The Puppet by Johnny Welch

This poem was originally mistaken to be written by Gabriel Garcia Marquez as a farewell message to all his friends at a time when his health was failing him. It was actually written by a Mexican ventriloquist, Johnny Welch, and dedicated to his puppet. Which actually makes more sense, but I suppose makes it less poignant.

Either way, I think it has some lovely imagery.

The Puppet

If for a moment God would forget that I am a rag doll and give me a scrap of life, possibly I would not say everything that I think, but I would definitely think everything that I say.

I would value things not for how much they are worth but rather for what they mean.

I would sleep little, dream more. I know that for each minute that we close our eyes we lose sixty seconds of light.

I would walk when the others loiter; I would awaken when the others sleep.

I would listen when the others speak, and how I would enjoy a good chocolate ice cream.

If God would bestow on me a scrap of life, I would dress simply, I would throw myself flat under the sun, exposing not only my body but also my soul.

My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hatred on ice and wait for the sun to come out. With a dream of Van Gogh I would paint on the stars a poem by Benedetti, and a song by Serrat would be my serenade to the moon.

With my tears I would water the roses, to feel the pain of their thorns and the incarnated kiss of their petals...My God, if I only had a scrap of life...

I wouldn't let a single day go by without saying to people I love, that I love them.

I would convince each woman or man that they are my favourites and I would live in love with love.

I would prove to the men how mistaken they are in thinking that they no longer fall in love when they grow old--not knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love. To a child I would give wings, but I would let him learn how to fly by himself. To the old I would teach that death comes not with old age but with forgetting. I have learned so much from you men....

I have learned that everybody wants to live at the top of the mountain without realizing that true happiness lies in the way we climb the slope.

I have learned that when a newborn first squeezes his father's finger in his tiny fist, he has caught him forever.

I have learned that a man only has the right to look down on another man when it is to help him to stand up. I have learned so many things from you, but in the end most of it will be no use because when they put me inside that suitcase, unfortunately I will be dying.

Sometimes You Just Need A Hug...or "I want my mommy"

Contrary to the popular belief and conventional wisdom that men must be courageous, strong and brave all the time, sometimes us men can just get overwhelmed and need a great big hug by a set of enveloping arms and maybe even be able to, dare I say it, shed a tear from time to time.  Today was one of those overwhelming days for me.  Not because anything in particular happened; the stars aligned, the tides were right, the barometric pressure was just so, the phone rang once too often and the pot just kinda boiled over, creating one of those I need a hug days.

I wish I knew how to prevent these events, but most of them are totally and completely beyond my control.  Life changes with the ring of the phone and, unfortunately, I have no choice but to answer the damn thing.

I have reached the point of losing it completely three or four times in my life.  A couple involved women and, I admit it, I cried like a baby.  In one case I have a witness.  Life, as I knew it, was over.  I was crushed, my heart broken and left a pile of spineless flesh.  The truth be told, I brought these instances on myself and I probably, no make that almost certainly, deserved it.  On one occasion a man actually tried to kill me and my brain was not able to wrap itself around this event.  It resulted in my beating a man into hospitalization.  The shrink called it a "psychotic break" apparently a part of something called Acute Traumatic Stress Disorder.  I am not a big man because I was able to beat a man senseless and under different circumstances, would have been criminally charged.  I actually feel it was an act of cowardice on my part, but I shall save that for another time.  The final time I was just overloaded, having investigated every dead child that had occurred in a rather large county for five years straight.  I knew something was terribly wrong when I was able to point to every photo of every child on the bulletin board on my wall and tell you their names and birthdays.  Do it long enough and you will snap, trust me.  If you don't snap, you will eventually become so dull emotionally you will become the moral equivalent of a zombie.

Today was just one of those days I would have liked to have been able to come home to a kind, strong, loving and understanding woman with a set of outstretched arms and a few kind words who would have done nothing more than listen to me complain, bitch, piss and moan.  Having such a person in our lives is not an option, it is a requirement, a necessity and as needed as food and water at times.  It is something that keeps us sane and, yes, it is nothing more than a carrying on of a man's need for his mommy.  I am not ashamed to say that I have been in situations of absolute, abject, life-threatening terror that I have screamed for my mommy.  I have screamed a few other words during the initial shock, but once the bone-chilling fear took hold and the reality of the fact that I might just die in a moment or two set in, I called out for my mommy.  Although, not quite the same, what more comforting feeling can a man have than when hi smother hugs him.  It is the ultimate protection, followed closely by pulling the covers up over our head.

I find that the next best thing is to just write it down here and share it with the greater world.  This is my version of the Doogie Hauser diary of the T.V. series of the same name.  I think that struck a chord and I am living that portion of wisdom in my own life.  I feel better now.  I still could use the hug, but now I can go on better without it.

Who I Want to Be

I want to be so many things, really.  I have been fortunate to have been so many things, but I am not a poet, nor songwriter, nor singer.  It is not for lack of inspration it is lack of ability and in the immortal words of Harry Callaghan, "A man's got to know his limitations."  So, I let the people that have the skills to do these things speak for me sometimes, for they do it and say it so much better than I ever could.

Once in my life, for one special woman, I want to inspire her to feel the things in this song.  She may not be able to write them or express them the way Carrie Underwood can, but she will be able to feel them for certain, and I want to be the man that makes her feel this way...

Mama you taught me to do the right things

So now you have to let your baby fly
You've given me everything that I will need
To make it through this crazy thing called life
And I know you watch me grow up and always want whats best for me
And I think I found the answer to your prayers

And he is good, so good
He treats your little girl like a real man should
He is good, so good, he makes promises he keeps
No he's never gonna leave
So dont you worry about me
Dont you worry about me

Mama theres no way you'll ever lose me
And giving me away is not goodbye
As you watch me walk down to my future, I hope tears of joy are in your eyes

Cuz he is good, so good
He treats your little girl like a real man should
He is good, so good, he makes promises he keeps
No he's never gonna leave
So dont you worry about me
Dont you worry about me

And when I watch my little baby grow I'll only want what's best for her
And I hope she'll find the answer to my prayers
And that she'll say

He is good, so good
He treats your little girl like a real man should
He is good, so good, he makes promises he keeps
No he's never gonna leave
So dont you worry about me
Dont you worry about me

Mama dont you worry about me

Dont you worry about me

Bumps and Holes

I have met some pretty strange people in my life; we all have, probably.  It is okay to think some people are weird.  We have established certain norms within our society that provide us with guidelines regarding what is socially acceptable.  We have laws.  These are the most formalized norms that define our society.  These daysm we find ourselves in a terrible battle betwen societies today regarding norms that define two different societies.  Fundamnetalist, Radical Muslims believe that if you are not a Fundamentalist, Radical Muslim that thinks exactly how they think, they can kill you, for you are an infidel.  We, the American society, generally believe in religious tolerance.  We believe in live and let live, and that all people have the absolute right to believe what they want.   The active word here is believe.  There are Baptists that believe I am goung to go to Hell because I am not a Baptist.  They want me to convert, but they accept that I have the right to believe what I want and make the choice, in their opinion, to go to Hell.

This is one of the most well-defined, formalized examples of the differences between people.  The ones that each of us have to deal with on a day-to-day basis are more subtle.  We have societal norms that we use to judge.  The homeless man or woman with all of his or her belongings in a shopping cart are generally looked down upon and judged harshly by most, but not all.  There are people in our society that have different beliefs about what is acceptable behavior sexually.  We have a loose underground group of people in our society that beleive in sex as a recreational activity.  In years gone by they were referred to as "swingers."  Most people do not understand this lifestyle, and they judge harshly, much like the homeless.  Of course there are differences between the comparisons, homelessness is often not a choice.  Swinging, group sex and complete sexual freedom is viewed as a choice.  It may not be for some people, but that is how it is viewed.

Have you ever thought about them; the odd among us, setting their oddities aside?  Most of these people are different.  They act different and behave different and that is what makes them odd.  Have you ever considered how one odd person finds another odd person and a relationship begins?  And once they find each other what is that makes them stay together?  I contend that people that operate outside the norms of our society are able to fit together.  One of them has holes in her head, another has bumps in his.  The key is when they put their heads together, the bumps in his head fit the holes in hers.  Ya, they are both weird, strange and otherwise out there, but they fit together.  They compliment each other and, to use the hackneyed words of Jerry MaGuire, they "complete" each other.  When  they are together they are whole.  When they complete each other, they make a whole that is greater than the sum of their respective parts.

There is very little difference between those we think of as strange and those of us we think of as normal, in many respects.   We are always just looking for the person who has the holes in her head that fit the bumps in ours.  That is how we can define true happiness and, in my opinion, how we can also define the realtionships between the people we know that are truly in love.  I have discovered that I have a pretty bumpy head and I am on the lookout for the woman that has a pretty holey head, but the holes have to be in just the right places.

The People You Meet in Life...

The other night I spent four hours in a telephone conversation with a woman.  This, in and of itself, is not record-breaking, but is noteworthy.  What is really astonishing is the fact that there was never a missed beat nor wasted moment in the entire conversation.  It was an exchange of ideas, thoughts, impressions, opinions, likes, dislikes and deal-breakers.  That last one, the deal breakers, was never reached.  There were seemingly no deal breakers.  Now that is really noteworthy.

