StreamOfConsciousnessBlog450AM...

listening to the bangles singing manic monday instantly puts me in a great mood, probably because susanna hoffs is such a babe, with those big eyes, looking side to side, like in walk like an egyptian, which reminds me of egypt, which reminds me of rommel... rommel? man, that is twisted, too much military channel, really need to watch more pbs, call in your pledge, pledge cleans dust really well, like the boy in the well, well, well... dawn welles was maryann on gilligan's island, tight blue shorts... omg, must think of something else, maybe orson welles, great voice, dressed in black, and that perfect wisdom beard, wish i could grow one, but doesnt look good, too sparse, like the terrain, which i kinda enjoy, dont like being crowded, elevators are too cramped, but kinda fun to watch everyone in there trying not to watch anyone else, we all look at our shoes, or the lights, or pretend like we are lost in a gaze, gaze, gazelle... even the word looks like a gazelle if the g are the hind legs, and the rest of the letters are the body, and the two l's are the horns... wow where did that come from? pretty bad when i start to morph words into cartoon animals, animals, animal crackers, gawd, would taste soo good right now with cold milk, always eat them by biting the heads off first, then the legs, then the tails, some kind of ritual, like by natives of the pacific islands, with grass skirts, & nice legs, and im back again to maryann! stupid gilligan's island reruns! stuck in my head, skip-perrrr! hey there little buddy, leo the lion eating corned beef from the can and imagining gilligan turning into a meal, why couldnt they ever get off of that stupid island, its not like they didnt have any wood and all the time in the world and all the sap needed to make glue, i mean the professor could make radios from a freakin coconut shell, mmmm coconut cream pie, and im back to maryann again... grrrrr... must think of something else, anything else, stream of consciousness, yes, thats it, a stream, like a river, a cold mountain river, reminds me that im thirsty for something cold, and this diet coke is too watery from the melted ice, and its warm, doesnt taste good at all, wish i had a taco, now that would taste good right now, with some hot sauce, mmm spicey, gotta luv that, mmm spicey... all these mmm's remind me of homer simpson, drooling over a donut, mmm do-nut, doh! dough, doe, a deer, a female deer, ray a drop of golden sun, me a name i call myself, fah a long long way to run, oh geez now i have that song in my head, very annoying, not like roxanne by the police, everytime i hear it i have to play it over n over n over again, gawd i love that song, roooooooxannne! you don't have to turn on the red light! rooooooxannne!... man that is one catchy tune, maybe i'll play it after im done here, then i'll never get to sleep, sound of silence is on the dmx right now, what a great song, smooth harmony, wish i could sing, cant carry a tune in a bucket, like a bucket of chicken from kfc, even cold chicken tastes good, with lots of salt and a cold drink, and here i am with a warm diet coke, whassup with that? and the sign flashed out its warning... signs, warning, like STOP signs, stopping, an end, hit the brakes, time to STOP, end this blog entry, not that anyone will read this all the way to here, HEY SCROLL DOWN, BETTER BLOGS ARE BELOW! STOP!

Sniffing For Dogs On The Wind...

Legacy. Everyone has one. Or rather, everyone leaves one behind. Hopefully, it is something unique to that person, something defining. Some of the greatest legacies of History's Finest were evident from an early age - everyone knew that these folks were gonna be something BIG. Like, say, Mozart. Child prodigy extraordinaire. And that one guy in the Guiness Book of World Records, who eventually became The World's Tallest Man -- he came outta the womb at something like 6 ft 10... you pretty much knew his claim to fame was pre-destined. Other geniuses and artists didn't really come into their own until the latter part of their lives. OK, so I can't think of anyone right now -- but trust me on this one. We're talkin' some of THE biggies.

