Euphonically (no, not euphorically) Circadian

Ahhh, the sweet return of the circadian rhythm after a brief, but bizarre, respite into the land of unknown pharmaceuticals. I suppose I could always chalk up this past episode to mistaking the identity of the little plastic amber container, but what it truthfully amounts to is mistaken self identity. There is little room for self absorption while reality beckons beyond the bounds of a hyperactive imagination shackled by a frustratingly vapid nature. Sunrise might be cliché, but being awake, lucid and well-meaning is not.

Let’s see how long this optimistic episode lasts. For the sake of those patient with me, hopefully it extends beyond the coffee, the shower and the commute. For the sake of those who lost patience long ago, hopefully a little longer.

Smoke signals

Perhaps if I'm going to use this forum to air out thoughts I should rethink the manner in which I bring my charm, charisma and inherent luvableness (eyes rolling...) to the picture.

And speaking of airing out, boy, did I need a shower. The cleansing power of Pert Shampoo and Lever 2000 cannot be under rated. Next few entries should be interesting.

Blank Slate

What am I to you?

Coma

Does anyone know the safety limit for milligrams of Xanax? I'm going for something between hangover cure and coma.

Flippin Out

Is there such a thing as consistently irrational? Is there someone nearby to determine whether or not I need a shower?

By posing the question, I believe I've answered it.

Cafe Girl

http://journals.aol.com/cafegiri/MyJournal/

Nance and I had a spirited conversation last night.

Best New CD Ever

This disc actually makes me want to commit violence and love people simultaneously.

I am slam dancing with my kitty cat.

This disc has been in my head for 38 years.

I urge all of you to buy it/hear it/steal it.

Violence

I’m so pissed for reasons yet unknown. I want to slice my eyeballs. I am in a rare sparkling mood. My dark side is evidently revealed. I am on the verge of tearing my hair out. I am debased. If you kissed me now, I would be sweet as sugar. I am a living, breathing wave of mutilation. My knuckles are already bloodied. Time to introduce my head to the wall.

Run Like Hell

Consider this fair warning.

Avoid me like the plague. Unless you're Mrs. L spouting the "C" word. Or Ann breathing rare intelligence. Or Nance sweating the Sox and Yanks with me.

I am about to be on a bit of a rant.

All phallic imagry aside, this is my mind right now. I am not twisting in the wind. I am the wind.

Edit

I must learn when to say when and edit myself. Otherwise people will get wind of my doubts and fears.

The Phoenix

I love this song....The Phoenix by the Cult. It's a long guitar solo gone right.

Sox win!!!!

Portal

This is the end. I writhe to this song. What is the will to live? Why do we endure after so much defeat? Because after The Doors, Dire Straits plays. Expresso Love. Dire Straits. How ironic. If one person appreciates this irony, I will be happy.

Fun snuffed

My friend Dave can't come down tonight. His dad isn't doing well. We were going to rock out for my bithday. I'm sad because I'm going to be alone this weekend. But I hope his dad gets well.  

U Can't C Me

I have discovered the code to the invisible mode.

Comminucado

I am in the mood to talk. Is there anybody brave out there? Who wants my stuff?

Six questions that I answered

 

1. Who is the last person you took a photograph of?

Person? No. The #4 horse at Monmouth Park. I lost a modest wallet-full of cash that day.

2. What decade do you hold the most dear and why?

 

The decade that we call now. The 80’s were fun, but they’re gone. The 90’s were blissfull, but they’re gone. Live in the now and use your cult of personality to make today more memorable than yesterday.

3. Take the quiz:  What mystical creature are you?

 

I’m a fuckin fairy? Goddammit. Who invented that stupid quiz? The “Patrick” of Patrick’s place is about to be investigated. Seems like a nice, well-meaning person but the quiz turned him into a nice, well-meaning douche. Take it from an ad man, dude—be careful what you sponsor.

4. What is your favorite alcoholic beverage?

 

Marijuawhiskey.
 
5. What do you normally wear to bed?

 

Jammies. Maybe a t-shirt if it’s cold.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #24 from Cherie:  What movie character do you most identify with?

