Dear Tracy,
I’m sorry that you high-handed me at the shopping mall while you were walking with all of your friends last Saturday. I want you to know that I’m a much more mature person than you are and that I have added you to my nightly prayers.

Dear Tracy,
I’m sorry that you high-handed me at the shopping mall while you were walking with all of your friends last Saturday. I want you to know that I’m a much more mature person than you are and that I have added you to my nightly prayers.

I woke up at 3:11am from a dream where I was questioned about the source of my fortitude. My answer:
Dog DNA and God.
I need to stop eating before bed.
It isn’t that I don’t celebrate “Pi” day. I just celebrate it on July 22nd.
22/7
22over7.com

Not sure why but sometimes these (very technical poems) can be very easy to write.
Sorry if this has a ton of mistakes… the guy that I used to run these by is still very deceased and irreplaceable.

Another mercurial day in the Emerald City
NOT one of mine! (I wish!)

File under Kelley and Sheats!

I’ve been told that my humor is for the birds – this was NOT what I thought they meant!
… dedicated to Susan. Sorry to wake you up at 2:30!!!
12/1/21
This is what the images should have looked like from my post “I feel a palindrome coming on…”


… sail on Olias!
This is a really short story that was embedded in a chat message to a friend.
And YES – I know there are errors… it was written more or less in one continuous string of words…


I used this on a friend on a video-call… it had exactly this effect.

I was having breakfast and when an ambigram “WOW MOM” came to me. That reminded me of my fondness for palindromes. Actually…
hold that thought!

I was just in the middle of a comment battle with someone who doesn’t believe some of the things that I said about my father (in conjunction with a video about racism in the military…)
On the one hand – it is kind of infuriating to have someone flat-out accuse me of lying about my dad… especially when I didn’t.
On the other hand – I can see why a person wouldn’t believe some of my little quips about my dad; he was a really strange guy and did things that don’t always sit comfortably in day-to-day life. That’s not to say that he walked around with a tin-foil hat or made the sign of the Cross when speaking (he only did that while driving past churches…)
Dad was strange because he was so very, very normal. He didn’t have much of an education, only four years of formal schooling. He was apprenticed to a woodworking shop when he was seven and THAT was the foundation of his real education. After he immigrated to the United States in the 1950’s he started working right away (as in he arrived in New York on a Monday, drove up to Boston on Tuesday and had his first job making caskets on Wednesday).
The workshops that he worked in had lots of other people from lots of other parts of the world. Consequently, his English never got that polished, but he was suddenly able to speak Spanish and Portuguese on top of his native Italian. (I have to admit that it was really weird to watch dad talk to folks in his other languages… it was like watching a movie where the movements don’t track with the sound!)
Back to the point!
My initial point was that my dad would sometimes say weird things that seemed completely improbable … but as he was a person who didn’t tell lies (he did like to play tricks – those aren’t exactly lies but if we’re splitting hairs I guess it represents a certain verifiable level of mendacity.)
One night we were in the kitchen eating dinner dad pointed to the TV and said “I know that man!”
“Dad … you know Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn???” Thinking that it was about as probable as it was for him to have that night’s winning lottery numbers.
”I made some furniture for his office when he lived in Vermont.”
I always get a kick out of that story. It shows perfectly how bad it is to serially UNDERstate the things you do in front of people while at the exact time showing how wrong it is to automatically disbelieve things that fall 5 or more degrees off-center. I should have known it was true – dad wasn’t a liar. I also should have know it was true based on some of the other prestigious woodworking ‘gigs’ he went on in his career.
After checking an email and a few other things I saw THIS message from the beyond!


Standing in line to wait for my son at school; this came to me!

