I am not sensitive…

We had a good day on the saving puppies front.

Thanks for clicking through! Keep on clicking, so kitties and puppies can keep on living!

     I was driving today. I do that occasionally. And while I am driving and not texting and putting on lip gloss, I am usually thinking. About stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Some of it was personal. Most of it was not. But I got to thinking about sensitivity. And imperfection.

     My father used to say the last perfect person was nailed to a cross. That would seem to be an ugly way to go. I know they did not nail him to the torture stake because he was insensitive. From what I have read of that perfect guy, he was much more sensitive than me. Being sensitive may result in a torturous death. I do not think I want to figure out if I am right on that count.

     Yesterday, I did go to the doctor. Doctors are not too sensitive. Maybe if they determine you are dying, they may be more sensitive. I do not know. I am thankful that I do not know. Doctors also have horrendous handwriting. So do I…I should be a doctor…. However, if this blog were hand written, it would be unreadable. Well, even more unreadable than it already is. Maybe the word I am looking for is illegible. Again, not perfect.

     I was not far from my friend Marci’s house. Unfortunately, I had to work and then do an estimate. But I really needed a cup of coffee. She does make a good cup of coffee. Well, now that she knows the secret recipe of how to make a coffee. I personally had no problem with her coffee before she learned the secret recipe. But I am not a coffee snob.

     Some days I am just too lazy to make a fresh pot so I nuke the old stuff and add an extra splashola of flavored cream and voy-la, coffee in an instant. Not to be confused with instant coffee. Only REALLY old people drink instant coffee. Or people more lazy than me…

     On one job I was on, an older lady asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee. I said sure, in an effort to not be insensitive. The little old lady then said that she would have it for me in an instant. RED FLAG!!! She just had to boil the water. Ugghhh! I wanted to say no thanks and that instant coffee is the devil, but I said sure I could wait. I was being sensitive.

     I was on that job for about two more weeks and every day I got another cup of grossness known as instant coffee. See what sensitivity gets you. Crappy coffee…(maybe I am a coffee snob…) or nailed to a cross… either way I will pass…Jus’ sayin’…

     The coffee with Marci would have to wait. While I could use some fresh Marciisms to write another blog about something, I could not squeeze a hour or so to stop by unannounced, swill some coffee, and catch up on some stuff. Alas, her starring in another blog would also be down the road some time. (Sorry Marci)

      Anyway, as I was driving, fresh lip gloss and all, the epiphany ball struck me. And so I decided to share the findings. I am not sensitive. Sooner or later I offend someone. Yeah, I cuss like a drunken sailor. I am not overly polished, and I am definitely not easily offended, and that fact definitely skews the reality bubble on my sensitivity stick.

     That does not mean I am not easily outraged. On the contrary, I am outraged by many things. I could just rant about them all the time, but then it sounds whiny and petulant. I prefer to rant only occasionally about outrageousness. Moderation is the key to life.

      In the past, I think it was in the eighties, (but I really do not care when it was) someone got the grand idea that men should be more sensitive. Fine. It seems like it has trickled down to all facets of life. Making a face at someone is now considered bullying. Fine. It seems a bit ridstupidous to me, but to each there own.

     As I said before I am not sensitive. I liked it better when the only thing that happened when you made a face at someone was running the risk of having your face stay that way. It was a much more simple time…

     As I was writing this blog in my head I happened to glance down and see a note, hastily scribbled on my blognotes pad I keep in my truck for capturing the truth as I am driving on the road of life, 131, I-96 or some other exotic locale in my greater western Michigan stomping grounds.

     Apparently, Floyd Mayweather, Jr. said some racist remarks about Manny Pacquiao, the Filipino boxer. And insulted his masculinity as well, with some homophobic diatribe. Stupid.stupid.stupid. Racism exists because we let it exist. The media gobbles up the racist stupidity of foolish things people say and blast us over.andover.andover. with the insanity of stupid humans and their inability to think before they speak.