This woman was/is bright, intelligent, articulate, open, honest and absolutely unashamed of who she is.  This made it easy for her to talk about herself.  She likes herself and, because she does, she has no trouble being positive about herself.  She also seems to believe, correctly in my opinion, that since she likes herself and accepts herself that there is nothing to be either ashamed of nor embarrassed about.  If someone does not like her, that is just fine with her.  There are too many other people in the world to worry about just one.  It is not that she does not care about what people think of her, she clearly cares deeply.  She is the kind of person that really enjoys pleasing others and gets off on it, but she also wants to be liked and loved for who she really is, for what she really believes and what she really likes and dislikes.

My father taught me that there are four kinds of people in the world each and every one of us will meet.  There are those that will like us for the right reasons.  There are those that will dislike us for the right reasons.  There are those that like us for the wrong reasosns.  Finally, there are those that will dislike us for the wrong reasons.  He told me that those that like you for the right reasons are those that can become your very best friends for life, and have found this to be true.  Those that dislike us for the right reasons are people we are just not meant to like or with whom we will be friends.  It is okay, we cannot be liked by everyone, and there are people taht are just not meant to get along.  Don't waste your time on them, it was just not meant to be.  The people that like you for the wrong reasons are the ones you really need to watch out for.  These are the people who really don't like you for anything other than what you have, what you can do for them or what they can get from you.  Beware, they are the users of the world, and they give little or nothing in return.  The people that dislike you for the wrong reason are the people worth spending a little time working on.  You might turn turn them into good friends, then again, you might not, but they are worth an effort.

I am not one to make snap judgments, but I am also a hopeful romantic, as oppsed to a sentamentalist, and I have hopes that this women and I will become friends and maybe more.  We have very similar ideas, thoughts and feelings.  One interestiung thing is that we agreed early on in this conversation to allow the subjects of conversation to the politically incorrect topics in polite company; politics, sex, money and religion.  If you can come to an agreement on these topics, other stuff is pretty negotiable.  I also find it is so much easier to discuss these topics and be completely honest before you become invested in a relationship.  Think about it, you don't know someone, you have no relationship of any kind and you have nothing to gain or lose really.  You discuss a sensitive topic and you say something the other person does not like, what happens?  You don't lose a friend or a lover, so you can be completely honest, hold nothing back and not have to worry about incredible consequences.  On the other hand, if you go out for a while, get emotionally involved, have a connection and then you find out that the man or woman is a religious fanatic, has declared personal bankruptcy three times and is a member of the Tea Party, while you are a card-carrying member of the ACLU, these can present a problem.  You lose the connection you have and there is frustration and disappointment and maybe even hard feelings.

I will admit that there are other very important factors that are not part of my four socially forbidden topics.  These include criminal convictions, substance abuse problems, ex-wives and girlfriends, etc, but these topics can often become easier to discuss once you have shared the forbidden topics.  It is a way to break the pattern of hide and seek in developing relationships.  Hey, if they have seen you naked, figuratively speaking, the rest comes a lot easier.

It may not work for everyone, but it works for me.  You might want to try it....

Dunkin’ Donuts Loses Farm Subsidy

Canton, MA – The Dunkin’ Donuts Corporation lost almost $2.2 million in farm subsidies today, a spokesperson for the Federal Department of Agriculture announced this morning. He went on to state that the corporation may have to pay back most, if not all, of past years’ subsidies. The loss stunned Dunkin’ Officials who immediately promised to appeal the decision.

The multi-billion dollar corporation lost the subsidies when agriculture officials made the finding that D.D. was not engaged in "legitimate agricultural activity," a fact revealed by federal investigators. After years of study, testing and review, we have not been able to reproduce a single donut in the fashion described by Dunkin’ Officials. We have planted thousands, if not millions, of Cheerios and we have yet to grow a single donut. They are just not donut seeds as the company has stated in applications for the subsidies.

A Dunkin’ Donuts spokesperson stated, “We have thousands of outlets the world over and they have followed our program to the letter, making billions of donuts and millions of dollars. Each day, Cheerios are planted and they are harvested and served to millions of satisfied customers.” “Cheerios are just donut seeds.”, he continued.

A separate investigation is underway, being conducted by the Federal Trade Commission and Food and Drug Administration, regarding allegations of fraud that deal with Dunkin' Donuts franchisees being scammed as a result of this growing donut controversy.  Federal officials state that these investigations may take several years to complete, given the requirement to complete several growing seasons.

When contacted regarding the allegations, spokespersons for General Mills, makers of Cheerios, could not stop laughing long enough to offer a comment.

How To Make A Bad Day Better

I got the call while she was on her way home. She was clearly upset and was not making a lot of sense. I invited her over, offering a shoulder on which to lean and a non-judgmental ear with which to listen. She accepted, as I suspected she would, because I knew this was a time when she needed to talk. She really needed someone that would just listen. Before she got here, I fixed a drink for her, put a pillow and a comforter on the couch and brought out my secret weapon, placing it cleverly under the end table where she would not see it.

When she got here, I gave her a lingering hug, kissed her gently, guided her to the couch, had her stretch out, covering her with the comforter, and offered her the drink. I sat with her feet in my lap and asked her to tell me about her day. The problems were really not as important for me to hear, as my advice was not being sought, merely my comfort. I slowly removed her shoes as she described the trials and tribulations of her day; the boss did this, Betty said that; and how all of it made her feel.

I reached down under the end table and discreetly brought out my secret weapon, a bottle of sesame massage oil. I poured a small amount in my hands, rubbing them together to warm the oil. As she talked I rubbed her left foot; first the underside with my thumbs; the ball of the foot and the arch, up and down the foot. I used a firm pressure, but not painful, enough to reach the sore and aching muscle deep within the foot. She sighed at the attention to her foot and continued to describe the ordeal that had been her day.

I rubbed the bottom of her foot with my fingers and the tops of her foot with my thumbs, moving up and down, steadily, feeling the tension working out of it. When the arches and sole of her foot had relaxed, I took each toe, one at a time, between my thumb and fingers, gently stretching each one ever so slightly while rubbing up and down on it. Again, I could feel the toes relax and I could see them almost uncurl, as they held the tension within them by gripping like little clenched fingers. Slowly they relaxed and straightened.

She had slowed her talking now, but was still describing everything that was wrong with the place where she worked and the people she worked for, but her voice occasionally trailed off to a deep relaxed sigh as I felt her foot relax and unwind. I moved my hands to her ankles and rubbed the strong and stressed muscles that had held her up on her feet most of the day. I rubbed with that perfect firmness the muscles in her ankle that had moved her foot as she had walked all day, my fingers cupping her heel, thumbs rubbing up and down each side of her ankle.

Her foot was limp at the ankle now and her toes all straight, the tension exorcised by the ministrations of my hands. She held her drink on her chest, having sipped most of it down during brief pauses in her account of the idiocy of that day. Her chest rose and fell more slowly now and she had stopped talking. She was too relaxed for speech, in too much pleasure for complaint. I could hear her sigh when I hit one of those just right spots she had that felt so good when they received the attention of my strong hands.

I laid her foot down, only to have her sigh in protest, but the protest quickly ended when I crossed her right ankle over her left and began to rub that foot. Careful not to pay more or less attention to the right foot than the left, lest one be jealous of the other.  I rubbed her other foot in the same strong, deliberate fashion as I had the other. Her words had ceased by now and she was only moaning in response to my attention to her right foot, more so than she had to my working her left foot, but she had relaxed by now and her stress was clearly cut my more than half, so she could truly enjoy the attention.

As I rubbed that remaining foot and felt the tension flowing out of her body through it, I finished to find that she was sound asleep, breathing deeply and completely relaxed finally. As gently and carefully as I could, I lifted her feet and got off the couch, taking from her hand the drink, now containing nothing more than melting ice. I quietly walked into the kitchen and started cooking the dinner I knew she would be hungry for when she awakened.

First Date

I saw her as she walked in the door. She had hair the color of chestnut and eyes the color of the turquoise seas one only finds in the islands. Her shape was athletic, but the kind of athletic that comes from work, not working out, and her skin had a tan that was healthy. She looked like a model of the girl next door, a description that each and every man understands the minute he hears it, and she was here to meet me.

She saw me seated at the bar, a bar at which I was well-known, not because I hang out at bars, but because it was owned by a friend of mine. I hoped that being on a first name basis with the bartender would be seen as somehow impressive, and I felt like I needed every advantage I could get. The nervousness was palpable as she approached me with a smile on her face. She had recognized me from a picture we had traded online, and I was glad to see that it was a smile and not that ”oh my God” look that usually results in a mid-date phone call that requires her to leave on an ”emergency” of some imagined nature.”

We shook hands and said hello, then I kissed her lightly on the back of her hand, looking her in the eyes. I could smell the light aroma of her perfume on her hand and it was an aroma just like her, simple and understated. She sat down at the bar stool and ordered, much to my shock and delight, a Scotch and water. This was my kind of woman and I figured that both of us drinking Scotch as a guest enhancer would have many advantages.

