IT'S INSIDE MY HEAD!

Let’s consider (try not to think, yea….just try it) our world from the inside out for a few moments. That is to say this reality that exists inside our skulls as opposed to the perhaps harsher form that we walk, talk and wander through each day.

Now which controls which?

There is no control you say? Try not thinking again.

We walk through our worlds as we rapturously enjoy/suffer through every moment of our transient existence in a fulfilling/futile pursuit of our tragic/triumphant ambitions/dreams. And where do our thoughts come from? From the innumerable stimuli that surrounds us? Doubtless. But don’t they occasionally emerge fully formed and crystal clear as if a bolt from heaven itself, destined to decide the path that our feet will trudge for our remaining ecstatic/depressing days?
Consider that this Super Super computer that we call our brain is switched on from the moment of our birth (and perhaps even before) and then is continuously running at top speed until the moment we bite that tasty dust. This is one mean machine capable of billions of simultaneous calculations instantly being processed through every moment of our waking existence.

“That beautiful girl just smiled at me…….what does it mean? Do I make a move? Dare I?”……
and all this as you’re walking through a jam packed train station avoiding almost constant collisions while calculating the time remaining until your train pulls as you count the money in your pocket, weigh your chances, consider your bills for the month, briefly think of your children, wonder about the girl from 7 years ago, check your watch, scratch your chin and decide your fate all while, significantly, breathing, pumping blood and performing the millions of mechanical functions that allow you to amble upright as the old grey matter hums along as smooth and easy as water flowing down a gentle hill.

Remember that supercomputer Deep Blue that finally beat a Grand Master Chess Champion in that most tortuous of mental war games back in 2005? I’m not impressed.

Let that fucking collection of circuits, microchips and extension cords manage the board as he is simultaneously trying to pay the bills, keep his wife happy, find time for his girlfriend, plot his next career move, check his look in the mirror, fight Father Time, plan lunch and then dinner, remember everyones birthday, scope the crowd, gauge his own worthiness, approximate humility and then let him bust a play. That is the exact moment when I will be impressed.

Yes, I did mention that this personal cerebro of ours is running strong all through our waking existence but consider this as well. While asleep the old head is perhaps on standby but is nonetheless working hard…..or is it easy? How else to explain the incredible vividness and hyper reality of those things we call dreams as we check out of our more immediate reality? The shocking horror of our terrible nightmares is most simply the brain on overdrive or maybe in delete mode, carefully sorting, dividing and ditching the useful from the useless, the profane from the responsible, the psychotic from the coherent, the difficult good from the simple bad as our more corporeal bodies slumber easily, and sometimes less so, in our soft beds with heart pumping, lungs thumping oblivious to the fury upstairs.

And all these countless galaxies of operations occur simultaneous to our body’s ever-present physical deterioration. Just as that beautiful, terrible engine in our skulls hums along the body is ever so slowly falling apart and will, eventually, end us one and all.

Kidney failure, a heart condition, a tumor, infection, disease…….
A bullet, a bus, a bolt of lightening.

But that ageless calculator upstairs just keeps cruising along impervious to any attempts to shut it down, indifferent to any physical realities, contrary to any mortal ambitions yet infinitely aware of every aspect of its owners past, present and future condition, as unknowable and yet as familiar as the most distant star in the blackest sky. Unique. Shining.

Of course occasionally the grey machine fails before the other one below.

This is an anomaly. This is a mistake. This is certainly a tragedy of the most human proportion.
Outside of old age it’s clear that either one or the other fails first and never both at the same time.

You want the cure for cancer? It’s schizophrenia.

The brain going haywire will burn every last cancer cell in the body or blood until there’s nothing left but a madness that beams through your eyes like a burning spotlight of clearest insanity. Of course you’ll most likely end up a homeless pariah spending your last days on Earth jabbering your wisdom to a crowd that will not comprehend as you dive through trash cans and search for suitably safe places to sleep but that cancer will be gone, baby gone and that engine in your head will be spinning furious revolutions of endless freedom and fantastic dreams.

This is what I’ve been thinking of lately.....
So Happy Thanksgiving.

I got my face on.......

and somehow this number makes me feel a little less blue....

a little.

Thank you Sir.

Norman Mailer (1923-2007)

Odds and Ends- No. 1 Boom Boom Edition

If you are now or ever were an even reasonably attractive female than I can unequivocally guarantee you, for the record, that between the ages of 16 and 23 every single strange man who ever spoke to you did so in the most sincere hope than he might one day fuck you. And I don’t mean date you, get to know you, drink coffee with you or maybe even kiss you- no, no, no.
FUCK.
YOU.

That nice old Bus driver (maybe in his 60’s) who dropped you at H.S. everyday with that pleasant smile and happy wave? Oh yes!

That kindly older man at the coffee shop who always tells funny jokes and talks a lot about his wife? Definitely!

That pimply-faced nerd who sometimes asked to borrow a pencil and later in life would help you with your computer? Damn Right Sweetheart!

The super-polite and absolutely non-threatening Doorman of your Building who’s always so very, very sweet? He’s thinking about it every time he smiles at you!

