Happy New Year. To me.

Strange vibrations zipping through my interaction with female human auras. Closing in on HALF OF A CENTURY of life here on Earth, currently portraying Quasimodo as a twice-divorced bachelor man who happens to glide through life in a titanium wheelchair in the casual fashion of a 25 year-long quadriplegia. Dark clouds are lifting. I'm ready for more, already have accidentally been testing the waters. Finally. Didn't want to force it. I've been single long enough as to not throw luggage up in the air when talking to another woman, because it's all settled out. Jump in too soon and you're a douchebag.It's always better to be the least douchebag as possible, you'd think that would be easy. Enough already. I'm clean. I'm relaxed. I've got a little clarity. It's not time to shut down in my 50th year, although my birthday can hold off until this Summer, I'm in a more stable state of mind, maybe more than I've ever been. My health is returning. Simply stated, I'm enjoying being interested in meeting women just because they are women. It's been a while, it's hard to follow a wonderful woman, I didn't want to compare anyone to anyone. The Air is clear. There are so many attractive women roaming around, and I have no game. I'm a horrible flirt, I think. I'm not sure. It's just that now I remember how much I enjoy looking a woman directly in the eye and sharing a smile if just for a second. Trading witty thoughts with a woman far away in the Interwebs feels right too. Yep. I dig that stuff.

It's the beginning of Winter and I feel like it's Springtime with an upswing in the Market. It sure would be good to share some time with whoever wherever you may be. And yikes, women have never been more beautiful in my entire life. Luck and numbers, please favor me. I recently informed a friend on my recently activated mojo, and he said, "Victory or Death.". Sound advice.


















http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64Ixzp94ksw&feature=relmfu

Enough Already.

I'M LEANING INTO THE WIND. PLEASE. Let's please get 2012 underway. Please Jesus, please.

Wake up, it's the day after Santa Biz.

Gee whiz, Mr. Damon. The reason America was a happier place a decade or two ago is because we were a bloated manufacturing giant. The Great America Unwashed had jobs, 20 clams an hour jobs. This put a 2nd car and a boat in the driveways of illiterates from sea to shining sea. Without factory jobs for the vast majority of non-collegians, this collective malcontent will just grow and fester.

Fortunately for those safe in gated communities, 60% of Americans are so lard-assed from sedentary starch-opulence they'll never riot like in Greece or Italy. Taco Bell and KFC's Double Down chicken monstrosity will ensure this. Dean Vernon Wormer said it best, "Embrace the Audacity of Reality." loosely translated to that effect. And yet, how many Americans have a college education that relates to a skill? Hint: Not many. How many Marketing and Broadcast Journalism majors can Ohio State spew out before someone says enough already. WE DON'T NEED MORE OF YOU. THERE AREN'T ENOUGH REALITY TV SHOWS FOR ALL OF YOU TO JOIN IN ON.

Without factory employment, America is screwed. There will never be unskilled American factory employment again. And the reaction from the heart, a fight over waffle irons at Walmart. China and India and Japan are racing for a lunar presence. We cannot even muster enough pride to keep the Post Office open, let alone NASA. Like a fat kid in a closet with a bag of cookies, yay USA. Sharing is for Socialists! Never has a country worked so hard against its own interests and health of its people. The Audacity of Stupidity? The Audacity of Dopes? Of course, the now majority Right Wingnuts have a frothy belief in the destruction of American government as healthy for a free society. Assholes. Matt, you place too much potential on America. Until someone figures how to deal with a spoiled maybe-never-should-have-been middle class, this is going to be a miserable place for many moons.
















The Oscar award winner Matt Damon has been blasting the President lately. The declining American way of consumer life is bothersome to some of the wealthy.

RIP my friend.

My friend died a year ago. I didn't know until last week.

Scott Murray and me arrived in Cortland, NY proper within a week of each other. It was the beginning of the Eighties, a very bleak, dark somber America. I was looking for a place to land, so was Murray. It was as if we stepped off separate Lunar landers on Planet MFN, only to end up at the same Weirdness. Scott asked her to go skiing, I asked her to meet me after work since she was going skiing. This all came about first week, one night at a secluded upstairs bar, Godiva's above the Dark Horse, in a ski and college town in the middle of nowhere Upstate NY. Murray had a job that paid and I was a ski instructor and a vagrant. My future ex-wife met me at the bar at the bottom of the slopes, Scott was there. Something should have happened. Murray was gentleman, we were fast friends. It was a magnetic zone of skiing and food and beverages. We became a powerful clan. Greek Peak Ski School, a dozen or so of the Grey and Black would overrun the Dark Horse or anywhere Cortland, colors. And even after I broke my neck, Scott was always there. Jesus we blew a lot of money at the Rusty Nail, The Community Restaurant, Paddy's, the Tavern, Woodman's, everywhere. The Dark Horse. Scott made sure I was everywhere and at every event. He was always there. It was tough being a new quadriplegic, Scott and Greg and Bill and Jim. They were there. Playing cards, arguing politics, parties of legend- the Western event was epic with rooftop gun-play et. al.. After me and what should have been his ex-wife split, we were tight. Scott would laugh when my catheter would leak, we'd fix it. Back before ramps I still went everywhere, thanks to Scott. Scott gave me dignity. We were always tight between women. Women didn't like being around us when we were single, we laughed too hard. Our inside jokes drove women crazy, not one S.O. liked either one of us, we recognized this. Out of respect, we hung out infrequently. But oh, I can't count the number of our legendary events we started and finished. Scott once shoveled a path through eight feet of snow to my back patio. We BBQ-ed ribs like Kings and drank Jameson, a case or two of Old Milwaukee. Scott's generosity knew no bounds. We ate good. We enjoyed cooking over the edge. We did holidays for strays regularly, for those with family far away or unable to travel or too close. Thirty second auto transfer, in or out, me and wheels in his car. Epic times. I was stupid. I didn't check in with Murray after my last split. He was a brother through thick and thin and a great friend. He loved to ski hard and fast, always ready for a grease-race and Spring skiing slope-side BBQ. He loved to fish, fish fish. Always pushing that damn smoked Skaneateles Lake trout. Always wearing the Ray Ban aviators. Drove me nuts, he used to howl with my dogs until physical harm. Steve Earle's Copperhead Road. Damn. I can't believe he beat me into the ground.



The author suggests making a call or writing a note or comb the internet for a chance to say hello to an old friend. Merry Christmas.