Monday, April 15, 2024

Dogs In Polite Society


I had to cross an ocean. Now I live. Before I waited to live. 

Sometimes I walk in the field and sometimes I ride on the bus. I pet the dog and we're both aware of every stroke. Romance is woven into every scenario. William and Myrna would be well-cast in our fairytale story.

Hold the bubble and squeak, I'm just coming. I'll wade in the Gulf for a short visit soon and I'll drive on the right side for a couple of weeks. I still dream of peace on earth and an end to this dreadful, dreadful war.

Sunday, April 7, 2024

Put The Squeeze On Verlin

Some days it don't pay to get up. What do you suppose snake handlers do on their day off? Boys, I've got better things to do than....

Wait a minute! No, I don't. I don't have a single thing to do. Oh, I could write a song. I could cut the grass. We all know that there are too many songs in the world as it is and I've written more than my fair share. The grass? I don't need to tell you that it will grow right back.

The Christian work ethic was a cruel hoax. I hope I may serve as a bad example to a few of you aspiring layabouts and ne'er-do-wells. Celebrate with me. Tell 'em you're meditating or something.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.


Tuesday, April 2, 2024

Artists and Models and Grease Monkeys


We all spend our lives trying to "get back home." The longer you live, the more obvious it is, I suppose. Folks with the means travel. Some seek through spiritual paths and others find the bottle.

In my new role as the poster boy for the quest, home found me. Now, to be clear, without Kate as the delivery agent, I wasn't going to find anything. It took me years to give up my dream to move to England and two weeks to get it back. 

Home is where they drive on the wrong side of the street. Home is where Kate lives.

Monday, March 25, 2024

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thirsty


These days I keep up with friends mostly through dreams. When I arrived in England, I wondered if I would hear regularly from the people in my life. I don't. 

For a sentimental fool like me, you would think that would be a tragedy of some degree. It's not.

Memories have always been my greatest treasures. These new ones are divine.

I hope this doesn't translate as some idea that I don't miss anyone. I do. I'll see you in my dreams.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

Wednesday, March 20, 2024

All The Saints Are Self-Employed


You fix what you can in this world. Sometimes the rules aren't fair. You can't always use that as your excuse. Just make sure that you're not missing any of the magic by tilting at the wrong windmills.

There aren't many valid excuses for not being kind. Righteous indignation shouldn't stop the party.

Take care of the lonely ones and don't pass up dessert.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war. I'll see you in Florida in April.

Thursday, March 14, 2024

I Don't Play Frumps or Virgins

We're all going to end up with the same prize. We might as well have some fun along the way. Everyone eventually discovers that there is a "worry quota" that can't be denied. Let's face it, if they hadn't set up the customer call centre somewhere in the middle of India, you would have some other monumental crisis to fill your day.

Remind yourself of the miracles. Keep in mind that you've never experienced anyone who was too kind. Don't take anyone or anything too seriously, but don't take anyone for granted.

If you don't believe in magic, maybe you should get up in time for the sunrise tomorrow. If you don't believe in ghosts, maybe you should spend some time remembering that last dog. The one before, too.

As you can see, spell check has continued to "correct" some of my gibberish into the proper British form
and not the rest, so that I come across as a half-literate imbecile regardless of where you read this dribble. There- now I have something to worry about for the next little while.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.


Sunday, March 10, 2024



The folks who make the rules make rules for the folks who make the rules. Majorities don't always decide. The trick would seem to be to convince the masses that your concern is for them.

Seems to me that, unless you're born to the ruling class, the only way to win is to refuse to play. Oh, you can marry into it, or you can grovel and claw your way in. Even then, you're not really one of them, are you?

Your kids won't really be in the club, either. Their kids might, if everybody keeps his eye on the ball. 

Here's the good news for the rest of you- They don't have the best parties or the dirtiest sex. They will overpay for Levis with the knees worn out and Stratocasters with the finish worn off for authenticity.

This is not some new phenomena. There's an ebb and a flow. Your best bet is probably to trade them some magic beans for their family cow. That, or sell them your beat up old Stratocaster on Ebay.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.