Shut the fuck up Donny

I've changed my mind about popularity.
Way too much trouble.
Way too much to read.
And besides, the only blog that I find really, really, really, interesting, the only blog that I search out day after day, the only blog that I really love, the only blog that is worth the trouble, the only blog that gives me what I want ...
Well yeah, it's The Grand Ennui.
So let that be a lesson to you.
Rick Nelson was right.
You can't please everyone so you might as well tell everyone to go fuck themselves.
Of course you realize that I don't mean you.



The Dude ... The Big Lebozski

Whatever happened to anti personal mines in their bookbags?

Yesterday I was in the store and two of the clerks were talking about the prank that four high school girls had precipitated that involved toothpicks, and the clerks were clicking their tongues and bemoaning the sad state of affairs of today's youth, when twenty years ago some other clerks in probably the same store were bemoaning the sad state of affairs of the youth of twenty years ago, which the current store clerks were probably part of with their MTV and their video games, and their Madonna-like attitudes, and it it possible that I actually used the word precipitated about five or six lines back ...
And I thought what the fuck kind of prank could involve toothpicks that would cause so much bemoaning by the youth of twenty years ago???
What unfathomable crime or misdemeanor could they have perpetrated?
Of course, my mind was immediately awash with ... AWASH?
Why am I using all the words like precipitated, bemoaning, unfathomable, and awash.
Who am I trying to impress?
Ahhhh, yeah, the tons of new bloggers who have been drawn to The Grand Ennui like moths to a flame in search of THE ANSWER.
But I digress.
So anyway, I went home and looked in the paper and the four teen girls had bought thousands of toothpicks and stuck them in the football field the night before the big game of their cross county rival in retribution for the alleged smearing of fecal matter (the paper's words, not mine) the alleged smearing of fecal matter,by the aforementioned crosstown rival, all over their high school's Alumni Rock located just off the easement where the short bus picks up all of the special kids, and on, and on, and on.

That's it, chocomate kudasi*, sayonara means goodbye.

*half assed attempt at phonetic spelling of Japanese words that I don't even know the meaning of.

Greetings to all my new blogging buddies, if you stay till the end there will be snacks.

I saw some gamerboys in the parking lot of Kmart on Friday. They just had that gamerboy look about them, the glasses, the 1970's hair, the ass cracks, the sneakers, the ass cracks, the six pack of Jones Soda, and the baleful stare of a guy who has never talked to a woman in his life without stuttering or going home and masturbating about it afterwards. (Don't ask how I know.)

And yeah, Dexter is about to start and I will be taking screenshots because Dexter's sponsor, if you are to believe the previews from last week, will be sporting headlights.

Dexter's sponsor.



She's British, and I forget her name, but she used to be on Hustle, and who knows, maybe she even used to do the Hustle (Do the hustle!!!), and she curses with the most charming accent, and I just hope that Dexter doesn't kill her.

I think I invented the word gamerboy because nothing else fit.

I'll be George S. Kaufman, and you can take turns being the other guys.

My new goals for blogging.
1. Visit new blogs.
2. Trick the new blogs I visit into visiting me.
3. Endear myself to these new blogs.
4. Separate the new blogs into interesting blogs and boring blogs.
5. Delete the boring blogs after a pity comment or two.
6. Cultivate the interesting blogs and develop a circle of friends where witty give and take abounds, not unlike the Algonquin Round Table, or at least not unlike the big round table in the center of the dining area in the local McDonald's where they sit all day nursing one coffee, one fucking coffee, all day, and talking real loud, and whenever I drop a french fry or spill my diet coke, they all stop talking, and I can feel their eyes burning and ripping into my flesh, and I know they hate me, because I'm not like them, because I could never be like them, because I don't wear the "cool" sneakers, or the "cool" sweaters, or the "cool" hat with my favorite team's logo on it.
7. Become the focal point of this group.
8. Develop slang and code words to keep the outsiders outside.
9. Set aside one day a month for ... I don't know, something special, real special, like "write backwards day" or "who cares about world peace day, not us day" or maybe even something frivolous.
10. Eventually get around to tithing the rest of the group.

Cock Appreciation 101

For the past couple of months whenever I wake up in the morning my hand is on my cock.
I've been hesitant to write about this before, because, well, because it feels kind of strange to write about your cock, or I guess I should say my cock.
I'm just sort of touching it.
Making sure it's still there.
Making sure it still works.
Appreciating it.
[Insert picture of my hand on my cock HERE]

I should be doing something ... ANYTHING!!!

My stomach is making angry noises.
I want to go walk at the track at the community center but I think I'd have to make a pit stop every other lap.
The mail just passed, I am going to go check it.
My mail box is out by the road ... eh, I'm rural, I guess.
It is very windy today, all the leaves are blowing off the trees.
I feel like Walt Whitman.
My stomach tells me I'm full of shit.
And now the mail ...
Bill, bill, junk.

If my heart stops beating you'll be the first to know, unless somebody else is the first to know firster-er

It's raining.
I can hear the rain.
My eyes are sort of glazed over, and I'm having trouble typing, and I feel a sneeze coming on, but not just yet ...
NOW!!!!!!
Not one, but seven of them.
People have always said I sneeze like a cat, and I guess I do, rapidly and in quick succession.
Sort of like Ah.... chooo, chooo, chooo, chooo, chooo, chooo, chooo.
Just one Ah, followed by a lot of chooos.
And it's still raining.
And I can still hear it.
And my computer is making that noise, yeah, that noise.
And it's almost four in the morning, but I laugh at sleep!
Ha.
And sleep laughs back at me.
And we stare each other down.
Sleep, it's hands on it's hip, tapping it's foot, staring intently.
Me, playing it cool, grinning, showing utter disdain.
Sleep blinks ...
I win!!!
Fuck you sleep, I'm going to bed, and on my own terms, you bastard.