Offspring is probably the best kind of legacy; unless, of course, you were Herr & Frau Hitler -- they probably shoulda tried for the Tallest Man thing. But, unless fate has a 'Sleepless In Seattle' moment in store for me, it's pretty much a done deal that my gene pool is going to go the way of the Brontosaurus. Not a bad fate, as fates go -- I mean, I kinda dug the Flintstones, and Dino was pretty kewl. So, I'm OK w/that. And speaking of the Flintstones, I wouldn't mind if when I walked, everyone around me would hear a funky Bass sound -- like when Stoney Curtis walked. Now that would be a Flintstones Legacy I could really be proud of. (Ooooo... Ann Marg-rock in that orange fur w/black spots! Yabba-dabba-do)!

I guess that at this point, I haven't really done or achieved anything super noteworthy. Or even remotely noteworthy. Nor is it terribly likely. I mean, building a Toilet Paper Pyramid last summer on my kitchen table, out of 18 rolls of double-ply, won't even get me a footnote in The Big Book of Life. (It did look hella impressive, tho)!

I'm positively obsessed with counting and quantifying and listing things. I can tell you at this moment how many cans of Campbell's Soup, and what variety, I have in my cupboard. I can tell you how many pairs of levis I have. How many spare razors. How many plastic cups. How many eggs. But the one thing I've never even tried to count up, would be the time I've completely wasted on the internet. I swear, if I had put all of that time to better use, I'm sure I could've single-handedly solved the energy problem... yes, it's because of my web surfing that none of us are driving around in cars powered by cheap, renewable fuel. I haven't wasted so much time because of an electronic gadget since Tetris. This is part of the reason for this blog... at least some of the time spent on here actually produces something.

It's pretty much a given that I'm not ever gonna be a famous artist. Or Statesman. Or athlete. Or dancer. Sure, I can fake my way thru a slow dance if I have to, but that's about it. Not really my fault that I never acquired that skill... afterall, I did reach that 'learn to dance' age during the Disco Era. True, I can't fast dance to save my soul; but I can drop to the floor & do pushups to the beat like there's no tomorrow. Yes, I admit, it woulda been hella kewl to be able to move like Elvis (Ooooo ... especially when he got to dance with Ann Margaret, when she wore that orange turtle-neck sweater & the black leotards... Yabba-dabba-do!), but that ain't in the cards.

Off the top of my head, about the only really unique claim to fame I can think of, is coming up with the phrase: "sniffing for dogs on the wind". As far as I know - and please don't tell me if it isn't an original! - I am the creator of that little phrase. It means 'looking for trouble'. It came from watching The Beloved Doggy point his nose up into the air, sniffing in every direction, for other dogs. That was his stupid way of trying to find trouble to get into. Like I said, if somehow that isn't my own creation, I really don't wanna know... otherwise, I'd have to fall back to the Toilet Paper Pyramid thing, as my one claim to fame.

... it really was hella impressive, tho...

Maybe I'll be one of those late bloomers? But I think I'm gonna stock up on double-ply, just in case.

Blog 'Classic'...

For someone who is only a recent convert to label reading, I'm pretty gung-ho about it now (for the most part), especially when I'm trying to take off a few lbs. I read it all. I hold differing brands of cans, side by side, comparing the nutritional value. I probably look pretty informed standing there in the aisle, nodding my head, giving a well reasoned 'Hmmmm' as I take it all in. Having one hand on my chin is always good for theatrical value. Of course, I have NO bloody idea what any of it means, except for the number of Grams of Fat as a Daily %. But, I'm sure it looks good. (Disclaimer: Of course, no matter what the label says, when Ima hungry for a box of Hostess O's with the Cherry filling, the Food Pyramid comes in a distant second to the Craving Obelisk).

One disturbing trend I've noticed is this whole 'Classic' thing. It started when Coca-Cola messed around with their formula for Coke, and put out a 'new, improved' product. Needless to say, the Coke addicts popped their easy-opening tops, and demanded Coca-Cola return the original formula. (Hmmm... maybe these people actually shop by taste?? ... must be mutants). Wanting to save face, Coca-Cola didn't do away with the new product - but decided to keep it, and also to return the original Coke, now labelled as Coke 'Classic'.

Hmmm...

