Happy Happy

"Never should anyone say that a day was wasted in persuit of a dream." Emerson.

I know what you're thinking, that Emerson. Right? For me Felix Emerson always seemed to have the right thing to say, at the right time.

Happy New Year.

Oh, I was going to do one of those year in review sort of things. Let's see, nothing much happened.
A bunch of Becky's showed up, buy that book here.
Then my dog got murdered numerous times, that one is here.
I was somehow forced to mingle with republican presidential candidates and smoke marijuana with the sitting president, that's here.
Of course, the first in a series of detective novels, that fell out and is right here. Then, as if not to be out done, the second showed up, almost as an after thought. Here.

Other than that, this iron lung that is my home is comfortable.

May 2013 be as supercalifragilistic and quite possible expilasdoshious as 1999.

That long look

Home with child

I was blessed or lucky enough to stay home with three children and this video, which not us, certainly reminded me what a day in our life certainly kind of felt like.
Enjoy.

The thing my dog does in the snow

At this point in history I am pretty sure everyone knows my dog is a mean and angry alcoholic lesbian, which is neither here nor there. The real key important thing to know about Beth is that she likes to poo outside, which is kind of important, since she is not only a big giant lesbionic dog, but also she eats like a much bigger dog, if you catch my drift, so the more outside she gets, the better I am about it.

Today we are in the midst of what our local pansy weather man is calling the storm of this century, that is, it is snowing. Barely. I like snow, although I grew up in Southern California and did not experience actual snow until well into my teens, when I was visiting the son of a Hollywood producer and his coke addicted father left a huge pike of the stuff on a mirror in the “library”.

It has been snowing all morning here and when I let my hefty lesbian dog out to do her thing she sprinted into the frozen tundra like she won the dog lottery and could not wait to claim her lesbian dog prize, which I am guessing would involve leather harnesses and a DVD collection of Rosie O’Donnell movies. My dog made it to the far corner of our tiny back yard and then began her ritual and I took notice, because for the first time in weeks, a large smile broke out across her usually dour face.

Unusual, because she is, like many lesbian dogs, a mean spirited and vicious bitch by nature, which is, of course, neither here nor there. But there she was, doing her business in the far corner of the back yard and it struck me, the only thing different from yesterdays morning ritual and todays morning ritual was about 10 inches of snow. Which of course got me thinking, what could be so magic about waking up to ten inches?

I sat for a while and enjoyed some sort of boring gluten free breakfast and the exploits of our new hate filled cat, Foxtrot Tango and it dawned on me, I too could use a morning ritualistic poo. So, instead of walking all the way up to the fifth floor bathroom, and again I do not understand why we do not have a bathroom on any of the four floors before that fifth floor bathroom, but instead of doing that, I decided that today of all days, I would break all the previous imposed “Santorum Rules for Pet Interaction” and poo outside in the snow.

Of course there is some serious preparation one must partake before engaging in such folly, but because I neither had access to the great Google machine, not am I very smart, I just walked outside, dropped trou and let loose. In no time whatsoever I was bothered by my nosey lesbian dog, wondering to herself at long last, have I no shame. So, without reading material or toilet paper I did not waste nearly the amount of time I would usually spend in such duty (doody), finished my business, and made my way inside, leaving my fur coated lesbian dog to remain in the snow, happy as a clam in much warmer climates.

There is a lesson to be learned in all this, but I am quite sure I am not the sort who learns lessons.

Ironically, I have a baby cat named Django

Remove those chains

As many of you know, I have been held hostage in the deep south for a few weeks now, unable to do much more than eat fried food and watch cable TV, until my long lost love rescued me from my bitter and callus custody.

It was not all dangerous and unhealthy. One day I did go shoe shopping. That said, it was both sad and embarrassing because a person I presumed to be a shoe salesman asked me, in a deeply flawed Mississippi accent something that sounded like “flotsum flinglen clotsu flink?” which I thought must mean “can I help you find some shoes,” but could have indeed meant almost anything. As you can imagine, I left the store, damn near shoeless and wondering what the hell had just happened.

That’s when it hit me, these chains that have bound me to this life of constant fear and entitlement have got be to removed. Which is how I came up with the title for my new movie, Hymie Unchained, a story of a Jew in Mississippi, wandering the hurricane ravaged countryside, looking not so much for a better life, but a decent pair of shoes and a non-fried meal, only to discover an unknowable language and an awful lot of very large people who could care less about one Jews personal journey.

I know a movie about Jews will not find a willing audience with those liberal elitists in Hollywood, but this is a project I feel passionate about, not as passionate as I feel about fried chicken, but still somewhat passionate about none the less. With any luck, Hymie Unchained could be in a downloadable version on your digital movie magic box sometime in the next few weeks, if everything comes together, which they hardly ever do.

This just in...favorite headlines

House Won't Be In Session For Legislative Business On Thursday, America's Mental Health Crisis

I pray

This has been a very strange week of Hanukkah for me and my family. For about 15 years or so, the kids and I would gather at Hanukkah and light candles and do some sort of traditional prayer, or more likely, we would create our own prayer, sometimes lighthearted and silly, sometimes serious and sad, depending on the agenda. Always the kids and I would gather as the sun would set, light candles, do a prayer and exchange gifts.

This year, I was alone. The kids are either gone or busy and I have been alone for the lighting of candles and the praying. This year my fiance is on a different coast and happened to be seriously ailing, so my prayers have focused on healing and health. I am never sure how these prayers work, I am never sure if the power of a prayer can find its way to gods ear, and if god will indeed do anything about it.

I was alone again last night, lighting seven candles and trying to think of an appropriate prayer, because all of a sudden, when another national tragedy has overtaken just about every aspect of our lives, I did not want to waste an opportunity to have a moment with praying and not get a word in for the parents who have lost babies in Connecticut.

I lit the candles and I prayed. Prayers are deeply private.

If you wait till the last Hanukkah minute

If you are like me and many people are, according the the vast majority of recent polling date, then you wait until the very last minute to purchase both Hanukkah gifts and Christmas presents.
Need a suggestions?
Try this. Click right here and buy the second installment of Branson, a brash, yet sensitive New York Police detective, madly in love with both his job and his gravity defying girlfriend.
For many people Hanukkah is wrapping up, so click quickly and as many times as possible, then purchase as often as you can afford to, then copy that link and send it to everyone on your email list because this is by far the most affordable, most unique and in this case, my favorite gift of the season.
Felix Navidad.

It's a drag

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Things happen in LaJolla

LaJolla, California – Early December, 2012.

I was hitchhiking, trying to make my way to Seattle to score me some of that legal weed and maybe get me a gay marriage, what the hell, Washington State made all the sins legal in one election and damned if I was not going to partake. I stuck my thumb out, but in LaJolla, good luck being a well groomed white guy trying to get a ride.

After about an hour in the sun, a dusty SUV slowed, the sort of older model that looked like it had not seen the inside of an elevator in months. The window rolled down on the passenger side and the gray haired gentleman turned to me, former Republican Presidential candidate Mitt Romney looked over and smiled that fake smile of his and asked, “where you going?”

Follow the rest here, as the final chapter, for now at least, in Dancing with Mannequins and Idiots.

The French are very good with balls

Time to breakup

Xmas song