Don't make me whip out #117

Ok, I'm slowly starting to turn this into a real blog again, and remember when we all hated the word blog, but you know now ... well now, who the fuck cares what it's called.
So yeah, a real blog again, of course to do that I'll have to start visiting other real blogs, and leaving comments and shit, you know, I'll have to interact (((shudder))).
But yeah, I'm having fun here again.
You know with the posts that go nowhere.
And the pictures of boobs and twats (I'm sorry, I have to type "boobs and twats" at least once a week, it's in my contract.)
And more parenthetical asides !!! (!!!)
And it's almost time for this movie I started watching a couple nights ago with Polly Bergen, about her gay thirteen year old grandson, and her gay male nurse, and the whole coming of age gay in america, and did you know that back in the 60's Polly Bergen was the first female president of the United States, so eat your heart out Hillary, nobody cares who's second, just ask Buzz What'shisname, and where are the Polly Bergen's of my youth?

What's right is right, and what's left is left.

I think I should tell you that it's five thirty and I've been awake since four thirty after falling asleep at three.
I think I should tell you that one of the temporary crowns that I got a couple weeks ago, the one on the upper left side, is really hurting.
It's sort of swollen, or irritated, and the pain is kind of a dull throbbing pain, and the more I fixate on it the more it hurts.
Today is Friday (is it really Friday already?), and my next dental appointment, the one where he puts in the permanent crowns is next Monday.
I think I'll live, because it's not like the pain is constant, it comes and goes, and like I said, fixating on it only makes it worse, so it's only natural that late at night, or early in the morning, even if you aren't asleep, your mind is more relaxed, and oh great, now my left ear hurts, and my lower left back too, and as I look down at my left hand I notice that two of my fingers are missing, yes, two of them, the two smallest fingers on my left hand are definitely missing, there's no blood, there's no wound, it's like the two smallest fingers on my left hand never existed, and now I'm really getting scared, this is like something out of Kafka, Bob Kafka, the Bob Kafka who had the dorm room next to me when I spent a week in San Angelo Texas at an Air Force conference back in 1971, yeah, that Bob Kafka, THE BOB KAFKA THAT WAS MISSING THE TWO SMALLEST FINGERS ON HIS LEFT HAND!!!
I hope this isn't freaking you out, but fuck, I only have three fingers on my left hand, and my upper left temporary crown hurts, and my left ear hurts, and my lower left back hurts, and remember last week when I told you about the shooting pain that ran up my leg, my LEFT leg, and into my left testicle, remember that, and I hope that I didn't conjure up anything when I mentioned my left testicle, that is unless you wanted to conjure up something (nudge, nudge).
So anyway, he says as he clears his throat ...
I'm going back to bed, and leave my left testicle out of it, unless, well, just unless.

Google boz48730 and see what page the first naked photo of some girl with glasses, red hair, and fishnets turns up on. I'm betting it's page three.

I think I am going to pass out from the sheer excitement of being me.
But first I'd better ...
Wash my hands
Think about getting a hair cut
Clear my throat
Yeah, I'm about to pass out.
Yeah, naked girls love to read my blog while they are naked and fantasizing about me.

We Shall Overcome

I've been protested into submission.

The end of an era

I bought a new webcam this week.
It will be delivered tomorrow afternoon or early evening.
It was a great deal.
I couldn't turn it down.
I feel kind of melancholy though because my old webcam has been a real trooper.
I don't know how long I've had it.
Maybe three, maybe four years.
It still works great.
Except whenever I boot up my computer the webcam goes ...
CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK
So, to honor my old webcam I am going to spend it's remaining time snapping pics with it and posting them to a buzznet folder called
Old Webcam Extravaganza of Pics.
Feel free to pay your last respects.

A history of violins.

I like Maria Bello.



She is a great actress.
She can play slutty.
She can play corporate executive.
She can play slutty corporate executive.
She has nice boobs, a little small, but still nice, and excellent pokies, and when I say pokies I mean nipples, so why didn't I just say nipples, maybe it's the last vestiges of our American puritanical history, NIPPLES!!!
She has an Italian name, but doesn't look Italian.
I think she has had a nose job, but better a nose job than a boob job.
She was really good as a hooker in The Closer, and she was also really good as the wife in A History of Violence, where she dressed up in her high school cheerleader costume and role played with her husband, and ...
She was fucking awesome in the scene where her husband and her, after having a violent argument, sort of crawled up the stairs, quasi-raping each other all the way up.
But yeah, Maria Bello is some kind of hot.

I hear noises

I've deleted my last post.
It was a picture of my new shoes with me in them.
I just didn't feel right about the picture.
Maybe it was the black socks I was wearing.
I don't know.
I did figure out what I will do with the digital picture frame I bought yesterday.
Did I mention that I bought a digital picture frame yesterday?
Anyway, I'll fill it with pictures and give it to MB for xmas.
See, I've got two months to get it just the way I want it.
And ...
It has a seven inch LCD screen.
And ...
It works with all kinds of memory cards plus usb flash drives.
And ...
It plays mp3s.
And ...
It plays videos.
So ...
I guess I'm finished with my xmas shopping.
Yeah, I was going to say something about the Zune I bought, but I changed my mind.

In other news, I didn't buy anything today that I already have and don't really need another one of, but it's only 5pm, so there's still a chance

I'm really not sure what day it is.
I think it's Tuesday, but it might be Wednesday.
I'm worse off than I thought I was.
I just checked.
It's Wednesday, and I was just trying to be funny when I wrote that I thought it was Tuesday, but it might be Wednesday, because I really thought today was Tuesday.

I should go to the gym, but I am very sleepy, but maybe if go to the gym even in this sleepy state the endomorphs, or whatever, will kick and will be magically awakened .. ah haaaaa, and ok, it isn't endomorphs, but it's a word like endomorphs, and didn't I just go through this a post or two ago with allegory?
Fuck, what's the word, it's endo something.
I need a nap, and a lobotomy.

