i'm wearing pants

Each trip across America that I make strengthens my resolve to never do it again. Looking at my car is making me ill, but seeing all the neglect when I got home from the trip really made me ill. Hay that needs stacking. Chickens have assaulted the garden, the roses, the strawberries, all the flowers and most of the stacked lumber. The ground is covered with super-sized chicken shit from super-sized chickens. Heidi was happy to see me for about five minutes before she had had enough of me and decided to show me how much neglect she had felt in my absence. The lawn has lost the battle against the overpowering mallow and the house is just plain sad.

In the next few days, without a truck, I have to finish the following: Finish the fencing. Build a sacrifice area for the horses. Pick up four tons of hay and stack it. Organize all the surplus supplies that arrived in my absence. Take out a door, wall off the space and rehang that door in another spot. Cut and stack four cords of firewood. Re-edit the book. (yes, without the truck) Move twenty railroad ties out of the yard. Pick up a tractor, move three huge piles of soil. Buy four propane tanks and set them up for a butchering of evil chickens. Buy some acetylene and oxygen tanks for the welder....

It's a lot.

So it's fair to say that I am a bit stressed. A long drive. A load of work. A lot of bills and.. and... and...

The soft, full, sweet smell of an early fall. The temperature dropped thirty degrees while I was gone. A strong breeze that nature sends across the land to strip the leaves off the trees is here and it's filled with the aroma of apples, pears, walnuts... Burning wood from a fireplace.

Taking my cue from Heidi's thick coat which she seemed to grow back in the few short weeks I was away, I am wearing my work pants again. A flannel and I feel rustic and sexy. This feeling will last until I have to start scraping chicken shit off of the lumber. But until then, I am a sexy, flannel wearing man again.

Driving home, I heard all the news about what is going on in the world. Hurricane Katrina in Nawlins. Hurricane Cindy Sheehan in Crawford. Georgie the kid on vacation. Gaza Strip evicted some tenants. Planes coming out of the sky at a pace of one a day. War in Iraq. Gas prices at $3 a gallon. Hmmmm... Who cares.... It's fall again. None of what is going on right now is news. Hurricanes like to party. Cindy baby... I'm with ya. Georgie.. Big surprise. Gaza... Never been, never gonna go, could care less. Planes crashing... Any of them hit a building? No, then we don't have any tribute concerts to watch any time soon. Iraq... Give it to the mormons... They seem pretty fond of their abilities. Gas prices... Just steal it. Did I mention it's fall?

It's time for soup, coffee at night, sex with a lot of covers, fires and thick, heavy blankets. It's time for quiet still nights with just stars and the naked trees. It's time for Halloween, the juiciest holiday of them all. (please send photos of your sexy costume to me, thanks) It's time for family and friends. It's the end of summer tourists and their obnoxious presence. It's the time of sleep, sex and soup. I can't wait. There are a few things to do first, but that's all worth it.

scouring rain

The trip back is always less exciting than the trip there. However, in this case, the trip home has been exciting in ways I did not know a trip could be. The trek begins early Wednesday morning in Toronto and takes me across the border around noon. I make it across with very little hassle which is a complete surprise given my other border crossing experiences. I make it across Michigan and land in Muskegon in time to take a little nap before my show at 8. The plan is to sleep a few hours, do the show and then start driving again, that's the plan. However, my plan is scratched in favor of a series of showers, cups of coffee and naps.

After the show, I come back to the hotel, shower and pack. I sip some lobby coffee and I am ready to go. Somewhere in those few moments, I think it would be a good idea to get a few hours of sleep just so I will be rested for the long drive, so I set the alarm for midnight and I drift off. Midnight rolls around, I get up, drink some more lobby coffee, take another shower and then I start to convince myself that sleeping until 3 would be best if I want to avoid rush hour traffic. I wake up at three. Take another shower, more lobby coffee and go right back to bed.

8 o'clock and I am out the door. I am as clean as I have ever been. The lobby coffee has worn the lining of my stomach to nothing and it burns but I am ready and rested. The next stop on this trip is to be a weird one and something that I try to avoid if at all possible when I am on the road. I am going to Moline, Illinois to visit the grave of my mother's father who died before my mother was born. Rain slows my progress across Illinois, but I get there, three hours late, but I get there. Standing at the gravesite, snapping photos of a grave of a man that I have never met and neither has my mother. It's a very surreal moment as I think about that math. My mother has never been here and she has never seen the grave of the man that she never knew as dad. Somewhere under his little white, marble-like tombstone is a man who gave me a tumor that almost killed me when I was 17. It's the same type of tumor that killed him when he was 30, the mystery of his death left unsolved until I had my little brush with death 40 years later. I don't feel anything about him. I never knew him. I have never heard stories of him as my mother never knew him to have stories to share. My only link to this man is genetic and the ones I share with him are not my favorite genes. But I feel sad in a strange way. I don't know if it's the tormented story of his death and the life of my mother never knowing him or if I am just sad because his blood is my blood and I should feel a sense of pride as I stand here.

The grave stone is white, neglected and alone in a sea of other family plots. The Jones family apparently dies early in life and the Magendanzes live forever. Among them is a lone family member, his first name was Emanuel and I am pretty pleased with that. What a cool name for a grandfather to have. I wonder what his voice sounded like? I wonder if he was tall? Bald? Funny? I see that he was in the military, something else I didn't know to add to the rest of the information I don't know about him. In my head, I am trying to imagine that the people buried around him were his friends in life and they all chose to be buried here. I don't know if that is road dementia talking or if I am just hoping he had a great life and great friends. The date of his death is a shock as I add up all the figures. My mother's birth, his death, and conception. He died within days of conception. Ultimately his death would send my grandmother down a dark path of mental instability that lives with her today. What it did to my mother I have no idea, but I have a feeling that my relationship with my mother reflects many of the feelings she does have about not knowing her father.

It took two hours to find his grave in Moline and another six hours to get to Kansas City from there. I wasn't in a great mood when I got into town and the weather was still pretty sad. Even with close to 15 hours of pouring rain hitting my car at 70 miles an hour plus, the bird shit from Toronto is still caked on to the windshield and I am spending a lot of my driving time thinking about ways to get it off of there. It's annoying me.

I eat my last BBQ meal for a while and Adam and I head to his house, when I get there, I just crash on the couch. The rain is relentless and the thunderstorm over the city acts as a poweful lullaby and I sleep peacefully for hours.

The morning is more rain and it's really coming down. I have 14 hours of driving ahead of me and most of my plans for this trip have been blown. I had stops to make that are behind me now and I am feeling like shit for heading north when I wanted to head south. I have never diverted from my travel plans to view a single site and it has finally hit me what I have done. I am still beating myself up while I am loading up my car and I see the caked on bird shit. Then, it all goes away. The urge to visit my friends is something that I will have again and something I feel I will be able to do again. The visit to the grave was a first for my entire family and it was groundbreaking in ways that I am still not aware of yet. I guess I will know the true impact of what I have done when my mother sees the photos of her father's grave. A grave she has never seen ever. Of a man she never knew, ever. Of a place she has never been too, ever.

The dark menace of Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho and Oregon highway is looming ahead of me and I know I must get to it, however, I don't feel ready to make the trip. I am not letting anything sink in from the past week and I feel that by the time I get home I will have too much to think about and I will have forgotten something. I hope not, there are some great memories from this trip and I met some wonderful people, but still, it is possible. One delicious memory can be tarnished by a tart one. The greatest adventures of all time are littered with misadventure but, perhaps those misadventures are what make it the great adventure it is. Maybe I won't scrape that bird shit off my window just yet, perhaps it's there as a powerful reminder for me. One so strong that not even the forces of mother nature can wash it away. A small white, marble-like reminder that has been left for me to use for reflection whenever I forget where I have been, who I have met and those that were left behind or couldn't make the trip themselves.

the art of intimidating conversation

The most common criticism of me as a person outside of my glaring grammar, spelling and punctuation mistakes, is my over all presence when I am around certain people and how I can make them feel. It has come to my attention that many people feel intimidated when I am around them, especially when it comes to conversation. It would seem that when people meet me they are overwhelmed by one part of my personality or another and find themselves without much to say out of fear that I will say something about them. Therefore, what I now see is a lot of quiet people. I don't know if they are quiet because they don't like me, the easiest conclusion for me to reach, or because they are stupid, which I only assume when I know that they are truly stupid. (stupid people are not intimidated by me, they just love to chat and dig a hole, that's how I know they're stupid) I ask everyone about this "intimidation" factor that seems to be so prevalent and their common reply is, " I don't know what it is, you just scare people".

I would like to know if there is something about how I say things or what I talk about that unsettles people? I am completely aware that I seek out conversation in ways and means that are rare to the the everyday person, but that is what is interesting to me and can't be at intimidating as refreshing. I don't want to know what you are watching on television on a daily basis, I want to know what talents you possess. I don't want to know about every failed relationship you've had, I want to know why you chose those people in the first place and I want to see if you see that reason clearly too. I don't want to hear about the life you wish you were leading, I want to know why you aren't doing it now. I don't want to hear about the-wish-I-could-do's, I want to know what you are doing.

