I pull up and the lady that ordered in front of me is still there. Hands come out of the service window with a sack, hands pull the sack into the car. Thirty seconds later the bag pops back out of the car and a lady's voice starts complaining that it is not her order. I could have cooked a gourmet meal in this time but am hopeful that I will be getting my goodies shortly. The car behind me pulls out of line and darts down the highway. Good move a-hole, you couldn't have done that before you ordered? By the number of burger filled bags stacked up in the service window, I'm guessing a lot of people do that.

It's finally my turn. I can't wait. I had time to dig through all the compartments in my car, so I have exact change. I pay. The lady takes the money and says, "It'll be ready shortly.". Huh? What exactly was happening in the time between me ordering and waiting for the whole debacle in front of me? Another couple of minutes and I finally got my sliders.

"Would you like to try a sack meal?", "I'll take a number 2."

"Goat Clue" - It Was Abraham on the Rock with the Knife.

To my Muslim friends, Happy Eid al-Adha.  To everyone else, three terrorist free days.  I don't mean to be hard on Muslims, but yes you are thought of as terrorists.  It's your own fault.  If you want non-Muslims to treat you the same way they treat everyone else, you have to clean up your own backyard. 

This is not just a Muslim issue.  It goes for anybody of any race or creed.  If your race is associated with crime the members of your community that perpetrate those crimes are not, "Good boys.".  They are scumbags and the parents, if they protect them, are also scumbags.  If that upsets you do something about it.  Take responsibility for yourself and your community.  If you know someone who is a criminal or a terrorist, TURN THEM IN!  Don't blame the police.  They are sacrificing their lives because of the delinquents you are protecting.

Yeah, I'll probably get some hate mail for this blog, but I really don't care.  I'm tired of communities whining that they are being treated differently.  You are being treated differently!  You're being treated the way you are asking to be treated.  If you don't want to be treated that way then change the perception people have of you.  I'm not saying everyone knows of a criminal or terrorist based on there race or religion,.  I'm saying a lot do and would rather, "protect their own", then the greater good of mankind.

I have a quick story on this:
I remember as a commuter, a particular train ride home.  Two Hispanic teenagers got on the train with a boom box and started playing their music extremely loud.  All but four of the commuters and myself left the car spitting out racial slurs. The five of us that stayed attempted to ignore the occurrence by putting on headphones and reading.  The music was louder than any headphone could drown out and the conductor said nothing and avoided the car.  At the next stop, Newark Penn Station a Hispanic businessman got on the train.  As he entered the car and heard the music, he screamed at the kids in Spanish and they turned off the boom box.  He then proceeded to apologize to the commuters left in the car.  It was not an apology from himself, but from the Hispanic community.  His words were to the effect that he was sorry there were people in his community that did not raise their children with respect.  His words were powerful and regret evident.  In my eyes, he was a great man.  He understood that sometimes there is trash in your own community and even though the trash was not of your own making, you should clean it up.  Five commuters gained a whole new respect for the Hispanic community that day.  Unfortunately many more left the car and their respect behind.

I know being a white male, many people are going to ask how I help clean up my backyard.  Easily, I let the police do their job.  If Charles Manson came to my door, I wouldn't hide him, give him food or tell him how to get away from the police, I would call 911 on his ass and they could pick up the remains.  The same goes for McVeigh or any other white criminal.  Criminals of other races, I'd just turn them in.  See the difference there.  If a policeman stops me while driving and says I match the description of a suspect, guess what, I don't run, call the ACLU or sue.  They are "racial profiling", those are key words for "doing good police work!".  They are looking for someone of my description, not pulling me over would  be negligent.. 

There is always an excuse for not doing the right thing.  Not stopping a crime you know about is worse then committing the crime yourself.

Tuesday Tip For Living Alone #2 - Don't Die, They Won't Find You!

Living alone, you start to get what I like to call *'Havnophobia'. This is the process by which the voice of reason fails to tell you not to do something crazy or potentially dangerous. Remember in 'Animal House' where the guy has an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. It's just like that, but the angel's kid has a soccer game, so he doesn't show up. Sometimes it's little things like using a paper towel, not a potholder, to take something out of the oven. Other times it may be a 'Fear Factor' approach to the home made guacamole (at least it may have been guacamole) that you found in the back of the refrigerator when you were dying to eat those, almost out of date, Tortilla chips.