Naked pictures of Joyce DeWitt

I've finally stopped hallucinating, but now one of my temporary crowns is throbbing, and I just called the cable company because my onDemand is all screwy again ... AGAIN, so he told me to refresh it ... AGAIN, by unplugging my cable box for a minute, and letting it rest, and I think "letting it rest" is a technical term, or maybe it's an allegory, or one of those other words that I really don't know the meaning of but just throw out there because maybe it's the right word, and maybe I haven't stopped hallucinating after all, so I have to let it rest, and then plug it back in, and wait a half hour to see if it refreshes, and if it doesn't Mr. Allegory Man says I might have to get a new cable box, which is cool with me because I like new things, and yeah, I'm pretty sure that I'm still hallucinating, either that or the ghost of John Ritter really is sitting on my shoulder offering me sage advice and naked pictures of Joyce DeWitt.

People ... stay away from the brown nail polish remover ... stay away from the brown nail polish remover

I am hallucinating because I used half of a ten ounce bottle of nail polish remover to clean some gunky residue off the bathroom floor.
I am GOD
I am DOG
I am the guy who spent even more money today when I bought a digital picture frame from Rite-Aid (the devil's drugstore), but it was on sale for $79.999999, and I had a twenty dollar gift card that I got from transferring a prescription from that other pharmacy with the name I can't remember because of the ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ...
I am GOD
I am DOG
I am LOU FUCKING REED
I am BOZ ... FOUR ... EIGHT ... SEVEN ... THREE ... ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZERO
I am the WALL LESS
Goo goo AH-CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Skip the part about my legs because the real post is about me buying stuff that I don't need.

I used to have hairy legs, but now I don't, and sometimes I miss having them.
I'll finish this later.

So, I've been on a buying spree the past few weeks.
Yeah, it's like I'm addicted to buying stuff, not just stuff, but stuff that I already have that is plenty good enough that I really don't need to buy more of it, like about a month ago I bought a new digital camera after just buying a new digital camera earlier this year to replace the digital camera that I bought about three years ago that was plenty good enough for whatever needs I may have, or whatever needs I may have thought I had, and then I bought a multifunction printer, ok, I didn't have a multifunction printer, so I guess that's the exception that proves the rule, but I could have bought a cheaper multifunction which would have been plenty good enough for my multifunctioning needs, so I guess there's that, and then I bought an area rug yesterday to place over the area rug that I bought two weeks ago, to replace the perfectly good area rug that I got about six months ago that I didn't quite like the size or color of, which is worth more than the two area rugs that I am now using put together and tripled in price, and ... I bought a clock radio slash cd player yesterday, but I already have a clock, and a thousand cd players, but I have top tell you that the blue LCD (LED???) numbers are mind trippingly tripping my mind in their awesomeness, and oh yeah, I forgot the new MP3 player I ordered last week, to replace the MP3 player that I ordered a week and a half ago but cancelled when the dot com that I ordered it from gave me attitude, but it couldn't have been much attitude because the MP3 player that I ordered last week is the same MP3 player that I ordered and cancelled and from the same dot com that gave me what I guess wasn't so much attitude after all, and then today ... from the same dot come I bought a new webcam, but seriously, I couldn't turn it down because it's a 100 dollar webcam that will be a twenty dollar webcam after the eighty dollar rebate is deducted from the final cost, and suddenly I've got this sharp stabbing pain in the back of my head, on the right side just above my neck, so I guess that's it, but it's ok, because that is all that I bought that I didn't really need, except for all the ink pens, and if it makes you feel any better I didn't buy the digital camera that I saw yesterday, but it was very tempting, but I didn't, and the pain, the pain, the stabbing pain feels like it will never go away.

And yeah, I forgot the shoes.

What's gnu?

My stomach is making audible gurgling sounds.
Maybe it's the glass of diet soda I just drank.
Maybe it's stomach cancer.
Maybe I'm possessed.
Maybe my stomach and I can get a job as morning drive time FM shock jocks Boz and Gurgle featuring Moonie Pottie in the eye in the sky traffic copter.
Maybe I'm going back to bed.

#11 would have been Morning Dew by Tim Rose

Random play on my Panasonic $25.00 2 Gig Mp3 Player.
1. Helpless - Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. The summer of 1970, and I hated the summer of 1970. I was in the Air Force and stationed on the island of Crete, and I was having trouble adjusting, because I was stubborn, and I refused to chill, and let the fact that I was in the military make me unable to enjoy one of the coolest places anyone could have hoped to be in the summer of 1970, but I got my act together and the fall and winter of 1970, and the spring and summer of 1971 were like one of those coming of age movies where things happened, some good, some great, some shitty, but, well, but yeah.
2. Green Onions - Booker T and the MGs. Sometime in 1963 or maybe 62. Made me want to learn how to play the bass guitar for about a week until I realized how hard it would be so I went back to making model cars, learning how to masturbate, and waiting for the Beatles to happen.
3. Time Has Come Today - The Chambers Brothers. Spring of 1968. A really long song, but not as long as Alice's Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie, but a little longer than The End by the Doors, and the exact same length to the second, and I'm serious, to the second of East/West by the Paul Butterfield Blues Band.
4. Rough Boys - Pete Townshend. Late 70's or early 80's, and yeah, if this song doesn't prove that Pete is a charter member of NAMBLA, well, nothing will. Go ahead and listen, and try to deny it, I dare you, I double dog dare you, and I quote " I want to hug and kiss you"
5. Timothy Leary's Dead, or maybe it's just Timothy Leary - The Moody Blues. The summer of 1968, and man, oh man, oh man, try listening to this while smoking something that someone told you was pot, no shit Boz, it's pot, and not seeing God or that guy who is like God from one of those fake religions, I mean it's just too heavy for someone who just turned 18 and is not college material to handle.
6. Bowling Shoes - Fountains of Wayne. I got nothing, this is the first time I've heard it, but I do like their song about being in love with their girl friends mother, and that other song about Hackensack, which is in New Jersey and which I probably spelled wrong.
7. Poor Side of Town - Johnny Rivers. Johnny Rivers was cool up to a point. I mean he didn't have a Beatle's haircut, but he did sing Secret Agent Man which was as cool as you could get until the Summer of Love made it irrelevant, and it's really NOT that hard to find nice things on the poor side of town either.
8. Higher and Higher - Jackie Wilson. Another one of those mid 60's songs which is dominating this list, but what can I say, I'm a mid 60's kind of guy, and even Van Morrison knew how cool Jackie Wilson was, and if I had a nickel for every time I typed "cool" in this post I could buy a pack of Marlboros' if I could go back in a time machine and buy them at mid-60's prices.
9. Laugh at Me - Sonny Bono. Sonny Bono was almost considered a musical genius back in the ... yeah, the mid-60's, back when he was still wearing his bear skin vest, and before he got his nose fixed, and before Cher cut off his balls, and did I ever tell you about the time I saw Sonny and Cher in a Howard Johnson's at a turnpike rest stop in either Pennsylvania or New York???
10. Kiss Me Deadly - Lita Ford. I wouldn't mind being a girl for a couple of minutes if I could sing this song like Lita Ford sings it, or maybe Lita Ford made a deal with the devil where she became a man for a few minutes so she could sing ... I went to a party the other night, I didn't get drunk I got in a fight ...