Boring, dull conversation is ruining our lives and it's everywhere these days. Introductions, goodbyes, and all the stuff in between is just fluff we have practiced this dull art a million times and continue to do it whenever we talk to someone new. Anytime you are in public and have to deal with customer service people, you hear canned conversation and their questions for you are very dull and this dulls you up even more. When you hear, "how are you?" and "can I help you find something?" over and over again, those two rather important questions lose their value to you. You learn to answer them in dull, canned fashion and that carries over into conversations with people you do know and like. I try to answer those questions as carefully and thoughtfully as the questions they truly are. If they cared to ask, then I should care enough to answer. Don't be shy, they asked. One day those questions may be really, really important and I wonder if you are going to answer them in same dull fashion that you always do. What if aliens came to earth and it was their first two questions? Would we answer in a short, lifeless and emotionless, "fine. no, thanks, just browsing" kind of way? If you were trying to enter peace talks with your enemy and they were genuine, would you answer in the cold, casual manner that inspired them to violence in the first place? Cold and casual people are always pissing us off.

Etiquette as it applies to conversation is a confusing mess and I am not sure that there are any real rules that need to be followed other than two. DON'T BE MALICIOUS and NEVER BE DULL. I think conversation is what is keeping you sane and the lack of it is what is driving you crazy. I have a theory that the most intelligent people on the planet are stuck in mental institutions because they know something grand and important but lack any ability to communicate it effectively. The knowledge of what they know and can't do drives them to insanity. There are rules to behavior, on topics and on timing when it comes to talking to others and they are all shit. Back to the two rules again, there is never a reason to make fun of someone and mean it, if it serves no end other than to be mean. And never be dull, dull people inspire violence. Outside of that, talk about anything you want with anyone. There is no such thing as a rule that says you can't talk about your love of asian hookers, with a priest. There is nothing that says you can't talk about your former or present drug habit, with your boss. There is nothing that says you can't talk about former lovers not matter how many or seemingly twisted, with a group of strangers. There is nothing that says you can't talk about your personal interests with others that you think might not share that interest. I think a new level of brave should be labeled here. Any moron can make the decision to run into a fire, very few morons will choose to talk about their secret desires, their shortcomings, their failures and their dreams with a complete stranger, or worse, someone they know. That, my friends, is bravery.

I am not sure why I am so intimidating but it is making it impossible for me to find a good conversation or to even find a lot of mid level conversations. If people continue to clam up when I am around, it's going to be a quiet, one sided rant on my part and as much as I enjoy ranting, I would prefer to laugh and be amazed.

I appreciate people who say, "I just love to hear you talk" or "I love to watch you talk to others", that makes me feel like I possess something interesting. It took me a long time to realize that they were saying I was entertaining and not intelligent, which I took hard and it made me recoil from most of these little chats. The people that say, "I would love for you to meet my friend or (fill in the blank), I think you two would really like each other". Or, "you would tear him/her up." Or, "It would be interesting to be a fly on the wall." Again, I thought it was due to some intellectual talent but I see now it's more an entertainment thing. If I had known that me talking to others was a source of great entertainment I would have retooled my comedy act and just chatted someone up the whole show. So one poor soul doesn't enjoy the show, but the rest of the people would have loved it. Which is a better ratio than I normally get.

I am not intimidating, but I am not typical. When you talk to me, if you ever do, you will see that the flow of conversation is not going to be bland and everyday. I will ask you a ton of questions and will really want to hear the answers. If this intimidates you, then it's probably best that you just read my writing and not try to seek me out. If you know me and choose not to talk around me, it is making me rethink why I am friends with you in the first place. I am a creature of information and without it, my interest wanes. Continue to take part in the conversation or go talk to the woman at the bank.

the water falls

This trip into Canada has been relatively smooth compared to the others, but I am still 48 hours away from my exit, so keep holding your breathe. I crossed into Canada at the Sarnia crossing above Detroit. Three hours of Brett Martin and some yummy Tim Hortons and I am in Toronto, the world's most culturally diverse city, or so it claims. It does show it with it's American traffic, Asian food, French clothing, Middle eastern business owners and African and South American employees. There is just a sense of unity to this place the just works better than anywhere else.

My first night in Canada I decided that I needed to see Niagara falls and take in the glory of nature's most perfect hydroelectric water show. It's here that Nikoli Tesla gave the world alternating current electricity and completely embarrassed Thomas Edison and his foolish direct current electricity. This act set the world back decades as Thomas Edison erased Tesla's name from history because of it. A truly sad affair considering that Tesla invented television, radio, and a bunch of other cool math stuff that you have probably never heard of but use today.

This is also the place that Clark Kent came out to Lois Lane that he was Superman. I think someone tried to hit a golfball over the falls a few weeks ago and a few people have tightrope-walked over it as well. With all of these historical facts, it goes without saying that Niagara falls would be a place that millions of people flock to every year to take in all this majesty, history and beauty by eating salt water taffy, buying keychains, taking pictures in front of posters of the falls and by paying 12 dollars to park to do it all. Yes, ten thousand people were there the day when I came into town to pay homage to my math hero, all of them eating, taking photos and lollygaging at the rail. It was late at night and I had to park a mile away just to see the falls. I had to stand in a sea of people to view the water and finally I was scared off by the circus-like atmosphere that nature's beauty had attracted. I saw the falls, briefly. I'm sure if Tesla knew about this, he would have chosen a different spot to change human history. I was half tempted to start up a conversation about love canal and it's proximity to the falls just to see if that piece of history would draw some sightseers away from the rails so I could enjoy the falls without feeling the urge to push people over the rail.

None of the Niagara pilgrims came to worship at Tesla's temple. In fact, there isn't one word about Tesla anywhere. The falls, best seen from the Canuck side of the falls, is referred to as "America's Honeymoon headquarters" and it's the home of every piece of capitalism and kitsch that can be stuffed into a very small valley with narrow roads. Very honeymoon-esque. The experience made me feel horny, sure. There is nothing more exciting that ten thousand people cramed together to buy Niagara falls keychains with their name on it. There is nothing that makes me as feisty as seeing a Hindu woman in full dress, eat an ice cream cone. Nothing gets me harder than blinding flash bulbs and screaming children in strollers. Nothing makes me want to slip my hand up a dress more than gazing at a crowd of people that will pay 15 bucks for a photo in front of a poster of the falls, TWENTY FEET, from the actual falls themselves.

It was warming to see that these people were getting along and if the falls can bring us together in a sense of awe and wonder, and make us forget that we our nations are presently at war with each other in other parts of the world then I am willing to overlook all the blasphemous behavior. Mother nature wins again with little to no effort. Water falls over an escarpment into a river below and there is no war to speak of, as long as you are watching it and being suckered in. It would seem that being a sucker is something that unifies us all. A fine mist falls upon your skin and it's not an angry flesh that gets soaked. I can dig that. I am also willing to pay money to watch ten of thousands of people pay to get drenched and smile about it.

The next day is the hockey hall of fame with Mr. Hockey himself, Brett Martin. As a Canuck and a loyal hockey fan, you would assume that living two miles away from the most hallowed hall of fame in sports would pull him in everyday. No, this was his first trip. It was a lot of "sweaters" or jerseys, loads of pucks, lots of Wayne Gretsky and a shit load of cups, platters and trophies that I have never heard of. It would seem that there is an award for everyone that plays hockey every year no matter what you did or did not do. The phrase, "this award.... as voted by the... each year... is given to the... of their team." is found on each award. Fill in the blank on who, what and where.

I played Mr. Hockey in a game of simulated hockey and beat him on the first round. A sense of American pride not found in this hall of fame on a regular basis could be felt for a few brief moments. Then he schooled me to take the series 2-1. Typical Canadain come from behind behavior. The shame of losing to a novice "yank" would have been too much shame for Mr. Hockey to live with. He would have had to fling himself off the falls had he lost.

There is a mix of culture here. It seems that the world's refugees from the extreme nature of their former cultures have fled to Toronto to show the rest of the world that it can work if you give everyone enough doughnuts and coffee. It can work if you lighten up. Throw in some good cheer and the future is set. I am enjoying my stay... So far. Mother nature is making the juice that keeps eastern North America running and apparently she doesn't care that a Hindu woman is eating ice cream made from the sacred milk of the gods. All life is possible if we forget why we made it impossible in the first place. There is probably an award in the Hall of fame for you if you are willing to accept that attitude.

Thank you Mr. Tesla for all you have done... this gellato is for you. I looked for a keychain with your name on it, but even your first name is not allowed here.

calm skies over a restless city

Kansas City was electric last night. Thousands of lightning strikes all across the sky and pouring rain which inhibited your ability to look up at it. I think mother nature does that on purpose. The rain is supposed to annoy you to the point that you will get under cover thus allowing you the relative safety from the lightning that accompanies the downpour. As you sit there in your lightning free perch, you get to watch the night sky come alive. The forms and the movement of the storm clouds captured for a moment in the brilliant flashes of light. It's very hypnotic and you can lose yourself in it. Hopefully, in your daze, you won't walk out into it and be struck down with 10,000 volts of mother nature's, "HEY! What did I just tell you?".

The rain falling in your eyes obscures your view, so it's only from an angle that you can watch the show and listen to the constant reports of thunder crashing in the distance. You lose a bit of the asethic of a good storm this way, but it's better than nothing. The last time I watched one of these shows, a forest fire threatened my home and the power went out, so I am learning to love a good thunderstorm all over again. This time I am in a city and I am noticing that I am not enjoying it as much as I have in the past and it's not for fear of a forest fire or a power outage. This feeling strikes me as odd, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I have been enjoying everything a lot less since I got here. I'm more nervous and tense. My heart is acting up a lot and my sleep is restless and not as satisfying. The only theory I have to explain all this unrest is that I am in a city and it's designed to never shut down, never slow down and to increase the speed of life, or that's how it sells itself. This is causing me to speed up my routine from my rural existence and I don't like it. That's what cities are, really, small towns with more energy.

