We Wuz Robbed! - Redux

From August 8, 2011
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Z has a habit of looking out the window into the front yard whenever she gets up in the middle of the night to do whatever it is people do in the middle of the night.

She’s been doing this going on 10 years now.

For the most part, she takes a quick look and then goes back to bed.

Until the other night….

The other night she had the pleasure of spying a young man of about 18 –or as the police described him, “male Caucasian, dark bushy hair, 18-20, navy blue T-shirt and green, possibly grey, baggy shorts heading in the direction of…” well, you get the idea.

This wayward fellow was poking around in Z’s car, looking for, I guess, her stash of Brooks & Dunn CD’s.

I’m sound asleep since it’s about 1 AM, so when Z wakes me to inform me of the situation my first instinct is to roll over and wish the fellow good luck sorting through the collected inventory of Z’s car. Perhaps he might be able to find that pair of sneakers I lost in there in 05.

Then she tells me he’s heading down the driveway toward my car and I immediately jump out of bed and call 911. No one is going to mess with my collection of Snapple tops!

Besides, if he gets into the backyard and into my garage, my leaf blower is in jeopardy.

A man must protect his leaf blower.

“911—what’s your emergency?”

“Well I’m not really sure it qualifies as an emergency, officer, but my wife just spotted a kid in my driveway, poking around in her car".

“Do you have a description of the “perp”?”

Actually I’m not sure if he said “perp” but I want to believe that he did, and it makes for a better story.

“No sir, it’s kind of dark and I’m cowering in my bedroom window, so it’s hard to see. But I’m concerned he’s heading down the driveway and into my back yard towards the garage….where my leaf blower is.”

“Gas or electric?”

“Uh…electric?”

“Hmmmm….I find gas gives you more power, not to mention mobility.”

“Well, I find the electric is not as noisy and has plenty of power for my needs.”

In the meantime, Z is standing there listening to this exchange thinking that her situation is not being taken seriously enough.

She just doesn’t understand there’s a process involved.

“Okay, sir; suit yourself. I’ll send a car over right away to check things out".

I tell Z, not to worry; it’s under control and then proceed to pick out suitable crime scene attire, in case I end up dodging bullets or in some sort of high speed pursuit.

Plus I’m stalling for time waiting for the cops to arrive before stepping foot outside.

Z looks out the window again and finds the “perp”, or someone we think is the “perp” who might be just some poor innocent kid walking home from his girlfriend’s house, calmly crossing the street, pass under a street light and turn the corner of the street that runs “perp”-endicular into mine.

The police car pulls up and I wait a minute or two, just in case the fellow we saw is not the ‘suspect” and there is still the danger of an altercation with the real “skel” (This is so cool. I knew all those hours watching NYPD Blues would pay off someday!).

Z, still not understanding there’s a process to these things yells out the window to the 12 year old police officer, who’s standing around on the front lawn, scratching his head, that her husband is on the way down to fill him in…so now I have no choice but to get out there.

I rummage quickly through the hall closet but have no idea where my bullet proof vest is, so I have to go “commando”…so to speak.

I fill the young, but extremely polite and competent officer in on the situation and he tells me that he took a quick look around and didn’t see anything suspicious, except for the ineffective electric leaf blower in the garage.

In the meantime, he’s barking information as to the suspect’s “twenty” into his walkie talk (short for walkie talkie) and 2 more police cars zip by the house and tear around the corner in hot pursuit.

I take a walk over to check out Z’s car and see the glove compartment open and report this fact to the officer, who peeks into the widow.

“Wow…looks like he really ransacked the vehicle” the officer says.

I tell him, “Uhm...no…this is pretty much what the inside of the car looks like on most days”

I grab the handle and open the door and immediately start berating myself for disturbing the crime scene.

Have I learned nothing from CSI?

“Sorry,” I tell the cop. “I guess now they’ll have to take my prints too to exclude them.”

