Hey! I just realized. I’m a blog!

Well, that just sounds stupid.

What I mean is that without being known to the world, the only things that are apparent are the words and images that I fill this blog with. That’s all I do.

It’s you the reader who takes these words and breathes life into them. You read them, bring them into your conscious and sometimes subconscious and animate everything in your minds eye.

For me, when I blog, I am an ancient warrior. A Samurai. Sam I Am. My sword is my keyboard. My fighting abilities acquired long ago, mostly to defend myself. Looking out across the vast universe that is known as the World Wide Web.

I absolutely love to take the words that swirl around in my head like driftwood and slash them out onto my electronic stationary. Some days being profound, other days being very not profound, and some days being down right incoherent.

That’s ok with me. I’m a blog. Not meant to be anything more than what I type out. Well, unless someone is moved to comment. I do like comments. Whether positive or negative or indifferent. I’ll post them. No reason not to post them. They are other people. Others blogs.

I am blog because it lets me purge out everything that would be stuck in my head. And I don’t have to look like I’m completely out of my mind and go around talking to myself all the time. I am blogger hear me roar! Yeah…now that’s a little outta hand.

Well, I like to blog my little blogs on my Smartphone first. It’s very convenient and allows me to carry around unlimited numbers of blogs and blog ideas. I lie in bed with my phone in my hands tapping away on the keyboard. Ideas flow in and sometimes hit brick walls as I type. I just move on to the next blog or last blog.

Yes. I write and write and write. I have written since I was young. But this writing is very compatible with my ADHD. Turn on a dime. Get another idea and off to fresh stationary. Hey…think I’ll blog about mustard. Hmmm…I think that I’ll tell the world about my Mary Tyler Moore dream.

I have no idea where all this stuff comes from. I don’t even think that I’d want to know. It’s just the way my brain is wired. And I have no problem sharing the information as it comes at me. Why should I? It’s just my mind.

Scary. Yeah, sometimes. But not scary in a criminal or sociopath kind of way. At least I hope not. Just scary in the normal thoughts of a normal…ok….Well, maybe not terribly normal… Ok…well, they are thoughts.

So. I am blog. And I am at peace with that. Wow. All this writing has made me hungry. Off to the land of the fluffer nutter.

Does anyone else have a daily annoyance?

Mine?

I have somehow been signed up for a daily horrorscope.

Yes…horror-scope. So many people rely on those things. ‘You will fulfill one of your greatest dreams today’. I could have told myself that. Anytime that I eat Chinese food for lunch it’s a dream come true for me. I am easily pleased by the little things in life.

I don’t even know how they know when I was born. In fact, I have no idea why I get it. I guess I’m a Gemini. Everybody goes, ‘Oh. That explains a lot’ when they hear that. I’m just perplexed.

Yeah, you know, some of the things that they say are right on the money. I find it odd though. There are millions of Geminis in the world and all of us woke up this morning to be told that we should now pay better attention to our finances.

Huh. It will be debilitating when the post office gets all those envelopes containing checks to pay all the Gemini’s bills. Well, half of the bills will go through the mail. The other half will be paid over the internet. Probably short something out right around Northern California. C’est la vie.

This daily annoyance has become more and more annoying. I was taking a ‘can’t beat em join em’ attitude. Looking for it in the in-box. Reading it with great pleasure assured in the knowledge that my focus is unshakable today and that I should be able to get those pesky projects finished.

Lately, though, it has started to be intermittent with arriving. Sometimes I wake up, check my phone and there it is to guide me through an emotional time and warn me that I should probably think before I speak. Sometimes I’m already eating my veggie egg foo young when it comes in. And yes, I will eat a honking salad for dinner if mercury is in retrograde.

Now, lunchtime isn’t bad, per say. But recently I got my horrorscope at 8:51 pm. Seriously? How can I get sincerely annoyed (or amused) by this horrorscope if I don’t get it earlier in the day? All I can do then is just look at it and yell, ‘now you tell me. Thanks!’.

Just annoying. What in the hell good is the information at 8:51 pm?! How am I supposed to know that I have to look for that person that I will talk with and change their life?! You mean to tell me that the information was so difficult to divinate that it took an all day session of meditation to come up with?

No, fellow star signs, I don’t believe that. I think that it just sits in an email queue line somewhere, just waiting to squirt out into everyone’s mail box. Pre-written based on the position of Amy Winehouse in relation to Tom ‘Suri’s Dad’ Cruise. And it marinates there until it’s nice and juicy and then -pow- it hits the in-box.

I occasionally wonder what other signs find in their in-box. I’m curious. Can I switch over? Change teams, as it were? Email the customer service department at The Horrorscope Depot and make a small request?

“Dear Sir or Madame,

“I have been getting your wonderful (and accurate, I must say) emails detailing my world of possibilities every day.

“And while I’m referencing the ‘day’, would you mind sending it out a bit earlier? I got mine at 8:51 pm one day and missed my chance to find that charismatic ’someone’ who would present me with the opportunity to travel.