     The media would like us to believe we all have a vested interest in this stupidity. We do not. The two people that do have a vested interest in this are Pacquiao and Mayweather. The rest of us need to chink up our thin skin and move on. We all have our own bouts of stupidity and insensitivity to worry about... 

     Unfortunately, people are stupid. Not all the time but some of the time. And some people are stupid most of the time. Stupidity is not a disease it is a fact of life.

     Sooner or later I may offend you. I am imperfect. I make mistakes. But they are my mistakes and I own them. I would apologize, but I am insensitive, so unless you tell me I am offensive, I may not know. As imperfect as I am, I may think I am being funny. Things hit home to different people different ways.

     All of humankind is very similar, irrelevant of our skin color, race, religion, or sexual orientation. We are human. We all bleed blood of the same color. Some of us are more sensitive than others. Biologically we are nearly the same.

     I have said racist things. I have said stupid things. I am not perfect. Far from it. I am not a good judge of what is funny all the time. In my head it may be absof ckinglutley hilarious, but in reality not so much…

     This picture I found funny. My mind’s eye camera that I keep did capture this little tidbit….

     I zoomed past this Lamborghini. Kicked his sorry ass I did. It was white. Why would anyone drive a white Lamborghini? why do you have to bring race into it? And on 28th street to boot? Although, I airbrushed out the other traffic because there was not much to airbrush out, I still passed the sporty car and took the checkered flag.

     I believe the driver of the Lamborghini was crying, after our little race, but being insensitive as I am I just laughed in his face…and drove off to where ever I was going. feeling all smug and winnerish and all…

     Sensitivity, while leading to instant coffee, and getting hung from a cross, it also leads to thin skin. And then who knows what else. I am not a doctor. And I did not stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night. But I do know I am not sensitive. And I do not like instant coffee. Or torture stakes.

     For those of you that may think I could stand for some sensitivity training, I will call bullshit on that. I will not learn from sensitivity training. I may have to attend, but I would spend the whole time day-dreaming. Just like I used to do when I was required to attend school. You can only hope that something would sink in….Mebbe that is why I am not a doctor…

     I am, however, very caring. I care about a lot of things. I just am not sensitive. I do not mean to be as brusque, most times. I cry at funerals. I cry when I win awards. I cry at weddings. Actually I DO NOT cry at weddings, but if I did I would be crying for the loss of another guy’s bachelor freedom. I am not sensitive.

     I am not perfect. I am not always very smart. But I do care. And I do not get awards so the crying jury is still on this one. When I win an award we will find out if I do cry or not. Prolly not. I am not sensitive.

Of mice and men

Men are planners. Women are planners too, but the title is of mice and men.

     I am a planner. I plan out everything. Planners and dreamers are one and the same. I have lots and lots of plans and a multitude of dreams. Everyday I add a few more to the long list of plans and dreams. It is said that the best laid plans of mice and men sometimes go awry. Damn those mice anyway. I am not much of a completer. That is a lot more work

    I do accomplish completion of some plans. Mostly at work. For some strange, odd reason the act of a monetary reward seems to help in that regard. But not always. Everyone has a bad day now and again. God planned it that way to keep us guessing. Kinda like his sense of humor making men and women so different, and yet so interdependent to propagate the human race...

People do not plan to fail, they fail to plan…

ACTUALLY

They fail to complete…

and this is not always such a bad thing

    I plan to do a little self-promoting!!! I have a readership that is world wide. I can now track what countries I have people reading my blog. Thanks to all! I cannot track you down or anything like that, because I am techtarded, but even if I could that seems kinda stalkerish…yucky! Better grab a seat on the bandwagon now, before mildly famous becomes super-duper-stupendously famous!

Mice on the other hand plan to survive.

     I plan to write a check to Safe Haven Humane Society. As soon as I get my royalty check from the Google People. We are getting closer, but some of you are not helping out. It only takes a couple of minutes and it is for a Great cause! (Tucker thanks you! ) we are limping along at around 50 cents per day average. Puppies and kitties are dying, people…PLEASE click an ad or even two… you have to go from the link on my page to one of the sites that Google supplies, for me to get ad revenue. Not helping is f-ing with my completion chee…(don’t bother correcting the spelling…I do not care how it (chee) is REALLY SPELLED. If I did I would do a little InterWebResearch…) those of you that are participating THANKS!

