Poppies......poppies......

Hello all. Yes...I know. I haven't written a journal entry in a while. I can't seem to find the words to bring dignity to any thoughts that I want to convey. Sometimes, life just leaves you speechless. It sure isn't what you expect. That's for damned sure.

For a few nights in a row, I had different dreams but in each one I had a new pair of red tennis shoes. Bright red they were and garish as Hell. It was interpreted by a pretty smart friend of mine that perhaps I am Dorothy and those are my magic red shoes. Could be...could be... perhaps I really am feeling like I'm not in Kansas anymore. Forgive me my trespasses - forgive me for making Wizard of Oz analogies in times like these - but sometimes I do wish I could wake up to find out that the flying monkeys and the hostile apple trees were only a dream.... I remember as an over-empathetic kid, feeling sad for the tin man, scarecrow and lion as they said over and over how they only wanted a heart or a brain or just a little dose of courage. No matter how
many times I watched that movie, I always felt sad for them. I wonder why I didn't know that everything was going to turn out all right? In retrospect, I think it was because the flying monkeys , the wicked witch, the grabbing trees, the separation that Dorothy felt from her family seemed all too real each time the movie aired. It still does. I feel the weight of a thousand munchkin liberations and none of the rest that comes from well-placed poppy fields.

Pumpkin Head

I got the new haircut. I would say it is a cross between Buster Brown and Theda Bara with a little bit of that kid from Elementary school thrown in. You know the kid I am talking about...the one whose Mom always cut her hair a little wopsided and made her wear little sweaters with embroidered peter pan collars. But, you know what? I like it. It is definitely different than it was and actually looks better after I sleep on it. People at work have mostly just stared at it today....I did get one "cute" remark - just what I love. But, I guess as long as you get "cute" remarks, it means you still look kind of young, right? I keep telling myself that my fat little kid cheeks are going to keep me youthful looking forever. It could be true actually as my brother, Andy and I both are told that we look exactly the same as we did in Elementary school. I swear it must be our little kid cheeks - that or our irregularly large, pumpkin heads.

Fortune has an evil side

Once, I decided to put the universe to the test.

Something was weighing heavily on my heart and I couldn't figure out which road to take.

I came up with the brilliant idea of trusting it to fate. Okay, I was going to trust it to fate but was in a hurry to get the answer.

I drove to the store and bought a box of fortune cookies. I got in my car and immediately opened the box, not even waiting until I got home for my destiny. I stuck my hand deep inside the package and mixed up the cookies, closing my eyes, pursing my lips and concentrating like a World Series pitcher. I picked out the fortune cookie and made a vow to follow whatever it instructed.

I cracked open the cookie and slowly unfolded the message inside.

The cookie read: "You like athletic activity."

I swear to god. This actually happened. Stupid lying fortune cookie. I was even out of breath from walking from the store to my car. I like athletic activity?

Though, the other day I got one that said: "You like Chinese food."

Well, they've got me there.

Johnny Cash died

This has been an odd day.

When I woke up this morning, the sky above town was full of hot air balloons and tonight as the sun went down, they were still there hanging in the sky right between the sun and the moon.

Johnny Cash died at two this morning. I worshipped Johnny Cash. I remember as a kid, staring at my dad's Folsom Prison album and thinking that he must be the coolest, most bad-ass man alive with his coal dark eyes and clothes - his ruddy complexion - his songs about prisons and trains - I wanted to be like him and in my innocence wondered what a person has to do to end up behind those cold prison walls or hopping a train down the line. I reasoned that it must be that he "shot a man in Reno - just to watch him die..." I wasn't sure why a person would do that but it sounded icy cold and interesting.