You would think that while talking to yourself that you might actually say, “Wait, I want to do WHAT?”. Unfortunately though, usually it works against you and sounds something like a pep talk, “It would be great to fix the metal awning during a storm. How many people actually get struck by lightning?”, or, “My wood stairs are dirty, furniture wax would make them REALLY shiny.”.

I have a theory about this. When you are alone you have an amazing amount of intelligent thoughts, way more than you could have if you lived with someone else. 'Havnophobia' is the counterbalance, that equalizes all of those great thoughts in short burst of, “What the ?”. My example for today requires me to give you some facts about my place:
1. I have eight foot ceilings upstairs and down.
2.My attic entrance is a huge swing door located on the upstairs hallway ceiling to the right of the staircase.
3.My ladder is about 4' tall.
4.I am just over 5'6” tall.
I think you all see where I am going with this. I could probably put the ladder in front of the kids' room door, but what fun would that be? So when I needed to put the 50 pound orange and black bin of Halloween 'stuff' away, I put the ladder, where else, but in front of the stairs. Well, that's not dangerous enough. I can't reach into the attic on the four foot ladder unless I go to the top wrung, so second wrung warning be damned! I'm now about 16ft. From the bottom of the steps on an a-frame ladder that just won't cooperate while I'm balancing on one foot and leaning into the attic. I get down safely and say, “While I have the ladder here, I might as well put everything in the attic that needs to go there.”. I look down the stairs and say, “Wow that's far down... I better start putting that stuff away.”. After box number three, I realize I need to move some of the boxes farther into the attic. With all of the grace and skill of a drunk gymnast, I launch myself from the top wrung of the wobbling ladder and using just the side beams of the opening pull myself up. Half a centimeter more launch and I would have knocked myself out, or created a sky light. I say to myself, “Good job, that was close.”. I move some boxes and try for a perfect dismount. Holding myself up with my arms, I hover my feet onto the swaying ladder.

My living alone brain, pats me on the back, “Awesome, I don't need a taller ladder to clutter up the place.”. I then look up at the smoke detector. The previous owner mounted it on the ceiling above the stairs. He was alone too. Last time the stupid thing had a false alarm at 4:00a.m., I almost did a header off of the ladder and down the stairs. I think, “Wow, if I die, how long will it take for someone to find me.”. Thanks to AT&T service my cellphone went from excellent to it doesn't ring half the times and sends people direct to voice mail. How long before the smell would start bothering my neighbors? The fleeting thought of, 'I have to be more careful.', is followed by a verbal, “What was I thinking about now?”. Oh yeah, 'What if I die of natural causes?'. Like the flash of the devil on my shoulder, I laugh and say, “Don't worry about it dude, you won't be around anyway.”

* Havnophobia – [hav-noh-foh-bee-uh] The fear of not fearing when you should.

Next Tuesday,  Tip For Living Alone #3!

The Boobs Who Live On Sesame Street.

For those of you that don't have kids or don't read entertainment news, Katy Perry (a singer) filmed a duet with Elmo(a Sesame Street character). Sesame Street decided to cut Elmo's duet with Katy because she was showing too much cleavage for preschoolers. Maybe some gay men and uptight women would look at her and say she was too sexy for children, my guess is an infant would be thinking, "lunchtime! Where's the taps?". Why is it we villain-ify breasts? Breasts should be revered. They are one of the many beautiful parts of a woman's body. If Katy was a sloppy woman of any other ethnicity with her boobs hanging out of her overworked tube top on 'The Price Is Right' or 'Worlds Laziest Loser', they would say it's OK, she can't help it. This is a young attractive woman though, so the moral upright(read slothenly(or slovenly) and lazy) are up in arms.

I have issues with this. First, this is PBS, the station that brought nudity to the seven channel airwaves when I was a kid. Second, we complain about women's low self esteem and then tell them their breasts are horrible scary things that must be kept out of the sunlight. The only breasts seen in their entirety are the unrealistic breasts of actresses or pin-ups. Lastly, who sees more breasts than infants? This would be the equivalent of saying my diner is offensive to some people, so we have to cover it up and only I can eat there.