Ten's enough.

Periods, no not that kind, are not for Sunday

I'm sitting here half asleep, half dressed, half assed
Trying to psyche myself into going for a walk
But then again maybe I'll just go back to bed
Because it is after all Periods Are Not For Sunday ... Sunday
And no, dot dot dots are not periods
At least not at this time of the month
Ugh

The leaves are happening

I took MB out to see the leaves today.
She didn't embarrass me too much.

If Thursday night is "Download Christian Rock Night" and today is Friday, then I guess I'm going to hell, or stuck in Oscoda's homecoming parade.

Nice title for a non-existent post.

For my edification.

The phone woke me up an hour and fifteen minutes ago.
It wasn't a phone call.
It was the sound the phone makes when the receiver isn't put back into the handset properly.
You know the
Beep ..... beep ..... beep ..... beep beep beep beep beep beep (stop) (repeat ad infinitum)
So, I fixed the phone, I think, and ate breakfast ... don't ask.
And here I am.
And it's raining.
And it's still dark out.
Or maybe it's stopped raining because I can't hear it anymore.
And a truck, or a car with a bad muffler just drove by, probably someone on their way to work.
AND I JUST hit the caps lock by mistake, while I was pulling an sdhc memory card out of the memory card reader.
And I'm not convinced that I've seen the last of the heartburn I had last night (see previous post).
And the gym at the community center will be closed for the next four days because it's been rented out to the hospital for some kind of hospital gala, whatever that is.
And there was something whimsical that happened to me yesterday that I wanted to write about, but the heartburn hit before I got around to it, and now I can't remember what it was that I wanted to write about, or aboot, for my Canadian friends.
And I can hear the rain again.
And it's a quarter after seven.
And I'm going back to bed.
And I'll probably turn on the TV and try to find a movie that will fit the way I feel, but with female nudity, but not the boom chicka wow wow kind, more the girl with glasses with a tattoo at the base of her neck that is normally covered up by her hair, except when she's doing female nudity for my edification, and believe it or not I got the correct spelling of edification on the first try, but now I'm kind of unsure if edification is the right word, but yeah, I'm going back to bed, and do the TV thing, and I'll probably be awake by ten, and then I'll take the trash cans to the curb because it's trash day, and I hope the rain, that I can still hear, will have stopped by then.

Death be not proud

I had heartburn really bad tonight.
I honestly thought that I might have to call 911.
It was like someone stuck a knife into my chest just below by sternum.
I almost cried because it hurt so bad.
I thought it might be a heart attack even though I knew better.
I am not lying.
I have no idea what brought it on.
It just hit me BLAM!!!
Tums didn't help, but ...
I found some heartburn pills and popped a couple of them, then I laid down with a cold cloth on my forehead, and slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, the pain started to subside.
So, I guess I am better, but just writing about it is giving me a little twinge.

And ...
Speaking about dying.
I almost fell to my death taking this picture on Tuesday afternoon, of course if I had fallen to my death on Tuesday afternoon I wouldn't have had killer heartburn on Tuesday night, so I guess you have to take the good with the bad, and the bad with the good, and the black jelly beans with the red jelly beans, and I actually like black jelly beans, but not mixed in with any other colors, or course black isn't a color, and it isn't a flavor either, but who are you to judge, ha, I didn't think so.

Ice cream is on sale this week.

I think I have finally figured out how to work my printer/copier/scanner.
It only took me a week and a half of headaches, and twelve copies of one picture that I didn't even want in the first place.
So, cough-cough-cough, if you have any tasteful photos lying around, and ...
Nah, well, yeah, but nah, but you could surprise me.

You'd better wear some boxing gloves in case some fool might wanna fight.

You know what smells good?
Aspirin smells good.
Go ahead go find a bottle.
You got it?
Open it up and take a whiff.
They smell like health, don't they.

It's not quite eight in the morning.
The gym opens at eight.
I think I'm going to go walk early today.
I put new laces in my shoes.
They look snazzy.
I hope someone notices.

The snazzy new laces and my faux skater boy power walking shoes that I got at Kmart for ten dollars that will soon be retired because my FRENCH shoes will be here by the end of the week.



The rug is sort of new too.
I bought it to match the laces.

Maybe I should clarify something.
I got the faux skater boy shoes from Kmart, not the snazzy laces.
I got the laces three pairs for a dollar at the dollar store in AuGres.

Maybe I should take the camera with me when I go this morning.
You see a lot of interesting things this time of the morning, or this time in the morning, I guess.

The shoes are in the mail.

I look different without my glasses.



I'm listening to my 2 gig mp3 player.
The Panasonic one that I got at the Evil Empire for 25 bucks, marked down from a hundred bucks.
I reformatted it tonight.
All new songs.
Natural Beauty by Neil Young is on now.
It's long and it's live, and there are crickets chirping in the background.
Ladies and Gentleman ...
Almost Grown by Chuck "My Ding-a-Ling" Berry.

My name is boz48730, and I'm a addict.

I walked thirteen miles in less than 24 hours at the gym.
I walked six miles last night, and I walked seven miles this afternoon.

