underblob

Cursive L
Looping recursive
into helix
on horizon

Popsicles don’t stay frozen in a cooler full of ice.

Waiting for the client. The weekend, a Monday meeting, then I get comments. So no work to do until next week. Today is Friday. It’s a full moon tonight. I got my start fee and my passport papers together so I decide to spend a couple hours this afternoon running errands, grab some lunch. After getting my passport pictures back, I’m convinced to shave this lop-sided winter beard. It makes me look like a bum and now I’m going to wear the mess on my passport for the next ten years. Fuck.

Celeste says my bluetooth earpiece combined with my skateboarder fashion sensibility makes me look like a drug dealer. We affectionately call the bluetooth earpiece my “asshole plug”. In the pedestrian role, I always wear a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. I got them originally as a joke to look like a jerk but now I can’t seem to be in public without them. Hiding behind a two way mirror on my face is very comfortable. Amy got me a t-shirt for Christmas this year that says “Humbolt County” in Olde English calligraphy. It is the icing on the cake of my drug dealer disguise.

Streaming Metallica through the earpiece, rolling down Vermont Avenue. Line in the Post Office is much too long, bank is first. Cross Sunset Boulevard. Deposit. Receipt. Back on the street.

Stop at Fred 62 for lunch on the way back up. There are two lesbians at the lunch counter next to me. They are either still in  the beginning of their relationship or they just had a huge break-through as I make one of my infamous counter-factual assumptions. They are so affectionate and happy. Smiling and talking, holding hands. I can almost feel the love. One of them asks me if I have an iPad. “Oh, no it’s an Amazon Kindle,” I reply. They are adorable. “Check, please.”

The line at the Post Office is about half the length it was before. I was surprised by how difficult it is to find Tyvek envelopes in my neighborhood. Or maybe I thought they were more common than they really are. But now I am putting one registered in the mail. In six weeks I’ll have a new passport, fubar beard and all. Cash. Receipt. Back on the street.

I decide to stop in the 7-11 to get a cup of coffee before I head back home. Two steps into the door and I realize that there is a guy behind the counter yelling: “You fucking make me! You try to fucking make me!” Hey, he’s not an employee. Hey, he’s wearing a drug dealer disguise too. Except his asshole plug looks a lot more expensive than mine. The clerk at the register is cowering on the phone as if ready to absorb the impending assault. This doesn’t look like a very good place to be right now so I turn on my heel and head back for the door. The screaming dude behind the counter must have come to his senses and realized that he doesn’t want to deal with the 911 call in progress because he is suddenly in a hurry to get out from behind the counter and through the front door as well. Or did he just redirect the sharpened point of his anger? What the fuck, is this maniac following me out of the store? Shit. Scanning the ground for something heavy or sharp. Shit. I have reach and weight on him at least. Don’t know if that will hold up to what I suspect is a neurological advantage of having his gills thoroughly caked with stimulants and engulfed in adrenalin. Or more likely a fucking handgun. Shit. He’s right behind me, I can hear his footfalls closing in as I’m rounding a gianormous black Cadillac Escalade parked beside the store. Shit. Don’t panic. I hear the door of the Escalade open behind me as I’m passing the front bumper. Sweet relief, It’s the rage parade’s Escalade. Of course. His Escalade. I suddenly realize I’m a total poser. Fuck.

My glasses where could they be?
My glasses parted my face without me?
I search the loss of origins very high and barely low
My glasses then can allow me show
I struggle for structure here
In this simple soliloquy and prose
But where are my fucking glasses?
O hey, wait… they were on the fucking stove
Seriously, what the fuck?

