Thursday, December 30, 2010


So I go to pick up my new Blood Pressure medicine. The Lab Tech rings up my bill.
$165 she says, bored and unimpressed.
The cost is 12x the price of the old medicine. It must have Gold dust in it.
No, we don't need Health Care Reform.
Just go ahead and shoot me before I have a stroke in line at the Pharmacy.
I left without the new medicine. Its Christmas Eve, and I'm too poor, even with the Tax cut and insurance, to have proper Blood Pressure Medicine. So I started taking my old stuff again, the stuff that wasn't working so well.
It was't working worth a crap at all. I called my Doctor and set up a consultation.
By the time I got there, my Hypertension was in a full-tilt boogie. I was feeling pretty jumpy.
Doctor Strznik, a big Polish man with one loppy-jawed eye like Jack Elam's, asked me series of questions, regarding my medications, my previous blood pressure readings, and what I could afford. His last question was:
"So how do you feel, Steve?"
I said:
"I feel like I'd like to find a little guy and whup him."

Doctor Strznik laughed. He couldn't stop laughin'. I don't think he ever heard that one before. I thought he might bust a blood vessel, and the offset eye rolled around really weird while the good happy eye kept looking right at me.
I hope he never tries to do surgery with an eye like that, and I told him so.
He laughed even harder, and I started laughin' and the next thing you know we had two PA's in there and we are all laughing and that crazy cock-eyed eye is rollin' around.
Laughter....its the best Medicine, and the best answer to all that is wrong with the world.

Friday, December 17, 2010


"Composition is a discipline; it forces us to think. If you want to 'get in touch with your feelings,' fine — talk to yourself; we all do. But, if you want to communicate with another thinking human being, get in touch with your thoughts. Put them in order; give them a purpose; use them to persuade, to instruct, to discover, to seduce. The secret way to do this is to write it down and then cut out the confusing parts."


My budget tells me that I have $200 to spend for Christmas. but even with the tax cuts, my confidence is at an all time low. Should I pump my $200 into the economy, creating more demand for goods and services, thereby more jobs, which eventually, (if eventually means "at the end of time") works its way back into my pocket duly increased by some number yet to be determined; or hang onto it for dear life for the emergency that will undoubtedly come up the day after I part with it?

I'm on the bubble here.

Thursday, December 16, 2010


STEVE: "I'll try to get this place cleaned up before you come to town so maybe you could come over next time."
SUSAN: "Its OK Steve, I've seen your place dirty before."
STEVE: "No, Susan, you've seen my place clean before."

Monday, December 13, 2010


Had a date Saturday with the same girl that I went to see "Burlesque" with, the girl that thinks I'm a Billionaire.
It was OK.
She is nice, everything seemed to work out well. By that I mean we got to the movie ("RED", with Bruce Willis and Morgan Freeman and Mary Louise Parker, which I had already seen with another date a few weeks ago, but that's what they all seem to want to see these days) 10 minutes before it started, and the movie was as good as it was the first time I saw it and Mary Louise is really cute, and I didn't spill the popcorn, and then when the movie let out we got to Chili's 15 minutes before they closed so we didn't end up at Whataburger or IHop, and dinner was good, and I think for the most part I chewed my food with my mouth shut and practiced good table manners, and on the way to and from I didn't get into any road rage and during the conversation we managed to avoid politics and religion so I guess that is what a good date is all about.
Oh, and she paid this time.
Is that what a good date is all about?
Is that all there is to it?
Seems like there ought to be more, it seems like there used to BE more.
I feel old.
God, how I hate the 21st Century.

Friday, December 10, 2010


As I was dreaming of making a nice Pate' one night...
I look up to see a “Chap”. He is wearing a red and green Tweed Jacket, checked Scarf and Riding Cap. He has on Driving gloves and carries a Riders whip. He is in his 60’s, has one of those Curly-Q Mustaches, a pipe and is wearing a Monocle. He is the mental picture I get when I say “Chap”.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
Foodservice people always help.
In his thick British accent he says ‘Right-O, thank you young man, quite possibly you can. I am looking for a pair of ‘Knee Socks’
”“Knee Socks?” asks I.
“Knee Socks” says he.
I glance around the Kitchen and clear my throat.
“ Does any one here have a pair of Knee Socks?” I announce.
All movement in the Kitchen and Waiters Station stops.
Out of the corner of my eye I detect some movement by the ice machine. There is a Cocktail Waitress there, she is looking right at me and I can tell that she is going to answer my request.
.“Knee Socks?” she asks.
“Knee Socks” I say.
Very daintily, she reaches down and with thumb and forefinger of one hand, and grasps the hem of her skirt. She slowly raises her skirt to reveal a black garter belt with a little red bow, and Fishnet Stockings. She raises her heel, and on pointed toe flexes her knee to the inside slightly to further advertise the Product.
Very nice. Very nice indeed.
“Like these?” she asks, demure, in almost a whisper.
I look to the Chap; he is rather shocked; his eyes widen, the pipe dangles from his lower lip, the monocle pops from his eye and he shakes his head very quickly.
"Clever that one, but no" He says.
I look back to the Waitress and give her a wink.
“I don’t think so honey” I say “But you are looking really good today”

Thursday, December 02, 2010


‎"Tell Believing women to avert their eyes, and safeguard their private parts, and not expose their attractions except what is visible. And let them wrap their shawls around their breast lines, and reveal their attractions only before their husbands or fathers, or fathers-in-law, or sons, or sons of their husbands, or brothers, or son...s of brothers, or sons of sisters, or their womenfolk, or slaves, or male attendants with no sexual desire, or children with no intimate knowledge of the private parts of women. And let them not stamp their feet to reveal what they hide of their ornaments. "

The Q'uaran, provided by my pal Dave.

Ornaments courtesy of This isn't Happiness