The Bloggy Blogface!

   One of the less depressing stories amid the election aftermath concerns itself where President Obama's family might move to after his tenure ends next month. It appears they will stay in the Washington, D.C. area so that their youngest daughter, Sasha, can finish school. I'm grateful we never had to move when I was a kid. I switched schools often, but never a mailing address. It wasn't until my naive self got to college where I learned more about such normal concepts as split families and military ones that move around often. Sure, I was familiar with those circumstances, but never experienced them firsthand. Everyone was just...married, and there, right where I knew them. Except my late aunt's family. They moved around some, but always stayed within the city limits. Their son, my cousin, never had to transfer schools. He did, however, have to walk to a public school for a few years while living directly across from a private school. At least Sasha Obama doesn...

   A few nights ago, the Chicago Cubs reached the World Series for the first time in over seventy years. I'm sure you've heard the Cubs backstory ad nauseam - all the curses, general bad luck, et cetera. I know the media made damn sure you were aware of it all and then some. It provided a great storyline, but this current Cubs crew busted through all that by winning over one hundred regular season games and eventually three straight to capture that National League pennant. As a Mets fan, I'm...kind of happy for them? I don't know. Sweeping their asses in last year's National League Championship Series was pretty fun, but that was then I guess, and this is now. I'm rooting for them in this World Series, It's been a long time coming. Or, maybe I'm rooting for the Cleveland Indians. That's not such a bad thing, is it? They're a good team. Swept the Red Sox, whooped the Blue Jays in five - I mean what's not to like? They're likely the unde...

  A friend back in New York City is enrolled in a M.F.A. program in creative writing. I haven't spoken to him much about it, but he just recently started the program. He's about my age. Good guy - poet, performer, and activist. We met attending the same college back in the day, specifically working the school's summer new student orientation program together. I don't remember if he graduated with my class back then. Maybe a few years later. At any rate, to pursue higher education after being out of the game for so long is no small feat. More power to him. His pursuit of the M.F.A. got me thinking about my past futile attempts at such. Most of my wild dreams about the degree occurred well over a decade ago. For reference about those days, I recently took a gander at some past Livejournal entires that date back to around 2004. Most of my friends on that site hailed from the school in Louisiana I worked at. Prior to leaving this position, I had created a somewhat satiri...

   A fellow barfly has been missing in action recently. He hasn't been frequenting the few places we often spot him here in town. Maybe he moved? That's somewhat doubtful, as he mentioned awhile ago that he just bought a home. Unless he made that story up, of course. One of the last times we saw him, he was accompanied by a woman he claimed was his neighbor. She was an older lady, chain smoking with leathery skin and an appetite for all the rum and cokes that night. Their body language together suggested they were, in fact, just friends. And possibly neighbors. The missing barfly - let's call him Greg - is indirectly friends with people in our social circle here. In fact, they all used to hang out back in the day before I came into the picture. I've had the endless artificial joy of hearing story after story of their early intoxicated, sometimes drug-fueled adventures - whether at bars, bonfires, music festivals and the like. Greg certainly was a party kind of guy. ...

   The latest issue of a weekly rag in this town features its annual "Best Of..." winners. One of the category winners happens to be a nearby bar, specifically one I first began frequenting when I relocated here. It's just off the main road, attached to what looks like a couple of makeshift row homes that are actually empty retail spaces. In front of the building sits a small parking lot, with some more spaces across the street and in the adjacent dirt lot. The dirt lot is often jam-packed on weekend afternoons, thanks to the restaurant area being largely kid and pet friendly. A friend and I started spending many evenings at this place, mostly due to the fact it was accessible by taking side streets, avoiding any bar-closing hour patrols. Back in the day I guess this place was sort of a rough house - there's still a few bullet holes visible in the ceiling. The front entrance leads you into the dining portion of the space. Lots of wooden tables, chairs, and booths...

   The note was an apology, to my mother, for whatever I did way back when. Somehow I managed to rise before she did, crawling my five year-old self out of the small twin bed with a mission at hand. The note was already composed, now it just needed a delivery spot. Placing it on her nightstand was out of the question - she's a light sleeper, and their bedroom was up a creaky stairwell with a door that craved oil on its hinges. So was the kitchen table - as a family, that's where we placed birthday cards for the lucky member to spot. Too confusing to put an apology letter there. I decided the best place was in her car, where she could spot it before she ventured to work in the morning. Most steering wheels on cars from the 1980's, by the way, are a perfect resting place for such correspondence. The horn often sat back a bit from the spoke, or whatever the technical term is for it, making for an ideal spot to balance something if need be. I strapped on some quick winter gear...

