Friday, December 01, 2006

9 months is a long time, but it's not

I'm tired, my eyes are in pain and I've got a headache. The tv is on in the background, I'm wearing dirty work clothes and my pits are stinky. There are two dogs and a cat behind me and I'm starting a blog.

9 months ago I posted my St. Patricks day blog. I've recieved various responses to it, but nary a comment. I wish I had something enlightening to say but I don't. Perhaps there is a word or two that will issue forth and strike a chord with someone in some place.

Since I don't know what to say I'll talk about television commercials for a minute. I love the Geico commercial that shows the caveman in the airport, he sees the Geico ad on the airport wall, and starts to look very pleased with himself, yet also a bit shy about it. I think this is one of the best commercials I've seen for Geico. The caveman route had me confused at first though. But it's grown on me.

I'm really appreciative of the agency that has been putting the Geico ads together for the last few years. The Gecko is one of my all time favorite spokes-animals. To give him a British accent makes it so much more tolerable. After all afixxing a British accent to anything automatically lends credibility. I'm not sure why that is so. But would you rather your neurosurgeon have a British accent or a Texas Drawl?

"Way-ull, ya see that there dark sumbich in that MRI scan, that there is a fibrous cyst that is applying pressure to the medulla oblongata and the way it's growin' way-ull let's just say it's fixin' to spread to this here optic nerve and you ain't gonna be seein' much if that li'l of a tumor has it's way."

Oh yeah, I want you to cut open my head. Please do it now.

But a British accent, he could tell you anything and you'd believe it. "Quite roight, sir. This oddly shaped mass is growing at an alarming rate. Forthwith I think we should expedite the excision and get on with it."

I don't understand what you just said, but please, please keep talking.

So yeah, I'm a punk for not blogging. But I think I'll do it more often.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

The upcoming St. Patricks Day Celebration

SaintPatrick and I don't quite see eye to eye. I think it has something to do with the green or the snakes or the fact that my family was almost destroyed by the hero of The Emerald Isle..,

The story goes omething like this:My forefathers, the O'Harrigans, were landowners, once upon a time, and when the crops failed due to drought they decided to branch out into ranching.
Unfortunately they could not afford to buy either sheep or cows or other more common livestock, this being a drought and famine as such.

So they went out on a limb and bought what they could, yup, you guessed it: they became snake ranchers. (remember if you will, this was quite a famine and people would eat anything---and pay dearly for it.) So the O'Harrigan snake trade became a bustling business. Thousands
upon thousands of snakes were raised, sold and slaughtered. This of course helped to eliminate the rat and mouse population which, coincidentally, saved the O'Harrigan clan from dying the blackdeath. Although this fact wasn't discovered until recently.

Even though the snakes "tasted like chicken" people still preferredthe "Modest Proposal" that Jonathan Swift recommended which involved cannibalism and things of that dark nature, and those Irishmen loved those potatoes. Potato stew, potato soup, boiled potatoes, fried potatoes, mashed potatoes, potato pancakes... There was an amazing array of dishes that contained potatoes.

Alas the potato farmers felt that my family was encroaching upon the food monopoly and sought to rid themselves of the "O'Harrigan Snakes" as my family was called.

Incidentally the Irish Potato Famine really should have been called the "Scottish Yeast Famine" as the Scots could no longer grow or harvest any starchy foods. So they were a bit angry, and a bit cold (as this was during the "Small Ice Age") and they went on raids into nearby Ireland, stealing cows, horses, sheep, bottles of liquor and casks of beer. They disquised themselves afterwards by growing thick red beards and blamed all of this theivery upon "Leprechauns."
(Who don't really exist and it was just a word that some Scottish folk thought sounded somewhat frightening.) The Irish took this very seriously and were afraid. The Scots thought this to be hilarious, especially since they had made up the entire episode to cover their own misdeeds. So all that was left in Ireland, as far as food was concerned was the common potato and snakes. The Scots stole alot of potatoes but they weren't sure how to make potatoes into any kind of alcoholic beverage so they stopped stealing them. Coincidentally, around this same time in Russia, a Russian businessman had brought some potatoes back from Ireland and through much dedication and perserverance discovered Vodka, and the people rejoiced!

The Irish Potato monopolies summoned a knight named Patrick, who, utilizing trickery and deceit, poisoned all the snakes of ancestors. Despite the best veterinary care of the day all of them died,and Ireland, the Emerald Isle, the land of my ancestors was declared "snakefree."

Sir Patrick was later given his sainthood, whilst my clan was forced out of Ireland and immigrated to the "New World" since there were no more snakes to wrangle and they were declared "persona non grata," though noone knew exactly what that meant since they spoke Gaelic, not Latin. Then in the New World they couldn't find work, they were forced to change their names and move to Mississipi, where they could once again put the trade that is in their blood to good use. So you see, when St. Patrick banished the snakes from Ireland, he effectively banished my kin.

And that is why I cannot celebrateSt. Patrick's day

Friday, February 03, 2006

What in the world?

Why do I seem to get sick more often now that I'm older? Why does it take so long to recover? Blah blah blah. I don't feel like writing much anymore. Possibly I'm getting myself stupid again. I guess I should explain:

When I was younger, as in high school age, I loved to read. I read every book I could get my hands upon. After I went into the Marines, I did not read that much. In fact, I didn't read at all for around a year or longer. Then I discovered the base library. I started to read again, only this time it took me so much longer to read a book than I'd have ever expected. I would say that it took me somewhere around a month to read Stephen King's "Pet Semetary."

At that point I realized that a mind must be exercised, just as muscles on a body need to be exercised. It's all about maintaining a balance. And I felt stupid. I started reading voraciously. I sandwiched books with pulp fiction, pulp fiction with classics, classics with Stephen King. I discovered Tom Clancy. I discovered Dale Brown. FICTION man, fiction!

So now, as life leads me down a similar path, I find myself with less time to read, and my eyes are getting older and it's harder to focus on fine print. Consequently I don't read much anymore. The downside of not reading is that I don't write as much either. The combination of not reading and not writing has led to the atrophy of my mind. This atrophy concerns me as my motivation to read and write has also waned. Perhaps it is a sign of the times.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

That love I had

That love I had was warm and liquid.
Like a cushion, or a blanket
I wrapped myself in it.

That love I had heated my soul
With fires of passion and daring,
Making me sweat and tremble
With desire.

That love I had like a candle
Extinguished leaving
Behind a wisp a smoke
And a memory.

I reasoned with the night

I reasoned with the night.
I pleased the darkness.
I blanketed the snow with my soul.
And still the flakes fell.
Millions of them.

The wind howled the low moan
of a painful soul
And the stench of life was cleansed.

I saw the ocean.
Granular, it came to me.
And I was surrounded by the black
and white of winter.