“I would like to go on record as saying that I’m not bitter. I am, in fact, comforted in the knowledge that a Gemini sits in a small cafe in Amsterdam sipping a delightful cup of coffee and happy in the knowledge that your wonderful information will reach them again on the morrow.

“That’s neither here nor there, and I digress from my original purpose of this contact.

“I have recently been feeling more practical. My carefree Gemini ways have given way to an alarming sense of order and organization. As an example, I often get the uncontrollable feeling that I need to balance my checkbook and file my business expense receipts more than bi-monthly. Unfortunately, this makes it very difficult to relate to the Gemini horror..I mean horoscope.

“I’m not sure how to say this, so I am just going to say it. I have been living a lie my whole life. And I want to live the rest of my life without any regrets and being open about who I am.

“Sir or Madame, I must confess to you know that I am not the typical Gemini that I have lead the world to believe I am. No. I am a Capricorn. I have been a Capricorn. I’ve known for such a long time. When I was a kid, I used to play with the fine point accounting pens, always looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was looking. I got caught once by an Older Aunt who was a Librarian (and perhaps a Libra), so she understood and never mentioned it to a soul.

“So now, Sir or Madame, my request to you is simple. Would you please help me live my life as my true self and allow me to be a Capricorn? I believe that is written in the stars. And I know that you fine Sir or Madame can relate to that.

Sincerely,

Ex-Gemini.”

I’ll bet they think that I’m outta my mind and use my letter as post consumer fill for those shipping envelopes.

Oh well. I think I’ll order some sesame chicken and wait for my horrorscope to come in tonight.

…is a very exciting time of year for me.

I love the way it makes me feel inside. Just full of happy stuff. Watching the leaves turning. Smelling the smoky aroma that the wood burning stoves are creating with their hot flames. The smell of hot apple cider and cinnamon sticks steaming out of mugs.

There is a general feeling of cozy comfort in the air. Sort of an easing into winter. Red, orange, pink, yellow. The colors in the rainbow painted everywhere in nature. Rosy cheeks from the windy weekends spent outside enjoying the sunny afternoons.

The crunching of the leaves under your feet as you walk. Looking around and finding the perfect leaf and acorn which you carry with you for the rest of your walk. When you get home, you place them both on your counter top and remember the walk for days.

It’s a time for reflecting, but also a time for preparing. The chill in the air becomes more pronounced and there are many things that stir up emotions. The thought of blankets of snow covering the last of the grass. The first time you can see your breath in the air.

The thought of friends at the holiday times is pleasant. I always find myself thinking of the aroma of coffee and fresh cookies hugging the air at a party.

Ribbons and music and glasses clanking together. And the wonderful smells of all the food. Savory foods mix with pastries to create an amazing choreography of intermingled smells.

I am amazed at the world in autumn. One huge emotion is attached to the weekend games of college football. Chilly days of sunshine and puffs of clouds. All of the people in the stands cheering for their team.

Since I was 4 years old my favorite college team has been the Penn State Nittany Lions. It’s always a thrill to watch the players running towards the field, all amped up on emotion. I imagine myself next to them, running and holding my helmet above my head by the facemask. Yelling and testosterone pumping through my entire body. Then I remember that there are several drawbacks, such as my exceptionally short stature, that kept me from running towards the field. Eh….is ok. I get to watch it and imagine.

And I get to do it without bruises and concussions and with hot wings and chips. Not a bad trade off. My knees thank me for no football. Of course they still hold a grudge for the full contact volleyball that I used to play, but it’s all good.

Yes. Oh Good Deities in Heaven. I love autumn. For more than one reason. But I think the best reason to love autumn is that I stop and remember how lucky I am to be here to experience another season.

And I want to pass on that appreciation to everyone. Especially my nephews and nieces. They still have the energy of youth. And a lot of room for that emotional storage.

That’s a hell of a way to start a blog.

Let me explain myself.

A long time ago – back in the days of the dinosaurs (as my nephew likes to say) – I was born. Shortly afterwards, I began to meet the cast of characters called my family. Yeah. What an amazing cast, too.

Aunt Lena…wow. She was something. A ball of fire. Kinda funny because she was so serious that you just had to laugh. Then there was Uncle Horace. He tried to call in a bomb threat to a family party on my cell phone once. Suckered me into it too. Asked me how it worked, then started to call 411 for the phone number. I got the phone back before I made the top 10 criminal list and wound up hanging in the post office with my edges curling and my forehead yellowing.

And then there was Uncle Tito and Aunt Ruby. He was my father’s father’s brother. Nice guy. Married a psycho woman….but now I am getting ahead of myself.

Uncle Tito was always sort of passive. He was a big Civil War enthusiast. He was a Marine in WWII. Fought in a lot of crucial and well known battles. Loved his brother, my grandfather.

So he’s married to Aunt Ruby. They have 3 boys. And for some unknown, but well theorized reason, Aunt Ruby called Uncle Tito “Joe”. All the old Italian cusses said it was because she didn’t like Italians. I found that confusing in my younger days. She married one, how did that work?! Doesn’t like Italians and has 3 kids with one. Did I mention that she named her first born, “Joe Jr.”? Yeah, and for that matter, she used to take all of her old Christmas cards and cut them up and use them as tags for presents the next year. A pioneer of Green Living….now. Back then she was nuts.

