NY Times headline of the day

Rattlesnake Wranglers, Armed With Gas

Oh Brooklyn

Merry go round, again

Email mystery

""this yogi absolves you from all (romantic) karma and negative thoughts regarding romance."

The major problem with having any sort of internet blog thing is that strangers send your the strangest of messages. 

Dumb guys explain the hoo haa

The gatekeeper returns after a long winter

I ran into the gatekeeper this weekend. This is no where near as dramatic as that might sound. First, in my neighborhood is remains freezing cold and sometimes it snows. That said, Saturday was the first real taste of Spring we have had and my incredible partner decided that instead of spending the day watching basketball and kissing our dog on the forehead, we decided to break ground.

Around here the frozen tundra looks more like dead grass and frozen dog poop, but organic gardeners are serious people and we are nothing if not dedicated city plant growers. At some point I decided I would need a couple more bricks to finish off a tiny retaining wall I had been working on and I walked down to the community garden. As far as I can tell, whatever is there is for the taking, that is, if you can make it past the gatekeeper.

I had no clue who the gatekeeper was until last summer. It was sometime in July and again I found myself in need of something, maybe a red tomato or some garlic, but as far as I knew, the community garden was an open paradise to find fresh vegetables for free. So I walked down. There was a newly installed wooden gate, made out of obviously salvaged and decrepit wood and in front of it sat an elderly Jewish man who stopped me as I opened it and said, “where you going?”

I met the gatekeeper and learned some valuable lessons that day. First, other people growing vegetables in a community garden are not doing so for my personal nutrition. I also learned that a gatekeeper is a serious job for silly old men. That first time, as he allowed me entry, he quietly put his wrinkled old hand out in search of a tip, or a poll. I only had a ten dollar bill on me and when I told him that, he replied, “that will be sufficient.”

The rest of the summer, when I did venture down to the community garden, I made sure never to have anything larger than a quarter in my pocket. The gatekeeper did not seem to notice or care. He was always there, always opened the gate and every single time he held up his hand in search of a tip, or payoff or something. I would hand over the change in my pocket and enter.

It was getting to be bitterly cold this past saturday afternoon when I went to the community garden in search of some bricks and I was shocked to see the elderly Jewish gatekeeper sitting on an old aluminum fold out chair. He was wearing a nice vintage suit and a battered overcoat and as I approached he asked if I had any business in the community garden and I told him I needed a few bricks to finish a retaining wall. He opened the gate and ever so peacefully his right hand came out of his pocket and he held it flat, awaiting payment. 

Now, it had been months since I had ventured to the community garden and I had only a 20 dollar bill in my picket, which I realized when I dug my hand into my pocket and retrieved it. I looked at it, as did the gatekeeper, and he snatched it before I could clasp my hand shut. We made stern eye contact and he said, “that should make up for last summer.” Then he sat back down on his old chair, pulled his wool beamy down over his  ears, thrust his hands back into his pockets and closed his eyes, like an elderly Jewish Buddha.

Lion sleeping

Birthdays are not that important

I don’t know anything about birthdays. Ask anyone, I am widely known for my inability to remember anyone’s birthday. I was once married and had children and to this day, I have no clue if my former marriage partner person ever had a birthday, nor do I know what that particular day may have been. 

I have children, I was in the rooms that they were birthed in. I have no clue what days those were. Not a single clue. One of them was born on an important holiday, but not Christmas, because we are Jews and Hannukah has no official start date. So I think one of them was born on the fourth of july, but to this day, I am not sure which one it is. 

One child was born on Easter, but that is rather unpredictable on exact day, so year in and year out, we have celebrated that particular childs birthday whenever it was easter. He/She never seemed to mind.

This morning, my most vicious daughter was outside my window making a racket. She does this often enough that I, at first, did not pay it any attention. When a crowd began to form, I looked down onto the street and could see her holding a giant placard in her hands and yammering. I put my glasses on and I could see she was waving one of those giant poster boards that the crazy Kansas church people hold to protest their insanity at military funerals and such. Her sign read “GOD HATES FAGS” is giant letters. At first I found this a little appalling, but then she started singing Happy Birthday to me and all was forgiven.

The problem, of course, was the fact that today was not really my birthday. So it goes.

Imbeciles need some TV watching too

Everyman chapter 3

As you should know, a new chapter of Everyman is being published on the Mergatroid Creative website.
Follow it here. 

Thanks girls

Then there's this

Good news/Bad news

Fred Phelps, the one-time leader of the infamous "GOD HATES FAGS" church, is on his deathbed in Kansas. Hopefully, you can carry on with your day having learned of this terrible news.