Sorry to break the silence (been busy with stuff that isn’t funny… nothing bad – more like ‘work’ (I hate that word!).)
I just read something that hit the nail on the head of how I’ve felt for a while. (Keep in mind, what I JUST read was originally written 5 months ago… I’m a slow readr.). Responding to the latent “Cancel Culture” and it’s attacks on everyone from Rocky and Bullwinkle to Dave Chappelle, “Childish Gambino” aka Donald Glover made (and then deleted) some posts on Twitter. The parts that struck me were:
“Saw people on here havin a discussion about how tired they were of reviewing boring stuff (tv & film),”
“We’re getting boring stuff and not even experimental mistakes(?) because people are afraid of getting cancelled,”
YES!
I wrote a piece that I never got published about the role of satire in the healthy development of a mind, a person AND a community. People need to feel safe enough to explore all of their thoughts – even the really stupid ones.
NO!
I’m not advocating that everyone acts on their first inclination towards violence or hatred.
BUT!
I don’t actually believe that a sane/competent person can have opinions for or against a subject without at least taking their thoughts right up to fulcrum where the fundamental issues reside and spin.
AND!
There are people who are eagerly wringing their hands with unimaginable delight at the idea that American society is in decay. The fact that everyone has the right to express an opinion has been weaponized and finally used to suppress those opinions. Those people are laughing because the saw it coming and think that they were able to deftly avoid the same problems by way of unifying thoughts and deeds.
AGAIN!
When we are eliminating hatred for people based on their color or religion or how they like to dance in public – that IS a good thing. But when we mandate that you can’t make fun of people for dancing in public – that is a terrible thing.
I learned my racial tolerance in a two-fold way: 1) I was raised in an extremely diverse city where from one year to the next there could be influxes of people from different parts of the world. On the playground we were not ‘black’ or ‘white’ – we were just children and as long as you didn’t condone dancing in public you could play kick-ball with us.
2) I had a home life that was guided by my parents who were keenly aware of the snide remarks that people made at them when they first arrived in America in 1955 (that’s not actually ‘that’ long ago if you think about it in the context of music… anyway.) My mother and father didn’t like being made fun of and I didn’t like that they felt ‘less than’ anyone else. When my first inclination was to return the favor and persecute OTHER people who were different, they stopped me. But they also SHOWED ME that making someone else feel bad isn’t going to make them or anyone else feel better in a lasting way. The only way forward was and still is to take people as they are.
There HAVE been situations where I simply didn’t like a person. But I didn’t decide to widen my circle out to target everyone who came from that same country or county. My angst began and ended on an individual level.
I’ve also poked fun at people who are very, very close to me because of their dancing and their sexual proclivities. But that was always only people that I knew extremely well and NEVER as a means of achieving some kind of weird dominance over a situation.
I’m circling round and round here…
What I want to say is that if you don’t like Dave Chappelle then I think you need to tell him that. I’m pretty sure he’s mature enough to understand that it is part of the social contract. But don’t cancel him. I happen to love his work. It makes me laugh most of the time. It makes me cringe some of the time. And occasionally (because I study the things that comics say) it makes me sad to listen to. His most recent monologue on “Saturday Night Live” was painful to listen to in parts because it was true. People with power exploit and exploit and exploit and deplete and then they dispose of. Dave Chappelle is simply fighting back by getting paid – let him get paid! Let him fight back! His words are not those of a role model… but his blue-print for ‘flipping the bird’ to the entire system IS something that we can adopt and use for our own means.
If we don’t have that ability to make fools of ourselves by saying stupid things or by busting out our best “Saturday Night Fever” moves at a wedding we can’t ever learn. The people with the power will simply point the cancel cannon at us and we’ll be gone. POOF! Back to my desk, jockey numbers on a spreadsheet, pretending I really give a crap about hedge funds.
(NO – I haven’t seen his latest special yet. I won’t watch it because I find it offensive.
Kidding!
Look at where I live; stuff like that is a slow grind to get hold of. And that slow grind is brought to you by the people with the power of the cancel cannon.)