Ok, so we have established the fact that they had 3 boys. Apparently that was a bit much for Aunt Ruby since Uncle “Joe” worked for a living so they hired a “housekeeper” who was also a nanny to the boys (even though no one would admit it). She even lived with them. She was a really nice Haitian woman. I remember that.

Well, back in the days of the dinosaur, some perceptions – a few not so inaccurate – developed of my nuclear family (as whacked as it is). Ok. So back in the day things were slightly different. These were the days of inner turmoil for America. Kennedy had been shot a few short years before. MLK was in the process of making enough enemies to seal his fate. The riots in Watts followed. It was a brutal and alarming time in America. So, my father – being the ass that he is – finds it humorous to instigate as much as he can. This includes instigating Aunt Ruby and Uncle “Joe” about their housekeeper.

Now, my father is an idiot (no, seriously he is and if you need proof go here and read the last few lines). So of course he takes great pleasure in just putting people besides themselves. And he would put Aunt Ruby right beside herself…sometimes on both sides. I thought that it was pretty horrible….at the time.

So my father established himself as a jackass (refer to the link above) and, as I remember, my grandparents were extremely vocal. If something ticked them off, you would definitely know. Especially if you were what ticked them off.

Right….so the kids grow up. One becomes an actor (actually was on national tv. For 3 seconds as a one time appearance on a 1990’s show). One becomes an artist. Yeah. Lived in NYC for a long time. Apparently Diane Keaton gave him a sweater one year for Christmas. (ahem) One became….actually, I have no idea what the other became. No one ever told me or talked about it. I never asked. All I know is that he fell off a mountain and perished. Had to wait for the thaw to retrieve him. Nasty way to go.

Anyway, the kids are outta the house. Ms. Haitian Housekeeper leaves the house too. Ah…but a bond was formed. She comes back to visit as often as possible. She’s like family. At least one kid (the actor) calls her his sister. Ok…let’s fast forward lest I tell every single detail of every single reason for the pox.

It’s 1991. My grandfather retires. Exactly – to the day – one month later he has a massive stroke which affects his entire right side and speech. It takes him months in the hospital and rehab to recover. His brother, Uncle Tito (and his 2 sisters), faithfully visited him. Uncle Tito visited him every day. A pretty amazing thing since he lived about 45 minutes away and still worked every day. And then afterwards, for years, every weekend or as often as he could, he would go and get his brother – who was paralyzed one side (and still is), and took him out to breakfast. They would go by themselves and have brother time. I admired that so much. Uncle Tito got him in and out of the car 4 times and always loved coming to get him.

Then Uncle Tito’s health began to fail. He had heart attacks, open heart surgeries, pulmonary problems, and even had some kind of incident where he passed out while driving and EMT’s happened to see him….got beside the car and actually went from a moving ambulance to the car Uncle was in and pulled it over and then worked on him until he revived. Now THAT is amazing (support your local EMT’s)!!!

Wow. He is in and out of the hospital many times. Many times my grandfather would go to the hospital and his brother would always reassure him that everything was fine. And it usually was. And then Uncle Tito started having trouble breathing and his trips to get his brother slowly fell off.

Then one day the phone rang. It was my cousin John. Uhhhh….no. We didn’t see the paper. WHAT?!?!?!?!

Uncle Tito was gone.

Ok. Why would we have to read about it in the paper?

Much back and forth phone action revealed that Uncle Tito had gone into the hospital approximately 4 days before passing and the doctor’s told Aunt Ruby that he wasn’t going to make it. FOUR DAYS. Four days of opportunity for my grandfather – his brother – to go and say goodbye to his older brother. FOUR DAYS of Uncle Tito lying in a hospital bed. Seen by countless nurses, technicians, clergy, family….FOUR DAYS. But not seen by his brother. Who knew him for 70 plus years. Grew up laughing next to him. Looked after by his older brother. Both fought in WWII. Brothers. Brothers with the best idea of family that I have seen. Brothers no matter what.

I’ve ranted too long….this has gone on much longer then I intended.

But there is so much more.

So, if everyone bears with me….I shall finish tomorrow.

The world is ending.

That’s right Ladies and Gentleman. Don’t panic, but get your life in order, make sure you have all of your stocks and bonds locked safely in the fire proof container. Make sure that you have plenty of canned goods. And M & M’s. I figure money will be pointless. M & M’s will be better than gold. They’ll remind everyone of “simpler” times.

Well, don’t stock up too much. After all, the world has been ending since it almost began.

That Nostradamus was a busy little man. Staring at his water, dunking his quill pen into ink, and putting all of his visions down on paper. From what I’ve read, you can interpret quite a lot. Like the rise and fall of Hitler….or the invention of the paper clip.

Well, I suppose that he was a little more than that. He certainly has provided centuries of entertainment.

