mind expanding nonsense

Archive for November, 2011

New Zealand

A few years ago, right after I retired, the wife and I flew to New Zealand, rented a car, and spent three weeks touring both the North and South Islands. The flight there was quite an experience. We left LAX late at night, and after about fourteen hours in the air, arrived in Auckland early in the morning the same day. [That tricky old International dateline].  Arriving in Auckland, with my mind still groggy from a belly full of sleeping pills, we got into a rental car and drove 250 kilometers north to the Bay of Islands on the wrong side of the road. That was a trip. But we made it.

Rather than renting a camper van, we decided to stay at local Bed and Breakfasts along the way. And I’m glad we did. It was one of the highlights of our trip to meet Kiwi’s (That’s what New Zealanders call themselves) and stay in their homes. Also got a lot of good tips on what to see and which tours (like at Milford Sound) to take.

Some of the B & Bs were on small farms, where they raised sheep. In fact  sheep outnumber Kiwis by a large margin in New Zealand. Most of our hosts were more than happy to show off their farms. But is was this one farm in particular that still stands out in my mind.

We stayed in Te Anau before our trip to Milford Sound; and incredibly beautiful fjord on the south western tip of the Southern Island. At this small farm, we stayed in a small cottage near the pasture where the owner kept his livestock. Amongst all the sheep were some goats, an old horse and a three-legged pig. Now I’ve seen three legged dogs before, and even a cat with three legs, but never a three legged pig.

At breakfast that morning in the owners home (good thing about B&Bs, breakfast is included) I couldn’t resist asking about that pig, but I didn’t want to offend our host. I almost got my ass kicked when I asked this one Kiwi at a Wellington hostile,“You sound like you’re from Australia”. Well them is fightin’ words over there, but what did I know, I was just a dumb American who thought all white folks down under there sounded the same, and were just a bunch of Englishmen who got thrown out of the country 200 years ago.

So I proceeded with caution and said, “that’s some pig you got out there.”

Let me tell you about that pig”, said our host. “That pig saved my daughters life. She fell into the pond, and being too young to swim, almost drowned. But that pig ran into the water, grabbed her by the collar with his snout, and pulled her to safety.”

Wow, that was one hell of a pig. But three legs? Hoping for a little more info, I said, “What an animal, and only three legs.”

Let me tell ya about that animal”, replied our host. “ he saved our whole household from a fire. A spark from the fireplace shot out onto a pillow nearby and started smoldering. We were all fast asleep at the time and totally unawares that a small fire was burning in the living-room. Well that pig ran into the house, woke us all up, and we were able put out the fire with a minimal amount of damage.

I couldn’t stand it any more and blurted it out,“Why does the pig only have three legs?”

Let me tell you about that pig”, our host answered, “An animal like that, it just wouldn’t be proper to eat him all at once,”

Black Crayola Friday

Boy is today  ever a special day.  Not only is it Crayola Friday, and actually being posted on a Friday, but it’s Black Friday too!  How much more of a cosmic alignment can ya get than that?  So after spending the night  freezing my ass off in a tent outside the local Best Buy store, and cursed with pumpkin pie flatulence, I thought I’d check-in with my latest hallucinations.

First off, camping outside of Best Buy sure beats Occupying something, cause instead of getting pepper spray for breakfast, you get to run inside the store before dawn and start buying shit.  And with a hearty case of Thanksgiving flatulence under your belt (but rapidly seeping out), you can rest assured that there won’t be that much competition as to who gets that 55 inch flat-screen TV first.  [That’s gonna be so awesome having that puppy smack dab in the middle of our double-wide.]

This week I picked my eight year old grandson from school.  And on the way home, he asked me what Black Friday was.  Wow, how do ya explain that to a 3rd grader?  Keeping in mind that this kid is fairly bright and reads at an 11th grade level. [Hmm…wonder if he’s ready for some Hansi instead of Grandpa?]  So I wanted to give him a full explanation instead of some off-hand sarcastic reply like, “It’s the day when people start buying a lot of goddamned crap to give to a bunch of ingrates for X-mas.”

