Through the centuries

Being old is a wonderful thing.

After all, I have met some of the most interesting people who have lived in the past century or two.

Take, for example, Winston Churchill.

Let’s face it:  He was so famous that a cigarette was named in his honor.

Abe Lincoln: Yes, people are still driving Lincolns, but don’t ask me why.

Dracula:  He was such a drama queen.  I finally had to get rid of his ass by wearing a garlic necklace.

Richard Nixon:  Yes, my friends, he was a crook.

Napoleon:  There is nothing more creepy than a short guy, with his hand in his shirt.

King Tut:  When we dated, I had a difficult time calling him Tut.  So I called him Tutu for short and he said:  “don’t mess with my tutu.”

Nostradamus:  Strangely reminiscent of the more modern day Pink Floyd.

Adam and Eve: Those two were a hoot, eating apples and talking to snakes.

George Washington:  I was in the cherry tree when he cut it down.  When I asked him why, he said:   “All I want for Christmas is my two wooden teeth.”

And finally, Beelzebub, who finally got respect from Mick Jagger, who was pleased to meet him after hanging out with Keith for 50 years.

See ya!







Old MacDonald had a farm

Old MacDonald had a farm… EIEIO.
He sold the farm to corporations…. EIEIO.
Take a ride around the Lehigh Valley to see the progress.
Warehouse after warehouse where farmer Mac once planted corn and beans.
The quaint rural landscape has been transformed into giant slabs of concrete.
The roads leading to and from the behemoths, however, are painfully inadequate to handle the big rigs that swarm the highways and byways.
Supporters of the move to big business remind us of the job opportunities.
Jobs, not careers for the most part, with working conditions that are less than perfect.
Take a walk through the production floor on a hot, sticky day, or stroll through in the balmy month of January, when the workers don heavy coats, gloves and hats, trying to keep warm.
If that isn’t bad enough, the jobs are often mindless, repetitious and boring.
Ta da!
Bring in the robots.
Job opportunities diminish.
Robots don’t complain about the environment.
They always show up for work.
And they don’t need vacations or benefits.
Old MacDonald had a farm. EIEIO.
He sold the farm to corporations. EIEIO.
The American Dream: Are we really living it?


Swatting skeeters

An unusual mix of people today.

Not sure who some of them were, but I did meet Sister Golden Hair Surprise, who was taking a break from installing her back splash.

Only a glimpse of Paul.

And then there was Jesse, and his Daddy.

Oh yeah.

The boys from the warehouse entertained me:  A Trump supporter, A Tom Selleck look alike and the liberal IT guy.

Kim insisted:  Political conversation?  No more than 10 minutes, please.

The crazies gathered, some swatting skeeters from their peters, others telling stories from their glory years.

Thankfully, the gang arrived, to reinforce the fact that I am a lunatic.

Colleen, aka Mother Superior, claims there is no marriage in sight.

Bry?  Blimped up.

Tim?  I forget what he said:  His dimples were all I remember.

Jimmy?  How did we ever get along without him?

The Chris’s?  Eclectic, entertaining and just plain engaging.

I think Scott was there, but he took his cans and left before I had a chance to talk to him.

As I was getting ready to leave, Jack walked in.

He took Curt’s place next to me.

I have no idea who he is.

I reflected on my navel and said, “Self?  Get the heck out of here.”

Oh yes, another day, swatting flies, in the humidity of a July day in Pennsylvania, at the local dispensary.

Ain’t life grand?



Making a difference

Let us not dwell on the ridiculously insane state of the world.

Instead, can we focus on what the hell we are doing in this life?

Jackson Browne says we are the great pretenders:  we get up every day, when the morning light comes streaming in, and we do it again.

Creatures of habit.

Is there really anything you or I can do about the global injustices occurring every day?

We live in our bubbles.

We have our families, our jobs, our problems.

And we cope as best we can.

Out of our control?

Let it happen?

Let it go?

Can you or can I make a difference?

Can we really change the world?

I don’t know.

But we can give it our best shot.

Collectively, there is power.

To remain silent is to fail.

Your voice does matter.

Our country, our freedom and our families are counting on us.

Do it.


One more double, please

An early, delicious breakfast at an unlikely restaurant, with double blasts of orange juice and vodka, watching the world cup of soccer.

I had a front row seat.

No intruders.

Just me, the OJ, eggs, and bacon.

Not the outcome I had wished for, but overall, a fabulous series.

I have a new appreciation for soccer players, and the game.

As always, I encountered some of the friendliest people on the planet after the game.

As the morning rain turned to sunshine, I knew it was time to wrap it up.

Is it possible to have this much fun?  Again?

