One For The Road

The mantra these days is "You're lucky to have a job", and so I am, even though it requires a daily commute of roughly 70 miles and about two hours to maintain marginally gainful employment.

It's a long, dull drive, and to pass the time I'll try anything to amuse myself. It's hasn't been easy, especially since the radio broke, so there's no telling where the small, sad portion of my brain that still tries to function will wander. And sometimes, it gets help from the wrong places.

Why just today, my darling offers up, by way of apology I think, this tidbit to ruminate upon: "I'm sorry to be such a dry ball".

I'm getting into the car to go to work, and I'm served THAT. In 53 years, I have never heard that expression. Silently, I struggle to put it into some frame of reference. The first thing I come up with is: Dry ball= vasectomy, a ball bereft of sperm? So I reply, "Some might consider a dry ball the best of all possible worlds". He laughs, sort of, and I drive away, wondering what the hell he meant. About a mile down the road, a distant memory tugs at the very back of my brain. Wait, could that refer to the sex act? Ew, gross. And what did he make of my reply? Some kind of witty quip about how nice it is not to chafe? And this is why men and women can not communicate. Christ.

Ten miles later, I pass a billboard with a colossally lame anti-drug campaign on it. "TADA"...Teens Against Drug Addiction or some crap like that. I can do better than that, just give me a mile or so. Yes..."FAGOTS"...Friends Against Giving Our Teens Substances. I know, to be linguisticly correct it needs another "g", but hell, cut me some slack. I'm trying to drive.

Oh god, what's the special "shake of the month" flavor at the drive in? Licorice? Yeah, that one's gonna sell. If the shake is 80 proof.

Oh look, the price of gas is up twenty cents a gallon from when I drove home last night. Goddamn, I KNEW I should have filled up yesterday! Fucking Free Market Economy!

Holy Shit, it's someone trying to cross the street in that stupid crosswalk, with the signs and curbs and posts and big white lines that clutter the landscape so much you can hardly see anyone trying to cross. Smart people jay-walk, if they know what's good for them.

Now it's clear sailing, except for the closed bridge, the flaggers, and the entitled jerks that have the god given right to constantly cut in front of you then slow down if you leave more than half a car length between you and the car ahead.

Only twenty more miles to whip myself up into a full blown Cranky Codger Frenzy before I get to work. Good god, I've finally gotten on my own nerves to a point where I want to wrap myself in newspaper and leave me in a back alley dumpster. How long, oh lord, how long?

So Much For Hope And Change

Did Van Jones resign as adviser to the Obama administration because of a character flaw? Like honesty? If there are two things that don't go together it's policitcs and honesty, all due respect to the so called Honest Abe, and where did that get him anyway? A bullet in the head, so there.

What I do not understand is WHY Mr. Jones QUIT. Why didn't he make them fire him? He did nothing wrong, that I know of, anyway. Further, he is absolutely right. Republicans ARE assholes. Ask anybody with critical thinking skills. Granted, they are difficult to find in this 21st Century Purgatory we are trapped in. Try the Internet.

He is also correct in thinking that it takes something that burns hotter than jet fuel to liquefy steel, something like thermite, and that tower number 7 didn't simply develop a case of the vapors and faint when the other two towers were struck by planes.

But he is gone now. And with him the last shred of hope I dared to nurture. This administration is a sham. Business as usual. Another Jimmy Carter type diversion to soften us up for something even worse than the Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, BUSH parade into hell...President Cheney. And we dare to ask ourselves if it can get any worse? May SOMETHING have mercy on our souls.

I'll Never Forget What's-His-Face

The saddest thing that can happen to a person is to not be missed. The most liberating thing that can happen to a person is to not give a shit.

I just had to let it go...empathy, the great waster...sit around and feel for the wretched. Do they feel for you? Don't kid yourself. There is no feeling for you. There is no connection. There is only a great, deep, dark, bottomless hole that sucks in everything and leaves you standing alone, a dried husk, paralyzed by despair.

Shake 'em off. There is nothing there but self-pity, need, and waste. And nothing matters anyway. Nothing lasts, and nothing is real. Nothing to get hung about, as the poet said. Have another drink and go to bed.

You can't choose your relatives, you can only hide from them. However, you can choose your friends. And when your friends hide from you, it's time to cut your losses and pack up. Well, what the hell. Buy the ticket. Take the ride.