I assessed that she did not have any idea how beautiful she was and lacked the self-confidence that would have come with seeing in the mirror that which I saw in front of me. She had dreams and visions of the future, but she always couched them in terms of the unobtainable. She knew better what she was never to be than what she could become. It was the one less-than-attractive thing about her and it would haunt us both.

We talked for a couple of hours, eating appetizers to ward off the hunger pangs, neither of us wanting to have a full dinner for some reason. We really didn’t need the food to quickly stuff in our mouths when there was that pregnant pause in the conversation that we both had expected, for that pause did not come. We left the bar, a slight glow from the alcohol within us, and walked to the seawall that held back the waters of the Intracoastal Waterway. There we sat for longer than we had planned, once again talking and once again feeling like we had known each other far longer than the time we had spent together.

As we sat on the seawall, the moon hung low over the horizon and gleamed off the water, which lay flat as glass, giving the impression of being frozen. We held hands as we talked about the beauty of the water, both of us stalling, waiting for the moment we both hoped would come, the sooner the better. Finally, there was a pause, we leaned towards one another, and our lips met softly, slightly parted, just a hint of our tongues brushing each other’s lightly. The softness of her lips was incredible. This was the kind of kiss that men go to war to protect. It was the kind of kiss that keeps them going, with a deep breath and a sigh at the memory of it. It was beyond wonderful.  It was the kiss that makes you dare think, "could she be 'The One'?"

We parted that night more because we had to than we wanted to, but it was the first night of many that would be indelibly etched into my memory and burned into my soul. It would become the evening to which all others would be compared and the evening that was to begin the breaking of my heart.

Honor, Values and Love

I used to think that being a good person was all about telling the truth, doing good deeds, and basically being a Boy Scout. I learned this as a young man as a real, live, honest to God, Boy Scout. I learned the words: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent. I lived these words, as best I could, my entire adult life; sometimes more successfully than others to be honest, but I did my best. I have started to think differently and I learned that values must sometimes be sacrificed on the altar of love. I have not abandoned my beliefs in any of these values, but I have grown, gained experience and, at the risk of appearing arrogant, and I admit that I can be arrogant, I have become wiser. I have gained a different kind of insight, an insight I did not have before and I hope that I have not gained it too late in life.


A good life can be lived by finding that one thing that means more than anything else in the world to you, and when you do find her, you fight for her. You risk it all. You put her in front of everything; your future, your life, all of it. Maybe the kinds of things you do for her are not so clean and honorable, and maybe they do not fit into the kind of values that I learned as a Boy Scout, but it doesn’t matter, because in your heart you know that the juice is worth the squeeze. That is what moral fiber is all about, and that my friends is what love is all about.

Love is all about sacrificing, but the sacrifice brings you joy and pleasure and the kind of satisfaction that doing something for someone you love can only bring. It is the sacrifice that does not require a return and is given as a gift with no expectations. I was once told that a successful relationship has two people in it giving more than 100%. If two people are giving 100%, then the relationship can never fail, for when one, for whatever reason, cannot give that more than 100%, there is always enough left over to make the relationship keep working.

I have learned that often you cannot be all the things I learned to be in my youth all at the same time. Sometimes you cannot be trustworthy and still be kind. You cannot always tell the truth because you will hurt someone. Sometimes you cannot be obedient and be loyal, because you have been asked by someone to do something that is wrong. Sometimes you cannot be cheerful in the face of adversity or the suffering of another, especially the one you love. And sometimes, it is an act of kindness not to be helpful, for the act of kindness can create dependence.

Thinking about love makes me think about what I would do for someone I truly loved and I have learned that, for myself, it is just about anything. I would steal to feed them, kill to save them, lie to protect them and spend all I had to make them happy, but first I would try all within my power to make sure that it is never necessary to do any of these things for them and, in a perfect world, they would never make me do any of them.

Unconditional Love

There is a theory in our human existence we call unconditional love.  It is a mysterious and elusive concept, much more applicable to pets than people, really, but each of us searches, sometime endlessly for it.  I am not certain I have known unconditional love in the human realm.  I am not sure I needed to test it if I did find it, but I have most certainly tested it, assuming I have ever experienced it, and with that test, I have lost it.  You see, if we test that love, we know only how to test it to the breaking point, but theoretically, unconditional lover has no breaking point.  A conundrum is it not?

The closest I think humans get to unconditional love is that which we experience with young children and pets.  Young children will love you regardless of what you do to them and our history is replete with examples of children that have loved their parents, truly, deeply and unconditionally even while enduring the worst abuse imaginable.  Eventually however, children grow up and learn that their circumstances are unacceptable and learn not to love abusive parents, and this is as it should be, in my estimation.  The love of an abused child for their abuser is based on more of a dependence than love.  Pets on the other hand, never really figure out that they really should bite the hand that feeds them sometimes.  Getting kicked when their so-called master/owner comes home from a bad day at work is not in their job description, but, for whatever reason, they still wag their tails and love them in spite of it all.

Their remains, however, that concept, that yearning and that hunger we all have for unconditional love, no matter how unlikely it may be.  I am a romantic, and there are those that would say I am a hopeless romantic.  I prefer to think of myself as a hopeful romantic.  I still believe in the concept of almost unconditional love.  I think, like most men, I may have even found it a couple of times, but foolishly tested the limits of that love and lost them.  I think it was a result of youthful stupidity or maybe a disbelief that anyone could love me as deeply as I loved them.  A friend of mine told me years ago something wise and brilliant.  He said, "You cannot truly love another until you have learned to love yourself. For if you are not worthy of your own love, then how can it be a gift you value enough to give to another.  Certainly, if you are not worthy of self love then any love you give is worthless."

I do not look into the mirror each morning and marvel at what stares back at me and anyone that stands behind me and does is blind, but the woman that sees through the faults and the years, and particularly the miles, and sees something I have just come to see myself is the woman I seek in life.  She is the woman that sees everything there is to see about me, knows everything there is to know about me and likes me anyway.  This is unconditional love; the kind of love that endures and the kind of love that does not need to be tested.  It is there.  It is constant.  It is true, and it is as unconditional a love as we humans are able to give and receive.

I Think I have felt that love three times in my life.  Twice I felt it from another and once I offered that love to another.  Unfortunately, as they say about life, timing is everything, and what I felt from others was not what I felt for them and the one time I felt that way for someone, they did not return those feeling for me.  Hearts were broken and lives changed, some for the better, some for the worse, unfortunately; then we cry, but we change.  We improvise, we adapt, we overcome, but mostly we learn, and we become wiser, and we begin our search anew, wiser and smarter to be sure, but also with the knowledge that the adventure of finding unconditional love, though difficult and oft times painful, will bring us unimaginable joy that will make up for the pain, sorrow and heartache that we encounter on the journey to unconditional love.

WTF!!!??? What Did I Do To You???

Back in Mid October, I got a comment to this blog that was rather hostile. As a result, I chose to delete it, but my conscience has been bothering me for doing so, as the act of just deleting it goes against my beliefs as a Liberal; that whole freedom of speech thing and all. Thus, I shall, through the use of that wonder of cut and paste, reproduce it here. [Please note that any and all errors in grammar are faithfully reproduced from the original. I used different fonts and a different color to differentiate the comments from my reply.]

"You are really a pathetic man.You use big words to make it seem like you are really smart.All you want is somebody to clean your house,pay your bills and give you sex when you want it.You talk about your job and how much you dislike it..Be lucky you even have one at all with the attitude you have.To top it off..you voted for a man that has no idea of how to run a country..Get a life buddy..You seem like a self absorbed looser to me with nothing else to do than write on a stupid blog.You are not even good looking at all.I can see why you are on Match.com..... I myself was on Match.com and all the so called men on that sight are just players and liars that really don't have any clue as what a real realationship is..Good luck finding what ever it might be that you are searching for."

Okay, that is the unedited version of the comment. Now, I am not so Liberal as to not take advantage of being the "head blogger what be in charge" here and allow it to go without response. Allow me to indulge in my editorial reply, point by point.

"You are really a pathetic man." Really? How would you know? Based on what deep and well-thought-out knowledge is such a harsh and negative judgment made? You know me? I doubt it. If you are an ex-girlfriend, might I suggest you have the courage of your convictions and call me on the phone to bitch at me in a less public forum?

"You use big words to make it seem like you are really smart." Actually, I thought being articulate in one's native tongue was, by definition, part of being smart. I have been accused of using 25-cent words when 5-cent words will do. I plead guilty as charged. However, I do not use words that I cannot define or use in a sentence correctly. I suggest that if you are not able to understand the words I use, that you take the opportunity to better yourself by utilizing that publication called a dictionary and learn a new word or two. Personally, I find the concept that I have to dumb myself down to your level of ignorance abhorrent (look it up). Just for the record, I do not use big words to make myself seem smart. I really am smart, and it ain't bragging if it's true. Very clearly, this individual enters a battle of wits unarmed. I also know this is not an ex-girlfriend as they would know I really am smarter than the average bear.

