Random Thoughts- Do They Have Meaning?

This probably should be a post over on   the main blog but I felt like visiting my old home so here I am. Who knows, I may move it over there or continue it. Been thinking quite hard about what I love and have decided that I am not doing enough to focus on doing those things that make my heart sing. Not spending enough time with those people I love most and just not as happy because I am not doing what I should be doing with my time. So my task is to figure out how to change this. My goal is to do it sooner than later because all I am doing now is wasting time I can't get back. I feel like I am on the verge of something huge but in order to make it happen I have to fight through the muck and mire that are slowing me down. Some of those things are of my own creation and others are outside of my control but ultimately it is up to me to decide how to respond. I can be proactive or reactive with that response but I can't be both. That is not just because it is contradict

Dear Crazy Neighbor, Today is not a good day to mess with me. I haven't had my coffee yet. I have too much work, too little time and that is real fire coming from my nostrils. I know that I am not the only one in the neighborhood to receive your special attention but that doesn't mean that I feel any less irritation with your need to come witness. I haven't any interest, need or desire to hear about your love for the lord. There is no saving my soul. Just accept that it is beyond help and repair and that if you insist on continuing I will set up an altar on your porch and slaughter an ox, a chicken, a duck, two goats and a lamb. It will be done all in the name of Satan and for good measure I will see that Ozzy Osbourne performs live, except we won't use the "I am giving a way a colonoscopy" man. No ma'am I will ensure that I will find the guy that used to bite the heads off of bats. Hell, I might even try to revive the US festival. With a lit

Outside the sky is blue and covered in flecks of white dots that double as clouds. Cumulus nimbus is what my junior high school teacher called them, at least I think that is what he said. Can't say that I remember all that well, or maybe the problem is that I remember far too well. I remember the days when I fit in and felt like a part of society. I know, it sounds screwy. If you know me you'd never have a clue that I am a lonely man. You wouldn't guess that my days feel like they have no meaning at all. I am a good actor. That smile I paste across my face and the silly banter are all part of my disguise. A shield that I use to keep people from seeing that the man is nothing more than shell of a person. I know, you're thinking that it sounds tired, a cliche and somewhat pathetic to say these things. It is hard for me to write them and even harder for me to accept that the boy who showed so much promise grew into the man who has yet to fulfill one of his drea

Copyblogger posted the infographic below today. It is worth looking at.

Can't say that I am surprised by any of this but I am not especially pleased either. Read the clip and then read the whole story. “We have the capacity to send every customer an ad booklet, specifically designed for them, that says, ‘Here’s everything you bought last week and a coupon for it,’ ” one Target executive told me. “We do that for grocery products all the time.” But for pregnant women, Target’s goal was selling them baby items they didn’t even know they needed yet. “With the pregnancy products, though, we learned that some women react badly,” the executive said. “Then we started mixing in all these ads for things we knew pregnant women would never buy, so the baby ads looked random. We’d put an ad for a lawn mower next to diapers. We’d put a coupon for wineglasses next to infant clothes. That way, it looked like all the products were chosen by chance. “And we found out that as long as a pregnant woman thinks she hasn’t been spied on, she’ll use the coupons. She just

" I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion -  I have shudder’d at it.  I shudder no more.  I could be martyr’d for my religion  Love is my religion  And I could die for that.  I could die for you. "   John Keats  You once told me that you would never forgive me for not finding you sooner. You said that you couldn't believe that two people could be so perfectly matched and yet live so far apart. I nodded my head in understanding. You weren't looking for a response or asking for an answer so I remained silent. I knew that you were venting and just wanted to be heard. You said our situation sucked and I nodded my head again. I didn't agree with your assessment but that wasn't the time to tell you that you were wrong. I opened my arms and you stepped into them. I wrapped them around you and stroked your hair. I could feel you trembling and I knew that you were crying. I left your head on my shoulder and hugged you

I made a fairly significant mistake two days ago but didn't discover it until today. Been doing my best not to beat myself up too badly because mistakes are a part of life and there is no benefit in staring in the mirror to call myself an idiot. But that doesn't remove the irritation or the sting because now I have created an enormous amount of work for myself and I am frustrated. Frustrated because this was the kind of mistake that I rarely make. On the scale of stupidity it ranks just above Jackass and somewhere below moron. So I am doing my best to fix things. I have placed the Dunce cap on my head, stuck the gum on the tip of my nose and am sitting in the corner facing the wall. The good news is that I know how it happened and I have a solution that will prevent this from happening again. Unfortunately that doesn't prevent me from having to shovel some shit and wallow in mud. That is because this particular project doesn't lend itself to speed. It is tedious