He smiles at me politely and informs me that the crime scene boys probably won’t have to come out if we don’t find anything of value missing, which there doesn’t appear to be.

I inform him about my missing sneakers from 05 and he says he’ll make a note for the report.

Z, after finally picking out her own police activity outfit, appears on the scene and inventories the car, since she is the only one who can decipher the puzzle of shopping bags, empty water bottles, umbrellas and assorted pairs of shoes, within.

She reports that the only thing that appears missing is a small change purse that she kept for parking meters and such. She thought there was about $4.65 in it.

And now I’m really irate….a confirmed victim of a heinous crime.

Eventually, we roll up the crime scene tape, which I insisted on, and everyone gets on with their lives.

Except for me…

Now I sleep with one eye open, which is very disturbing to Z as she finds it unsightly.

Somewhere, out in the night, there’s a “perp” a “skel” a bushy haired wayward young man enjoying $4.65 that does not belong to him.

"I am the law, and the law is not mocked"
-Inspector Javert-

And to him I have one word of advice….

”If you can’t do the time…don’t do the crime….”

I’m expecting the DNA results back any day now….

Any day….

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The World That Astounds Me - Redux

From September 12, 2011
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I’ve mentioned a couple of times in passing, that it was 10 years ago that we moved into this house. So there’re a lot of milestone reminders popping up these days, of all sorts.

In keeping with the theme of 10, it was also about 10 days ago, on the 2^nd that I was standing on this deck that did not exist 10 years ago, BBQ-ing a steak for dinner.

BBQ is ways of life for us, all year long, but especially in the summer, so it was pretty much business as usual.

As I wandered away from the grill, surveying my domain, as is my wont, between sizzles, I happened to look down on the little redwood deck by the side of the garage that was here when we bought the place.

Now I have looked down on that deck on countless occasions, on dozens of summer nights throughout the years, smile at all of Z’s pretty flowers then usually return to tend the grill.

But this night was different. On this night, I was immediately flooded with a memory of standing down there, 10 years before, to the very same day, also BBQ-ing a steak, but for the very first time, in this house.

It had been only 3 days since we had plunged head first into the murky waters of home ownership and believe me when I tell you, heads were still spinning and hearts were still pounding.

I should also tell you that conjuring that image of the much younger, much handsomer (if that’s at all possible) me was not a particularly difficult task, because of a picture Z took that night to commemorate the occasion. However, while the photo’s been stuck on the fridge for lo these many years, the thought on that night, that this was indeed the exact date, was not.

Whatever the reason, because of the picture or beyond the picture, I was suddenly struck with the notion that somewhere in the vast slipstream of time, I was still there, at that moment, still cooking that steak, wondering what was to come in the days and years ahead...besides my water pressure tank, which was sorely needed.

Needless to say, 9 days later there was a lot that came and a lot that changed…for all of us. But everyone knows that; experienced it and dealt with in their own way.

So this is not a discussion about any of that….

No, this is more of a metaphysical discussion, to which some will relate, and others will find trite and silly.

But hey, sometimes, at least to me, there’s more safety to be found in things unknown, than in things familiar.

Anyway, as I stood there looking down onto the little deck where I had once positioned the old grill, I called on the memory of that time and envisioned the simplicity of the “me” back then.

I stood there grilling that night, already trying to find a baseline in which I could find the new normal, at least in how it applied to us.

Z and I, after a lot of ups and downs, a lot of hoops to jump through and mountains to climb, had finally settled into a home of our own.

Remnants of past ownership still showed themselves in the form of smelly carpets and floors, mildew growing on the side of the garage, a cockeyed, clothesline whirly-gig that shouted the 70’s if not the 60’s and a variety of doggie toys and balls that lay scattered about in various nooks and crannies.

The lawn was a mixture of something green and something not so green, none of which would ever be mistaken for actual grass.

Yet, there I stood, cooking tong in hand, not much different than the way I stand now, wearing much the same clothes…even listening to the same old Met game on the same old radio I’ve had since the 80’s.