I didn't do any spinning, which you would think involved spinning around in circles until you puke, pass out, or start listening to Christian Rock, but it's not, it's riding a stationary bike while someone motivates you ... by promising that you won't ever have to listen to Christian Rock, or Chris Rock, ever again.

I like Dexter and his girl friend Rita.



But, I like the actress that plays Rita even more.



Julie Benz, the actress who plays Rita, outside in her underwear.

Don't watch scary movies late at night or you'll end up blogging at all hours of the morning.

I realized today that I am a power walker, but not the kind that swings his arms like a retard. No, I'm the kind that averages 4.5 miles or more an hour. So I decided that I'd better buy some really good walking shoes so I don't lose any more toe nails or skin, so I looked around on the www for walking shoes, but walking shoes are like what you wear when you're 114 years old and the only walking you do is from the bed to your Amigo Power Scooter, so I changed my search to running shoes, and when you're doing 4.5 miles or more an hour you might as well say are you are almost running, or at least almost jogging, and what is jogging if not slow running ... ha!

And you know my criteria for buying anything.
It has to be on sale.
It has to be cool/different looking.
It has to be gray and orange.

So these are the shoes I bought.



They are the Lafuma Active Raid GTX XCR Sneaker(s)
And they were reduced from $119.95 to $34.89 at Amazon.
And they are from FRANCE, just like the Coneheads.
And they are gray and orange.
And they are cool/different looking, and if you don't believe me, believe what Lafuma says ...
Sounds like a great shoe for rugged trail running, fast packing, day hiking, or just looking cool standing in a puddle.

I think I've written this post before, but the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Songs that I remember playing on my mp3 while I walked almost six miles at the gym on Friday.
1. Homicide by 999, which is 666 on their ass.
2. Lucy at the Gym by Jill Sobule, she's the one who did the song I Kissed a Girl, which I thought was both sweet and highly arousing.
3. Riders on the Storm by the Doors, and Jim Morrison isn't really dead, he's living in the crawl space beneath my house with Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and the original Marlboro Man.
4. Happy by the Stones with Keith Richards singing lead, and I liked most of the Stones songs that Richards sang lead on.
5. Black Day in July by Gordon Lightfoot about the 1967 Detroit Riot, and yes, I remember the riot well.
6. The Motor City is Burning by John Lee Hooker also about the Detroit Riot, and whenever I hear a song by John Lee Hooker ... I said HOOKER ... whenever I hear a song by John Lee Hooker I sing along and feel cool.
7. Sonora's Death Row by Robert Earl Keen, who, like John Lee Hooker, also has three names, but I never feel cool when I sing along to any of his songs.
8. Rainy Day Man by Tom Rush, and he's from New Hampshire, or Vermont, you know, one of those skinny states in the northeast where nothing ever happens.
9. Baby's on Fire by Brian Eno, who is more of a genius than Brian Wilson ever was.
10. The Fat Angel by Donovan who is the father of actress Ione Skye, and isn't that a pretty name?
11. The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel, which was the last song I heard before induction into the Air Force on a cold and windy Friday morning in March of 1969 after downing four White Castles, an order of Fries, and a Coke on the drive to the induction center where I didn't have to sit next to Arlo Guthrie or any of the father rapers.

Foto Friday

The furnace guy did come, but he didn't get here until four.

My late lunch from the BK



Everything was very tasty.

The weather forecast said that there might be water spouts on the lake today, so I got all excited about taking pics, but alas, no water spouts, so I took a picture of myself instead.

Myself instead



The photo copier on my multifunction printer is fantastic. I've already used all ten free 4x6 photo papers that came with it.

Me looking at the photos I copied and salivating



And last but not least ...
Me in the bathroom at the gym after walking five miles, and why am I smiling after walking five miles, maybe it's because Does Your Chewing Gum Lose It's Flavor On The Bedpost Overnight is playing on my MP3, or maybe I am just hallucinating.

There's a leaf stuck in a spider web outside my window.

It is very cold today.
Cold enough to turn on the furnace for the first time.
I turned on the furnace.
It didn't work.
I called the plumbing and heating guy.
The guy that I don't trust.
He said he'll have someone out this afternoon to have a look at it.
I'm laying 50/50 odds that someone will be out this afternoon.
I hope the furnace doesn't need a crown.

I taught you everything you know about blogging, but I didn't teach you everything I forgot.

Had my dentist's appointment.
The one filling that could have been two fillings turned into two crowns.
The dentist and the busty Samoan dental assistant did the preliminary work today.
I was in the chair three hours,
During the three hours I had two bathroom breaks.
Two crowns ...
I could buy two computers for the cost of the two crowns.
I spent most of the rest of the day in bed, sleeping off the novocaine.
The time I didn't spend in bed I spent eating.
I had two Danish.
I had two bowls of ice cream with cool whip.
I had two bowls of chicken soup.
I had a cheesecake sort of thing with cherries.
I might have had more, but I don't remember.
My jaw still hurts.
And I think I caught some kind of intestinal virus because it was cold today and I wore a short sleeve shirt when I should have been wearing a long sleeve shirt and a jacket.
I slept through a movie where Samuel L. Jackson played a crazy dreadlocked vagrant that yelled a lot, what else is new.
These are the socks I wore all day today.

Crotchtal area

So, it's four in the morning and I've just turned off the television, and it's 48 degrees out and raining, and I still have a dentist appointment in six hours, and I haven't shaved yet, and I haven't showered yet, and I haven't slept yet, and I haven't typed bazooms and twats yet, and I've been playing with the photo copier on my printer, and it's a lot of fun, and maybe I'll print some 4x6 glossies of my crotchtal area and sell them on Ebay, or give them away on street corners, or maybe I'll just go to bed and pretend that anybody cares about my crotchtal area, the same crotchtal area that has had shooting pains shooting into it off and on for most of the night, and and and and and ... is that a gun in your crotchtal area or are you just glad to see me.

Bazooms and twats, you want 'em, we got 'em.

