Welcome to my little corner of the world, this is where I rant, rave, kvetch or wax on nostalgic about anything and anyone that crosses my path at that moment in time.
Sit down for a bit and read some. If you enjoy what you read, please pass the love on to others so that they may partake in the yummy goodness that lies here.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Vroom Vroom

I had a little vacation last week, not from you my adoring fans, but from work and it was a much needed bit of time off.  Didn't really do a whole lot on that time off, except drink, hangout with friends, drink, workout, motorcycle course, drink, party and then re-cooperate. 

Really not too busy, but I had a good time.

What? The what course?  Oh, that.

I decided to get my motorcycle endorsement while on vacation.  No real particular reason, except that I have always wanted to be able to ride a motorcycle and in the state of Florida, you now have to take a rider safety course to be able to get your endorsement on your license.  That is the law as of 2008.  You can still get a bike and ride without the endorsement, but me and Murphy; the one the law is famous for, go back and I would most likely get popped for not having the endorsement on my license.

It would be my luck.

Now once I passed the class; which was on a Wed., I could go get a new license.  Which I did on that Friday and oh boy, was that a fun time.  In Florida, if you are getting a new license or renewing for the first time this year of 2010, you need to be prepared to have a few things: 1. birth certificate or passport. 2. something with your social security number on it.  3. finally, two proofs of residence.  Now once you have all these items and sit at the DMV for an hour and pay your dues and get your picture taken, you get a new license.  This new fancy license looks like the old one, but now you have a gold star at the end of your license number. 

I feel so special now, like I was back in the first grade.

Now after that, I was now legal to ride a bike.  Legal being the operative word there, mind you the only real seat time I've had on a bike has been when I was in elementary school and my Uncle picked my up on the back of his in the third grade maybe,  tearing around my grandmothers yard on a scooter during Christmas one year; of which I wrecked and ended up breaking that scooter, and the class itself.

So not a lot of experience there for me on a bike, especially while it is under my control that is.

You know when you get an itch and you scratch it, it feels good for a little while, but then it comes back with a vengeance?  That is what happen to me after getting the license. 

I wanted a bike.  Not some super custom monster and not a wee can-barely-move-out-of-its-own-way little thing either.  But a decent bike that was under 800cc but at least 500cc.  That is not a whole lot of wiggle room to say the least, but with where I live, that is enough to get me out of the way but not too much to get me killed prematurely. 

As far as the style of the bike, it was gonna be a cruiser.  My rotundness was not going to be getting on the back of any sort of rocket, crotch or rice included.  No way, no how.

So I started looking; well to tell the truth, I had already been looking, but really went to it at this time.  I knew that I didn't have the cash to buy upfront on a decent used one nor a new one to say the least.  Financing would have to be it.  After all, I will be helping the economy, right?

So after looking through craigslist and seeing many bikes that were not near what I wanted to pay or out of the years that I could possibly get financed, I noticed a few that did catch my eye.  Two were Yamaha Vstars and the other was a Kawasaki.  All three were at the local Yamaha dealer and I went to look on that Saturday.

Unfortunately for me, I got there as they were looking to lock the doors.

Damn Murphy and his law.

Monday came, I went and looked at the two that were left; which was an 07 Vstar and the Kawasaki.  The Kawasaki was gonna be too old for me to be able to finance, but the Vstar wouldn't be.  Not too mention you couldn't beat the price of around five grand.  Especially with a bike that is the high end model of the 650s with aftermarket pipes and engine guards, so I think I win.

Got approved for the financing and they delivered it that day.  Which was a early Monday evening around 7 pm.

Mom was not happy.

Oh, when they tell you it should have a full tank of gas, double check by trying to fill it.  I thought it did, when it didn't and kept wondering why it kept dying on me only a mile down the road.

Live and learn.

Sunday, March 21, 2010


This is the letter I promised a while back. It is something that came to me after a short nap one Sunday evening.

I hope you enjoy it.


Dear Miss Sultana Bauchant,

I am your biggest fan. It saddens me to hear about your recent and sudden illness. I have followed your career since you were hired on to Sufferage & Banks as a young upstart attorney out to show the world that you do not lie on your back to get ahead in this world, but by the hard pace you set for yourself. I was even more impressed when you ran for District Attorney on the platform of not letting the guilty get away no matter the cost. Your victory was nothing short of phenomenal, as was your tenacity of closing cases.