 

Blake (Alec Baldwin) in Glengarry, Glen Ross. Or maybe Perry (Robin Williams) in The Fisher King. Talk about you polar opposites…

Funny argument

I was just told that I am a savant. What the hell is that?

Popping Immaculites

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Hair Cut

I got my hair cut yesterday by Jaime, who is a flat out fucking joy to talk to. In her own sweet way of telling me about her impending nuptials, she convinced me to never get married. If you ever find yourself in Red Bank, NJ and in need of a haircut, go to Chelsea Morning. I prefer Jamie, for she climbs the mountain of my head every two months or so to make me look presentable. But any of the girls there are friggin’ top notch.

Reasonable Context

Yet again I find myself blithely teetering on the edge of madness. I am the nice boy in the black leather jacket your mom warned you about. I am the man with the mystery of no tattoos. I am the man with heroin friends who has not a needle puncture. I am the virgin who glides down the street with kind words of encouragement for Asbury hookers. I am the pyromaniac who orgasms through bar-b-que. I am the man detained for using the word box cutter as an intensifier within reasonable context. I am the man with black clouds under his eyes and white sunshine over his head. I am an ambidextrous Luke Skywalker. I am the man who roots for the Red Sox. I am a fool.

Mantra

What has gone entirely unnoticed over the past, oh 12 hours or so, is my coining of the phrase insatiably salacious™. I have registered it with the U.S. Copyright office and my ultimate plan is to have it amenended to the constitution in some way. That, and lots of t-shirts. I am strolling around my apartment, uttering it like a mantra, for perfecting it will only improve my diction. Insatiably salacious. Insatiably salacious. Insatiably salacious. Insatiably salacious. Insatiably salacious. Insatiably salacious. Insatiably salacious.

GFDFSPAFSA (Yankees vs. Red Sox)

CafeGirI [ Well anytime you stop popping zits you get warm. When you pop them you let out all of the heat in your body.
CafeGirI [ Whoa....nice play by A-Rod.
CafeGirI [ Barehanded......
CafeGirI [ A Mike Schmidlike play, according to Jim...
Pkbeachbum [So does that mean that you drained me? Barehanded...good play.
Pkbeachbum [OK now there is an instance of two sentences stiched together not of volition, but of transgression.
CafeGirI [ Oh, whoa, that is too loaded a statement....ugh, and that one again.....My downstairs neighbor is a huge Sox fan and he is pounding on the floor...
Pkbeachbum [9:22 PM]:  I am in full Sox regalia.
CafeGirI []:  I am in Yankee black and blue

CafeGirI [9:23 PM]:  Do you think Pedro will go out for the 8th? If not, who will Terry use...?
Pkbeachbum [9:23 PM]:  That Korean dork?
CafeGirI [9:23 PM]:  And, Michael Kay has informed us that the Red Sox bullpen is dormant, so Pedro will pitch the 8th.
CafeGirI [9:24 PM]:  Yeah, the Korean dork.....FUCCKKKK
CafeGirI [9:24 PM]:  FUCK
CafeGirI [9:24 PM]:  FUCK
CafeGirI [9:24 PM]:  FUCK
CafeGirI [>9:24 PM]:  Now Pedro goes out and pitches the 8th, someone makes an error, and he gives up a "bambino"
CafeGirI [9:25 PM]:  I can see craters on the moon with my new telescope.
CafeGirI [9:26 PM:  The problem is that I can't get through the alignment algorithm.
CafeGirI [9:26 PM:  I'll let you fix it, or fi
CafeGirI [9:26 PM]:  gure it out if you want. THe moon looks really cool. Can't wait to see the other side
Pkbeachbum [9:26 PM]:  I once sat in the seat where Unfrozen Caveman Centerfielder just cracked one.

Pkbeachbum [9:27 PM]:  I am calling you now, whether you like it or not. And I will have you pick up your phone.
Pkbeachbum [9:28 PM]:  the
CafeGirI [<9:28 PM]:  HAH1`
CafeGirI [9:28 PM]:  hERE cOMES
CafeGirI [9:28 PMTHE
CafeGirI [9:28 PM]:  kOREAN
CafeGirI [9:28 PM]:  dork
CafeGirI [9:28 PM]:  As Advertized....
CafeGirI [9:28 PM]:  Another great one.