It was odd to hear Johnny's songs on the radio today and I even heard Eddie Angel doing his version of "Straight A's in Love". There was something surreal about hearing that song on the airwaves. You don't usually hear Johnny on the radio here unless you tune into AM radio. Only the new guys get top billing and airplay - the pretty ones with the overproduced "new country" sound. Everywhere I turned, it was his music on the radio. When I went home at lunch, I turned on the TV. I got to see the reporters standing in front of the hospital while pointing up at the building, "Johnny Cash died here at two a.m.". They also stood in front of his home and offered up sound bytes from his neighbors - "I used to see him and June down at Home Depot all the time buying plants and manure..." It was freaky and strange. They were like buzzards or vultures. Whichever of those picks the flesh off of dead things...that's what they were like. They were hunting and pecking for any tiny little morsel of meat. Do they really have to do a live remote from the hospital or in front of his family home? I decided not and went upstairs to listen to "Because you're mine, I walk the line." Man, we have lost a great one in Johnny Cash. I hope that if there is a heaven, he and June Carter are sitting there singing "If I were a Carpenter" and looking down through the September haze and hot air balloons and news satellites and giggling at the sideshow down here.

I learned that they are putting catfish in the pond at Centennial Park for something called a "Catfish Rodeo". There beside the spectacle that is our Parthenon replica, people are going to be fishing for catfish. I think they should let the homeless people in on it - but I bet the rich folk hog the whole place as if it were that yearly Arts and Crafts fair. Bastards. Greedy catfish hoarding bastards.

This morning, I was in a funk because I was going to spend the weekend a little light on cash. My boss slipped me a twenty dollar bill for no reason and then when I got home - there was unexpected cash in the mail. I'm telling you - I usually don't get twenties handed to me all day for no reason. I felt a little like a stripper but wasn't at all bothered by the new and exciting cash flow. Perhaps a little grocery buying and if allowed, a nice visit to a thrift store or two? Thank you gods of carefree bosses and parents alike for this manna.

I have agreed to go to the State fair which will surely entail comfortable shoes. Do I even own comfortable shoes? I have been told that there will be piles of manure there and I really must step out of my zone and wear comfortable shoes. Hmm....Chuck Taylors with a skirt? Perhaps. If I dye my hair a nice funky color first - I looked at the 'manic panic' colors tonight and haven't yet decided between the midnight blue (will go with my eyes) or bright red (will go with the 'whites' of my eyes).

Even better still, I received emails today that contained the following lines:

" Godzilla is very angry. We must flee."

"Mr. Twinkie had a drunken, blue-humored appearance on the Dick Cavett show that included a particularly controversial joke about Pat Nixon's genitals..."

" William Burroughs is there removing the bun from a quarter-pounder with cheese and carrying on about 'American Breadsuckers'. "

I also received a rousing MP3 about goth girls and those who love them. Bravo! Any song that lauds "her skin is white as snow... I'd follow her wherever she goes" is okay in my book (says the girl whose only known super power is "Translucence").

I went to Wendy's for the first time in over a month and couldn't remember what I ever liked about the place. I said "Thank you" to the unenthused teenager in the drive-thru window three times just to see if he would say it back. He didn't. He only shoved a sack in my hand and slammed his little window. Well, at least he didn't commit the cardinal of all drive-thru sins (as far as I am concerned). He didn't call me "Ma'am".

Peace, Ya'll. I think I am going to call this one a day.

I (heart)

You see – I am a great believer in romance. I love to hear stories about it. I can get spellbound by an old movie where some leading man swoops in and gives the leading lady a kiss that bruises her lips and makes her limp. I like the little things that people do in the name of romance. I hope against hope that it isn’t a dying art. I am a big fan of the stuff. For, you see – I want romance to survive this age of cookie cutter greeting cards with champagne toasting couples on the cover. I want it to survive the era of love songs with lines in them like “not gonna let this bull crap keep me away from you ” - I swear to God and cupid, this is a line from an R. Kelly song. A song that is supposed to be romantic….

I am concerned about the state of romance. Not only that, but I crave it like a junkie craves a fix. I like the songs. Give me Chet Baker singing mournfully – “My funny valentine, sweet comic valentine, you make me smile with my heart….” Hell, give it to me a dozen times in a row. That is the stuff that I am talking about. Give me the Ink Spots singing about how they don’t want to set the world on fire but “I just want to start a flame in your heart.” Who among us has heard Doris Day singing “I’m in the mood for love” and didn’t have their heart throb – either because we were in love or just plain wanted to be? I like the idea of it. I want to meet someone and feel my heart beat like a big bass drum. We all do. I think that this too is the reason that there are radio stations that offer “all love songs all the time”. After my last breakup, this is the station that we listened to at work. I swear to you, these were the most awfully written, over produced songs about love and the lack of it. I thought that I was going to die or poke my eardrums out with a sharp pencil. But, in retrospect it make me realize that there is a reason that there is a market for these recordings – even if they are unbelievably bad. That reason is that we all travel our lives in different stages of love – in love, falling out of love, unrequited love, feeling unloved, searching for love….. it is a common bond. A common bond that in its very nature has made love just as commonplace. It is something that is marketable because we all are a part of it from the day we are born until the day we die. They market it to us because our hunger for it never ends. The quest for love never ends. We are a given.

