Safety First

 You took a million chances 

                In the face of overwhelming doubt

But all of those chances were just fantasies 

                         That you never dared live out

The last gasp attempt to climb the cliff face

              That would have put you at the top

Did little to secure your precarious place

         Giving you nothing but a higher drop

The Old & Dusty Cobwebs In My Mind

Hoping beyond hope that my mind is not closing up to any new ideas, perspectives, opinions, or points of view. 

It may seem preposterous but it's a serious concern of mine. 

I am well aware that the world is full of people who have cockamamie ideas, perspectives, opinions, and points of view, but I really hope I never shut down to listening or reading what they have to say or want to express.

Heck, you never know, just might learn something, and if nothing else, it might at least be amusing if not outright entertaining.

All Up In Cripple Creek

Cripple Creek, Colorado is about a 40 Minute drive west of Colorado Springs, which makes it a little over two hours from my house (depending entirely on who is doing the driving of course).

PC picked me up at my house early in the morning as we had to also stop and pick up the cabinets & counters he bought from a kitchen & bath place that was clearing out a kitchen floor display that nearly spot-on matched the dimensions of the kitchen that PC needed cabinets & counters for. 

The kitchen in question was in a home he was working on that was located near Cripple Creek.

We had the cabinets & counters (and trim) loaded up by 8:30am and were soon headed south.

Cripple Creek was founded as a gold mining camp and at one time boasted it was the world's greatest gold camp. The gold rush of 1890 brought thousands of prospectors to the area and soon the population topped 10,000. The population dwindled to less than 500 people by 1970, even though gold was still being found. 

The town was almost a ghost town by the time Colorado voters legalized gambling there in 1991. Casinos big and small opened up and the population has since soared to over 1,100 full-time residents.

We didn't have to do more than unload the cabinets, counters and trim off the truck and into the garage (putting the kitchen together is for another day). It went smooth and quick, so we found ourselves with a little time to drive through (and around) Cripple Creek.

There are quite a few buildings from the early days of the town that have been restored, and quite a few buildings from the past thirty years of development that were built to look old - which is cool as they blend in well.

Of course, the town being situated at an altitude of over 9,000 feet results in some great views. While not in a box canyon, the town is surrounded by mountains.

Cripple Creek was an enjoyable place to spend an afternoon, so two thumbs way up to a visit, especially if you can manage to work it into a day you're getting paid to go there.

There Was A Broken Man

There was a broken man who lived a broken life

Came from a broken home where he was broken by the strife 

Worked at a broken job under a broken boss

Kept his broken dreams in a broken plastic box

Save Big Money On Your New Home!

 

Someone For Everyone, Chapter 3,789,666.012

   He was a portent of doom.

   Which was not what he wanted to be when he was growing up. 

   What he wanted to be when he was growing up was a fireman, but that was the wistful dreaming of a child. He was descended from a long line of Portents of Doom, and his father would be damned if his son was going to reject his heritage.

   And so, despite a short rebellious phase of being gregarious and making attempts at spreading hope while he was in his teens, he eventually embraced being a portent of doom and actually had become quite good at it.

   Which made his parents very proud, but greatly limited his attempts at building lasting friendships. It seems nearly everyone he met and developed any sort of relationship with eventually came to an untimely end.

   Then one overcast afternoon he met her - at a funeral no less. The attraction between the two of them was magnetic, something they both felt as a tangible force.

   Which made sense, seeing as how she was a harbinger of death.

   And they lived happily ever after. 

   The end.

   

At The Ranch In The Mountains

 

The Past, Erased

   "So how did it go last night?"

   Corey Rogers looked up from his breakfast and gave his friend Allen a regret filled grin.

   "Once again, my brain decided to sabotage my evening. Just once I'd like to be able to edit anything I say or do before I actually say or do it, but I'm too impulsive - damn me all to hell."

   Allen laughed. He considered placating Rogers by saying something like "Stop being so hard on yourself," but he knew it was a pointless request. Instead, he asked, "What was it this time?"

   "We were at Grimaldi's, on the patio. Casual date, you know, nothing fancy. We were both in shorts, it being hot as all get out - she has great legs by the way - anywhatzit, we were talking about concerts we had attended, movies we liked, you know, trying to get a feel for one another, and because we were sitting out on the patio at one of those round outdoor tables that has a metal grid for a tabletop, I was kinda checking out her legs through the little squares."