I think they unwittingly ushered-in the 4th Horseman of the Shopping Apocalypse when they did that (I'm not actually sure if it is the 4th one - Apocalyptic Horses still fall under my 'shop by color' category. Anyway, it's the Red horsey). Other companies have latched onto the whole 'Classic' genre, and truly it is a Sign O' The Times. Some other examples that come to mind...

Lays Potato Chips has a 'Classic' version. That is one nutritional label I avoid reading... I'm afraid that it will say that they are made with really old potatos.

Even Wonder Bread -- it's BREAD, people!! -- introduced a 'Classic' version for their line of products. Wonder Bread 'Classic', and Wonder Bread Sandwich 'Classic'.

O-M-G! Someone tell me when it's over.

Truly, the end is nigh. But, at least we can take comfort in the fact that it will probably be a Classic ending. Don't forget to duck n cover.

P.S. -- I've noticed that this blog is significantly shorter than my previous 3... maybe I shoulda called it "Blog 'Lite'"?... OMG, don't even get me started...

The Rooster Cogburn Blog...

I have readers - yes, PLURAL!! Thanx to anyone who has, either by hook or by crook, stumbled across my blog, & taken the time to read it. And a big thanx for the comments - much appreciated, and kinda comfortin'.

Speakin' of comfortin', I'm writing this blog while laying in bed. I have my iTunes playing thru my laptop speakers, and my favorite drool-stained pillow propping up my back. Ain't life grand? If I ever decide to get one of those college dorm room Microfridges, and a hospital bed pan, I'd probably never get outta bed, or see the sunshine again. (Hmmm... mental note: buy some of that spray on insta-tan... look for the brown colored, plastic container w/the white lettering).

Sometimes -- well, OK -- most of the time, say 99.99% of the time -- I take comfort for granted. I'm literally surrounded by modern conveniences & technology, all carefully designed to make my life more comfortable. I coulda never made it as one of the pioneers heading west. One day into the 2000 mile trek, I'd be like: "Twelve miles? WE'VE ONLY GONE TWELVE FREAKIN MILES!!??". If'n I'd been alive back then, and heading for California Territory, I'm quite sure I would've gone down as the originator of the annoying: "Are we there, yet!?!?". I admit, I woulda starved to death on the trail.

• "Here, have some deer jerky". *Gag*

• "Here, try the boiled rattle snake". *Hands covering mouth*

• "Boy, howdy! But these gopher gizzards sure slide down smoooooth!". *Cover yer boots, Tex, cuz it ain't gonna be pretty*

Yes, I need my modern comforts. Why kill my knees and cramp up my hands, scrubbing away at my toilet bowl for 20 minutes, when I can just 'Kaboom! and it's gone!'? I swear, I have nightmares about Billy Mayes showing up at my funeral, just as I'm about to be lowered into The Good Earth. He opens my casket, tosses in a little white tab, and says: "Kaboom! and it's gone!". I'm just prayin' that I never get to that point in the dream at the exact same instant I hear my neighbor flushing the toilet.

But, if I'm honest w/myself, I have to admit that while all of my modern conveniences & blinking lights may make my life more comfortable, they really haven't made it more comfortin'. In fact, if anything, they've added a whole new layer of stress to my life.

• "Fatal Error 820365. Windows is shutting down. Kiss the last 6 hours of your unsaved work 'Goodbye'". *Gasp*

• "Even tho technology has made everything else in the known Universe cheaper & easier to access, We at your Major Medical Insurance Plan are again raising your monthly premium, due to the increasing cost of medical technology." *Hands covering wallet*

• "Taken properly, will relieve nasal congestion. Side effects may include nausea, rash, dizziness, bad breath, sexual disfunction, unexplained HunchBack-ism, sudden loss of speech, and dementia. Do not take on an empty stomach". *I knew I shoulda eaten them gopher gizzards when I had the chance... Cover yer boots, Tex, cuz it ain't gonna be pretty*

Sure, in Ye Olde West, the menu sucked, but at least they found real comfort in knowing that if you shook a man's hand, it was a done deal. If you got sick, everyone and their dog would either look-in on ya, or make ya some homemade chicken noodle soup. (Just dont show me how you killed & plucked the chicken). And when yer wagon broke down in the middle of God-knows-where, you could be pretty sure that the little cabin on the horizon would give ya a bunk, some grub, and help ya fix the wheel at first light.