But first, I wanted to tell him what it was not!  It wasn’t an unlucky day when a lot of bad stuff could happen to you.  Nor was it the End of the World or something like that.  I can remember being scared shit-less as a kid, when some adult said some off-hand remark that I believed was true.  And anyway, the End of the World isn’t supposed to happen until 2012; and hopefully after Christmas.  Wouldn’t want the END to ruin the everyone’s holidays.  Maybe if we offered the Mayan Sun gods a few virgins, we could delay the End.  In America, our Son god prefers tithes and cash offerings.

Back to my grandson.  So I explained to him what accounting was; and how if you had a business, what a profit or loss was, and how the two were entered on a ledger sheet.  Black for a profit (after you pay your lobbyists), or red for a loss, like when your Republican  Congressman failed to pass legislation to only tax the poor.

He was getting it.  And as we passed buy a shopping mall, I told him that Black Friday was the day all those stores started to make a profit.  Because tons of people were there starting to buy a lot of useless crap to give to a bunch of ungrateful In-laws for X-mas, when you see em once a year.

He seemed to get the picture.

And speaking of pictures, once again I enlisted the help of my 3 year old grandson to do some background work on these gems.


My Alaskan Getaway

A few years ago, before I retired, I treated myself to a little indulgence. I spent three weeks alone, in a cabin by a lake, in Alaska. It was one of those times when ya just had to get away. From everything. I had too get my head straight. I was contemplating retirement in 2004, and saw it as a real possibility. After thirty years, I wanted to get the hell out of the Probation Department! And after crunching some numbers, could do it.  But I needed to do some thinking first.

I knew retiring kinda early at age 57, would be a massive adjustment and major lifestyle change. So it was off to Alaska with the wife’s blessing, for some serious fishing, and serious contemplation. Having that time alone and just being with my ‘self’ was great. I eventually came to the conclusion that retirement could to be an adventure. But most importantly, mean freedom. Freedom to do what I wanted to do; or not do, if I so chose.

After three weeks of solitude, my mind was made up. Upon returning home, I was gonna pull the plug on fighting crime and forever hang up my badge; tell the boss where he could shove my caseload, and that would be that. Well, a couple of days before I was going to leave this paradise, I heard a knock on my cabin door. Now ya gotta keep in mind that I was out in the middle of nowhere, without electricity, with no other people, (supposedly) near-by. So a knock on my door came as a shock.

I opened the door to find this huge “Grizzly Adams” type of guy outside. Must have been one of the locals. So I asked him in and told him that I was a little shocked to learn there were other people living up here. He said there were, but few and far between.  He then asked me if I wanted to come over to his cabin the next evening for a ‘little get together’ he was having.

I didn’t know about that, but hey! Retirement was going to be about new adventures. This would be a good chance to meet some other free-spirits who were living off the grid, and find out what their experience was like. What the hell. I told him I’d come, and got some general directions on how to get to his cabin.

I better tell ya” he said, “There may be some heavy drinking going on”.

Well I hadn’t had a drop since I was up there, and thought, maybe a ‘little nip’ would hit the spot. So I told him that’s  fine with me.

I gotta tell ya”, he said again, “There may be some rough sex”.

Wow. Wasn’t quite sure about that one. I mean the wife felt OK with my little indulgence, but didn’t give me a blank check to indulge everything. Although I wasn’t into cheating, I wouldn’t be offended if other folks got a bit ‘friendly’ at the party. I told him, that didn’t bother me.

Oh yea,” he said. “There might be some fighting going on.”

I’m a non-violent type of guy, but I’ve also had a lot of “officer safety” training as a P O, and felt I could always take care of myself in volatile situations. I did have a Domestic Violence caseload at one time, and could diffuse angry tempers from flaring up. Or, if things really got bad, extract myself and seek help. So I said I’d be there, and could I bring anything?

No, that’s OK”, he said. “There’s only gonna be the two of us.”

Got To Watch What Ya Put Into Your Mind

I love politics, it’s fascinating, and, loaded with cleaver bullshit, which I’m also a big fan of.  Forget about Kim (who according to this one tabloid is pregnant; poor Kim, dumped and now knocked up.  What’s she gonna do?  Well you can bet your sweet bippy that I’ll be watching the next episode to find out), Snookie, Idol and the rest, politics is the best reality show going.   Last week was great theater, especially in the Republican Party side-show: a nationally televised brain fart, a womanizer lying his ass off, and loosers turning into winners.  It was better than Dancing With The Stars (sure glad Nancy Grace got bumped last week).