"All you want is somebody to clean your house,pay your bills and give you sex when you want it." First, I own a modest house that I keep clean all by myself. I do my own laundry, even. Okay, I will admit that I do not mow my own lawn, I choose to pay someone to mow over three acres. Call me lazy. Second, I am very well able to pay any and all of my bills and enjoy a very expensive hobby called aviation. Hell, I own a plane for cryin' out loud. My cars, yes a couple of them, were paid for in cash. I have no credit card debt, no mortgage and no car payments. I can live on a $1,000 a month if required, but it isn't required as I make a lot more than that, fortunately. How badly do I need someone to pay my bills? Finally, I plead absolutely and unapologetically guilty to wanting to find someone with whom I can have sex anytime I want it. Also whenever they want it or whenever anyone else wants us to if that increases the number of times we have sex. Having said that, I would do my best to please my partner in that regard and try my best to give as good as I get. It is purely selfish...they may want to do it more often if I am any good at it.

"You talk about your job and how much you dislike it. Be lucky you even have one at all with the attitude you have." You misunderstand. I do not hate my job. Clearly, you did not read my article on hate, but anyway, I actually enjoy my job and I am very happy to have a job in this economy, although I will admit the five or six years I was retired were a lot more fun. What I complain about (not hate) is the pinheads for whom I work. They are inefficient, ineffective, intellectually dishonest and moral and ethical cowards. Since I work for a governmental agency, paid for by my tax dollars as much as yours, I reserve the Right to suggest how that agency can be run more effectively and efficiently; more Americans should. That is my opinion and belief, to which I am entitled. We live in a wonderful country where we can agree to disagree. I fought for that Right, for you and the rest of this country, and do not recall anyone abrogating (again...look it up) it for me.

"To top it off..you voted for a man that has no idea of how to run a country." Again, we will have to agree to disagree. You have the absolute Right to your opinion, as do I. Please vote your conscience, those of us who served in the military (maybe even you) paid for it, please exercise it. As I have said before, I have defended, at the risk of my life, your Right to shout at the top of your lungs an opinion I would spend a lifetime opposing.  I actually have a complaint with Obama.  In my opinion, he should have ignored the entire Republican Party, told them, "Sit down, shut and hold on.  You're in for a Hell of a ride!"  Then he should have used the Democratic majority in the House and Senate to ram legislation through, but he chose to try to be bi-partisan with an opposition that is not a "loyal" opposition determined to improve the country, but an opposition dedicated to maintaining their own power at all costs and lining their own pockets.

"Get a life buddy." First, I am clearly not your buddy. Second, I have a life. A good life, in fact an excellent life. Hell, if life where any better I would have to be twins, but I am human and I just like to bitch. That, we appear to have in common.

"You seem like a self absorbed looser to me with nothing else to do than write on a stupid blog." Not that I wish to nit-pick, but "looser" is spelled "loser" and self absorbed, in the context in which you use it, should be hyphenated. I write because I enjoy it, and other people have told me they enjoy reading it, but I write for me, so I would do it even if nobody liked it. Apparently the price I pay is comments from people like you. Oh, well. I don't think my blog is "stupid" and who cares anyway. You don't have to read it, now do you?

"You are not even good looking at all." You're absolutely right. I am not good looking at all. I never have claimed, nor will I ever claim, to be an Adonis or any other Greek god-like creature. I guess that is why I am paid for what I know and not what I look like. We can't all be Brad Pitt or Matt Damon or Sean Connery or Harrison Ford, but who really cares? Is it really that important? Was your purpose to demean me based on something as insignificant as my appearance; toward what end? Gee, am I a lesser person because I am not model handsome? Thank God, I do not judge based on such superficial criteria.

"I can see why you are on Match.com." Not that I really care what you think as to why I am on Match.com, or more accurately, was on Match.com, but I was there looking to find someone. I do not hang out in bars, and live in a place that the dating pool is more like a shallow puddle. Match.com deepened the dating pool. Is there something about that that you feel demeans me in some way? I note you were on that site as well.  Is this the pot calling the kettle black?  The fact you were apparently not able to find someone, not surprising, actually, may have more to do with your nasty attitude than a failure on the part of Match.com and the people on it.

"I myself was on Match.com and all the so called men on that sight are just players and liars that really don't have any clue as what a real realationship is." Okay...In no particular order of importance; "so called" should be hyphenated when modifying a pronoun and "realationship" is spelled wrong. Might I, at this point, recommend spell check? Clearly, I doubt that you have met every man on Match.com, so any judgment about every man on that site must be purely a guess on your part. I will not presume to think you are a slut, so you cannot have dated that many men from that site. Thus, your sample is probably not large and therefore not terribly representative of "all men" on the site and I doubt they are all "just players [whatever that means] and liars that really don't have any clue what a real relationship is." By the way, you really shouldn't end a sentence in a preposition, comments by Winston Churchill to the contrary (again, look it up). If I am wrong in my assumption and you have dated a statistically significant sample of all men on Match.com, I am sorry, you may be right in your assessment, but you really are a slut!

"Good luck finding what ever it might be that you are searching for." Thank you, your sarcasm notwithsatnding. Note, whatever, is one word and again, what is it with you and the prepositions?

In conclusion and to summarize; what the Hell did someone do to you to make you so incredibly bitter? Do you have something genuinely wedged so far up your ass that it causes you to be this way? See a proctologist, will ya? Have you been hurt so badly by someone that your outlook on life can be this negative? If this is the case, please find a male friend and have them pummel that individual repeatedly about the head and shoulders with a baseball bat. They deserve it if they created an attitude like yours in anyone. However, I would suggest, as an alternative, that if you find that you have been with multiple men that all fit the same mold, that of bad boy that has treated you badly, you might try choosing someone that does not fit that mold. At the risk of being the victim of more abuse, take a look at my blog on bad boys. You might learn something.

The Defense rests!!

Take That !!!!

This evening I had absolutely nothing to do, which is really kind of pathetic, considering it was Friday night.  That being said, I was on-call, which prevented me from drinking or leaving a rather large area, but restrictioning nonetheless.  These are times when one finds things to do; like re-organizing your wallet, sorting your sock drawer and emptying your email inbox.  I chose to engage in another, I thought meaningless, task.  I went through the contact list of my cell phone and deleted contacts that were old and outdated.

I was surprised at the number of these that were in my phone.  There were some 350-plus total contacts, and I was surprised at how many of them were worthy of deletion.  Some for the usual reason that they were just old, others because they were temporary in nature, while others were people I just had no idea who they were anymore.  Then, there were those that were very special.  The numbers of women I had broken up with in the past.  Now this is not an incredibly long list, which I suppose makes it an exclusive list, but it is a very meaningful list I came to find.

I scrolled through the contact list and every time I came to one of these special entries, I pondered it carefully.  I thought, do I really want to delete this person?  I considered the impact.  If they ever called, they would no longer come up in my phone as a name on the screen, they would come as numbers that I might not recognize.  Thus, I might actually answer the phone, and I had no desire, nor reason, to speak with them, but I could not resist.  In a couple of cases, I called the number, only to find that they had been disconnected.  In one case I got an answer and quickly hung up, having no idea who answered the phone.   I shall plead abject cowardice for this lack of backbone.  In a couple of cases I sent a text, and have no idea as to whether it was received or if the number was disconnected, as I got no reply.  In the end, I hit the menu button, scrolled down to "delete" and hot the select key.  Poof, the entry was erased.

There is something therapeutic about erasing a person from the contact list.  It is an act of finality.  It is the ultimate end, short of killing someone.  They no longer have the value of the minuscule data bits required to store the entry in the memory of my phone.  It is a kind of existential act of destruction that, for whatever reason, is supremely satisfying.  Regardless of whatever fault I may hold in the break-ups, it is still satisfying to be done with it in a manner of speaking.  Interesting how the act of pushing a button and eliminating a name from a list can have such an impact.

I presume life will go on uninterrupted for those deleted and, unless they got the text and just failed to respond, will never know they have existentially rubbed out, erased, deleted and otherwise eliminated.  The feeling of finality is for me and, like I said, is supremely satisfying.  Life can now move on.

Never Mistake Kindness for Weakness

I have found that I have gotten quite a few responses to my blogs entries in recent weeks, but I find it amazing at the number of women, and a few men, that the gist of their response is "You're a WIMP!!" I find that somewhat astonishing. The men I can write off to jealousy, maybe, but the women I do not understand. Since when does being in touch with your emotions, knowing what you want and being willing to treat people, women in particular, like you would want to be treated equate to being a wimp, woos, nerd or geek? Okay, I may be a geek, but then so is Bill Gates, and the woman that is kicking herself now is the one that laughed and said no when he asked her to the high school prom.

I have educated myself, served my fellow man for my entire adult life, often in positions that required me to wear a bulletproof vest and a gun, not because I was macho, but not because I was a coward either.  Winston Churchill said, "Fear is a reaction.  Courage is a decision."  I admit to being scared, sometimes out of my mind, but I made the decision to get past it.  I have been successful in my business dealings. I have been successful because I was lucky, yes, but also because I was smart, honest and cared for the people that worked for me. The honesty and caring part has cost me more money than I care to recount, but I have remained true to myself. I have tried to live as Shakespeare had Polonius entreating Laertes, "This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." Honor above all else is the way I have interpreted this. You may not like what I have to say, but you will never have to question that I believe what I am saying.