The Victorians were fascinated by romance and the art of love and wooing. I used to collect Victorian valentines and was always amazed at the time and energy that went into the making of them….the intricately designed and hand-cut details, the perfect handwritten sentiment from one lover to the other. Love was an art. Today, love is offered up as a mass-produced, glossy product. An assembly line production. We approach it the same way every time and sometimes, we kill it the same way every time. A pattern of seduction and quick retreat. There are scads of dating services for just this very purpose. There is even one now called "Speed dating" where you spend something like 5 minutes with 10 or 12 people in a row to see if there is chemistry. Something has been taken out of love - the chance, the magic. Something has been put in the place of these things - an urgency to not be alone. We are a culture of coupling. There are more TV shows than I can count - shows about dating, love and marriage. Some of them have people competing to win the romantic affections of a "bachelor" or "bachelorette". Some of them throw in valuable million dollar prizes. Some of them even let the American public call in and vote on who should end up together. Some of them have the eligible single's friends or family choosing their betrothed. And, the main thing about these shows is that they are glossy and well-produced. It is easy to get caught up in them. It is also easy to look at love and romance as a game. It is easy to think that our romantic lives should also be just as contrived . We have become consumers of romance. We want it fast and simple. We want it now. I have a friend who has been trying "Lunch Dates". This is a service where a company takes your profile and matches it with other people's. They call you and you go to lunch. All of his dates have been duds. Recently, they called him and told him that he had one last date left in his package. Now, he was quick to say that he was tired of the process and that he really didn't see it producing the girl of his dreams. But, he also agreed to go on that final date. I said to him, " I hope that you find what you are looking for." His reply was that he wasn't expecting to find what he was looking for on this final date. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "I just want to get my money's worth."

Tonight, I spoke with a friend who has also tried internet dating (okay. so the cat is out of the bag. I am Kelly and I have tried internet dating.). There are more internet dating services than you can imagine. It is easy to feel like an item on display in a store window. People are reduced to well-chosen photos and a series of questions and answers. You can spend hours at a time flipping through profiles looking for just one sentence or picture that peaks your interest without the prospective dates even knowing that you are checking them out. Shopping for a mate through one dimensional photos and witty blurbs is easy. It is as simple as logging on and clicking the mouse from one profile to the next. It is indeed a mind numbing way to look for a spark. A spark that you honestly aren't going to find there in a website. It becomes a hobby -this search for love. It is also a business as they bill your credit card for the service.

My friend and I mulled the whole thing over and tried to decide if such services help add to the possibility of romance or do they somehow sterilize it? He reasoned that back in our parent's days, people were somehow parts to an equation. You married your high school sweetheart, you had 2.5 children, the white picket fence, the whole nine yards - just like your friends and neighbors. People, he says are more "evolved" now and go out and have careers and lives before they begin t his age-old search for a mate. So, does this in some way make us expect more out of a partner? Are we so selfish because we have had time to "find ourselves" that we expect too much out of that 'special someone' or perhaps are too greedy with the lives that we have made for ourselves outside of the bounds of a relationship? We also deducted that services like internet dating make us somehow "jaded" or complacent because we view these people that we meet as "a product". Does the technology take the romance right out of it like air from a tire? Or does it allow us a new frontier of sorts to meet people who we wouldn't ordinarily meet? I have always been the first to admit that it is very near-sighted to believe that in this enormous world, the person who we are supposed to be with (if indeed there is one person) lives in our very town. Are we asking too much to want the convenience and technological advances but at the same time expect to have that moment when we are struck by lightning and a touch of perhaps - love, romance and sentimentality?