I’m not a big fan (or little fan) of conspiracy theories.  There’s no secret organizations clandestinely trying to run things while we remain unaware.  Not to say that a lot of sneaky-ass shit ain’t happening right under our noses; but that’s  there for all to see, if ya want.   Nope, people can’t keep their mouths shut long enough for anything to remain a secret.  Bet ol’ Herman Cain wished that weren’t the truth.  Everybody knows what the conspiracies are, and If so, how can they remain secret?  It’s no big secret what Corporate America’s agenda is.  They tell ya about 30 times during any TV show; they want you to buy their products so they and their shareholders can make a shit-load of money.  I just wish they’d stop constantly reminding me that I need a pill to be ready for sex whenever ‘that moment’ may arise. You know, like when you’re out  in the garden with your spouse, on  hands and knees pulling weeds.  Gotta stay ready for moments like those.  But only after a night out to the Opera and dinner at an expensive restaurant.  But then again, if I’d  had taken the pill as advised, I’d be ready endure all manner of bullshit in order to get laid.  [Sure hope the Wife doesn’t read this one.]

Well there’s so much stuff  happening these days that one is bound to get a little paranoid now and then.  But that doesn’t have to happen.  If we watch what we put in our minds as diligently as what we watch what we put in out bodies, we can avoid a lot of health hazards..  Just like everything you put in your body has a physical/chemical effect on you, so does stuff you allow in your mind.  I remember at work, what a joy it was when someone brought in one of them pink boxes; the ones filled with donuts….mmmmmm.

How could I resit?  That apple fritter looked sooo good.  So I’d wolf one down, and then you know what?  Within an hour I’m starting to crash.  The sugar high has worn off and my body plunges into lethargy and pain.  I wonder, what the hell did I do to myself?  They outta make fritters illegal (except for medicinal use, of course); I feel like shit!  Wow, what I put in my body sure had an impact on me, as does everything we put into our bodies: that cup of coffee, that beer, junk food and even those pills for our blood pressure.  And what our bodies feel impacts our minds, attitudes, and general sense of well-being.

Here’s the good part.  If we are aware of what we are allowing in our minds, and can see what reactions these things can cause, we can avoid those bad causes by not letting certain things into our minds.  That doesn’t mean toxic thoughts never cross our minds, it means we don’t hop on that thought-train and let it take us for a ride.  We have some control over how we can feel.  It’s like exercise, hard to start at first, but feels good once you get into it.

Well, you’ve  let Hansi into your mind for far too long.  I better go, but I hope I’ve left ya something to think about.  It was good for me, hope it was good for you 🙂

Crayola Friday

Well, it’s Crayola Friday again…somewhere.   And here too at Hansi’s Hallucinations.  And what better way to start your Friday than with a few hallucinations; I always do.  This is just a bunch of fun, loosening-up type stuff that I did on a Sunday afternoon in November.  But enough of this narrative junk.  This is supposed to be a pictures only post and not a bunch of left brain B S.   You know, things to look at, that  make indelibly etched images in your mind and give ya nightmares.  Doesn’t get  better than that!  When it comes to politics, I prefer the Left.  When it comes to which side of the brain I prefer to reside in, it’s always the Right.


This is your 163rd published post. Groovy! This post has 165 words.

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I love it when people use the word Groovy. It’s a real sixties flash back: Feelin’ Groovy; Everything is Groovy, and now, even my 163rd post is Groovy. And it only took a 165 words to get this groove going……Groovy.