CafeGirI

Dammit (Cafe GirI while watching Yankees vs. Res Sox)

 

CafeGirI You just picked that off your blog
Pkbeachbum ]:  I know. I'm updating u.
CafeGirI [>9:03 PMtime flies by like a goose on the loose and suddenly he breaks wind
Pkbeachbum [>9:04 PM]:  I lived on a campus full of gooses once. There wasn't a clean sneaker in the dorm.
CafeGirI [:  My hippocampus was full of gooses once. There wasn’t a clean thought throughout my brain.
Pkbeachbum 9:07 PM]:  LOL. You know of the complexity of the hippocampus! The odd sector of the brain that has a central role in the memory process!
CafeGirI 9:08 PM]:  Yes. It is a sick fascination. Mine was hijacked from me before I was born. I have been fighting for it alone ever since.
CafeGirI [9:08 PM<]:  In death I will succeed.
Pkbeachbum [9:09 PM]:  I've been fighting for mine, dog tooth and nail, for months now.
Pkbeachbum [9:09 PM]:  I remember that I met Lisa Loeb in 1994, and that I dated a Brazillian gogo dancer. After that, it gets hazy.<o:p></o:p>

 CafeGirI [9:11 PM]:  I remember that I met Tom Cruise in 1992, and that I "dated" an American model. After that, I got lazy...

Pkbeachbum [9:12 PM]:  I believe we just wrote the next entry to my blog.With your approval and suggested visual, of course.
CafeGirI [9:13 PM]:  Cabrera is impressive. He just made a play identical to the one that he closed out the previous inning with (bad grammer ending sentence with a preposition, but I hope you understand).
CafeGirI [9:13 PM]:  Sure, go ahead...Pedro is running out of pitches...and I need Herb...
Pkbeachbum [9:14 PM]:  I believe in ending sentences with prepositions where appropriate. I am not an 8th grade English teacher. I am a professional writer.

Pkbeachbum [9:14 PM]:  I have some.
CafeGirI [9:16 P]:  I cannot drive. As it is, I am violating all kinds of Jewish laws, including consumption of liquids, some non-alcoholic.
CafeGirI [>9:17 PM]:  I am going to hopefully pass out, either in pain or ecstasy, by the time the game ends. To that end, I have just popped a 50mg Viagra to see what happens. Since my oophorectomy (ovarian removal) I have been, oh, how shall I say it........Frigid?
Pkbeachbum [9:19 PM]:  That's weird. Since I stopped popping immaculites, I became warm. Go figure.

Insatiably Salacious

Today there was nutmeg in my coffee. Yesterday it was half and half. Yesterday’s flavors are as distant from now as the n in that last noun. The w is in that is even past. As is the t in that past gone. Time flies by in a currently bizarre fashion tonight. I’m living every second as a now. No past. No future. Only the present, which is already outdated. Insatiably salacious. Say that quickly, many times. Insatiably salacious all the while. What once was scandalous is today innocuous. And time flies by, like a vulture in the sky, and suddenly he breaks into song....

Unfrozen Caveman Centerfielder

Is it me, or is there a striking resemblance between Red Sox centerfielder Johnny Damon and Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer?

 

Fruit Pie the Magician

Today I read of the Chapter 11 filing of the company that owns among other things, Wonder Bread and Hostess Fruit-Filled Pies. Wonder Bread I can do without, for bread often turns into nerf mold in my house. Bread is not sold in quantities small enough for me to justify buying it, and when I do it's usually during that once-a-year, week-long binge on grilled pastrami with Swiss on rye sandwiches.

Hostess Pies, on the other hand, are a different story. Especially the cherry ones.

Rarely is there a better munchies alternative on the shelf of 7-11 or the rack of a vending machine than a hand wad of these babies. Two to a pack and both oozing with that injected red stuff that contrasts-- in color and texture-- so perfectly with the brown flaky, glazed, hyper-sweetened pastry shell. It's friggin' feng shui in a wrapper. When I want pie (other than Grandma’s apple pie, of course), I want Hostess. The closer to the expiration date the better, for that’s when the shell is at its most…is there a good word for stalest?

