Thursday, February 21, 2019


I bought one for a friend of mine. It was sitting in my backseat when I picked up my daughter and a friend of hers. Her friend found it and tapped my daughter on the shoulder. They were both horrified.
"Dad!" My daughter said.
I had to do some explaining real quick
"No no no it's not mine. I bought it for a friend" I tried to explain.
It was hilarious.

People go nuts when they see that hat.

Wednesday, February 13, 2019


I’m thinking about the worst part of waiting tables. It had to be the night before rent was due, and you were about a hundred bucks short. You were a hundred bucks short because of all those nights after you banked 100 in tips you promptly went out and blew it on drinks. “A round for the house!” you would holler, and two chicks would be rubbing up against your thigh. Suddenly you were a big shot, a big spender, a high roller, and you should have been able to predict that when the bar shut down those girls would carry your drunk ass out to their car and drive you home, and pretty much just dump you out at the curb. When you checked your wallet the next morning it was empty. It was empty and for a moment you wondered if those chicks had rolled you. But then you vaguely remember hollering “A round for the house!” and arm wrestling Ronnie Barrington for 20 bucks. All one had to do was take one look at Ronnie to know THAT is a really stupid thing to do.

And now here you are the night before rent is due. You’re a hundred bucks short, the crowd is thin, its not even Lobster Night, but the four top left you 20, and the six top 30. Its fifteen minutes to close, everyone is doing sidework and the next table to come in will be yours. So there is hope. One good table and you are in. The door opens. It’s a party of five, notoriously big tippers! You are grinning from ear to ear. Grab five menus, head to the door. “Hey ya’ll! Welcome to the Keg!” and you lead them to the best table in the house. Pull the chair out for the ladies, shake hands with the fellas. Open for business like a cheap bordello. And that’s when the head of the table says “Thank you Steve. Is Bob here tonight? If Bob is here, we’d like him to wait on us if that’s OK. Is that OK Steve?” Fucking Bob. Every hair in place, drives a Vette, sells gold on the side, plays scratch golf and ya just want to kill him.


The concept and belief in a power greater than myself always, always, always appeals to the best that is within me.
Good that something does.

Monday, February 11, 2019


I'm glad I live in a society with both Republicans and Democrats, it keeps the lunacy in balance. I'm glad I live in a society that is based on Capitalism, but employs some Socialist ideas and principles because I think a purely Capitalistic system would be just as bad as a purely Socialist one.
In fact I'm not sure there has ever been a country that did not employ some measure of Socialism.

Wednesday, February 06, 2019


In the corner of the yard were the hydrangeas
Mother called them snowballs
Before they bloomed, there were little snowballs on the clover
Which attracted  
The bees to come out from underground to buzz
And I wonder now why I never took a shovel and paid the bees a visit.
Two giant plums that had more thorns than plums
A bird bath, a swing set,
And two tall thin acorns that Dave and I
Climbed to the very top and swayed
While we looked out over Lake St Clair.
I remember showing my sister how to catch a bee in her hand
And if you held it tight enough it could not sting your hand.
She only tried it once.
She could not hold it tight enough.
Mom wore me out.

bulletholes, 2019


"The Rastafarian’s cigar smelt of compost. I can never guess what they’re really thinking. Not that I’ve ever really known any. I’m not a racialist, but I do believe the ingredients in so-called melting pots take generations to melt. “Mistah,” the Rastafarian told me, “you need”—and I flinched—”some o’ this.” I obeyed his offer and sucked on his turd-thick cigar. Ruddy hell! “What is this stuff?”
He made a noise like a didgeridoo at the root of his throat. “That don’t grow in Marlboro Country.” My head enlarged itself by a magnitude of many hundreds, Alice-style, and became a multistory car park wherein dwelt a thousand and one operatic Citro├źns. “My word, you can say that again,” mouthed the Man Formerly Known as Tim Cavendish."
[Cloud Atlas]
Artwork by Fort Worth's own Jay Wilkinson, on display as "Chameleon" @ Fort Works Art through February 9th.

Sunday, January 27, 2019


You havent climbed Everest until you get back down.