People that live in cities have faster heartbeats. Are prone to more illness, accidents and mental disorders. Small towns have stresses that are shared with their bigger cousins, but the people that live there are not afflicted the same way. How odd. Hmmmmm.... I think the answer to all of this lies in the stimulus over-kill which city dwellers are exposed to daily and are not even aware of. The root of this over-kill, I think, is that a city dweller is constantly exposed to other humans. You see them, hear them or feel them at all times and they are very close. If you listen through the walls of your city dwelling, you can hear neighbors, cars, air conditioners humming, sirens blaring, city lights buzzing - motion, sound, information to absorb - all the time. I think that this makes people nervous, but I think city people are just not as aware as rural, small towners are. City folk have gotten used to it and only sense it when they go camping and then come back. Then they see it. I think that is why so many city people go camping, to get away from all the noise. Of course, they take radios, TV's, generators and other noise makers along with them. You have to slowly wean city people off city life. A drastic change would slow their hearts to dramatically and they would die from the sudden drop in blood pressure.

In a city, the constant reminder that you are not alone is unsettling and doesn't allow you to relax and just let your guard down. The fact that the city is seemingly 24 hours of nonstop human stimulus can not be healthy. In the country, noises, motion and smells are mostly nature, which is relaxing and doesn't give you cause to react so defensively. (unless that motion, sight or smell is a skunk) In the country, sitting on the porch is just you, there are no buzzing city lights, no cars, no humming air conditioners and no sirens. It's just you and the thoughts you bring.

It strikes me as terribly ironic that city people love what causes them so much anxiety. Their main point to make in the great debate over country life versus city life is this, "there is more to do in a city - more opportunity, more entertainment." By opportunity I think they mean options but you will rarely see a city dweller use those options. Their lives are much the same as a small town dweller's. Find things you like, stick with them. I can see the argument for a city life, but I think that same argument for it, is the same one against it. Yes, there is always an outlet close by to cater to your every whim. Should you need interior paint at 3 in the morning, you can get it. Not that you will be painting at 3 in the morning, but if you needed some, you could have it. Yes, cities offer you choices that small towns can not; more restaurants, more stores, more specialty stores, etc. BUT, how many options do you need? Isn't one of the most common stresses that human suffer from the inability to chose? How long does it take you to look at a menu in a restaurant and make a decision on what to order? You don't want to make the wrong choice do you? And choosing one means you might miss out on the enjoyment of another... Stress, stress, stress. Small towns have places to eat. They have stores. Simple choices, easy to make, allowing your mind to free up space for other, more valuable thoughts. Cities do have options and as a citizen of a free country, you can decide to do what is best for your needs when you are choosing a locale on the planet to call your own. If you chose a city, this may be the easiest choice you ever make again. I mean, you only have to take into consideration; school district quality, neighborhood safety, distance from shopping, transit and emergency services, property value, taxes, job opportunities and growth potential, when making your first city choice, that sounds like a no brainer. Perhaps weather sneaks in there too, I don't know.

I live in a small town, there is no late night traffic. No late night paint shoppers. Living in a small town makes you think ahead, and it's easier to do for small towners than city dwellers. City dwellers are amped up and don't have the time to stop and think ahead. Small town folk have slower paces and don't need ridillin to organize their agendas. A small towner is more likely to have purchased enough paint and other essentials during the day so that they might enjoy their sleep without tossing and turning over what has to be done tomorrow or right now. They will also have more room to store what they have purchased and will be somewhat free from the anxiety of someone stealing it from them. A lock is a rare thing in a small town. If there is one, it was either put there by a former city dweller or because of a city dweller's presence.

City folk love to point out that small towns do not offer enough outlets for goods and services, especially when it comes to entertainment, this is untrue. Small towns have entertainment, it's called, ourselves. Those small town folks know how to entertain themselves and they have plenty of time and room to do it. Small towners don't need "places" to entertain them, they have the patience and clarity to entertain themselves, which makes the entertainment more enjoyable, fulfilling and again, allows for more restful sleep.

In a city, there is always motion, brighter lights and more man made noise to stimulate your brain in an unnatural way. It makes you nervous and uneasy as you are unsure of what to do with all this stimulus. I'm sure this unsettling feeling is the cause of so much of their anxiety that makes you want to buy paint in the middle of the night. Small towners enjoy what noises they hear and rarely see movement. When they do, it's easy to respond to and usually pretty exciting. I think it's because we know that it's not fabricated.

As the lightning fills the night sky, I am comforted in the knowledge that lightning is not a city or a small town creation. In my mind I have created the belief that mother nature could sense my uneasiness and brought me some pure nature to calm my razzled nerves. I am trying to sit on the porch and just lose myself in thoughts of home. I know now that being able to purchase something in the middle of the night is not a luxury, it's a burden. Sleep is nature's perfect gift. It heals, calms, pleasures and is required. What thinking. No mad scientist could have come up with that one. Maybe all these cars driving by are mad scientists who are driving to the store to get more copper tubing for their human reanimation experiment they are conducting during this lightning storm. Hmmmmm....

the poor flaming monkey

This is Ipod thing is pretty damn neat-o! And I mean that in a "this Ipod thing is pretty damn neat-o" kind of way. I have spent hours downloading music into my computer, transferring it to the Ipod and scrambling it so that I might enjoy it as the background music for my trip. The musical score of my life, as the saying goes. It's a great idea and I'm sure that many people have thought of it before me, however, I'm not sure it's truly relevant to the events of each and every moment of the day. Listening to "Send me your money" by the Suicidal Tendencies doesn't seem to be appropriate when driving across the vacant, sun-drenched plains of Nebraska. It does make that four minutes go by a lot faster and maybe that is why it played right then. (those people at Apple are so smart)

I have the 1000 songs playing on random, so I am never sure what is going to play. For the most part the musical score of my life is working out well, I hear some Vandals and some Ministry, but then in the middle of a four song power play, a ballad by Tori Amos pops up and then a Gordon Lightfoot song. Then it's over to George Jones, then the Beattles, then Allison Krauss, then Otis Redding... It's hard to figure out what kind of mood my Ipod is trying to put me in. With each song that is played, my attitude toward the world around me changes. I really appreciate the aesthic of the landscape when a ballad is played, but would probably want to see that same streach of land scorched when I hear the Sex Pistols. The variety of emotional responses to music brought to me by the Ipod is making the driving a little bit more entertaining.

I purchased a radio transmitter that hooks up to the Ipod so that I might play it through my car stereo or any stereo, it's a little piece of neat-o. I like headphones, but the car stereo adapter just makes me feel like I am at the forefront of technology today. It's not really the forefront, but it's enough for me. I evolve slowly into tomorrow's new inventions. It took me five years of Ipods to get one. It took me ten years of CD players to get one of those and I still haven't purchased my first hypercolor tee shirt. The most advance technology I have is my lovely apple computer, now too old. My Ipod with 4 gigs, 56 shy of the new ones. My sonic care toothbrush, the first model, three back from today's fresher, more effective one. That's it. That's me on the cutting edge of what's hot and fresh.

I love the thought of having every song that I ever cared to listen to twice being stuck in a little tiny piece of metal that I can hide in my ass if I ever go to prison and need a musical score there. I don't need 60 gigs of hard drive, I don't know that many songs. I still have 40 percent of my Ipod open for more and I have run out of ideas. My sonic care cleans my teeth just as well as the newer ones. Hell, my manual transmission toothbrush works just as well, but the sonic care was a gift and I like it. If you have never tried one, it's a lot like a brushing your teeth with a vibrator.

I wish I could say that I am listening to every song as it plays on my Ipod, but I am so fascinated by the technology that I spend most of my time just playing with the damn thing and seeing what else I can make it do. A common hereditary trait of humans. It's not enough that we invent a tool, use the tool and perfect the tool, we have to find new uses for that tool and, when we have the time, add shit on to it. (I think his trait is known as the SWISS ARMY gene) I know that I have made doorstops out of Irons, books, piles of clothes, a shoe and countless other things who's original purpose has nothing to do with doorways. I have used my keys to open plastic containers, credit cards to scrape ice off my windows and I have used hairbrushes on women for... combing their hair. I know that when I use some tool I always wonder why the inventor didn't add this or that to it to make it more effective. I think the best example of this thinking can be seen in hammers. For years, all hammers pretty much looked the same, then someone thought, we should make the handle... Longer. That's it. And it has taken off big time.

With all of this exploration of the use of tools, I am beginning to wonder what simpler-man came up with. I wonder what the first few people around fire thought. I'm sure they thought it was warm, but how long did it take them to figure out that you could cook things with it. I wonder how many of our monkey-like relatives caught fire before they figured out not to touch the shiny end of the burning stick. How many different shapes did the wheel go through before they settled on round? Why was Tarzan, raised by apes, the only one wearing a loin cloth?

I don't think my fascination for all things invented stops at just this little hiccup in the computer world. I'm sure that in two years this Ipod will be looked at much the same way we look at 8 track players today as a funny little piece of pop culture trivia and nostalgia that you can't pawn and you can't find parts for. If you think my assessment is harsh, how many of you have a cell phone for which batteries are no longer sold? How many of you have televisions that you can't use a DVD player with? How many of you still have a stereo with dials, nobs or non-LED displayed information? How many of you have calculators that you don't use but won't throw away?