 I even got some prompts for my next post, so I thought I’d try out this one:

If I had my own restaurant, I’d have to name it Hansi’s Inhalations. Kinda like my bog, but it wouldn’t be  like the Tea Shops they have in Amsterdam, where you can go in, buy a joint, inhale it, and get blasted all day.  Nope.  My restaurant would be a place where you didn’t smoke at all, but a place were you could eat your meal as fast as you wanted; like inhaling your food when you’re really starved or have a bad case of the munchies. And to add atmosphere, I’d have an older woman, a Mom figure, as hostess, who instead of jumping in your shit for eating your food too fast like ya did as a kid, would harangue ya to “hurry up, you’re food’s getting cold.” In fact, when the place really starts to fill up with patrons wanting a fast bite, ol’ Mom could start yelling at them like a Drill Instructor, getting in their faces demanding they chew faster…and Faster

Not only would this be a hot spot for naughty boys wanting to break the rules, but a great business model featuring crappy food you couldn’t taste and rapid table turnover. Kinda like Wall Street packaging risky mortgages, I could seat a person every fifteen minutes at one table; and if they couldn’t  finish in fifteen, well ol’ Mom will throwing their asses out with a doggie bag.  And even better, because they wolfed down their meal so fast, they’re gonna wanna go around the corner and barf in the alley.  So you know they’ll be right back cause they’re hungry again.  Sounds groovy to me.  Maybe I could start a  franchise.

This would be a good way for me to get even with my enemies too.  I could send them two for one coupons in the mail.  They’ll come in thinkin’ they got a real deal.  But after wolfing down two Hansi creations, they’ll be out in the alley faster than you can say “Up, Chuck”, and be barfing their brains out.  There’s no better joy than to see your enemies suffer.  Makes ya feel good.  Glad you’re not out there barfing with em.

But what if I got hungry, and forgot who I worked for, and ate some of my own food.  Well I’d soon be out there barfing with em.  And if I’m out there with em, that could form a bond with those who were my former enemies but are now fellow sufferers.  I might even start to think “Hey, we’re all in this together. And about 99% of us are feeling the same way.”  “We all basically want the same thing: to feel better and never eat at Hansi’s again; he’s been feeding us a line of shit.”  “He’s been feeding everybody a line of shit.  Let’s not eat at Hansi’s Inhalations. ”

Wouldn’t it be cool if nobody ever ate at Hansi’s again?  Groovy, I would think.  Kinda like not working on Maggie’s Farm*  no more.  Let that thought occupy your mind for a while….you’ll  feel Groovy.

* A Bob Dylan song form “Bringing It All Back Home” album.

Fondly Remembering Racial Slurs

Are you out of your frickin’ mind Hansi?” “You got to stop writing these blog posts when you’re thoroughly baked.” Well all I can say is No to the former, and I’ll consider it to the latter. This may sound really politically incorrect (or totally correct depending on your politics), but the thing is I had this big brain fart flash, and came up with this cool title. So the trick is how does one ‘fondly remember’ racial slurs without being offensive, let alone come across as a total bigot? Tall order.

I grew up in the Crenshaw area of Los Angeles in the fifties and sixties (here we go again with more nostalgic flash-backs) and heard a lot of racial slurs. At that time the Crenshaw area was composed fairly evenly of Whites [that be me], Blacks, and Japanese. And although everybody sorta got along, racial slurs were commonly used when describing people of other races, as well as religions, cultures and just about everything else.  Hey, that’s what we learned. I didn’t know my first grade pal, Tommy James, was an ‘N Word’, until someone told me. I just thought Tommy was a cool guy who could play kick-ball really good so you always wanted him on your team (no sports stereotyping intended). I had no clue he was one of those folks who were threatening to move west out of Central L A and into Our neighborhoods and drive down property values with their “Block Busting”.

Now all wasn’t wonderful in Lily-White land, cause although we made up a strong third of the population, some of us living in the Baldwin Hills were Jewish [that not be me]. Some of my best buddies were Jewish, and to tell ya the truth I kinda envied them. See at about age thirteen, when I was in Junior High, all my buds were getting bar-mitzvahs .

Again, not a clue what that was all about, but I did know that they got all lot of expensive gifts when you were mitzvah’d at the local bar. I certainly had an open mind towards that. Their thirteen year old girls were mostly getting nose jobs.

We had two Japanese families living on our block and another around the corner. I had an affinity towards them, cause although they were born here in the States [like me], they had a certain ‘foreignness’ to them [like Hansi has]. So the big dilemma when we played guns was who’d we fight? Couldn’t fight the Japs, that would offend them, and fighting the Krauts, well that hit a little too close to home for me. We did a lot of Davey Crockett at the Alamo and fought Mexicans. Everybody was happy except the Mexicans, but there weren’t any beaners nearby to complain.

