mind expanding nonsense

Archive for April, 2014

Reptile Dysfunction Redux

Does anybody read the crap lost in the Archives, you know, the stuff that’s two to three months old. I thought so. The answer is No. And that’s a good thing. It means I can recycle some of my earlier stuff and nobody will know.

Having a blog is sorta like being in a band. At the beginning of a group, there’s a lot of energy and creativity. A lot of good stuff is cranked out for the first two, maybe three albums, them Zippo. A Greatest Hits album, then obscurity. The juices stop flowing, and it’s a regurgitation of now worn out lyrics. I mean, how long can a group of young men angrily scream about how they’re not getting laid, in a thrash metal band, before one of them actually does get laid, and comes to the conclusion that he much more prefers Barry White to punk music, because he gets more action with Barry than black n blue in some damn mosh-pit listening to the Misfits or Some Other Trash (not an actual band).

So I’m gonna re-lay some Solid Gold on ya, about Reptile Dysfunction. Now this is a delicate subject for a limp lizard is embarrassing. But not embarrassing enough to advertise the shit out of remedies for this affliction. And, there’s nothing better than stories about wee-wees turning into WEE-WEES.

A few years ago there started to appear on television, really ambiguous commercials featuring older couples longingly looking at each other with sappy looks on their faces, who ended up in separate bathtubs out in the country or at the end of a pier. Now I wasn’t paying much attention back then, and thought I heard them talking about Reptile Dysfunction. That didn’t make much sense to me cause I didn’t see any lizards or anything. But then I found out that they weren’t talking about reptile dysfunction but Erectile Dysfunction, or E D. Now that made more sense, cause  I wasn’t seein’ any snakes, and apparently, neither was she.

It now appears, at least from the number of ED spots on the evening news, that there is an epidemic of us old dinosaurs with limp lizards that just can’t raise our ding dongs: old guys begin’ for a boner, wishing for a woodie, suffering from lack of stiffies, or just plain hankerin’ for a hard on. I wonder what’s the cause of this ailment? How could something that worked so wonderfully as a teenager, peter out on ya late in life? Maybe it’s those sixty plus hours a week ya work, the pressure to put kids through college, maxing out your 401K. Or maybe it just gets down to this: after 30 years, how many more times can ya keep hitting that same thing???

Now most of these commercials are really stupid in their attempt to be more metaphorical than real. I like the Ciallis for daily use commercials. Show me a 50 year old guy that needs that for “daily” use, and I’ll show you a guy who ain’t married or in a long—term relationship. So what do these couples do when that romantic moment hits, like when cleaning out the garage or doing the laundry? Get naked and do it?? Flop her over a sawhorse and do it doggie style? Hell No!! That would be just awful. No, it’s a leisurely romantic stroll before anything meaningful starts.

Or the two folks in them separate bathtubs? How the hell you gonna do the big nasty in separate tubs? They need to get their butts in a hot tub; glass of wine; a little Barry white playing in the background. Togetherness, NOT separate tubs.

Road-Block Ahead

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Do you ever sit down to write a blog post, and nothing happens?  Well, that rarely happens to me because I have an over-active imagination.  Sometimes my mind strays into some bizarre areas, and I’m more than happy to share them with you.

And speaking of bizarre areas, I got this wild hair up my ass (sure glad it wasn’t a wild hare; having a rabbit up there would be worse than hemorrhoids) and decided to clean and polish all the wood furniture in our living-room: a rocker, piano bench, and most important of all, the oak home entertainment center,  that houses my stereo system, TV and vinyl records, and two huge speaker cabinets.  One thing that’s always been important for me is to have an ass-kicking stereo system.  Ear-buds and tiny speakers with a sub-woofer just don’t cut it.  I want 12 inch speakers blasting out the sound so ya can feel it.  In fact, the first major purchase I made after graduating from college in 1969 was a Pioneer tuner-amp, Garrard turntable and my 12 inch speakers.

Anyway, I cleaned all that crap and decided “Hey, I’m gonna spiff-up the old turntable”.   The Windex I was using to clean the glass did a good job, and was handy, might as well use it to get rid of all them greasy peanut butter laden fingerprints.  Looked good.  But when it came time to kick-back and enjoy the fruits of my labor in the form of a stack of albums, my turn-table didn’t work.

