My yurt or yours?

I want to crawl into an unmade bed
And smoke cigarette butts
And listen to Leonard Cohen
And scratch my balls
And make random long distance telephone calls
And kick my shoes out of reach
And recount the 35 ceiling tiles
And make my nipples hard
And try to remember the title of that book
And fall asleep on the cool side of the pillow.

There is no heaven
There is no hell
There is no milk
There is nothing like a dame.

Kerouac and Cassidy walk into a bar carrying a penguin and the I Ching

This blog is just going to hell, isn't it.
Oh well, there's a lot of cool stuff in hell.
Like good intentions
And bad posture
And chinese fire drills
And golf balls the size of hail
And Roy Orbison's Only the Lonely
And the Angora Debs
And brown rice
And yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog's eye
And popcorn balls
And that one album by the Jefferson Airplane
And the Pillsbury Doughboy
And two floored Woolworth's stores
And time
And a bunch of guys named Joe
And tin foil
And all things slightly off center
And green gelatin
And movies about a guy, a gal, and that thing called love
And I think I'm going to barf
And seriously I think I am
And ok not seriously
And but I am feeling a little queasy
And what the fuck am I doing up at this time of the morning/night
And my computer has updates ready to be installed
And sixties chicks
And the road goes on forever
And the party never ends
And Sonny
And Cher
And dammit, I could have sworn it was Cher
And it's an inside joke, so if you're wondering, don't
And I'm so very tired
And I love you all
And yeah, I mean all
And yeah, even you
And I'll catsup on the french fries
Good night.

I like marshmallows

Happy birthday to Linda Evangelista.



I don't know, but I get a special feeling deep inside whenever they make a super-model look like a tard.

A miss is as good as a mile unless it's a thermo-nuclear device

I think I am going to try humor again for awhile.

Yeah, humor and blues harmonica.
I told you that I bought a harmonica the other day, didn't I?
It's a Hohner Hot Metal something something something diatonic, or something like diatonic, and it's made for the blues, just like I'm made for the blues.
Also bought a used copy of some supposedly cosmic how to play the blues book from Amazon dot com, cause all us blues guys buy their stuff from Amazon, cause Amazon has the blues too, don't ya know.

So, yeah, I'm going to try to get back to my comedy roots, I want to be the Medowlark Lemon of comedy blogging, I want to be the prune danish of comedy blogging, I want to be the Arthur Fiedler of comedy blogging, I want to be one of those Star Wars Darth guys of comedy blogging, I want to be the Debbie Boone of ... say did you know that Debbie is making a comeback? I saw that on the Today show while I was sitting in the neuro-surgeons waiting room the other day, and do you find it annoying on my part that I try to work in the fact that I am seeing a neuro-surgeon in as many posts as possible?

So anyway, on the post before this, I was way out of line talking about the Beatles like that, I mean heck, without the Beatles we'd still be referring to Beatle Boots as Astronaut Boots, if we even referred to them at all.

Man, I miss my Beatle hair cut, and my sideburns, and my turtleneck sweaters, and my penny loafers, and my bleeding madras, and my paisley, and my cranberry socks which were actually burgundy but cranberry was the color of the year for 1966.

And I miss Double Cola in the big 16 ounce bottle, and Tackle, the refreshing skin medication, and Lucky Strikes, and Gilette Trac II, and 5 gallons of gas for a buck, and stuff, and more stuff, and even more stuff.

But yeah.

Frank, you bastard, I read your book

I'm listening to Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band for the first time in over thirty years and I've got to say, man, it didn't age well.
Face it, the Beatles were the original Boy Band.
1. They had an aggressive manager, Brian Epstein
2. They had a brilliant producer, George Martin
3. They wrote catchy little pop songs
4. They couldn't duplicate in performance what they did in the studio
5. They had the rebel, John
6. They had the bubbly one, Paul
7. They had the shy one, George
8. They had the cut-up, Ringo
9. They were never as good as the sum of their parts
10. Boy band ... boy band ... boy band

Jumping the shark

Guess which former child star just had her 41st birthday?

Smells like

I will stay up until 3am this morning in hopes of ...
1. Finding Nirvana
2. Finding spare change
3. Finding my wits about me
4. Finding the light at the end of the tunnel
5. Finding the tunnel at the end of the light
6. Finding the Spock connection
7. Finding bats in the balcony
8. Crap this is sort of turning into nothing
9. I just made up that thing about the Spock connection
10. Finding out that the first time in your life that you just start stringing words together in any manner or form that eventually you stop typing.

Yeah, I'm a Jerk

So, what do you do when you find out at a little after midnight on Mother's Day that you bought your Mother a For A Wonderful Aunt on Mother's Day card?



Happy Mother's Day to all my Motherly friends out there in Bloggaritaville.

Five Seconds

I woke at 4 am and turned on the television.
A movie had just started about a priest who was searching for miracles and a reason.
I watched for about an hour and then turned it off, and went back to bed.
In bed, in the dark, I looked towards my window, and there was light, and everything fell into place, and it all made sense for about five seconds, and then it was gone.

A noble experiment

Ok, I tried.
I tried going to bed early.
It was a noble experiment that lasted twenty minutes but failed.

So what if I stay up half the night searching for sites which deal with ...
The history of florida professional wrestling
Famous people who have died while having MRI's
The history of dollar stores
Superman cartoons from the 30s and 40s
How to play the blues harmonica, da da da dun, dun dun
The Weimar Republic
Bogus letters to Dear Abby and Ann Landers
The folk music revival of the early 60's
And
Stuff you can get for free

I mean, so what.

I just had a coconut popsicle, and man, it was really good.

