With you there and me here
We don’t seem to argue as much
Your smoking doesn’t bother me
You don’t smile anymore.
“I’m smiling.”
“Well, I can’t tell through that mask”
And we no longer go to the movies
With you there and me here
We don't see movies anymore
“I doubt Hollywood is still making movies”
I guess what I’m saying is I miss you
I mean, you’re there and I’m here
“I get it, things are different now”
Do you still write on your Blog?
“I do, but they read it from there.”
Once, some many years ago, a young student, (let’s call him
Dave) was struggling to decide what he should become in life. He had always known that his father was a
great doctor and seemed very happy that he had become one. Both his mother and his aunt were
artists. His mother worked with paint
and canvas, while his aunt worked with her hands. She made wonderful creations, sculptures of
wood and marble that were certainly museum worthy.
He knew, of course, he could never become a doctor. The mere sight of blood made him queasy, not
to mention it seemed a great deal of schooling was required. The thought of sitting in a classroom for
years sounded dreadful. He also knew he
didn’t have the talent for art. It just
wasn’t in him.
His friends were headed in all sorts of directions. One was trying to get hired into the local
car dealership. His uncle worked there
and always appeared happy and was ready with a joke at the toot of a horn.
He knew one of his friend’s dad was a fireman. At one time he thought that being a fireman
would be exciting and full of adventure, yet every time they would walk past
the firehouse, all he would ever see were the firemen sitting in the break
room, watching soap operas. He couldn’t
see himself doing that for a lifetime.
Nothing seemed to interest him enough to pursue it. He was completely frustrated in trying to
come up with a life plan. Then one
Saturday afternoon, as he was walking back from Starbucks, he noticed a sign
nailed up on a phone pole. It said,
Work
at your own pace. Earn big bucks in an
exciting,
new career. Be your own boss. No
experience
necessary. Unlimited free time. Paid
vacations,
full benefit package from day one.
You can easily see how our young man, (we’re still calling
him Dave) became so excited in reading this.
So excited, in fact, that he wanted to act on it immediately. Where, however, was a name, or a phone number
and address? All that should have mattered on this
sign seemed to be missing.
What was the name of this company? How much would he be making? What would he be doing? Did it require schooling, or a license? Did it require he drive a car, make deliveries? He had an endless supply of questions and no answers.
Then, our hero, (you know who he is) reached up and pulled
the sign from the pole. He folded it up
and stuffed it into his pocket. At that
exact moment he heard a car door close.
He looked behind him and there at the curb was a strange looking man in
a tuxedo and top hat. He had a red
flower in his lapel.
Dave just stood there for a moment, worried he had done
something wrong, but then he said, “I was going to take it around and look for
it’s owner. There are a lot of
unanswered questions and this sign would work much better if it contained all
the needed information. Are you the
owner of this?” Dave pulled the sheet
from his pocket and held it out.
The well dressed stranger smiled, paused a moment and then
his expression seemed to become serious.
“I should explain. When I am
hiring, when I am searching for a potential candidate for the position, I only
post one flier. The paper you took down is
it. It is the only one. The reason is - I am looking for someone out of
the ordinary. I am hoping for that one
person who doesn’t simply scan the classifieds for some run-of-the-mill job. I am looking for that one in a million person
who is curious, who is hungry to build themselves a life and not simply drag themselves into a factory every day.”
Dave was now even more intrigued than just moments ago.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s David.” Came the reply.
“David, I like that.
David, I believe the moment you reached up and pulled down my sign you
were taking that step into the unknown.
You are brave, you’re curious and…
David, if you’ll trust me, I will show you the work I do and the life
you’ll have if you accept it. Do you
trust me Dave?”
Suddenly Dave didn’t feel so comfortable around this guy. So far, he hasn’t told me anything. Dave thought to himself.
“Trust you how?”
“If you have the time right now - I’ll show you.” And with that the stranger took a step back
and opened the back passenger’s door. “Let’s take a ride. It won’t take long and when we are done, if
you like, I will bring you back to this very spot.”
“All my senses are telling me not to.” Dave boldly announced.
“I completely understand. Replied the well-dressed stranger. But from your response to my inquiry about
removing my sign, I can tell you are a quick thinker. You have stood your ground and talked with
me. I mean, you haven’t backed up or ran
away, so I know you are not only curious but brave as well. What I am saying Dave, is I’m thinking you
have what it takes for this profession, otherwise I wouldn’t be offering you
this opportunity. Don’t get me wrong,
David. They aren’t all plusses in your column. You never have asked for MY name.”
