I’m so glad that at I can break into a sprint – ok a jog – around my little two-bedroom house when the urge strikes me here in my mid-fifties age, and without any kind of pain or discomfort. A lot of people my age cannot do this.  Even though I’m behind on the rent, yet so thankful to have a roof over my head; even though its a drafty southern cottage that isn’t heated like the brick and stucco structures I grew up in back in the northeastern U.S., it keeps the rain out and I can warm it up sufficiently for me since I’m a bachelor,  during this time of year so that I don’t need gloves, only sometimes longjohn bottoms like we used to wear in college on the track team, to jog about our assigned workout loops.  I just dashed in here to my personal “office” corner where most of my writing is done.  First from the bedrooom where the public television news just ended,  I pranced into the kitchen to spy which of the Thanksgiving leftovers that were generously givin to me yesterday that I wanted to sample tonight!  Then over to again ponder the contents of these three strange and mysterious boxes full of canned goods, spices, cleaning fluids, provisions and even a new glass oven baking casserole dish, some glass plates and matching drinking glasses that suddenly and silently appeared upon my reading stoop atop the steps that lead into my front door this morning.  They were not there an hour before when I had jogged out to the roadside mailbox to see if my small paycheck from my part-time job had arrived, and I am usually rabbit-eared vigilant about anyone tresspassing upon the property.  There is no note claiming responsibility for this charity, and who ever leftt hem was sneakily stealth and quick about their rounds.  The boxex had liquor brands on them, and at first I thought that this was the work of one of my friends who wanted to treat me to a Monday party – which I was not in the mood for on this cloudy, damp and winter-looking morn – I looked about up and down the street for evidence of mischief.  You see, I was on my way out to pay a couple of bills and try to get my telephone turned back on since Comcast had suddenly – uncaringly taken my land line “not in service” over a week ago and had since refused to admit their blunder, choosing to instead extort more cash from my already depletted coffers.  More on that later, I guess.  Comcast are cowards is all I will say, just like any of the big monopolistic corporations who try to squeeze the little person by the genitals until they bleed us dry. 

I wondered who, as I cautiously peeked inside of these three great boxes, who in the world had done this?  My ex-lover?  After all these drinking glasses looked of the style that she had given me last Christmas season, only bigger, and there even was a box of brand-new, modern martini glasses in one of the big boxes, the style of which I’ve never seen before!  Surely she would have tapped upon the door – or not, as I last told her I wished I’d never met her because she suddenly quit our relationship; It would be tragically embarrassing if somehow she had found out  about my recent poverty since our break up – maybe that was why she did it, I thought to myself because she never gave me a reason – my mind now racing to solve this unexpected mystery. How about a neighbor?  Some of these things are open like the Reynolds Wrap, and this feels like half-a gallon of bleach in this gallon container.  That’s right, bleach!   But they all seemed back to their work routines on this first Monday after the four-day weekend…I work mainly on weekends, and recently by telemarketing durng the days from my home, until the Comcast cut-off that is.   In any event, I didn’t have time to invesatigate further, so I turned off my car that was warming-up, took the keys out of the ignition so that I could re-open my now alarmed house and let these boxes into my front door, so that I could further examine them when I returned.

I just jogged over here to the computer to write this down before the feeling disappeared; I wanted to tell you about it since I cannot call anybody right now.  Sometimes I walk gingerly in my house; especially when treading back into the other bedroom which is my “DJ Room” or home studio.  There a wrong or too had step can cause a record to skip while I’m recording it to a CD.  That is okay when it is just for me, but evry so often I have a client that requests a copy of one of my now rare vinyls and I have to walk softly within a mean mix.


The recent National Football League Concussion debate seems to be drawn upon lines of gender.  I noticed that at the Congressional hearings, all the men doctors and experts were soft about the “need” for the NFL to get more strict about the “longlasting effects of the concussion syndrome” while the female doctors  and testfiers were more adament about ther being a “need for change” and the NFL having to “admit” to some nefarious wrongdoing for its players.  Could these women have been “football Sunday widows” I wonder?  I smell resentment in the air, and Congressman Conyers: what, didn’t he ever play a sport with a risk attached to it?  C’mon, lighten-up on this crusade and get back with the men! LOL  Nobody puts a gun to the head of a person who wants to play sports. It is a choice remember?  There is inherent risk in any sport we choose to participate in.  I can tell you about mine, if anybody ever chooses to ask me why I’ve named my blog as I have – but it isn’t as simple as you might think.  Nothing is just black or white anymore, including concussions to the dome.  This “saving ourselves from ourselves” mentality amongst our elected individuals must cease.  Life is about choices, and we all have to live with them – in my opinion.

Tiger Woods: Hmmm, OJ era lawyer Gloria Allred is seen with the super fine Rachel Uchitel (who I’d never heard of before by the way).  Pointer Sisters’ oldie, “Betcha Got A Chick On The Side”…an “uh-oh” moment…stay tuned…She IS way finer (on the outside at least) than his wife by the way – in my opinion.

Feeling spry at my age and being able to jaunt between rooms in the house is a blessing that many I have known wo are not with me anymore in the physical world or even some who are but in pain do not have.  My former girlfriend, who has kids to to feed, once encouraged me to get on Food Stamps as she is, being the little worker of the system that she is. I was a stage star who is still to proud and optimistic at my core to do that, but after we broke apart, I heard her words and did go to sign up at the local Food Bank – maybe they played early secret Santa Claus upon my doorstep this morning. Nope, I called there and they said they didn’t do any deliveries like that.   No note or anything, but my eyes and heart several times well-up to cry tears of appreciation for now my cubboard is full of canned goods, etc, and I can try to claim the wealth around me while meditating upon and envisioning my prosperity to come as I shed the poverty consciousness that my elders passed into my genes.  Soon I pray to be able to manifest, via my own power that just received an octane boost via the boxes, the creation of a  time when I shall be able to play the tithing role.