Friday, January 25, 2019


I applied for this apartment 6 years ago. I wondered if that THING that happened in 2008, that wasn’t supposed to be on my record because I did the court program 100%, would be on my record.
So when the lady said there was a problem, I thought “Oh No!”
Then she said “Did you have a marijuana charge from 1974? Because we cant tell if it’s a felony charge or a misdemeanor.”
Boy was I relieved!
“It was a misdemeanor” I said.
She said I would have to go downtown and get a copy of the charges before she could rent me an apartment.
I laughed. “Do you mean to tell me after the trail of destruction I’ve left for the last 30 years, this is all y’all can come up with? After everything I’ve been through, the unmanageability, the addiction, the moral decay, the cheatin’, theivin’, connivin’, stealin’ when I shoulda been buyin’, vagrancy, bankruptcy, divorce, no credit, bad credit, homeless joblessness, foreclosure, and not putting the toilet seat down, and this bubble-gum pot charge is the best you can do?”

We do recover.

Friday, January 18, 2019


Somebody is trying to sell me a wall. The same way they sold my father and my brother a Vietnam. 
We need a wall like we needed Vietnam. I ain’t buyin’ it.

Interesting song I heard last year on the Old Prairie Home Companion show.
Anais Mitchel, from her 2010 opera, "Hadestown". There is a minute of chatter before the song.


I remember falling in love with Carol Channing when I was 10 years old. 
I could not resist the way she hollered “Raspberries!” in Thoroughly Modern Millie.
Carol, gone to the big glass of champagne in the sky.

Wednesday, January 09, 2019


AT&T is reportedly planning a significant round of layoffs (7,000), despite receiving a large tax break and various regulatory favors such as the repeal of net neutrality rules.

Thursday, January 03, 2019


"Here was a Jewish rebbe, and the pupil asks the rebbe about a passage in the Old Testament, Deuteronomy 6, I believe, where it says…“Lay these words upon your heart.” The pupil asks the rebbe, who is more of a Hasidic master than a “clergyman,” why does it say “Lay these words upon your heart? Why doesn’t it tell us to put them in our hearts?”

The rebbe answers in a way that I think you may find 
very beautiful: “It says ‘upon our hearts,’ not ‘in our hearts,’ because as we are, our hearts are closed and the words cannot enter in. And there they stay upon our hearts-- until one day the heart breaks. And the words fall in.”

Interview with Jacob Needleman by Kristina Turner April 2012 - Needleman, Jacob
Articles on Gurdjieff and his System


HELLO 2019

The first hour at work of the year.

“Boss, David is on line one. Would you like to take the call?”
“Hang up on him.”
Now that’s the kind of answer I used to get from techs that didn’t want to talk to customers. It was their way of using the “No “ word. The power word. They would eventually pick up, but I had to talk them into it. I hated that. I’m glad those guy are gone.
But now I’m dealing with a boss that is doing the same thing.
‘Hang up on him” he said.
I thought a moment. “Sir, I don’t hang up on people.”
I could see him bite his lip. He took the call. But he came back a little later.
“You better lose that attitude” he said.
“Hey, I’m not the one telling people to hang up on people”
Against the current, we beat on.

Wednesday, December 26, 2018


... it makes me think of what is going on with my trash bags. I use the bags with a built in scent. Lavender. When you put the new bag in, it fills the apartment with the scent of lavender. It is amazingly resilient too. After a few days, there is still the scent of lavender. The caveat is that underneath the lavender smell is the faint undertone of banana peels, onion skins and the wrapper the chicken breasts came in. Then its time to take out the trash.
I've been using those bags for years. but the last few months I've noticed that when I replace a bag, I still smell trash. I've scrubbed the trash cans a few times now, and I swear when I walk into my apartment the day after replacing a bag, all I can smell is spoiled trash. But the bag is brand new with no trash in it yet.
I've determined that after using these bags for so many years, I've come to associate the otherwise lovely lavender smell with a potpourri of stale pancakes and maple syrup, leftover heavily peppered scrambled eggs, funky bean burrito's, and bad pork chop bones.
So, even though the Cowboys won today and clinched the division, don't be fooled.
They still stink.


"...An eight-year-old boy had a younger sister who was dying of leukemia, and he was told that without a blood transfusion she would die. His parents explained to him that his blood was probably compatible with hers, and if so, he could be the blood donor. They asked him if they could test his blood. He said sure. So they did and it was a good match. Then they asked if he would give his sister a pint of blood, that it could be her only chance of living. He said he would have to think about it overnight.
The next day he went to his parents and said he was willing to donate the blood. So they took him to the hospital where he was put on a gurney beside his six-year-old sister. Both of them were hooked up to IVs. A nurse withdrew a pint of blood from the boy, which was then put in the girl's IV. The boy lay on his gurney in silence while the blood dripped into his sister, until the doctor came over to see how he was doing. Then the boy opened his eyes and asked, "How soon until I start to die?"
- Anne Lamott
Bird by Bird

Gathered at Whiskey River