So I am enjoying my youthful and monkey-like enthusiasm for my Ipod, which is balancing my frustration over trying to find a battery for my cell phone. It's an older model phone and the people at the phone company almost shit themselves when I asked for a battery for it. They had a look on their faces like I was about to touch the shiny end of the burning stick with my bare hand. If they ever make the killing of humans legal for everyone, not just the CIA personnel, then these people are the first on my list. Just as soon as the skin graft on my hand heals up. I gotta run, "Way cool junior" just came on.

sticky nuts

Looooong stretches of time go by as you drive alone across the country. Mile after mile, hill after hill, time rolls on. There has always been a big deal with the open road and getting out there and seeing America, but those people that make that big deal have never really done any traveling and if they have, they were not strapped with a schedule to keep as they made their trip. I'm sure that there would probably be something really romantic about traveling just a few hundred miles at a time, stopping for indefinite periods and taking it all in; Tasting the local fare, meeting the locals, taking in the sites. I'm not sure there are many people that have the tolerance for such a lifestyle, but if there are some, good for you. I'm sure you're as pleased as punch right now. But for those that have to travel as a requirement, the open road poses a giant threat to all that you hold sacred and isn't the glory that books are written about.

The first few trips are lovely. You are seeing things you have never seen and there is a sense of achievement in seeing "North Dakota" for the first time. The second time, that enthusiasm has passed and now North Dakota is just a huge pasture that doesn't seem to end. That first trip is filled with new things and for the most part, that can be pretty cool, however the firsts start to be, all-the-times and it gets old too. You start to realize that there really is nothing new to a new place other than geography. People are generally the same, so are the towns they live in, etc. What's new is your opinions of it all.

Loooooong drives. You start to measure time and distance by the speed of the car-70 miles an hour means it will take me three hours to travel 210 miles, if I speed up to 80 miles an hour, it will take me... It will take me... Less time." I do this a lot with long drives now. Especially the one that takes me across Wyoming, something I have done thirty or so times. Always the same stretch of Interstate and I always stop at the same gas stations. There is a Love's truckstop in Cheyenne that is on I-25 a bit south of I-80 and there is a Love's truckstop in Rawlings where I usually eat and use the bathroom. Further down the road into Nebraska, I always stop in North Platte and have a coffee at the last good coffee house that is east of Washington state. ( for you mormon readers, coffee is that dark, hot stuff that comes from trees and hot water... devil's magic). There are no other "must stops" that I make on this stretch of road unless there is a good deal on porn in Rock Springs, WY but that takes up valuable driving time (stopping for thirty minutes is a loss of how many driving miles if I am traveling at 75 miles an hour, that means I will arrive at my destination... X - amount of time lost looking at discount porn bins.)

After 8 hours of driving you get driving dementia and things in your mind are no longer real. You and the car have become one and it seems to drive itself, keeping the speed up and staying on the road. There have been trips that I have taken that I can not remember the last three hours of the drive but somehow I made it to my destination. Those are scary moments. When road dementia takes over, your mind starts to work in a parallel universe. Your thought process that involves reason and logic take a back seat to hard core fantasy and delusion. In this space in your head are born the greatest plans for the rest of your life like, living in a tree house for the rest of your life and just eating peanut butter cups for nourishment or figuring out a way to speed up the child delivery process by having expectant mothers jump off a table and land flat footed thus expelling the baby quickly. The umbilical cord will act as a bungee cord, keeping the child from danger. I am also fond of figuring out complex math equations in my head at these times. I can almost make sense of every decision made by a human ever, when I have been driving for 9 hours. The longer the trip, the deeper the dementia. After 11 hours of driving, you can fly and you are willing to prove it to anyone that asks you. 13 hours, you're invisible.

I completed this second leg of my trip in 20 long, fun filled, I pod listening hours, arriving in Kansas City at 1 in the morning. Needless to say, I cured cancer, balanced the US budget, wrote three books, composed a symphony made up completely of me blowing raspberries (two movements), redesigned the weight distribution of my house, organized the cells in my eyeball and figured out who killed JFK. I was made of gold, not that you could tell... I can fly and I'm invisible.

Somewhere in hour 14 or so, I ran into the Midwest. Road dementia and the Midwest is just a recipe for disaster. There are just too many elements in this world that just should not mix at all, and these are two of them. I knew I was in the Midwest because the humidity of my childhood had returned; I heard cicadas, saw beautiful oak and willow trees and could smell the dirt that is so distinct in the Midwest. A soft smell of dirt filled with moisture and "animal". I also ran into some locals... And that is really the true, telling sign of the American Midwest. Without the people of the Midwest, none of what is thought about the Midwest would be true and everyone would live there.

Large land mammals wearing sleeve-less shirts and biker shorts that were probably capris at one time. Their hair is kinda messy, and their teeth are... Interesting. Marlboro's in one hand, Mountain dew in another. There is a long beaded keychain that is dangling between the pack of cigarettes and the fingers which seems to larger than the pack of cigarettes. Surprising for reason that I can't explain. Flip flops on their feet and to add a touch of class and make themselves sexy, they wore the ones with sparkles on them. Next to them is their physical polar opposite. Their mate. Rail thin. Tight jeans. A black tee shirt with a young Indian maiden on the front. Her hair lightly blowing across her face. Superimposed over her head is a picture of a grey wolf, looking very serious and mythic. Written below the images is a simple phrase, GOD BLESS THE USA.

Again, this is hour 14. I see a marshmallow and a toothpick walking together into a gas station and that tee shirt sends my mind in so many different directions I don't know which thought to start with and I am worried that if I don't pick wisely I will lose one of these juicy thoughts and I don't want to lose one precious moment of thinking about this.

American Indian.... Hair in the breeze... Grey wolf... GOD BLESS THE USA.... Both of these images were pushed almost to the point of extinction by Americans who looked just like these two walking into this gas station and they were almost annihilated for the same reason that these two are walking into the gas station. I love Irony.

Again, hour 14.

Humidity is a tricky thing. If you sweat a lot there is a good chance that your body is going to make a sweat paste and glue your body parts together. Especially those parts that are pretty close together in the first place. On men... Well... I don't need to tell you where this strikes us. Let's just say, you don't want to be putting YOUR body anywhere near those parts at times like this. On women, I don't want to know. But I know some women who have put powder between the bottom part of their tit to keep it from sticking to their stomach.

So with my nuts stuck to my thigh, my head full of natives, white trash marshmallows and the gross national product... I have arrived. Give me a day to eat some BBQ and I will return to form.

Thank you for all of your warm words of support as I drive across the country, it doesn't help, but it's nice to know that you don't want me dead.

towards the sun

As the story goes, three men saw a star in the east and followed it to a small barn where a child was born in a manger. That child would grow up to be the world's salvation and a life long lover of frankenscense. In what has to be the greatest example of soothsaying in the history of man, these three men put on their best vesments, loaded up extraordinarily expensive gifts on the backs of their camels and headed out across the dangerous, bandit-ladden desert with no idea where they were going. There is no mention of whether or not they took food and water or how long the trip even lasted, in fact, there is only one mention of these three men in the bible. One sentence in they entire book and we have made a huge Christmas shopping and lawn care decorating industry out of it.

In that same vein of determination, I am heading across mormon-ladden Utah, cowboy-ladden Wyoming, cornhusker-ladden Nebraska and deep into the heart of Kansas, all with the intention of bringing humor to the blessed people of Michigan... Eventually. I follow the biggest star in the eastern sky that I can see and it's a pretty tricky deal. For some reason, I can only follow it east for 6 hours before the damn thing starts heading in the other direction and leaves me confused about what to do. I am left to decide whether the bright glowly thing in the sky is "rising" from the glory or "settling" into the glory. Does the glowly ball seem to be beckoning me west... or east?

Colorfully, we refer to the three men that rode across the bandit-ladden desert with expensive gifts as wise men. Wise because they saw the star? They knew that a baby was being born in a barn that would be the lord and savior? That they would be safe? They knew where they were going? What was wise about it? I think I have an idea of why we call them wise...

Suck ups! They were suck ups. They took a gamble that the rest of the people thought foolish and it paid off. People that invest in something when no one else will are always referred to as wise as long as it turns out in their favor. You won't hear anyone calling you a wise man if you do something against the advice of others and their advice turns out to be correct. If you bought $100.00 worth of Microsoft stock in 1985 when it first came out, it would be worth two million dollars today. Wise investment. If you invested the same amount of money in Wang computers, you would be.. the same person you are today. If you get innoculated for a deadly virus before it arrives and wipes out your entire neighborhood... wise. You get innoculated and it causes you to die when others live... bad. If you train for months before a fight... wise. You slack off for months before the fight... ass beating. If you agree to do some low paying comedy shows half way across the country during the highest gas price hike in history...

I follow my star across the sky with the best intention that it will work out in my favor. The only way for anyone to consider what I am doing wise will be in hindsight. If the tour pays off in ways that I do not even see yet, everyone will consider me wise. If it sucks ass, I will be looked upon as a fool and another case of, "see, I told you so." Had those wise men gone to the wrong barn or if they had been robbed, then I'm sure they would be referred to as the "those morons that should have listened."

A little forgotten fact that there was some band in town the night Jesus was born and the drummer stopped by and banged on his drum for the little snot. I don't know if you have ever heard a drum playing by itself, but it's not the soothing sound the song would indicate. That's why other instruments were invented. No wonder Jesus was so screwy, his first night on earth and he had to listen to a Tommy Lee solo. For some reason this drummer is left out of every nativity scene you will ever see. I wonder.

truckstop meatloaf

One of the many hard lessons that a touring stand up has to learn is where to eat and where not to eat while on tour. Unfortunately for me, I never really took the time to learn this lessonand those lessons I did learn, didn't take and I continue to make the same mistakes. Generally you should avoid fast food, fried food, heavy carb foods and any truckstop food. The reason being that most, if not all of these will cause you to have digestive problems. If you eat this slop it just sits in your stomach like a rock and has no where to go and if you are sitting for any length of time as you are when you are driving from show to show, the food won't "pass" as smoothly as you would like it to and when it does, it's always ready to go and GO NOW, when you are forty miles from the nearest toilet. I can recall thinking that if I am able to hold this back long enough for me to get there and the toilet is nasty, I will kill everyone.