    I plan to make a drink... “Houston, we have a problem.” There is no booze. There is beer in then MC fridge. I do not want a beer. I planned to have a Canadian Mist and cola. Oh wait, there is still enough for a couple…and bonus! There is a cola! Success! Scratch that Houston…there is nothing to see here. These are not the droids you’re looking for….

    When I was just a wee lad, I built my first model. Well, kind of. I started it. I had big plans. I painted all (read: most) the pieces the appropriate colors. Or what I deemed appropriate. If it called for a color I did not like I audibled (For some reason Norman does not seem to think this word is real. I added it to the dictionary…screw you Norman…) at the line of scrimmage and changed it to a color more palatable to my tastes.

     All the parts were painted some were put together. The instructions were more like a suggestion as far as I was concerned. However, not following the manufacturer’s plan makes it hard to actually complete the model. BTW, Any idiot that actually got high by sniffing model glue probably did not complete the model. I personally find the smell appalling. I lost interest in the completion, and the model. There were new worlds to explore. More plans to make! The card table and the model were starting to bore me. Onward and forward!

                      I have never seen a mouse build even half as much of a model as I did…

     My father had a small (mouse-sized) cow when I had the model parts sitting on the card table for weeks on end, un-completed. “Goddammit, Bruce! Or Jesuschreeist, Bruce, finish that model!” I am not sure which one he uttered, but let’s just say, I grew up thinking Bruce was my middle name and my father could not decide whether my given name was Goddammit or jesuschreeist…

     I was in a preschool class and the project was to color in a frog. I used green as is appropriate for a frog. I scribbled the green all over the frog. I was supposed to color within the lines. Lines-shmines…finish the task and kick back. For those of you that do not remember, coloring in the lines is time consuming and boring work. Scribbling is much easier, and really a lot more fun…

     It was a coordination exercise, I guess, to see if I was ready for kindergarten. The look of consternation from the teacher was priceless. She called me by my middle name, Bruce, and said, “You were supposed to color inside the lines, did you not hear the instructions?” I replied, “I am just gonna cut it out anyway. Then it will all be in the lines.” I never got to cut it out. I never got to complete it. I blame her. Jus’ sayin….

    A while later the assignment was to color in the traffic light. Red, Yellow, and Green. Just like the lights we all see everyday. I colored it in with red on the bottom. Again the concerned and condescending teacher using my middle name asked me if I had understood the instructions. I replied, “Yes. It will be right if you flip it around.” I flipped it around and completed the task. I showed her!

     And WhyTF, does a kindergartner need to know what a traffic signal looks like. In the suburbs? Seriously? So we can tell our parents when to stop. C’mon people there were no distracted drivers’ way back then…No one had a cell phone and the word Texting was not even invented yet. Now knowing which Dinosaurs ate meat, probably a good thing all those years ago…

                           Mice do not color nor do they understand the traffic signal thing at all…

    Precocious? Maybe. I believe they told my mother that I had a problem with authority. And following directions. SERIOUSLY? I prefer to say that I had, even then, a great sense of humor and a bit of a twist on the normalcy of the daily grind. IDK...Maybe I am a bit anti-social. Maybe I am a bit psychotic. It was just coloring. I wish I could have such small problems in adulthoodness.

     I plan to quit smoking. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when they cart my broken and depleted body off into the inferno of the blast furnace. Actually, I will still be smoking. At least for a little while until the ashes cool.

                                       I think the original Steamboat Willey was a smoker…

     I plan to write a blog. I am doing that now. There’s one more (nearly) completed task. Hence, I plan to have a drink. And yet another completed task. I am on a roll, baby!

