Haikus – Song Lyrics Edition

Haikus – Song Lyrics Edition

When the levee breaks

I will have no place to stay

Do you have bunk beds?

You got another

Thing coming if you think I

Would have me over

With your best shot

Hit me, do it, hit me hard

Testing this face mask

Round here, we talk like

Lions. Really, like roar roar?

Sacrifice like lambs

Is dust in the wind

All we are is dust in wind

Then turn the fan off

werewolves of London

sounds like london’s problem, right?

His hair was perfect

Take those old records

Off the shelf, those friggin’ things

Can sell on ebay

You’re just a picture

An image caught in time, and

Ron, Fucking, Dio!

The Sound of Silence

Makes it easier to tune

The station to rap

we were born to run

its true, anatomically

but run from the cops!?

A Six Pack of the Mondays, Your Ghoulash Recipe, Heaven's Square Footage

It’s Monday but not your typical Monday; at least not for me. Date night with the missus on Sunday which naturally means a much later night but a much funner night which means no workout this morning which, coupled with the slight hangover, means a little more of “the Mondays” if you catch my drift. While you were home on your Sunday making goulash or whatever you may have nuked in the microwave, I was dining on kohlrabi, clams, pork, and semolina cake to finish all with beverage accompaniment. Oh and what kind of restaurant doesn’t carry Dewars single malt scotch? Did the poles of the globe switch? How is a man supposed to start a fine meal without his favorite scotch? So with every meal a chef comes out and explains this and that and the bartenders give you all the hullaballoo about how this wine is “funky” because it comes from soil around Mount Etna and yadi yadi yadda…but the portions…were sOooooo small. My wife’s monkfish may have tasted like heaven but who needs heaven when it’s done in one bite? Not to say the meal wasn’t good because it was – the bartender overheard me say “that is what I’m talking about” regarding the clams and had a chuckle.

So the moral of the story is that heaven needs more square footage.

Among Us

Mark Lee has written a children’s book that my soon-to-be two year-old just adores. Kurt Cyrus illustrated the book.

20 Big Trucks In The Middle Of The Street follows a young lad on a bicycle as he notices 19 trucks stuck behind a stalled ice cream truck. 

The lad of course saves the day when he suggests that the crane truck lift and move the ice cream truck so all the other trucks can go.

My little guy loves to point out items as I ask him “Where is the guitar? Where is the stroller? Where is the umbrella? Where is the balloon?”

But there’s also something else in the book. Or maybe, I should say, someone else.

It’s not good.

Here, in this idyllic, small town America, Norman Rockwellish scene…

Look closer…

 Is that...?

Gawd!...

…a Zombie!

 Who puts the walking dead in a children's book!? 

Unless...you don't think...no...the author or illustrator IS a zombie, do you!?

Maybe someone just takes the Walking Dead on AMC a little too seriously.

P.S. And why does the guy in the yellow polo shirt have bells palsy? WTF!

A Tuesday in February

A Tuesday in February…

It was a Tuesday in February. A warm front was sweeping through New England but nothing could drive the moisture and the cold from bones, nothing but sun in June and that wasn’t coming any time soon. Hearts were damp as well. Black, vile, hatred seeped through the recent Valentine’s day and was pouring over the cups of presidential nominations and good old-fashioned ignorance. Muslims and gay people were bearing the brunt but deep down everyone knew EVERYONE would pay/hurt/regret down the line. It is a trope that History is written by the winners. Morality is as much a byproduct of history as baseball statistics. David Bowie had died recently and wasn’t it he who penned “and these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations.” It was he. And on a Tuesday in February when their hate is keeping them warm and their ignorance and consultations radiate like embers you will shiver in the February cold to ice the swollen contusions of bigotry and discriminations in quiet, unassuming, solace-laden patience; patience that History will be written by the winners… of which you are one. Shiver winner, for February must turn to March and Tuesday rolls into Wednesday, and right now is pregnant, with the future, and with hope. Hope that…