Waaaah!

Have you ever had one of those days, when your eyes feel like two poached eggs stuck into your face, and narcolepsy seems like a pretty decent career plan?

Welcome to my world.

I watch a lot of television these days; though not, apparently, as much as my friend Kizz. She is the keeper of the clicker, as far as I'm concerned, and I tend to rely upon her to keep me up in American Pop Culture.

You see, my interest in Pop Culture tends to fade out around the time that Skynyrd's plane went down.

But I tend to watch USA network a lot. I like that stuff.
And PHINEAS AND FERB.

But these days, I am forced by my employment to watch a lot of cable news.

Yeah, I know....I've mentioned this already. Sue me.

Most of the people I work with are satisfied with FAUXNews. So, I occasionally watch it. But I favor MSNBC. But I'd like to think I watch with an open mind and a clear eye.

Clear Eye For The Bored Guy.

Anyway, my only opinion I can now base is this: It would be tremendously funny, if it wasn't so scary.

In other news, we have chosen a name for the newest arrival; I have decided to call him Pip. I've been fond of Dickens for a majority of my adult life, and it's short for "Pipsqueak". And when he grows out of it, he becomes just Pip. I have Great Expectations.

He's cute.
But his sharp ends haven't gotten terribly sharp. Yet.

So, to sum up.....

Cute Cat.
Need rest.
Want hot fudge sundae the size of Texas.

Labor Day, Waaaay Early.

THE RAMBLE YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ WAS CREATED IN ONE STREAM. THE AUTHOR APOLOGIZES FOR THE LACK OF COHESIVENESS OF DESIGN, THE OVERUSE OF SEMI-COLON, AND THE UN-FOOTNOTED HISTORICAL REFERENCE. AND THE BOREDOM.

I'm sure most of your know this, but Labor Day was conceived as a kind of appeasement to the labor unions; but there was always a kind of fear that a Federal Holiday dedicated to the laborers of the nation would be too closely aligned with the same holidays afforded to other laborers in other countries, who celebrated it around the first of May.

I'm sure somebody can blame this on our current President.

I've railed in the past about socialism and communism, and the people that rant about our "move toward that evil light." Frankly, I've gone from irate, to flat out angry, to completely stunned by the McCarthian techniques that make even Karl Rove turn red in embarrassment.

Glenn Beck is an idiot.

He rails like a madman on a street corner, against the coming of the end that only he, apparently, can see. And he typifies, in all of his youthful, born-again, holier-than-thou vitality, everything that has been wrong in this country since the boil festered in '00. He sees not with a perspective of distance, but with a perspective of a schoolyard dispute, where there is no fairness, no sense of good sportsmanship, no such thing as "even." There is only, "ahead."

And once again, I'm reminded of the Witch-hunts of the 50's when McCarthy stood up in a press conference announcing that he had in his hand a list of 186 card-carrying member of the Communist Party working in the United States Government.

Legend has it in the same press conference, he referred to the list as being 186 names, and 218 names, and by the end I'm pretty sure it was 268.

And he was probably holding a copy of his bar tab.

And this country wept and bled for far too long until a few patriots stood up to the little bully, and pointed out that Witches can be nice, and Giants can be good.

Vampires are always evil, though. Bloodsucking garbage eaters. T'was always true.
Tangent. Sorry. I'm just tired of vampires.

Our history is filled with the element of Socialism, that were, at the time, completely acceptable and even lauded in some circles. As I've said before, most honest religions are based on the simple premises of Socialism; all of the humane services, like Goodwill, the Salvation Army or the Red Cross, are based upon these premises. We have labor unions that were once decried as Communist, but are now accepted and even supported by most of the working men and women in this country.

And, at one point in this country, the National Socialist Party was a very strong third party in this country, and continued to be until the Haymarket Riots and the LA Times Bombing brought an end to the positive movement, and the party was labeled as thugs and murderers.

But the world has moved on, and there is a chance for real change...as long as those that have knowledge and have been silent move forward and speak.

The truth is always based upon perspective: Mr. Cheney sleeps well knowing in his heart that he personally kept us safe for 8 years. Mr. Historiclemo sleeps fitfully knowing that Mr. Cheney is also responsible for ignoring the information that could have prevented the thing in the first place, but I'm satisfied with the feeling that his kind will not come again....for another three years, at least....

My hope is that logical discourse is still possible; that hearts and minds remain open to possibilities; that the wise can lead the foolish; and that the wise can see that they are, in fact, the foolish.

My hope also includes oreos.
And milk.

Sunday Morning, 0310.

