Ear Hairs & Moon Pies

March 11, 2012: Two things are on my mind right now -- these gorgeous peanut butter moon pies I just bought for my daughter, which I hear whispering to me from downstairs in a gelatinous siren-like song of sugar love -- and my poor burning beet-red ears, which I've spent the last 15 minutes abusing with an ineffectual tweezers in an ever-failing effort to successfully groom away the rampant growth of black hairs ... (Of course, there's SPACE CASE too, which relates to moon pies, but that's ALWAYS on ALL our minds, especially as it's so easily accessible in e-form on Amazon and B&N! So get your copy today ... Mr. Josh! >:- )

I just got a haircut yesterday, so I not only wanted to make my Sunday night straight-razor shave a good one, I wanted to do all I could to get all the other strange hairs out of the picture for at least a few days. As the months keep passing, more and more ear hairs show their ugly hairs, and as I have my own (probably fatuous) formula for contending with them -- an old pair of tweezers that doesn't close properly -- it's becoming an effort that feels earmarked (if you'll excuse the unintentional ha-ha) for failure.

It's a genuine mystery to me why, with my main hairs continuing to fall to grey and white, these awful ear hairs keep coming in blacker and blacker. I blame this one woman who cut my hair out in L.A. several years ago. Before I knew what was happening, she was in there with some tiny buzzing razor, mowing my ear like it was a public park. "Stop!" I yelled, but it was too late. Before that they'd been a sweet, invisible blonde down, barely noticeable, unless you happened to be in their with a Q-tip while I was asleep. Everyone knows that once you start trimming the things, they only get coarser and blacker ... maybe angrier too. (Imagine how hard it was for me to have to tip her, too, being she was a friend of my wife's ... and mine, I guess, at least up until THAT point.)

Speaking of L.A., I knew a lovely Indian man out there who had the thickest ear hair you could ever imagine. (I wish he were here now, living in Connecticut, for the juxtaposition would certainly make me feel better about mine.) He had what looked like two black and grey mice sitting in his ears (one in each). I mention that he was Indian not only because I'm prejudice -- oh, you know I'm kidding, EJ -- but also because I think it had something to do with his genes (if not his culture). And speaking racial genetics, little does my poor son know what he's due to face in his ears in the decades ahead with that rancid Sicilian blood bubbling through his veins, making every growth a thick black one. I mean, we get all these great cooking skills and a formidable love-making ability, of course, but I have to fear taking my shirt off at the beach. (Chime in, Cousin Gary! This is your history as well!)

Not to change the subject, but I noticed I also gained a stinging cut on my inner-ear this evening. (Well, perhaps not my INNER ear, but certainly more INSIDE my ear than outside.) And how I got the cut is remarkably stupid (dumb Sicilian!) because I helped my cat do it. (Cat cut! Cat cut your tongue? No, my ear!) For some reason -- I'm STILL not even sure why -- I was hoisting our kitten -- Bob K. -- over my head while I was lying down, and placed him on my ear. (See, I was on the computer as this was happening, which I often work on lying on my stomach, which is how the computer is set up ... I think I explained this once, but no one listened to me then either.) Anyway, the cat just panicked and scratched my ear, and while I was investigating the hair factor, I happened upon this nasty little cut ... in my ear ... and of course, once I saw it, it hurt even more!

So, that's all I have to share tonight, because I'm really, really thinking a lot about that moon pie right now. I will see how good it is ... or perhaps THEY are, presently ... and then I'll hope throughout the long, still-caffeinated night that my sometimes up-fluxing gullet doesn't demand that I barf moon pies out across the flannel bedsheets in this sweet mid-March evening of my Connecticut ...

Nothing New to Spew Under the Sun

January 22, 2012: Short of reminding you that my new e-novel Space Case remains on sale for an unlimited time -- (that story about the alien who finds himself entangled in a dysfunctional relationship with a busybody) -- I don't really have anything new to tell you ... Which is why it's so important I get this entry up and running For Your Information (or, FYI, for those of you in a rush) ...

You see, I'm acutely aware right now of how little any of us have to say that's of any worth. (YOU didn't make me realize this, of course, so don't feel paranoid; it was everyone else!) It suddenly strikes me as absolutely remarkable how, in this unfettered age of communication, where every possible opportunity to express ideas is literally budding from our virtual fingertips, there exists an astounding void of fodder worth formulating, let alone consuming.

The reason is simple -- There never was that much worth consuming to begin with! I finally realized that, here in the so-called Twenty-First Century (and we all know perfectly well it's really the Twenty-Second Century, even though I can't prove that because I sat on my calculator) we're more convinced than ever that there is a "wealth" of new and ever-newer info, facts, data, stories, ideas, opinions, observations and recollections that simply must be recorded, repeated, related and recounted ... But there isn't!

Like most things that fool us, it's an illusion of relativity. Hundreds of years ago -- pick a number, for it's relative anyway -- most everyone's time was taken up in a simple life of actions, spared long spells of trivia consumption and art for the sake of personal distraction. There was much more "living" going on, meaning people by-and-large had the opportunity to stay centered on whatever it was they were really doing -- to be "present" -- and objective intellectual experiences -- reading a book, watching a play, or hearing some gossip, for instance -- were confined to limited moments of novel recreation, which kept it all in its' meaningless place.