I guess with all of my research, I’m a little jaded. End of Days….meh…..okie dokie. I have read up on how many times people have predicted the End of the world. This is not to say that it won’t happen… i just can’t come to terms with it happening now. I mean…look at Y2K. Everyone was convinced that at least something would happen. And it did. Everyone panicked for absolutely nothing. There were a lot of stunning displays of fireworks. Perhaps that is what the “fire in the sky” was. Seems to me that if I were alive and looking into a jar to see the future and saw that I’d be a little impressed to say the least.

Sigh. Told you I was jaded.

I just don’t think that something that will happen to turn everyone but a select few into dirt eating zombies…..I imagine that the supply of brains will be limited and our zombie appetites will have to modify themselves. I’m choosing dirt. There’s a lot of that. Although, now that I think about it, it will probably be all jacked up on radiation.

Plus, I feel kind of guilty thinking that the world will end soon. I feel slightly presumptuous and rude frankly. Just because I am here, that means that the event that everyone’s been talking about for centuries is going to creep up like my shorts at the gym and then pounce on us like a mighty lion? I just can’t seem to wrap my head around it.

Well, let’s just say….knock on wood….fingers crossed….deep cleansing breaths….ok ok…let’s not go there. Let me just say that plenty of people have been wrong. Including Saints and common everyday people.

I’m a bit ticked off too. Everyone who’s faith is strong enough to find hope in a piece of bread which they think resembles the Virgin Mary should NOT have to worry about the Four Horsemen riding up behind them.

Oh well…I think I’ll go and get some M & M’s. I’ve made myself hungry. And I don’t like dirt….yet.

I happened to be surfing the net and I stumbled on to one of the worst sights that I have seen in a long time. It makes me stop and stare, unable to think anything but “why?”.

Now, I have 2 nieces. And occasionally I will go online and look around for toys, books, music and that kind of stuff for them. I was doing just that the other day when I bumped into it. What was it?

Butterfly Art Ken.

>blink blink<

Wow. Capitalism defined.

And to make matters worse they put the poor bastard in a pastel colored tank top. And a pair of denim cut off shorts. Someone just doesn’t like Ken. Something tells me the guy who approved this doll is a little brother. And all of you little brothers know what I mean.

Your sisters see you playing quietly (or not so quietly) with GI Joe. They turn around and grin and you don’t even know it’s coming. Before you know it, you big sister is swooping down and forcing you to marry off Joe to Barbie. Of course you abide. She’ll leave bruises if you don’t and your teacher is already talking to the principle about the quality of your home life.

So there you are. Apologizing profusely to Joe in your mind hoping that he hears you telepathically. Your face is all bunched up, partly out of disgust and partly out of holding in all of the queasiness you feel in your stomach.

The worst moment is when that sister of yours grabs on to Joe and pushes his face into Barbie’s. She makes the noise…”Mmmmmmmmmwah!” The deed is done. Before you can get Joe back, the happy couple need to go on their honeymoon. Eventually your sister comes into the house where you have retreated to and throws your Joe at you. She’s done…ha ha ha.

Some little brother grows up and is sitting in that board room. He sees Ken and rubs his hands together in triumph. The perfect revenge. Now his sister’s daughter will play with a doll whom she could never approve. Nope. She likes the gruff military type.

Every little brother smiles.

Hey….I think that I’ll pick up a couple of those Ken dolls. I think that my nieces would love them.

It seems as though I get into a groove and then, bam.

My freaking laptop squirrels out on me and I am left with a bunch of stuff in my head and nowhere to put it.

Ah. It’s alright. I hate not being able to blog. And look stupid stuff up on the internet. I absolutely love to just wander around the internet and look in all the cracks and under all the rocks. Just to see what I’ll find.

I’ve been finding a lot of politics online lately. That just bores me. I am interested in the theory of it, but the actual practice of it leaves me with such an indifferent taste. I used to get really pissed when I had more energy. Now I just take that energy and throw it someplace else.

Ok then – I will just leave you with several wonderful things to look at and stuff to do.

Enjoy.

I am waving a flag of surrender.

I have found out that these babies have been around for a long time.

Yes. As crazy as it sounds, this sad little scrape along the underbelly of pop culture has, in fact, established itself firmly around us.

Somewhere right now, a coven of midwives are poking fake hair into a tiny scalp with vicious looking needles.

In a remote cabin in Oregon, “someone” is sculpting the next Reborn Superstar.

And still others are working really hard at their job at the phone company, or as a telemarketer, or at the deli counter so that they can go home and surf on ebay to their hearts content. They look in every corner of the internet. They are both hunters and gatherers. Their prey is an unsuspecting and seemingly lifeless creature. With rosy cheeks and angel faces, they wait for the winning bidder. Then they are off to their new family who are eagerly waiting for their bundle of joy to arrive.

Five hundred or $600 later, they push their way into the box that they found on the front porch when they got home. Throwing open the flaps and scattering packaging peanuts all over the floor, they nearly burst with pride. Pixie is finally here. And she’s beautiful. Just look at those tiny hands and feet. And so soft to the touch. You just want to hold her and cuddle her and keep her safe.