I traded love for pennies,
Sold my soul for less;
Lost my ideals in that long tunnel of time.
I've turned inside out, around-and-about
And back and then...
I found myself right back where I started again.
-Jim Croce, "Age"

I was recently interviewed in order to be deemed worthy of.....okay, there's only so much I can say here, but let's just say I was interviewed in order to be granted advanced access to certain......files. It's all very interesting and weird, and frankly I would sleep better if i didn't have to worry about such things, but it's my lot in life and I'll live with it like I've lived with every other twist and turn that's come up on this road.

Run-on sentences can be your friend.

It was the interview itself that made me consider the road itself. And how long and winding it's been. You know, when I listened to McCartney sing that song so many years ago, in the arrogance of youth, I thought the old Beatle was full of sh*t. Now, with the arrogance of age....except my long and winding road doesn't have a haunting melody or millions of dollars of residuals connected with it.

The thing in the interview that set my off was the question of employment. The situation is unique in this employment, because you literally have to be able to track your own movements, going back a decade. And in that time, in fact, since I graduated from college (the first time), and actually since my second year of college, I've only been unemployed for......three months. And those were the months that required my focus on moving all of our worldlies from West to North.

You'd think it would have been harder to tell them all about the theatre jobs; two months here, six months there.....but no, they were reallllly interested in the three months of unemployment. And why I decided to stop working. And whether I got fired, or quit. And how I paid for my life in those three whole months.

It was easier to pay for those three months of unemployment than it was to pay for most of the almost three-decades of employment.

Some things are evident:

I never really suffered fools gladly; it has become abundantly clear that in my youth I at least made the attempt. Now, my mantra seems to be, "the hell with it."

Three months in twenty six years. If I spread those out, it comes to, I think (I'm very bad with numbers), three days of vacation a year. Owch.

I was a go-getter in my youth; I could easily go from a job on one end of the country, and whip my way to the other side for another job with no long term effect. NOW.....I need a vacation just to get through your average MONDAY.

I need to re-think my relationship with time.

Other than that, I'm good.

Through the magic of Sirius Radio.....

My Mariner is magic.

It drives like a dream in a snowstorm, it has climate control so I don't have to fiddle with the fan constantly in summer and winter, it plays my Ipod, and through the wonders of Bluetooth, I can talk to people through my radio, apparently.

But the Sirius Radio is the best.

My playlist includes a Comedy station, Radio Classics (The Shadow and Jack Benny have continued to be my favorites), and various specialty music channels.

Which lead me to today's time travel story.

I was running a few errands; you know the kind...the stuff that you wished you didn't have to do, the adult stuff that usually includes handing over a portion of your annual income to somebody for something you wish you didn't have to have done, but what the hell, it's all a part of growing up. And off I went...

Usually, I have it on the Radio Classics channel, but today I decided to run the errands with the sounds of the 1970's as my soundtrack.

Now, before you run down the music of the 70's, remember that the decade was ten years long, and the music didn't start to suck in that decade until around 1977. At least, that's what this Motown boy thinks. And I think Bob Seger and Ted Nugent will back me up....and if not, then the Smokey Robinson and the Miracles will go all Supremes on your ass.

So, it's ironic that the time travel device for the morning was The Bee Gees.

Don't get me wrong; I was not a friend of Disco back in the day. I was a card carrying, t-shirt wearing member of DREAD; which stood for Detroit Rockers Engaged in the Abolition of Disco. The truth was, there was nothing interesting about the music itself; it was like music for the remedial dancer. Much like the music today: who gives a crap about the lyric, as long as you have the beat handed to you on a silver platter, and you can thinly disguise public sex acts as choreography.

Hey, the first dance I ever learned was the Jitterbug. I've always been a snob and a prude and a purist. Sticks and stones my break my bones, but please don't throw them.

The music argument is a side issue, though. The truth is, the song that came on was Too Much Heaven. And I can admit that I wasn't crazy about the song when it came out the first time.....too repetitious, annoying vocals, etc.

But Tammy liked it.
And I liked dancing with Tammy.

And as I went down the street, dwelling upon the issues of adulthood, I was basking in the memory of childhood.

A darkened basement on a October Friday night. The cares of the school week over, the weekend ahead. An impromptu party that began with a bonfire, and ended up in a dance with Tammy. A tiny redheaded girl with green eyes, a brilliant smile, a laugh that I enjoyed like crack cocaine. And perhaps, the first girl I ever really danced with.

Very few things in adulthood can compete with the inebriation of a moment like that.

When I arrived at my destination in the here and now, I was grinning like a fool without a care in the world.

And again, as is so often in my memory-soaked life, the echo triumphs over the voice!

In the Very Dark places. Temporarily.

I have this fear.

Okay, I have a LOT of fears, but they are usually little fears. I'm not fond of insects. I have a fear of what's IN the dark. And, having been homeless once upon a time, I have a fear of being that again.