Part of the problem with decentralized work arrangements is that when you don’t all drink from the same water-bubbler you can’t share insights about what you’re working on.
Clearly if the two authors of these stories had had 5 min to chat about their current list of topics neither one of them would have been so shocked.

Is it just me or is it ‘fun’ to see when the OTHER PERSON will finally go under the sink and pull out another tube of toothpaste?
(this is like leaving exactly 1 sheet of toilet paper on the roll)

The genesis of these toothbrush diplomacy posts comes from my own medicine cabinet. Just the other day my blue toothbrush was gone and replaced by a very nice moss-green unit.
The problem is my wife replaced hers with a really cool looking pink brush! And every day I almost grab it to brush MY teeth… then I come to my green senses.
I’ve got to say – I’m not prepared to get old. Life isn’t what I thought it would be when I was 20 years younger.
For one thing – bed isn’t what I thought it would be. Last night before turning over to go to sleep my wife asked me a really provocative question:
“Are we using a drying agent in the dishwasher?”
I guess it was the idea of sheeting that got her going.


… the time-stamp is really freaking me out.
I’m not going to edit this at all so that the number can stay true.



My son’s school had a small event for parents today to open their “Edible Playground”. They’ve inaugurated a full time garden that all of the students will take time each day/week tending to.
There was a large sign commemorating the event with pens for the parents to write something to pass on to the children.
My inscription was as such:
”The fruits of youth are nourished with the sweat of old age”
I suppose I could have written something ‘kind’ instead… I think by the age of 5 and a half he knows that daddy is marching to the same drummer as the other moms and dads.

Is it me or are these pictures smaller? They look smaller when I create these posts. That’s a hassle for me – I can live with that. If they are smaller for YOU that’s not good at all.