Whitney Houston died today at age 48. The media reports haven't said what the cause of death but there is much speculation that it was due to drug use. That could mean that it was an overdose or that it was from complications from prior drug use. It makes me angry to see how many people are tweeting about this. It makes me angry to see all of the Facebook status reports and the million news stories that have surfaced about her death. I am sorry for her friends and family because 48 is far too young. It is a tragic death but unless I am seriously mistaken it is one that could have been avoided. She wouldn't be the first person to die as a result of their addiction or things related to it and she won't be the last. Don't lecture me about how addiction is a disease and that I am being too hard on Whitney because this isn't about Whitney. If it was I would still say it is tragic and I would tell you that I have friends and family who have battled addiction. I'

 "If you want to be a great writer you need to be able to live and relive your pain. You have to touch it, feel it and roll around in it. That isn't hyperbole, it is just how it works."  I wrote those words and I believe wholeheartedly in them. Some of the best writing I have come up with has been when I have found a way to tap into the soft places that still retain the memories of failure and pain that hasn't ever dissipated. Or maybe it has. Maybe the pain has gone but somehow I have found a way to go back in time and relive things that tore me up. Maybe they still do. Maybe it is because I feel like I found the person who completes me in every way and then I lost her. Maybe it is because I feel like we were given something magical, majestic and mysterious and then it was taken away. A thief came in the night and stole it and when he did he took my heart along with it. Maybe that thief meant to wreak havoc upon my soul. Maybe the purpose was to create chaos an

I am preparing material for a bigger post: A Valentine's Day Fable "I am tired of beginning sentences with “if.” It frustrates me to hear the word pass through my lips and begin some sentence in which I express disappointment or regret about things I could or should have done. Life is not meant to be lived by looking backwards at the places we have been and the cries of what could have been. It is not. Life is for the present and the future. The past is your garage. It is a closet stuffed full of experiences that we hope that we have learned from so that we don’t make the same mistakes. But it is the place where we can take refuge from some of the challenges of the day. I seek balance between the two. I search for a way to reconcile these things so that I can live the life I want to live. Some times it is hard and I punish myself for the mistakes. I cry out in anger and frustration and wonder how I found myself stuck in this place. We said that we would find

Dear June, I know that my crazy woman isn't much of a sports fan so there is a good chance that you didn't see the video above yet but even if you did it doesn't matter, because it is that good. I know that you appreciate Clint as much as I do but even if you didn't I would still show this to you. I'd still show this video to you and we'd talk about it. We'd talk about it because we communicate more effectively than most people do. We know things about each other and about life. We have lived through some pretty tough moments and stared down more challenges than many. Others have had tougher roads to walk than we have and others have had easier but that doesn't matter. What matters is that we never gave up....not completely. Maybe things got tough and we decided it was too hard to keep going on. Maybe it got to be too hard, too rough too crazy so we went out separate ways but that separation was never complete, has never been complete. Y

It is Saturday night and the dance floor is packed full of people. Everywhere you look there are bodies moving, some with rhythm and some without but still moving. Ann and a few of her friends are dancing together. It is one of those things that women sometimes do in packs. I don’t claim to know much about women, let alone understand them but I know that the pack means that some if no all of them are single. I am standing in the corner, beer in hand, head bobbing in time with the music. I am watching and waiting for the liquid courage to kick in. I am not a dancer. I don’t have the graceful movements that make women swoon over my moves. I know this and am very self conscious about it. Sometimes I wish that I could move like Fred Astaire because I could grab a partner and make her into my Ginger Rogers. We’d glide across the dance floor and somewhere during the dance there would be a moment. She’d look in my eyes and I’d smile at her. A connection would be made and I’d know that

Dear June, Someone asked me if my favorite 70s girl would prefer to have her bell rung or dance by herself to I will Survive. I said that I know she'd rather have her bell rung and was promptly asked what that meant. Well, you know me and how much I value giving someone a straight answer. I don't wear a sweater because you are cold or walk in the sun when I can't see it shining. Been strolling through the grapevines and down Coventry. Made it over to Tommy's for a bite to eat but skipped out on Bialy's. Too many carbs and too many years on this body. Yes, it is sad but true- I have made some changes based upon age. I hate to admit that but a man has to do what he has to do and I did. That wasn't the first time nor will it be the last. It is funny how life can throw you the kind of curveball you couldn't have ever imagined seeing. I used to be able to hit any pitch that came my way. Low and away, high and tight, inside or outside- didn't matter.