I have larger fears; the biggest one being something happening to any of my loved ones.

But the biggest fear? That would be easy to explain, and probably even easier to understand.

I have a fear of winding up like my Mother.

As most of you know, for the last few years, my Mother has been in an assisted care facility, in the throes of the disease named after Alzheimer. She no longer speaks, and rarely makes any discernible noise whatsoever, rarely opens her eyes, and is about two thirds the size of what she once was; and seeing as she was 4'11" to begin with.....dinky.

Now, most of the people who know me, and some of the people who love me, would probably say just about now that the whole "not speaking" thing would serve me well, and they would encourage me to follow the regimen, illness or no. And I could use a nap.

But to lose that ability to creatively think would be death itself. Death without a chance of Heaven.

I've often been chastised for my self-image; self-described as "too much brain and too little looks." And I stand by my assessment, although I thank you for your comments. So, the idea of losing my mind is the largest fear that I have.

I mean, REALLY losing my mind. Not the fake losing my mind I've been doing since '97.

I have to tell you.....every time I forget just a little thing; every time I go to the store and forget an element of the list; every time I lose just a little piece of the museum that is my memory......I break out in a cold sweat and wonder.....

So. You're all under standing orders. If there ever comes a time when I require your services, I will give you all a code phrase, and then you will all draw straws and the short straw will move me to Oregon.

The code phrase will be...."Where's the rest of me?"

And I'll thank you in advance, because I may not be able to do it when you get here.

I've been one poor correspondent, I've been too too hard to find....

So.

Yesterday...or, was it earlier today? I can never be certain. This living life in the dark thing is reallly starting to mess with my senses. Which could lead to an interesting shift in reality; I will keep you posted. Because, as you all well know, reality is dictated by perception.

And don't tell anybody, but for some reason, this morning as I got off work, I thought I would take a quick jaunt into San Luis Obispo for some coffee.

The problem was, San Luis Obispo is about two thousand miles away, and I thought that it was 2005.

I'll keep you posted. But madness may be in the forecast; with humidity.

Anyway.

When I woke up this morning (read, 5 pm) I was greeted by the newest member of the Historiclemo household; a small ball of fur pretending to be a kitten.

Of course, the reason I was up at 5 pm was not because it was time to get up, but because my alarm clock was in the form of one seriously hissing cat. Yes, there is trouble in the ranks; but it's to be expected.

He's a cute little fellow. All small balls of fur pretending to be kittens are cute. And we were well prepared for the arrival.

But, as T. S. Elliot said so well:

The naming of cats is a delicate matter;
It isn't just one of your parlour-type games.

I'm afraid this kitten is going to be stuck with some name like Gizmo, or Fluff, or some such. I think we should take the time to name him.

We made that mistake with the last one. We decided to give him a noble name, and by the time he'd matured, he had at least two others. His given name is Sebastian. His most-often-used name is Baby. His true name is Painintheass. Pronounced "Pain-yass."

Again, as Elliot said,

You may think at first I'm as mad as a Hatter
When I tell you a cat must have three separate names.

Yes, he looks like a Fluff.
And he shows some Gismotic sensibilities.

But honestly.....I think he looks like Winston Churchill.

And I'm holding out.

Thus speaketh the Walkin' Man.....

Moving in silent desperation;
Keeping on eye on the holy land.
A hypothetical destination;
Say, who is this walkin' man?

The lyrical strains of James Taylor always reminds me of fall.....

And we're getting to it.

It's been a lean summer up here in the great white north; not very hot (praise God) and downright chilly on some of these days. But here comes fall, faster than you can say Jack Robinson.

I love fall.

The leaves change color very nicely up here.

Corn. Especially the candy kind. I am a fiend for candy corn. I don't know why, and I'll admit to some revulsion, but I can't help it. And don't judge me; it's a minor fixation, and it beats the other fixations I've had in my life by a damn sight.

Fall is the pause between what seems to be the frenetic quality of summer, and the depression of winter. It's one of the two times in the course of a year that you can actually see change; it's the seasonal equivalent of the moment just before you doze off, and sleep the sleep of the pure.

That chill in the air is invigorating; it's a taste on your tongue that cannot be matched by ice cream, but creates the same exhilaration.

It's a time for reflection; a time to see where you've been, and where you're going, and in some cases, it's a time to realize that without a major course correction, you're going into the rocks there, Odysseus.

It's a time for new television; but I usually hate new television and stick to new episodes of old television. Old television is like the fall; it's a comfortable blanket, without those silly sleeves.

It's the season where Football, the World Series and Hockey all meet up for a smorgasmaboard of sports yummy-ness. Thank goodness for DVR.

So, as we move into September (and I realize that it's still about a week or so away, I look forward to the sensory gluttony to come.