I had planned to write a long piece today.  One that I've been thinking about for some time.
One in which I cohesively dissemble and then carefully reassemble national and world politics as seen thru the perspective of the anti-smoking campaign that really went full tilt in the mid-'80's.
It was to be my political "cold-fusion" polemic masterpiece.
Yeah.
That damn good.
I've been collecting opinions and editorials like an old woman on Hoarders for the past few months.
Bits of economics stacked over here, dried up pieces of crime and punishment over there, a corner gone moldy with religious diatribes and historical analyses, an entire closest of various graphs and charts concerning immigration, equality, race, and reams of failed legislation.
Not to mention the all important quotes from luminaries as far ranging as John the Baptist to Jack Kerouac, from Churchill to Mother Theresa, and back thru Keats and Kesey.

But then I went for a walk with "dog" and somewhere around the 3rd song on The Gin Blossoms debut album a man wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt pulled up beside me on his scooter:

"I met you last year.  You were really nice to me and my son on a couple of occasions.  I just wanted to let you know that he had a lot of health problems for a long time, and we buried him the day before yesterday. "
"I'm not even sure why I'm telling you.  I guess you were just nice to me and I wanted you to know."
"Anyhow...."

And then he rode off.

I wish I had been able to think of something more "something" than - I'm really sorry for your loss.
If ever I've felt a moment of complete uselessness, it was then.

There were moments when I was sick that I found it easier to express my feelings to people I had little to no ties to.
I'm not sure what that is or what it says about me.
It's a weird thing - to be sick or suffer some immense loss like that.
Early on, when I had just received my diagnosis, I was working across town for a small printing company when the owner, Marie, asked me what had happened, why was I wearing the eyepatch(?)
And for some reason I just sat down and unburdened myself.
She was gracious and I was tremendously embarrassed by it but still relieved in some small way when I was done.

Maybe that was what this man needed tonight - to be momentarily unburdened from his loss.

Wish I had had something more profound to offer him than, "I'm really sorry."

Me and Earl and the Dying Girl

In an effort to get out of the house and away from politics on a rainy day I took myself to the movies this afternoon.  My favorite movie house (or movie-haus?) Midtown Arts Cinema was playing a new, independent film, Me and Earl and the Dying Girl - the story of an awkward teen who befriends a girl with leukemia in his senior year of high school.  As much as I dislike stories of precocious kids, it's a touching story and one that hit fairly close to home.  The lead actors are great, particularly Olivia Cooke, who is utterly charming and vulnerable and believable as the dying girl.  Many of the conversations on her illness felt very familiar.  She even seeks treatment at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center like me.
Being sick and going thru treatment and dealing with your own emotions and also dealing with the emotions and reactions of those close to you is no cake walk.  There's no "Idiot's Guide to Having Potentially Terminal Cancer and Not Being a Selfish Jerk While Taking Care of Your Friends and Family" - you just have to wing it in nearly every possible way.  She did a great job of communicating that in the film.
It's worth seeing.

http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/me_and_earl_and_the_dying_girl/?search=me%20and%20earl

In continuation of my street art campaign, I give you:

Crazy Lady Can't Park, Has 0% F@#ks

(Notice new dent in bumper.)

This one is a favorite as it illustrates the elegance of the parking and the fact that I had to drive to Dekalb Medical Center to rescue the "park-er" after she locked the keys inside the car.

We call that a Win/Win situation in the art community.

And who could forget "Pool Noodle Prius"!?!

I have a bold new vision for my neighborhood, one that does not involve 5,000 square foot executive mansions and never, ever, everneverever any modern homes.
Particularly, modern homes like this:

Or this:

And, because I care about the beauty of my surroundings, I've taken it upon myself to begin a new street art campaign.  The idea just came to me last night as I was walking dog - like a bolt of lightning, it hit me.

Thus, I give you my first installation.

I call it - "Stop Trowing Your Freakin' Trash Down at the Bus Stop, You Moron."

It'll be interesting to see how long it lasts and whether the city or the owner of the modern home on the hill behind my installation will be the first to remove it.

The countdown clock started at 9:15 this morning.

Let's Watch!!!

(This is the giant spanking new modern home directly behind my installation.  I think it really pulls the eye away and detracts from my vision of the neighborhood.)

In an effort to be a bit more healthy and lose weight, I've been trying to eat more carefully of late.
Take for instance this fancy-pants concoction above.
I believe the locals call this a "smootchie".
Or perhaps, a "smooshie".

Either way, it's truly horrible.

Take your average Pirata and remove Guinness, late nights, and even The Clermont Lounge.
Egads Man!!!
What the heck is left!?!
Nothing fun, that's what.

And that's exactly what this cup-full-o-pulp is:  No fr#@in' fun.
Pomegranate Juice (no idea what that is, what it means, or where it comes from), bananas, berries of various colors and sizes, and some pineapple juice - just to make it less miserable.

I've force-fed myself 3 of these just today and I can tell you right now - I don't feel a thing other than angry.
Somewhere a'way in the spirit world John Wayne is laughing his butt off cuz this is no way for a man to live.
No sir.
And as far as the "losing weight" part - nope.
I walked the dog nearly 6 miles on Saturday with little more to eat than a glass full of "snoochies" and a salad.
A SALAD!
Plus I did the following workout:

10 - 30 lb. squat to military press
10 - burpees
10 - 30 lb. squat to military press
10 - burpees
  5 - mile morning walk
12 - dips
15 - dips
25 - lying 35 lb. plate tricep lift
10 - incline sit ups with 35 lb. plate
20 - incline sit ups
2 - 205 lb. bench
3 - 205 lb. bench
2 - 205 lb. bench

Do you think John Wayne ever did a damn Burpee in his entire life!?!