Losing the pie would be bad enough and I know that this is improbable. It’s only a Chapter 11 situation; there's still time to right the corporate ship. And I’m sure some other megafood conglomerate would buy the Hostess franchise in a heartbeat if it had to be sold off. Losing the pie’s mascot, Fruit Pie the Magician, would be heartbreakingly sad. In a world of Trix Rabbits, Tony the Tigers, 70’s Pornostar Mustache Paper Towel Guys and their ilk, it’s nice to have a mascot that hasn’t sold out. Fruit Pie the Magician has been playing it out under the radar all these years, underappreciated, content in his niche and adored by his fans. If he was a band, he’d be the Feelies or Guided by Voices.

As far as magicians stand, I’m sure he’s no David Copperfield or Doug Henning. But that’s a good thing. David Copperfield and Doug Henning hog all the magic to themselves. Fruit Pie the Magician, on the other hand, gives me the mystical power to make vending machine pie disappear. For that, I am thankful. Long live Fruit Pie the Magician.

     

  

                                           

I am in fine company to be sharing my b-day with these esteemed celebrities. Imagine if we were all best friends and could hang out and party! Even though Tommy Lasorda would want to eat at an Italian restaurant, Scott Baio would want to take Joanie to the prom or be in charge of Charles or something, and Joan Jett would want to smear herself in crimson and clover at a WNBA game, I would say, "NO Tommy, Scott and Joan, you must come to Red Bank and hang at the Dub with me." Then we would all hang out at the Dub, drink Guinness and be wary of the paparazzi.

 

Hippo Birdies 2 Me

Today, I will wish for world peas.

Reset

What would you differently if you could start all over? To what point would you like reset to take you? I have too many corrupt back up files, so I think I'd prefer something in an embryonic safe mode.

Cloudbusting

No sleep tonight, it seems. My born on date hit while I was watching The Fisher King on the Movie Channel with a green apple Jolly Rancher in my mouth. Lefty at my side and Robin Williams delivering his allegorical monologue about the story of the wounded king. It called me back in so many ways to so many places - to the filming of the waltz scene for that very movie in Grand Central Station in 1990, to night swimming in the Atlantic off the Point Beach jetty, to bloody knees and broken bones and sunburns cooled with witch hazel, to damage and impairment decidedly subcutaneous, to mutilated bonds left unbound. To so many places unreconciled, defiled with denial all the while. I'm starting to sound like a bad U2 song.

So much for the afterglow

I've been a no show at the beach lately.

F. Scott

Love him or hate him, it doesn't matter. The man wrote better than anyone on the planet.

#700

Love him or hate him, it doesn't matter. The man can hit a baseball better than anyone on the planet. 

Pelting rain

It's raining like you wouldn't believe right now. Raindrops the size of globlets are pelting my glorious 100 year-old house. I'm safe and warm inside, consumed with the impulse to get Lefty to eat his cat food. He won't eat. I'm a little worried. And since when is globlet a word?

Dad

My Dad is a world-class photographer. He took this pic of a little pinecone on the beach in Lavalette (a perfect little beach town in Jersey) and wrote a little poem to go with it. Enjoy.

One Down, 2 to Go

Red Sox win. Tonight.

Soda jerk

Band: Buffalo Tom

Album: Big Red Letter Day (1993)        Buy it, Trust me.

I forgot about this song until today. It defined me in that way songs you love define you.

Watch an eye ball

Take a free fall

At the mention of a name

In it’s socket, like a rocket

Rises just the same

 

Could my eyelids

(Could my eye)

Cover what I did

 

The shutting of the door

And could these ceilings

Contain my feelings

Me down on the floor

 

Jerked my fountain

Ice cream mountain

I supposed I’m just too late

 

Form a line here

Think I’ll die here

Think these people nauseate me

 

But if my patience

Were a spaceship

High up in orbit

 

I would rise here

Hypnotized here

Risen from where I sit

 

A solid angle

My legs do dangle

 

Off the counter’s edge

Soft words spoken

Promises broken

I close my eyes instead

 

But could my eyelids

Cover what I did

The shutting of the door

 

Could these ceilings

Contain my feelings

 

Me down on the floor

Bonds

When does 42 = 700?

