The cool thing is, this has become my permanent blog. The sucky thing is, I exported (or, thought I exported) everything from my old blog and now noticed that I lost all my links in the sidebar. Dood.

Ah well. Time to refresh.

No Worries.

I’ve always wanted my kid to see me play. Then one night, I saw him play, right on stage during our closing number. Watch for him next to Deston (keyboard player on left) about midway through the song. What a kid.

Happy New Year.

measured in minutes
hours, days
’til that one special moment
where everything seems
a little brighter

Promises, resolutions
mending loose ends
and the feeling
of a clean slate

It could be just any other day
a beginning
an end
but we celebrate it
like it’s a big deal

Just remember
every day is special
anything can happen

Be prepared.

Break the mold.

I wanna put this on a black hoodie but they don’t make ’em. Rats.

Meanwhile, I did put in an order for this shirt and the other ones I’ve made on Zazzle, including my What Would ZOD Do? shirt, which had been banned from the site due to legal matters. Actually they should be getting here tomorrow, so I’ll be sure to snap some shots.


It feels good in my hand
Soft and squishy
but firm

The pill says Dquil
In neat, modern letters
I think of the factory where they made them
and picture the machines
and people on breaks
having coffee
or vending machine cookies

I hold it up to the light
and see it shine through
the blazing red orange
technology is beautiful
made on our well-being
somewhere someone
can say “I did that.”

I think of the future
this could be food
a complete meal
a baconburger combo
kung pao chicken
with brown rice
filet mignon
toast with butter

For now it is hope
hope that it works
cures me of this
crazy, annoying thing
called sickness


Not coz I feel feverish
not coz I hate coughing
not coz I hate blowing
my nose of sticky
yellow snot

It’s ‘coz I have a kid
who can say
“I want to play with you, Daddy”
so freakin’ clearly
that it shatters my heart
into a million pieces
each and every millisecond
that I hesitate because
of my weakened condition



This morning I woke up and was like, “I want to celebrate today with some good food.”

I remembered that in my cupboard I had one of those new “half-can” Spams, which yielded just enough slices for a hearty breakfast. So out on the stove it went. Sizzle sizzle. Mmm mm. Hot, fried Spam on a bed of fresh steamy white rice is definitely something I’m thankful for…on any day. 10-12 hour turkey? Whatever.

Speaking of this holiday, by far the most memorable quote I associate with Thanksgiving would be Wednesday’s ad-lib in the Thanksgiving Day Play on Addams Family Values:

You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides, you will play golf, and enjoy hot hors d’oeuvres. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts.

Kind of strange that I didn’t realize the irony in Thanksgiving Day celebration until I saw that movie. Yet since then, Thanksgiving has taken a whole new meaning to me. I see it simply now as a day of giving thanks for the health, love and happiness I have in my life.

In that context, I believe I should be thankful every day for those things. Perhaps Thanksgiving Day is just an “official” day to count my blessings.


Fall continues falling, and I find myself in search of sweaters. This is my favorite time of year; when the cold bites like an icy dog at my neck and ankles when I take out the late trash. One day soon I will be able to see my breath at night.

My son finds bubbles. Lots of bubbles, in his small gun which resides patiently on the porch. The sun shines, reminding me of the summer. Warmer months, when the dashboard simmered and his igloo ice block sweated as it kept his milk cold.

He didn’t know what a camera was, not too long ago. Had no idea what it did, nor what it was for. But now, he takes every opportunity to delight in the attention it pays. Greg grows so fast, his innocence lost to learning, his oblivion fading to knowledge. I dwell on this as I hold my iPhone steady, hoping to capture another moment.

Greg, in turn, points his bubble gun directly at the miniature lens and smothers it in suds.


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