Can it be that I have found the key to life?

Is it really this simple?

Do what makes you happy, while acknowledging those you meet, accepting one another unconditionally.

Keep a positive outlook, a sense of humor, and a willingness to experience adventures.

Learn to laugh at yourself.

Give to those who are in need.

And finally, never give up your dreams.



The Winefest


I missed the cat show.

Woke up slightly later than planned, due to a wildish Friday night.

Is that a word?  Wildish?

If not, I like it.

Said Goodbye to Gail, on her last day of work, and headed to Vynecrest winery for the Wine Fest.

A beautiful summer’s day, for an afternoon of acoustical guitar music, wine, and enjoying the company of new and old friends.

Wrapped up the day @ Spectator’s: wings and burgers.

Great hospitality and fun!

I missed the picnic, the fireworks, the afternoon chocolate martinis and the cat show.

However, my experience today will always be remembered fondly.

I love summertime.

So many choices.

Sometimes it doesn’t really matter what we missed, if we lived every moment of what we did.




Names changed to protect the guilty

Without names, here are those who crossed my path today:

A convicted felon.

Wannabe debutante.

Young, handsome and wasted.

Cool chick.

Frustrated drummer.

The man with the wild, random root.

The walking dead man.


Golden eye.


Maddy’s Mom.

Mr Dick-less.

Crabby Appleton.

A pristine specimen.

The pool boy.

Lucille Ball.

The town drunk:  Wait!  That’s me!

See you tomorrow!!!!



The designated drinker

The scenario:  Town drunk arrives at the local establishment.

It is early in the afternoon.



Orders a chicken salad sandwich.


Then the celebration begins:

Dana:  You know what girl?  You are the reason I drink. Hahahhaha.

Jesse:  You know what boy?  You are the reason I continue to drink!

Bryan:  You know what?  I was just about to leave when you walked in,  and now I am drinking my ass off.

You ain’t heard nothing yet.

Let’s include Chris, Chris, Chris, Bobby, Roy,  Jimmy, Timmy, Kim (from Minnesota), Eric, Scott, and all those who I should remember, but don’t.  You are the reason I am still here, at 7pm.

I have this to say about the day: “I must have got lost somewhere down the line.”

To those who crossed my path: “You got lucky, babe, that I found you.”

An incurable romantic, that is me.

And, by the way, a certified crazed lunatic.

But….. “It just might be a lunatic you’re looking for.”

Hoping to cross your paths again, soon.

Love you all!


Struggling for the legal tender?

A day of frivolity.

Some say:  Not good.  Not productive.  A waste of another day of your life, and you know how short life is.

Others?  Do you really know what the meaning of life is?  It is to enjoy every minute, every day of your life.

More and more, I run into those who say:  I cannot imagine that I will ever retire.  Life is all about work. It defines me.  I am working  (on the chain gang) to get enough money so I will be financially solvent.

Excuse me, but life is not really about money.

Oh, I am sure it would be lovely to be able to have the resources necessary to feel secure.

However, my friends, life is not predictable.

Is your identity all about what you do for a living?

You are your job?

Who really cares?

Guess what?

No one.

In my humble opinion, I prefer getting to interact with  others, without knowing what they do for a living.

Don’t try to impress me.

Just be yourself.

Let us be free to be who we are.

Remember Emily?

Emily Dickenson : ” I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us.”

Good night, friends.

Enjoy one another!



Life in the asphalt jungle

Not expecting any unusual activity today.

Kicked back and finally got my ass in gear.


It’s my ass’s fault.

Damn ass.

Asphalt, also known as bitumen is a sticky, black and highly viscous liquid or semi-solid form of petroleum.

Who would have thought that this viscous phenomena would come back to haunt me?

I wonder:  Is it viscous?  Or vicious?

Yes, I admit it:  My ass is a weapon of mass destruction.

If you have ever seen me saunter through a dining room, my vicious/viscous ass will strip the table cloth from your table and wipe out every thing in its sight.

Actually, it is my strength:  wiping out those who dare to eat without inviting me to join them.

I can spread  my petroleum across the continents, when called upon to do my civic duty.

If you look back in time, I was there when the founding fathers ate those damn turkeys and cranberries.

I warned Abe;   Hey, that Ford theater?  You better watch your ass.

And when Jimmy Carter was eating peanuts?  Well, let’s face it:  Peanuts will aggravate your digestive system.

And what was the response?

Not my fault.

It is my ass’s fault.

Now, in the present day, asphalt is banned.

No one seems to have a sense of humor, these days.

In my humble opinion, it is better to admit to the fault of the human ass, then it is to pretend the flatulence never happened.

Until tomorrow, tooting my ass off,