The Night After Thanksgiving

Twas' the night after Thanksgiving and all through the mall
They were out cutting prices, some big and some small.
Me with my checkbook, my wife with her pen
Shivering at the mall doors, time to get in.

The parking lot filled, with cars, jeeps and trucks
Still the door is not open, “YO Man” WTF
The crowd howled and screamed, with all they could muster
“It’s midnight plus one, time for the door buster”

The growing mob squirmed, for the front place they jockeyed
Uh, honey. Please tell me, that’s your hand in my front pocket
The temperature was dropping and I thought I felt snow
Then someone exclaimed, “The mall’s clock is slow”

The people all groaned, Oh what would we do
We’ve wolfed down the turkey, now there are deals to pursue”
The time finally came and how the guard teased
He walked toward the door, then dropped his damn keys

You dumb summbitch, you see us out here
Now open up this motha, so we can buy X-mas cheer
The doors, they flew open, the guard he was flattened
As we rushed for the treasure promised by the gods of Manhatten

First, Macy’s then J.Crew then the Company Mays
Sears and then Body Works and on to Target’s
Some went to Lowes, some to Builder’s Emporia
While I dashed to explore the Secrets of Victoria

We spoke not a word, just gutteral grunts
As we gathered our booty and ran for the front
The registers rang and made quite a clatter
Someone’s card was declined, To the express line we scattered.

We shopped and we shopped, buying things we didn’t need
Cheered by the trappings, of corporate greed
Ten percent off here, no twenty more there
A mad dash on a store for half-priced compressed air

Socks for Cousin Jim, A thong for Cleona
A fishing rod for Aunt Tootie, who lives in Arizona
A chew toy for the dog and some nip for the cat
Cousin Landy’s going bald, so he needs a new hat

But soon it was over, the cards were all maxed
Since the price cuts they made, only covered the tax
And as we ran to our car we heard an accountant say
Merry Christmas to all and a Happy Black Friday


- Original by Me

Off into the great beyond

Okay so, here I am ready for my trip into southern cooking hell. I am gaining weight just thinking of Thanksgiving dinner. But, it is a family affair and I need to attend, no make that have to attend. I have my reservations and my driver is set to arrive at 0830 so I have plenty of time to deal with airport “security”. ……..
Okay, why is it 0835 and no driver, I’m on the phone and find my normal driver is held up in traffic but he has sent another guy for me. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. At 0850 my new driver shows and here we go. Since he isn’t my normal guy, he assumes I want to talk. A few cell phone calls solves that problem, “Duane where are you?” Still, I get to the airport in record time and prepare to do battle with the frigging TSA. Strange, there seems to be a lack of people in queue, I run through the maze in record time and blast through the machines. I find myself at my gate at 0945,……… for a 1200 flight. Damn, TSA got me again. So I settle in and enjoy some free Internet and check in on my friend scoobers1,…hmmm nothing there, strange. Okay, coffee time. I go to the coffee shop and am instantly reminded of the old-time bus stations. They have these crappy sandwiches and everything is overpriced. I can not bring myself to spend this kind of money on this junk. I search in vain for a Starbucks or a Chili’s or the freaking airport bar. I want to get a beer, but isn’t 1030 too early for a brew. In retrospect,….. Hell no!!!! Okay, I force myself back to the overpriced sandwich spot to get a cup of overpriced watered-down coffee. The lady in front of me has two coffees, water and a fruit dish that has two sliced strawberries with maybe six pieces of what appears to be Honeydew melon, her total is over twelve dollars. I cringe. This is highway robbery, plain and simple. We are stuck in this area and can’t get to the decent food that we have left behind in the unsecured area. I ask, why is the good food, the acceptably priced food, the greater variety of food in the “unsecure” area? Shouldn’t we paying passengers, replete with boarding passes, two forms of ID and dirty socks from the screening process get the better choice of cuisine? I am silently ranting to myself as the lady before me pays for her order, then brace myself as I order my “large water with coffee”. Screw me running, it’s almost three dollars. I pony up the cash and walk dejectedly to the condiment stand to get sugar and a frigging Mini-moo so my “coffee water” has some flavor. I sit my cup down, then start frantically looking around,… The lady who was in front of me has accidentally left her fruit dish. Oh, the inhumanity.