Read the sports page tomorrow.

Cafe GirI is cool

CafeGirI is one of the best friends ever, even if she does like the Yanks. Who else would have the patience to deal with my Red Sox rule nonesense? Or Barry hitting #700 on this very night?

Roots

The vagaries of life turn yesterdays into wilted produce. My born on date is approaching.

Ramones

Johnny Ramone

Gabba Hey

R.I.P.

What damage is there left to do?

Broke my beloved sunglasses tonight

This omen is sure to spell doom.

Here we go

This will be my life this weekend.

Not to make light, but...

http://www.engadget.com/entry/6281976987676276/

A little iPod humor to lighten the mood. Link goes to where I found it. Hang in there, Florida. And New Orleans. And Alabama.

 

Fever Dreams

If there's one saving grace for having a fever, it's the wild dreams. Last night I dreamed I was riding home from a rock club on a hovering skateboard across a grassy field. My friends were wearing pogo stilts and we were late for something, but it didn't matter because we were having so much fun.

If anyone has a remedy for razorblades in the throat, please tell me. My mom and dad always say, "Gargle with warm salt water." Gag. I tried tea. That works for about 5 seconds. Anthony at the Dub used to make some concotion with Yukon Jack and lemon. That worked until the next morning and then it would be worse than ever. Is there a McGyver-like assemblage of ingredients I can throw together to sooth the symptoms? An inquiring mind wants to know. Otherwise, I'm breaking out the Nyquil. 

 

Ascend from the ruins my friend

 

Crawl from the ruins my friend.

Crawl from into the core, the frozen core once molten and flowing, the core once popping and hissing and hissing and sizzling, glowing orange and ever on the verge of redlining into passion screaming to escape. 

Nails bursting from closed coffin, six-foot settled earth shaking seismic to the turf ready to burst seam splitting wonder why I am not like me you are there.

I swear it I’m in here somewhere official proclamation to look border pass touch kiss me please free eons of nova star gravity. Please look again once more I will let you close I will please crack the safe lock combination tumblers clicking in utter confusion. Unknown elevators cease and singe and see to my doom. Resolve utter confusion. 

A din of inequity clamors awaits one touch one break of the now the revelation of one sudden smiling magnetic kiss.

We shared a footprint.

Crawl back in and let loose the smothered primal screams, burrow back marking confident paths of escape.

Ghosts and demons and doubt and all relatives of tragedy await nebulous exorcism.

Blunted limbs call to arms the circus cast of inherent wonder.

Ego Eros Agape Amour.

First there’s now but now that’s gone come tomorrow Friday Saturday Saturday Saturday night a crow’s foot sleeping pill mapping a mystic path can’t make out lucid mumbles hinting of higher ground.

Frustration fills can’t follow.

Swallow. Breath. Blink.

Sleep can’t sleep can only think shut down the mind please put myself to sleep. Mommies to meet children to cherish I beseech you beseech you imploring imploding in the very now of now I’ve yearned and doubted.

I can sing and laugh and run and breath deep fleeting moments exhale eternal desire and moments of spark touch blanket warmth natal dance. Inching toward crescendo fakes me out every time.

Sorry my mistake.

Can’t leave can’t reach can’t crawl from cores of cleaven pancaked pillars.

This dream is keeping me awake teasing open eyes with a dare to blink back forever frozen moments.

Driving beat goosestep legkick march stop nobody sees go fetal.

 

Comet star daylight vulture silver gleaming double down blackjack 22 bust.

Thought I left my coffee ‘round here somewhere.

 

Frozen hand touch turn molten gold lava.

Weekend Assignment #23

Weekend Assignment #23: 100 years from now, your great-great-great-grandchild has been assigned to write a school report on your life and times. Help him or her by putting five things in a time capsule. The five things could include something personal or something that typifies the times we live in. One catch: It can't include a version of your AOL Journal (because that would be too easy, that's why).