******
Reluctantly Dave climbed into the car. The interior was plush, rich leather and
smelled of money. The well-dressed man
got in behind the wheel and as he started the car he looked back at David.
“My name is Parker, Dave.
Do you prefer Dave or David?”
Dave is fine.
Parker turned on the radio.
It was tuned to an easy listening station and Dave smiled, as he
suddenly felt like he was in an elevator.
“Is this Okay Dave?”
The music is fine, thanks.
Instead of paying attention to the fine interior of the car,
Dave should have been paying attention to where they were going. By the time Dave thought to look out at their
surroundings, they had arrived. The
long, expensive car had pulled into a driveway and under an overhang.
“We’re here Dave.”
Once out of the car Dave took his first look at the
building. He couldn’t believe it. It was Parker’s Funeral Home.
You’re Mr. Parker?
“Yes, Dave. I am the
town’s mortician and I’m hoping to find an apprentice to join my business. Can I show you around?”
Sure.
Dave followed Mr. Parker into the lobby of the funeral
home. The carpet felt thick and cushy
under his feet. The place smelled of flowers
and that same easy-listening music was playing in the background.
Parker stopped at the large mahogany reception desk and picked
up a pamphlet and handed it to Dave.
Kids never consider this profession when they are trying to decide what
to do with their lives, but it is an honorable profession and a needed service. Of course, you could make much more money as
a computer programmer, but is sitting at a desk all day what you want for your
future? Does working in a loud, dirty
factory really appeal to anyone?
Dave, I sell care.
When family members call me, they are looking for someone to step in and
take over. They’re looking for a gentle,
knowledgeable hand to guide them through the process. As you can see, I work in a clean and
comfortable environment. There are no
loud factory whistles telling you it is Okay to take a lunch break. This isn’t an endless row of programmers all
staring at a computer screen for eight hours a day.
What exactly would I be doing?
“The first thing I would do Dave is send you to classes at
the community college. There are very
specific courses you’ll need to take, and then a license you will have to apply
for from the State. I will pay for all
of that if you agree to work here for at least three years. After that time, if you decide this isn’t for
you, you’ll be free to go your own way.
But Dave, from what I’ve seen so far, I believe you are a good fit. Come-on, lets continue the tour.
Dave followed Mr. Parker down a long, carpeted hallway. They stopped at each room and Parker
explained things as they went.
The entire time Parker was talking, Dave kept wondering if
he was going to see any dead people.
There must be dead people, Dave thought to himself, this is where they
bring them.
As they entered the coffin showroom, Dave couldn’t help but
be dazzled by the look of everything. It
was like they were new cars, all polished, chrome gleaming from the bright
spotlights pointed at them. And all so
quiet. Dave noticed the background music
was not playing in this room, so he asked.
Why no music in here?
Excellent question Dave.
People in this room make important decisions. The things agreed upon in here involve money
and feelings and a seriousness that music would only interrupt, it would
distract from the process. Believe it or
not, this is the most somber room in the building. Even the crematory in back has music playing,
but we don’t take family members back there.
That wouldn’t be appropriate.
I notice you refer to them as family members and not
customers. Dave said.
It is important they view this as a process and not a
business, Dave. We are helping them to
process their loved ones. In fact, that
is one of the traits I noticed in you.
You were frustrated at the lack of information on the sign I posted on
the phone pole, but when I confronted you about tearing it down, you didn’t
want to hurt my feelings. You did a
little soft-shoe and talked your way out of the situation. I liked that. You noticed the lack of music in the display room. This isn't a job interview. That was back at the phone poll, so you can relax. I'm already sold on you Dave, but if this isn't right for you I will drive you back to where we met.
When do I need to decide by?
But before Parker had a chance to respond someone started banging frantically on the back door.
Larry ran the forklift, usually way too fast down the aisles.
Yellow stripes were painted on the floor
for safety.
I didn’t really know Skip.
He was just one of the machine operators, kept to himself, brought his
lunch from home. Ate by himself.
Mr. Gleeson was one of the suits. I don’t think I ever saw him smile. He mostly stayed in the front office.
Linda ran the giant press just outside of the paint
booth. She always ate lunch with Sonya, Ruth
and Teresa at the picnic tables.
