DC Cop sent this along to us. We don't know whether it is real or not, but could be so, heads up.
Original post contained a PO ox of the Florida Highway Patrol . That seems a bit odd. Don't the police have a formal street address? Anyway, DC cop thinks it's plausible, so I posted it here.
I walked down the sidewalk with Bee and the crew. We lived in Pasadena CA. I was obnoxious and drunk, happy, walking out ahead. Most likely I was teasing them by pretending to close the side view mirrors of parked cars. I do that when I’m really drunk. I find a mischievous joy in thinking about the car owner when they get in their car the next day. They are running late, a bit groggy as they stay up to long the night before, turning on the car, checking the rear review and then the side. “Damn it!” They have to get out of the car and fix the mirror. The very thought makes me laugh especially when I’m drunk. My friends, including Bee, all hate this about me. They think it’s juvenile and stupid. I’ve stopped doing it when they are around, but I will run up to a car and pretend to do it, just to see them get mad. Anyway, as I crossed the street heading toward home, a Porsche sped by missing me by inches. My drunkenness quickly left as adrenalin rushed in. The Porsche stopped at the end of the next block due to a red light. I stood in the crosswalk and flipped them off. I hopped they saw. I wanted them to come back. I wanted a confrontation. They made a sharp left when the light turned green, the another left at the next street. I could hear their engine racing. In less than 60 seconds they made another left on the street I was standing on. They raced up to corner and pulled over into a skidding stop at the corner opposite me. A family with a small child as sitting on the curb. The father pulled the baby between his legs as the Porsche came to the stop. The people were laughing in side. I don’t know if they were drunk, or not. It was the end of the Rose Parade. The parents on the street curb were terrified. I went to the drivers side door, of the Porsche but the car was English and the driver was on the other side. They were middle aged B list actors. There was two men and two women. Tracey Ullman was one of the women. Is she B or A list? They laughed hysterically.
“What is your problem man? You almost hit those people and you almost hit me.”
Anvil, Milk’s father has brain cancer. To his family and friends he wrote the following. I love it. I asked his permission to post on Grunge Ogre. He agreed. When I get cancer from cigarette smoking, hopefully I will approach it the same. Enjoy.
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Cancer Notes # 3, December 20, 2007 Holiday Edition
Well, I have some very good news. After 30 days of radiation, 3 cycles of chemotherapy, and Avastin infusions every two weeks, I seem to be winning. The operative phrase is “clean scans.” That means that when you line up the four MRI’s I’ve had (just prior to surgery, post-surgery, 2 months later, and 2 months after that), what you see is a disturbingly large white splotch in the left frontal lobe. Then it shrinks, and shrinks, and shrinks, and then Poof, it’s gone !
I had no idea what an emotional volcano I’d been sitting on for five months. As I entered the elevator I simply burst into a flood of tears and loud honking noises that scared the hell out of the four passengers . . . .and me. It reminded me of the next-to-last scene in Sense and Sensibility when Emma Thompson discovers that Hugh Grant is not married and is, thus, available to her.
I sat in my wheel chair and struggled to open the front door of the pizza place around the corner. I lost the use of my legs somehow. To open the door I pushed it open and latched it with a simple hook to an eyelet on the wall. The door was green wood with a mesh screen like a porch screen door on a cottage lake house. As I did this, many people passed ignoring me. I was just a cripple trying to get a slice of pizza. I did not ask for help, nor did I want it. This was my life, my dharma, and I did not think to ask for help more than ask for help opening a door when I could walk. Some drunk fellows came out of the pizza place and undid the latch. The door slammed shut.
9/27/07 – Yuppy Town
Dream. I had moved back to my Father and step mothers house. I was going back to high school with all my knowledge and experience of being 38, yet, I was only 17 in the dream. The bus pulled up outside and my brother, sister and I scrambled to finish getting dressed. I quickly tried on three different outfits. For some reason I was fretting about having just the right combination of colors and hipster style, but not too much or too little.
I found Kiwi after writing a particularly morose, existential journal entry in the private log. The blather of mediocrity and the meaninglessness of it all. The type that makes suicide seem sweet. If you gotta go, do it like Kiwi. :)
Bee woke early this morning for a business trip.
As she turned off the alarm, I rolled over
and said I didn't want to get up yet.
She rolled over to me
And said, "I love you."
I said it back.
A pause.
I added, "Even though I don't show it all the time."
She rolled back to her side, saying, "Ah, huh".
I added. "Most of time."
She said "Ah, huh."
"Almost never."
"Ah, huh."