I was delighted to read in the local paper of your engagement and subsequent marriage to local millionaire banker. I was almost moved to tears when seeing the fantastic pictures in a special section of the local paper of the wedding; from the very paper that his father owns. Then to see the news coverage of the honeymoon that the governor of the state sent you two love birds on, it was heart wrenching to say the least.

Though that was all short lived when the news came that tragedy had struck your little fairy tale; of the tragedy that beset your groom, while on your honeymoon no less. How agonizing it must have been to hear his agonizing cries of pain as all you could do is stand on the balcony and stare at his broken body while he bled out.

What joy you must have felt when at the reading of his will, you were the sole benefactor to his massive wealth. His homes, businesses, cars, yachts and not to mention all the stock, bonds and other unknown bits of wealth you came to hold favor over.

Then to see you start to squander it all away like some child in a candy store, buying all the sweets you could get your grubby little hands on.

It sickened me.

To know that man loved you will all his heart, with his soul and for you not to feel anything for him, but only loved him for his wealth and affluence that holy union brought to you.

What kind of monster must someone be to place an end to all the charitable donations, college grants for underprivileged kids and donations to homeless shelters that the dearly deceased had been such a force of good for? Did that bring you some sort of joy in to your life to end promise and hope that many of the unfortunate looked forward to? Then to place an end to the work programs that he had initiated for the homeless to help them become productive members of society.

I know of your hit and run on the way from the roadhouse on that dark night, when you hit that pregnant lady walking on the side of the road. The fact you lied about it saying someone must have hit your care while you were at the bar and then to have the owner corroborate your story was the icing on the cake.

It was closed as an 'unfortunate accident', lucky for you.

I know about the ethics violations that you were investigated for and how you slept with the investigator to have it go in your favor. Pity for those that wouldn't fall under your charm as you would then instigate that they offered to have this 'all go away' if you would just sleep with them.

I know about the missing evidence when you were defending the clients at the law firm. I also know about the planted evidence by your 'good ole boys' you knew on the force that you once slept with when you were District Attorney.

Seems you would do anything to win a case, no matter the means.

All that is now in the past as your illness must have your doctors baffled. I see the charts, hear their concerns and see their failed attempts to find out what has befallen such an angel.

If they only knew the truth about you or your sickness they wouldn't waste their precious time. For you see, your illness is actually caused by a poison. Such a poison that knows no antidote. One that if administered in large enough dosage, will quite quickly kill with no trace left behind. In smaller dosages, it will lead doctors on a wild goose chase for four days before causing the victim to succumb to its effects.

You are on day three, I hope you can find peace in short notice as the list of people that you should make amends to must be quite a list.

How will you spend the last 24 hours of your life?


Lady Death


That is the letter. I do hope you enjoyed it as this was a detraction from my usual postings as it was not a commentary or some self-reflection as is the usual bits that I post.

Monday, March 15, 2010


After reading a little blurb in a recent Playboy; yes, I do read the magazine as opposed to just looking at the pictures, they had a mention in there about straight razor shaving. After looking on the internet to find cost, how to's and whatever else may have been useful, I decided to go for it.

Which means I bought the necessary items to start using a straight razor to shave with. This includes a razor, a strop and a kit that included a mug, brush and shaving soap. I actually bought two razors, one stainless steel and the other carbon steel, just to see if which one would be better. I did read things online about stainless being hard to sharpen or strop and that the carbon steel if not tended to properly, can and will rust or tarnish.

Now after several shaves under my belt and after learning the proper way to strop; which including watching some rather lengthy and boring videos on the web, I am sort of getting the hang of it. Read into that as I haven't cut my throat yet. My only problem area is my neck, I cannot seem to be able to get a smooth shave there to save my life, always seems to be a little rough afterwards. Re-lathering and shaving only seems to exasperate the level of irritation to my skin, but I hope in time I will either find the proper way to do it or just live with it and leave it be.