If Sesame Street really wanted to help all of these kids, they would probably show the clip followed by, "This clip was sponsored by the letter 'E' as in entitlement or employment. One your parents feel and the other something they can't get because of that feeling."

I'd post a picture with this blog, but it would probably offend some unemployed minions who watch Sesame Street.

Honoring All Who Served.

Creative Thursday has been put on hold this week in observance of Veterans Day. If you know a veteran thank them for their service to their fellow man, their country and their world. They sacrificed and continue to sacrifice to keep us safe and free.

Thank You Veterans!

Just As A Single Leaf Changes The Landscape Of A Forest, One Person Makes A Difference.

At lunch I decided to take a quick walk at the brook. As I got there, the geese and ducks were coming closer to the easily accessible portion of the paths than I had ever seen them before. Learning my lesson, I carried my good short lens as well as a decent long range lens. I walked around the open part of the brook to get closer shots, but the waterfowl had spotted me and was sure to keep a safe distance. I conceded to their want for privacy and readied to leave.

On my way to the car I saw the trail into the woods. I've never really gone that far down it and decided, now that it was fall, it would be easier to navigate. Cutting away from the parking lot I began my journey. If the sounds of falling leaves could be felt it was present in the static of the dry fall air. I jumped over a small cut in the path that looked like it could be some sort of drainage and continued through the rustling leaves, hearing the company of non-human footsteps. My senses heightened, I kept one eye on the water and the other on the trail. I got to the spot where I was stopped by overgrowth on my last visit and handily walked on through the dried remnants. Many different types of plants, vines and berries were all around me.

The trail split and I cut to the right under a large pine tree wondering if I would encounter any ticks. It is too late in the season for them, but as I learned last week with the snake incident, nature does not follow the same calendar I do. I continued under a bunch of low stalks that were covered with vines carrying some type of blueberry on them. On the other side, the wood gave way to an opening. There were trees with magical red and white berries on them. I had been at the brook for almost an hour, it was time to work my way back. I began to take a different trail and paid dearly for it. It was lined with thorn bushes. The jacket I was wearing was tough, but my jeans were not. As, “Pay attention when your hiking”, crossed my mind, I got rapped in a thorn vine slightly above my right knee. I calmly tried to undo the thorns, but soon realized my left leg had suffered a similar fate with less effect. I gently pulled away, but not without taking a few good hits from the pointy tips. Annoyed at myself, I started back to the car.

I reached in my jacket pocket to retrieve the cap for my long range lens. It was not there. I searched my other pockets, but it wasn't there. I got to the car and checked my camera bags, it was not there either. I remembered taking it out of my pocket and saying to myself, “If I don't secure it, I'll lose it.”. That was by the magical berry trees. I rushed back down the trail avoiding the pine trees via a new route where an animal must have had a good bird dinner the night before. Two fallen sticks had formed an 'X' as if hiding some buried treasure, but no lens cap was to be found. I got to what I thought was the magic berry trees, but quickly realized I had overshot them by a couple hundred feet.

This trail lead to a wide opening by the water. I wanted to go back and look for my lens cap, but I could not resist seeing where I was on the brook. I walked to the water and found, what will be, a great spot for photos when I go back. I returned to where I was before and searched for my lens cap. It was not there.

I began slowly walking the trail back. Half looking for the lens cap, half admiring the landscape. With all of the leaves on the ground, it is surprising how slowly the fall is creeping into the trees of the brook. There is still a lot of green. I continued on to a bend in the path, looking up I saw one, time torn, red leaf clinging to the tip of a branch. It stood in defiance of the blowing wind. It had succeeded where all of his brethren had failed. He was a lone, red survivor swimming in a sea of green. Off to the field and the car beyond. My lens cap just another remnant of man left in the peaceful woods.

What does the title have to do with any of this? I don't know, it was just something that made it's way into my meditative thoughts while hiking.

Tuesday Tip For Living Alone #1 - Talking To Yourself.

Yes, it's time for me to add a new regular topic to the blog.  Tuesdays will now be Tuesday Tip days. Things we do when we live alone and solutions to the many embarrassing moments they may cause.