What modern life needs - or at least, what my modern life needs - is a Rooster Cogburn rope. Remember that scene where Katharine Hepburn's character is getting ready to lay down for the nite, upon The Good Earth. John Wayne (Marshall Rooster Cogburn) tells her: "Just a minute, sister -- I'll put my lariat around your bed. Them night crawlers & snakes will respect it". And then Ms. Hepburn, in that wonderfully shakey voice of hers, says: "Is that really true -- that they won't crawl over a rope?"

Then John Wayne gets a sly smile across his rugged face, and says almost sweetly: "Well... I ain't sayin it's true... and I ain't sayin it ain't!... but it's comfortin'".

Today, my fears arent bugs n snakes n creeping things... the Modern fears are much more persistant & worrying. Constant media bombardment about the encroachment of Bird Flu, Homicide Bombers in shopping malls, lack of affordable medical care, everything-you-eat-causes-cancer, etc...

If only I had a rope for that.

Rooster, where are ya now that I need ya? Someone lay a rope 'round me.

Blogs. Sitcoms. And Life...

Blog #2. I'm finding out that writing a blog is a bit like writing a sitcom. You always need something fresh, and you don't want it to become predictable -- otherwise, the audience will just click-over to something else. So, I guess that this would be my 2nd Episode. No word, yet, on the ratings from episode one, since it hasn't officially 'aired'. Yes, even as I'm writing this second installment, I've only told one other person about this blog's existance. I guess that a blog is just a waste of bandwidth, unless other people know that it's even there. So, I'd better let the 'Blog Genie' out of the bottle, sometime soon...

**Deep breath**

Hmmm... MY life as a sitcom. Now there's a scary thought. I'm not sure that even I'd want to watch all of that! I'd rather just TiVo it, so I could skip past the really awful parts, and replay over & over just the parts where I actually lived-up to my billing.

Who'd be in my 'sitcom life'?

I'd be in it, of course. Afterall, I'm the guy with the big, gold star on his dressing room door, right? (I really must remember to re-negotiate my salary, tho!). Who else would be in it? Sitcoms usually have a neighbor figure, who is either really kewl, or a constant nemesis. I'm pretty lucky in that respect -- I have the best neighbor! We get along great -- no conflicts, or complaints at all. One potential problem, tho -- the woman is a VERY good cook! I mean, she can cook anything! There are times when I come into my door, and am immediately greeted by the aroma of whatever tastey creation she is whipping up! More than once, I've been sent headlong, into a triple pike, with a half-twist, toward the vents on the floor, just to catch a deep wiff of whatever she's cooking.

These rug burns on my nose are getting harder and harder to explain away...

Even so, I think it would be kewl to have a neighbor like Cosmo Kramer, who would always be doing the 'pop-in'. I can just picture him sliding thru my doorway, with that wild hair of his, & doing those crazy hand and face gestures, exclaiming to me: "Ohhhhh, yeh! I'm stresssssssssssed!"

TV is definitely a subject that I can blog about. Especially the commercials. I really luv those Geico commercials, with the cavemen in the white suits, out to dinner with the Geico pitch-man: "I'll have the roast duck, with the mango salsa." OMG! Cracks me up, everytime!! I also dig those mock, hip-hop commercials from Volkswagon, with the verrrry German dude, wearing the Puff Daddy-esque white suit, 'un-pimping da autoz'.

(Again with the white suits? What's up with that!?!)

More than once have I caught myself walking around the place, doing that VW logo thing with my fingers, undt tawking to myzelf wit dat jerrrrman ahkzent -- "Vee dub in da howze, y'alllll!"

Gawd, I need to get a life!

