Pickin'

At what point will she say, "That's Bobby D, Papa. That's Otis Redding Papa! That's Janis Papa! That's Chico Papa, no Caetano Papa. That's Tito, that's Celia, that's Silvio. That's Mos Papa. That's JT Papa - Steamroller Papa. That's an Allman's duet Papa! A yellow submarine Papa. Why did Cerati leave Papa? The Supremes Papa! Temptations Papa. Alicia Keys Papa...I'm gonna play ivory like that Papa. L Boogie Papa! Badu Papa. The Rat Pack Papa! Crooners still croon right Papa? I wish Jerry was here Papa. That's a Tre solo Papa. No Papa, you don't start it till the Lion's third roar Papa! Everybody bites George Clinton Papa - even Snoop and Hov Papa. John Popper bangs that harp Papa! Mick Jagger swaggers funny Papa. I like the old Michael better Papa. Bonnie wasn't just country Papa - she had the blues too Papa. Marvin Gaye Papa. Al Green Papa. Was that Jimi or Stevie Papa? Tupelo Honey Papa. Who else plays reggae like Bob Papa? Are the harmonies better with or without Neil Young Papa? What's a harvest moon Papa? It's not dead Papa - Haven't they heard the Crowes Papa? What's trova Papa? Can we go Trova Papa?" Yes Baby.

Overheard, by a butterfly basking on a sunfaded maroon 1977 Chevrolet hood - a big hood - in the summer of 1984 while a warm breeze blows a cool mist off Sturgeon Bay on to the singer who sings softly and out of tune between straw sips of cherry pop. His children sit on the hood, feet on the bumper - oblivious to the butterfly who hears the sweet song and is also inspired to take flight: "People let me tell you bout my best friend. He's warm and tenderhearted and he loves you till the end. He's my best friend."

I love you Papa. I love you too Baby.

Tunes.
Dig.

Of Rich Experiences...

While working at Outback Steakhouse in Madison, WI as a server, I made more money than I did as a teacher (With Master's Degree) in South Phoenix, but that's just a side note.

Last night, I had a sort of flashback dream to that Outback kitchen one cold December night...

I was a hard worker. A team player. My boss loved me. He loved my hustle and new that he could depend on me - which meant that when there was extra work that needed to be done, he'd send it my way.


We knew something was wrong due to the odor that was radiating from beneath the stainless steel salad line at the front of the kitchen. The drain was clogged. "Trini, help us out! Get down there and open that baby up." I shuddered. I realized that being a hard worker in this setting had not gotten me ahead at all - it had just gotten me screwed.

I handed off a ribeye to a coworker and assumed the position flat on my stomach on a greasy outback kitchen floor, reaching my entire arm back under the counter. I felt around the floor for the drain - it was backing up with water - and stuck my hand down inside. Committing myself elbow deep into the drain, I pulled up a heaping glob of rotting greens, thousand island, ranch, and caesar. When the mass came in to view, the involuntary convulsions of my stomach jerked me to my feet, and I ran to the trash can - projectile vomit spraying the side of the can, glob of greens dripping from my elbow, cooks screaming, "Cuidado Buey!" I can still remember the stench.

I went back three more times to the drain to finish the job.

I don't know why I had this memory in my sleep. All I can say is...Life is Rich. I don't know how I can arrive at this conclusion...only thought is this: if there are no downs, there can be no ups. Hungry anyone?

Sundays & Lattes

My home is finally clean. Lauren is down for a nap. Am reclining in bed - alone. Latte in one hand YSKOV in the other. I will never stop drinking coffee - NEVER. Ahhhh. This is the good life.

Of Eggers' style, John Leonard, NYT writes: ...Eggers's frisbee sentences sail, spin, hover, circle and come back to the reader like gifts of gravity and grace.

Here's one - 10 for style: Every day I had hours when I wanted to direct a machine gun, somewhere, anywhere, feel the falling shells tapping my instep -- hours when every conflict in the world felt familiar to me--

Thank you Jared and Gregory for passing YSKOV my way;)

The Good Life

It's been a month since the last posting. The artist in me has been stifled by recent $ negotiations, time constraints, and my own lack of commitment. A life long discussion has manifested itself in new external dialogue with GC and JT as well as others. Eager to tackle these issues in a new category entitled "The Good Life." I hope you will too.