   A waitress approached the table and Rogers stopped talking and he looked up at her as she spoke. "Did either of you want any more coffee?" She held the white kettle out in expectation. Allen nodded his head in assent, and she topped off his mug, while Corey put his hand over his mug and said "Naw, I'm good, thanks."

   Once the waitress had left, Allen quipped, "Don't tell me you got busted scoping out her legs while you were supposed to be engrossed in a conversation with her?"

   "Oh no, much worse than that Dude." Corey poked at his hash browns with his fork and hesitated a moment in order to eat a bite.

   "You know I'm a master of the casual glance Mr. Keller. What happened was, I noticed what I thought was a bruise on her calf, but after another casual glance I realized it was a slightly discolored area where she had a tattoo removed. I made like I wanted to give the menu a read through so I could get an idea of what the tattoo might have been, and I could make out that it had to have been a heart with an arrow through it."

   'So of course I quickly imagined that she had been involved with someone, probably the love of her life, and she had a tattoo with their initials in a pierced heart done on her calf, you know, like people carve into trees. Then they must of had an ugly break-up, and she had to have the tattoo removed with a laser."

   "Hold on, let me guess..." Allen gulped down a sip of coffee. "You blurted out, 'Did you actually have a tattoo with someone's name on your calf?' or some such stupidity?" 

   "Like I said Dude, much worse. What I said to her was, 'I noticed you had a tattoo removed from your calf and it looks like it was one of those hearts with an arrow through it that people carve into trees. Your legs may be a little big, but they are certainly not tree trunks.'"

   Allen spit out his coffee and, after grabbing a napkin, stared incredulously at his friend. "You...you actually told her that her legs may be a little big?"

   "Yep. Big ol' brain thought that would be a good thing to say to her on our first date."

   "First and only date, I imagine," Allen said.

    "You think?" Corey replied.

Home Again, Home Again...

 

Advice From Carol...Or For Carol

 

                                                           Artist Unknown, Oil on Canvas, 24 X 30

Stumbled across this gem the other day, and it begs the question; Is it a statement by an artist named Carol, or is it a request by an artist to someone named Carol?

Theory 1: Carol painted three bright and colorful flowers that seem to be wilting a bit in the sun (the choice of colors used is excellent, btw). Then a splatter of deep red was added, which was followed by a carefully written request to "Just look at the flowers" by the artist, Carol, as maybe Carol had determined that the splatter of red was inconsequential or a mistake.

Theory 2: An unknown artist painted these three bright and colorful flowers specifically for a person named Carol and added the instruction for this particular Carol to "Just look at the flowers", then, for whatever reason, the deep red splatter was added (upon close inspection it is evident the deep red splatter was indeed added after the "Just look at the flowers Carol", which gives theory 2 some credence).

Ah, the mysteries of art.

At The Entrance Of The Facade

Yet another revival attendee with deeply repressed scars

Trying to get me to see who they really are

Been up all night and barely can keep my eyes open

She thinks we're having a convo and I haven't even spoken

What is about these people that think I want to hear

About how they learned to rev it up and kick it in gear

Four Thousand Miles Between Engagements

 Four thousand miles between the east coast of the U.S.

And the west coast of Spain

Four thousand miles between her lips and his

In his memories they danced whenever they could 

In her memories he was so much taller

You May Already Be A Millionaire!

I have a few friends in my same age group who are certifiably worth over a million dollars.

Some are millionaires on paper only (you know, real estate equity, business valuations, etc.), and some actually have deposits in various financial institutions that total a million dollars or more.

With but one exception, none of the millionaires I know actually set out with the goal of becoming a millionaire.

The majority of them just did things early in life that led them to millionairedom - all of them bought their first homes in their twenties (and most of them actually still live in those first homes), all of them have avoided job-hopping, all of them have had steady personal relationships with minimal disruption, and very importantly, all of them have been lucky enough to not have fallen victim to debilitating addictions or illnesses - and all of them have grown old gracefully.

None of the people I know in my age group who are not millionaires did any of those things or were that lucky (including me). Causation? I don't know, but certainly those factors can't be overlooked. 

I always had the idea that being a millionaire was something special, but to a person, each and every one of the millionaires I know has told me being a millionaire doesn't feel special at all.

Maybe that's due to inflation, or maybe that's due to the slow, gradual nature of the accumulation (no one I know has won the lottery or suddenly became a millionaire in some other fashion). 