So where did I learn to use racial slurs? Where else but in the gutter where ya also learned everything you needed to know about sex. It was a learned behavior, and its use socially reinforced by my ethnic peers and role models. And I became desensitized to its impact by its common usage among them; hey everybody used the N word back then. But I found something out when in High School; one of my best friends turned out to be black [ that sounds stupid, inferring that he suddenly turned into a Negro overnight or something, but I’ll leave it in], and my best bud in Junior High was Jewish ; that they weren’t evil scum like I heard, but pretty much just like me, and maybe even a little higher on the old socioeconomic latter ladder [damn you Spell-check] than myself. What was America coming to?

So were does the fondling come in?. [With your mind of course…,I really meant fondness; it’s Spell-check’s fault]. Maybe in being able to unlearn a behavior, and admit that I was wrong…just once mind you. But wrong in my assumption and views of other people. I went into their homes, they came to mine…no difference. They were just like me! So there ya have it, and you can call me a liberal communist-pinko who wants to socialize everything form Medicare to Social Security, but that’s the way I see it. But I also discovered that when making a racial slur, I was either angry, pissed off or fearful. And those were not fun mind states to be in.  Not at all peaceful.

Somehow all the racial slurs for white folks never seemed to bother me. When they called me a “Cracker” all I could wonder is did they mean graham or soda. And Pecker-wood; well I just didn’t see how having one’s pecker turn wooden  (a ‘woodie?’) was a bad thing, unless of course it was a prosthesis.

Bad Dreams

Do you ever have bad dreams?  You know, the kind that used to wake ya up crying as a kid.  Well sometimes I do.  And they’re scarier than shit sometimes.  But when I wake up, boy am I ever thankful that I was only dreaming.  Maybe bad dreams are the result of having demons in my head.

Then there’s the kind where you wake up angry, because what ya dreamed about pissed you off.  That happens sometimes to me, especially if I spend the whole afternoon watching MSNBC political shows.

OK…there’s an occasional sexual fantasy.  Occasional I said!  It used to be, when I was a teenager (my gawd I wish I was seventeen again), Sexual fantasies used to Occupy my mind about 99% of the time.  Those are the type of dreams where you really don’t want to wake-up.  For the fantasy is much better then the reality.  And when I was seventeen it was more like a case of the Haves and Have-Nots.

The Boogie Man was a big one as a kid.  But he wasn’t real; still didn’t mean ya went into dark rooms without a flashlight.

The impossible situation scenario is one the scares me the most.  It’s when you dream about a situation you find yourself in and can’t do anything about it.  For those not dreaming, it sounds like a lot of whimpering.

The last kind is when you ‘dream-up’ something and serve it for general consumption.   That’s sorta what I’m doing right now.  The dream/challenge was to use everything I drew on November 7th as the basis of a post.  You know, like instead of writing a bunch of crap and then illustrating it.  It was drawing a bunch of crap and then dreaming up some narrative to string it together.

I think I like drawing more then than writing.  And if you do too [and here’s the shameless plug for my other Blog] check out  The Blithering Idiot.  That’s my other blog of mostly drawings with little to no narrative.  It won’t take long cause it’s all pictures!  Warning…You may need to wash your eyes out with soap after looking at it 🙂

Herman Cain be Drivin’ Me Insane

I’m gonna catch hell in some quarters for this, but I like Herman Cain.  And what’s there not to like , and even admire, a black man, in America, rising to the top of the corporate ladder.  That’s some accomplishment!  And what’s cool is he has a German name.  The same one in fact as my Uncle Hermann (who was an SS officer in WWII).  Sadly Herman dropped the last N in his name when the Cainburg family immigrated from Germany.

What’s even more of a blow-mind, and reason to like him even more, Herman also has the same name as a famous Bible character: Cain, like in Cain and Able.  And if you went to Sunday School like you should have, instead of turning into a godless, liberal socialist commie pinko, you’ll remember that Cain and Able were Adam and Eve’s first children. [ If you don’t recall Adam and Eve then you’re already hopelessly Lost, and therefore un-saveable in God’s eyes, so skip that part]. and the similarities don’t stop there.