I am not sure what this has to do with relationships, which is the context in which it is most often broached, but it certainly does not equate to weakness, nor being a wimp. Security and insecurity come from deep within a person. You either like yourself or you don't; and yes, I like myself for who I am, as well as what I have done with my life. Sure, we all feel periods of self-pity, but we do not allow our life to revolve around them. If being able to articulate feelings and honest emotions makes me a wimp; if understanding something about the wants, needs and desires of another makes me a wimp, then I shall proudly bear it as a badge of honor, just as proudly as I have worn military ribbons and medals.

To those that would have me believe I am less than who I believe myself to be I would tell them: Life is not a zero-sum game; for someone to win there does not have to be a loser. Because one has something, does not mean he took it from someone else or you. Earn it for yourself and do not expect it to be given to you by someone else's hard work. Karl Marx wrote, "From each, according to his ability; to each, according to his need." This is the very definition of socialism and in a capitalist society such as ours; this thinking will result in frustration and jealousy.

Do not mistake my kindness and sensitivity for weakness, for I am not weak, nor helpless, nor a coward. I am a man that, after many years of reflection, understands what would make me happy and the things I offer to make a very special woman very happy...unconditional love.

Just Shut Up and Listen !!!

As I think I have mentioned before, I work as an investigator and, as such, it is my job to gather information.  The kind of information I gather can be a bit technical and rather specific, but regardless, at the root of any investigation is the search for the truth.  What someone does with the information is a different matter, and they may not want to know the truth (like there were never really any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq), but that really does not matter, it is what it is.

Recently, I listened to a person that is A) allegedly an investigator and B) is an extremely well-educated (please note, I do not use the term smarter) man conduct an interview.  I was appalled at the conduct of the interview, and I am quite sure that the individual conducting it would never, under any circumstances acknowledge the error or improper conduct.  The conduct of the interview consisted of a series of leading questions put to a less-than-well-educated individual.  The questioning clearly was designed to lead to a predetermined conclusion that the interviewer had already reached.  The questions were like, "It was hot out at the time, right?"  "You saw the guy that did this, didn't you?"  "He had a gun in his left hand?"  Although these questions have nothing to do with the case to which I refer, it gets the point across.  Since the interview situation was not a courtroom, there was no one to object to the leading nature of the questions, however, it could be one day, and that is where the problem may lie.

The transcript of the interview will clearly indicate to anyone reading it that the interviewer had already made up their mind what the answers should be and was doing everything they could to get to that conclusion.  It was not so much an interview as it was one person figuratively taking hold of another's nose and pulling them down the path the interviewer desired to go down.  The first clue is when you get answers like, "If you say so."  "Ya, I guess." or just plain "Yes" and "No" answers without the need to explain, because all the information is already contained in the question.  This was a p*ss poor way to conduct an interview.

The thing that made this all that much worse is that the person conducting the interview is an individual with one of those titles that goes with advanced degrees.  Members of an older generation that have a presumptive respect for people that hold such positions tend to acquiesce to these people, regardless of whether they are right or not.  Imagine arguing with your doctor as to whether you have Benign Prostatic Hypertrophy or Carcinoma of the Prostate.  Sure, you may get a second opinion, but it is to confirm what your doctor says.  You do not automatically assume he is wrong.  So you have to be careful to make sure that people are not acquiescing to your position or authority when conducting an interview.

This brings up another issue.  How many people actually know what Benign Prostatic Hypertrophy and Prostatic Intraepithelial Neoplasia are, much less the difference between the two?  Hell, even the Doctors use "BPH" and "PIN" to describe these conditions !!  (FYI - Both are cause for swelling of a man's protate gland.  The first is not a problem, the second is a precursor of Prostate Cancer and will kill you.).   An interview has to be done in the language of the person being interviewed, not the language of the person doing the interview.  A doctor (at least a smart one) will not ask, Do you have "dysuria"?  He will ask you if it hurts when you urinate, or when you pee, depending on the patient.  A police officer will not ask a woman if she has been the victim of an "aggravated sexual battery", he will ask (in the gentlest way possible, hopefully) "Ma'am, have you been sexually assaulted?"  In come cases, to make sure they are being understood, police may have to ask, "Ma'am, were you raped?"  When trynig to get information, subtle legal distinctions need to be put aside in the search for the facts and that means the language has to be at the common denominator, but I digress.

In the case I am referring to now, the individual asked a woman a bunch of questions that not only lead her to a conclusion, but he asked them in a manner that she clearly did not understand.  The answers she gave had nothing to do with what happened and everything to do with agreeing with the better-educated man probably for fear of feeling ignorant or stupid.  This is not a basis on which a search for the truth should be based.

People with [low] self-esteem issues often manage to make up for these issues by getting into positions in which they have authority, and they get this authority by becoming well-educated.  They may have few "people-skills"  nor understand the world around them to a great extent, preferring to impose themselves on the world around them and impress everyone with what they know.  If you are truly a seeker of the truth, this can get in the way, to say the least.  All you really need to do is ask the simple question, like Why? and then just shut up and listen to the "Because."

Intimacy vs. Passion

A few nights ago I was laying in bed, in a drug induced fog, thanks to my dentist and a prescription for Percocet.  I found myself missing someone in my bed.  I am not referring to a sex partner, but a person with whom to cuddle, to spoon, one arm around her, a hand gently cupping her breast, the softness of skin against mine and the sound of her breathing deeply and sweetly.  I know this is sounding sexual, but it really isn't.  It is intimacy.  I have always believed that the act of sleeping together in such a way is actually more intimate than sex in may ways, or maybe in just a different way.

The act of sleeping together, without the expectation or anticipation of sex, allows a man and a woman to become intimate in a sense that sex does not.  It is a more passive kind of intimacy whereas sex is a more active state in more than just the physical.  Sleeping together is satisfying in an almost spiritual sense.  You comfort one another and the mere act of being together is enough.  There are no expectations of giving or receiving pleasure.  If there are no expectations, there can be no frustrations, no disappointments and no sadness.  You provide all that is needed by your partner by just being there and this is an act of ultimate intimacy.

Don't get me wrong, I think that sex, and more accurately, making love, are the best things around, but, as I said, they are different.  They are active and therefore require action and actions can be judged by performance.  One can perform well or poorly, or not at all, which can be extremely disappointing when performance is expected.  The act of sleeping together does not require action, beyond that of an ability to cuddle, an art that is not difficult.  Trust me, if I can manage it, almost anyone can.  Once you have gotten into that perfect position, you go to sleep, but before you do, you experience the feel of your partner's body against yours, the rise and fall of your partner's chest as they breathe, the sound of their breathing, the smell of their skin and hair, and the sound of their sighs as they drift off to sleep with you.

There is something divine about this passive process.  It is the intimacy that comes with you being you, nothing more, nothing less.  There is no pressure, no expectation or requirement to please in the act of making love.  It is a true sharing without the need to give and take, really.  The ultimate level playing field on which you both lie together as one and truly enjoy one another.

Sometimes, Someone Says It Better....(Part 2)

In my continuing belief that sometimes someone just says things better than I ever could, I offer the words to a song by a group with the unlikely name of "Hoobastank".  A friend sent it to me a few years ago at a particularly low time in my life and I share it with you....

The video is a little strange, but can be seen on YouTube at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLaXVI3ICp4&feature=channel

"The Reason"

I'm not a perfect person
There's many things I wish I didn't do
But I continue learning
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

I'm sorry that I hurt you
It's something I must live with everyday
And all the pain I put you through
I wish that I could take it all away
And be the one who catches all your tears
Thats why i need you to hear

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is You

and the reason is You [x3]

I'm not a perfect person
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

I've found a reason to show
A side of me you didn't know
A reason for all that I do
And the reason is you

Sometimes, Someone Says It Better (Part 1)

We all listen to radios, CD's and read poetry at times in our lives because sometimes people say things that just speak to us, individually and collectively.  I was listening to the radio as I drove home tonight and I heard a song by Michael Buble (pronounced: booblay....I think).  It is a very upbeat tune and the words spoke to me, so I share them with you.  If you would like to listen, you can go to the following link to hear it and sing along....

http://www.directlyrics.com/michael-buble-havent-met-you-yet-lyrics.html

I'm Not Surprised
Not Everything Lasts
Have Broken My Heart So Many Times,
I Stopped Keepin Track.
Talk Myself In
I Talk Myself Out
I Get All Worked Up
Then I Let Myself Down.

I Tried So Very Hard Not To Lose It
I Came Up With A Million Excuses
I Thought I Thought Of Every Possibility


And I Now Someday That It'll All Turn Out
You'll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out
And I Promise You Kid That I'll Give So Much More Than I Get
I Just Haven't Met You Yet

Mmmmm ....

I Might Have To Wait
I'll Never Give Up
I Guess It's Half Time
And The Other Half's Luck

Wherever You Are
Whenever It's Right
You Come Out Of Nowhere And Into My Life

And I Know That We Can Be So Amazing
And Baby Your Love Is Gonna Change Me
And Now I Can See Every Possibility

Hmmmmm ......