The little one is here now. All is right in our world. Surges of emotion nearly overtake them as they sigh and look at the little Pixie. She’s half asleep. Voices hush instinctively. Don’t disturb her.

Loving that adorable face is easy, isn’t it? That’s why they made a special place for her. A little crib. A soft blanket. Adorable pajamas that suit her little personality.

After a while, all settles down. Pixie is resting and right at home.

A little big people tv time would be nice. Perhaps a film that they never saw before on a cable channel at the far end of the line up. Yes. A terrible film. Maybe from the ’70’s or ’90’s. A commercial break. A chance to get some more chips and iced tea. And then rushing back to see the end of the film, there’s that commercial again. The one with all those sorry looking kids begging for money again. Swatting flies out of their mouths or just giving in and letting them walk all over their face because they are too tired to try to shoo them away.

We’ll just change the channel until that dismal image is gone. It’s a good thing that we are so lucky.

And can give our Pixie everything she could ever need or want.

The Babies.

I’m still all jacked up by the babies. Not babies. THE Babies.

The Reborn Babies. They are here. Wow.

Alright. I managed to settle down a little from yesterday. A little.

I still have no understanding of this…um…pastime. I really wish I did.

That said, this whole thing gives me the freakin’ creeps. Seriously. Case in point: As I mentioned yesterday, these babies (or actually the baby parts) need to be boiled. After they are boiled, and I am presuming that they are cooled off a bit, they are prepared for painting.

Yeah. It seems as though the folks who do this actually paint the babies to make them look more real. Not just a little real actually. Painting veins on them. Painting the creases in their little hands and baby feet to resemble that of a newborn. Not only that but the one that completely confuses me: They paint rashes. Yup. Little pimples that you always see on a newborn. I guess people call that a “milk rash”. I’m going to just go with the little pimples.

Call it what you want. There it is all over the baby. With the creases and the veins. I am wondering how they get the cradle cap to be as realistic as possible. Do they mix oatmeal with library paste and smear it all over the little, boiled scalp?

Oh my god…that reminds me about the hair. My voice is weak. I’ll tell you about that tomorrow.

Who does this transforming of what comes out of the package resembling the aftermath of some horrific incident into the steaming heaps of flesh colored arms, legs, and heads? Who takes this pile of fresh plastic or vinyl canvas and molds it and paints it into the likeness of every Gerber baby you ever noticed on a jar of baby food?

They are the collective which calls themselves…The Nurseries. I picture a coven of women (apparently this ’sport’ is dominated by women) hunched over tables and kitchen countertops and squinting at the lifeless forms which they will name once they breath life into them.

“She’s alive! My precious little Pixie is ALIVE!!!!” Mwahahahahah!

“Bring her to me, Igor. I must make sure that she is perfect! Egad! Not enough little pimples!!! Igor! Off to the market…bring me back the rouge colored paint! And don’t forget the Baby Lips Pink! And for Pixie’s sake HURRY!”

dramatic music inserted here.

Will our Precious Little Pixie hold on until Igor can get back with the fresh paints?
Will the Leader of the Coven be satisfied with the results?
Will the utility company catch up with the Coven and demand payment for all of the boiling water usage?!
Can the trend continue until the kids have enough in their college funds???

Tune in tomorrow for more exciting action in…..dun dun duuuun….BABIES REBORN!

Ok.

I live under a rock.

Has anyone else noticed those “Baby Reborn” things? Or is it “Rebirthed”???

I can not imagine who invented these. Or when. Or for what purpose.

Someone – anyone – please enlighten me!

First of all, as I am reading up on these things, I find out that they are dolls. Ok? Dolls. As if that doesn’t creep me out enough, I find out that they are exact replicas. Yes! Of babies!

Whose babies? I’m not sure. But definitely babies.

Alright. One step further in….you order them. Somewhere around $50 will get you a “kit” (as in kitten?). The kit comes with nearly everything that you need to Reborn your Baby. Except the boiling water, which I will get to in a minute.

Here are some baby parts. This is kinda what the kit will look like. This is what first alarmed me.

Here is the “baby” kit:

A pregnant pause here is more than appropriate I think.

Anyway…I think to myself….”Lots of people make dolls”. Yeah. That’s when I found out that grown women are carrying these dolls around like real children. Bringing them along to do all the mommy chores they have for the day. Another pregnant pause goes here – this time it’s accompanied by my blank stare.

What in the HELL are people thinking? Well, they clearly aren’t.

I’ve seen places on the net where a discussion will break out over these things and the people who “rebirth” these things insist that it’s natural and an art form. Ah. That explains it. Well, to a degree anyway. I mean, dolls have been a part of society before society was civilized, so to speak. That’s fine. Dolls are dolls. Not the Baby Zombies, though. I think that they are more than that.

Point in case: Once you get the kit, you boil the parts (head, arms, legs). Yes. BOIL them. A very pregnant pause here. Blank stare and now blinking at the words – boil them.

Boiling, you see, makes them baby soft. And whatever else. I don’t know. I just don’t like the image of baby parts boiling away in huge pots that my grandmother used to cook pasta in. And doing it on stoves all over the world. Very realistic baby parts. In water. Dancing in time with the bubbling water inside the massive pasta pots. I am getting shivers.