   We drove straight through a thunderstorm, because of course that's the weather when careening down curvy mountain roads. Some lady we had to pick up along the way fills our ears about how long it has been since she got to see everyone. We overhear a couple of phone calls to her husband, who is trying to sell their  other home on the other side of the state. She's concerned about something with the awning and siding on that other house. Prior to all this, she was gnawing on some super crunchy chips with her mouth open. She's lived here her entire life, and knows where this place is we're trying to navigate through the storm. I'm annoyed, because I am the one driving through the mess. The one scenario I despise the most is slowly taking shape - driving in the dark while it's raining. I'm sure I am pissing off some of the locals driving behind us, as I'm trudging through the storm a couple miles below the speed limit. They'll get over it. I tighte...

  The landlord rang our doorbell with some good news. He's a friendly guy. Older, somewhat of a handyman - I guess you have to be to own a rental property - and looking to sell the complex to so far no buyers. He's partners with another fellow owning the place, but that guy relocated to Florida, so now he's stuck doing all the maintenance and presently speaking to me about how our mailbox was full.  He had a new key made, and was here to deliver it in person. It's full because at some point, I decided to take the lone mailbox key off of my key ring and place it elsewhere. This wouldn't be a terrible thing had I not traveled to New York in the process. It could be hundreds of miles away, or right under my nose. I endured a valiant search for it, but it was of no use.  Losing the key was a little frustrating.  This is due to the fact I simply do not lose keys. Unless you want to count the time I locked them in my car with the engine running. Not sure how that ev...

    For a third grade class project, our teacher gave each of us a small white undershirt, some fabric markers, and an ambitious task - draw what you want to be when you grow up . Because at eight years old, you're supposed to know this kind of thing.  I was less excited about the project than I was about the fact I get to draw on a shirt. This went against just about everything my mother would get upset about, trying to get ink and marker stains out of my sister's clothes and mine while doing laundry. I arrived home that afternoon, closed the bedroom door like I usually did, and got right to work. Full disclosure here - I cannot draw worth crap. This holds true both now and when I was a a kid. So needless to say this shirt design was going to be pretty pathetic. And as an added bonus, I had to draw on fabric. Not exactly an easy task, especially for a third-grade kid. My mother suggested I slide a piece of cardboard inside the shirt, so the marker wouldn't bleed th...

For the 2006 gubernatorial election in the state where my parents live, they told me they voted for someone I'll refer to as Person X, simply because they knew him. They knew him because they read about him in newspapers and heard him mentioned often during the noon and six o'clock newscasts. This was because Person X was the state's Attorney General the previous eight years. With my parents living close to the state's capital, they were inundated with plenty of the Attorney General's words and actions over time. Most of the voters across the state must have learned about him in similar fashion, as he completely smoked his opponent in the election. To this date it is still the widest margin of victory in the history of the state's gubernatorial elections - a history that traces back almost two-hundred fifty years. Fortunately, the tenure of Person X as governor was very short-lived. Just eleven months into his term, his approval rating dipped to a frightful...

  An important winter question!  I just finished walking the dog while dressed in shorts, boots, and a hoodie. About a foot of snow cascaded through the mountains over the weekend, but the weather warmed enough to start melting the aberration I thought I was completely rid of by moving back south. And while the dog loves romping through the snow, I of course do not. I let him have this joy from time to time, if anything to make sure he doesn't defecate in the apartment. He'll sniff around all the tracks like he's Scooby Doo or some other dog I can't think of that sniffs footprints and helps solve crimes, but he rarely does his deed out there. It's a bitter cold war I'll eventually win, but it sure doesn't stop cars from either slowing down to make sure they don't hit the puppy, or to just laugh at my attire while I aim a flashlight in the dog's direction. It isn't a big secret that I pretty much hate snow. Especially monumental fucking gobs ...

From the Latin ruber meaning  red , ruby is a gemstone that is pink and blood-red in color and for the longest time I thought sat alongside three other gems on a ring my mother used to wear. The gems on that ring are birthstones - two garnets, one turquoise, and what I thought was a ruby but was actually topaz, for November, my father's birthday. I always thought the ring was a neat little feature, one of the more demure ways to show affection in our home. My parents have been married for a long time. For their silver anniversary, I gave them a fun photo frame featuring them on their wedding day with "25 YEARS" engraved at the bottom. In the photo, my parents are all smiles and looking good like most Nixon Administration newlyweds did back then. My grandparents stood on their opposite sides - my mother's parents next to my father, his folks next to my mother. I wonder if during the days leading up to the wedding if there were any jitters, maybe some slight hesit...

10 better things the puppy justice warrior could have done instead of sticking a note under the car wipers 1.  They could have peeked their nosy asses into the car a little bit more and see the puppy dressed in a warm sweater while wrapped up in a North Face sleeping bag. 2.  They could have seen myself or a friend head out to the car every fifteen minutes to check on him and run the engine some. 3. They could have actually grown a pair and instead seek us out inside to invoke their passive-aggressive wrath. 4. Had they actually grown a pair and encountered us inside, they would see we were merely waiting for our to-go food order. Those do take a little bit of time to prepare, especially when the place is particularly busy. 5. In the time they searched their car or purse for an empty envelope and pen to jot down their perceived puppy mistreatment rage, they could have once again just searched for us inside to inquire. But I understand it’s better to puff on...