And Somehow I Know That Will All Turn Out
And You'll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out
And I Promise You Kid I'll Give So Much More Than I Get
I Just Haven't Met You Yet

They Say All's Fair
And In Love And War
But I Won't Need To Fight It
We'll Get It By It ??
To Be United

And I Know That We Can Be So Amazing
And Being In Your Life Is Gonna Change Me
And Now I Can See Every Single Possibility

Hmmm .....

And Someday I Know It'll All Turn Out
And I'll Work To Work It Out
Promise You Kid I'll Give More Than I Get
Than I Get Than I Get than I Get

Oh You Know It Will All Turn Out
And You'll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out
And I Promise You Kid To Give So Much More Than I Get
Yeah I Just Haven't Met You Yet

I Just Haven't Met You Yet
Oh Promise You Kid
To Give So Much More Than I Get

I Said Love Love Love Love Love Love Love .....
I Just Haven't Met You Yet
Love Love Love .....
I Just Haven't Met You Yet

Do Unto Others

Most of us have heard the Biblical saying, Do unto others as you would have done unto you.  That may not be an exact quote, but the sentiment is definitely there, save a word or two.  I have tried to practice this and, to tell the truth, it has caused some problems.  Nothing insurmountable, just problematic.  While I was doing unto others, they were taking advantage.  I guess that is the price we pay sometimes.

I have friends that could not be more grateful for my help.  I also know that they would do whatever they are able to help me whenever I need it.  I do not do the things I do to help because I expect to need their help at some point and, as a matter of fact, I hope to never have the need arise where I might need it.  Maybe the fact that I know they would help me if I needed it makes them different and get the adjective "friend" attributed to them.  I have found others that think I am a sucker for helping when there is nothing in it for me.  I guess it is a mater of personal philosophy.

Sure, I have been screwed a few times; more than I care to count and admit actually, but I was not lessened by the experience.  I was, in fact, improved and am a better person for the experience.  I would probably help them again, even if I knew I was going to be screwed.  Why?  Because I can.  I had he ability to help and they needed my help, or so it seemed, so I did.  If they lied, cheated or stole from me, it made them less of a good person, not me.  I am not sure, however, having been screwed over once by someone, they would be given he opportunity to do it again.  It would be a matter of trust at that point.  Then again, some people are a lot better at receiving than giving.  In the immortal words of "Dirty" Harry Callaghan, "A man's got to know his limitations."

So, I will keep on doing unto others because it makes me feel good to help, but I will try not to be stupid about it.  After all, if someone that does not deserve to get my help gets it, then someone who really needs my help might not get it.  I guess that is what is meant by judgment.

"Untamed Va-jay-jay"...Puh-leeeeez

Did the title get your attention?  It did me too, only I was in the grocery store this afternoon and it was there on the shelf as big as life.  I laughed out loud and it got me a few unwanted glances.  The phrase "Untamed Va-jay-jay" was on the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine.  Now, I will defend with my life the absolute right of Cosmopolitan to have whatever they want on their cover.  I do not in any way, manner, shape, nor form question whether they should have and do have the right to put that on their cover.  On a purely First Amendment basis, I applaud the fact that I live in a country where they can do so.  Okay, disclaimer over....

I just wonder; at what point did we become a society where it made any sense to put that on the cover of a magazine?  When did we become a society that is concerned with the care and grooming of the female genitalia in a public way?  I kinda liked it when issues such as this were limited to discussions between a woman and her OB/GYN and/or her husband or boyfriend.  I will freely admit that I have personal preferences in this regard, but these preferences are of no concern to anyone but me and a woman with whom I have a relationship of sufficient quality that allows us to have these kinds of conversations.  Is this a subject that lends itself to public discussion?  I really don't think so, but then that is just my own opinion and each and everyone on the planet has the absolute right to disagree with me.

Free speech... This is a really touchy issue (no pun intended) to many, many people.  I defend the right of the KKK to march down the main street in predominantly Jewish Skokie, Illinois.  I do not support the opinions of the KKK, nor their beliefs, but I do believe that, as despicable as they may be, their right to engage in displays expressing their abhorrent opinions is the price we pay to live in a free and open society.  In my not-so-humble opinion, it would be a great day if, when these racists and bigots marched, they were ignored;  no counter-protesters, no observers, no curious onlookers, just an empty street.  Heck, if the businesses closed down, for the hour or so they marched, it would be that much better.  Imagine if they held a march and nobody came?  What kind of message would that send to people?  There are those that think we cannot allow such a display go without some sort of response, but the act of ignoring them sends the message that they are meaningless and unworthy of response or reply.  It does not imply that we accept anything they represent, nor does it imply that we agree with it.  It does recognize our tolerance for an extraordinarily divergent view, one that, in other countries and other times, would have resulted in people being shot or at least rounded up and imprisoned.

While the comparison of these two issues may not seem to be of equal measure, and I don't think they are, the point is the same.  Sometimes, just because you have the right to do something, does not mean it is a good idea to do it.  I have the absolute right to go into downtown Harlem and start yelling the "N"-word at the top of my lungs, and presumably the police, regardless of whether they wanted to, would probably be obliged to protect me.  I do wonder if it would constitute inciting a riot, and it probably would incite one.  Many people are so personally and viscerally offended by this word that they do not see the philosophical importance of the First Amendment and are incited to violence.  I shall leave the right and/or wrong of it to the opinions of individual readers.

It is very interesting how such a seemingly funny and relatively insignificant title like "Untamed Va-jay-jay" can be the seed for deep and meaningful thought and discussion.  I cannot help but wonder if that makes my argument just a little less effective, possibly negating it completely, but if we have to be motivated by the socially acceptable grooming styles of the vulva to consider meaningful social and democratic ideas, what does that say about us?

Grunt, Grunt.....

Regardless of who we are as men, there is a little bit of Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor in all of us guys.  Yes, this includes the intellectuals, the geeks, nerds and dweebs too.  I learned a long time ago that men like to fix things.  Some of us are better at it than others, but there is a strange sense of pride and accomplishment that goes with stretching the edges of your personal envelope and fixing something you have never worked on before. Now, I am not talking about changing the oil in our cars or some other mundane mechanical maintenance.  I am talking about really getting in there and fixing something that is broke, busted and otherwise, not working.

Previously, I figured out that changing disk brakes on a modern, post 2000, car or SUV is not, contrary to what repair shops would have you believe, rocket science.  There are no engineering degrees required and contrary to the aforementioned repair shops, once you have the problem figured out, it ain't that hard.  When you hear the brakes making noise, you are down to a chatter strip that is designed to tell you that you have 10% or less of brake pad left.  Time to replace the brake pads...duh!!  And...again contrary to popular belief, you do not have to have the disks turned, or ground down smooth every time.  Trust me, the brake pads will wear in just fine after in a few hundred miles.  So, it is a matter of taking the old parts out, reversing the procedure and putting the new parts in.  How much does it cost to put in new brake pads?  I did it for less than $100.00 for my front wheels and used really good, top of the line, pads.  I probably could have done it for less than $60.00 if I used the cheap stuff.

My most recent endeavor was at home repair and was a much more risky venture.  My air conditioning crapped out and left me with 85 degree temperatures inside.  This is wholly unacceptable!  I checked out the system and quickly determined that the motor that turns the outside (condenser) fan was not turning.  This, in turn, does not allow the coolant to be cooled in the coils and thus, you are just recycling heated coolant, which accomplishes very little, obviously. I found the fan motor to be very hot to the touch, not something good for an electric motor. So, being a fairly bright guy, I shut the power off to the unit.  I hear they can be  very pretty when they burn, but my house being very close and being made of wood, made it inadviseable to test this observation.

Now the first thing you do is take pictures of everything with your trusty color, digital camera.  I took pictures of the label on the outside of the fan unit and found the serial number and model number of the unit.  It is so much easier to look at the picture than try to write it all down and read your handwriting later.  I then went online and started Googling numbers and parts, like the model and serial number of the unit and term "motor".  Poof...I came up with all sorts of motors, sources and prices.  Please note that I was rudely awakened to find my air conditioner was installed in 1991, but knowing that I could get the parts, I went back outside and started taking out screws and things to get the bad motor out.  Once I got that done, I took pictures of the motor label, brown burn marks and all (I told you they get really hot), and had a serial number, model number and some specifications for the motor.  Oh, and to get the motor out, I had to take a panel off the side of the condensing unit and found a capacitor that looked kinda ugly.

[Caution: Some Geek Speak Follows] Okay, I did not know exactly what it (a capacitor) was when I took the panel off, but it was rusted, corroded and leaking some sort of sticky fluid.  It also looked like it had been blown up too big, as indicated by the bulging top, bottom and sides.  I astutely figured it probably needed to be replaced, and I was right I later found out.   A capacitor looks like a small can with wires attached to tab-like terminals sticking out of the top of the can.  It is a little smaller than a beer or soda can.  They come in round and oval shapes.  I managed to figure this out looking at a multitude of pictures on the Internet.  Just FYI, a capacitor kinda stores electrical energy so when the motor and compressor need to start, there is stored "juice" to allow them both to start up quickly without overloading the circuit breaker.  It's kind of a high-pressure, "jolt" battery that gives a quick surge of electricity.  Without a capacitor, the motor and compressor would "pop" the breaker every time.  They come in different capacities, some esoteric measurement called a "micro farad" is used to measure this capacity, but I digress. Needless to say, I learned far more about capacitors than I wanted to know, but asking questions does get you information.

