The reason I seldom visit my blog is that Facebook has become my website, my blog, my performances, my diary, my escape – like solitaire… easy, don’t have to dress, speak, walk, type, smile. I have quit FACEBOOk several times but alway sign up again within 24 hours. My so-called friends don’t visit my blog, they visit facebook, and the talent it takes to pull them to your Facebook page with a one-liner is fascinating. I have discovered that bad news or a personal confusion encourages friends to contact you immediately with a virtual back pat and Anne Landerly advice. I’m sorry, I am so tired tonight i can barely type. Last night, insomnia, today, locked out of apartment, dog walked into sewage/tar puddle up to his ears. Still 48 degrees at high noon, here in New England – a chilling, consistent wind slapping at us unsuspectingly, as we turn a corner away from the sun. Just awful. Bone aching spring. Feels like my bones are separating from my muscles. what kind of illness is that? I know you may be uncomfortable joining facebook and becoming my long lost never met friend from, say, Greece or Syracuse, but until I get my addiction under control that’s where I’ll be— thinking up one-liners as swiggling worms on a hook thrown to the middle of nowhere.
Maybe it’s all a continual re-run of the soap-opera you never watched — your life at present. If that were so, the TV day time series would have been canceled long ago. Actually, I think it was. In order to prevent your life from being canceled, there is one precaution to take into consideration: You vs. your Zipcode. If your Zip code is overwhelming you with boredom, high rents, low rents, pot holes, bad air, clean air low I.Q’s, etc. you must not ignore the ramifications. After all, you are three, four or six full gas tanks away from a place where you will not be humiliated, bored, frozen, stifled, milked, invaded. There are places in the world that better suit you and there is only one way to discover them. A Road Trip and about 1,000 bucks.
Running away has always been my option of choice when I had to either shit or get off the pot. Hey, I get off the pot, thank you. I can shit somewhere else. Don’t threaten me. If a certain geographic location fails to provide me with sustainance, I move on, bringing my alcoholic and borderline personality issues with me. Of course, all my good qualities come with me as well, in a small fanny purse of good intentions and integrity.
Then again, you can stay right where you are and reap the benefits of an escape. Since we are with ourselves mostly when we are with others, email all your friends and tell them that you are moving to Mexico or Alaska tomorrow. No time for a going away party. Something has come up. They won’t often come to your apartment or house and check to see if your car is in the drive-way. If it is, and they call you, you can always say you left your car behind. If they see you in the window, you can always say that your sister or brother must be cleaning up after you. If they continue to pressure you, say with a banging on the door, a loud cursing at your window, rest assured that if you do not respond, they will leave you alone. They will be in a rage with rejection and punish you with avoidance which is exactly what you desire.
I know and you know that geography is a cop-out, but moving yourself from one location to another is a thrill. Meant for fight or flight, I feel that if I am not flighting I am fighting, don’t you? Before agricultural methods were employed by man, we were all on the run. It’s in our genes and our dreams. When you are lying in bed at night thinking, “I’ve got to get the hell out of here”, that’s not cowardess but insight sent to your from your ancestral bed of wisdom. Why do we ignore it? Gas is cheap now. Go.
20 potatoes, 10 onions, 4 garlic cloves, 2 cups whiskey, 1 cup white wine, 1/2 cup brandy, 1 cup vegetable broth, 2 cups milk, 4 beets with greens, 5 kielbasa, 4 leeks, 10 carrots, random spices, olive oil. Sautee beets, onions, kielbasa, leeks, garlic, carrots in the olive oil for fifteen minutes, splash in white wine and brandy, simmer another fifteen minutes, throw in diced potatoes and whiskey, bring to a boil then simmer for one hour. Salt, pepper, onion salt, MSG, to taste. Pour in milk, reheat. serve with french bread and a salad. serves 15 during sub-zero temperatures.
Many people depend on simple daily rituals to keep their sanity during trying times. One of the most popular rituals is known as Cocktail Hour, which usually begins in the late afternoon or early evening, depending on a person’s schedule. I personally look forward to Cocktail Hour, especially in New England during the winter months. The average cocktail hour includes olives, crackers, cheese, and, on special occasions, salami. I have just returned from the supermarket with a small bag of groceries which cost me 154.88. Dinner items for the week, chicken, potatoes, canned peas, cube steak, iceberg lettuce, pasta, frozen pizza and a can of tuna fish, came to a total of 55.45 . The rest of the groceries were designated “cocktail hour fare” and added approximately another 100 bucks to my receipt total. Granted, I bought 7 large bottles of mid-priced wine, but when I focused my eyeballs on the price-per-pound for cheese and olives, I thought I was going to shit my pants. I felt violated.
Someone out there is messing with my life line. The beautiful moments at the end of a long day, wherein I stuff myself with cheese and crackers, salami, olives and wash it all down with a huge swig of cold white wine. This is how it goes. Cheese, cracker, olive, sip of wine. Sip of wine, piece of cheese, cracker, slice of salami, sip of wine, bigger slice of cheese with salami and mustard, etc. Sometimes I am talking to other people who are also stuffing their faces, sometimes I am sitting in my study alone, pondering the events of the day, planning my tomorrow. If I cannot partake in a snack plate I don’t see how I’ll have a past or future. One day will run into a night and into another day, without designation, a dripping watercolor. You will consider this a trivial matter until your own sacred ritual is thwarted.
Surely you know a person who needs help. Why not offer them a gift that keeps on giving? Enlightenment. Send your damaged friend to the Nameless Top-Secret Writers/Yoga Vermont Retreat. They”ll be forever in your debt. Certainly you say that you care about your friend but actions speak louder than words. So does money. Call your depressed, lazy, self-obsessed friend today and tell them to expect a miracle. They’re expecting one anyway.
Today’s press release from Haiti includes a recipe for the dirt cookies that mother’s are feeding their children to fend off hunger pangs. Recipe: Dirt, salt, water, shortening. Mix Dirt with Water to create mud in a consistency not unlike cake batter. Add salt and shortening until mud is consistency of cookie dough. Press mixture into small pie shapes. Dry in sun. Serve with nothing.
That bit of news puts our own recession worries in perspective, although we are not as far from dirt cookies as we may think. Forever the prepared pessimist, I tracked down a woman living in the deep hills of Vermont who has baked extraordinary dirt cookies laced with hay and/or manure since before I was born. I could not ask her for any baking advice. Upon arrival I found her flopped stone dead on her porch floor.
My advice: Don’t eat dirt. More advice: get some money soon, however you can, LOTS of it and hide it.
It’s easy. Don’t dye your hair. Chew your fingernails. Don’t wash you hands or face. Don’t change your clothes for days at a time. Leave your bed unmade. Leave empty wine glasses under the bureau. Leave bureau drawers pulled out. If you smell bad, spray the French way, Continue reading