1)    Bill O’Reilly’s “patriotic” spittle on a camera lens

2)    Uncle Francis’ memory of D-Day

3)    A copy of the long forgotten Constitution of the United States of America

4)    A recording of the phrase “Your leader is unfit” just to see if he or she makes it to number five before being hauled away for treason by Karl Rove’s great-great-great grand child

5)    Bail money

Extra Credit: Put something in the box that would believe would be completely puzzling -- something they'd look at and say "What the heck is this?"

A six pack.

Hearts and thoughts, they fade away

 

 

Sorry to disrupt the levity. But you remember where you were three years ago today. You were gasping for reason and watching CNN.

 

There is a small barrier island in New Jersey named Sandy Hook. On clear days it offers a stunning view of the NYC skyline. Hell, we can see the Coney Island parachute tower and the JFK traffic control tower from here after the morning mist burns. Let alone the skyscrapers.

 

Trouble was, three years ago today was as beautiful then as it is now. Unimpeded vision on a 2:00 compass point to the northeast. I was on my way to surf fish for some striper when I heard the news. I hit the Rumson-Sea Bright Bridge in time to see the first puff of smoke. It looked like a puff, anyway, from 20 crow-fly miles. It was an ungodly, body-vaporizing blast from all hell of hells.

 

Six urgent news alerts and six miles later, I got to the Sandy Hook north beach. I carried my chair, fishing pole and camera to the surf. I brought the camera by reflex to document any fish catch. Who knew, at that point? I dropped my stuff to see the puff turn into a black cloud. Someone had a radio on. Strangers were talking to each other. All began getting nervous. No one was fishing, surfing or swimming. We were 100 human sundials pointed at Manhattan.

 

Time went by. An F-16 screamed by. The black cloud shuddered and grew immense. It was over our heads now. Unreal. Tower down. Chills. Tears. Screams. Sobbing grief. How many? Who? Radio. Cloud visibly pulsing and pluming. Another tower. Urgency like never before. Snapped some pictures. There was already a memorial started in Red Bank by the time I got back home.

 

Do you feel as safe as you did before that day? Do you have the clarity? I don’t. I saw it live from a great distance before I retreated to the tele. I have the pics taken by my own hand to prove it.

 

Always, always, always kiss and wish your loved ones well before they leave the threshold.

Non Track Rat

This is me. I need a haircut. Be happy I'm shaved and showered. I root for the Boston Red Sox. I write for food. I have two sisters, two nieces and am about to be an uncle once again. I am infatuated with the potential of gadgets -- like my cell phone, like my Canon Power Shot SD10, like my iPod -- yet only use them for their bare purpose. I have a cat. His name is Lefty and he is a big ass mutha. I have 500 CDs. I have 30 notepads full of words that I did not box cut. My journal is a hair over six months old. I stop for coffee and orange juice and a NY Daily News every morning at the Tinton Falls 7-11. I find it difficult to park there. My apartment is a perpetual mess. I want to buy a house to gain space for my stuff. But I like where I am, geographically. I walk to the diner down the street for dinner many nights. I walk to the CD store. I walk to the bar and to the book store. I hear sirens at night. I fall asleep to the sounds of cartoons. It is almost incomprehensible that I am still alive after all the shit I've gotten away with/pulled/endured. I will be 38 in 12 days. I smirk too much. I drive too fast. I was born to love writable surfaces. And I collect memories the way others collect fine wine. Stash to someday consume. I am reading this and laughing my ass off. I still need a haircut.

And they're off...

Keeping quiet about my winnings only added to the mystique. But tally these slips and you’ll see my net loss of $37.90. Small price to pay for free food and beer, a day in the sun and a day out of the office. Still, however, winning is always better. And one guy I know hit the trifecta in the 9th for $500.

 

Reading a track program is like cracking the DaVinci code. There has to be a science to it. Otherwise, why would real track rats exist? Why all those cryptic descriptions of the horses in the programs? I know a bartender who lives in Red Bank, this town, this primo town, on tips and Monmouth Park winnings. He must have the Racing Form partially deciphered.