More importantly, while I stood there that night, I recalled feeling for the very first time since the move, an absolute certainty, filled with contentment and peace that we had done the right thing. As if a benevolent spirit had flooded my being and filled it with a sense that everything was going to work out and be just fine.

Of course, as I said, a week and a couple of days later that notion was rocked, for all of us. Yet, throughout that period of such uncertainty on both a personal and global scale, that feeling of solid ground firmly beneath my feet never left. And maybe that's what the message was about.

I had been assured, and that was good enough for me.

So on this night, 10 years later, I stared deep into that now empty corner, saw the “me” of then, and conveyed those reassuring sentiments back into the past, from the “me” of now....

“It's true…we made it…we’re here and we’re safe. And you will be too....”

So…were those comforting feelings I received that night a gift from “future me,” 10 years hence, to “past me”?

Are all those little voices we hear in our head from time to time, messages from our future “selves” looking back with amusement on our present “selves”?

Is even more “future me” the voice I hear, telling me right now…“Whoa buddy, are you sure you want to be writing this crazy stuff for everyone to read…?”

I don’t know. But it’s kind of cool to imagine that it is.

I like the idea of me watching out for me.


Of warning "past me" ...

"Stay away from the abdominizer...it's all a crock of...."

Don't I owe myself that much?

But, like I said…I don’t know.

But what I do know is, while I can’t control the world that surrounds me…I can control the world that astounds me.

And that’s good enough for me….








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One Loooooong Day - Redux

In the spirit of full disclosure, plus the fact that it says the date right at the top, this piece was originally posted on July 8, 2011.  Since I've acquired one or two more readers since the early days of TFR I thought it was worth re-sharing a few of my old favorites.
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Aztec Calendar

It’s July 8^th.

We’re just past the halfway mark for 2011.

Where do the days go?

A friend of mine says they go to a place in Yonkers, where they rent a condo near the river, close to Stew Leonard’s.

Apparently the days like free food samples.

Who doesn’t?

Most people think of a life as a consistent series of "immeasurable" days that, eventually, seem to fly, faster and faster, with each click of the clock, especially if it’s digital.

If your clock is analogue, then they take the train, because they enjoy the scenery.

In the beginning, we take all these indivdual days for granted, but slowly come to realize just how precious and limited these “days” really are. And then we have that to worry about too, on top of just about every other frickin thing we worry about, day in and day out.

Still, even after a brief respite of appreciation for these finite days, we again somehow manage to take them for granted, blow them off and sleepwalk, if not outright sleep, right through them.

On the other hand, some people think of life as just one really loooooong day…with lots of naps. These people also think that Elvis works at Kohl’s, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and occasionally on Sunday as a fill in when needed.

I know that sounds silly to some, but if you think of it that way, it does kind of make a little bit of sense. Elvis probably would want the weekends off.

No…I mean about the life being one loooooong day thing. If we could wrap our heads around this slippery concept— that we only get ONE loooooong day in our lifetime—wouldn’t that day become a little bit more significant than, say last Thursday when you set the toaster oven on fire, spilled your coffee on your new white shorts, dropped your bagel in the kitty litter and stepped on the dog?

I bet that day was kind of a bust from the start and you just let it spiral downhill, out of control, from that point forward. But if you thought of it as just a couple of ticks off the clock of your very loooooong day, then maybe it wouldn’t have seemed so bad. Maybe you wouldn’t have been so willing to let some trivial events ruin your one and only loooooong day. I mean did the dog let it ruin his?

The problem we seem to have when we think of our days, our individual days, is that we always compare them to our past days.

So, say on July 26^th, 1999 we went to see Springsteen at the Meadowlands.

That was a great day by default. Even with the dude with the funny haircut kicking the back of your seat, or the slightly overweight woman with the braid, who liked to sway her hips in time to every song, even the fast ones…especially the fast ones.

But then July 26^th comes around again in 2000-2001-2002-20008…2011…and you find yourself thinking, this is not how I imagined my July 26^ths to be. Where the hell’s “The Boss”?

