I'm a Greased Wheel and Life is My Lubricant

Well, stick a reed in my mouthpiece and blow me like a tuba. That was a test... I know that a tuba doesn't have a reed. Only woodwinds have reeds. Duh... I'm a tuba with a woodwind mouthpiece. Blow me already...  Here I sit, an individual in total anonymity in the epitome of tourista-land, Disney World. You know what? I'm diggin' it. I could get used to this. Right now, my lily-white ass is perched upon a stool at a small bistro table beside a swimming pool. To my left sits a cup of  dwindling Charro Negro ... tequila and Diet Coke, for the uninitiated ... reggae music peppered with 80's classics regale my ears and psyche. Better still, there are no clouds, no snow, no wind and no worries. This is my sanctuary, this is my heaven.

I rediscovered my heaven yesterday while rediscovering Hell ... Hell, being a Disney theme park during Christmas week ... the climax of my visit to hell being the portion of the Great Movie Ride attraction... the moment of passing through the set of the movie 'Alien' and the alien spitting goo into my face from above as the tram passed below. I had no clue that my ex-wife had a seasonal job at Disney... my inner snark is bursting at the seams.

Word of mouth suggested that there were in excess of 57,000 people in this one park. Twelve spoke english, 2000 were not asian and all but three were assholes who left all civility and manners in their rooms at Wilderness Lodge. Now, don't get me wrong ... I like people. I am a people. I only have an aversion to being a victim to 56,997 other people and their individual quirks and mannerisms. All at the same time ...

I'm not perfect, by any means. But, I'm a helluva lot closer to being acceptable to a civilized society that most who broach the gates of a Disney theme park. Mickey Mouse is a mesmerizing sombitch, lemme tell ya. To claim, "Hee Hee! It's the happiest place on earth!" while enduring 180 minute wait times in line for a two-minute ride and commanding $10 for four small Diet Cokes... yeah, that mouse is fuckin' happy alright. Don't even get me started on those individuals pushing strollers and their assumed right of way mentalities or the ones with a fast-food addiction that has caught up to their slowing metabolisms that require that they now pilot the 'blubber buggies'.... hate me if you will... but the truth is a big, fat bitch.

In any case ... the raping of my wallet and dehumanizing of society aside, I'm in a good place. I'll tell ya why ... I'm away from my 'reality' of home and awash in my 'reality' of self. Sometimes it takes nothing more than a change of scenery, a slap in the face, even an overwhelming sense of disdain for one's own feelings of self to bring you back to who you are and what you need in order to grow.

As I sit upon this stool, I reflect upon my thoughts and mindset that I had only a few days ago in my familiar surroundings at home ... blase... routine... complacent. And now, I listen Duane Eddy and his magic guitar and step back into myself... in one brief moment I discard the negativity that has consumed me and see that, yeah, I'm home. Home, being that I'm in my element.

Believe it or not, I did not speak harshly to anyone, even when I was stepped upon by oversized feet ... even as I was purposely rammed in the calves by baby strollers ... I surprised even myself. I simply smirked and possibly grunted ... shit, I must be getting old. Or, maybe, just maybe, I realized that my happy place is in the middle of a throng of chaos. Maybe, just maybe, my chaos is the quiet and compacency of a quiet life ... The conundrum? How the two shall meet ... I'll find that intersection of chaos and meaning, of that I'm certain. I'll return to Virginia and face the 'reality' I left behind but I'll face it with the a mentality I thought I'd abandoned... or a mentality that I thought had abandoned me.

But, I'm not bringing my enlightened ass back to Disney during Christmas week ever again. There is only so much civility and sanity that I can afford to spare ... That squeaky mouse and his goofy cronies got their message across to me ... the happiest place on earth is where you are and who you are. And, if I could kidnap that big-eared bastard I'd take him to Virginia, put him in a duplex in Sterling, VA and have him pay for every lap on the gerbil wheel.

Ok, so maybe that's a stretch. After all, I'm only a man sitting upon a stool at a pool bar... a man with a skewed mind and a disdain for humanity's loss of humanity ...
Blow me ... I'm a tuba.