I woke up this morning to find that comedic Norm Macdonald has died.
Again – this is tough to convey in writing (but I’ll try). As a funny person (or so I’m told) I am always on the lookout for new and original insights to share with people around me. The goal is to say things that no one has said (you hope) and get a laugh from people (you hope). While the insights are as fresh and new as possible – you can’t help being influenced by people who impress you and that you admire.
That list of people consists of names like:
Jackie Gleason
Jerry Lewis
Don Rickles
Robin Williams
Jacky Mason
Mitch Hedberg
Albert Brooks
Steve Wright
… so so many more that I’d love to list (but to get to the point)
Norm Macdonald is/was a huge influence.
A lot of times ‘straight’ people (not about people’s preferences in the romance department – but rather a designation for people who don’t color outside of the lines) who listen to Norm Macdonald jokes don’t find them funny. On paper they aren’t traditionally funny. They are weird and quirky and require a little latitude to stimulate disparate synapses in the users brain to find them funny.
Another aspect to Norm Macdonald’s comedy that defies conventional logic is his timing. Again, on paper, his timing was a train-wreck – his delivery was all pauses and verbal hedges… but when punctuated with a visual cue like a goofy look or an eyebrow gesture or a shrug of the shoulders – hilarious!
One of the things that made Norm a fearless comic was his willingness, perhaps eagerness to bomb or at least TRY to bomb. He’d tell jokes that were not funny. They weren’t meant to be funny – they were verbal padding to his next joke or the next joke after that. Just in the same way a pitcher in baseball will throw several seemingly misguided pitches to a waiting batter, Norm will set-up a performance one pitch at a time until he can finally get you to bite on something slippery (hehehehehe) and then he’s got you.
Watching routine after routine after routine of his I was able to learn that jokes are not just random words arranged for comedic effect: they are in families. Through his work he demonstrated the craft of technical joke writing at its finest. Perhaps the best illustration of this was his quest for the ‘so-called’ perfect joke; a joke where the wind-up and the punchline are virtually identical.
”Julia Roberts told reporters this week that her marriage to Lyle Lovett has been over for some time… The key moment she said came when she realized that SHE was Julian Roberts and that she was married to Lyle Lovett.”
Of course any 5 year-old can be MORE economical than that and just say a word or phrase that is funny in a particular setting. And get laughs… but that’s not a joke and it’s not joke writing. It isn’t striving to perfect a craft.
Another thing I’d like to point out about Norm (as though I knew him!) was his final performance on David Letterman. For his final appearance on the soon to be closed Letterman show he came out and did a a new set. Then to close it out told his favorite LETTERMAN joke (from when DL was a traveling stand-up comic). The most important part about his set wasn’t his material or Dave’s material – it was the fact that he got choked-up telling the final bit. That image has stuck with me.
…I’m not going to tell THAT joke – but instead one of his ‘complex’ jokes.
(I nicked this from The Sun… thanks guys!)
****
From an appearance on Conan O’Brien (another comedic genius!)
****
During his interview with O’Brien, Macdonald tells a joke about a moth who sees a podiatrist.
“What’s the problem?” the podiatrist asks.
“What’s the problem? Where do I begin? I go to work for Gregory Illinivich, and all day long, I work. Honestly, doc, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t even know if Gregory Illinivich knows.
“He only knows that he has power over me, and that seems to bring him happiness. But I don’t know, I wake up in a malaise, and I walk here and there… at night I…I sometimes wake up and I turn to some old lady in my bed that’s on my arm,” the moth says.
The insect adds: “A lady that I once loved, doc. I don’t know where to turn to. My youngest, Alexandria, she fell in the…in the cold of last year. The cold took her down, as it did many of us.
“And my other boy, and this is the hardest pill to swallow, doc. My other boy, Gregarro Ivinalititavitch… I no longer love him.
“As much as it pains me to say, when I look in his eyes, all I see is the same cowardice that I… that I catch when I take a glimpse of my own face in the mirror.”
The moth continues: “If only I wasn’t such a coward, then perhaps…perhaps I could bring myself to reach over to that cocked and loaded gun that lays on the bedside behind me and ends this hellish facade once and for all.
“Doc, sometimes I feel like a spider, even though I’m a moth, just barely hanging on to my web with an everlasting fire underneath me. I’m not feeling good.”
And so the doctor says, “Moth, man, you’re troubled. But you should be seeing a psychiatrist. Why on earth did you come here?”
To which the moth replies: “Cause the light was on.”
*****
Norm – you are already missed.
Mea Culpa: I get bored. Things are clicking along nicely and then I think “what if I start to lace my shoes from the top to the bottom instead of the bottom to the top? (Of course – you can’t get your feet in and out as easily! But it will look strange and cool! And isn’t THAT really what you want? To be strange and cool?) [Warm and familiar???]
I removed “the Jerk” from the header. Partly because I don’t always like to depict myself as a Jerk (but that movie STILL has a huge imprint on me and everything I do). And partly because I wanted something original. A few months back I made a promise to myself to do as much original stuff as possible… original material – of course. Original drawings (hmmmm….well – in due time!) Original fonts! So too with the imagery – original.