I've been at this for the last few months and I've now gained 10 lbs.

(BTW, scales are evil contraptions and should be shot on sight.)

You can find me at The Clermont drinking with ghost of Wayne.

This healthy livin' is for the birds.

What song was most popular on the day you were born?

It's more than a bit apropos that the most popular song on radio the day I was born was
Three Dog Night's hit, Mama Told Me Not to Come.

Making the top 10 were:

and:

The Field Sobriety Test of Modern Relationships: The Valentine's Day Date

Because I'm all about serving my fellow man and because, from the bottom and/or top of my tiny, blackened, "Grinch-ien" heart - I care - and also because for some reason my Valentine's Day post from last year is popular in my Googley Stats - today I bring you:

The Field Sobriety Test of Modern Relationships:  The Valentine's Day Date

In the modern western world, the Valentine's Day date is typically used as a Pass/Fail - Field Sobriety Test for men in committed relationships in which the best a man can do is not f@#k up.

If you're a guy in a relationship and you put together a nice, romantic Valentine's date complete with dinner, gifts, cards, flowers, maybe a little dancin', maybe a couple drinks, then maybe you might have bought yourself 3-5 days of a more or less pleasant woman, who will possibly sleep with you 1.37 times during that 5 day run.

A bad Valentine's date ?
Let's not talk about it.

As an "adult" male that was married for nearly a decade and who has been dating for another, I can't possibly account for all of the dollars I've spent treating my particular betrothed like an heavenly angel for that one, special eve of the year in the hopes of:
A.) Not freaking hearing about it for the rest of the f@#ing year if I got it wrong!!!
2.) see "A" above.

In nearly 20 years of married and/or dating life I don't recall a single Valentine's Day in which I was showered with gifts, lavished with love, bathed, shaved, oiled, and put to bed with a steak and a "beej".
Nor, do I recall ever hearing of such from any of my male friends.  

Oh, sure - you'll hear the occasional tall tale of a friend's cousin who "knew a guy" whose wife met him at the door with a plate of cutlets and the TV remote - and then left him alone to watch sportsball while she patiently (and nakedly) waited to perform her wifely duties - but I've always treated these stories with the same sort of skepticism that one would normally reserve for alien and Bigfoot sightings - they may be out there - but you'll never see them.
Statistically, it just doesn't happen.
This her night. 

And yours - to get right or to screw up.

(See also - Mother's Day, her Birthday, New Year's Eve, Memorial Day, Arbor Day, Labor Day, etc.)
(Guys get the 4th of July - the one day we can get drunk and blow shit up like we want to do.)

Apparently, someone has been reading my little blogo's and decided to turn the true story of my experiences in the little town of Marfa, TX last year into a movie.
Outside of the hot chicks, sex, skater punks, and run-ins with angry border patrol agents this movie exactly captures what my time out in Texas was truly like.

Fun with Parking

A couple of days ago, I arrived home after walking "dog" about the neighborhood to find that my landlord had parked like this:

Over the line, Smokey.  Mark it zero.
This is not 'Nam: there are rules.

________________________________________________________________________________

At some point over the past few months my neighbor appointed herself Neighborhood Parking Warden.  I know this because she started placing orange traffic cones at the edge of her driveway if she deemed that a vehicle had crossed into the very unsafe territory of said driveway.  She has a very large, very expensive SUV that she needs for her only child and her 8 lb. dog and a very narrow driveway that she uses on rare occasions to unload groceries and the like.  I don't need to expend much energy in this post explaining all the various dangers implicit in the complicated parking process - you know them all too well.  So when the Neighborhood Parking Warden's orange traffic cone first showed, I was thankful that someone was finally putting safety first.
And, given that my landlord is getting on in years and prone to parking like a wild hyena in a Prius, it just made good sense.
I too care about safety.
So when I arrived home to find that the Neighborhood Parking Warden had already clocked out for the evening and this renegade Prius, this ne'er-do-well of the auto world, this 4-wheeled screaming, electric banshee of a car had been parked well into the "designated danger zone" of parking, i.e. The Traffic Warden's driveway, I decided to take this egregious affront to all things safe and good into my own hands.

First, I isolated the maverick from "the danger zone."

Next, I corralled the offending Prius using tactics I learned from studying The Neighborhood Traffic Warden's methodology.

Next, after considering that the offending Prius might slide out sideways and make a run for it, I installed safety tape on all 4 sides.  I didn't have access to The Neighborhood Parking Warden's bright yellow Caution tape so I had to use a substitute. 

And finally, considering the fact that we have been getting an usually high level rainfall this spring, I added a couple of Pool Noodles to help keep the little fella's head above water in his temporary holding pen should we get another thunder shower.

I think we all have learned some very valuable lessons from The Neighborhood Parking Warden over the past many weeks and I would like to be the first to say, "Thank You! for your diligence, your sense of duty to God, family, community, and parking - and for making all of us here in the neighborhood a little safer - one orange cone at a time."

You're doing the Lord's work, madam Neighborhood Parking Warden.

xoxo,

EPPdF