Birthday Weekend

So this weekend was my birthday, so I took a few days off. 

Didn't do anything crazy (getting too old for that) but did go to my first Division I college football game. 

I got to watch my beloved Huskers romp on the hapless Gophers (I can say that because I live in Minnesota)

And I got on national television too.  It was a friend in New York who noticed this, and snapped a picture. 

So now that I've made my small screen debut, I can just sit back and wait for the offers to roll it. 

Living is easy, baby. 

(Me (red shirt) and my friend Paul (Broncos shirt) enjoying a fine October day)

Another Classic Song For You

Well, news has come out that there has been a number of sexual assaults at the various Occupy (insert city here) protests. 

Well, what do you expect?  You get a bunch of youngsters sitting around getting all hot and bothered in their idealism and drum circles, what do you think is going to happen?

But really, it does make sense.

Why should women be hoarding their vaginas from so many needy men?

Spreading the (legs) Around by allentesch

I'm Not Alway Lazy When I Blog

But when I do, I post re-runs.

And speak in overused internet cliches.

But to post something, anything, here's an Old Post I'm sure most of you have missed. 

I kinda like it, but I'm afraid it verges on edge of TL;DR.
(There I go again)

I'm sure we all remember Saved By The Bell, even our friends across the pond. 
I mean, it's freaking Saved By the Bell. 

But anyway, here it is again, in case you missed it (the link)

Nacho Cheese. Life Lesson

So my buddy and I were at a college hockey game last night.
And since I bought him a beer, he bought me some nachos.
(Fair Trade)
But you know the Nachos they sell, the gas station type.  A bag of chips, and a cup of cheese
The usual.
So when you get your Nachos, you see the cheese, and think it won't last through all the chips, so you budget and conserve your cheese through the whole damn bag, until you get to the end and realize that you have way more cheese left than you do chips.
And you try your goddamn all to get all that cheese on your chips but you just left too much.
It goes to waste.  (you'd lick it out of the cup, but you're too proud)
So what do you do the next time?
"Fuck it, I'm going to each these Nachos and Cheese like each chip is the last"
And then you have nothing left but a half bag of salty Nachos and no Cheese. 

And then you have all Nachos and no Cheese.

But I guess that's life. 

Nachos and Cheese.

Priorities

Read the paper.
Story about the jobless posting on Craigslist.
Guy named Alley.
29. Was homeless until a few years ago.  Former drunk.  Only ever worked at Wendy's.  Has 7 month old daughter. 
29.
Jobless.
7 month old daughter.
I sit in the back office, on the clock, reading this paper.
And he's the one that's getting laid. 

99 Percent

Yes, I am the 99%

History of the Raccoon.

I've never done requests before.  But fortunately for Hasidic Plumber, I do in fact have a true story involving raccoons.  (and also I've never actually gotten a request)
So if you like it, I'll happily take all the credit.  If you don't, go to his page and blame him because it was his idea. 
Or how knows, maybe I will take requests in the future. 

History of the Raccoon

Raccoons.
Furry little imps, cute trouble makers of the suburban wildlife. 
Broken purr louts, eaters of garbage and dog food.
They smell like the living dead, their black paws speak of necrosis.
They say that the black face is like a mask, but I know the truth.

One summer in high school I went away to go work with a brother. 
The work sucked, but that was also the summer I met Tessa.
A farm girl and Tamer of Raccoons.
She loved her babies, and they loved her.
One especially, more than he should.
After work I'd walk across the pasture to go see her,
and give her the time in the barn as he watched.
The raccoon, heartbroken and pale faced, tried to forgive her, time and again.
Until it was too much. 
He went back to his room, looked at his crying face in the mirror.
He put on his saddest record and slowly painted his eyes black.
Black as the void left in his heart.
He looked at his new visage, pleased that he finally looked how he felt.
Under our sounds in the loft he softly whispered to his reflection
"Goodbye"
Then with a trembling black paw he reached for the gun.
And shot himself. 

On Love and Loss and Getting Back on That Horse

He comes in the back entrance, 60's, weathered.
Plaid shirt with button snaps, dirty denim pants.
Face of a man whose greatest success ended a year ago.
Gets a room. Single bed, smoking.
He wants to leave a key. And talk.
The last year had been hard. Wife died. Forty some years.
Just threw away her clothes today.
“Finally” he says.
Says she'll come and ask for his name, just give her a key.
He goes to his room and waits.
Hours pass.
He comes back, disappointed.
Opportunity lost.
Says he doesn't know why he thought she'd come.
Leaves his key with the other. Says not to let her in if she comes.
She comes in from the back entrance. Dancer.
Young, glitter, lunch box purse.
She asks for his name. She looks disappointed.
Income lost.
She's on her phone before she's out the back door.
Days later. Softball game.
Sun and families and grass.
A few rows behind me I hear the sad man, telling a woman about about his wife and his loss.

Self Portrait

Photos of Derelict Detroit. 
Schools, Opera Houses, Libraries, Train Stations.
They were so lovely when new, you can still see it in the ruins.
Shiny, swanky, promising.
The fun people must have had there.
Now just broken plaster, trash and dust
But where others are irretrievably gone,
others hold promise of a return to what it once was.
I wonder which one I am.