So, still convinced that I can eat with the big boys, I stopped at a truck stop for my noon meal. Truckstops are great sources of life. They cater to people who live their entire lives on the road and they know what those people need. Trail mix, heavily caffeinated drinks, speed, showers, telephones, towels, dvd players for your vehicle, girls, and a bar. I don't think they were taking comics into consideration when they built these businesses, but we share in their functionality with the hardier men and women of the big rigs. (if you want to know what touring is like, bands love to sing songs about it... turn the page, only god knows why, home sweet home, and a ton of country songs to numerous to mention)

The food at truckstops is designed for people that don't get a lot of health in their diet and don't care to. It's very fattening, cheaply made and pretty salty. It's a lot of fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, instant mashed potatoes, thick gravy, a wilting salad bar with pudding and jello and some sort of steamed frozen vegetables that never seem to be in short supply. That's about it. Truckers love it! They can put away four or five plates of this bounty with a pot of coffee, nine cigarettes and a forty dollar lot lizard and still be on the road in less than thirty minutes. They have it down. I am nothing but envious. How they are still alive defies science fiction.

Why I choose to eat buffets is beyond me. I love buffets, but a truckstop buffet is the lower end of buffets. The ones that don't get a lot of the "big eaters" coming in to share in the bargain. But I was hungry and having looked at the menu and felt rushed to make a decision... Deep fried chicken fried steak and eggs with country gravy or buffet, I collapsed under the pressure.

I'm standing in line behind two truckers with their "Proud to be an American" tee shirts and their plates piled high with fried fish and Swedish meatballs. I am so amazed at the proficiency at which they are loading their plates and not spilling any of it that I don't notice a group of elderly people walk in and sit down. Well, most of them walked, some were pushed or were driving small carts with air tanks attached. Kind of a forlorn hope in a smoker's paradise such as a truckstop.

I loaded up my plate, mashed potatoes, corn, baked chicken(small fowl at least) and... meatloaf. I have never eaten meatloaf and I thought, what the hell... What is the worst thing that can happen? As I walked back to my table and was drooling all over my food as the powerful scent of MSG rose off it, I turned and noticed that the large group of senior citizens was sitting down at a table not too far from me. As I sat down, my thoughts left the gut rot of my meal and traveled over to the seniors. They were dressed up as if they had just left church. At their age, their presence at church would seem more like a desperate horny male ass kissing the doorman at a club to let him in. The women were in shoes that looked to be too tight on their swollen legs and the men were in clothes that looked to be stolen off corpses. They were all quiet. None of them spoke or made as much as a single sound. They just stared off past each other, out of windows or over to the buffet table. I took notice of one old couple that were both staring blankly toward me, not moving and looking stunned. As if they had heard something at church that told them their whole lives had been for nothing and they had it all wrong. They just didn't move. Stepford grandparents? No. I think I know....

I ate my meal. The meatloaf wasn't the nightmare that I thought it would be, but I don't see making a habit out of it. I only made one more trip up to the buffet for some cottage cheese that was sitting untouched on the salad, or healthy side, of the buffet. It's while I was up there, that the old man from the blank staring couple came up behind me. His wife holding his arm and pointing at food that she wanted. He loaded the plate with small portions that wouldn't feed a small mouse, at her request. I smiled at him as I reached for some yummy pudding. It took him a moment to register the gesture and then a grin grew on his face.

I drove away feeling pretty good about the whole thing. And this is why...

The thought that came to me as I was staring at the couple was this... As we get older the number of relatives we have gets larger but the number of friends we have gets smaller. This small group of seniors was a small group of friends. Some are gone to be sure, but they keep on trucking. Their relatives are probably not aware they are here nor do they probably care, but their friends care and there is no where those friends would rather be. Even the death of friends, however sad, does not deter them from living and enjoying what few moments that have left together even if their families have abandoned them.

Friends are a great asset to health where as family members you can take them or leave them. This was a Sunday meal with friends, a day usually reserved for family, which makes me think that these people are family. Joined together not by genetics but by time spent together in a similiar habitat. These people, forgotten by their families and know that friends are all that remain. There is nothing new to say to these people, they have shared it all a hundred times. They have shared the photos; all the photos of grand children, great grandchildren and long lost vacations... Done. There is nothing new here. Just the comforting company of friends.

This group of seniors, surrounded by the another group of people that don't know their own families, truckers. Truckers that live all alone and who are also surrounded by friends and family of a different nature, brothers in arms if you will. That is what this truckstop was, a buffet of people. People that don't serve well together so what you get is a selection of your own choosing. Take as much as you like. Visit as often as you like. It may not be what you want or the best, but it's what we have to offer. There is something here for everyone.

Those old people took their four bites of food and they didn't talk to each other. They just enjoyed the fact that they were around living friends of their choosing and that was enough.

The food settled well inside me. As I start this two week tour I need to be more cautious of what I eat or I won't make it to the other side of this long trek. I know there is BBQ in my future, perhaps another diner or two. I am headed to Canada for three days which means Tim's at least four times, but I do need to watch my figure... Otherwise I won't be eating any truckstop buffet with my old friends sixty years from now.

amid the glow of darkness

The winds were very heavy last night and somehow they managed to take all the power out of the town. It was most likely a fallen branch or some other storm anomaly, but it was a dark, silent town that went to sleep last night. The locals brushed their teeth with bottled water if they brushed their teeth at all and the sense of doom lived in more than one household for sure. When the power is out, fear is at a premium, it's the horror story that we have drilled into our heads every day. Is this terrorists? Will the Mexicans come and steal my stuff and will the black people come and rape and murder my family? With all this fear, the town was relatively silent as people always choose to stay close to home during power outages. The thinking behind it being, stay together and we can protect our stuff from others. Every house had a dancing stream of light bouncing off the walls as someone made their way through the house with a flashlight. It would flick on for a moment, lighting on window, then another and then it would disappear. There was no sound. Just the wind over the trees and the tall dry wheat fields, which makes a sweet rustling sound which is very sooooothing. No televisions, no stereos, nothing to break up the sound. Just the wind.

It's a scary place to be in. When the electricity goes out you get a brief glimpse of Armageddon or a blast from the past of what life was like for two thousand years before electricity. Sadly, we are so dependent on electricity that we don't know what we will do without it. Now, sitting in the dark shell of the former electric world we are forced to do things we have lost as a society. We have to talk to each other, entertain ourselves and seek other forms of communication. We are made to reevalute our readiness for life and to see just how much life we are really living. It scares us to see how dependent we are and we resolve, silently, in the dark, to become less dependent and better prepared because this is what it will be like. No water, no light, nothing to entertain us like the night before, just conversation with our friends and family, books by fire light or lantern and a lot of one-on-one time with those we sleep with... If you know what I mean. Food will have to be heated another way. Sharing information will be slower and require better memories. Hand writing will become more common. Practical skills will once again be a priority. "Going to the store" won't be as easy and neither will paying for those goods.

The wind blew across the forest fire that is still high up in the forgottens and most likely made it harder to control for the fire fighters. I'm sure they were loving the cooler temperatures of the past two days, but were instantly demoralized by the high winds and dry lightning storm. The winds carried the smoke down the valley and past my house. Filling the night air with the smell of a campfire. I can't see the fire, but I can smell it and that can make you nervous as you frantically look all around you for the source of the smell. I was pretty sure that my house or the barn was burning and I kept getting up to look. After an hour, I stopped looking and just sat on the porch and looked down the valley towards town. The usual glow of the village was gone and it allowed the stars above the pallouse to glow intensely as I had never seen them before. It was glorious. As the winds died down and the cloud cover past along, the brilliant night sky gave up it's secret and I viewed every single star that the northern sky could offer. Shooting stars, satellites which seemed to give a sense of irony to the moment and UFO's ( they could have been weather balloons) The silence, the stillness and the smell of a campfire made it feel like a glorified camping trip... All from the relative comfort of my front porch. It was heaven.

Heidi is not a dog that is fond of lightning and she finds me and stays right next to me until it's over. In this case, we sat on the porch and watched the far off lightning illuminate the sky above the forgottens. There was never a peep of thunder, but the glow was nice and that made it easier for Heidi to enjoy our time together.

I spent two hours with Heidi looking at stars before I headed to bed. It was quiet, it was still and I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face and a gun under the pillow. (Mexicans and Aliens)

The power had returned by morning and it felt like it none of it ever really happened. It's almost like the power plug of life was pulled just for the night and that without electricity the world didn't move at all and that all life was just frozen and only I was awake to witness it like in a cheesy sci fi movie. Only with the sounds, the motions and the lights of modern day technology does the world seem to be alive or work and that makes me sad. I liked everything about last night, except the part where I didn't have someone to "get to know better".

If there is really anything to take from this kind of experience it's this; know where you keep the flashlights and have water handy that doesn't come from the faucet, have a great dog to spend time with, have a house that a breeze can flow through easily, learn to enjoy cheese and crackers, light is not as necessary as you think it is and neither is your television. However, the ipod is a gift from the gods.

chaos math of fantasy

There is nothing more that I love to do than to pick the brain of someone with a psychology degree. It's not that I find psychology particularly interesting, but I love the people that do, they are just so incredibly dull. Very self-righteous and there is no way to shake them from their self-anointed pedestal. I love trying to.