This may sound like some sort of codependency to some and I don’t hesitate to go on even so…but I want romance. I want to be wooed. . I want someone to think of me - just think of me out of the blue, or because he saw something that reminded him of me. I want someone to feel a tug at his heart when I'm not around. But, also I want someone to fall for me - and hard. Not just because I fit a profile that they are told that they need or should have. I want them to be wowed by me. I want them to think that they can't live without me. My friend told me about his grandmother who lost her husband two years ago. She sits at her kitchen table. She looks out the window. She won't go into the TV room because that is where he used to like to sit. A part of her is gone. Is this what love is? Is this what romance leaves in its wake? Is it worth the gamble to give yourself to someone so completely and with such passion that once they are gone, you are also gone too? I have to go out on a limb here and say yes. Because, of when they are here, you see. When you are sitting with them in that TV room or looking at their smiling face morning after morning at that kitchen table, you realize that you are the luckiest person in the world. That is, if you do this thing right. If you get it right. If it sticks and your heart is completely theirs - and theirs is yours too. A completed equation.

There are those of you who have had to watch with mind numbing attention (much like passing a car wreck) as different stages of my life and love life have gone awry. You have seen the things I have done for love and the things that I have had done to me for love. And, all you could do was sit back and realize that yeah, you probably would have done it too if in the same circumstances. The circumstances being wanting love to work out. The circumstances being that blind faith and the hope that this time, romance and love are going to save the day. Not too long ago, you saw me believe in love only to have it prove me wrong. You probably saw a little of yourself in me too. Or, in him. Or in the nature of how love almost made it but died at the last minute. You probably even said, "....if it were meant to be, it would have..." It's okay. I said it too. The only difference is that I didn't believe it at the time but I do now. We can't force love. Society may make it seem easily accessible but it isn't. Back to the 'formula' thing....

Today, I polled some people about romance and was given the following from my brother:

"Romance is the cloying candy shell hiding delicious scoops of familiarity and a mutual understanding that you dig each other in a quiet, pleasant way.”

At first, this one kind of made me feel sad. I guess because it mentioned familiarity which at first makes one think of monotony but then I read further into it and really liked how it ended: “you dig each other in a quiet, pleasant way”. Hmm…perhaps romance isn’t all banners and flashy shows of sentiment. Perhaps it is that quiet, pleasant way that he spoke about. The knowing that someone will be there and that they just “dig” you because they do. Is this romance? Perhaps. Perhaps it is part of it, for sure. I also got this from my poet friend, Chance:

“Romance is the thin, sweet shell that melts away leaving sticky, stomach-turning, confused, disillusioned nougat that fills your mouth with a taste not unlike regret.”

It is interesting that they both compared romance to something with a candy shell...but what if we take it down a notch and notice not the candy coating but the “shell” part. Andy was saying that it is what is under the shell that is romance. Chance was saying that is the shell that is the romance and then you are disgusted by what is underneath there…”the regret”. Now, I can say that I have been on both sides of this whole candy shell argument and at this time, I have to admit that I can see both sides as if I have a box seat.

Desmond Morris says that romance is something that is contrived chemically by our bodies to attract a mate for procreation. A girlfriend of mine says that romance can only be satisfyingly achieved by distance (thus “makes the heart grow fonder”) or in the initial stages of courtship alone before it dies once “they know that they have you” (back to the Desmond Morris theory?)

At this point, I am not sure. All I know is that it has to be out there and it doesn’t have to leave you with a sour taste in your mouth and feeling like you had a stiff sucker punch to the stomach. Good lord in heaven....DOES it? I sit around with single friends and we go back and forth with comments like, “I just wish I could meet someone that I connect with” or “Love sucks. I feel sorry for people in relationships. They are slaves.” But, I notice that when we see a friend with their lover and they look really happy – that happy that puts a glow there on their face – we all kind of get a wistful look on our faces and it seems to say, “Yeah…but what if….what if…”

My best friend wrapped it all up pretty well:
"Honey, if someone told me that love was waiting for me in Hell, I'd be on the 5:01 train."

so, friends......
I’m going to keep believing in it until further notice. And, I encourage you to do so too. Whether you are falling into it, past it, looking for it, getting over it, poking it with a very long and sharp stick, reeling from it or sitting fat and pretty in the lap of it......