Again, make sure you take pictures of everything, this allows you to put all the right colored wires back where they need to be when you get new parts.  Take pictures of the labels and markings on everything so you have the makes and models and all sorts of good information.  Then you can start looking online for the parts.  Do not be satisfied with your first go-round on parts; shop and compare.  You will save money!!  I called an A/C repair place that referred me to a wholesale distributor and got $200.00 worth of parts for $104.00.  The Internet was not cheaper this time.

I took my new parts home, compared them to the old parts, and they looked pretty close.  The motor was identical, the capacitor was a newer type, but it had all the same numbers, so I was fairly sure it would work.  Then, using my pictures, I put all the right-colored wires on the correct terminals on all the electrical stuff.   Then I checked it again to make sure I had not screwed up.  There is nothing worse than throwing a switch, hearing a pffffzzzt and seeing smoke from your new motor and capacitor....an expensive mistake.  Just to make sure, I checked it a third time, this time in reverse order, to make triple certain it was wired right.  Then the moment of truth

I set the thermostat inside to make sure the A/C would start and threw the breaker.  I heard the inside A/C come on, but could not hear the outside unit.  I went outside and was delighted to find it humming away, more quietly than before, I might add.  Nothing rattling, nor rockin' and rollin'.  My house began to cool almost immediately and within two hours, it was a lovely 78 degrees.

So, for three hours of my time and $100.00 in parts, I learned something about how to fix an air conditioner and saved myself the service call and mark-up which would have been about $450.00.  I also got to experience that feeling of accomplishment that allows me to grunt like a caveman, a la Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor...PRICELESS!!!!

Why Do Beautiful Women Date Ugly Men?

This is a question some people actually ponder all their lives. Mostly, its people who are into vanity, thinking the stunning girl must be out of her mind, but the truth remains a mystery to the small minded of this world. All the handsome guys want the girl, all the average girls look down on her, but perhaps that ugly guy could teach you a thing or two. I did some thinking and with some study I worked it out. It is true love and it's a good yarn to read.

I don't know how you think or how you behave but let me tell you how I discover the things I want to know.

If I want to know something, the first thing I do is ask someone who should know the answer to my question. I grew up asking heaps of questions. I still ask them of learned people and I search out things myself. When I asked my mother a question I had about the Bible once, I stumped her and I learned there is always a higher authority. Sometimes I asked my mother or father a question, went to books written on the subject of my question and still come up short. I am very deep sometimes and sometimes I want the deep answer. Sometimes I don't ask people a question, I simply think about it for a long time. The question of why that stunning girl dates that ugly guy I worked out by myself and by chatting with some very pretty women.

There are three reasons people give me when I ask them, why pretty women date ugly guys. Two of them I will mention. Then, after I mention them I will go on to the third, deeper and more loving reason that I discovered.

People say pretty women date ugly guys because:

1. The guy has got something she really desires in life. Most often, this is money and possessions and the capacity for her to live her life with no worry about money. This can even be something noble, he is a respected film producer and she is a talented actress, for example.

2. Or, the guy can supply her with all the drugs she wants to take to be out of her mind and have a good time in her youth.

I often looked at Mick Jagger and wondered, was it just 1 and 2 that the pretty girls that have been in his life fell for?  I think it may be one and two but possibly the third that I will share.

So why else does a pretty lass fall in love with an ugly guy?

The little baby girl is complimented on her really pretty features from the time she is born.  A really cute baby gets a mother plenty of compliments and most of them are by women to mom.  Sure, the father may be complimented too, but the prettiness of a little girl seems to be credited to her pretty mother, more often than not.

If the mother is into her pretty little daughter a lot, the mother might even go as far as to enter her child in baby beauty contests. If the little girl smiles in her picture and is really judged by the judges of prettiness as the best child, the mother will have a ribbon or a framed picture of that to show her daughter when she is old enough.  In our modern times even video of the event, al la JonBenet Ramsey, a video that we have all seen as nauseum.

When I was a growing teenager, I used to see a really pretty girl and thought it was a compliment to tell them that they were really pretty and then ask them if they had ever considered being a model. I did this a lot as I was mixed up sort of guy, who didn't get a lot of love in his life. Talking to pretty girls and keeping them in conversation made me feel good, but one thing I noticed after using the line many times was that the pretty girls didn't really think they had been complimented. In fact, on many occasions, they cut me short and made it clear that my line of speech was not at all appreciated.

Why was this so? I had to ask myself. Why would a stunning girl get offended by a boy or a man telling her she was stunning?

Do you know the one thing that a really pretty girl most often misses out on? Genuine love and appreciation for the talents she has inside her and for her heart and her secret desires to impact the world in which she lives. People seem to see her only skin deep and some stunning young girls in this world are told to be quiet when they try to prove that they are also very intelligent.

I have to laugh; the other day I saw a very attractive attorney at the courtouse.  I pointed her out to another man that was walking next to me and he agreed this beautiful, intelligent woman was in another class. He joked that he wished he could get her business card and use her for his law work. He had reduced an obviously accomplished and educated woman to the sum of her bodily parts. I don’t think he will ever realize that he was missing out on the majority of what made her attractive, at least to me.  I myself must acknowledge taht it was her beauty that attracted my attention.

It's a sad truth that most men prefer blondes and many brunettes dye their hair blonde to cater to this bias in men, yet this self same evil world we live in comes out with a hundred and one dumb blonde jokes. Do you know what we are saying as we share these dumb blonde jokes and laugh in the presence of a blonde who can hear it? We are saying, dress up for me, look pretty, be a lady in public and a sex object behind closed doors, but shut your mouth because we don't want to hear anything you say! The only thing a stunning blonde or brunette can never be sure of is this; they can never be sure men love them for who they are inside or for what they look like on the outside. This is a sad way to live.

Yet along comes an ugly guy and the one thing that he can be very confident of is that his friends love him for who he is and not what he looks like. No one hangs around an ugly guy with no money and no drugs because of fringe benefits. Therefore, if you meet an ugly guy that has heaps of friends, you have met one guy that has met this hypocritical and shallow educated world we live in head on, and triumphed.

These ugly guys that conquered the world have magnetism, because there is nothing that attracts like skin and outer beauty that this sick world considers to be worth more than gold. Their beauty is an inner beauty that cannot be bought, traded or copied. An ugly guy like this has a lot of real life questions he can answer for you and if you are lacking in love for yourself in areas of your life, most often he will have the key.

Let me say here, that I rarely meet people that I could ever call ugly, as I am connected to hearts and not the outer appearance in people.

We all like to say that it's not the looks of a person that counts, it's what's inside; the old “you can’t judge a book by its cover” theory. However, every advertisement selling us things has handsome people selling them and we spend a fortune trying to look good and a lot less money trying to become better people on the inside.

So here comes the true love

One day a truly stunningly beautiful girl meets an ugly guy at work. Let's just say he is studying at a university or some college and she is studying to become a psychologist.

He is washing dishes and busy working for $8.50 an hour and she is a waitress who keeps on adding dirty dishes to his bench with no room on it for anything else.  The whole floor is full of pots and he is going flat out. She gets upset with some of her customers sometimes, but he is always there with understanding and will even stop washing to console her and say:

"People want their own way in life and sometimes the meal and the way you serve them is not to their liking. Most times they are just taking something out on you because they have had a bad day and can find fault in something they didn't like in you or the food. They are simply dumping on you. Don't worry about it," he smiles. "You dump dishes down on me all the time and even when I am busy I have the time to give you a hug and chat, and do you see me complaining? No. That's because this is my job here to wash dirty dishes and make un-appreciated waitresses feel better." Once again he is smiling and he turns back to the dishes. The waitress walks out smiling feeling happier, and happy he is such a giving and positive workmate.

When they have a beer together after the restaurant is closed and after he has asked her about all her dreams and desires in life, and given her his input and his time, she may ask him what he wants to do in his life. He is a simple man. He simply wants to change people's hearts. His simplicity, honesty and creativity are three things that make this woman want to know him more and she is fascinated with how he says that he wants to do for people what she will be doing in therapy. Before long she is standing in front of him, packed with emotion, crying and within a month this woman and her dishwasher are in love, for all the right reasons. She does not see him as ugly and he does not look at her outer shell, and that's why that stunning girl dates that ugly guy.

Postscript.

This was one of the first things I wrote in February, 2010, but I was not sure that this would be something people would read; first, because it was long and second because of the topic. In fact, in my local shopping mall I struck up conversations with four women I did not know, an act of bravery in itself, and asked them if they saw the headline in a magazine, would they pick up the magazine and read it. The girls said yes and then told me I could not leave until I had let them read it.

I invite you to browse through my postings and see if another headline grabs you.

What Does Killing Do To Us?