People can blame the creation of "leisure time" for the change, wherein more chances to watch, read and relate without participation came about, but I think it's more about the ongoing belief -- for we continue to suffer from it more and more -- that there is an ever-growing amount of things, ideas, etc., that need to be examined, that there are new ideas and new creations coming about vital to our heads ... But of course there aren't! That's the myth, the mistake ...

Modern people grow continually more worried that they'll miss something. New shows, trends, television, Youtube videos, articles, etc., are created and speeding by with such flustering bluster (or is it blustering fluster?), it's a wonder any of us get up and go to work at all. (I, actually, don't, but I'm using that figuratively.) Sadly, we're continually picking through the sparse, dry bones of a kind of cultural/social/intellectual roadkill, like unsatisfied crows, vainly hoping there'll be some stuff worth consuming. And I don't even think any of us are even hungry for anything, really, but driven by some vague fear that we're going to miss the boat if we stop or slow down.

Of course, there are -- always will be -- items, songs, stories, shows, sentences, scenarios -- worth our time -- ones which lend value to our state of being and provide us with an authentic nurturing. (This Blah-ugh! unfortunately isn't one of them, but that's not the point.) The difference is, somehow today in the Twenty-Third century, our ability to discern that value has been perhaps irreparably thwarted by a society replete with people who think they're artists, writers, poets -- idea people with anything new to say -- and there is little left to say that hasn't been said, and still fewer ways to say it with any interesting panache ... and yet everyone keeps shouting and writing and singing out ... Where do we stop? Where do we go? The question becomes, Do I need to know it, hear it, see it, read it ... and remark on it? Why shouldn't I just reread my Bradbury, Dickens and Kerouac, and rewatch my Lucy, Honeymooners, and Muppets?!

Not that they (we) are not entitled to keep shouting it out from the loudspeaker (or Internet) -- my god, if anyone was ever in favor of large bodies of our pliable citizenry shouting loudly and incoherently, it would have to be me! It's just that I don't want anyone thinking there's any pressing need to listen to any of us, any of it (excepting, of course, Space Case, which is available at Amazon and B&N) ... It's all just trivial poo-poo, and the presidents will keep coming and going, and the economy will ebb and flow, and actors will do good and bad, and styles will change and repeat, and confessions will be written and rereleased with different names, and songs will be sung and stung, and the same chords will be used over and over ...

But don't waste your time worrying about hearing them, seeing them, analyzing them, experiencing them ... It's all been done before, and odds are there really isn't much to be added to your mind, reality and emotional well-being ...

And that's why I felt it was so vital to get this Blah-ugh! entry up and active -- so you'd know enough not to bother reading the next one I write ...

2012 ... Who Woulda Thunk It?!

January 2, 2012: A friend of mine recently commented -- and I'm paraphrasing, of course -- that "It's never been January 2nd, 2012, before." Yet I'm not convinced that's entirely true. I'm reminded of an old Peanuts cartoon, wherein Lucy becomes convinced they've stuck her and her community with a recycled year. The question arises of what authorities they can report it to ...

Which reminds me, SPACE CASE is now available at both Amazon and Barnes & Noble for e-book consumption, so please get yours today, or I'LL report YOU to the authorities for grotesque negligence! (And I can't resist excerpting a lovely email I received today from one of my fans, and I didn't even tell her to write this: "Okay, I have decided that what I like best about your writing is that it is always surprising and unexpected. Never predictable. I keep starting to read portions of Space Case to my husband because I am laughing so hard, and then I have to stop myself because I don't want to spoil the surprise for him. Too much fun to read!!!!") Yes, see, there ARE people out there willing to risk $2.99 on my talents, and they're not all in mental institutions ... at least not yet!

But I was talking 2012 -- a fine year in process. And I don't know why people are worrying about the doom-filled prophecies of the stupid Mayan calendar, mainly because if the Mayans knew anything about anything, they wouldn't have destroyed their civilization with human sacrifice and spicy foods. And if that's not enough to convince you, make note of the fact that 20 minus 12 is 8, which is my favorite number, as well as being divisible by 2, which is of course even and a multiple of 8. I mean, the positive coincidences just go on and on ...

But despite my good hopes for 2012, I'm still struggling to catch up on all the closure requirements for LAST year, including trying to catch up on all my Christmas music. In fact, I'm feeling somewhat guilty right this moment, listening to my "Country Christmas" CD, trying to consume it because I feel I HAVE TO, like leftovers I can't let the garbage have. And in a way, it makes me feel like a pervert, gaining tawdry, guilt-ridden pleasures from sounds that have been made unwholesome by the passage of time. On top of everything, this is even the first holiday in about 15 when I HAVEN'T bought NEW Xmas music to add to my ever-lengthening shackles of seasonal joy, and I feel guilty about THAT (and, of course, not even watching Mr. Magoo this year! ...) Oh, I needed another week of December to get it all done ...

(By the way, following up on my last entry, what does it mean when they sing, "Joy to the world. The Lord is come!" That just doesn't sound right ... Am I hearing it wrong? All the versions seem the same ...)

Anyway, the point is, I will not make this Blah-ugh! a weak excuse to keep advertising my new novel SPACE CASE ... provided you buy it and let me get on to other more important matters here, such as tasteless references to Jesus and the Lord and everyone else in the religious community. As I've often stressed with you people, you have to do YOUR part too, if I can be freed up to do mine ...

Happy New Year!