All I am sure of is that if you told me twenty years ago that the majority of my friends (or any of my family members) would one day be millionaires, I would have laughed in your face.

As it is, one morning last week I sat down to breakfast at a small, average/semi-nice restaurant with five of my friends and I was the only one who could not claim millionaire status.

Kinda weirded me out.

The Disappearance Of Ol' What's Her Name

She didn't fall off the earth so much as she jumped

The gravity of her intentions was weak, but still, she achieved her goal

                                                               Of disappearing

Everyone who knew her had long ago grown accustomed to her 

Disappearances

"I just wanted to be alone." 

                           She responded to the oft repeated 

                                                               "Where have you been?"

Every time she returned

It didn't take long for most everyone to assume 

             She just wanted to be alone every time she disappeared

Her close contacts 

                (no one really was close enough to her to be considered a friend) 

       Had taken to referring to her extended absences as "going Garbo" 

                                               Which was perfectly fine with her  

As that's all the explanation she ever wanted to give

     She never wanted to tell anyone that she despised the world

                                                          And most of the people in it 

She never wanted to tell anyone that she never felt comfortable in her own skin

                                                       And that she couldn't stand people who were

For years she had known 

                She would eventually have to make the big move

                                                                                Away from everyone 

                                                                                And everything

And finally she did

No one noticed that she never returned

The Joy Of Sporting A Silky Smooth Skull

 I am bald

I'm not completely bald though - I have one of those half-dollar sized areas on the back of my melon that is pretty much completely bald, and the hair that grows around it is basically golden whisps of corn silk, but there is quite a bit of hair that grows thick on the back and sides.

However, seeing as how I do not want to walk around looking like a monk who has elected for tonsure, I decided to go full-on Hare Krishna and shave my entire head.

And I love it.

Fortunately, I have one of those domes that looks great clean shaven. Which is a good thing because I do not believe I ever had a haircut I ever liked - not one. 

When I had hair, it was just a mat of straight blonde straw that I could do nothing with - not even a Jeri curl could help it.

I tried a lot of different products to give my hair body, shine, and bounce, but to no avail. 

That was bothersome, to say the least, especially in light of the fact that both of my brothers had (and still have) thick, manageable manes of sandy blonde hair. Hell, my younger brother has thick naturally curly sandy blonde hair (though it has gotten a little jew-froie as he's aged).

Shaving my head was no easy decision. For starters, I had to wait until the association of bald white men with racist morons (aka Nazi skinheads) had died down. Then I had to wait for a more positive role model for large bald white men to appear on the scene, and that man was Steve Austin (the wrestler).

Good 'ol Steve made it much more socially acceptable for large white men to sport a beautiful clean cranium - here's to you Steve, thanks and thanks again.

With a hair-free noggin I never have to worry that the next haircut is going to be even worse than the last one, and I never have to worry about what the wind or rain will do to my hair. 

Other than the possibility of sunburn (should I forget my hat), I really do not have to worry about my crown at all.

Plus, I'm saving a fortune on shampoo and conditioner.

Seventeen Actors Making The Most Of Extremely Small Roles

Bongo playing crewman on the Tuna Boat (Red West)

Nude motorcycle rider (Gilda Texter)

Angry driver (Michael McShane)

Drunken Bar Owner (Tom Waits)

James, The Limping Man (Sam Waterston)

The Sure Thing (Nicollete Sheridan)

Giggly Girl (Goldie Hawn)

Boy Kicking Mike (Kurt Russell)

Alley Guy #1 (Michael Jai White)

Bellhop - uncredited (Harrison Ford)

Opera House hustler (Anthony Zerbe)

Bwana's daughter (Elizabeth Montgomery)

Souvenir hawker (J.K. Simmons)

Bob, the Ed Sullivan Show Producer (Jerry Orbach)

Dancing Nightclub Patron (Cloris Leachman)

Punk Party Crasher (Robert Downey Jr.)

Lip-syncing transvestite (George Clooney)

Bee My Honey / Colette Pitcher 2016

 

Just Slightly Tilted

Invited to go bowling tonight, but I don't bowl

Okay, then join us for a few drinks 

But I don't drink

Then what do you do?

Well, those two little distractions aside 

I do whatever it is I feel like doing

That causes no harm and no ill will

Or gets me in a situation wherein I may need a lawyer

Give It Your Best Shot