A little some some

I closed my eyes and all I could think of was how angry I was at my best friend, a chipmunk. Sure, I am positive that at some point a friend or spiritual advisor warned me not to fall in love with a chipmunk, but I was much younger when I met Billy Bob Chipmunk and now we are just stuck with one another.
Chipmunks age differently than humans, so when I found Billy Bob living on the bumper of my old Ford truck and I asked him what he was doing there and all he could muster was a smile, I knew he could end up being trouble. Of course, at the time, I had no clue what sort of trouble I would end up getting into.
He was young then, but that was eons ago and now he is old and cranky and sometimes cynical and brutish. I forgive everything because sometimes I am the same way.
Billy Bob has long been known for his dancing.
I'm not quite sure how this came about, because at the time we met, I was a professional dancer and he was, well, a chipmunk. Soon enough we were doing double bills at Carnegie Hall and "Shake and Bake," the first a professional theater in New York City, the second, a strip club for stoners in Denver.
As Billy Bobs knees began to give out and his racist diatribes became even more offensive, I had to give up the stage to dedicate my life to my first love, medicine. Sure, I flunked out of med school long ago, but like most doctors working in America, I just faked it. Looking back on my decades as a surgeon I can honestly say that a decent percentage of my patients did not die painfully.
So imagine my shock this week when I found out that Billy Bob Chipmunk had secretly been keeping detailed notes on not only my illegal medical activities, but also my moonshining business. I think I did what any professional surgeon/moonshine provider would do, I brought Billy Bob to the circus and sold him for five dollars.
When I was talking to my shrink yesterday, Dr. Fivingstook, I mentioned that Billy Bob was no longer with me and the good doctor dropped his maniacal on the floor and said, "why that can't be, I saw him just yesterday, performing at "Spangles" which is one of our cities grimiest and disgusting pool hall and frenzy dancing palaces. A lot of people don't even know what a Frenzy Dance Palace is, but then again, we are not in Europe anymore.
That said, life without Billy Bob Chipmunk has been a lot nicer than I could have imagined. My super smart lawyer told me that while my recent chipmunk removal was highly immoral, it was also super legal, which in the end is almost all that matters.
That said, I got a call from a mormon missionary this morning who told me he had spent the majority of the evening drinking illegal moonshine and "talking shit" with a very verbal and racist chipmunk and it was then that I knew, at some point, our paths would again cross.

Happiest headline of the day

IMPORTANT: Are You Cleaning Your Dildo Correctly?

Money and drugs and everything else important

The Wolf of Wall Street Chest Thump Mix from Eclectic Method on Vimeo.

Getting off

)

This must be inspiring

Agate Pass

Feuding, still

Smoke more pot

New Marijuana Study Says Everyone Knows You're High And You'll Likely Be Stoned Forever

I met God at my local pharmacy

I met God the other day.
At least I believe I met god the other day. I was standing in the line at my local pharmacy and this long gray haired Jewish man, with a bad back, was standing in front of me. At no point in particular he turned and with a wry smile on his wrinkled and weathered face he asked, “how ya doing?”
I smiled, because quite honestly, I could not remember the last time anyone had asked me such a caring question, and I replied, “could not be better, how about you?”
“Oye, my back hurts,” God said, “that’s why I’m here. I don’t like to take the pain medication, but it’s the only thing I can do to get any rest.”
“How old are you,” I asked.
“Today? Today I feel like I am a thousand years old.”
“Well, then, you should take all the pain medication you need.”
“Oh I will, but as I said, I don’t like taking it. I have much to do and the medication slows me down.”
“How can you have so much to do, you are obviously quite old.”
“Being old does not preclude you from accomplishment,” God said.
“Well, good luck to you,” I said, without any hint of sarcasm.
“So we are done here?” God asked, almost seeking sympathy.
“Well, I was getting the idea you needed to move on.”
“Not at all, I am enjoying our conversation. You seem like a friendly sort.”
“Oh I am.”
“You do know who I am, yes?”
“An old Jewish man waiting in line at the pharmacy?”

“That is true, but I am more than an old man.”
“Arn’t we all,” I said, that time sarcastically.
“I am a father, and I am more than a father,” God said, with all sorts of intonations that seemed to reveal he was speaking in metaphor. My ears seemed to perk up just a bit and my focus was sharper than I can recall it being in years.
It was right after he said that little poetic mystery that a cashier opened up and waved him over. He walked away from me, in obvious discomfort. I was waiting in line when it dawned on me, that old man was God. I sensed it more than anything, but it was a clear give away when I realized that not only was he in great personal pain (probably from the sins of all humanity) but he was also still finding the time to comfort a stranger and offer sage advice. For a second I closed my eyes and basked in the beauty of my conversation with God.
Another cashier was waving and so I walked up and gave her my name and she turned to get my medication. I looked to my right and God was gone. Just like that. A small miracle because an elderly Jewish man who grimaces when he walks could not just disappear so quickly, unless, of course, he was God.
When the pharmacist assistant came back with my medication, she looked at me and said, “you look blissful, as you sure you even need this medication?”
“Well, I was talking to God a minute ago and now I feel a sense of peace I have never quite experienced,” I said, with a beatific smile on my face.
“Yeah,” she said, “ you totally need your meds.”

Comcast just does not care

Comcast Doesn't Give a F*CK from Tarik Ellinger      

Bruce Springsteen sings Royals

Then this