Religious freedom is protected by the constitution of the United States along with freedom of speech. Anyone has the right to proclaim, discuss, or speak about their “god” in any public place in the United States. To make any certain “god” or any certain “religion” a mandatory requirement would be an oppressive infringement on the rights of others to retain their own beliefs without suffering the implied fear of conformity to the established rites of the dominant culture. Pray to your “god”, it is legal. Enforce rules to make me pray to your “god” instead of my “god”, it is not legal. Remove “god” from public school curriculum entirely and therefore remove the struggle of dominance and intimidation. It clears the way for learning, as school is meant to be an institution for education and not an institution for endorsing religious beliefs, dogma, or doctrine. Mandating a definition of “god” does not belong in school. Grammar and math and geology and physics and chemistry belong in school. The belief in “god” is something that is inherited through the family and traditions of each individual citizen. If a person wants their children to learn about their “god”, they should take them to their church or temple or synagogue or mosque or full moon bonfire. Send them to school to get educated about communicating and perceiving the world around them.

When my Grandmother died, I cried my fucking face off for days… and drank a lot of whiskey. I loved her more dearly than anyone and it was the greatest loss that I have suffered in my short life here on earth. When we got to the funeral, to my heartbreaking dismay, I was not allowed to grieve her death and mourn with my family. Instead I was made to suffer through a brimstone hellfire sermon and sternly told that I will burn and be tortured to suffer in hell for eternity for not being a believer in my family’s faith of choice. I was denied my emotions. I was denied being a human being. I was castigated and cast apart from life and family by that ceremony. I was infuriated and disgusted and remain so to this day. I do not believe in my family’s “god”. The personal denial that I suffered at my Grandmother’s funeral is allowed and accepted among family but that level of struggle, denial and rejection does not belong in any school or public establishment.

My own personal belief is that my family’s brand of religion is a social and psychological control mechanism to keep the congregation complacent and passive and disconnected from their true selves. It helps society to run along smoothly and keeps the humble cogs from finding their higher selves and breaking out of the machinery. Breaking out of the machinery is freedom for some and destruction for others… it’s been a lot of both for me personally. I can not deny that doctrine is a good and helpful thing for those who cannot perceive its true purpose or muster the bravery of accepting the unknown that lies beyond abandoning faith. But if you are able to see beyond the comfort of its oppression, you can find the truth. It is difficult. It is painful. It is real. It is freedom. It is my god.

• 1 package artificial crab meat (flake style works best)
• 3 strips of cooked turkey bacon, chop up
• 1/2 bunch of cilantro, fine chop
• 1/2 mango, dice
• 1/4 juicy lime squeezed juice (1/2 or whole lime if is a dry one)
• 3 tbsp olive oil mayo

Mix that up in a mix bowl, salt and pepper to taste. Serve on toasted whole grain English muffin or sandwich thin.

Standing on the back patio, waiting for the sun to come out. Hopefully the overcast will burn off in a couple hours and I’ll be able to ride to the beach today. What are those swimming birds that hang out on the pilings with the pelicans? They do not really dive for fish from the air the same way the pelicans do. They swim around and disappear underwater for minutes at a time. They perch on the decaying pilings and spread their wings and push out their chests like they just won something important. Oh no, wait…. they are drying their wings off. Let’s run some Google searches and some Wikipedia look-ups and discover that they are double-crested cormorants…

The cormorant has been used for centuries for fishing. Trained cormorants hang out with the fisherman and his boat and do their thing, swimming for fish. There is a snare tied around the cormorants’ necks that keep them from swallowing the big fish. It can eat all the little fish it wants but when it gets a big fish stuck in it’s throat, it comes to the fisherman to take the fish out.

Links

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florida_Cormorant
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cormorant_fishing

Turkey Bacon and Pear sandwich:

• 4 slices turkey bacon
• 2 slices ripe bartlett pear
• 1/4 cup alfalfa sprouts
• 1 tsp dijon mustard
• 2 slices whole wheat or multi-grain bread

Grill turkey bacon until crispy or if you like it floppy, make it so. Toast bread until golden brown. Apply dijon mustard to toasted bread. Add slices of turkey bacon, pear, sprouts. Eat. It is delicious!

Knock me down gently
Hearts are not light for floating
You don’t need a fool

We installed and skinned WordPress a couple times for blog-hungry clients in the past year and liked it so much we decided we wanted one of our own. Welcome to the new WordPress powered iteration of Underblob: V3.

Cheers!