Shit!   It would only work on 45 rpm, not 33 1/3!  I figured that some of the ammonia based Windex solution seeped down into the electronics and was shorting something out.  I hate it when that happens.  I tried everything, even started to take it apart for a closer look.  But in the end, patience (along with evaporation) worked.  There’s one truism to any do it yourself job:  If you fuck it up, while trying to fix something, walk away.  It will heal itself.

Sure enough it worked.  I was so happy, that the first thing I did was put on Dire Straits and sat down to write all about it.


Drawing Less

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I’m drawing less and enjoying it more.  Thankfully, I’m not drawing-less, cause I wouldn’t enjoy having all my sketchbooks stolen.  Not stolen in the sense of having your work ripped-off, or copied with out your permission, let alone not seeing any of the proceeds from its commercialization, but just gone…up and vanished.

Seems like there’s a lot of that going on these days in the entertainment industry.  Sometimes I wonder if there’s been a new, original thought since the beginning of the millennium. [Not to be confused with the Biblical thousand year reign of Jesus (grown to have become quite an ass-kicker by His return).  We sure ain’t near that yet.  The Lion is still gobbling up the lamb, instead of laying down peacefully next to it].

January 9 2014 003bOne’s short-term memory loss would really be challenged, if all of a sudden everything you’ve ever made just disappeared, vanished.  That would sure be a lot of letting go all of a sudden.  That’s why I’m drawing less these days; being very economical with line, and frugal with detail.   Saving on color, and investing in simplicity.

Crash and Burn

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Is everything getting ready to crash and burn; turn to shit right in front of our own eyes?  Sure seems like it.  While everyone is freezing their assess off in the northeast, those of us in California and the southwest are heading into our third year of drought, with no relief in sight.  Governor Brown is even talking about mandatory 20% water cut-backs.  How are we gonna be able to grow our own marijuana when it finally becomes legal in the ‘Golden State’?  What it means for me is: more peeing outside, and more efficient use of ‘grey-water’ on my plants.  The veggies will get water, but the poor lawn will remain brown for a long time.

I’m starting to get a little paranoid, and I don’t like it!  I don’t like living in fear, and generally try to maintain a positive attitude.  I’ve got a friend who’s an right-wing ideologue.  He listens to Rush, Michael Savage and watches Fox News all the time.  He fears catastrophe, be it a force of nature or some liberal conspiracy, it is just around the corner waiting to get him.  And although he’s privy to all the shenanigans of the left and evils of Obamacare, it’s not making him any more happier, let alone instilling a feeling of security or peace in him.  Guess if ya live in fear all the time, you become fearful.

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Finding One’s Voice

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Finding one’s voice.

Is not a matter of choice.

But something in which to rejoice.


Don’t worry.  I’m not turning this into a poetry  blog.  I was just sitting around one night and wondering what rhymed with voice.  Not a whole lot of words with oice in them.  Hoist and foist are close, but have that ‘t’ sound at the end, so they really don’t count.

If I were however do go the poetry route.  I think it would mainly consist of dirty limericks.  Think: The man from Nantucket, or “There once was a man from Trent”.  I have written a few limericks.  The one below pretty much sums up my career as a PO (probation officer), but can apply to anyone who has worked in a big government agency or corporation.

There once was a PO named Stover

Who was treated worse than my dog named Rover

Many years did pass

Of taking it in the ass

So he changed his name to Ben Dover.

Mellowing Out

new 041Some things seem to get better when they are left alone to just sit there, age and do nothing.  I know I am.  Non-imaginary things like cheese, wine and beer do the same thing, and in the process loosen hidden characteristics which make them rich and much to be desired (just like me also).  Mellowing-out is a time to enrich your life; kick-back, chill, find your groove and relax.

I do that every night for a few hours.  Sure feels nice, tuning everything out, listening to music – whole albums in their entirety.  The Wife doesn’t mind.  She’s busy reading Irish detective novels or playing spider solitaire on the computer.  Works for me.  Must work for her.