Perchance

I can't believe it. It's just after midnight and I am ready to go to bed.
I'm not tired, or sleepy, or bored, or anything, not even a tempa-cheer.
I'm just ready to go to bed.

I'm re-reading Nine Stories by JD Salinger. I just finished Down at the Dinghy. It dealt with one of the Glass kids, Boo Boo, who was no longer a Glass but a Tannenbaum, which is German for Christmas tree, and is a Jewish last name, but not really a Jewish last name, but a last name given to Jews as a joke by government bureaucrats. Or maybe I am just full of shit.

Yeah, I'm just going to go to bed.

Tab b into slot a

MRI today.
It sucked.
After twenty minutes pulled me out from the belly of the beast and told me that they had to give me an injection that would highlight my spine on the films.
Dufus came from the lab to inject me.
Tried my right forearm, missed the vein.
Tried the back of my right wrist, missed the vein.
MRI tech kicked the dufus out and she hit a vein in my left arm.
Stuffed me back in the belly of the beast for another twenty minutes.
Finished.
Came home and complained all day.
Yeah, dufus made sure that when he put the cotton ball over my wrist that he taped over a good three inches of hair.
I guess that's it.

I'll be listening to Leonard Cohen's Song From A Room and trying to remember what it was like to be nineteen years old.
A Bunch of Lonesome Heroes

Boz-ku

Today's MRI
Will determine my actions
It's not up to me

Cream cheese in a knotty pine world

I think I have actually lost the ability to blog.
You know, I thought I could turn it on and off at the drop of a hat.
I thought I could be funny and irreverent.
I thought I could be cutting.
I thought I could be off the wall.
I thought I could be introspective.
I thought I could be that guy that used to do commercials who said that he wasn't a doctor but he played one on tv.
I thought I could be the little man in the boat.
I thought I could be the guy, who knew the guy, who was the cousin of the guy who found a mouse in his bottle of coke.
I thought it was all about me.
I thought Canada actually wanted to be the 51st state.
I thought I could have a banana in my pocket and still be glad to see you.
I thought Superman and the Flash were really going to have that race.
I thought one day I'd wake up, turn on the light, and everything would make sense.
I thought that, huh, oh yeah, I think I should go back to bed now, what do you think?

Things I know today that I didn't know yesterday

1. It isn't a disk in my lower back.
2. I have to get another MRI on Friday, this one will be of my upper spine.
3. Which means???
4. You know the thing where they tap your knee with a rubber mallet to test your reflexes? My reflexes are very brisk.
5. Brisk is not a good thing, unless you are Lipton's Tea.
6. I can walk on my tiptoes in my underwear.
7. I can walk on my heels in my underwear.
8. My whole body is sore today because of all the probing and manipulating that the doctor did.
9. He might have slipped a bad touch or two in with all the probing and manipulating.
10. None of what I have just written makes any sense.

Ok, what I am trying to say is. The problem is not in my lower back, it appears that it is in my upper spine, in my neck.
So the news isn't better or worse, just different.
I should find out next week what the next move will be, which I am still pretty sure will be spinal surgery in my neck instead of my lower back.

To be continued ...

Blues Boy Boz

Bozzie blowin' the blues

Poor Uncle Wiggily

Listening to the Beast #6 and waiting to head out for my doctor appointment.
I'm not worried, seriously, I often go to bed at one in the morning and fall asleep at five thirty, seriously, well pretty much seriously.

I just thought of something. What if I have to get more tests before he decides what to do? I mean, I can only psyche myself up for this so many times before I self destruct, explode, implode, immolate, back out, freak out, cry out, ad infinitum, baby.

So anyway, I should start trying to find my shoes and get ready to leave.
Or as the cowgirl would say: grab your boots and git.

The last day that this will be the first day of your life

So, today is really Monday.
That means tomorrow is Tuesday.
Tuesday is the day of my appointment with the neuro-surgeon.
Looking forward to it.
Dreading it.
Yeah, both.
This is just to let you know I will be writing about it a lot.
So we should both get to used to it.
It's not really that serious of a surgery.
Well, it is, but it isn't.
I'll be in and out of the hospital in two or three days at the most.
Yeah, I've had this done before.
Only on the upper spine.
Not the lower spine.
Spine.

It's still dark, but I can already hear a bird singing off in the distance.
That's a start at least.

Robinson Crusoe and Betty: A Modern Love Story

If I were to ever write a short story I think I would call it Robinson Crusoe and Betty, and it would be how this guy, Robinson, and this girl Betty, got shipwrecked on a deserted island together.
I think I'd have Robinson be really happy about being shipwrecked, and yeah, I'd probably make Betty really happy about it too.
So they'd both be really happy together, and eat fish, and berries and drink coconut milk, and send out for pizza every third week or so, and play scrabble every night after the six o'clock news ended, and Betty would get triple x and z scores almost every game and kick Robinson's ass, and they would have sex every night, or at least consider it, and they'd laugh whenever telemarketers tried to call them because they don't have a phone, and of course there would be karaoke every Saturday night at the Blue Grotto, and they'd both be perfect, and thin, and super intelligent, and rich, and beloved by one and all, and people would tell them what a great couple they were or keep their comments to themselves.
Robinson and Betty would lead full and satisfying lives on their very own deserted island and die with smiles on their faces during sex when they were really, really old, and together.
The End

Where is her Richard Gere?

Not wanting to draw attention to herself in her return from Albuquerque, New Mexico, Jennifer Wilbanks, the Georgia runaway bride, wears a blanket over her head as she is escorted through the Atlanta airport.



Yeah, she looks pretty inconspicuous being escorted by police through one of the busiest airports in the country with a retina burning blanket over her head.