I could go on forever about the Babies Reborn. I think that I’ll stop right here though. I’d like to rant in installments.

Anyone out there who wants to sear me in my comment section, be warned……I will not change my opinion regarding this subject. Go on ahead and comment, but I will tell you that I can not imagine what in the wide world of sports you could say to make me change my impression completely.

Tomorrow: Baby “Nurseries”.

I am tired and fed up today.

Posting today would be the equivalent of trying to defuse a bomb after taking NyQuil.

I pass. Although there is a slightly important message that I’d like to send out.

Here you go Wasdog and Slim – sorry it’s a little late.

Or is it “Who’s your Daddy?”.

Who knows. It’s hard to keep up these days.

Well, my father is a nut job. Certifiable.

Please don’t tell him that I said this or anything, but he is a typical, older Italian man. He smokes, he drinks Anisette, he loves his grandchildren. We love him in spite of himself.

He’s a funny little man with funny little ideas about life. The head injury helps him be slightly more funny. Shrug. Yeah….I am completely serious about that. He got thrown from a vehicle and went about 80 feet before a telephone pole stopped his flight.

Then, there was that time that his head caught on fire. Well, he was in an explosion and then his head caught on fire. I guess it’s important to give the details.

And now that I think about it, it seems like my father is the man of steel.

One accident that he was in was 2 vans hitting head on. He was driving one. He tried to jump out of the way but didn’t make it completely to the passenger side. His left foot was crushed and his left femur suffered a twisting, splintered, compound fracture. The doctors said that he would never walk again or work again. They do not know the power of a stubborn Italian man. He’s walking fine and actually worked for a long time after the accident.

I’ll leave out all the feats of stupidity that he has accomplished. Like the time he answered “Of course” when my mother asked him if she looked fat.

Nope. I will just plow ahead with why I’m blogging about my father, yo.

He just got diagnosed with cancer. This is on the heels of his triple bypass. Wow. Italian men will stop at nothing to prove their prowess. And when he was younger, he was a boatload of prowess.

Now, though, as I sit with him in the examination rooms of the clinics and hospitals, I see a very different side of the man. I can see into the soul of the little boy. I can see him sitting on the edge of the exam table, nervously thumbing through a magazine that he isn’t really reading, just to keep himself occupied until the nurse or doctor come into the room.

I can see the distinct look of confusion on his face. I can tell that he is lost in a swirl of thoughts inside his head. I can see him asking himself questions and trying to answer them. He looks at me and cracks a joke and I laugh with him. And sometimes I just look at him and wonder how he became the son and how I became the parent.

He calls me to talk about football while I’m working. I don’t mind. He talks to me about the same play on the same 1 yard line and I respond like it’s the first time I’m hearing it. I don’t mind at all. I know the real reason that he calls me is to check up on me. I know that he worries. That’s fine with me.

It’s fine with me because I know how it feels. I worry about him too. And someday someone will let me ramble on while I talk about football to them.

Yup. Only thing I wonder is how crazy will I be then? Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Uh. Yes please.

So. I am blogging at 2:22 am. Is that typical of bloggers? Now that I think about it, it probably is.

So why do I need help? Many reasons. However, the one that I am blogging about is that I just realized something. It struck me out of the blue. I don’t know why it impacted me so greatly, but somehow, I think that it has.

Here is my revelation: I am a geek.

When did this happen?

Could have started in 1983. That’s when I got my first computer (and my father had to sit me on his lap while I pounded away at the keys and programming cute little talking faces….ok. Not really. Unfortunately, I was quite able to sit up and even spell sort of ok.) Anyway, it could have started then.

I could have started the day that I obtained my 3rd computer and could program them all. Ahhhh. Those were the days. Yeah. Denial, I think is the best word to describe what I’ve been going through for the past….”several”…years of my life.

I sort of started to chip away at my defenses when my nephew watched me fixing a problem on my father’s computer. He looked at me and, with the innocence of youth, asked me, “Are you a computer geek?” Me? A computer geek? I thought to myself….well, everyone at work does ask me to help them with their computers. I have one in my office right now waiting to be repaired. I seem to have to hold myself back when the IT department comes to my office to “fix” problems. Like that one time that Internet Explorer kept opening incessently. Ah. Two hours of working, IT took a break. Five minutes later, I had it fixed.

Hmmm. Don’t know about this. People always tell me that they think that I’m “extremely intelligent”. I say: Define Intelligence. They almost always agree that brains I have, common sense? Not so much. I often lose my ATM card. I can’t even trace my steps. I’m always too deep in thought. I have found it in the most unusual places too. Under my seat in the car. Behind a bookcase. In a canister of coffee. Sitting next to a bottle of cola in the fridge. Once….I was frantic looking for it because I was starving and wanted to go and get lunch. After someone bought me lunch, I found my card. In my PDA case – right where it belongs.