     I planned to surprise my wife with a birthday dinner. I got home and attacked the BigAssGrill (BAG). I planned to fix it. I planned to cuss. A lot. Mission accomplished on those fronts. I planned to start up Mancave Thursday tomorrow. My wife was not pleased. “It will not be here,” I informed her, but still she looked a bit pissed. “It is MCT time of year…” I said…

     I continued cooking the birthday dinner. Oblivious to her dismay. I was after all making her a special dinner. I did fix the BAG. I was completing the plan. I did surprise my wife. Why? Because her birthday is not until tomorrow. F-ing Labor Day! Messing with my Days-O-the Week chee…and I thought I was being clever…I am torn on the completion quotient on this task…

     I plan to get in shape. Yeah, Riiight! Nuff said!

    I plan to go to the doctor. I have the appointment scheduled. We cannot count this a completion until I actually go and get the dirty work done. Appt scheduled, good plan!

     I plan to watch the LIONS season opener. As usual the party starts at ten am, on Sunday. Breakfast beer will ensure I can be fully loaded when the LIONS crush my hopes and dreams. I am a happy drunk. The LIONS cannot take that away from me now. It was not always that way. I used to take them seriously. Maybe it was the model glue…

     I plan to win the lotto. And get struck by lightening twice!

    I plan to finish this drink. Maybe I will have another. The drink is gone! I am Just like GWB…Accomplishing missions all over Hell’s Half Acre!!!

                  Mice accomplish many things everyday to survive. If they do not they die…

     Today, as I was driving, I planned to get where Sheila was taking me. Unfortunately, the Kia Rio, in front of me decided that 40 mph was fast enough for the Beltline. “Oh for F-cks sake!” (OFFS) I screamed to no one. Well, technically Sheila heard me, but she was busy telling me where to go as usual. If a man is driving and a woman is telling him where to go, is he still taking the wrong route? I will not answer the question; I think we all know the answer…

     “Speed up you dimwit!” I bailed on Sheila’s planned route, much to her chagrin and she promptly reprimanded me for my errant ways. “OFFS…I am not going to make a U-turn, Sheila! I have decided on an alternate route, catch up will you?” Again with the suggestion for a u-turn, again my obstinate refusal. Just so you know we got there, eventually…

                                          Mice, BTW, are horrendous drivers…Jus sayin’…

     Sometimes other people that you cannot control derail your success. That is why we should all carry concealed weapons in our cars. Pop a cap in that ass, they squeal off the road and on your merry way you go. Just like they were never there at all! (sarcasm)

     It is good plan that I do not carry a loaded gun in my car. I am more successful and complete more things if I am not in jail for blasting a cap in someone. Even if they deserve it. However, I can always blame it on the Rio...

     Sometimes success is overrated, and achievement is a hollow victory. The anticipation of completing a task is why we are working. In our life, the journey not the arrival is how our story is written. Each of us has an end of the road where we all end up eventually, but why hurry? Meandering like a bull in a china shop through all the chapters is how I roll.

     And sometimes I actually pay attention to what is actually happening. Sometimes I actually smell the flowers before I give them to my wife. And sometimes I actually stop and enjoy the day no matter how crappy it may be going…you never get it back, once it has rolled on to tomorrow…and everyday I see someone that has it worse than me…and I thank god…

             Mice pay attention to everything…if they don’t it could have mortal implications…

     I plan to run for KING of the WORLD… Better win the lotto first. And get few more guns…and a couple of lawyers…

     I Plan to fix the BASSMONKEY into a boat of my own design. Better win the lotto first as well. Maybe not the lotto, but definitely need a cash infusion. I plan to knock off a couple 7-11’s and a bank or two. That sounds like a GREAT! Idea…

                                     The mice have lived in the BASSMONKEY for too long…

     If I ever am going to steal it is going to be 100 followed by lots of zeros. Not a bunch of chump change. That way I can plan to disappear. The problem is I am an applause junkie. I will end up getting noticed somewhere, sometime. Such is the price I pay for being who I am.

