December 19, 2012: I don't think people come to my Blah-ugh! to get sappy and find inspiration or anything like that. You're a voyeuristic bunch of cads, by and large -- just like me -- and you expect nothing more or less by engaging here but naughty base fulfillment ...
But I have to write this one out before I forget, because it was just too ridiculously poignant and significant for me, this past Saturday, too remarkable a moment the day following that terrible school stuff ...
So I'm despondent, as we all were and are. It's awful, and I'm of the mind these days that we're part of a collective consciousness that feels something like this across the whole race. And I want to be mindful about not wallowing in misery for misery sake, which is so easy to do -- for I wasn't there; I no longer work in Newtown, though I actually did teach elementary in another school there years ago; and they weren't my kids, thank god ... and yet ... somehow I know today that they're ALL our kids ... Somehow that's real too.
Anyway ... So I had a hard time lifting myself out of bed Saturday morning ... very late morning ... I headed downtown, planning to force myself to do some work at the library. And of course I always park way away, as is my manner. (As my old mentor teacher Dr. Joseph Lieberman once advised, when you see everyone running in one direction to see something, run the other way!)
I made my unique circle turn to bypass town and was heading up the street to park, when along comes this horse and buggy trotting up the street before me. You see, the downtown merchants organized this lovely little free, old-fashioned buggy ride Saturday afternoon, with these two big white horses drawing a vintage wagon, while a man in a top hat, wielding a whip ... You get the idea ... and so here they come jingling, clopping up the street toward me ...
And after they pass, I see in the street one of the long strings of horse jingle bells left right there in the middle of the road. It's dropped off one of the horses, and, looking so odd, it's clumped right there in the middle of the road ...
Of course, being the good citizen I am, I throw on my brakes and hop out of the car, narrowly missing everyone, and even fooling them with my broken emergency lights, which certainly make it more interesting for all of us. And like a good Johnny-on-the-Spot I fetch this long strand of big sleighbells, which are attached to a long, dry, old leather strap, and I dash back into my car and proceed to go find my parking up the road where no one can bother me ...
I knew where the carriage would park when he came back around, and had in fact done a story on it the week before for the paper, so I kind of felt like I had a connection to these people. I grabbed my briefcase, lock my door and head over to Main Street on foot carrying the jingle bells...
And still I'm despondent, and the terrible day before keeps hanging over me -- over all of us -- a blanket of depression, making things feel pointless and hopeless ...
But I'm amused to be holding this incredible large strand of jingle bells, as I've never held one -- a real authentic horse's strand -- big bells the size of plums, starlight shining silver, split with the cross and inside the pea-sized metal marble ... There are close to 30 of them -- held fast to the kind of old, dry leather that makes you know some things are still made of real materials, and that this strand has a spirit ...
Walking along, I shake it -- all those bells, and they sound so beautiful ... And suddenly, out of nowhere, it occurs to me ... in a magical flash ... like in a movie ... lifting my meager spirits ... like the little girl says in "It's a Wonderful Life" ...
"Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings ..."
Wow! ... And there really is no end ... Not really ...
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Monday, December 10, 2012
Vie Geht es Innen!
December 11, 2012: Guten Tag ... Well, well, well! I'm back. I'm guessing you, like the Westport school board, thought you could get rid of me if you held your breath long enough, but alas, I'm still here, like gum in the exquisite treads of your high-performance running sneaker ...
Believe me, I wouldn't even consider returning to this insipid Blah-ugh! if it weren't for the outpouring of support and invasive questions I've received these past two months--ironically from most of the same people. That, along with the general guilt I carry with me on an ongoing basis, makes it now the right time to move forward with entry Number ... I don't know, 147 or so ... So let's proceed ...
For starters, Yes, I'm restraining myself quite gallantly as I continue to meet such unnecessary resistence and ineffectuality from Westport's unconscious headstrong school administration. It makes me wonder if and when I'll see it as time to make public a couple of rather dark--and sincerely disturbing--secrets I have on a couple of those people. I'm really hoping it won't come to that, because I'm honestly not out to embarrass anyone. But there comes a time when one man must take a stand on behalf of the myriad wretches who are too frightened or too cowardly to do likewise, if only to strengthen this man's unbearably fetching ego. And if traditional means don't serve the public to the level it deserves, a hissyfit may be in order, and some of you have seen firsthand what a vindictive twit I can be ... and I'm referring to my friends! ... So stay tuned ...
But let's talk of more important matters ... I wanted to share about my remarkable discovery of Lactaid eggnog, which has truly changed my life, at least insofar as it relates to the holiday months. Many of you loyal readers know my issues with intolerance--lactose and otherwise--so please rejoice for me, for I can once again enjoy the tantalizing joy of late-night eggnog without an enzyme of worry about what disturbing surprises might greet me all throughout the following day ... Yes, my appreciation goes out to the Lactaid people, and let me say I especially like their logo, which features an impressionist icon of a man dancing with a cow. I want to be that man, or at least that cow.
On another note, I'm working on a new novel, which some of you will find even better than SPACE CASE, which many of you despised, and the rest of you didn't even bother reading. (I'm talking to YOU, Michael N.) This one, however, should be more palitable for the mainstream, if not more palatible. (I still can't decide which.) I'll tell you what it's about as soon as I'M sure, then we'll talk about how you can purchase it without feeling that you're, in any way, supporting me or what I do ...