The last time I saw Bob, he was looking back at the factory
from the backseat of a police car. Mr.
Gleeson and a couple other suits were there when they came and took him away.
Scotty manned the booth at the front of the parking lot. He was always nice. Looking back at it all, I wish I had walked
out and had lunch with him a few times.
He was always nice.
I saw Larry a few years back, in the food court at the mall. He had his hands full with his twin girls, while his wife was shopping for their birthday. I never even knew he was married. He said that he had heard Scotty had passed away shortly after the factory closed.
I wish he hadn't told me.
Oh little tooth inside my face
You’ve caused my thoughts to swerve.
I was having lunch with Grace
Boy, you’ve got some nerve.
Annoying tooth behind my lips
Which one – it’s hard to tell –
With dessert here at my fingertips
My face began to swell.
Bothersome teeth, the lot of you
You’ve made this lunch a wreck,
And yet – I’m very proud of you
Grace picked up the check.
There is a factory someplace where a machine automatically screws
the lids onto the new jars of peanut butter as they travel along a conveyer.
We don’t get to see that aspect of getting the peanut butter
to our house, we just see the completed product on the supermarket shelf.
Many of us have days overfilled with things to do. We wake up with mental lists of items to
check off during the day, and so we must schedule our activities and errands
that we don’t end up going in circles.
Neither are we exposed to the loud factory noises made by
the peanut butter packaging machines.
We go about with nothing but our own mental chatter, going
over and over each step of the day, that we don’t forget anything. Occasionally we are bombarded by bits of news
as we pass a television, or newspaper stand.
Other times external forces dictate some deviation to our activities,
like stopping for gas, or getting a flat tire.
Only on rare occasions do we struggle to unscrew the lid,
for somewhere walking around that factory is an inspector, whose own checklist
requires a calibration reading be taken on the lid machine.
Oscar Davies is currently going through a divorce. His mental chatter is currently louder than
the machines he works around. His life
is in shambles, and as unfortunate as it may be, he has not checked his own gas
gauge.
That, dear fun-seeker, is why you struggled so much to open
the peanut butter this morning.
Our vaccine scheduling system is currently live, but full with other customers. There is tremendous demand for the vaccine and a limited supply, so please be patient and do not leave the page. If room becomes available, this page will display instructions on how to book an appointment. This page will refresh any minute now.
Indiana Jones:
Must be physically fit, mentally acute and brave.
Elmer Fudd:
Must have a shotgun and know the difference between a duck
and a rabbit.
Amelia Earhart:
Must have spirit, financial backing and a good sense of
direction.
Superman:
Must be able to go entire seasons without eating and have the ability and courage to change clothes in a phonebooth.
Blog Man:
Must have studied the fine art of gibberish, have the verbal dexterity to avoid insulting anyone, and be extremely willie-nilley with spelling, punctuation and word usage things$
Mighty Mouse:
Must be able to sit for hours on end, uninterrupted, staring out of your bedroom window seeing the other retired cartoon characters with their walkers and wheelchairs going about the grounds. Should enjoy green Jell-O and be able to listen nonstop, over and over to the same dreadful and ever so boring stories told by Underdog, who already forgot he just told you those a few minutes ago.
Please submit your suggestions here.
They are building a house across the street. The utilities are in, but no floor or walls yet.
and plugged in his toaster oven.
Made of ice - they sweep down along mountain sides, invading from the
north, and always in great number. So sure
of their victory the element of surprise is never needed. We see them coming. The weather channel highlights their camps
and reveals their intent.
Entire towns are swarmed, leaving no person or structure
safe. With mighty force and the wind at
their backs they seep in through doorways, around unguarded windows, passing right through insulation and repelling down chimneys.
Winter soldiers leave in their wake downed trees, slick
roads and sidewalks unfit for older hips.
This is not a war for the faint of foot. It is a battle ground for the youth, armed with
sleds and skis. Bundled in armor from
L.L. Bean and fortified with hot chocolate, to attack with mittened hands and
booted feet, they run at it head-on, scarfs waving, voices yelling…
“Snow day! Snow day!”
For that is the cry of victory.
It was early August.
I had not received any communication from my counterpart. This was never
a good sign. It said shoplifter’s will
be prosecuted. I wasn’t in the habit of
shoplifting, but if I wanted to get the inside scoop, I was going to have to
get myself on the inside.