Okay…I admit that’s a stretch, but I wanted to show off my old ticket stub, which is not really the ticket stub I wanted to show off, which was the August 25^th , 1978, New Haven Coliseum ticket stub, which was my first ever Springsteen concert, which I know I have, but can’t find…which is really ruining my day….

But I digress….

See how that happens?

The point is, last Christmas is not this Christmas, or birthday or summer vacation in the Falkland’s. Each one is brand spanking new and shouldn’t be judged based on the quality of past ones, which are mostly memory enhanced anyway.

I mean would you judge the quality of your morning coffee with the quality of your evening coffee?

Would you say, this coffee isn’t the exact same blend as the one I had at 6 AM, and fail to enjoy it because you’re spending the whole time your sipping it wondering why it tastes a little different?

And then before you know it, it’s a moot point because the coffee is gone. Which is kind of how some of us waste our days...not to mention our French Roast...and French Toast for that matter.

Every Christmas, birthday or summer vacation in the Falkland’s is special and unique unto itself. So we need to stop ruining the one we have “now” because of some silly desire to recreate the ones gone by.

It makes as much sense as comparing and qualifying the earliest sunrises of our one loooooong day with the one we’re watching today…here and now…in this moment.

Or maybe that’s just me…

My faithful daily “Little Zen” calendar says it all, way better than I ever could.

From a dude named Thich Nhat Hanh:

Our true home is in the present moment.

To live in the present moment is a miracle.

The miracle is not to walk on water.

The miracle is to walk on the green Earth.

in the present moment.

So there you go….have a good loooooong day….

Okay?

Okay....

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Nothings What it Seems…it seems

A lot going on in the news today, not the least of which is the big story out of Australia.

Yep…some dude got cheated out of an inch on his foot long Subway the other day.

Actually, probably most days…but who’s counting.

Well, yeah, on second thought…maybe that is the least of it.

Apparently this one guy…and now, maybe a lot more, because he posted his evidence on Facebook…and now…you know…a BIG uproar…over an extra bite of sandwich.

I mean doesn’t the world have bigger things to worry about other than lunch?

Like has Manti Te'o's ever really been kissed.

Apparently not.

And it’s not like this Subway “scandal” is big news to some people.

Some people have been measuring their foot longs for years.

But does anybody actually count the tomatoes…I mean other than me?

Besides, maybe it’s the ruler that’s too long, rather than the sandwhich too short.

Has anyone ever considered that?

And actually been allowed out to actually buy a sandwich?

I don’t know…I like my Subways and an inch less here or there is probably a good thing over time.

It means an inch less on my waistline, over time…at least if you discount the Mallomars.

But how often do you find discounted Mallomars?

Not often.

But they’re Mallomars, the best cookie in the world—pure chocolate…sort of—so why would you.

It’s not like Subway is the only product out there fudging the accuracy line.

I mean do we actually have verifiable proof that KFC is really “Finger Lickin Good”?

Really?

Is there one among us who has not had an M&M melt in their hand?

Can I really have it ‘My Way” at Burger King…I mean any way?

Do Cocoa Puffs really make you cuckoo?

Is Folgers in your cup really the best part of waking up?

Is Maxwell House really good to the last drop… the really last drop…ever?

Does Motel Six actually leave the light on?

Do four out of five dentists really agree…on anything?

Did a little dab really do ya?

Is Lance Armstrong really sorry he cheated.

Which brings us back to…has Manti Te'o's ever really been kissed…by anybody?

And on and on it goes….

You get the idea.

Nothing’s what you think it is.

So get over it.

Move on.

Maybe eat a salad for a change.

But don’t count the lettuce.

Just the tomatoes.




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Routine Randomness

We’re all tied to our routines.

No matter what we say, we’re creatures of habit and find comfort in the same ol’ same ol’.

Set the alarm to go off at the same hour, same minute every day.