I see the dentist in the morning about the filling, or two, that I lost.
And I picked up my two prescriptions.
And I bought some diaper rash medication.
And a twenty pack of 4x6 ink jet photo paper.
And chili, with one l, for lunch.
And some naprowhatever.
And a 44 ounce fountain diet Coke.
And my jaw still hurts.
And I'm still clenching my teeth.
And I saw a cop slap the cuffs on an unruly bicycle rider at the end of my street, and I almost took pictures, but I didn't want to be the guy who sparked the next Rodney King thingimajig, and there was another guy there too, and he was either arguing with the cop, or the guy in cuffs, and the guy in cuffs was not going gentle into that good night, and I was a little concerned about the cop, because he was a skinny young guy, the kind of guy that got picked on as a kid and over compensates by becoming a cop, which is what he did, so I guess that proves that, and if the guy who was arguing was arguing with the cop we could have had the next Onion Field thingimajig, but nothing happened I guess, and what does a guy on a bike have to do to get the cuffs slapped on him, and I think he was one of those guys that doesn't ride a bike for exercise but rides because of past DUI convictions, and the cycle goes on and on and on, and the big wheel keeps on turning and Proud Mary keeps on burning, and my two top search requests are still bazooms and twats, and it's nice that some things are constant, or at least appear to be.

If you can get past the burn you might just reach nirvana if that's what you want to reach.

And my jaw still hurts, and I still lost a filling or maybe two, and I have to call the dentist today, and I need to get refills on both of my meds, and it's five thirty in the morning, and I fell asleep at two thirty and woke up at four and I've been watching tv since then, and my eyes are almost totally crusted over shut, and I'm sitting here looking at this big ass printer/scanner/copier that weighs twenty pounds, and I guess I'm starting to like it, at least until I get the credit card statement, and I seriously have to stop spending so much money on things I don't need, and I've already had breakfast and a glass of diet coke, and I'm still craving ice cream, and the ice cream I'm craving is low fat, with a third less calories, but it's country churned, whatever that means, and it is really rich, but with a third less calories, and how can that be, I mean, I've had low fat ice cream before that more or less tastes like nothing, and like I said, this stuff is really rich tasting, and I never used to like vanilla ice cream, but now it's the only thing I eat, and I also had a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup yesterday, the kind made with white chocolate, and yes, I'm still on a diet, but I'm not trying to lose any more weight, I'm good where I'm at, and I still visit the gym every day, and I walked about five miles yesterday, and maybe that's why my jaw hurts, because I might have clenched my teeth while I was walking, and clenched was the word I couldn't think of in my last post when I was trying to describe what I might have done to make my jaw hurt, and I wanted to take some Advil, or whatever it is that has the generic name naprowhatever, but I couldn't find the bottle that I bought last week, so I ended up taking some tylenol that has been in my drawer for god only knows how long, and I'm not even sure if god knows how long, and that's god with a small "g" as opposed to God with a big "g", if there really is a God with a big "g", but let's not get into that right now, and damn, I'm really starting puke out some blog posts again, aren't I, and I'm doing it for my own enjoyment, or maybe I'm just trying to validate my existence, and I guess that's it, unless you have something to add.

Indian summer is over as of NOW!!!

Ok, I bought a printer today, one of those multifunction print/scan/copy deals, one of the new Kodak ones, which are more expensive than the less expensive ones, and more than I wanted to pay, actually, I didn't want to pay anything because I didn't want to buy a printer, but MB wanted me to get a printer so I could print out any interesting emails that my sister might send, and interesting and my sister is like an oxymoron, or a paradox, or a conundrum, or an accident waiting to happen, and I actually did some research on this purchase which I don't usually do, but since I didn't want a printer in the first place I, ummmm, did the research, and the Kodak 5100 isn't the cheapest one, I mean, I could have gotten a nice HP multifunction for about forty bucks less, but the research that I did that I don't normally do showed me that the ink cartridges for the Kodak are really really really cheap, like ten bucks for black, and fifteen bucks for color, and it's photo quality color, and to top it off besides the standard one black and one color cartridge that you get with the printer they threw in three more color cartridges for free, free, free, and this was only available at the Evil Empire, because I guess Kodak made a deal with the devil, or maybe the Evil Empire made a deal with the devil, or maybe the devil made a deal with me or ... YOU!!!
I'm completely burnt on this post, so let me just say that it took me forever to set the printer up, because the instructions were for shit, or as Wesley from across the street used to say, the instructions were for skita, and now my jaw hurts from doing that thing that makes your jaw hurt, what is it ... cringing, biting down, frowning, setting, I don't know, it's that thing you do with your jaw when you're concentrating real hard and nothing is going right, you know clamping it tight, or something ...
FUCK
Who, what, why, where and how is this post going???
Screw it.
I just hurt all over, and I lost a filling, or maybe two, and I skinned my knee, and I cut myself shaving, and I just noticed I have a scratch on my forearm, and I'm about to lose a toenail, and don't get me started on that, and it's almost two in the morning, but I did get the printer and the scanner working, and do I really need a copier, and my jaw hurts, but I mentioned that, and if you want to read a heart warming post w/picture go here..
And I want ice cream, and a sharp pain just shot up my leg past my thigh and into my crotch, and who says bad things never happen to good people?

By the power of ZANKOU!!!

By the power of ZANKOU!!!

Z - The wisdom of Zeus
A - The strength of Atlas
N - The bitchiness of Nellie Olson
K - The modesty of Ken
O - The popcorn of Orville Redenbacher
And ...
U - The sphincter of Uranus

By the power of ZANKOU I was able to walk 4 miles in fifty minutes setting a new BOZ RECORD of 12.5 minutes a mile!!!



ZANKOU!!!

My day is free until until one this afternoon, or maybe four at the latest.

I'm having a serious case of the not being able to sleep-itis.
Perhaps I should try again.
I downloaded a new browser, there are tons of them out there now.
This one is called Flock.
I wonder why they called it that?
Perhaps I will never know.
I don't think I have ever used the word perhaps twice in a single post before.
Perhaps I never will again.

Hola!!!

This sounds like my kind of movie ...