I have always felt that psychology is such an abstract science and it's so open to debate that it is really just another faith based theology. A kin to say, Baptists or Mormons and their belief structure. It always starts with a embittered and tortured soul that has "lived" where you have not. They have the ability to write and somewhat focus their thoughts and it just moves on from there. This angry soul is figuring things out so that they come out on top and the more they work the numbers, the better they feel. Psychology is a tool that allows you to do just that. You take parts of the mind and human behavior and you try to find the pattern or system that can be defined. Of course, this is where they lose it. Their figures are always about one society and not another and their theory doesn't work with certain variables.

Freud was a junkie, Jung resented Freud's arrogance so much, he went off and started on of his own equations. Socrates begat Plato and Plato begat Aristotle. The latter names being more associated with philosophy, which is a kind of psychology but a kinder, gentler psychology with fewer explanations, fewer hard facts and fewer drugs.

Follow what you will. To me the only true answer is math. Math is tangible, relevant and indisputable. All of life's answers are found in math and debated in the ranting and ravings of self-righteous philosophers and psychologists. It's great fun and makes legends out of the greatest debaters. My particular form of math theology is called.... Well, wait a second...

You may be wondering where my hatred of psychologists came from so I will tell you. Years ago, I was at a party with a small gathering of friends and there was a man there who had just received his masters in psychology with a focus in child therapy. I could have cared less about what he had to say, I was there for other reasons. But for some reason, he took an interest in me and my actions and felt some urge to ask me questions. I love questions, ask away! Ten minutes into the, "where were you born, what was your mother like" shit, he did what most psychologists do when they don't have any answers, they ask the same shit question until you answer it the way they want you to. His question, "who molested you?" I was not molested. "who molested you?" I wasn't molested. "who molested you?" Nobody. "who molested you?" Five minutes of this and anyone would be ready to kill. You have to make a decision, hit him in the throat or play into it so the obnoxiousness will end. Of course, you know that when you do, a long lengthy, "SEE, there you go... I knew it!" is coming. ( I had to tell you this story.)

This technique is actually taught in therapy classes. It's designed to force the patient to reveal information by not having anywhere to hide from it. Focusing in on one thing and not allowing the patient to run away. Sadly, this technique is why so many people are in jail right now for touching children that they never touched. Case in point, the three most notorious child molestation cases involving day care centers. (Wenatchee, WA - 1990, Long Island, NY - 1982, Los Angeles, CA - 1980) In all these cases, an over zealous therapist forced children into admitting to being molested, even when their original answers were no, and it led to lengthy trials that ended in not guilty verdicts. It ruined lives, including the childrens, who have no idea what to believe now. The greatest travesty... The therapists are still convinced they are right are practicing today. (My hatred has a focus)

Back to my math theory....

If you have a degree in philosophy, you are probably working at Barnes and Noble right now or you are righting the next great philosophy on life that we can all forget moments after we read it.

Religion.... I think we all know where I stand on this issue.

Daniel's theory... Of course it has sexual overtones, but don't all philosophies and physiological theories?

Here's mine.

Fantasy. Everything is differing levels of fantasy. On one end of the fantasy scale you have, whimsy and day planners, and on the other end of the scale you have stalkers and psychologists. Somewhere in between are the phrases that we use everyday to explain tomorrow; Hope, expect, assume, wish, crossing my fingers, pray, daydream, etc. It's these concepts that fuel our lives and makes us wake up in the morning. We think about tomorrow so much that we often completely neglect today. This causes daily strife as we struggle to find perfection in the dreams of our minds and hope that tomorrow will be better. (If I just do this, this will happen. I am getting in shape for blah, blah. I am studying. I am buying this shirt. I need to get to sleep by ten. I need to eat more fish. All of these thoughts come from the basic theory that, "If I do this, I will have that life I think about all the time and it will be better than the one I have today" )

So here is the basic structure of your mind and how it works... Basic math. Your future is determined this way. Your past (A) and your present (B) have to somehow equal your future (C). If you take what you do know (A) and subtract it from the future you want (C) you should come up with what you need to do today (B). That's it! That's all you have to do. And we apply this equation to everything thing we do. Every aspect of you life has this basic math equation at it's core. That's all you have to do. Right?

There are variables to take into consideration.....

The unforeseen, the unchangeable and the unlucky. The lack of appropriate past (A) to equal a future (C). Example, playing professional basketball, but being born a midget. Wanting to be the president of the united states, but being born black. There are also those factors that you must consider that we will call pessimism, skepticism and negative logic. These are forces by which you have stopped believing in yourself, your world or your luck and have given in to believing that only misery is in your future. The anti-fantasy. There is a strong likelihood of you becoming a business owner if you feel this way.

Fantasy fuels the fire in one way or another. Either you believe it or you don't. Everything in your day is basically planned to get you to another day. The theory being that it has to get better some day. We get to the point that the fantasy drives us so much, we forget to enjoy the day we are in. "This is a throw away day, the good day is coming up, I just have to make it there." Some day, when you run out of long term fantasies you will see that the greatest day you have is the one right now. The second you stop reading this, you could go out and become that fantasy.

Our language is full of phrase that remind us that fantasy is our religion; Dream home, ideal husband or wife, beyond my wildest dreams, fantasy football, more than I could ever hope for. Fantasy... Dear reader... Is the only true religion. And math is the only real truth. As long as you can do it, you will make it through anything. Prison, marriage, children, school, work and family vacations. Believe in whatever degree you want, call it what you want. It's all just a degree of fantasy and a simple math equation.

Sadly, the psychologist that I told you about is still a psychologist. He still hasn't written that definitive book and he is still probably forcing people to tell him things like, "tell me it's the biggest one you've seen. Tell me it's the biggest one you have ever seen. Tell me it's the biggest one you have ever seen."

I'm curious at what level you, the reader, find your fantasy at. Are you a mental basket case that is stalking some poor woman that doesn't even know you exist. ( I know you think she does, but she doesn't) Or are you the kind of person that hears a song on the radio and with a fleeting thought think, "I could have been a rock star"?

who is this, Brad Pitt?

I have no answers for this, but I will admit to having read an interview in US Weekly with Jennifer Aniston, the former Mrs. Brad Pitt, the former FRIENDS star and the present standard bearer for all women who's marriage ended when their husband slept with Angelina Jolie. The magazine came to my house, what was I supposed to do? Sometimes between good literature and instruction manuals, there is a need for dribble.

Jilted as she may be, Ms. Aniston has kept pretty quiet about the break up from Brad. It's been 9 months since the split and not a peep has crossed her lips about it save for a few mentions that she and Brad were still, "Friends" and that, "She doesn't hold any ill will toward him." Of course, we all knew this was bullshit but were not able to confirm this until this past week. Now, Jen has finally let it all out. She is no longer holding back her tormented feelings and she is letting Brad and Angie have it. Jen style. She went to the press. I don't think any of us wanted to know about it or even hear about it, I think she has ulterior motives. This is what I think...

It wasn't the kind of rant that you would expect out of a celebrity. Usually a celebrity will seem very composed and their comments will seem to perfect, as if they were written by a novelist. It's the, "I deeply regret's... my heart goes out's... surrounded by friends and family's..." Comments that you see and hear so often. Canned speeches if you will. The seem so structured and filtered because usually a publicist handles the statement for the celebrity. A great idea when you think of what you would say in the same kind of moments. Notice you never hear, "that rat bastard! I'm going to kill him!", it's usually pretty tame and dull. Apparently Jen fired her publicist and gave this interview with answers straight from the hip. Good for her. Break that trend and tred on new ground. Not that it means anything to mankind, but good for her.

Her answers and her comments are nothing new. A lot of, "he is a pig" and that kind of thing. The usual dribble that falls out our mouths when we talk about an ex after a nasty break up. We all do it and it annoys everyone, especially those that were pleading with us to break it off a lot sooner than we did for the exact reasons we are bitching about them now. That, and it's annoying to constantly hear about it every five minutes.

What surprises me about this particular break up is that it has Brad Pitt in it. Brad Pitt, the sexist man alive, TWICE! Women have dehydrated from fantasizing about him too much. For the past 14 years, Brad Pitt's name has appeared on every "hottest male" list that has come out, all the while, Brad, has stayed relatively mum. Rarely giving interviews and shunning the sexual spotlight that any normal man would kill himself to be in. His dating track record reads like a man without taste; Gywneth "Let them eat cake" Paltrow, Juliette "I swear I'm not white trash, it's just an act" Lewis and other less notables. (Geena Davis) Brad has played it pretty well, I'd say, he never really says anything profound and is just rolling in the tangible fields of women's fantasy, never making it into a public spectacle that we all thought it would be. He could literally, have 92 percent of the women of the world and he chooses to select women from the still waters of the gene pool. Outstanding.

Not many of the women of the world know this about Brad, but he's from Missouri, my home state. It's a little known fact that it's the greatest state in the Union, home to such greats as Mark Twain, Eminem, Sheryl Crow, Rush Limbaugh, Kevin Kline, Charlie Parker, Harry Truman, Kathleen Turner and me. We are all the best in our respective fields. Missouri, we sure know how to breed em. Missouri also has a dark side, it's one of the great bottom dweller states. It appears on the top of such lists as; illiteracy, drunk driving, education, drug use, crime and number of hillbillies. The few lists we find ourselves at the bottom of are; Best places to raise a family and Best states to date a person from. And here's why...