Since starting this, I did make a couple of changes. I started using an aftershave lotion and face moisturizer so as to not have such an extreme level of irritation that I would normally feel. Also, I got some different shaving soap, the Burma Shave soap, just was too much like regular soap and not helping in the ways of shaving. The new soap I got I originally noticed online, but after a trip to my local Walgreens for aftershave, noticed everything in said Playboy that they recommended. Which really is a bonus, as I have never noticed these items in this Walgreens ever before and I have purchased a many shaving items from them over the years.

Oh, the new soap is made by Van Der Hagen and is a deluxe shave soap. This soap is much better than the Burma Shave soap, doesn't dry out my skin and actually softens the hair more than the other.

So far this is much better than using a safety razor, less irritation and no need to buy anymore cartridges or disposables. One thing to note, this is not for someone that needs to hurry to get ready for something, this is a process that needs to be taken a little slower so more time is obviously needed, especially when you are just starting out. The last thing you want to do is end up cutting yourself really bad or end up missing patches of hair because of a rush job which ends up making you look like some homeless person or mental patient.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

I Love You

“I love you.”

That was the last thing she ever said to me. It was also the last time I ever saw her again. The last time I was able to gaze into her eyes; even though they were filled with tears from the pain of what had been done to her. A pain that I still cannot bring myself to come to terms with.

It was the summer of ’09, the hottest summer of recent memory or of recent memory that the old fogies could remember; which ironically enough only goes back to maybe five or ten years ago with their failing memories. The summer where things would not be the same ever again in my life, at least for some time.

We were young and carefree. Living our lives however we wanted, without worrying about any of the consequences of our actions. If we wanted to stay up late and party till daybreak, we would. If we wanted to experiment with new things, no matter how dangerous it sounded at the time, we did. There was no stopping us at the time and no end in sight with the pace we were setting for ourselves. We were invincible. Most of all, we were happy.

That was all about to change.

I remember it like yesterday, the day it all began. It was after a night of late night partying; which had become the norm for our lives, when she said she wanted to slow down and start taking it easy. At first I thought she was talking about our sex life, but she meant the constant partying that was our life.

Why would we want to change that, was the prevailing thought that went through my head at that particular moment. After all, we had everything when we needed it, as we needed it. Neither of us wanted children since we had discussed it in the past, nor did we have any plans of marriage; since both of us considered it an abomination forced upon us by religion and government as a form of control.

We were free in almost the very essence of the word. So what could be the reason for this rebellion of change that she was seeking?

Seems she wasn’t nearly as happy on the inside as she seemed on the outside. Through a rather lengthy and somewhat dubious discussion with our inebriated and drug enhanced brains, she went on to elaborate as to why she wasn’t happy anymore. She had told me she wanted more but could not form that thought into a more cohesive bit of substance beyond that. Was it more money? More things, drugs, alcohol or what? She did not know, but the answer was just ‘more’. I just considered all of this as exhaustion from the night and dismissed most of what was talked about; chalking it up to some sort of fairytale that she had formed as a child of how she thought her life would be but it had failed to materialize into such.

The next few weeks carried on much the same as the weeks before, as well as the months they formed. Until she came home one day with that same look in her eyes that I saw that same night when she expressed her unhappiness and desire for ‘more’. I knew then that this was not going to be a good night. She slumped into her chair with a sigh that signaled that she wanted to talk, but it would take much coercion to get it out of her and in the process wearing my patience thin to the breaking point. After letting her sit for a little bit, it gave me time to have a couple of drinks; so I could muster up my resolve. When I was able to ask her what was the problem.

Her reply was she wanted ‘more’.

Being as nice as I could be, I tried to have her solidify what this all important ‘more’ was and no matter how hard I tried, there was no way that this thought was going to become anything else but ‘more’. Whatever it was, she wanted it but had no clue as to how to get it, where to get it or for the most important factor, what in the world this ‘more’ was exactly. This was unacceptable, how could anyone know they needed more, but could not know what this ‘more’ was? She said it was just a feeling she had in her gut. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but knew that it was a hunger she had, a wanting, and a needing. A need for just ‘more’.

This had brought my patience to the breaking point. I had to leave the house, had to get out for a bit; go for a walk, a ride, a drink, just anything to get away from her and this silliness of ‘more’. I grabbed my wallet and keys and left without saying bye. I figured that perhaps some time to herself and her gut, the two of them could come to an understanding to figure out what this ‘more’ was, once and for all. Hopefully before I returned back from wherever I ended going.