The one thing all the mutual fund companies don’t tell ya when you’re planning for retirement is how much time you’re gonna end up spending with you spouse, especially if she’s retired too. (Spouse can refer to men or women, for it’s a gender neutral or sexless term, and the longer you’ve been a “spouse”, the more sexless it becomes).  Both of you are gonna be home…all the time.

Sometimes I think, “I gotta get outta the house”.  The Wife probably thinks the same thing too.  Maybe that’s why I still work, or more accurately go to work.  It’s not like I love what I’m doing or anything.  It’s just a place to go, and, see other people (even if they are former co-workers who I can’t stand). Our solution is to allow each other time with their friends.  She gets to go out with “the girls”, and I get to hang-out with my buddies, even go on fishing trips.

I don’t know what got me on to all of that.  Time to re-commence mellowing out, and listen to some Jethro Tull.

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A Question Of Style

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That sounds like a pretty cool title.  Unfortunately, I was unable to come up with more that just that.  Although I certainly don’t have a ‘style’ when it comes to my wardrobe, I guess I do when it comes to drawing and writing.  That is if you consider sloppy draftsmanship and incoherent babbling a style.  I consider them more of an affliction.

Affliction is a strange term.  Sounds biblical to me.  Something that might happen if you’re an Egyptian or worshiper of Baal.  It’s definitely not something one chooses, but is forced upon you, often in mysterious ways (God’s favorite modus operandi).  And like a good mystery, you never know who done it till the end.

Anyway, here’s some new work.  In a different style, but still the same old stuff.

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Don’t ya just sometimes wish that things were weight-less and could float in the air before your eyes, and if ya wanted to, make them float over to you so you wouldn’t even have to move a muscle to get them?  I sure do, especially when I’m nearly horizontal on my Lazy-Boy recliner.  I know, sounds like total geezer heaven.  But that’s what happens if you’re on a space station where there’s no gravity except for the movie.  I wonder if that’s what it means to be ‘spaced-out’?

Most of my drawings consist of stuff floating around in a spacial area.  I call them hallucinations, but they’re really not hallucinations, just imaginations I’ve seen when in a dream-like state with my eyes closed (best way to see things).  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real hallucination before.  But then again, if I had, it would have seemed so real that I’d never think it to be a hallucination, but just boring old reality gone berserk.

3-28-14 004Maybe everything is a hallucination.  A distortion, perceived, not as it truly is, but filtered by our likes and dislikes; what we desire vs. what we detest.  I do that a lot: love it, hate it.  Reminds me of that old slogan, “America – Love it or leave it.”  Back in the sixties I loved America so much that I joined the National Guard so I wouldn’t have to leave it and get my ass shot in Vietnam. [mother-fuckers]

It’s a good thing that WordPress only has a Like button, and not a Dislike button.  It would be very interesting if they did.  Then you’d find out how many people thought what ya wrote was a total waste of time, and wound up so pissed-off they were too speechless to even make a comment, but had the common courtesy to say they stopped by.  [My stats would soar, and maybe  I could have the most unpopular blog on the internet]. It would be like saying, ‘fuck you’ without having to be a gross potty mouth by using the f-word.

A dislike button would be good for the TV too.  But sadly that is yet to happen.  Guess I’ll just have to use the red ‘power’ button on my remote whilst softly uttering a dis-approving fuck you.

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I Don’t Wanna Write

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Okay….I just drew this picture with I Don’t Want To Wright written on it.  Actually, the words weren’t written but drawn, so spelling them correctly was of no big concern for me, and a good excuse for botching up my synonyms or words that sound the same but are spelled differently.  So don’t blame my draftsmanship.  Spell-Check missed it too, so that’s two great minds that fucked up.  Anyway, I didn’t want words getting in the way of free-flowing thought.  And, writing words often times gets in the way of that and drawing too.

But I still wanted to convey the idea that writing wasn’t a big priority for me when I did this drawing about not wanting to write anything.  That’s why I illustrated my idea; sure didn’t wanna describe it. It’s interesting to compare the writing versus the drawing.  Even I would have never guessed that so much bullshit could possibly result from a simple drawing.  There aren’t words enough to describe it.happy faces 019

Oh yea….If there’s an advertisement below, please ignore it.  I’m not getting a cent for it, and probably wouldn’t buy it myself.  So it’s not an endorsement, but rather an un-dorsement.

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