The first involves talking to yourself. When you live with another person and especially when you have kids, you often feel like you are talking to yourself. When you live alone, no one else is there, so you actually are talking to yourself.  It's really not so bad when you are home alone and no one else can hear. The issues starts when you forget that people think you are one cow pie short of a pasture when they see you spouting out phrases like a schizophrenic-Tourette's victim in public.

The solution to this one is really simple. Go to your local Radio Shack and buy the biggest, wonkenest blue tooth headset you can find. The only criteria is that it is comfortable to wear. If you look like an NFL coach calling plays on the sideline, you bought the right one. Your tech level does not matter, you are not going to connect the headset to a phone anyway. This device is purely a prop to evoke the "Look, Recognize and Ignore Reflex", in outside observers.  That is the reflex by which people...
Look at the stranger they think is talking to them incoherently at the, fill location in here.
Recognize the flashing light and alien device in their ear and realize that the target is really some poor unseen person on the other side of cellular airwaves
Ignore the person completely.

When you go out wearing a headset, people expect you to mumble or talk out loud. Hell, even if you are not living alone, you should try this, it is a whole new level of freedom.

Basically, you can say anything that you would say if there was someone on the other end of the headset.
Don't use statements like, "I Just Kegeled!", after seeing an obnoxious senior citizen getting run over with a carriage while stealing candy out of the per pound bin for an hour and a half.
Do use statements like, "Haaa! That's the funniest thing I ever saw.", when an obnoxious mother who's blue tooth headset, we'll assume is real, quickly hangs up and cries, "I never took my eye's off of him, where is my child?", five minutes after you saw the brat walk out the door to the parking lot.

Next Tuesday, Tip For Living Alone #2.

Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of My Life.

The title of this blog is something I say to myself every morning. I had a homeroom teacher in high school that used to make us say, “I'm bred for happiness and geared for success.”, or something like that. As in so many cases in my life, the words did not matter as much as the intent. It was a positive message to make me realize that I could do whatever I needed to do and succeed. Did I always succeed? NO! That is not the point though. The point is that if we believe we can succeed, we have the ability to succeed. If we believe we will fail we will only succeed at failure.

What brought about this little bout of philosophy was a quote I read today by Douglas Adams. It goes...

“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”. 


I love that quote, it feeds into my many philosophies. No matter where we think we are supposed to be, we always end up where we need to be. Unfortunately in life we usually go where we don't intend to. That does not mean we are not where we should be, just that the road still has pavement for our feet.

Today was truly the first day of the rest of my life and guess what, tomorrow will be too.

Writings From A Train.

I was invited to go to an art show in the city. It is at a gallery, so I figured I should probably not wear my jeans and a t-shirt. I have done that before and who would've guessed they frown upon it. I have a ton of dress clothes that never get worn, problem with working at home. I pick the same outfit I wore several weeks ago to a christening. This works because, while the rest of my dress clothes have been sitting in the closet, these clothes have been recently cleaned and are easily accessible. I drop the kids off at grandma's and begin my dash to the train station. One small problem. There is a rip in the crotch of my pants. Not so much a rip as of an unseaming. Quick, to the thread. Five more minutes and I'll miss the train. Of course out of all the pants I could have chosen, I had to take the 'easy' ones that had a problem. I quickly grab thread and needle and go to work. First attempt, huge fail. Second attempt, it will have to do. Mad dash to the train station and I just catch the train.

It's the weekend, so the train stops at every forsaken place it could possibly stop at. The trip that would take an hour on the weekdays, takes almost twice as long. I decide to continue writing pages for my novel. That lasts about 15 secs. Before I start writing this blog. I now realize with the time it is going to take to get to the city, I should have driven. We'll see what the traffic looks like when I get there. Did you ever notice wherever you sit on a train, the loudest J-hole with a cellphone will sit next to you. Today it was a Jamaican (from the island, not Queens or maybe both.) woman. The people four cars away must have looked like they wanted to hear her conversation because she was loud enough that they did. I was not in the mood for conflict so I ignored her.

I always bring a bottle of water to drink on the train, commuter survival rule #127. The downside to a bottle of water is that drinking it on a train has the side effect of making you have to use the bathroom, right before your stop. Today was no exception.