                 If I did try the aforementioned I think I would wear a Mickey Mouse mask…

     So with all this planning and so little completion you would think I am frustrated. Not so much. The completion of this life is death. What happens next, I really do not know. I plan on an after life. I plan on completing this life. Each of us only gets one shot. Dream big and plan a ton. And complete what you can, but enjoy the ride! Make it count.

The secret to life…

     There is a secret to life. Most of us know what it is, but few of us actually realize that we hold it in our hands. We touch it everyday, but we also ignore its ever present existence. We run through the days and nights scurrying to this and that in an effort to maintain the status quo. We live the way we do because we do what we do to pay the mortgage. And buy stuff…lots of stuff…

     We fill up our time with the things that steal our life. We run on the reality grind. We do not want to acknowledge the actuality of our fleeting foray on the planet as living beings in a giant cosmos. We can acquire things, money, business, and personal success, but in the end, it all goes away. We cannot take anything with us but the essence of our existence.

     I have lost a lot. I have had and lost money, property, things and people. I do not want nor need pity. It happened; I moved on…I am still standing… I still make far more mistakes than I should. I have said it before, and I will say it again. Things do not matter. People do…

     Everyone operates from a different moral compass. We all make decisions that affect the others in our life, good, bad, and indifferent. I am going to impart the secret of life to you. You can skip to the end of this blog, just like some people jump to the end of a book or movie, which I think is a mortal sin. The secret may be there at the end, but it may be anywhere or everywhere in this blog. It is up to you what you do with this little tidbit. I am not the boss of you…

I really do not need to tell you because you already know what it is…

     Very few things are as liberating and life affirming as a proper vacation. A vacation should be fun and relaxing, not stressful and annoying… The proper amount of planning is requisite. Yes it is work, but it is a good kind of work…it can be less work…The problem usually lies in the number of people involved. As the number of people goes up so does the amount of possible relaxation stealing repercussions. Unless you can step back and relax, the work of going on vacation can be more stress than it is worth.

     The way to avoid this quandary is very simple. Limit the stress and go on vacation alone. The problem with this is that the people in your life are not always accepting of such a vacation. You really only have two choices. You can go with others or you can kill them…I would not recommend the latter as then the vacationing you will do will be in a Graybar hotel…a vacation such as this would seriously alter the fun and relaxing quotient…

     The best vacations involve finding enough things to satisfy all interested parties, without focusing too much on one person’s favorite activity. That can be difficult, but as long as you are not a bunch of control freaks the middle ground can be found.

     My favorite vacation of all time happened in 2002. I had just finished a very profitable stint in Winnetka, IL. I had some cash to spend and I wanted to spend it. So we (my wife, kids and I) ran off to find the sun.

     If there was stress to this meandering, it came in the form of the post 9/11 flying fiasco. My son, at the time was about 16 years old. I had long hair. He was young and clean cut. They asked him to go in the special line…I never understood this…if the two of us were in a lineup, the one that looked more sinister was definitely me…oh and that we almost were caught in Detroit because of a blizzard…

     My kids, wife, and I went to see the Mouse and then went on to the Florida Keys. Of the two *parts* of this vacation seeing the Mouse was the most fun. Except when it came time to eat. The Mouse really is not cheap for food. When it came time to eat, the best food was in the Keys.

     We did a lot of things, other than MouseWorld…and we ate a lot. If you ever get down to Key Largo, look up the Copper Kettle. Great food. Great Conch (pronounced konk) chowder. Unless you do not like sea food or hot spicy stuff. They had other fair as well and it was all good. There is a place called Lauralies (sp) that had al fresco dining on a deck over the water where you could check out the local fishery and aquatic life. It also had a great view of the sunset.

     This vacation happened before the boom of digital photography (read: camera phones), so the pictures I have are mostly in my mind. We did have a digital camera but the ancient technology was poor and the batteries died after about five pictures…we also have hours of mini VHS film, but who wants to watch it? There are hours of the scenery out the window of a rental car…However it is a good way to get rid of unwanted guests…simply pop in some family video and people can’t seem to find the door fast enough…Jus’ sayin’

     It was great because of the people. It does not matter if I spent 10 dollars or ten thousand. It was more than 10 dollars but who’s counting… I will never forget the good time we had. It cannot be replaced by money or things. It was not the stuff we saw, what we ate or did; it was the time we spent together. As a family. Away from the reality grind.

