The equity of gratitude

Aiight peeps. This is gonna be a momentarily lapse of season, seeing as how this here morning (Thank you DST!) got cut by an hour. I would blame Trump but there are humpbacks out there who are still blaming Obama, so I’ll go with that.

Thanks Obama for leaving before a third term became possible! I didn’t even vote for you and somehow I am missing the fuck out of you. Not the cyclist named Bam, no . . not him. It’s like dude . . you’re not white. You’re an historic figure to whom I am insanely proud to have been around for, so STOP trying to appease! Sorry, I get the James Brown shivers every time I see that image. It’s not white man’s guilt. My peeps are from Habana strong. We have no guilt.

Anyways, I am digressing more than Ted Cruz (Another Cuban!) when he’s hopped up on Hawaiian Punch whilst reading his grade level in a filibuster before sleeping Congressmen.

Here was my day yesterday . . .

The morning news came from my son, who called me from his girl’s house to let me know he got the teaching job he interviewed for on Monday. I told him I loved him and then I cried some after we hung up. He’s getting married in July. Great timing. Better than I’ll ever have.

After that, I got some things tucked away. It felt good. In more ways than the one. I do not possess any wrong ideas about the women in my life, and they do not lie about the report card. They are lovely creatures, borne to a planet whose flag is prettily cursive and finely tuned. They are smarter than me, prettier than me, and they will live longer than me . . according to the scientists. So, far be it from me to argue with that kind of beautiful genius. They win. And they cannot win enough as far as I’m concerned.

After that, I finished La La Land. I had left off an hour and change into it the other night, after which I finished the change. And wow. And sexy. And God . .Day . . Um. I love the romance of this story, and the music, and every single thing in between. And a year later, I am still wondering why this moment didn’t rate a participation trophy at the least!

The early afternoon produced a great run!. I went five miles in 58:17. Before all you serious runners out there laugh me into a Doonesbury strip, lemme tell you that I do not give a blessed fig what you think of me. And to those non-runners out there, I am terribly sorry for supplementing fig with fuck . . but those runners . . Jesus . . they are sensitive creatures, from what I’ve been told.

The afternoon brought a trip to the new Target in town. Hey Don Henley and Glenn Frey . . you have a song you might be able to supply from, like . . forty two years ago?

Big thank you to the boys from Cool High for that one. And to finish my thoughts as per the new Target in town? Nah. That’s a whole ‘nother post. Except for the part where I was texting Linds B while checking out New Target and she was telling me about her not so good last couple days, and I was telling her to lemme know what I might be able to do to make it better. Donuts, Jimmy John’s, the other end of the line at three in the morning. Whatever it takes girl. Because I love you that way. You came through for me when I was doubting myself into the deepest craters of the moon. So hey, it’s my turn, when you need it to be.

From that point on, it was grocery shopping and tunes for me. I went all Mob Face (my term, don’t steal it) with the dinner selection . . that I made up on the fly since I was tossing between cooking something up and just getting some Jimmy John’s. For those of you who don’t have a Jimmy John’s in your neck of the woods, do not judge.

I went with cooking something up. After which I went with chicken cutlets, stuffed with prosciutto and picante provolone. Asparagus spears bathed in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, some oiled up gnocchi and garlic bread. Deli? Meet cioso.

On the ride home, I decided to raise the (sun) roof and play some Kid Rock. My first selection was an obvious one, seeing as how I went zero to Steve McQueen in no time flat.

After that, I behaved . . enough. And then I wondered how I ever got so lucky. To have the people I have. These people I know and love. Just thinking about them makes me smile, and laugh. Because these peeps, they make me think and ponder and wonder and hope. They allow me to believe there are better days ahead. Because it’s a sellers market of a world we’re living in, but no matter.

I’m buying.

A year of hot buttah goodness


It’s been a very good year.

If I were asked to describe my 2017, I would call it a blessing of people, places, times, events and wonderful things. It wasn’t perfect, but that’s plenty fine with me since I wasn’t asking for such a thing.

What I do know for certain is that my three sixty five provided a turning point for yours truly as per my health, seeing as how I scored a clean bill for an entire calendar year. And yes, I’m calling it with three weeks to go . . because I am feeling pretty fucking giddy about this latest chapter of my life. I want to be able to call it before I finish my Christmas shopping, seeing as how that shit probably won’t get done until some time in January. . .

These days, my mental health is a frolicking tiptoe through blushing tulips whose bloom is a swim of peace, love and tranquility. It’s been forever since I felt this good, which is a very long time if you’re keeping score at home.

Before I get cooking on this entry, I’d like to introduce a talent whose up and comingness is the stuff of “Next Big Thing”. I call the kid a rock star because he has that something different about him when he’s loosing the words and delivering up a new age sound whose solvency is a respectful nod to the music of other times. If Brandon Tyler Wile was a stock, I’d bring the straight cash, homie . . . because he has ups.


I said goodbye to ghosts this year, and was reminded as to why that was a good idea by someone who has become very special to me. Someone whose selfless manner leaves me breathless, and whose strength and perseverance is the stuff of superheroes. I said hello to friendships whose fruition is a testament of knowing and belief. These people are my wishes come true; they are my unique investments in the human condition to which I can hang my dreams on with confidence. They are the peace of mind, the love abundant and the harmony whose provisions are made possible by the music of the soul.

And from this, sorryless was born. With the brilliant pen of Linds B and the caustic wit of yours truly, I have a very good feeling about this place. This feeling is engendered from the esprit de corps that me and Linds B bring to just about any endeavor we suit up for. She is my wartime consigliere of a pal and, and friends like her are a platinum proposition whose dividends keep on keeping on. This blog is gonna be about just that . . . the keep to keeping on.

If all the other parts of 2017 had been less than stellar, it still would have been worth the ride. Because these peeps divined a music, borne of the crazy chances and I understand the world with more clarity and hope thanks to them. We have aligned ourselves with stars, we have weathered rainy Mondays and we have painted Shakespeare on many a social gathering.

Pulp Fiction Gourmet

They are my wishes come true, my unfailing constant in an increasingly uncertain world. They are the singular description of a life well loved, the safe haven word whose comfort sustains, inspires and emboldens me to want more of that very good same. Because they make me feel a certain way whenever they’re in the room.