Merry Christmas ... Redeem Within 30 Days, No Refunds.

"..... and God said, "Honor  thy father and thy mother, .... until one or the other pisseth you off ... until thy feelings are hurt ... "

"Then," saieth the lord, "inflict pain and suffering upon the one who stands before your ideal life ... for you, as a child, are entitled to a painless, unencumbered life of priveledge, free of worry and mental adversity. Those with struggles are but roadblocks to your happiness ..."

So reads the Book of Spoils ...

".... and," saieth the God of all mankind ... "forget the spirit of forgiveness and acceptance ... cast aside the false teachings of those who preach universal peace and uncondtional love .... thou art better than that. Humans fail ... humans make mistakes... and, when humans make mistakes, their love, commitment and emotions wither and die. Those who err are lost and are doomed to Hell."...

So saieth the Lord .... "Only gifts of manna, mammon and Nordstrom can redeem the soul of the Hell-bound ..."

....... I write from a seated position .. ... A mixture of pain, hurt and anger stirs within me. For weeks... no, months, I have contained myself. Not wanting to further alienate my children who consider me to be an embarrassment, an afterthought, a scab on their knees as they grow .... I have censored myself with hope that they would see me as an individual worthy of consideration. These are not toddlers ... my daughter is 20 years old ... my son is 16. Both are old enough to judge for themselves ... to distinguish right from wrong.

No more. No more. I love my kids. I will always love my kids. But these two are fuckin' with the wrong guy.

Here's a holiday story ... I will admit that I hurt my kids. Emotionally ... I left them. No, I left their mother... no, I left my marriage. After my then-wife had emotionally, physically and mentally left me, under duress, I moved on. I never emotionally abandoned my kids. There were many extenuating circumstances that precipatated the separation of their mother and me. no doubt. As a result of my departure, my finances took an extended vacation ... my priorities aligned themselves with a newfound purpose and my affections gravitated towards another woman who should have been their mother in the first place. Hang a mistletoe over the story and warm your cockles on a yule log and you have a dysfunctional Christmas story.

Fast forward ... really. Fast-fucking forward .... let's get to the point, shall we?

Christmas Day, 2010. The moment I awake, I call. First, my daughter. Then, my son. Then, a text to each... just as I do most every day. .................................................................................................... nada. yet, I hope that with every buzz of my phone I get a simple "Merry Christmas" or "love u2" ....

just like every day.... nothing... despite my hopes ..................................................................................................

Today is December 27th.... still no call. No text. Nothing.

That's ok... actually, it's a bit liberating. I can finally claim that I have no children.. and, as such, I have no fault in raising anyone incapable of forgiveness. If I had children who rejected someone due to imperfections of character, I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge my own imperfections in their character.

I'm embarrassed by the children I never had and ashamed of the children that might one day claim me as their own. Let me say that I accept responsibilty for their disdain for me and my newfound individuality.

That said, I didn't raise my children to be judgemental. I am not perfect. As a matter of fact, I'm a fuckup to the 'nth' degree. But, I'm not worthy of such hatred ... such .. such...

... what is the word for being disowned by those you love? Disowned simply for being who you are meant to be, despite the image it casts upon the family name?....

No matter ... my children have washed their hands of me ... the one who possibly best understands who they are. .... No text. No call. I'm sure they prayed at church on Christmas Eve, or on Christmas Day before eating that meal of god-given bounty .... grateful for the gifts they recieved or were about to recieve.

Recieve. Recieved. For my ex-children, 'Give' is not an option.

I'm done ... stick a fork in me. I can't continue to mask the pain of my own children's rejection at the expense of my sanity. It fuckin' hurts ... I may not be perfect but I'm human. The road to acceptance runs both ways... and right now, there is no speed limit.

".... sloweth down,"... saieth the lord... "speed bumps shall cause your camels to stumble and those speed bumps may reside within your homes..." ...

All bets are off ... Jeff shall now speak without hesitation, saieth the lord...

A Lesbian, a Gallbladder and the Christmas Spirit ... It's All Clear Now...