After returning after several hours, I came home to her, still sitting in the same place, in the same position, with the same look of ‘more’ on her face. I asked her if she had managed to place a finger on what the ‘more’ was. Her reply came back as a smooth and cool, no.

I almost lost it. To not to be able to still tell me was infuriating to say the least. I wasn’t about to go into another talk trying to figure this out, as I was done with this game of “Guess What I Want, But I’m Not Telling You”, so I went to bed for the night. I didn’t get anywhere earlier and it seems that is going to remain the case several hours later. She could sleep in that fucking chair, in the fucking living room, for the fucking night, for all I fucking cared.

The next morning I awoke to find her not in the house. Seems she had left at some point in the middle of the night without waking me, leaving a note or taking anything that could leave me a clue that I could use to locate her. She had left her phone as well, leaving me with no way for me to be able contact her either. This worried me a little, but more importantly made me even more happy that I wouldn’t have to deal with this business of ‘more’ this morning. I was going to enjoy however much time I had left by myself and hope that she was finding ‘more’ so when she returned, this need would be satiated as to never needing to be brought up again.

The passage of time is an odd thing, especially when you keep your mind occupied on other things; rather than the things that you would rather not think about at the moment, before you know it, time has slipped by. Once I realized it, the day had started to melt away and I needed to get ready for work. Which is when it came springing on me that she had not been home yet from leaving the night before. Was I worried? Not so much. After all, the neighborhood was nice and quiet, the town had a very low crime rate, so wherever she went, I was confident in her safety, as she could take care of herself if need be.

Headed off to work, I started to try to piece together all of this, to try to make sense of it all, to maybe figure out what ‘more’ was, even if by myself. This kept my mind occupied throughout the evening while at work, which was a good thing since I don’t care too much for what I do, but it pays well so I put up with the crap. Even the ride home I was still thinking about ‘more’ and hoping that she was home when I got there, with an answer to what ‘more’ was.

When I got home, she was there.

With bags packed.

She was leaving.

For good.

“I love you”, was the only thing she spoke to me before she picked up her bags and walked out of my life. No explanation, nothing to tell me why, just three words that would echo through my head and leave me wanting ‘more’.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Shutter Island Review

I want to preface this movie review with a couple of things:

  1. If you plan on seeing Shutter Island, do not read this. I will not mark any sort of spoilers that may lie within, so be forewarned.

  1. I have deep seated hatred of Leonardo DiCaprio that knows no bounds, that will most likely jade this review and not in a positive light. It is so severe that if presented with an opportunity to be able to punch him in the neck, I most likely would.

Knowing these things and you still wish to move forward, you may.

Shutter Island is not any sort of horror film, not in the least. The previews and trailers do at times make it sort of seem that way, but it is not in the very least a spooky type of film. I realized this shortly into the movie once I remembered that it is a Martin Scorsese film and that Scorsese does not do horror/scary/spooky type of movies.

Knowing this I felt a bit more at ease; I am not a big fan of horror/scary/spooky type of movies.

Not that I don’t watch them, just not one to go out watching them on a regular occasion. Just an FYI.

The premise of Shutter Island is that some crazy person escaped from their cell and two US Marshalls are dispatched to investigate the disappearance. Seems pretty straightforward thus far.

In the course of the investigation the Marshalls are constantly hit with roadblocks by the head head-shrink by disallowing them access to personal records of the employees that work on the island and by not allowing access to the dreaded C Block. C Block is where only the crème de la crème of the severe crazies are housed.

Shortly after the two Marshalls get on the island a storm hits that becomes a hurricane that makes it impossible for the Marshalls to be able to leave the island.

Really, can you get anymore convenient than that?


So the missing patient is found and all is right with the world, but wait, DiCaprio’s character has another motive, to find the guy that started the apartment fire that killed his wife.


Needless to say, I got bored with the movie about halfway through since it was not really moving all too fast. The last thirty minutes were the best part of the movie as you find out the entire time DiCaprio’s character was crazy and the whole thing was a role-playing exercise to cure him from his insanity.


Like most of his movies, it would have been tons better and enjoyable if he was either not in it to begin with or mauled by wolves/lion/hyenas half way through.