Nookin' pu nub in awww de wong patis, Nookin pu nub

I had lunch with a new friend today. We met in the parking lot of a library a few weeks ago. I was buying a book on the history of hot air balloons. Yes, I know, Mr. Excitement. Funny how these things happen. I tend to meet worthwhile women in spurts. Normally, I meet females when I am either with someone or ramping up to start a relationship. Then I have the issue of deciding if I am ready to commit to the first relationship or hold out for what‘s behind door number two. I’m not afraid of commitment, but I want the best for me. Often in that search for the best, I find that I have missed out on a quality relationship because I am searching for Ms. Perfect. The fact is, though I have been through my and a few other guy’s fair share of women, I still believe there is that one person. The rub is that you never know where or who that perfect person is. I mean, suppose my perfect woman is in Sri Lanka. I’ve never been there and have no real plans to go. My biggest fear is that I have already passed her by. Maybe she is with someone and doesn’t realize I am still out here searching. Suppose one night while I was out with my boys she was the lady I dumped a pitcher of beer on, not the best first impression. Based on my beliefs, I may never meet Ms. Perfect. People say there is no “perfect” mate, I disagree. Grace Jones had a song “I’m not perfect (but I’m perfect for you). This is the perfection I seek.
Someone that is right for me, that I have a few things in common with, like a love of speed, or a palette for decent wine and good food and the understanding that breakfast is not a time, but a state of mind. Oh, and must be able to sing “Louie, Louie” on demand, interchanging lyrics in a manner proportionate to state of inebriation.
I think the reason for my melancholy is envy, no, make that jealousy. I realize how much I actually miss having the ole’ “ball and chain”. I have a lot of married/committed friends who are always telling me how much they wish for my life. I tell them it’s easy: just move far from everyone you love, surround yourself with lots of superficial, material things and immerse yourself in your work. Throw in some occasional meaningless sex and you’ve pretty much got it. Most married guys only hear the last part. I was at the park yesterday, trying to work on my “great novel” and a guy walks by me, points to my Bavarian toy and asks if it’s mine. He then gushes about how cool it is and we talk about it for a while, then he says “I drive that Corsica over there. It must be great to have one of those” The funny thing is that while he was going on about my car, I was looking at his wedding ring and his two adorable little girls and thinking the same thing.

omg

I was thinking of us this morning,
of how we made love and
the cold breeze blew through the bedroom door
wrapping us in it's bitter blanket.
I remember the contrast
the freezing cold of the fall wind outside
and the hot, sticky warmth of your inside
OMG
I remember how we made love under your bedroom window and
it started to rain
The water sprinkled through the screen
and hit our bodies
like little jolts of electricity
I kissed them from your face while
your hands rubbed them into my back
OMG
And what about our first time?
your new house, not even a bed,
just a mattress and a box spring
The dog looked at us quizzically and
even growled at the noises we made
The window was open and our passion
flooded into the alley...
I guess the neighbors are closer than we thought
They applauded when we finished
OMG

RETROSPECT - because you asked

Would I? Could I?
Should I?
Take a chance, find
Romance.
No matter which way I go,
I'll never know
until I let it,
Flow
The sun shines this morning
and,
I shield its brightness with my
hand,
the same way I shield love from my
heart,
by blocking it before it can start.
Love is a four-letter word, so is
hate
and ball and soap and shit and
Fate.
where do we go from here? I don't know
I ain't leavin'
The other side may look Greener, but the
grass can be decievin'
Nothing ventured, nothing gained,
no one hurt, no one in pain.
Now,
go.
I'm King, leave me to my throne
like any summit, at life's peak,
you're all alone.