Oh yeah. I have a PDA. I’d suffocate in a mass of gelatenous flesh without it. Sigh. I have 4 flash memory cards for it, too. And I have had an iPod for years. And I have the “Take California” in it. That was the first song in the first iPod commercial. Wow…am I a geek. Oh yeah. I love gadgets. Always have them. Even if it’s just to play with them for a couple of hours. I have them.

And I’ve always been like that. I built a robot when I was younger. Made it out of spare parts. Vacuum cleaner. Simon game. An old motor that my dad had laying around in the basement. Wow. Those were the salad years….the first course in my journey onto glorious geekness.

I hated being smart, though. For a long time in school, I was the cute little developmentaly disabled kid with no requirements, no expectations, and no rules. Ahhhhhhhhh. Then they gave us that damn test and blind sided me. They didn’t tell us that it was an IQ test. Dammit. So I get called to the principle’s office and shown my test. I looked at it and then looked up at my accusers. “What did I do wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. But tell us, Sam…why are you doing so poorly in school if you are this intelligent?!”

And there you have it. The pivotal moment in my life when I could no longer fake ignorance. I had to acknowlege that I did, in fact, understand what was being taught to me. And that it bored the hell out of me. And that I thought that everyone in the class was a moron. I did not admit that I included the teachers in my assessment. They couldn’t help it. They had very little to work with.

Ok. I guess I admit it. I’m a geek. I have no common sense. I have limited social skills. I lack focus unless I am around a computer or PDA. I like watching the Science Channel and shun the home improvement shows with great disdain.

I guess the only thing that is unusual in my life is that my personal life (read romantic life) does not suffer because of my geekness. I suppose that I have a certain “geek appeal” for most women. And, I am told, that I have a cute butt (dunno – can’t see it), nice eyes (I am colorblind so how nice can they be?), and a great smile (nothing to say about that one except that it’s just a reflex mostly).

Good lord. It’s a wonder that I’ve found my soulmate and haven’t suffered trauma by stepping out in front of a bus as I cross the street aimlessly. Yup. I admit it. I’m a geek.

_________ Not me. Close. But I have shoulders like a linebacker.

What would you want as a superpower?

Someone asked me this recently and I answered right away. More about my answer later.

Here’s what other people said:

*The ability to fly.

Ok. I sort of understand this. Flying. Exhilarating. The freedom of movement in an otherwise restricted life. Earthbound creatures usually look to the sky and wish that they could be above it all. I would be distracted and fly into powerlines if I went with this superpower.

*The ability to read minds.

I definitely understand this. What in the hell are people thinking? This power would clear a lot up. What is my date thinking? Can we skip the movies? Ohhhh. Dinner is a must. It would just make things a lot easier. Like trying to figure out what your boss is really thinking. For me? My brain is way too cluttered with trivia and important things like naughty phrases in Spanish that may come in useful one day near the Mexican border. I shall move on, thank you.

*X-ray vision.

Wow is all I have to say. This one is self explanatory. No one wants this one to see what is in the company fridge. Everyone wants to see what is under everyone’s clothing. No thank you, say I. Have you looked at your co-workers and the general public lately? Go to any courtroom in the country and I promise that you would beg to have it taken away. Next up….

*The ability to instantly be where you want to be.

Ummm – ok. Where I want to be is on a beach. Where I am is here. Behind this keyboard. The beach is within driving distance. If I start out going towards the beach at 50 miles an hour and a friend of mine is twice as far as I am but drives at 65 miles an hour….we still get there and are at the beach. I’d rather not be able to instantly be where I want to be anyway. I’d change my mind in the middle of it and have parts of me spread all over the globe.

*Invisibility.

This is an intriguing one at first glance. The power to move through society without being seen. Kind of like setting up a MySpace account with no accurate information so that you can lurk around and see all the perversion. Well, in my life perversion isn’t all that shocking and certainly doesn’t require lurking. Also, would being invisible also include the clothes that you are wearing? If not, count me out. I’m not going anywhere without pockets.

Ok. So what’s my superpower?

I want to shrink myself and return to normal size at will.

Uh huh. I hear the laughter and people wondering out loud why that’s a good superpower. I will tell you why.

First of all…you could save mad amounts of money on grocery bills. Cook just a little teeny bit, shrink down, eat, resize, you’re full!

Second? Save on personal care products. Who wishes that they didn’t have to spend buckets of money to look great?

Next? Never be locked out of important meetings again!

More? Find out what’s going on in the closet at the company holiday party.

Another? Jump inside your girlfriend’s purse to see where she goes after she leaves your place. Note: Use this with extreme caution and be ready to face the truth.

As you can see, the possibilities are endless. They are for any super power. I think that I bumped into the one that’s perfect for me. Of course, now that I think about it, having a silver surfboard would be cool.

Oooo. That reminds me. I gotta try to use my new power to get into a movie.

It seems like there is always someone who gives us this advice.

Mine happen to be psychotic. Would that be much of a problem?

I’ll follow them. Right to the edge of the earth. And fall off into oblivion just as everyone else is winning that gold medal they dreamt about when they were a kid. What’s your dream? Or dreams?