I met my wife for a tea at S’Bucks. Yes – we went to a coffee shop to order tea – EVIL isn’t it? I put my phone down on the table and saw the reflection of the lights and that RGB diffusion of light from one of the bulbs.
Take a photo of an image on a phone with another phone.
…slap some primitive editing tools on the image
… move the faders back and forth like an expert (full disclosure – I am NOT an expert. I’m not even smart enough to be a novice!)
And voila! “Starlight Communion” was born. Looks weird and celestial – but it is really a reverse image of a bunch of cylindrical plexiglass tubes of varying lengths handing from the ceiling.
One of these days I’ll be smart enough to post my resume to this site so people can have a laugh (or a scream).
Sorry to drop in unannounced
But this JUST popped into my head and I typed it as it came to me.
***
Emissaries of Nature
Man is pitiable but cute – so much scarcer than the ants.
They move terrain to harness winds
To create their fruited plains
To create their monuments
To congratulate themselves
For thousands of years of craft logic and skill
…you are no match for natures passionless emissaries
They work a tireless feat to reclaim all the bounty of her womb
Through Fire
Through Wind
Through Rain
And through the shifting of the Land
Each has it’s own logic and skill – unknown to Man
Moving from High to Low in every case
To cleanse the char of fire
To redirect the mighty winds
To force water through a valley
Where none has ever been seen.
To force a valley onto land
Where none has ever been seen.
***
You harvest timber from the skin of the land
To build small features there in which to dwell
I send fire to burn it to the ground
And till its meat back into the land.
You build your buildings and your boats
In the shadows of ‘thousand year’ rains
I send rain for 10 – 10,000 years
And suck your trinkets into my belly.
What man can build
Wind can deflate
From a parking sign to a tower
And if the wind can’t finish its job
The plates from underneath rift open
And swallow the entire lot WHOLE back to my furnace.
Men ARE clever. They do the best they can with what they have.
They need to rejoice in their victories
But pay heed to my passionless flow
For even the Gods of their logic and skill
On their final day of reckoning
Call on WHO to do their work?
The Fire
The Water
The Wind
And the shifting of the Land.

One of the downfalls of hunting in packs is that you’re only as good as the weakest link in the chain.
Sharks probably play cute pranks on each other… when they’re not apex predatoring.
(This is a test. No wrong answers)
Joseph “Giuseppe” Grossonaso was born in July 5th, 1978 at Mount Ida Hospital, Brooklyn, New York. Joseph was born via caesarian delivery when it was determined that his head – more specifically his nose- would not pass through the birth canal naturally.
His mother and father both beamed with pride at the sight of their newborn son. He was 8 pounds and 9 ounces, 21 inches long… his nose was 2 pounds even and 3 inches from the tip to his brow ridge.
“This boy will go on to do great things! He will be a success!” his father declared with a tear steaming from each of his eyes and dripping down his own, rather large, facial protrusion.
***
Pepino’s infant and toddler years were unremarkable, save for the inordinate number of times he stubbed his proboscis on things. In some ways it acted like a cat’s whiskers do – warning him of potential intrusions and pointing out where things were. You could say that light hit the tip of his nose a few moments before it made it to his eyes.
Grade school was a painful ordeal for pepino. The other children picked on him constantly and hurled any number of unflattering names at him. In time he became used to the harassment and Pepe was soon able to deflect them with the flinch of his neck.
Pepe would go home sullen and cry. His father and mother both knew it was hard for the boy to go through life with the dorsal fin of a shark drooping off his face. But they knew that was how God made him and that there must be a special reason for him to have such a tremendously huge ‘shnazola’!
When Pepino hit his teenage years he began to develop a curious skill – he could smell things! He could smell very small things – from bizarre distances. He could smell his mother open the salt shaker in the kitchen, all the way from his bedroom… upstairs… with the doors closed… and the windows open!
He trained his nose with certain sniffing exercises too. Placing drops of oils and esters around the house, he was able to make mental maps of where each was and became adept at visualizing each ones placement. These routines progressed to more and more different scents and their placements became more obtuse – but his nose never failed him. Soon he could smell certain flowers in distant bouquets and determine their numbers in relationships to the other flowers in the arrangement. At his grandmother’s funeral he could tell the exact number of ‘Baby’s Breath’ buds in an arrangement of Lillie’s and roses from the porch outside of the funeral home. Everyone who witnessed these olfactory displays was duly impressed.
Pepino trained his nose more still. He got to the point where his friend Rodney could put small drops of chemicals in a bucket of water with a lid on it in the basement and Pepe could detect them from the attic.
THIS was Joseph’s gift and his parents agreed that he needed to follow his nose into the only field that could make use of it…
***
The Perfumeries of Paris
Pepino arrived in Paris and was almost immediately in great demand from all of the perfume makers. He spend his days testing the most subtle and complicated blends of fragrances and soon established himself as the biggest ‘nose’ in the business.
One day Pepino was called into his bosses office – the big man himself: Marcel Provone. (Marcel was no slouch with his beak. It is said that he could estimate, down to the ml the amount of tea in a person’s cup just from the scent from across a room!). “Pepe – we have a special job for you. The boys over in Langley need to have you accompany one of their agents on a dangerous mission. You will be used to determine the authenticity of a scent. You will not know the scent in advance or how it will be used….”
“A new chemical???” Pepino sparked up to ask.
“No, nothing that sophisticated. Apparently, instead of using code words to identify each other – Langley wants the agents to wear scents that fit the profile of their covers and missions. You will sit with the agent – at a distance. You will pick up the scent and tell them. They will tell you when to fall back and come home.”
Pepino was slightly crest fallen that it wouldn’t be more thrilling – but he was proud to have his nose picked.
***
A week later, Pepe met agent Livgren. Livgren set it out for him. The counter agent would wear a specific amount of a specific fragrance on a specific part of the body – he had to tell him what everyone was wearing so as to authenticate that agent’s identity.
They went to the park and took their seats on park benches about 20 meters apart from each other. And they waited.
A man passed. “He’s slathered in ‘Canoe’…tons of it… all over his neck and upper chest!” He announced down his microphone.
“Not it” was the reply through his earpiece.
A woman with a dog passed. “…’L’air du Temps’ and not much of it. And it has gone stale and funny. She’s had it too long and isn’t storing it correctly… probably on a vanity or changing table that is exposed to direct sunlight for perhaps 4 hours a day…”
“Not it” was the call down the earpiece.
Finally, a young woman with a shopping bag walked past. “Hmmmmmmm. ‘Manifesto’ by YSL. Only two drops. And on the right ankle. It is muted by the high denier of her hosiery – but I’m certain of it!”
“Talk to you later Pepe! Head out!”
Joseph returned to his laboratory and never heard from agent Livgren again.
***
Five years later, he received an anonymous parcel at his desk. In it was a small lapel pin shaped like a triangle – labeled: “Becco D’oro”.
His work was done and it was a success.
(Written sometime in December 2014/January 2015)