Well, I'm in the city now, I realize why almost fifteen years of commute was way too much. I'll post this later tonight after I get home and put the kiddies to bed.

Creative Thursday - Look At Me and I Think I'm Lost

Let Me Look Into My Crystal Ball.

I love astrology, psychic readings, tarot cards and the like. When I was a teenager, I even believed in most of them. Of course, I also believed in religion back then. I find all of these things very entertaining now, they draw me in like a good book or TV program. Just the other day I was looking at a horoscope and as I began to read it was like, "This is pretty good.".
It started out...
'People born under this sign have an attitude and know how to draw a spotlight. They keep it on themselves as long as they choose.'. Wow, so far sounds like me.
' They are flirty and semi serious'.  Hey, they have me nailed.
'They have a highly charged aura and are flattered by attention. They have a hard time knowing who to trust and their romances are affected because of this.'. I don't know what plug I need to maintain a highly charged aura, but three for three, I continue with great confidence.
'They are sunny towards their past and therefore have a great attitude about the future.'.  This is uncanny.
'They believe their children will learn lessons just as much in failure as they do in success.'.  Everything they said describes me exactly. This person knows me.
Maybe this stuff isn't complete bunk. Now I start reading horoscopes for other signs. Oh my gosh, they fit me exactly too. My mother must have been in labor for 12 months, I just kept popping my head out once a sign.

The problem I have with all of these readings and psychic "stuff" is there is never anything really negative to it. Yeah, you'll hear a psychic tell someone that a time would be bad to do one thing or another. How negative is that really? I think I would find horoscopes or psychics more realistic if they would once in a while say, 'If you were born under this sign, you will be a douche. No one will like you and wait, please pay up front, I want to make sure I get my money before you die in the next five minutes.".

You can call me a hypocrite because I believe in karma, the power of positive thinking and that everything in the universe is somehow connected. Aren't parts of our human condition faith, hope and love? I've been watching a lot of documentaries on people who have survived one fatal disease or another. Not one of the people who has beaten the odds ever said, "I planned on dying.". Each one tells a story of hope, or a story of a religious belief that has brought them through to their recovery.

True Hope, True Faith, True Belief and even True Love can conquer more than the provable realm of science can afford us. Are there powers at work that we do not understand in the universe? I like to believe so, and I hope to never find out otherwise. As far as people seeing the future, they can, but only if they pay attention and wait for it to happen.

A Note About HBD

One of my lesser bleached shirts

Dear Readers,

I am a germaphobe. More precisely, I have Hyper Bleach Disorder(HBD). I hike, I swim in pools, lakes, the ocean, I'll even use public bathrooms when necessary. My phobia is when food is involved.

In my younger years, I would not only practice the ten second rule, but perfected the twenty second rule. If food fell on the floor I would have no qualms picking it up and eating it. I licked car door handles for shotgun (for you younger readers that is short for “riding shotgun”, or getting the front seat of your parents car.). I even licked random food items for dibs.

Now I bleach everything in my kitchen several times a week. When people see me in my casual clothes, they think I am a dysfunctional tie dyer. Most of my tee shirts have at least one bleach spot or smear on them, if not more. I also bleach my bathroom, but that's more of a clean and no mold on the tile thing. They say cleanliness is next to godliness, but I spent a train ride to New York City next to a guy who thought he was Jesus. After that experience, I'm not sure how close I want to be.

The root of my HBD comes from when I worked in food service. Anyone who has gone to Board Of Health certification and has seen the movies that they show, can not possibly be comfortable about the food they eat. I wash chicken, fish and steaks from the super market and have a spray bottle of bleach and water to disinfect my kitchen surfaces after each food preparation. I watch food at parties to see how long it is being left out and when in NYC, cringe at the sneeze guards being so high at the serve yourself delis. Strangely, I have developed a sensitive stomach (I blame it on vitamins). I can go to a buffet and be the only one who gets sick.

Am I neurotic? I like to think of it as being safe. I need to go and spray down my cutting board now.

On this one, I just said screw it and bleached it all.

A Beautiful Day

Monday was a beautiful Indian Summer day, so at lunchtime I decided to take a hike. I ended up at Tinton Falls. I decided to trek the trails at the feeder of the falls first and work my way back to the falls proper. I pulled into the driveway of the historic Crawford house, an 1800s butcher shop and the entrance to the trails that rap around the stream and rapids. I walked past the slave burial ground that was uncovered several years ago and began to trek into the woods.