Turn over and slap the snooze button every 10 minutes for 20 minutes, sometimes 30.

Finally, roll out of bed and the rest we just do by rote.

The first thing I do every morning is put on my socks.

First the right…then the left.

On occasion I might put on Z’s socks—by mistake—but then I usually trip on the extra material and realize my mistake.

Don’t get me wrong—especially since I have a enough trouble being right—I’m not saying Z has big feet.

No…not at all.

I want that on the record.

I’m just saying she has long toes.

Her whole family does.

Yeah…weird, right?

So when you’re in a big group of them you have to watch where you step.

That’s all I’m saying.

Luckily they all have this kind of instinct where their toes kind of roll up automatically when they sense danger.

Maybe I’ve said too much.

So I put on my socks.

Throw on a pair of sweatpants, because I need comfort in the AM.

You know, so I can ease into the day.

Can’t do that in jeans.

Jeans are too restricting, especially first thing in the morning.

Just ask any cowboy.

And from there on it gets pretty boring.

What?

That’s how it is with routines…they’re boring…for everybody.

Routines make every day feel the same.

Unless you’re one of those adventurous folks who switch up their breakfast from day to day.

One brand of cereal on Monday…English Muffin on Tuesday…another brand of cereal on Weds….another muffin on Thursday…and so on.

I know…kind of random, huh?

Pretty soon one day become the next…one week becomes the next…one month, one year…..

And then we ask, “Where has the time gone?”

The answer is…it slipped away on the back of our routines.

So mix it up a little.

Try a new approach to the day.

Get up on the wrong side of the bed once in a while.

Skip your morning coffee and do a sit up, instead.

Maybe, even two.

It’s just might be the little things that make all the difference.

Help you see that little ray of sunshine in every day.

Too much?

I know…easier said than done.

But starting tomorrow I’m mixing things up.

I’m putting on my left sock before my right.

I’ll let you know how it goes after that.

Gotta go…I’m a minute late for my second cup of coffee.


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Day’s n Confused

It’s Monday and to be honest I’m writing this on Friday.

Okay…that’s not exactly honest because I’m really writing this on Sunday, trying to make you think it’s Friday, which I want you to think is Monday, which by the time you read this it will be.

Unless you have one of about 70 gazillion better things to do before reading this and then it’s anybody’s guess what day it is for you….let alone year

But I had meant to write this on Friday, so I could make you think I wrote it on Monday…super early in the morning.

But I didn’t…instead I took down my outside Christmas decorations, which you would think shouldn’t preclude me writing this on Friday…even if it really is supposed to be Monday.

Yeah….

I know.

Confusing.

Okay…that’s not true either. I actually took down my outside Christmas light on Thursday, but I just told you I did it on Friday, which was supposed to be my excuse for not writing this, when I was supposed to…on Friday.

But I hadn’t planned on writing anything on Thursday so taking down my outside Christmas lights on Thursday didn’t interfere with anything…except my walking.

It started to rain on Thursday while I was taking down my outside Christmas lights, so I wasn’t able to get my walk in before the rain, which I may or may not have been able to do if I hadn’t taken down my outside Christmas lights…on Thursday…before the rain, when I hadn’t planned on writing anything.

But I needed an excuse as to why I didn’t write Mondays post—this one actually—on Friday, and that was all I had.

So you can’t believe everything you read in these things.

It’s kind of manipulative, not to mention deceptive…but I just mentioned it, so there you go with even more hypocrisy.

Sorry.

It’s not all bad though, since I am a trained professional…sort of.

So I know how to write Monday, even if it is a Friday, or a Sunday, which was supposed to be Friday.

I just place myself in a Monday state of mind and off I go.

Really, not that hard.

Kind of like time travel…except only your mind gets to go.

Which makes a little sense, at least to me because just the other day I was having some funky problem with my office desktop computer. So I had to use that Windows “System Restore” thing that somehow sends your computer back into the past, before you did the things to it that screwed it up in the first place.