Two of my greatest disappointments with movies are:
1) That the greatest ‘think piece’ movie I’ve seen in years is “DRIVE” with Ryan Gosling. Grrrrrr
And
2) That the last horror movie that really freaked me out was “8mm” with Francis Ford Copela’s nephew.

When I was a little kid, I shared a room with my brother. He was (still is) 6 years older than me so he got to pick what we watched on TV. Consequently I picked-up the first derivative of his warped sense of humor.
To this day Dick Van Dyke means “Burt” to 3/4 of my family. But he still reminds me of the Alan Brady Show.

Maybe cows can swim. Can they swim? If they could swim would they worry about sharks???
Maybe they should start.

A few years ago (15 or 16) Prada on Sloane Street had a collection of ‘exotic’ coats. The crocodile coat was grotesque … it made the wearer look like some kind of “Silence of the Lambs”/“Crocodile Dundee” smash up.
The seal skin coat was shockingly beautiful. It was also 10,000GBP and at the end of the day I couldn’t get the thought of those poor, sad little seals being bludgeoned to death for the sake of a chic coat. It wasn’t my size anyway.

Hint – if you’re not sure it’s a spoonerism!


I have said again and again – these are NOT classy.

My wife and I were in Singapore, walking through the boutiques on Orchard Road. One of the stores had a large collection of fur coats and jackets.
FUR? It was hotter than Hades outside! And HUMID!
I asked the clerk in the store how many folks come into his shop – when it is so damned hot outside!?
His reply: “Sir, Singaporean women travel.”
‘suppose he was right.