The paths are wide and many unique trees line them. I often see deer tracks, but have never seen any deer on the trail. The birds are deafening and the squirrels scurry as the water rushes quickly in a deep ravine. I followed the trail to where the grooming ended and decided to keep going up stream. Someone had placed a bench by the rapids, so I sat there for a few minutes watching the water react to the light.

I decided I needed time at the falls proper trails, so started back to Escape. Getting to the other side of the road and walking down to the falls was such a contrast. I left well groomed trails just 50ft away to pretty much make my own in the brush and tall grasses.

Today's goal was to go farther than I had previously gone. I took the usual route that cuts on an angle slightly away from the stream. Due to the change of season, the tall grass that impeded the trail was starting to brown and die, making it an easier path to travel. I got to the high spot that looks over the hidden pond. The pond was quiet except for the call of a hawk somewhere above.

I knew through the grass to the right, the narrowest part of the stream awaited. I was shocked when I got there to find that the water had subsided enough that I could cross. I had never been to the other side and was excited at the proposition of traveling new ground. There was no real path after I crossed, but knew if I kept going I would pick up a trail. Most animals go to the water and therefore leave some type of trails behind them.

I walked about 200 yards and weaved in and out of that area. I was in exploration mode. There were a lot of small creatures in that area and I could hear them scurrying about as I walked. I never have gotten trail fright. But with expanse palette of colors, textures, sound and smell, I was starting to experience sensory overload. I decided to narrow my field of view to a shorter distance and continue on. I waked for a couple hundred more feet when I saw something that looked like it may have been a dried up part of the riverbed. I moved towards it with the thought of using it as a trail to walk back towards the falls. The idea seemed feasible as I took my first step onto the bed. I looked down it and did a bearing check. Then I realized my foot was sinking. The top of the bed seemed dry, but deeper in the ground, it must still have been wet. I know better than to panic in these situations so I slowly pulled up my right foot, it was not in as deep. I stepped about one foot forward from where I left the indent and slowly pulled my left foot out. It was an amazing ground condition. It was solid when stepped on but slowly sank. It was not quicksand, more likely dry ground on an underground stream or water source.

I was too far in the woods to be playing on potentially dangerous ground. Especially when hiking alone. I decided I had accomplished my goal and needed to head back anyway. This was turning out to be a long lunch time. I headed straight for the crossing of the stream and began to slowly walk back.

One thing I love about the falls trail is the amazing variety of mushrooms. The colors and diversity of them is one of natures most overlooked gifts

I continued on the trail parallel nearly thirty feet from the water, I decided I wanted to get a picture of the stream, so I walked toward the water, I could hear the activity in the dried grass increasing. In the distance I spotted a box turtle and hurried my step.
As I reached the box turtle, I raised my camera and took e a shot.  I was only several inches from the water. Activity about a foot away beckoned my eyes to between me and the trail. It was a green and yellow Garter snake . It lifted it's 35 inches or so of body out of the grass, angled it's head towards me, spun around and slithered quickly away in the camouflage of the dried yellow grass. My heart had stopped, but now I could hear it pounding fast. I have run into five other varieties of snake while hiking and luckily have not been bitten. Garters are non-venomous, but from what I've read, their fang-less mouth still feesl like being hit by a bolt of lightning when their teeth connect with flesh.

The turtle now frightened by my movement, tucked his body into his shell. I had already broken one of my hiking rules by not paying attention while rushing through the grass to the turtle. I was not going to violate another by picking the turtle up and trying to coax him out of his shell. I always tell the kids that it is important that we leave nature the way we found it and not interfere. Our footprints should be the only changes we leave behind. It could be argued that I interfered with the snake and his turtle lunch, but a lesson was learned of rules I need to self enforce.

Walking back up the trail, I heightened my senses. I could hear birds and small creatures rushing through the grass, leaves fell disturbing the air and scratching other leaves as if to coax them into the trip to the ground.

I got to the edge of the trail and looked back in a gesture of goodbye, the 'wind controlled' trees waved in return.