I guess that the quality of a really good life, is alot like the quality of a really good sitcom. Everything has to work together in order for it to be a success. The Actors. The Writers. The Director. The Producer. The Time Slot. There's not much that any of us can do about our time slot -- we are all firmly set in the current version of Now. Personally, I kinda like being alive at this time in history -- it's becoming harder and harder for me to even remember a time without microwave ovens, the internet, or fast food.

As for The Producer -- that would have to be The Big Guy Upstairs. Quality Producer, there. In fact, He's Top Notch, all the way. So, no problems there. And, as The Producer, he has a hand (but only a hand) in the Directing, writing, and other characters whom we run into, week by week. We are all the Co-Directors & Co-Writers of the sitcom of our lives. It's that whole 'Free Will' thing, don'tcha know? Whether we choose to be the star in the sitcom of our life -- or some anonymous Extra -- is really up to us.

For the character of Ourself to be happy, depends pretty much on if we choose to live out a life for ourselves that will make us happy.

If we only put forth a partial effort into each scene & reading, then no one is gonna be much interested in caring what happens to us, week by week. And, more importantly, WE won't be very happy with what we end up creating. Partial efforts might bring partial happiness. But, being partially happy isn't really being happy at all, is it?

No.

If we are really lucky, we'll all be able to look back on a long, successful run, & take satisfaction in what we did, week by week, and the overall quality of it. And, even after we've been taken 'off the air', there'd be no need for sadness. Everyone knows that the real rewards of a successful sitcom come after the show is over, and the repeats have made it into Perpetual Syndication.

Live long & prosper, indeed!

Jam Master J...

OK - so this is my exceedingly exciting life, condensed every so often into digital nonsense. I doubt if you will find the answers to any of Life's Questions in this blog -- but hey, who knows... sometimes I even surprise myself in the wisdom that I stumble across, quite by accident.

For instance, I've learned to actually read the labels of the groceries I buy. Yes, you are reading the musings of someone who used to shop by color. Oh, OK... I still do, from time to time. Like a freakin bumblebee in search of flowers to polinate, I'd literally buzz up n down the aisles of the grocery store, oblivious to most names and brands, only stopping to land on items that my insect brain was pre-programmed to recognize.

Back when I was a color-coded shopper, I'd buy jam or jelly. Almost always Grape. (Oooo, transparent plastic purple jars... gotta land on that one... looks like a pod of lilacs... buzzz... buzzzzzz). One day, a brilliant question popped into my head: Just what is the difference between jelly and jam???

I went to the fridge, and discovered I had one of the two purple concoctions, and made a mental note to buy the other type on the next go 'round of shopping. Of course, not really paying attention to the writing on the label, I diligently went out the next time I was buying groceries, and dutifully bought that lovely purple object, next to those other lovely purple objects. I got home, and finally reading the labels, discovered I was now the proud owner of two jars of the exact same lovely purple objects.

So, now I had to eat my way thru another jar of the oh so sweet purple stuff, before I ventured again from the hive in my quest for the opposite flavor of the royal nectar. And when I finally did, a few months later...

... yes, I had again purchased the same freakin flavor!! Eventually, I did buy the opposite flavor (probably by accident), and at last had an almost empty jar of Purple Substance 1, and a whole new jar of Purple Substance 2. Yea, me!! Wooo-hooo! Granted, it's not quite Lance Armstrong winning the Tour de France seven times in a row. High five, Lance!

Anyhoo, I remembered doing the experiment to find out the difference between jelly and jam, but I didn't remember the results. So, last week, I went out and bought a jar of Grape Jelly (on the first try! Label reading RULES!) to go with my partially consumed jar of Grape Jam. I again conducted the great taste-off. And the results...

Grape Jelly is sweet, purple, and smooth, but with little bits of crunchy thingys in it (seeds?). Grape Jam is sweet, purple, and smoother, but w/o the little bits of the mysterious crunchy thingys in it (bee stingers???).

Hmmm... maybe I was wrong... maybe you will learn the answers to Life's Questions in this blog...