El Aura (2005)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
553 THMAX: Sunday, October 7 1:35 AM
2005, NR, ***1/2, 02:14, Color, English, ARG/FRA/ESP,

An epileptic taxidermist (Ricardo Darýn) seizes the opportunity to commit the perfect crime after he accidentally kills a man who planned to rob an armored car.

Cast: Ricardo Darýn, Dolores Fonzi, Pablo Cedrýn, Jorge D'Elýa, Alejandro Awada, Rafael Castejýn Director(s): Fabiýn Bielinsky

This is Dolores Fonzi



You know, I am really starting to like Spanish speaking movies, you know, the kind they make in Spain, and Argentina, and Chile, and Mexico, and Cuba, and Puerto Rico, and all those other Spanish speaking countries, but not Brazil, because Brazilians speak Portuguese, which isn't the same as Spanish, even though they share the Iberian Peninsula, well, Spain and Portugal share the Iberian Peninsula, and I think they share some other stuff too, but I'm not sure, and while I was walking at the gym today I saw the evil Pippi Longstockings Wannabe, and I hate that women, because she is about 90 years old, and dyes her hair the same color as a bronze 65 Mustang, and she has pigtails ... she's 90 years old, and she has pigtails, ok, maybe she isn't 90, but she is older than me, and she has pigtails, and she always walks the opposite way of everyone else on the track, and today I tried messing with her mind by walking in the same direction she was, and so she stopped walking, what a bitch, I hate her, bitch ... BITCH.
I'm slowly losing my mind.

If you think I take good nature photos this is the reason why.

Jigsaw puzzles.
Yeah, we always got them for Christmas.
One for each of us.
They were the present we played with after the bigger and cooler presents were broken or lost.
My oldest sister and I were the puzzle solvers.
My other sister didn't care for them, she liked paint by numbers, another present that we always got, and talking on the phone to her friends complaining about what a lousy Christmas haul she got, even though she usually got more than either my older sister and I, and the reason she always got more was because she always complained about what a lousy haul she got, but that is neither here nor there, this is about ...
Jig saw puzzles
But I have to add, that she would be sitting in the middle of a huge pile of stuff pouting, while I was off to the side all by myself having the time of my life in the empty box that her easy bake oven came in.
Jig saw puzzles
My oldest sister and I were the puzzle solvers.
She would start them, usually all by herself, and after I got bored with the easy bake oven box I would go over and help.
And the thing is we always got the same two themes for puzzles every year.
We'd get either fall or winter country scenes.
And you know, after staring at a half finished jig saw puzzle for a day or two you start to notice things, like color and composition, and I guess that has sort of stayed with me, I guess, I guess, I guess ...
That's it, now I'm jonesing for a box of chocolate covered cherries which I never got, oh no, my sisters always got chocolate covered cherries, but not me, I always got a carton of candy cigarettes, yeah, candy cigarettes, and have you ever tried to eat a candy cigarette, it's like pure powdered sugar only hard and tasteless, and actually, I think the boxes that the candy cigarettes came in tasted better than the candy cigarettes did, and another actually, I think candy cigarettes were more hazardous to your health than the Camels that my old man used to smoke, and speaking about cigarettes and Christmas, I always got my old man a special holiday carton of Camels with a picture of Santa Claus puffing away on an unfiltered Camel like some kind of dope fiend, with the evil glint in his eye and everything ...

Don't let my ass hit you on the way out.

I drove to West Branch today.
I bought shower hooks, and shave cream, and men's pants 36Wx34L, they were all 70% off.
I bought a candy bar, one of those fancy ones made by Lindt.
It was chocolate with lemon tart filling.
It cost $2.99, I got it for a dollar.
I took a lot of pictures on the way back.
I've only posted one of them on Buzznet and Flickr.
The same one.
Only cropped differently.
It was a long drive.
I am tired.
I want to go to bed.
I want to take a shower.
I want a corned beef on rye sandwich, with ham instead of corned beef.
I need to clean the bird cage.
I need to clean ???
I need to clean a lot of stuff.
At least my bed is made, and my ass is firm.

I hear the trees, but they aren't saying much, they're just sort of chilling, while listening to that guy that plays the pan flute, and I think his na

me is Zamfir, or Pam Grier, but you know who I mean, please god, let them know who I mean, because I don't want to be that guy, yeah, that guy.

I should be in bed because I am sleepy, or tired, and I always get those two things (sleepy and tired) confused, even though they are not the same, but you have to admit they are similar, and could be confusing to some who has a native tongue other than English, or is on mind altering medication, either legal or the opposite of legal, or, or, o'er ...
That's it, my sinus will not permit me to continue this post into madness, army of madness, river of madness, escape into madness, sadness into madness, badness into madness, bad ass into madness, bad axe (MI) into madness, radness, fadness, cheryl laddness, gratius ...
Fuck, never mind, just fuck, fyck, fyck, fyckg, fuyck, fuck.

Clean living equals clean liver minus x plus y

I accidentally felt my ass tonight, in a completely non-sexual way, honest, and it felt firm, honest.

Post has been updated to include my firm ass captured while I was in the garage dancing and doing laundry, I was washing, and drying, and hanging up shirts, my summer shirts, and with me washing shirts is always a crap shoot, because I never know if they are going to come out nice, or nice and wrinkled, and tonight was a good night, the ones I wanted to come out nice came out nice, and the ones I didn't care about came out nice and wrinkled so I just threw them away, and really, they were old shirts, old shirts that I never really liked, but just don't tell MB because being a Depression Era kid she never throws anything away (Bozzie, you could cut those shirts up and make dishrags out of them, or kites, yeah, you could make kites out of them and sell them at the next craft show, or ... doesn't the hospital need bandages ... or goddamn it, we could eat them, back during the Depression a shirt was considered a delicacy, if you could afford one, and we never could ...