I rolled over to her, saying, in a small cloying voice
like a Hallmark card made with gravel and nicotine,
"But, you are always in my heart."
We both laughed.
I added, "But, it's a small and black,
So I don't know if that's a good thing.
Emcee and Princess made dinner at Black Bear and Eva's last night. Eva's parents are in town. They mad BLTs and a delightful corn salad. I know it was delightful because I had left overs tonight. Any, Black Bear sent Emcee a two word text message today while he was at work. It read, "Corn Turd."javascript:submitbutton('save');
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When I was a kid, I read a book called the "WalkAbout", or something like that. It followed the story of an Australian native who was out walking through the dessert, alone. If I recall correctly, it was a boy and the walk about was part of the trial of becoming a man. He had to go into the dessert by himself for months and survive. At the time I thought it would be a great adventure. I still do. But, now I'm an Ogre and would most likely stay at a hotel and drive an ATV across the landscape, killing eco systems and trampling ancient trials, loving it like a McDonald's commercial and getting drunk to escape my self loathing. Sound like fun? Any one want to go? Yeah? No? If so, check out this sub-section of CheaperThanHotels.com designed specifically for Australian travel:
Note: The site has a nice feature of showing pricing in multiple currencies. Though, the design is bit garish and cluttered. It reminds me of junior high cafeteria cheese sandwich, French fries and to much ketchup.
Earlier in the night I had pissed off Princess and Emcee by declaring a new nickname for Emcee. "PB"
"What's that mean?" Princess asked.
"Princess's bitch."
"Not funny." She said and walked away pissed.
I felt like an ass. I made the error of crossing the line, again. Emcee had come over to order a drink for Princess, and it struck me that he's often doing her bidding. I though the new nickname would be funny. It wasn't. Everyone beat me up about.
"You can't say stupid things like that. Just because he is nice to his wife doesn’t mean he's her bitch. Everyone has their own thing. She does plenty for him too. It's reciprocal. A couples relationship is none of your business. Dumb ass."
While having dinner at a lobster shack in Bar Harbor Maine, we were misbehaving as usual. Well, the men were. For some reason we always start making stupid, lewd jokes with sexual connotations. "Oh yeah, toss the salad. How about a rusty trombone? A dirty Sanchez?" I forget the specific comment that Emcee made, but Princess responded, "Emcee, behave. There are people here. Normal people."
This, of course, made us roar, and take the vulgarities up a notch. Some people around us gave dirty looks. Such is life in the Ogre camp.
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At another point of the night, after a rousing game of Bocce Ball where Emcee and Eva dominated, Princess visited the ladies room. The women had been discussing palates, exercise and building inner-core strength. Emcee frequently mocks the term inner-core whenever he can. "Have another glass of wine, it will build your inner-core." Mockery or not, the woman are slimming and it looks good, especially Bee. Even Black Bear has started exercising. He is taking kick boxing. Of course, on weekends like this, exercise just becomes an excuse to indulge more. Myself, I just indulge. When Princess came back someone asked, "Feel better?" She had made a rather dramatic exit.
The other day the winds were blowing after heavy rains. Bud steeped outside under the fire escape and would go no further. The wet gusts were not that inviting to him. When he come back inside. Bee taunted him, “Awe. Is it too blistery for Buddy Boy?”
“Blistery?” I asked. “You mean blustery.”
“Oh. Is that it? Oops. No wonder people looked at me oddly today at work. I must have said blistery three or four times.”
Bee and I ate dinner at the Western Hotel in Callicoon NY last night. It is an old place left over from the turn of the century when rail road barons ruled the universe. The passenger railroad tracks still run through the middle of town, but are used only for commercial freight now. The Delaware is just off in the distance. Inside, the floors are river stone and hardwood. The décor invites with an antique charm early 19th century luxury. Curiously, the waiter who took our order, seemed to be the owner of the place. He was charming and brusque like a New York doorman. I liked him. He reminded me of my dead step father.
Since, I have no kids, and Bud doesn't have the jaw structure, vocal cords or mental capacity to speak English...he is a dog after all...I won't be needing the services of Tutor Vista.
Though, I could use an editor.
Anyone want to volunteer to edit Grunge Ogre? Didn't think so.
Finally, after what seemed like months, I managed to get to the bookstore in Maplewood NJ, where Bee and I lived. Alan Alda was the shop keeper. He had special ordered a book for me. The book arrived weeks ago, and I was just now getting in. I liked Alan. He was very interesting man, and I used to idolize Hawkeye from Mash. Anyway, he was sitting in his chair, reading some tome about something. He was glad to see me as I was glad to see him.