Whether you call it love or romance or sentiment or stupidity.

I am going to stick in there and see what happens.

Is there someone for everyone? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Is life like the movies? Chances are that it isn't.

Is it a competition? A game? A well-contrived series of formulas and equations? I am going to bet against that.

I didn’t buy a card at the drug store. I decided to make one because in my heart, the sentiments don’t rhyme – sometimes they don’t even make sense. We are all muddling along and trying to grab this illusive thing – we want it to be just right – to look right, to feel right, to be right. Perhaps it is just a state of mind? Perhaps when it is right, we will know? The questions will fall aside? I only wish I knew.

So, I am going to go now and listen to some love songs – some instrumental love songs. Because, I am getting the feeling that love is what we don’t notice – what is in between the lines of songwriters and crooners. What the Nielson ratings can't compute. What some greeting card writer can't sum up with a rhyming dictionary. It isn't the obvious - the commonplace - the x's and y's in the formula......

It is what our souls know when it comes into view....

A sheer magnetic pull out of the blue.

He's dying

My grandfather has liver cancer. He is 90 years old and undeniably one of the best people on this planet and for whatever purpose that this universe hasn’t seen fit to reveal to me, he has liver cancer. This weekend, I drove home to South Carolina after learning that he had been put in the hospital. Nobody has any answers. My mom told me that I needed to prepare myself – that he looked a lot different than he did when I was home in July. She said that he is weak and thin and pale. Within the past week, his life has changed drastically. He can no longer walk without falling or stand without passing out. Within the past week, he has gone from being independent to being dependent on doctors and breathing tubes and pain medication.

I felt a gnawing in my soul that said that I should go to see him, to speak to him, to look in his eyes. When my grandmother died, something that morning told me that she was going away. I remember sitting at work and ‘something’ told me to have flowers sent to her. Instead of doing it right then, I decided to wait until later in the day. Before lunch time that very day, I got a phone call from my mom. She called to tell me that my grandmother had died. There was a signal there. I know that it sounds like new-age bullshit but in that moment, something in the universe aligned briefly and gave me the chance to come to a realization. A realization that I needed to let my grandmother know that I loved her. I let the chance slide by. It was a chance that I never got back. It was a chance that turned to regret. Trust me when I say that regret isn’t something that fades. Thus, regret teaches us lessons.

As I drove across three states to get home, I had time to think . I couldn’t convince myself that I wasn’t going home to see my grandfather for the last time. I tried to imagine what he was going to look like and if he would know who I was. I thought about what he must be feeling. I had talked to him on the phone the day before and he sounded groggy from the drugs, weak and scared. He told me that I should come back home. He told me that I had nothing keeping me states away. At the time, any answers that came to mind sounded petty and inconsequential. They still do. He also told me that he didn’t think he would ever go home again. This was the first time ever that I had heard him sound defeated.

In the confines of that car, everything seemed like something. There is a Wilco song called, “Jesus, etc”. I listened to that song over and over again and thought about how my grandfather had always been there. He was a constant in a life that hasn’t been full of enough constants. He was someone I could rely on.

"Jesus, don't cry
You can rely on me, honey.
You can come by any time you want.."

Everything that I saw made me think of him and that these were things that he may never see again. I crossed through cool, green woods and rustling near Autumn corn fields. I passed pretty farm houses and freshly turned red dirt fields and thought about how days turn to weeks and then to months and then to years. The sky above me looked like a movie set - bright blue and full of air-brushed billowy white clouds. I thought about how seasons fade from one to the next. I thought about how my grandfather might never see Summer turn to Fall again. How he might never watch the clouds roll by in shifting shapes or gaze up at the night stars as they turn pale in the morning light.

“…you were right about the stars,
each one is a setting sun….”

I passed a church yard full of wedding guests waving farewell to a couple just married. I followed their car for a couple of miles and learned through the shaving cream script that they were “Ronnie and Melissa”. I imagined how full of possibility they felt. How young and in love and like life together was possibility. I thought of my grandparents and how my grandfather took care of my grandmother for over a decade when she was sick and how they, in their youth, had spoken the words, “in sickness and in health, until death us do part” and then traveled down a Georgia dirt road with “Just married” on their lips. Life is transition. Life is stages. Life is seasons. The ones that we love and who love us are our axis upon which we turn.