And what DO I do? Wouldn't YOU like to know! But I can't tell you, because that would spoil everything, or at least it would spoil my next Blah-ugh! entrance, which promises to be chockful of thrills and drama and all kinds of cool punctuation ...
Which reminds me, when are people going to stop confusing the dash and the hyphen? Some of you are, perhaps, wondering when they're going to START confusing them, and this is why things get confusing, because half the time whatever I type anyway gets automatically corrected by the computer, so there isn't much power I have left with these written words.
And speaking of written words, if you haven't read "The Wind in the Willows," you're a toad, and not like a fun, rich toad, like Toad, but a nasty, wart-ridden carbunkle with nay the aesthetic flavor of a breathmint. Gosh, I just love this book. I honestly don't think I could name a better written book today, except for SPACE CASE, but that's a modern AMERICAN book, so it's kind of hard to compare. But man and toad alive, this is just some exquisite artful writing ... (Which reminds me, I intended to do an essay on how Toad's devious escapades with motor car driving are a clear metaphor for drug and alcohol addiction; Badger, Mole and Rat even do an intervention on the poor wretch, but ultimately they're second level enablers, and they don't allow Toad to hit his bottom ... But anyway, now I'm too lazy.)
So read the book, or don't. I don't care anymore. I'm feeling like Phil Collins that way. I just want to drink Lactaid eggnog, or just pour it on the cats, and watch Christmas movies and Halloween movies, even though I'm mostly Jewish, and ask myself redundant questions so I know the answers ...
Isn't life great?! I think it is ...
Believe me, I wouldn't even consider returning to this insipid Blah-ugh! if it weren't for the outpouring of support and invasive questions I've received these past two months--ironically from most of the same people. That, along with the general guilt I carry with me on an ongoing basis, makes it now the right time to move forward with entry Number ... I don't know, 147 or so ... So let's proceed ...
For starters, Yes, I'm restraining myself quite gallantly as I continue to meet such unnecessary resistence and ineffectuality from Westport's unconscious headstrong school administration. It makes me wonder if and when I'll see it as time to make public a couple of rather dark--and sincerely disturbing--secrets I have on a couple of those people. I'm really hoping it won't come to that, because I'm honestly not out to embarrass anyone. But there comes a time when one man must take a stand on behalf of the myriad wretches who are too frightened or too cowardly to do likewise, if only to strengthen this man's unbearably fetching ego. And if traditional means don't serve the public to the level it deserves, a hissyfit may be in order, and some of you have seen firsthand what a vindictive twit I can be ... and I'm referring to my friends! ... So stay tuned ...
But let's talk of more important matters ... I wanted to share about my remarkable discovery of Lactaid eggnog, which has truly changed my life, at least insofar as it relates to the holiday months. Many of you loyal readers know my issues with intolerance--lactose and otherwise--so please rejoice for me, for I can once again enjoy the tantalizing joy of late-night eggnog without an enzyme of worry about what disturbing surprises might greet me all throughout the following day ... Yes, my appreciation goes out to the Lactaid people, and let me say I especially like their logo, which features an impressionist icon of a man dancing with a cow. I want to be that man, or at least that cow.
On another note, I'm working on a new novel, which some of you will find even better than SPACE CASE, which many of you despised, and the rest of you didn't even bother reading. (I'm talking to YOU, Michael N.) This one, however, should be more palitable for the mainstream, if not more palatible. (I still can't decide which.) I'll tell you what it's about as soon as I'M sure, then we'll talk about how you can purchase it without feeling that you're, in any way, supporting me or what I do ...
And what DO I do? Wouldn't YOU like to know! But I can't tell you, because that would spoil everything, or at least it would spoil my next Blah-ugh! entrance, which promises to be chockful of thrills and drama and all kinds of cool punctuation ...
Which reminds me, when are people going to stop confusing the dash and the hyphen? Some of you are, perhaps, wondering when they're going to START confusing them, and this is why things get confusing, because half the time whatever I type anyway gets automatically corrected by the computer, so there isn't much power I have left with these written words.
And speaking of written words, if you haven't read "The Wind in the Willows," you're a toad, and not like a fun, rich toad, like Toad, but a nasty, wart-ridden carbunkle with nay the aesthetic flavor of a breathmint. Gosh, I just love this book. I honestly don't think I could name a better written book today, except for SPACE CASE, but that's a modern AMERICAN book, so it's kind of hard to compare. But man and toad alive, this is just some exquisite artful writing ... (Which reminds me, I intended to do an essay on how Toad's devious escapades with motor car driving are a clear metaphor for drug and alcohol addiction; Badger, Mole and Rat even do an intervention on the poor wretch, but ultimately they're second level enablers, and they don't allow Toad to hit his bottom ... But anyway, now I'm too lazy.)
So read the book, or don't. I don't care anymore. I'm feeling like Phil Collins that way. I just want to drink Lactaid eggnog, or just pour it on the cats, and watch Christmas movies and Halloween movies, even though I'm mostly Jewish, and ask myself redundant questions so I know the answers ...
Isn't life great?! I think it is ...
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