I remember a time I was walking across Copley Square – walking towards Neiman’s … there were a bunch of kids (younger than me = ‘kids’ ) were holding up pictures of foxes and minks that had been riven to shreds to make pelts.
One of them was finishing what appeared to be a Whopper from BK.
They were all chanting “FUR IS CRUEL! FUR IS CRUEL!”
I walked to the one with the burger wrapper in his hand. As he shouted “FUR IS CRUEL” I chimed in by saying “IT’S ALSO SOFT AND WARM!”
More from my cabinet of horological wonders. Now delving into my (so-called) cancer watches. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer six years ago I did what any normally paranoid person would do: I segregated myself from all of the talismanic objects I could. My t-shirts (how I initially figured out there was a problem in the first place) got put in a bag inside a box and then hidden in a case. All my watches and pens went into hiding …
From that point I decided to get all NEW watches and pens. These would be the ones that I used to see myself through. I bought the first cancer watch the same day as my diagnosis. A black Casio G-Shock… tough enough to be driven over with a tank – surely it can beat cancer. Also, as it is a “Tough Solar” model I see it as being something of an immortal watch. Handy when you’re looking for inspiration to not die.
I bought a box of Uniball pens that I used to take notes and write letters.
… and then there was Orange Nasty. Seiko SKX011-J (J stands for ‘made in Japan’/K stands for made in (Korea????) no: made anyplace OTHER than Japan!).

It seems like every time I get bored I buy an SKX011-J (actually more like an SKX… the color variants don’t matter. They are the first watch that pop into my head to do stupid stunts with. [Like the time I bought an SXK009-J, 15 min before leaving to go to Vietnam… and had it shipped to my hotel at the beach to see if and or how long it would take to get there. Apparently guaranteed next-day service still means NEXT DAY – even in the world of bored stupid stunts….]
… anyway. I get bored and I buy a watch. I wear it until I’m not bored anymore and then I give them to friends. The first Orange Nasty was purchased while recuperating from my bilateral mastectomy. The operation was a piece of cake! The post-op was a piece of cake. Not being able to move my arms for a week: THAT was tough… spending a month with drainage bulbs – also not very much fun. Going to the hospitals to have swollen effusions drained with a syringe that looked like a ‘Three Stooges’ prop – also not a highlight. Spending every second of the day looking over my shoulder wondering when doom was about to punch me in the face again – 👎 I do not recommend.
Deflect! Deflect! Deflect!
Here comes the FedEx driver with my box. In it was the first Orange Nasty. I wore it until I felt well enough to go home. Then I gave it to the first person to comment on it.
In 2020 I was kind of trapped for a few months (10 1/2 … but who is counting?) so I bought THIS Orange Nasty… same spec. SXK011-J… same seller, in Singapore.
A friend saw a picture of it and commented on it. Seeing as I wasn’t there to give them the watch I did the next best thing; I sent one.
Question: Do you even really “like” watches?
Answer: No – not really. They aggravate me. Mechanical watches are like needy personalities – always calling out for my attention. Asking to be wound. Asking to be worn. Asking for me to charge up the lume pips and then admire them glowing in the dark. “We’ll tell you what time it is when you wake up to pee!”

You’ll keep me awake thinking about all the time that’s ever elapsed and all the time that has yet to come and that will frustrate me even further.
Question: If you don’t like them – why buy so many?
Answer: D’uh – because I’m an addict! Because I’m serially bored and looking for that illusive “simple prop to occupy my mind”. Fortunately I have developed Fatalistic Yoga to clear my mind – it’s way way cheaper too! I’m not nearly as bankrupt as I used to be (fiscally or spiritually).
There once was a man in Hong Kong
Who lived his whole life like a song
When his chorus was finished
His voicing diminished
….Danicoke usually wrote the last lines
For the past few weeks “Danicoke” has been leaving short poems in the guestbooks of the local “Queequeg’s Coffee” branches …




It isn’t getting better
I still feel the same
It hasn’t made things easier
Without someone to blame.