     Well, that and Chris singing along to his walkman…MMM- Bop…to this day I still chuckle when I hear that song…he did stop signing long enough to ask if we were going to stop and see the alligators in the Everglades. Unfortunately we were out of the everglades by that point…The ambivalence of the cars’ occupants made me by-pass the gators.

     Knowing me if you do at all, you will know that it was not all good times. I am sometimes not too much fun to be around. I do have a temper. I do let things get to me. I am a bit better now than I was back then but it is a work in progress… Whatever I forgot …. Probably not good things. I remember the good things. I hope my family does as well. But more than that I remember the people…

     Years ago, during the mildly famous days, on my second most favoritest vacation while I was in Key West I used to watch the sun rise and sunset on the same day a couple times a week… I even pulled an all-nighter to watch the sunset and the following morning’s sunrise. The reverse rarity of seeing those nuances of nature was something to behold.

     I have seen quite a few reverse sun rise and sets, but usually in a near drunken stupor, and only because I had to drive home, from the party that started before the sunset and ended just before the sun rose. I have to say that I do not miss those days…However, I digress…

     As I was saying, on the night in question I wrote”Busker’s Song” with my dog Busker. He contributed the action of the song, and helped with the chorus, but did not seem to have a grasp of playing the guitar…It may have something to do with his lack of opposable thumbs, but I have a feeling it may have been more to do with his puppiness…I don’t know…

     Along the road, I believe it was US Route 1, (the end of the road) but the actual street name escapes me... There is a spot, on Key West, before you hit Higgs Beach, but after you get to the now defunct House Boat Row, across from the Benihana Japanese restaurant, where there are numerous parking spots and a concrete seawall, or as I like to call it a concrete beach (from the song “Smilin’ Islands) I felt extremely lucky to find all of them open. I did not give it another thought. I pulled in to a spot, popped a couple Scooby Snacks, and set up for a long night jammin’ and writin’.

     So there we were, a cast-off dog and a long-haired often mistaken for a hippie, singer songwriter…Sitting on a concrete beach strummin’ the guitar, on the Smilin’…Smilin’…Smilin’ Islands… penning tunes that would become the album Prince Pauper, Hero, Fool… (You can still get the limited edition release…just ask me…)

     The local authorities eventually stopped by. It was way dark thirty. They wanted to make sure I was not sleeping in the public parking spot. They did not say too much when they saw I was awake, out side of the van and playing the guitar. They did say that I had to leave before too long, and would come by and check on me to insure I was not violating any laws, like sleeping in the parking space. Or being drunk in public…(Ron White just cracks me up)

     The man is always trying to bring you down. Heaven forbid that I actually hang out along the beach, writing music and listening to the surf gently washing against the concrete seawall. What they probably thought I was using the van as cover to sell all kinds of illegal drugs and such.

     Busker and I had started out the night at Mallory Square and saw the sunset…We ended the night in front of Houseboat Row, talking quietly about how much fun we had had, how great the album was gonna be and starring out the window at the most glorious sunrise that I have ever seen. At least that is the memory that I have now. In this vacation the people were less important than the vacation, as it was the culmination of a dream…I went alone…just me and the dog. Livin’ in a van, playin’ on the street.

     I met several great people on the road. They are only in my memory now. The names and faces escape me. The things we did do not. The days at the Sippin’ Coffee House, the IHOP, playing on Duvall...And they are living there in a group of mental pictures that can never be developed but hopefully will never be erased.

     I hope the reality is even half as good as the memory... It does not really matter, as our memories are just a valid as the actuality. Unless you are involved in the legal system, then the syntax of your memory is much more important than the actual events.