The tired looking shlub taking your application at the DMV? No doubt!

Let me be perfectly clear. I wrote that he is hoping to fuck you. I didn’t say plotting (very doubtful for this takes time, true effort and research), planning (although he certainly may be) or otherwise even half-ass scheming (this is clearly most likely), I gently stated that he is, but this is without doubt, hoping- as in dreaming, wishing and just plain praying that one great day you might in fact give him all you got and make his most humble of fantasies come true. The great good news for you is that you were, are and will always remain in the Drivers Seat regarding these almost always unreal ambitions.
Yes, we men may turn grey while waiting for that crack in the door that signals your wondrous consent as we feverishly imagine your naked flesh and hungry desire but, let it be spoken, we all share the same mind and the same biology and we will tirelessly gnaw on this bone until there’s nothing left but marrow...and then slurp the marrow.
At least until we turn the corner and another One walks by like a vision of Heaven on Earth. And there will always be corners too numerous to count with another Angel about to turn our way.

Now before the storms of Feminine outrage crash my home and bring me to my knees let me say this-
I’ve heard it all before and I know you believe that you have a point but please realize……please……….that you have already won the battle and, if you can muster even the smallest parcel of cool, you will always win the war. Protest is futile for you need only open your eyes or simply, and fondly, remember that innocent age. I bring you the Truth in its undiluted form and not the fast food PC pabulum that may have been shoveled your way.

After 23? You gotta know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em but no worries. Although we may be the ones dealing the cards you got All the Aces and most of the luck which is much more than I can say for our side.



When I was a damn lucky 34 and my smoking part-time GF was 20 we were diligently working on an Olympic sex record. I’m unsure as to whether we set or broke it but I’d kill or die today to return to that particular competition as we intensely enjoyed our very complicated/uncomplicated relationship. Once, perhaps 6 months into our courtship, as we were laying back and catching our breath she spoke to me. This was somewhat rare because English was not her 1st language and my understanding of her native tongue was far inferior to her fluency in mine.

“You know what I like about you?”

I, in fact, had no idea and tended not to trouble myself about such trivial matters.

“No…….what?”

She sighed.

“You never ask me, “How was it?”

At the tender age of three and a half decades I was blown out of my saddle by this achingly beautiful young girl whose experiences were obviously greatly unequal to mine yet she held my heart in her hands like an egg she didn't need.

“You mean… guys actually ask you that question?”

Somehow, looking into her shining black eyes I believed her.

She wrapped her slender sweet legs around me and laughed,

“All the time.” Then we both laughed.

To any of my unlikely virginal male friends out there- This is not the time for Q&A.
This is the time for hugging and kissing and some discreet talking, finally. If a woman is even slightly satisfied with your performance she will let you know in no uncertain terms. Relax, regroup and get ready for Round 2.
If she invites you back to her bed at any time afterwards then you, my friend, have just scored a touchdown in the Superbowl. So do the Dance.


Recently while reading comments on another blog I was struck by the number of women who mentioned that they have NO INTEREST in sports. I distrust these women.
No interest whatsoever?
Granted I understand that you may properly lack a somewhat unhealthy obsession in the history, statistics, records and the Line but……………………….
No interest?
I’ve yet to meet a sex-bomb woman who didn’t at least have a voyeuristic fascination with watching powerful, graceful, godlike men heroically straining themselves in complete and serious dedication to their endeavor. Often these women offer fascinating and incisive commentary to the action. The Ex was a grand example. Almost 6 feet of luscious ass and dripping sex she was one of the best football handicappers I ever met yet she put little thought into it. She relied on intuition and, somehow, it served her well. Once, while monitoring a Green Bay/Tampa Bay contest on which I had bet heavily on Tampa, I announced to her in the heat of the moment,
"Check it out, Baby, Warren Sapps gonna drop Favre like a bad habit."
She coolly replied,
"Fat Boy Sapp couldn't drop his Mama."
She finished her coffee as the Packers finished Tampa Bay. At half-time we acted like married people and I didn't care about the game at all.
You got no interest in that, I got no interest in you and most likely we’re both happier that way. Sometimes life works out perfect.



Biology is reality and reality may not be to our liking. Men hunt, Women nest. This is as it is and most likely should be. Most likely you ask?
Yea.
Because you see this Human Race we are a part of has completely taken over this Eden we call Earth and we did it even though we are definitely, physically inferior,puny even,in comparison to the violent enemies we trampled all along the way. We stand triumphantly, sometimes not so much, at the absolute top of the food chain and we ain’t even sweating to stay there.

But we’re slowly destroying this planet you say?
Thanks for the 411 Ghandi but I’m only writing about the here and now. The Nobel Prize line starts over there.

In short, Men seek out the youngest, most fertile females to mate with and procreate. This is our Biological Imperative. We are all hard-wired in this way. It is not deniable.
Women seek out the strongest provider that will allow them to create the safest home. This is OUR reality. Leave us not complain about it.
Let’s, instead, evolve while we enjoy each other and keep the bicthin’ to the serious, gender specific drinking sessions.