The magic of the holiday season, the Christmas season, so to speak, has been absent from my life for quite some time. I'm not talking about the thrill of gift-giving or receiving ... I'm speaking of the mystery that captured my attention as a child. It was more than the excitement of a fat man eating our Ritz crackers after dropping off a load of gifts ... it was knowing that I was simply worthy of a visit from the fat man ... It was then a feeling that I was worthy of acknowledgement, simply for being me... warts and all. A fat kid with an infant's mind who dreamed of being an astronaut. Santa was going to bring to me through a material gift the underlying gift of acceptance. Santa didn't know me personally, but he knew I wasn't a bully, serial killer or cat juggler. Despite all of my misgivings, Santa determined that I was worthy of acceptance and as such, worthy of a visit ... and an Etch-a-Sketch.

Fast forward quite a few years. Here I am, a man who no longer anticipates a visit by the fat man ... a man who no longer feels worthy of a visit from paunchy St. Nick. But here's the thing, St. Nick is a sneaky ol' bugger ...

Why? Ask me again.. Why? ... Pssst.... lemme whisper this to ya... put on your bi-focals and thinkin' caps ... clear your mind and ponder this revelation ... Santa, ol' St. Nick, he is a master of surprise. You think you're gonna get that new Blu-Ray 3D player and 'Avatar' special edition disc and *BAM*! you're hit square in the face with more than animated aliens.

You have no idea what I'm referring to ... that's ok ... tuck this idea into a nook or cranny in your mind, wrap a gift or two and come back ... I'll wait ....


...... fa la la la la ... hmmmmm... chestnuts ..... kiss my mistletoe ... hmmm, hmmmm... la la la la la ....


Are you back? Good for you ... Let me get personal. I grew up in a loving home and have amazing parents, an inspirational sister and memories of joyous Christmas mornings. Despite the losses I've suffered in the last few years, my kids, money, mind ... I still have these people. And Pam. I also have the gift of unconditional love and acceptance ... how do you wrap that shit in a box with double-sided tape?

Get to the point, you bastard ... geez ...

There is a friend of mine that went in for a simple outpatient procedure recently ... yesterday. A gallbladder removal. No big deal, really. Except that this friend used to hate me and is my soulmate's best friend. Well, maybe 'hated' is a bit extreme ... but, I wasn't accepted. Not only did I have  quite a few issues, I also had, and have, a penis. You see, this friend is a lesbian, like me. And now, she had a gallbladder-ectomy, like me.

To make a long story short, I consider her one of my best friends. And, I have a feeling that she would say that I'm 'Okay' ... we both want the best for a certain someone ...

But, I digress ... the gift of this season was given to me by a wonderful woman, loopy on morphine and Percoset, being wheeled to my waiting car after being discharged from the hospital ... a weak-kneed example of someone no different than myself. And, the images of the Christmas mysteries of my childhood flooded my mind as 'Carol of the Bells' played on the radio. I watched as this strong-willed, determined woman wobbled as she rose from the wheelchair. All of her vulnerabilities related to my own vulnerabilities. And, for a moment, we were one.

That, to me, is the meaning of life. Unfortunately, most only grasp that meaning once a year, and only for a brief moment. Weakness is universal. The need for acceptance is universal.

What did this teach me? A weak-kneed lesbian accepts me and I, a  weak-minded man with creaky elbows appreciates that acceptance. We are all the same, just different.

Merry Christmakwanzukkah.

Another Version of the Creation Story ...

FfffppppPPPPfffFFFtTTTTtttt ... squeak ....

.... and God farted.

And, from that fart was born the Milky Way ... a swirling mass of stars and orbs circling a flaming mass ... certainly you can relate ... peer into the clockwise swirl that disappears into a black hole ... a swirling watery universe that swallows the creation of the day no matter how satisfying that creation was when ingested.

pffdfttttdd.... squirt ... pfft ...

There you are... on a clockwise-spiraling mass destined for the black hole. Clockwise, unless you are in Australia.

Have you put it together yet? Do I need to alienate myself further by drawing the picture?

No? Good.

Goodnight, thanks for reading .....