Jennifer Aniston mentioned in her interview that she was upset over the fact that it took her so long to realize that Brad was so, "insensitive". He apparently lacked any sensitivity of any kind. Really? I, for one, am shocked. Did I mention that Brad was from Missouri? Didn't anyone tell her before she married him? When he took her home to Springfield to meet his folks, did it occur to her that she was in Missouri? Something about Missouri to remember,; Missouri is a great place to survive a childhood and then flee from. Case in point, none of the famous people listed above, stayed there. Whatever happiness they found came after they left the uncertain borders of Missouri. Again, a great place to be from, even greater place to leave.

The revelation that Brad is insensitive will do nothing for his popularity. Women will still be losing gallons of moisture thinking about him and even the more die-hard women who hate men that hurt a women, will still view Jennifer's loss as their gain. He is, after all is said and done, single. So their fantasies can take flight again and Brad's insensitivity will be but a minor blemish on their dreams.

Side note: I forget to call someone back... I am the biggest pig that has ever lived and there are graves being dug. So why is Brad Pitt still masturbation fodder for millions of women and I am the focused rage of psychopaths? What is the difference between articulate Daniel and pretty Brad? He's from the other side of the state. I'm from the side of the state that no one likes to talk about and qualifies us for some many of those lists... (maybe that's it)

Be cautious what you read in magazines. I take two things away from the interview. One, Jen's single now and looking for some revenge sex. I wonder how low on the food chain she is willing to go? I doubt men from Missouri on tops on her list, but you never know. Two, Brad is smarter than I thought. The more I read, the more I realized how long I would have lasted with Jen and I think he got out while the gettin' was good. There seemed to be some genius in his actions. Of course, I am quick to remember that his next act completely wiped away any thought that he was a genius. He went after Angelina Jolie. Many of you may think her a prize, but I don't, not in the slightest. Remember, she married Billy Bob Thorton (from Arkansas) so what kind of prize could she be? The only method to her madness seems to be, taking pity on the less fortunate of the world. She has two adopted children from third world countries and she dates hillbillies.

In the end, Brad's silence has only aided in the development of his world-wide fantasy, had he opened his mouth, he would have lost fans. Jennifer used the media to try to strike at the heart of his popularity and to enjoy some self pity and it back fired. No one will care and it won't affect anyone's decision about the matter. As the world at large sees it, he upgraded and she is annoying. So, thank you Brad for putting men from Missouri at the top of another list, most likely to let you down.

mother nature is on the rag

There is fire in them there hills! The forgottens are burning and it's presently the largest fire in North America. It's burning with reckless abandon across the lovely foothills of the forgottens and taking away most of the scenic beauty of the grass covered ridgelines and the trees of the mountain sides. It's hard to think about what it will look like when I am able to go up there and see it again.

It's started on Saturday when a dead tree fell on a power line and has since grown to a 40,000 acre nightmare. It's moving, at it's best (or worst, depending on where you live) at 10 miles an hour and at it's worst (or best) at 5 miles an hour. It's destroyed 100 structures, threatened the fish hatchery, a bible camp, 1000's of acres of grassland and even more acreage of forest. There doesn't seem to be anything anyone can do. There are over 2000 firefighters working the lines and they have the north and west sides of the fire contained, however, the southern side, which is densely overgrown forest, is burning without attention. There is no way to fight it other than dropping water from the air. The sound of helicopters flying over the house happens every ten minutes and is a constant reminder that we are not out of danger yet. My little town is twenty miles to the north, so I don't think I will see any danger, but this is fire, and it do what it do and ain't no one tellin' it nothin'!

Since the start of the fire on Saturday, there have been people turned to the east to watch this mushroom cloud grow out of the horizon. It's immense size is feeding the even larger sense of impending doom. None of the locals that live here have ever seen a fire like this, the last great fire in the forgottens was 44 years ago and it was a tiny little thing, just a few hundred acres. This fire - this fire is a doozy and the hardcore locals who have seen flood, famine, cordurory come and go (twice!) are testy. Gas shot up to 2.60 and phone calls to people that might be able to help move livestock or house them are being made. There is an uneasy peace on mainstreet. The locals want information and there isn't any, just a lot of hearsay and specultion. The number of trucks, firefighters and "officials" moving through town has all us a bit nervous. The people here don't take to kindly to "officials" and most of them have gun racks because of that anxiety. So the lack of information and the paranoia that is brewing, prompted a town meeting.

This is what we learned....

The last major fire in the forgottens was 44 years ago and there is a large collection of dead timber and undergrowth. This will factor in later. Also. It's been three years of below average rainfall, high temperatures and there is never any humidity here, add to that, a high wind that blows off the palouse on a daily basis and you have fire food. Add a match, and you are in for one hell of a show. I would appreciate it more if the smoke plume wasn't so visible from my yard and everyone wasn't so testy, but a good fire is a good fire.

A better part of the town showed up at the meeting, in attendence were some local, state and federal officials, some firefighters and the media. It was quite the show. I went for volunteer information and came away with nothing. There was, however, a lot of clapping for the firefighters. The chamber of commerce made a statement, I am not sure why, but she loves this kind of thing. The mayor, milled around, but looked lost and was not even introduced by the organizers of the event. In times of a potentially lethal and costly event, the mayor is not someone you want to hear from, he can only make it worse. His real function, as I see it, is to give the benediction at social gatherings and to be a symbol of why this town doesn't work.

The meeting lasted an hour and there were only a handful of presentations, none lasting more than five minutes. A man stood up and talked about the nature of fire, something we are all pretty much aware of. Another man talked about the efforts of the firefighters (clap, clap, clap, clap). The chamber lady said thank you to the firefighters (clap, clap, clap, clap). The state fire marshall said thank you to the fire fighters (clap, clap, clap, clap). Then some other people thanked the fire fighters and there was more clapping. All in all, a lot of clapping for firefighters and no real information other than we should always clap when someone says the word, "firefighter". Little note for you... There were two firefighters at the meeting. Clapping would seem to be a luxury of those not on the line. The statistics we were given should be available on line somewhere. They gave the address, but it had a lot of "dot, back slash, hyphen, underscore" in it and I don't have that kind of memory.

I am ready to go! I am ready to be on that line. To stand up to the fire and kick it's ass. I am tired of not knowing if this fire is really going to threaten my house. It seems weird to think that I could square up to mother nature, but I am ready. Actually, I spent the day yesterday threatening mother nature. It turns out that for two months, I have been watering a weed that was growing in an abandoned pot. Apparently whatever had grown in the pot didn't make it and was pulled out, leaving fertile soil for my special mallow plant. It was the healthiest of all my plants so there was some pride in my efforts. Pulling it out of the pot and throwing it on the ground was hard to do. I am now left with wilted flowers, over-heated vegetables to water. It hit me hard that I worked so hard for nothing so I laughed, then I got pissed off and wanted all weeds to die. I got out the weed killer and went at mother nature with a fury. Twenty minutes into the ridiculous exercise I remembered the quote, "What is a weed but a flower who's virtue has yet to be discovered." I felt guilt and I stopped spraying. Who am I to judge what mother nature does or how she chooses to do it? She wants to burn the forgottens, let her. She wants to plant some weeds so someone will appreciate them, let her.

There is a time to stand up and fight and there is a time to realize that there is nothing to fight about even though the urge may be there. You don' see this very often, now, do you? The fire burns on the horizon as a reminder to me that I am not the will that drives the world. Firefighters are... (clap, clap, clap, clap)

you scandalous hard core dick

*imagery

A man is walking down the street minding his own business. He is eating a chocolate bar and doesn't care about the world around him. He is dedicated to that chocolate bar. Coming towards him in the opposite direction, is another man, also minding his own business. He has his face buried in a jar of peanut butter. He too, is oblivious to the world around him. They crash into each other and the peanut butter and chocolate fly up into the air. The two men fall to the ground and watch, as if in slow motion, the peanut butter and chocolate sail into the air and gracefully fall to the earth. The jar of peanut butter lands right side up and the chocolate lands inside it. The two men, without exchanging a word, stand up, pick up the new delicacy, stare at it for a moment and begin to share it. Smiles for everyone...

Yes, it was a commercial for Reece's peanut butter cups. And what it said to me was much more than just, "buy a Reece's". I noticed the other things, that I am sure you did. One, who walks down the street eating just peanut butter out of a jar... Who does that? Two, the two men never spoke to each other and they didn't seem to care that they were sharing food with a complete stranger. No thought of germs, it was just a yummy snack. No fighting, no hassle, no "hey! Watch where you're going." or "You dick! You just fucked up my chocolate (or peanut butter)!" These two men just seemed to accept their fate and make the best of it.

It would seem that pleasure and the ability to chase after it, is a major force in life. I would almost say it's the only driving force in life. It can blind you and make you make foolish decisions. But it also tells us who we are and makes it possible to endure the tougher times that life can bring. If life was truly all pain, all the time, then why would we do it? Surely there is pleasure somewhere that gives us hope that the pain will soon end or can be alleviated to a certain degree, from time to time. We live for those moments or with that belief.

I have received a lot of emails lately from people that I thought were friends. Secretly, they were reading the blog without contacting me about it and upon the revelation of either my sex life or my attitudes toward politics or toward children or whatever, they have decided to cease their relationship with me. If I had only received one of these, "never talk to us again" emails, I would have been okay with it. But I have received 14. It's strange that the only time these people choose to contact me is when it's too say, "We never want to talk to you again." Of the 14 Dear Johns, Two of them were from couples that thought that I was describing them in the swinger post. I am not sure why so many of my readers assume that, especially the ones that I don't know at all. If you recall, I had this problem a few months back. A lot of people thought that I was writing about them and they felt violated. Their emails were assaults on me. "How dare you!" and "So you really do think I'm fat." I will let you know if I post something with you in mind, if not, then it isn't you.