“..voices escape singing sad, sad songs
tuned to chords
strung down your cheeks,
bitter melodies turning your orbit around…”

I also passed a funeral service and had a flash in my mind that it was me there under the shady trees saying goodbye to my grandfather like I had my grandmother – saying goodbye without her being able to hear the words. Saying goodbye too late through a wooden casket when she couldn't even hear the words. I stepped on the gas.

I knew that I was closer to home when I started seeing deep South kudzu. It tangled and creeped up and down the hills and choked the trunks of trees. It was as if I were Dorothy and these were my poppy fields. I wished that I could lie down by the roadside and be lulled to sleep in the warm South Carolina sun and wake up in my grandfather’s garden to see him approaching in his bent straw hat with a basket of sunny yellow squash or a handful of zinnias. I wanted to get out of that car crowded with my thoughts and my hastily packed luggage and just lie there on a mattress of clinging vine and wake up in times that I didn’t know to appreciate when I was in them. I wanted to see him with a strong frame and thick, tan skin. I wanted to see him walk towards me. My eyes teared up as I realized that I might never get to see him walk towards me again. Life isn't all light but darkness too.

“You were right about the stars,
Each one is a setting sun…”

When my dad and I arrived at the hospital, I still wasn’t prepared to see him lying there in that bed with wires and tubes running in and out of him. I wasn’t prepared to see him frail and thin, wearing that gown and lit by the harsh, hospital lights. I had never seen my grandfather sick nor less in a hospital. I was taken aback but went forward as he smiled at me and asked me what I was doing there. I told him that I was worried about him and that I had to see him. He said, “Well, girl. I am sure glad you’ve come.” We stayed a while with him and talked about the Atlanta Braves and Ernest Tubb. He seemed pleased when my dad told him that I am really into the old country music stars. He made me laugh when he told me that he was glad that Allison Krauss had finally done something with her hair. He told me that I need to gain some weight. He talked about Skippy, his dog. We made small talk and it somehow seemed right. I could tell that he was scared as he peppered the small talk with comments about how he couldn’t get his strength back up or how he kept blacking out. So, the small talk seemed like the world was alright – like we were at home in his living room. It was the in-between talk that made me realize that we weren't.

At one point, as the Weather Channel had everyone’s attention, my eyes met his for what seemed like a million years. His pale blue eyes met my pale blue eyes. We both knew that we were scared and we both knew that things weren’t going to be alright. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I was feeling. I was afraid that I would sit there and cry and just make him more scared or sad. I watched him eat his dinner, watching him take each bite, reaching up with a weak arm and holding his fork with a hand blackened and bruised from needles. I watched him drink his milk and eat his ice cream. Then, I watched him get sick as he couldn’t keep his dinner down. He seemed embarrassed and disappointed. I wanted to trade places with him. I wanted this man who had nurtured four sons and dozens of grandchildren and great grandchildren to be able to sit there and eat a meal and then be able to walk out and feel the sunshine on his face. This was pointless. This suffering was pointless. I couldn’t put a name or an excuse to why my grandfather was lying frail in that bed with so much life in his soul – life that he couldn’t live because cancer said so.

I hugged him goodbye and promised that I would come to see him in a couple of weeks.
I didn't know if a couple of weeks would afford me that opportunity. I kissed his soft cheek and he grabbed my arm and told me that he loved me. When I walked out of that room, I felt like I was leaving my whole world there. I couldn't think of one single reason not to scream or cry or curse the universe. When I walked out into that September sun, I couldn't think of one single reason that I should be able to feel it on my face and not him.

As I drove back home today, hours passed as I looked at the same scenery that I had seen a day before - the same woods and fields and farm houses - that blue sky still surrounded me, white clouds and all - but in my mind's eye, all I could see was the view from his hospital window - a brick wall. A tall brick wall that blocks out the sun and the sky and the trees and the life below.

"Tall buildings shake
voices escape singing sad, sad songs
tuned to chords
strung down your cheeks,
bitter melodies
turning your orbit around..."

How am I going to do this?

Well, this is my second day of website ownership. Reviews have been pretty good overall. Thanks to all of you for your encouraging words and for looking the site over for me.