We have met the enemy,... and he is us

I was reading the news and there was the headline: “Arab-speaking passengers sue American”. Now I initially thought the passengers were suing an individual, but it turns out they are suing American Airlines for discrimination. Apparently these guys were turned in by a passenger that heard them speaking Arabic. The pilot turned the plane around, they were taxiing when the complaint was made, and the passengers had to disembark the plane. The Arab-speakers were detained while the other passengers were put up in a hotel for the night. Here’s the punch line; the detainees were from Detroit and work for a U.S. government contractor called Defense Training Systems. They were returning from training Marines at Camp Pendleton. Their disclosed training mission was to educate the Marines on Iraqi culture and etiquette. Oops, Please politely tell passenger 15B to STFU.
Now, I can already hear the keys clicking and I understand people are still thinking 9/11. Okay, I can understand that and I believe in heightened awareness. In a time when our airports are failing to pick up FBI security breaches at up to 75% of the time, we need awareness. What we don’t need is fear, alarmism and racial profiling. As a country we are, in my opinion, the biggest hypocrites in the civilized world. You can’t go around people of foreign decent to crimes because they are speaking in their native tongue. If so, then INS needs to drop into my neighborhood and deal with all those potential illegal aliens, or maybe into Chinatown to get all those potential communists and heard a person speaking Japanese a few days ago, could be another Pearl Harbor attack in the planning. We won’t do that because these people have rights and we need to respect them. Racial profiling is unethical and not legal, yet it is still practiced by the police. I know, as I have been stopped for more than once DWB, driving while Black. I have had police cruisers pull to within 2 feet of my bumper while I was driving at the posted speed limit on a four-lane highway. This guy stayed on my rear for almost fifteen minutes before he finally left me alone. My choice of vehicle and companionship has caused me to spend more than a few minutes talking to some of North Carolina’s “finest“. This mentality has to stop, suppose we start arresting every person displaying the confederate flag as a potential klan member or if all white people that traveled to Hiroshima or Nagasaki were detained while the Japanese police searched them for possible links to Enola Gay. What about the Russians? Shouldn’t we question them as likely spies? It is known that those Russians supplied the Vietnamese, the Chinese and even now, the North Koreans. Those that supply the enemy are our enemies also, so sayeth the Dubya. If that is true then we should start detaining and questioning all people from the country that provided weapons and technology to Iraq and helped them to gain the power to threaten us with chemical weapons and the “potential” weapons of mass destruction.



Oh, wait a minute, that would be us.

Fuzzy Pictures

I was looking through my old photo albums this morning and came across some albums that my Mother had owned. As I looked at the old photos, I came to realize that many of the pictures were out of focus. Not due to my Mom’s lack of focusing ability, but mostly due to camera movement or just using a cheap camera. The digital geek in me couldn’t help but wish for Photoshop or some program that could fix these photos, but what are you going to do with fuzzy Polaroid’s. As I sat there whining about this, I realized that the people in these fuzzy pictures, mostly family or extended family, were all happily smiling and laughing as if there wasn’t a care in the world. Little did they know that they were being immortalized slightly out of focus or off-center. Perhaps they didn’t care. They were having a good time sharing the moment with my Mother and I don’t think it mattered that they were a bit fuzzy. As I remember the reunions of the past, there was a lot of drinking going on and maybe this is actually how my Mother was seeing the at that time. Perhaps she was such as excellent photographer that she could manipulate the old 110 and make it show the moment through her eyes. I could clearly see my uncles and aunts smiling at me and I remembered many of those days. The trips to the lake, the visits to Florida. I saw photos of my early days in San Diego and couldn’t believe I dressed like that. Then there were the ones of my Mom’s younger days. She and Pop in various clubs and gatherings, it was like a glimpse into a time when life was easier. A time when if things were tight, you could take your last money, buy some fish, some greens, a couple fifths and throw a rent party. It is amazing how people would get together for those things and help someone out. I guess the line between a handout and a hand up is a bit fuzzy also.
There were other photos, some that were all too clear. Perfectly focused and well-lit photos of my Grandfather’s funeral. Crystal clear photos of my cousin Mike who we lost to crack and his series of wrong choices and well-cropped photos of my baby aunt, Flossie, who died on the subway while enroute to Nursing school. Those Polaroid’s did not have to be developed in my opinion. They could have been a bit fuzzier.
As I reminisced and thought of when these photos were taken, I could still hear the voices. My cousins Tina, Dee, Flo were once again the slim sexy sisters they were, still chasing the boys and then laughing at them behind their backs. I was back with them, pretending to be their chaperone, when I was the biggest tramp in the group. Cassy was still at my side, being very proper and chaste. I could smell the beach and Afro-sheen in the wind. And yes, there were afros, even the old balding frog sported a do that would have made Sly Stone proud. It’s all there furry but still fuzzy.
I kept flipping through photos and I thought of the way we take photos now. Digital technology has taken the suspense out f photography. I often joke that I take two hundred shots and keep five. It’s true, and then I will crop or otherwise digitally enhance those five so I have a perfect picture. But as I kept looking at those fuzzy pictures, I realized they had a warmth, a beauty that reflected the hope of that family. Like those pictures, life wasn’t perfect in those days. There were the hard times and the good times. The pictures reflected that. Some were good and others left a bit to be desired. I came across some photos of my Mother in that box. They brought back memories of her. The attempts a making bread. Her going off to work at night. Playing cards with her and drinking Ginger Ale while she sipped Cutty Sark. Today is her birthday and I miss her madly. There is a photo of her that I took with my fancy digital camera. Normally it looks crystal clear, but today as I gaze into her eyes, it seems a bit out of focus, not totally clear. Damn fuzzy pictures.