My brain, my brain, my brain, by mrain

So, what do you say, let's have a party.
We can dance, nah, fuck dancing, let's just get drunk, or high, because I'm sure I've got at least one more of each left in this rapidly aging body of mine, and you know what ...
Someone called me an old man today, well, she didn't actually call me an old man, but she said when she saw a group of older men she thought of me, and you know me, with my fragile psyche and stuff, I was driven back to bed by that comment, and I stayed there, in my bed, for the better part of the day, with a flashlight, counting, and naming, the dust bunnies under the bed, and then I feasted on ham, and ham by products and ... sometimes I feel that I use too many commas when I write, write, write, and write, I mean, I know sometimes I should use colons, and semi-colons, and ...



But back to the party.
Shit, it's two thirty in the morning, it's too fucking late for a party now, let's go to New York City instead, and goof on the tourists, but not ourselves and the apostles, and the reason I added the apostles after I said ourselves was because I saw the Jefferson Airplane in concert in 1967 and the opening acts were the Rationals, the MC5, the Ourselves, and the Apostles, so there you go.
So yeah, I'm hopping on a bus right now, right now after I finish this post and I'll see you in NYC sometime in the afternoon, we can meet up at Andy Warhol's place, and I'll be the one with the glasses and the beard sort of goatee thing, and wearing a button that says "Give Peace A Chance Or at Least A Piece Of That Pie Over There".
Thank you, and PS, most of the girls at Andy's place are really guys, so be careful, unless you are into that thing, and more power to you if you are, but, me, myself, I could never get past the whole Adam's Apple thing ..........

Rich guy pants

I went to the St Vincent De Paul thrift store yesterday looking for books.
I didn't buy any, but I seriously considered buying the book that Wilt Chamberlin wrote just before he died, but it looked like one of those self-published kind of things, so I didn't, and I'm kind of glad I didn't because I have tons of books by real writers, that weren't self-published laying around that I haven't even read yet, and to be honest, probably will never read unless someone lights a fire under my ass, or offers to pay me, or fuck me, or befriend me for life.

What I did buy at the St Vincent De Paul thrift store were pants, and this is odd because I have never purchased clothes from a thrift store before unless you count the two suits that I bought the day that my father died, and that was an emergency, because where else can you get a suit, or for that matter, two suits in a small town on short notice, and you know what it is weird about those two suits, well, beside from the fact that they only cost two and a half bucks each, besides that, and besides the fact that they are still hanging in my closet seven years later, and besides all the other besides, besides them, the suit's were both perfect fits, and when they were new they probably cost a couple of hundred bucks each, and la di dah, la di fucking dah, and now back to the pants I bought yesterday at the St Vincent De Paul thrift store ...

After not buying the self-published tome by Wilt Chamberlin, and as I was leaving the store, I quite by accident went down the men's clothing aisle, and I looked, because what harm is there in looking, and I looked, and remember I've lost 40 pounds and two waist sizes over the past four and a half months, and my waist size is now 36, and my length is still 32, which is odd because for years and years my length size was 34, but that was back when bell bottoms were in style back before they are in style now if they really are back in style now, and they might be because I see a lot of people wearing them, or maybe I'm just having false post Vietnam LSD induced flashbacks to the seventies, or then again ...

Anyway, there were pants, there were lots of pants, there were lots of 36W 32L pants, and there were brands like Tommy Hilfiger, and LL Bean, and Eddie Bauer, and Ralph Lauren, and I bought two pairs of Ralph Lauren chinos, and that's what they are called, chinos, and they were like new, ok, they were like used, but they were in excellent condition, seriously excellent condition, and they only cost three dollars a pair, and that's like 1/20th the price of what they would have cost new, and when I got home I tried them on, and they were a perfect fit, and they looked great on me, and when I took the pants off I noticed that there was a dry cleaning tag on them, and the name on the tag was the name of the guy that owns three radio stations in town, and a bunch of other shit in town, and so these pants might very well have been formerly owned by the richest man in town, and not in a Lionel Barrymore/It's A Wonderful Life richest man in town sort of way.

And yeah, I may go back today and complete my wardrobe, and pick up that book by Wilt Chamberlin, but I should probably go back to bed now and rest my weary blah, blah, blah.

Stick it, stick it good,

Fight Club is on in 15 minutes.
I haven't seen it but once and that was about 4 years ago.
It was a good movie, and the fact that Helena Bonham Carter is in it offsets the fact that Meatloaf and Brad Pitt are in it, but you know, I can't really talk about it, and I think you know why, and seriously, I read somewhere that Brad Pitt had some plastic surgery done in preperation for that movie about Alexander, or maybe it wasn't Alexander, but you know it took place back in the old ass times, back before Fight Club, and just before Thelma and Louise took a diver off the cliff, and I'm rambling, but I'm rambling with a purpose, and the purpose is so I won't talk about Fight Club, amen, fuck you, fuck me, fuck Meatloaf with a rubber hose up his nose, and fuck fuck fuck ye merry gentleman, and good King Wenseslas if you have the time.

I might be out of line, but I think Helena Bohnam Carter would make a great lesbian or drug addicted prostitute, or host of a kiddie show with puppets, big ass puppets.

One Monkey Don't Stop No Show even if it is the VMoD

Pictures of Lily have altered my brain.

I was watching a movie based on a semi-autobiographical novel by Charles Bukowski. It starred Matt Dillon as the semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski, and Lily Taylor as his fuck interest, and really, the only thing harder on the eyes than Lily Taylor/semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski's love interest walking around drunk in her dirty bra and panties was a drunk Matt Dillon/semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski fucking a drunk Lily Taylor/semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski's love interest in her dirty bra and panties, and yes, Lily Taylor is a fine actress, but her best work has always been fully clothed, and I guess the reason I turned the movie off after about twenty minutes was because neither Matt Dillon as the semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski, or Lily Taylor as his fuck interest could convince me that they weren't Matt Dillon and Lily Taylor trying to be the semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski and his fuck interest, and to be frank, I always found Bukowski's life more interesting than his writing even though his writing is mostly his life, but hey, that's just me writing about my life ... semi-autobiographically speaking, I guess, and if you get confused with all the semi-autobiographical stuff midway through the post, join the club, the club that has no dues, except time, which I have about an hour less of after writing this snippet from my life, but hey, it's been great.