     Sunrise sunset…It seems strange to me that no one applauds the sunrise, but there was always a crowd clapping at sunset. Personally, I gotta say that the sun rise is much more spectacular probably because it gets less attention…I like it because it signals a new day. A new beginning. A fresh start. Anything is possible…

     There is something spectacular about the stars as well. Again, like the sunrise, the stars get no applause. Getting away from the light pollution of the city makes this light show even more pronounced. If you are lucky, you may even see a meteor shower. Unfortunately, this celestial spectacularity is also not greeted with any applause.

     Away from the erratic and ferocious ebb and flow of the bright lights and big city, there is a different kind of natural vibe. The sights and sounds, while having some similarity, are new and different sensory stimulations. The bugs and animals seem to be more in control of the surroundings, and I can live with that, However, a thunderstorm is pretty much the same anywhere you wander.

     In Key West in 1998, a particularly potent winter storm ravaged the Island. I called this the Storm of 98. To the locals it was not too bad. To me, on an island that is 14 feet above sea level, it was quite disturbing. They say the tidal surge was 12 feet…I was in Friday’s drinking a beer…the locals acted like uh, whatever…the tourists acted like it was Armageddon…I was a bit unnerved.

Amazingly the power was back on in less than five hours. I have seen storms that were no where near as severe in Michigan knock power out for days...

     I am currently on the third bestest vacation f-ing EVER… I went alone or more correctly, without my family. I DID NOT kill them and I do miss them. However, I am having a great time. Largely because I do not have to do anything, I do not want to do…And I am around a group of some of my favorite people…as I age I find that I enjoy people more. And I realize that life is far shorter than we know. I know they will not be here, nor will I, forever…

     I fish, I eat, I play cards, I drink, I talk a lot of shit, I do what I do, and sleep. What is not to like about that. I am living the lottery winner’s life that I would live if I happened to actually buy a ticket and actually win some Donald Trump Lotto type of cabbage…as a side bar I would also buy/build a hockey rink…and my family would be along as well…

     I would build them a separate cottage on a different lake…Kidding…I would build them a separate cottage on the OTHER side of the lake…KIDDING…they would sleep in the garage…SERIOUSLY? NO…BETTER YET I would sleep in the garage…

     I have responded to a work e-mail and even sent out a couple work e-mails, one about a voicemail, ‘cuz I forgot to change my message to reflect that I was *outta here*. Oh well, it did not change the fact that I took off to the great white north…minus the snow…it did get down in the forties at night…but it is perfect sleeping weather. The fishing has been MORE THAN passable and the weather has been fantastic. It is raining today (Wednesday) but whatever…

     We are livin’ lazy and eatin’ like royalty…I do not feel guilty about breakfast beer, and getting overserved. I even had a Canadian Mist and coke one morning for my pre-fishing meal…IT WAS 5:00 (am) along with coffee and Baileys…I wonder if I can get arrested for Drunken-fishing…Relax…if I got drunk on two drinks, what kind of lush would I be…A cheap one…Jus’ sayin’…

     It is amazing that I can get up to fish without as much trouble as when I get up to go to work, but then again, I do not feel like I have been working…the aches and pains are much less when you do not tax or overtax your body..

    The best thing about being away is the simplicity of the situation. Life is simple when there is no alarm clock, no time clock, and no time to arrive, or depart, then the whole world slows down to a pace that is much more palatable. That is until you need to get somewhere and the car is stuck. Then it becomes work.

     The secret to life is simple…and after I say this you will be kickin’ your ass for not thinking of it earlier than me…wait for it….wait for it…

Excuse me, I have to go fishing….

    Enjoy the little things and stop hoping and praying for the big things…You can work for them, but stop stressing out about keepin’ up with the rest of the world…relax. Everyday. For AT LEAST a little while. Enjoy LIFE…take a little vacation EVERYDAY…step away from the world and focus on something fun…whatever that is… And then when you get to go on a vacation, really relax. I mean RELAX. If you pack the vacation events like most people pack the luggage, you will come back thinking that you need a vacation…