OK…after the boys grew-up, they each got jobs so they could start families of there own.  [Don’t even ask where the wives came from or who they really were].  Able was a Shepard and raised sheep.  Cain was in the agricultural business, and grew mostly vegetables and grains, AKA: a farmer.  Both prospered and did well for themselves, but wouldn’t cha know it, as soon as things were going relatively well, and they were starting to make a profit, Big Government steps in and demands their fair share.  Big Government back them was God, and He demanded a sacrifice; kinda like a tax.

What could they do?  Government could put them out of business, so they had to cough it up,( and ya better make it a good one).  Abel gave God a sheep for he knew God had a certain fondness towards lamb.  Cain gave God an offering of produce, probably a bread concoction, rolled thin, spread with tomato paste, goat cheese and baked with a heap of vegetable toppings on it.

God’s taste for lamb won out, and Cain’s produce was deemed sub-par.   Cain got pissed, and if there were lawyers back then, would have sued Abel’s ass in court.  Instead, Cain just murdered Abel, thereby eliminating the competition.  Well God got pissed too.  After He noticed Abel missing, He asked Cain where Abel was.  Cain replied ( and here’s the best part) ” Am I, my brother’s keeper?”  Wrong answer!  Not only was it heartless, it was just plain dumb; with only four people on Earth, how could ya not know where anybody was?  So God banished Able for fraudulent activity and put a mark on him so everyone would know who he was, (like his Mom and Dad), and not hurt him for what he’d done.

Wow…Some story, and it really happened.  Kinda like how Herman Cain is happening now in the Republican Party.  Are they their brothers keepers?  Hell No!  If my “brother” can’t keep up for his self, it’s only because he’s a lazy fool who’s been duped into voting democrat all these years.  Seeing from whence he came, overcoming all obstacles: Don’t you now love Herman too?  See…I thought you’d come around and luv him too.

Closing with a great thought.  Wouldn’t it be a huge gigantic cosmic pay-back, if Herman Cain won the Republican Nomination, and then the Presidency.  Thereby starting a karmic chain reaction  of America being ruled by Black men.  Wow, that’s a mind bender, America being ruled by a black man.  It would mean the end of the Republican Party as we know it.  God is reported to act in strange ways.

Wasting Ink

Sometimes I need to loosen up a bit and just ‘waste some ink’ on a piece of paper.  The problem with ink is once it’s on paper, ya can’t erase it, and I don’t like correctional fluid.

Drawing what comes to mind, is fun. But sometimes it shouldn’t be committed to paper, let alone photo-shopped and published on a blog.


This post is about homonyms, not to be confused with homonids which were are our ancient ape-like ancestors that preferred same sex marriages [their branch on the evolutionary tree withered quite quickly due to lack of meaningful breeding with other species]. Nope. No politics today, or I’d be writing about how The Party of No thinks itself to be The Party of Know. I just love homonyms; you know, words that sound the same in the English language but have different meanings, because I like twisting words to say one thing but mean another. Oops, getting too close to politics.

Take led and lead for example. One is the past tense of lead [not to be confused with lead], the other is a soft malleable metal whose chemical symbol is Pb. I don’t know what got me onto this subject. Probably just got a wild hair up my ass. Which is certainly better than getting a wild hare up my ass. I like taking chances, but not with undomesticated rabbits in my sphincter. That could hurt.

Homonyms are also why I like Spell-check so much. Spell-check goes to show ya just what a waste of time my grade school education was. All those spelling tests and all. Now you don’t even have to know squat about spelling, you just gotta be a good guesser (which is pretty much what I did in grade school anyway). Don’t know a word? No problem; close is good enough. Just type something in and Spell-check will finger out what you mint meant. You may think, ‘hay, thats not fare’. But as long as it doesn’t have a red wiggly line under it, my wording is correct.

When I was writing this, I was also on Skype talking to my sister in Germany. Who by the way said they were having huge Occupy Wall Street protests in all the big cities over there, like Hamburg, Hanover and Berlin. Germans occupying anything is scary for me. But anyway, Heidi chimed in with this condom conundrum: How would you write the saying: “There are three twos in the English language?” Two, Too, To? Well Spell-check froze up on me with that one, so I better go before I put a spell on you.   

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