So I ended up back on December 29^th, and have been catching up ever since.

Which maybe explains some things.

Or maybe it doesn’t.

Truth is none of this make any sense at all.

That part I know.

But I had the hope that some scholarly types might read it and think it’s really a genius work of self-parody and absurdism utilizing a didactic or non-didactic—per your point of view—paradigm to express the futility of human comprehension of the transient nature of time versus space in regard to purchasing a time share in Boca. 

Which you’re certainly welcome to do, and who am I to say if you’re wrong.

Other than the guy who wrote the silly nonsense in the first place.

You’re probably smarter than me anyway.

Besides it’s a Monday, and who can tell anybody anything on a Monday...even if it is a Sunday…that’s supposed to be a Friday pretending to be Monday.

You know? 



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Mars Madness

I read an article the other day, which reported that there’s a non-profit private company out there looking to start colonizing Mars in about 10 years or so.

Yeah…I mean really out there, huh?

They’re actually looking for people from all over the globe to submit applications to become part of the original group of colonialists.

So I’m thinking of applying.

Why not? 

I have the time and to be honest, there’s not a lot going on down here on earth these days that I haven’t already experienced.

I mean, aside from most of the stuff in the rest of the world.

But I have cable, so I feel like I've seen most of it.

Besides, I’ve always wanted to wear one of those tri-cornered hats that colonialists wear.

Get it….

Cuz back in the day the original—

Never mind….

Of course, it goes without saying—-even though I am—there’s a pretty strict application criteria, just to get your foot in the door. According to the article, among other virtues, astronaut candidates must have “a deep sense of purpose, willingness to build and maintain healthy relationships, the capacity for self-reflection and ability to trust. They must be resilient, adaptable, curious, creative and resourceful.” And be at least 18 years old.

So I definitely meet at least one of those requirements. I’m guessing I can fudge the rest.

Besides, there was another study conducted that determined, because of the unique conditions on Mars, the astronauts will be prone to sleepiness, boredom and crabbiness.

So, duh…I mean I’m already there!

The best thing about all of this is that the entire astronaut selection process is going to be documented as a worldwide reality TV show, in which people all over the planet—I’m guessing earth, but who knows—get to vote on who goes and who stays.

Then, once you’re chosen, the cameras start following you around, starting with your training, the whole ride up to Mars and then continue to document the entire colonization process.

How cool is that?

Out of this world cool, that’s how cool!

Can you imagine some of the wacky true life situations that’ll ensue?

Bill takes Franz to task for borrowing his life sustaining Mars exploration suit, and returning it without cleaning the oxygen sensor or wiping off the face mask.

“Who does that Franz!  I mean maybe in your country, but not mine!!!”

“Oh, back off Bill, if you’re going to be so OCD over hygiene, why don’t you try picking up your recycled urine bags once in while…it’s like sickening…”

Or Yolanda worries that Malik is becoming too attached to the results of his microbe re-genesis experiment.

 The Jell-O people will have a field day with product placement.

I mean we’re talking major endorsement opportunities, people!

Of course the down side to all of this is that it takes about 7 to 8 months to get to Mars, depending on what time of the year you go.

Summer is the heaviest travel month, but I understand that spring and fall are excellent.

There’s also the fact that it’s a one way trip, since they figure it’s just too expensive to send you back home…unless maybe a cousin is getting married or something.

But even then it’s a 50-50 proposition.

So you have to really be into the whole building a new civilization from scratch thing.

They also plan to send additional colonies up to join the original colony, every two years or so, which means “density” issues, which means sooner rather than later, the school system is going to be overburdened, which means taxes going through the roof…or module limiter, whatever you call it.

But what else is new…even on Mars?

Of course I couldn't make this decision without discussing it with Z, and you know what?

Before I could even finish telling her all the details, she was already packing my bags.

That’s just how sweet and supportive Z is.

She was even on the phone with a contractor talking about adding a sauna on to the back of the house.