I waited until the clerk was looking right at me, that’s
when I slipped the Zagnut into the pocket of my jacket. He didn’t say anything, just kept
staring. A lady with a loud orange
flower in her hat walked up to the counter.
I noticed she placed her item directly into the clerk’s hand. Without moving his gaze off of me, he lifted
the item up in front of the scanner. The
scanner dinged and then a mechanical voice read the price aloud.
Of course, the clerk was blind. That’s why he hadn’t said anything about the
Zagnut. He then asked the lady to turn
her music down so he could hear the scanner.
She reached up to her hat and rotated her flower a little to the
left. The music stopped. He thanked her, and then scanned the item again. Surprisingly, the mechanical voice said,
“It’s still $3.29”
I had to get out of there.
I tossed the Zagnut back onto the candy counter. Just then a hand grabbed my arm from
behind.
“Come-on Pal, you’re going with me.”
Quickly I craned my neck back to see who it was. A large,
burley cop was the one presently stopping the circulation in my right arm. His name tag said. Burley.
“Just what do you think you’re doing, anyway?”
I was putting a Zagnut onto the candy counter. I changed my mind about buying it.
“That’s not what it looked like to me.”
What do you thing I was doing?
“Listen Bud, nobody goes into a store and leaves
things. How do I know what else you’ve left around here?”
You’re bonkers.
Unlike the lady with the loud hat, this guy had no sense of
humor. He put me into the backseat of
his squad car, and we drove in silence to the station.
To be continued
The type of tree directly correlates to the quality and mood of the paper made from it. Yes, I said mood. There is a very detectable mood to a sheet of paper, which affects the quality of what is put upon it.
For example, a light-hearted page may be excellent sheet
music for flutes, piccolos and maybe violins. Whereas sheet music fabricated from an Oak
tree would be more suitable to kettle drums, wind instruments and, dare I say
it – electric guitars.
It is said that Walt Whitman preferred paper made from
Poplar trees, while Longfellow and Shakespeare leaned more towards the Elm.
Today’s digital age leaves us to work without pulp. Our creations rest upon pixels, spread thin
across monitors and iPads. There is a
noticeable lifelessness and an artificial glow to these creations. It is a synthesized and very false reality.
I use my own creations as an example. Zobosticleft2write.blogspot.com has been created
entirely on pixels. They are neither
high quality nor exuberant. They lay
flat and as lifeless as the silicon they were made from.
Just as you wouldn’t wish to live in a sandcastle, neither are my creations excited about cyber space.
Shakespeare has survived so long for no other reason than he can’t be unplugged.
zc
Just as there are limits to our vision of space, there
exists mental walls around our comprehension of endlessness. These are locks for which no keys are readily apparent.
Perhaps great thinkers such as, Sir. Isaac Newton, or Albert
Einstein would have eventually thought to look under the mat, but they didn’t.
I, on the other hand, have discovered such a key. And now having seen it, can’t believe no one
before me hasn’t. It’s like one of
those artsy pictures you stare at from across the room. Then, as if by magic, you see the image. Once, of course, you’ve seen it, you can’t
see anything else.
Here’s the thing, the
Please excuse this interruption. I had every intention of sharing with you the
key I have discovered. The one thing
that allows the human brain to bring all things into focus, even those things
hidden behind quasars and several feet beyond the farthest galaxy. Unfortunately, as you can see, my computer
isn’t cooperating.
I’m going to get my wrenches and see if I can
fix it.
I’ll be right back.
A massive steel pole was mounted in the state of Maine, with
an identical pole mounted in Modesto, California.
High-strength clothesline was then stretched between the two
poles. An industrial wrench tightened
the line.
When it was ready, the U.S. aired its dirty laundry for all
the world to see.
This will be my only commentary on the situation, as the ASPCA frowns upon beating a dead horse.
zc
If you are continually experiencing
higher than normal call volumes...
It may be time to change
NORMAL
Objection your honor, he’s speaking lawyer. I was told we
wouldn’t be doing that.
Over-ruled, and who told you that?
Um.. I don’t recall.
If it please the court, I intend to show that Phillip Marlow
did in fact enter The Sometimes Y, and willfully modify the meaning of a key sentence
for this very trial. Records will show
that at precisely 11 something the side door was breached, and the silent alarm
was silenced. Furthermore, traces of
vowels were found on the defendant’s shoes.
I’d like to enter these photographs as exhibits A and B.