My Dad says that he thinks the site might be a little "dark" and that people might think that I am sad and depressed. I certainly hope it doesn't come across that way. I promise you that I am usually quite happy. He says that my website should contain happy photos of kittens and bunnies and nice stories about the grandchildren that I am going to give him one day. As you can see by that grandchildren remark, my dad shares my sense of humor. I don't know what the problem is. You put one photo with a handgun or a journal entry about committing suicide with grocery items and the whole world thinks you are a dark and depressed person. Go figure!

My brother said that my website has a certain "gothic perkiness". I had never heard those two words used together - but y'know...I like it!

A good friend once said that I am like a mixture of Morticia Addams and Gidget. And, to be honest with you - that made me happy. So, I guess what this all adds up to is that this site is going to be a mixture of happy stuff and some dark stuff and perhaps a touch or two of strangeness added in. It will be like Pee Wee's Playhouse - but the playhouse is right there on the other side of the tracks - you know where I am talking about - where the really interesting people live....the ones that your parents told you not to hang out with - the ones who always had the most interesting music, addictions and friends.....

As Lafcadio Hearn said: " Woo the muse of the odd....."

As my buddy, George said: "Give us pop culture!"

I hear you loud and clear , boys. That's what I am here for.

It is ALIVE.

Well folks, this is it. The launch of the much lauded website. It has taken two days of hard work to get it up and going. I must thank Jerry for all of his help. He is the Sergeant Carter to my Gomer Pyle…and I mean that in the best possible way. Without his knowledge, this would never have been possible. So, in that regard, please send any letters of complaint to his mailbox…you know where he is. I promised him my first-born child so I am sorry, Mom and Dad. He said something about selling it to buy a new guitar though so perhaps you can get in on the bidding war and win yourself a grandchild!

It has been a pretty uneventful weekend around the Sideways House. Lots of productive things going on all over the house and three days off from work almost behind us now. My heart feels wistful right now. Perhaps it is because Nat King Cole is singing “The Christmas Song” on my stereo. Heck, he just started singing it and it didn’t seem right to stop him what with all the chestnuts roasting on open fires and all.

I went to the local grocery store this morning (to buy more protein, no doubt) and was struck by the thread that binds humanity. No…no…not that we all have to pay whatever the hell grocery stores decide to charge us. You see, I was standing in the canned vegetables and fruits aisle and noticed that the sound system was playing “All By Myself”. I know you’ve all heard it. The lyrics mournfully go on and on (and on, believe me), “All by myself….don’t wanna be…all by myself….” I thought, “Oh great. I am such a loser buying groceries for one – worrying about buying large sizes because they will spoil and staring wistfully at the randy couples pictured on the condom boxes." It was then that something snapped and I started looking around and noticing how many other people were buying groceries for one. At one point, I noticed a gentleman eyeing me. I thought, “Oh no. Don’t let this be one of those grocery store pick-ups that they talk about on Oprah. This guy looks twice my age!” Turns out he just wanted to know where I got my strawberries. No. Really. He only wanted strawberries. Would it have hurt him to flirt a little?? What ever happened to the days when people looked out for the feelings of others?

The song played on and I started to sing along in my head a little - though mind you, with my inherent dark sense of humor. I looked at all of the items labeled “family pack” and wondered how I could commit suicide with each item. Believe me, this took some thinking. I was only glad that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day. Somehow, that song may have taken me right over my proverbial edge if it had been Valentine’s Day and I had been surrounded by red frilly hearts , Hallmark greetings and edible underwear. I walked to the paper goods section and noticed that the guy stocking the shelves was softly singing along as well. I imagined that we were in some grand Hollywood musical and that all of a sudden we all could jump up in song and perform a beautifully choreographed musical number. Needless to say, we never did. The next song played was the theme from “Shaft”. I don’t know what marketing genius put together this mixed bag of tunes but he had a mighty hilarious sense of humor. My mood lightened a little as I watched people singing along to the good parts – “Damn right…”, “I’m just talkin’ ‘bout Shaft…” We all seemed to take on a slick, urban stride. And even the little grandma who grinned sweetly at me in the U-Scan aisle seemed to agree that times are a changin’….for all of us.