Probably to help me relax after all those hard days of training.

Poor thing, in all her excitement over my good fortune, she doesn’t even realize that I’ll be spending most of the next decade out of town at the Mars Expedition Center and Gift Shop.

I figure I’ll break it to her gently…right after she gets back from Cabo.

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Lazy January - If Not Now When?

 

January is a lazy month for a lot of people.

Even me.

Well…most months are lazy months for me.

But don’t get me wrong…I don’t mean lazy as in lying around in bed until noon every day.

That’s crazy, not lazy.

I only lie around in bed until noon every other day.

Days like today I’m up at 5:30 AM.

Don’t ask me why….

I couldn’t tell you, if you did.

I guess I just have too many messy things running around in my head when I wake up.

Like if my new shipment of ideas arrived overnight.

It didn’t….

But you don’t need me to tell you that….

You’re probably wondering…if I have so many messy things running around in my head, why I don’t just write about those.

The short answer is, because they’re not all that interesting, and they’re only messy because I see them as messy, and they’re probably no messier than the things running around in your own head.

I guess that wasn’t so short.

Sorry.

So here I sit, comfortably wrapped in the dark of a brand new January morning gazing out my window at the perfect sliver of a waning moon.

The light of Venus articulates its own thoughts just off to the side.

At least I think it’s Venus.

Isn’t it always Venus?

Anyway, that’s what I mean about January being a lazy month.

It lends itself to these types of early mornings bolstered by a cup of coffee and a ceiling of crystal stars chattering up above.

Not to mention the folks on “Morning Joe” chattering in HD.

Apparently the Republicans are critical of something the President did or said.

Odd…I know.

Perusing the internet, I troll for items of interest.

My horoscope says…“Determination won't, on its own, get you everything you want, nor will a commitment to positive thinking.”

Sighhhhhhhh…you don’t have to tell me twice.

Notre Dame got crushed by Alabama.

The gods must be angry…but everyone else is okay.

Drinking a beer or two a day is good for your joints

Ahhhhhhhhh….you don’t have to tell me twice.

And here I see my "Department of Blogging and Highway Maintenance" buddy, Marotta from "Exit Only", down the hall, is telling everyone that she’s going to start changing things up by slacking off more often and not feeling so obsessed about getting something posted every day.

 Say whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat…..

Slacking off...?

Back off, Marotta…that’s my thing!

And stop washing out my coffee cup when I leave it on the counter in the break room!

Actually, I feel kind of responsible for this new found indolent attitude.

I think I may have planted the seed in her head…maybe just a little.

Maybe because I’m constantly whining to her about how hard it is to keep in front of this thing; to constantly try to stay on top of your game and not just throw slop on the table by mixing a hundred different metaphors in the hopes of propping up your word count.

Maybe because I’m constantly expressing amazement at how she maintains the thousand different balls she throws up in the air EVERYDAY, and still manages to churn out 4 to 5 hundred new words on most of those days, in addition to the butter.

That I tell her how I would need to be hospitalized if I did half the things she did in a day.

How was I to know she was paying attention?

No one else does….

So now all the Marotta Marauders are mad at me for messing up a good thing.

For infusing her with slothfulness, instead of her infusing me with exuberance.

Oh, I know…it’s really not such a bad thing this cutting back.

I’d do it myself if it were possible to cut back any more than I already do.

I mean a person has every right to sit in the window and read a book…at least after every soul has been saved—twice—and put to bed.

But somehow I just can’t imagine the Blogging Queen spending a day sitting in the sun, straightening her hair (she apparently doesn’t need curlers), puffing on something suspicious while downing a fifth, or even a sixth, of scotch.

Vodka…maybe…but definitely not scotch.

So I’m a little bit dubious as to how this will all play out.

But I’m also of a mind that writing less often leads to writing more…more of what you want, more of what you like and more of what the reader likes. 

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Besides, it’s January.

If not now…when?

Well, okay…I guess there’s February…March…April….

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