 

Either that, or he has a vice mastered. I like people with vices. I see vices as an issue of defiance, a quiet utterance of strength against the flow. We know something. We know something different. We know IT. We turn the passive glances of others aimed toward us into active statements of rebuttal. I bet on Luvwillkeepusalive in the 9th because it reminded me of a song called Love Will Tear Us Apart by an uber-somber band called the Joy Division. Only we could see the rationale behind that. Behind IT.

 

I think perhaps I may have gotten too much sun today. Eh?

Track Rat

 

This is a pic from the finish of the fourth race today. I won $10. I found it mildly amusing at the number of people who came up to me to ask what horses I was picking, solely on the basis of my physical presence.

 

I was wearing jeans and an untucked white oxford (seems to be my uniform lately), a retro Houston Astros t-shirt, sunglasses and had a Newport Light going much of the time. When the program wasn’t rolled up in my back pocket, I must have had some bizarre air of confidence as I was studying it, circling numbers and checking the odds board.

 

One of my friends said I looked like a track rat. I took it as a compliment.

 

After he said that, there was an extra bounce in my step going from the rail to the betting window and back. This, of course, only added to the ill-gotten reputation.

 

It is amazing to me the amount of trust people will invest in confidence. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not a misleader, but I know inherently what I’m good at and what I am not. Picking horses is among the latter. It felt unusual to be recognized as something different than the same ol’ PK. It felt good. It was fun. A detached fun, but fun nonetheless.

The horses are on the track

Spent this beautiful, sunny, blue sky Friday at Monmouth Park. Monmouth Park is the local racetrack, otherwise known as the lushly landscaped pit into which one tosses money. This is a bad cell phone pic of Stormy Do, who quickly became known affectionately as Scooby Doo, and then, after I put $20 on him to place at 3-1 odds, promptly became known as Scooby Glue. (Kidding about the glue part.) I had such a great time there today, even though I left $40 lighter than when I entered. It was worth it just to watch these magnificent animals and to hang with some cool friends.

Uh oh

Just found a pic of Ivan, hot on the trail of Frances... Is it me, or is Florida turning into Kenny from South Park?

http://www.noaanews.noaa.gov/stories2004/images/ivan090704-1945z.jpg

 

Welcome back

Ann (The little things) has resurfaced evidently unscathed from Hurricane Frances. Here's a link to a pretty impressive satellite photo before it ravaged Florida. (The hurricane, not Ann.)

http://modis.gsfc.nasa.gov/gallery/images/image09072004_1km.jpg

Fate looms

Don't look now. Here come the Sox for their famous September push. What could possibly go wrong between now and the 17th, when the weekend series at Yankee Stadium begins? Why am I forever tempting fate?

 

http://www.obvious.fsnet.co.uk/

Twat it with a rock?

10 Interesting facts about frogs:

http://www.obvious.fsnet.co.uk/frogs/frogs.htm

Make a puppy or kitten happy today

 

My friend Heather runs a charity for animals. Don’t ask how, she just does it. Call it a pet project. She pours her heart and soul into their well-being. Everything she pours her heart into blooms beyond belief. And she’s smart as a whip and pretty to boot. (I think that last sentence was uttered incorrectly. I meant to say she is attractive.) If you have printer cartridges that are used up, send them to her. She turns them into happiness for puppies and kittens.

 

http://www.collectcartridgesforcash.com/

 

http://www.collectcellphones4cash.com/

 

 

Epic entry

One of the best entries I've yet read. I laughed. I cried. I refrained from shaving Elmo.

 

http://journals.aol.com/ryanagi/Wherelifetakesyou/entries/939

Fenway in Iraq

What do Marines deployed in Iraq do while craving baseball? Well, they build their very own baseball stadium. And what stadium do they strive to recreate? Yankee Stadium? I don't think so.

I have never been prouder of my country. They even got the Citgo sign in there. Red Sox rock. Click for the full dish.

http://www.usmc.mil/marinelink/mcn2000.nsf/main5/01A826BB61F2CB2285256F0200247AD0?opendocument

17 Days

 

 

The vagaries of life turn yesterdays into wilted produce. My born on date is approaching.