Why are you still here?... Damn, glutton for punishment, eh? Ok, well. don't hold this against me ... these are my thoughts, no one made you read 'em ...


 The Universe, God, to many, Farted ... and spewed from the sphincter of the almighty were dingleberries ... Holy dingleberries ... Dingleberries that would meld with belly button lint and create a magical planet that would spawn a race of people capable of scratching, picking and discarding everything that felt, smelled and sounded different than what their ass and belly found different.

Pffft ... (silent but deadly) ... and God placed upon his creation a coin. A single token, meant for Adam ... *Biblical annotation - "...and on the third day after creating Eve from the rib of Adam, God created the coin, a means for Adam to enjoy Eve's god-given attributes as she straddled the Tree of life to the tune of  'Thy Baby Hath Posterior'...... and Eve placed the coin upon her belt and gave change, sixpence, to Adam for his loving admiration....."

... and the coin was insufficient, a slug, and Eve admonished Adam as there was a two apple limit in the Garden ....

Pfffttttff ... "a 'do-over'", God said.  "How can I propogate perfection and my own greatness with these two dumbasses? Don't eat the apple... that's all I asked..." Jeeezus ... I need  a cosmic 'Delete' button ...
Oh, well, let's see where this goes.... After all, I gave them an appendix... oops... I think I got the brain part all figured out ..."

..... Fast forward a few millenia ... God has lightened up a bit. Adam lost a rib and sense of self ...

Trial and error ... that's how the God of Adam rolls ... "Apples, what was I thinkin'?," said the Ultimate power of Everything. 'An Apple? Weak. I didn't give humanity a chance ... Oh well, no matter ... my bad. I'm allowed to fuck up... I'm the Ultimate 'Say So,'

...  But Adam  was old ... with sons  who chose to live their own lives ... Spoiled children who witnessed the weaknesses and failures of their father ... and those children were the first to extend the middle finger to the father.

'Damn you, Eve!," has been exclaimed inummerable times since that day in the Garden ... A promised eternity of pleasure and ecstasy derailed by a moment of hunger ...

...Pffftttttsss..PPPPffFFFttt ... Apples are pure fiber.

The moral? God never intended for his creation to fart but he allowed it. Satan, as a serpent, incited a desire for  fruit (apples), which ensured mankind would endure through proper nutrition.

So what that a little fiber moves through the digestive system in a harsh way? That's what we get for eating apples  and nibbling  at banana  leaves ...

Pfffttt ... arrrffttt... Amen.

Stickin' it To Ya

Hello ... I'm a stick.. a branch... a twig. I fell off of a bush, or maybe it was a tree.

I hate toes. Toes are stealing my thunder.

You don't know what I'm talking about, do ya? Shit....

Ok, here's the deal ... As a stick, I have a legacy of creating history. I have been plucked from bushes and trees. I have been singled out among twigs and bones for the purpose of drawing lines in the sand. I'm a fuckin' stick.

Here's my beef with you people ... all you do with me and my stick brethren now is snap and burn. We're kindling to you people. If you wanna draw a line in the sand, you use your toe... there's no seriousness.. there's no commitment to a line or a plan drawn in the sand with a toe. C'mon, a toe?

There was a time when an entire future of a civilization was determined by a stick that was carefully chosen by it's heritage, growth, bend-ability and feel. A line in the sand was drawn to indicate growth, advancement of civilization, strength ...

Now? We sticks are overlooked ... how can anyone draw a line without a stick? I'm a metaphor now ... I'm an ideal. I'm an objective point view that can be used to draw an imaginary line.

As a stick, I'm a bit pissed off. I might be a stick, but I'm tangible ... anyone can wrap their hands around me and make a visible line to either be crossed or avoided ... Hell, a stick is real. You can draw a line with me and sign that line with me ...

A toe? A toe is always gonna be attached to your foot but any ol' toe can claim to draw that line ...

I'm open for initial carving ... feels good to an old stick like me... knowing that I'm part of something that lasts. Ya know, weather erases the lines that we sticks draw but we sticks always draw straight and true. Sticks and twigs ... we know what you're thinking ...

Put your shoes on ... toes are stupid.