There are few questions in this world that can generate a long, cold, hard stare like "Have you ever killed someone?" When people find out what I have done in my life, in particular the fact that I have carried a gun for most of my adult life, I occasionally get asked this question. Like a lot of veterans, I am a middle-aged, overweight, balding man now, but, like most middle-aged, overweight, balding veterans, I was once young, had hair, could bench press a Buick and was absolutely certain that I was at least ten-feet tall and bulletproof. This was compounded by the fact that I later became a police officer and continued the uniformed, gun-toting image.

First, let me say that I never killed a man while a police officer, in fact, I never even shot and wounded anyone. I did once shoot at a man, after he shot at me, but I missed...11 times. I missed on purpose, just wanting to make sure he did not stop running away long enough to take another shot at me. This is another story for another time.

In the military, I did shoot and kill...at least four times of which I am aware. There may have been more, but four of which I am certain. One aims, leads a little, squeezes the trigger, feels the recoil and the target collapses. Over a period of five months this occurred four times that I saw. The bodies were recovered and examined and they were most certainly and irretrievably deceased. I had killed them.

While I have a strange sense of guilt associated with their deaths, I am not particularly sorry, if that makes any sense. I know, in my heart of hearts, that that were it not for my killing these men, I would be dead or one or more of my men would be dead. The fact is they died so that others would live. Those that died were defined by the term enemy. They were part of a regular, uniformed army engaged in combat operations against the United States. There will be no war crime allegations, beyond those made by those that make such allegations in any combat scenario. These are more based on the general evil of war than the concept that killing can be justified within the confines of an armed political dispute. Karl Von Clausewitz said of war, "It is clear that war is not a mere act of policy but a true political instrument, a continuation of political activity by other means." In the truest sense, I was a pawn in a chess game played out on a countryside with real guns, real bullets and the specific want, need and heartfelt desire to kill the enemy before he killed me.

I can recall each shot, each kill, if you will. The first was in a jungle and it was being in the wrong place at the wrong time for both sides. The enemy was supposed to have pulled out long before we approached, but as usual some dumb SOB didn't get the word or was loafing. They were there when we got there. They had guns, we had guns and as enemies will do, we started shooting at each other.

When the firefight started, I initially performed true to my training. I picked up a point of fire and fired at that point while I sought cover, suppressing the incoming fire, allowing me to get to cover uninjured. I then trained my sights on where that point of fire had been and waited, one Mississippi...two Mississippi and there he was, popped up like a gopher from a hole. I already had my point of aim, so I adjusted and squeezed. The round fired. The recoil and noise were barely recognizable. The round hit the man's head, just above his right eye on the forehead. His head snapped back slightly, just before he fell. There was no massive transfer of energy like you see in the movies. He was not launched backward, was not knocked off his feet and there was no drama to it really. The bullet hit, went straight through his head, killing him and he fell straight down, never to move again.

There was no opportunity for reflection or thought, it was back to the training. Pick up another point of fire, another target, squeeze the trigger. Lather, rinse, repeat....

The second man was running across my line of sight from left to right. I raised the rifle barrel, moving the sight from behind the running man, catching the end of the barrel up to him, crossing just slightly in front of him. I then pulled the trigger twice and heard the "thwack" "thwack" of the impact with the side of his chest. He went down face first, the only thing allowing him to take two more steps was the momentum of his forward motion. He died within a minute due to two high-speed rifle rounds having perforated his right lung, heart and lodging in his left lung.

The third man I killed was a "sapper" that just screwed up. He had fallen and slid down a steep river embankment, more like a levy or dike, and into our compound. The guys on guard duty had him trapped at the back of the compound, running between 50-gallon empty fuel drums. The GI's were shooting at him like a carnival target, but no one could quite hit him. He had a weapon of his own and would fire a burst or two just to let us know it was not really a good idea to go in and get him.

I had been asleep in one of those bunkers within a bunker. My cot was surrounded by sandbags that covered around me to the height above my toes when I lay down. The gunfire got my attention. It sounded like a carnival shooting range, after all, and that is a bit unusual. I arose, put on my boots and in my skivvies walked to the area where all the commotion was. A sergeant told me of he situation. Irritated at having been disturbed from my slumber and the kinds of dreams only young men can truly enjoy, I grabbed an M79, 40MM grenade launcher and told the MP's to fire at the barrels they thought the sapper was hiding behind. When they did, the sapper ran across the area and hid behind another set of 50-gallon drums. I took aim with the 40 MM Grenade Launcher and fired. Three 50-gallon drums and the body of one North Vietnamese Sapper went about thirty feet into the air. The drums were dented and on fire, and the sapper dead, bleeding from the concussion of the high explosive blast. I gave the sergeant the M79 back and went back to bed, happy that the men would no longer be playing with that soldier like a cat plays with a mouse. Partly because I had been disturbed, party because I as appalled by the cruelty of young GI's.

The forth time is a situation that is part of a story that I will save for another time and deserves an entry all its own that I shall save for another time.

I do not find it particularly harsh to have done what I have done. I am really kind of ambivalent. I was doing my job the way I had been trained and it was the right thing to do. I only feel the subtle guilt that comes from wondering how I will be judged for eternity for my actions. I do not feel PTSD, I just did what I had to. If I felt I had to excuse myself in some way, I would simply explain that they were as ready to kill me as I was to kill them. They would have given me every opportunity to die for my country had I not allowed them to die for theirs first.

I no longer have dreams or nightmares about it, although I did for a few months after my first separation from service. I do have faded flashbacks of thought in my mind when I go to the pistol or rifle range. It is a part of my faded past and something I have come to grips with, but I do sometimes wonder how I will explain it to my Maker when the time comes.

Moving Bubba's Mobile Home

It was one of those nights you read about at the beginning of mystery novels. It was dark! There was no moon. There were clouds in the sky thick enough to prevent even starlight from coming through. The only thing visible was the cone in front of me that was illuminated by my headlights. Outside that cone of light was the world of boogey men and unseen things that go bump in the night that cause children to hide under their blankies.

As I drove home I was pretty much on auto-pilot. In the instant, if I had been asked, I could not have told you exactly where I was. I knew the road I was on, but not exactly where on that road. I did not need to know really until I got to the intersection some 15 miles further down the road. Until then it was just a matter of managing to stay between the centerline and the white line at the edge of the road.

When I say that it appeared out of nowhere, it was exactly that, it appeared out of nowhere. My first inclination was to ask what would a football be doing in the middle of the road until, in the next instant, I realized it was moving. In a credit to the engineer that designed General Motor's anti-lock breaking system, that I was able to hit the brake, slow my SUV and manuever all at the same time. In middle age, it was no easy task for all of my nuerons to fire at the same time and allow me to accomplish all of this simultaneously as well. I was able too split the uprights with the moving football between my tires, front and back.

My SUV came to rest about 100 feet past the football. I probably should have kept going, but something said, go back, help. I pulled my truck over between the road and a guardrail, got a flashlight out of the back and walked back down the road, carefully looking down the roadway for approaching headlights. The road was as straight as it was black, so I knew I would see any cars coming for several miles.

As I approached, the slowly moving football became more recognizeable as a turtle, or more accurately a tortoise. He was about 12 inches across and had a dark, greenish brown color to him. He had an interesting pattern on his back that did actually resemble a football of sorts. He was slowly, as tortoises tend to do, making his way across the road; probably in an effort to show a possum that it could actually be done. When my flashlight lit him up he stopped and pulled everything into his shell, or as I was told as a child, his "home." I smiled as I thought that since he was on a roadway it must be a mobile home, and Jeff Foxworthy-style redneck jokes crept into my thinking. A redneck turtle with a mobile home? I immediately decided to name him Bubba.

I walked up to Bubba and got behind him. His nose would have been on the centerline had he not been all tucked inside his shell and he had at least another 15 feet to get to the other side of the road. I grabbed his shell on either side and hefted him to about waist height. I then walked him over to the side of the road to which he was headed and placed him on the other side of the guard rail. My first thought was whether he would, for whatever reason, turn around and go back to the side of the road from which he had come. A dumb redneck thing to do. My second thought was whether I had committed a federal felony by "molesting" some endangered species. It would be just like some government bureaucrat to charge me for preventing the beast from being killed on the highway. I could see him arguing the need for this turtle to be allowed to be killed in some Darwinian "circle of life" logic. In my head, I argued that cars should not figure in the circle of life.

As I watched, the tortoise popped his head slowly out of his shell and, after making sure the coast was clear, continued in the same direction he was going, away from the road. I have to admit, I was hoping for him to stop and look back, like in all the fairy tales and fables, but he just kind of plodded into the thick grass, my satisfaction with having done a good thing having to come from within.

I went back to my truck and wondered if he would have made it on his own as I walked back. I wondered if a policeman would have stopped and given me a ticket for creating a hazard, first by stopping so abruptly and second by pulling off the roadway on such a dark night. Finally, I just thought that it made no difference because I was alone and if I had committed a crime or series of crimes, it had been perfect. There were no skid marks, no witnesses, no damage. I would never be caught.

I continued my drive home, a little satisfied at having done something good and a little more careful and wondering, who's gonna come up with a law to require turtles to have lights on them?