The other Dear Johns, break down like this... Two male friends don't like the bi stuff and even though I have never done anything to make them uncomfortable, are concerned that I would now. Their lack of understanding was an odd turn of events, but their phobic reaction was a real surprise. Both of them seem to live life without too much morality or concern for it. They never seemed to care too much what anyone was all about. I guess that is easier to do with a stranger and not with a friend. Three couples that I was not a swinger with are worried that I want to be with them. Their attitude being that I was secretly working out a plan to get them to have sex with me. Again, surprising. And the rest were worried that I was either a pedophile, wanted to abuse women or would vote democrat. What do you do with all of this?

As a semi-charming writer, I thought these posts were pretty direct. Yes, I do tend to add a lot of metaphor and parable to my work and there are deep rivers of humor that run through my writing, but there is no malice and I am not telling tales out of school. I am not condoning some of the things I write about, I am just making us think about them. I spend my days trying to think about things that make us uncomfortable and trying to figure out why. I write about them because we, as a society, tend to brush them under the rug or bury them as far away from our minds as we can. I think this is the kind of thinking that ruins us and makes us worthless humans. When we don't want to talk about something, and we live our life avoiding things, it makes us weak and devalues our happiness. It makes it false. It makes happiness a superficial existence. So I do think about it, as uncomfortable and outrageous, and I do my best to understand it. That way, at the end of the day, what I do for myself isn't a cover up or phony. I truly appreciate it.

I guess this is the first week of writing that showed me what it can mean to be a writer. Sometimes baring your soul can be entertaining, enlightening and sometimes, it can cut you to the core. Your opinions, seemingly, have some weight with me. I guess I have to admit that too myself. I appreciate the love, but I also have to appreciate the hate. Otherwise the love isn't merited. It would be unbalanced if I thought that I should only listen to the praise and not the criticism. It's tough, but I like it.

I love the catharsis of writing. I like putting my thoughts in front of me so I can read them. It seems to alleviate the pressure of having to remember them and I also feel that I am creating something. I have created something that others will see and perhaps we can talk about it. That way I am not alone in all this thought. I don't expect others to agree, but I do want them to talk. (this is a super heavy duty request of most people) I love hearing back from my readership about what you felt about it. I don't expect every post to be perfect or for everyone to like it. I know that even the more dedicated readers have been offended, saddened or shocked in some way by one post or another. Some people take these personal and some of you let it get to you. It's in those times that I ask you to stand up, pick up the peanut butter jar, and without a word, try it. Believe that it's not going to be completely bad and that you don't always have to dwell on the recent mishap. The writing, and life, will get better. And whatever the mishap, perhaps something good and new will come out of it and if you dwell on the negative, you won't be able to enjoy the new pleasure you have discovered.

*Avoid this analogy if you are allergic to peanuts, peanut butter or chocolate.

mountains to climb

WOW! What an overwhelming response. There are more questions about the QOTW post than there were questions in the QOTW post, you people are colorful. I wasn't even aware of how many people that knew me, read this. There needs to be a name for those of you who read this and don't contact me about it on a regular basis. Something fitting... "Closeted Danists", that seems appropriate. It seems to paint a picture of the daily or weekly reader that chooses to read on without comment.

Of course, the QOTW were pretty telling stuff and the majority of the questions centered around swinging and bisexuality. There was a lot of hate mail and a lot of "you give me strength" and "you are so brave" emails. The questions that revolve around swinging are probably best answered in your own community, in your own relationships and in your own circle of friends. Open the floor to discussion with all of these facets and see what you get. Asking me to justify or defend it seems silly when you think about it. I am willing to answer some of the questions, but I can't answer questions like, "what will he think?".

The bisexual questions are a hoot. I am surprised at the number of you willing to tell me that you too, are bisexual. I think that's great, but I am the last person you need to tell. I'm sure there is a family, friends and a lover that would like to hear it too. Start with them, and then we can talk. Live honestly or don't live at all. It took guts to tell me, I bet it felt good, but now you need to tell the people that it will make the biggest splash with. Don't' be shy, what difference does it make? It may make you feel better to tell them.

I will post the answers to your questions some time this week. I can't do it now, there is too much to do. Presently, the Forgottens are on fire not ten miles from my home and the large cloud of smoke is a constant reminder that I may not live here very long if the wind changes direction. The week long heat wave finally took it's toll and the fire has nothing but recently dead plants, grass, wheat and trees to burn up. The idea that they are going to put it out, anytime soon, is foolish. That sucker has room to move. I wonder why no one thinks this fire is a disaster yet? I wonder if celebrities will hold a fire relief concert for us.

The rest of my free computer time will be spent loading my Ipod. Presently I have 600 songs from all genres and I have just a few more songs to go before I have put every tolerable song that I have ever heard on there. There are a few songs that the titles are escaping me and that is killing me. They are so obscure that no one can help me either. It doesn't help to ask someone if they know "that song, by that guy, a few years ago. No, I don't know who it is or how it goes." That doesn't seem to work. I did find it funny that when I was loading my 80's hair band music that most of it was corrupted or wouldn't load. It's like it knew it was white trash and was behaving as such. Even the punk music loaded with no problem. I did notice that certain artists would load at lightning speed. The formula for success seemed to be; whatever music that nerds or children listen to would load with the greatest of ease. It was incredibly difficult to find, "Rondine al Nido" but not hard to find, "Punk Rock Girl".

All this going on and I haven't even been able to concentrate on future plans. I leave on Sunday for a tour out east. I will be going to Kansas City for a few days, then Michigan, then Toronto, back to Michigan, back to KC and then the long trek home. All in all, two weeks of driving. Gas is 2.50 a gallon up here, it better get cheaper as I head east. If not, don't expect anymore touring out me. The blog will be neglected on heavy driving days so don't lay into me for skipping. I will get back to it.

The mountains burn, the music is loading and the heat continues. It seems like a good time to head east. Play safe.

It's all this ticks fault

I was watering the plants this morning when I noticed a small black tick laying on my shin. I wasn't sure if it was sexually excited by the notion of my shin, but it was on there drooling like a horny dog. I hated it. I hated having it on me. Actually, I hate all bugs. I hate all the flies, all the hornets, all the spiders, etc. I don't mind it when they are in their world, I just hate them when they encroach on mine. e.g. Crawling on me or my food.

Kill them all! Kill them and let the bug gods sort them out. It's not that they wouldn't be replaced almost instantanously and really, who would care that they were gone? Are there spider babies that need their mother? Don't the spider babies eat their mother? Or was that just in a movie? Whatever they do... KILL THEM ALL!!!

After my tick problem was resolved, I went and sat down on the porch for my morning coffee and cigarette. While I was sitting there watching the hot sun cook the earth and all the flowers that I had just spent an hour watering, I realized that ticks are the reason for human evolution. It's all the tick's fault. All the houses, medicine, television and Texas. I shall explain, because I can hear the "he's lost his mind" switches going off in your heads.

Let's go back a bit. A long bit. No, an even longer bit. Let's just go back to the beginning of bits. When we were cavemen. (or if you are religious, in the garden) Bugs didn't mean much to us. We were just another warm blooded animal getting it's fair share of attention from them and we could have cared less. We MAY have cared, but probably not as much as you think. We were, if you remember, pretty excited by clouds and shiny rocks back then, not the mental giants like we are today... (meteorologists, gemologists, Spainards and old Jewish women aside) There wasn't a lot of bathing then, so I can't imagine that bugs actually bothered us after the first, oh let's say, four years of it. We got used to them. WELL! Somewhere along the way, some cave-person, decided that they had had enough of bugs on the food, in the hair, on the face and they decide to do something about it and voila, The first fly swatter, which looked more like a club, but it was still very effective. The pestilent nature of our surroundings and our increasing need for comfort finally drove us to work the problem and create a new way of living our lives. The "cavens, cavers, cavies.." whatever... wanted a more comfortable life and they found one. This started a pattern of discovery that still exists with us today, years after the "garden years" have ended.

Bugs are so bothersome that we needed to figure out ways to avoid them or kill them, and that motivated some individuals to action. It's that same motivation that moves us around the globe(cars, planes, trains, bikes, skis), entertains us in the evenings,(television, romance novels, internet) cures our coughs(robotussin, halls, mentholateum), illuminates our sport stadiums, kills our enemies(guns, spears, arrows, atlatles, missiles) and fills our bibles.

As the saying goes, the mother of invention is necessity. That may be true. But I still think that the father is laziness. And he carries the dominant gene. Our great( to the 1000 power) grand parents used these nagging feeling of bugs on our skin to make our world the way it is today. We would still be in the garden today if our relatives hadn't wanted a life free of ticks, fleas, bees, ants, wasps, spiders and flies. We would be naked in a garden of life right now with no worries. No death. No bathrooms. No television. No... Privacy?

Oooooooooooooh no! I FORGOT! We must have privacy! We need to invent a way to have our own space. And it should be free of not only bugs, but other people, who are just as bad as bugs! We must have space to be the little curious freak that we secretly are. We need a private, hidden laboratory to conduct our little experiments. (blogspot is such a laboratory) And we need the privacy to form our opinions without the influence of others. In "the garden" they used to call that place, "the shakermoan bush", so named because there was always a man, a woman or both, going over there and when they did, the bush would shake, there would be a moan and it would stop shaking. They would reappear and other people would go over there behind it. "It's a great bush" they all used to say. Later they would include it in their bible as the place where god spoke to Moses. They changed the dialogue a bit, excluded were the "hey, fuck off, we're busy" and "do you like that, huh? do you like that there?". But the "God, god, god, set me free" part was left in.

Those damn ticks, blessed are they because they led the way. Where would we be without them?