I know. It’s not the dreams you have everynight when you close your eyes and the sandman visits and sprinkles you with sandman gunk. Dreams that you follow are the ones that you day dream about and think about a lot during your lifetime. Like competing in the olympics. Or being rich and famous.

Well, the dreams I have when I am sleeping are pretty damned crazy. So I will move on to the daydreams I’ve had my entire life. I’ve always wanted to be able to be accepted for who I am. I guess everyone has that one, huh?

I’ve wanted to be a fireman – or paramedic. Watched too many tv shows when I was a kid. I’ve wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer. I’d make a good lawyer. Less than adequate doctor. At least I realized this before medical school.

I have always wanted to be creative and entertaining. Well, I suppose it depends on your definition of both as to whether or not I achieved that dream.

I have always wanted a family. A nice house with a dog and a big yard where the kids could have enough space to play and explore. The kids would need to do homework but want to watch tv instead and the dog would poop all over. I’d be cooking – because I love to cook. I wouldn’t be cleaning – because there would just be more to clean when I got done. I can do laundry. I can even iron, although it does take me a minimum of 30 minutes per shirt….pants go about 20 minutes.

What has been my biggest dream?

The horrible thing is that I just don’t know. I really have no great goal in my life. I have thought about it. I just can’t latch on. Sometimes, I’d like to run away and live in a cave on an island so no one could disturb me. Without internet, though, I wouldn’t last long. Bugger.

Ah. I am going to have to consider this carefully and come back fully prepared. In the meantime – feel free to share your dreams………….

Am away on a business trip.

I have resolved the computer issue and I return to my home this evening.

How much fun is that? Unpacking and sorting through all the crap I through into my luggage in a mad rush to check out. Yah – think I gots some empty bags of snacks in there with the dirty socks. And for some reason, I have an aversion to returning room keys.

This time I got 4 of them. I thought that they knew me ahead of time but it turns out that they give out lots of keys to people. Oh well. I’m so not special.

Anyway – I will be back to blogging on a regular basis. My return blog will be all about my trip. Pirate was here but Ninja stayed back to hold the frat house down for us.

Sam – out. HAH

In the early part of my life, I never suspected that I would be here. Not exactly.

When I was little, I wanted to be a fireman. I did. I wanted to run around and shoot water at fires and climb ladders to save kittens. Because that’s what firemen did.

Then, I wanted to be a disc jockey. I wanted to talk on the radio and play nice music. I wanted to do an overnight show so that I could talk to all the people who had trouble sleeping, just to see what they were thinking. I was actually offered a job in a major market radio station while I was in college.

Next, I wanted to be a writer. Maybe a novel. Maybe a bunch of short stories. Maybe a play. I have a lot of good ideas. I was even offered an opportunity to actually have some of my short stories published.

I really always wanted to make people laugh too. Just something that I enjoy. I really like it when people’s faces light up when I say something. People tell me a lot that I should be a comedian telling jokes on stage. I shrug.

I have never imagined that I would still be wondering what I want to be when I grow up. Well, not when I was this grown up anyway. Is it something that every person goes through? Is this the famous “mid-life crisis”? I don’t think it’s a mid-life crisis. I am not going out and spending money on fine wine, young women, and sports cars.

No. I just want to know what I want to be. I’ve never written a list or anything. I don’t have “goals” to aspire to as a grown up. Maybe that’s my problem. Perhaps I should buy a $400 fountain pen and sit down writing lists of everything that I should want to be and accomplish before I leave this earth.

Maybe I should buy $400 worth of food and bring it to a soup kitchen. Maybe I should rally people around people. I would but I think I would feel guilty for bringing people together. I mean, it would be my luck that they would get together and everyone would despise each other. They would get together for a common cause, look around and forget why they came. Then their common cause would warp into the common ground of unpleasantness.

That would be my luck. That would be the misfortune of the poor souls who have bumped into me. I seem to have this cloud over my head. It shades me from the sun, but dumps buckets of atmospheric pressure into my brain. How long can a person live with a vise on their head? I’ll let you know.

If there is one thing that I am positive about is that I do not wish to be one of those people who walk around saying things like, “Every cloud has a silver lining” and “It’s always darkest before the dawn.” No thank you.

I choose not to pump sunshine through people’s backsides just to satisfy a need that I should be completely void of emotion or feeling. Just isn’t right. Human beings are alive. We have the ability to reason. We have the desire to not only to be alive, but to live.

Humans are the creatures who have discovered the joys of eating glass, jumping off bridges with rubber bands around our ankles, and Disney World. How much more alive can one get? Besides going to the moon, of course. But that’s reserved for the precious few who have nerves of steel, cast iron constitutions, and a desire to push the envelope way past the point of reason.

Maybe that’s what I want to be when I grow up. Maybe I want to be alive.

Let me pause and ponder.

Yup. It IS just like me to spend half of my life looking for what I want and then finding out that what I want is what I’ve had all along. Wow. I feel like I’m in an old black and white feel good film. I hope that it has a happy ending.

I’ll let you know.

This blog is brought to you by the letter “M”.

Tell your mom you love her.