Objection! Those
could be anyone’s vowels. How do we know
those came from The Sometimes Y?
This court will take a recess for one hour to study the
evidence. I am familiar with 25 letters
of the alphabet, but I don’t know Y.
We don’t see them in the ground
as a sprout or seed –
We only find them in the store
away from dirt and weed,
We’re not there to watch them grow
in weather not so great –
We see them standing dry and clean
left side – aisle eight,
We’ve never cried at harvest time
knowing they must leave –
we simply use our napkin
burp instead of grieve.
First thing, before the day’s thoughts erase all traces of last
night’s dream, I came in here to write them down. It all dealt with random verses intermittent. Apparently, I was involved in a debate with
myself and was examining all sorts of sporadic intervals, timed or
otherwise, but to what end I’m not sure.
At this point all I can recall is that some value of hectic came into the equation, which somehow derailed my original comparisons. Language muddied the waters, as it always seems to do, and before I could better define…
And there is where the day’s thoughts removed all remaining traces of
whatever it was I had been struggling with.
If daytime and night-time were genes, I’m thinking daytime
genes would be the dominant ones, but that’s a topic for another time.
I'm thinking that entire dream was totally random, and yet, somehow I feel I've had that discussion before. I guess this whole dream thing could just be an intermittent, recurring interval, moderated by...
and it's gone again.
Here is a little-known fact from Kanbarelystan.
After suffering years of border skirmishes with their
neighbors to the East, a mix-up in a supply shipment accidently delivered hundreds
of cases of Seagram’s VO Whiskey instead of their usual supply of ammunition.
Since that time there have been no reports of fighting. On-line shopping has increased, and three
mixed marriages have taken place.
AP/UPI
Handyman Needed
Grandfather here from old country. Needs someone to fix broken
English.
Lost
Medium size cardboard box.
It has large letters on one side reading,
Lost & Found
Companion Wanted
Wife is taking a cruise.
She needs someone to travel with her, pay for the trip, carry the bags,
fetch snacks at all hours and take the blame for everything.
House for Sale
Beautiful Malibu 3-bedroom, 2 bath home. Slight mudslide damage. Also see this ad under Mobile Home for Sale. $4,600,000.00
Once upon a time there was a
little boy and a frog. They had met by
accident down at the edge of the pond.
You see, the little boy had decided to skip school one day because he
had not studied for an upcoming test. He
didn’t want to get a bad grade and then have to explain a bad report card to
his parents, so he thought he would just go to the pond instead of school.
With his little stack of
books and his small lunch bag he sat on the ground at the edge of the water and
just looked out over the surface, seeing the reflections of the clouds
overhead. This is nice, he thought to
himself, much better than taking a stupid test.
Who are you?
The little boy was startled
and quickly looked around behind him but saw no one there. Then again, the voice said, Down here. I’m down here.
The boy looked down and
noticed the frog sitting next to him.
You can talk?
The frog nodded and replied,
Yes, I can talk. Who are you?
Tommy. Who are you?
You can just call me frog.
How is it you can talk?
How am I supposed to know
that?
Tommy looked puzzled and just
shrugged.
The frog hopped up on Tommy’s
little stack of schoolbooks and as he did he said, What are these?
Those are my schoolbooks.
The frog didn’t say anything,
but Tommy could tell he was thinking. For
the next half hour Tommy tried to explain to the frog what schoolbooks were,
and what school was all about.
The frog listened intently
and never interrupted. When it looked as
if Tommy was done explaining everything the frog finally spoke.
So if I understand you
correctly you can learn things like metaphysics, logic, ethics, epistemology,
philosophy of religion, relativity, social and political philosophy… all of
that?
I guess so, Tom replied.
And these books are the stuff
that other people have learned and written down so you can learn it?
Tom nodded and then asked the
frog, can you read as well as talk?
I can, replied the frog, but
as you see – I have no thumbs. I cannot
turn the pages.
How did you learn to read?
I started years ago by
reading your street signs. Once I
learned the names of your roads I moved on to just signs in general.
Like what? Tommy asked.
Like No littering. No dogs allowed in the park without a leash,
and Parking for Busses Only – all others will be toad. And then the frog laughed and laughed.
Tommy didn’t get it. What’s so funny?
You had to be there, said the
frog.
Hamlet: A breakfast dish containing more ham than eggs.
A long time favorite of Shakespeare.
Social Distancing: Hiding from a predator while blindfolded.
