Dear Mama

 Dear Mama,

I love you. I love you more than all the tea in that place that has a lot of tea, more than all the hugs we`ve shared, more than all the grey hairs I must have given you, more than all the stars in the sky.

I love you more than all the stories in the bible, more than the longest outstretched arms, more than to the end of the driveway, more than the oceans that separate us.

I love you more than the hours of sleep you missed out on because of me, more than all the dirty nappies you had to change, more than the times you told me NO, and more than the times you had to say YES.

You`re an angel, I love you. Happy Mother`s Day.

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Tales of June: The Caddy

     Remember my friend with the funny name, June, which is actually a really bad ass name in another language and spelled Jyun? The one always getting into trouble who I told you started a riot at the Grateful Dead Farm and managed to slip away undetected? Well as he got older, trouble still seemed to follow him everywhere he went as he told me one day about the time his cherished Cadillac violently parished.

     Jyun used  to hang around a pretty tough crowd, these guys were not to be messed with. They made The Outsiders look like the T-Birds from Grease. They were sort of like The Cowboys from the movie Tombstone only they took more drugs. They even spoke to each other in a strange kind of language that only they could understand. A kind of code, like some weird language twins teach each other and when he would talk about those days he would slip back into it and I could hardly understand him. I had to piece it all together like in A Clockwork Orange. These boys, they even called themselves the something boys, bug boys, bag boys? Something like that, it was more of a spoken language than a written one, so it`s hard to tell.

    Anyway, they were all a bunch of characters, one guy in particular was straight out of a comic book, Marty. Marty was a real legend, he didn`t say much but when he did speak, the craziest sh!t would come out, he would say things in a real low, disturbing voice, like, “I remember the first time I was abducted.” or when there would be a particularly grusum murder reported on the news, they would all awkwardly look to him and he would say laughing, “Nope he he, not one of mine, not one of mine he he.” The funny thing was that he thought everyone else was crazy and would say in the same monotone, eerie voice, “Dude, you are ate, your brain is fried, really, you are ate the F*** up, you are sooo chewed, you are ate aliiiive!”

    When Jyun was just out of High School he was moving around a lot and ended up staying at Marty`s place for a while along with a couple other LEGENDS. The first night he was going to stay there, he says he walked into the large, dark living room to find Marty sitting on the sofa talking in a low voice to someone on the telephone. Jyun, a little intimidated, just walked in, nodded, and dropped his duffel bag full of everything he owned in the world. Marty nodded, `come on in`, shaking his empty beer towards the refrigerator indicating that he should grab the whole 12 pack. Jyun sat down and drank away, uncomfortably watching the fishing channel on TV, Marty still mumbling away on the phone. After a minute or two, Marty pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket and popped a couple large white pills and handed a couple to Jyun who took them with a nod and a raise of his beer in gratitude, still not having said a word. Before the pills had met their mark, Marty reached for a pack of fags in his pocket and pulled out a spliff the size of a tree trunk, lit it, still going on about on the phone and they passed that pack and forth. Finally, after a few minutes, Marty got off the phone and said slowly, “Aye bo, what`s up? So you`re gonna be crashin` here for a while?” but by that time Jyun was so wasted he didn`t understand the question and had forgotten why he was there in the first place!

     I don`t know how he got it but Jyun had this really cool Cadillac, only he never really liked driving it. I think one of the reasons all these guys wanted to hang out with him was cause he had the coolest car and would let anyone drive it. Whoever he was with, if they had had a few beers, Jyun would just throw them the keys and let them drive, Jyun was more than happy chillin` in shotgun, free to drink in the comfort of the Cadillac`s lofty front seat.

    One night a bunch of the boys were at a bar drinking it up, and drinking it up good as they were known to do. And along with a good drink-up came the inevitable rowdiness, boys will be boys after all. But on this night a particularly good fight broke out. Good, not because the 2 guys fighting were such great enemies, but because they were great friends. Bad ass friends, Bad Bob and Barney, two of the biggest bad asses around, maybe in the city, maybe in the world! This was like Caesar and Brutus, Scarface and Manny, Billy the Kid and Pat Garrett, Ali and Frasier, well, OK, they were never friends, but that`s how big this was!

     All of a sudden, “Fight!” tables were flying, bottles were breaking, bar stools were crashing, punches were swinging. It was great! But not so great that the staff of bouncers and cops didn`t put an annoyingly swift end to it and everyone was cleared out. But not before Barney said, in a cool Clint Eastwood way, something like, “Well alright boys, this pone`s gettin` sketted back at Barney`s”. (???) Well, alright then, back to Barney`s house it was. No one was gonna miss that!

     So they stumbled into the parking lot to follow everyone out to Barney`s house, which was no small trek, by any stretch of the imagination. True to form, upon approaching the Caddy, Jyun casually tossed his keys to Marty when Marty uttered 7 words that he had never thought he would hear escape from Marty`s mouth, “Dude, I don`t think I should drive.” Now is the part of the story where, had it been a movie, you would start to hear that eerie background music and beg the movie screen for the two to turn back and call a cab, walk, crawl or just stumble home in the other direction. A little side note, when Adam Martin says, “I don`t think I should drive.” You should believe him, 100%.

       Good sense was not in the cards for the 2 lads that night however, as Marty put up no further protest and they both settled comfortably in the sofa-like seats of the luxury vehicle, beers in hand. No more was said as you couldn`t hear anything over the powerful, standard equip, tape player that was blaring Pantara so beautifully loud that the back window would vibrate with every bass chord, and they were off.

    The highway out to Barney`s house, the opposite direction of Marty and Gus` house, was as straight and long as it was wide and empty. So going at high speeds and a fair amount of swerving was easily dismissed. This went on for miles as they both enjoyed the ever forgiving comfort of the Cadillac seats and the well above par sound of the stereo system that really made you feel like you were in the comforts of your own living room, yet barreling down the highway at insane speeds. Cadillac, there really is no substitute, that car practically drove itself… so I`m told.

    Once the off ramp rapidly approached, the Caddy swiftly weaved around another car just in time to make the exit. It flew up the ramp like the General Lee just before a big jump. The last thing Jyun remembered seeing was the car full of friends that were stopped at the red light they should`ve been stopping at and the look of horror on their faces as the Caddy flew past them. The steering wheel turned in vain, the tires screeched and then “Bam!!!”

     Silence fell, Jyun blinked, a deep sadness overwhelmed him as he noticed the crushed Cadillac hood ornament that was inches from his face. He punched out some glass to make the hole that his face made in the windshield big enough to get his head back in the car and sat back down, checking the rest of his body for further damage. Marty pushed away the air bag that was blowing in his face and said, “Danm, that air bag hurt.” then looked over at Jyun in terror upon seeing his mangled state, “Dude, are you alright?”

    “Yeah, I`m cool.” Replied Jyun. “Well,” said Marty, “I`m outta here, I`m wanted `n shit.” “Yeah, do whatever you gotta do man.” And with that, Marty was off, disappearing into the night. By that time the car full of friends from the other car ran up followed by police and various other rescue workers who, after a frustrating interview, had to swallow the story Jyun told them about a stranger he met at the bar (Jyun was about 3 years too young to be at a bar) giving him a ride home (he lived in the complete opposite direction) and rushed him off to the hospital.  Leaving the Caddy there to be towed away to Cadillac heaven like The Blues Mobile at the end of the Blues Brothers.

    So that`s the story of how Jyun`s Caddilac driving, or riding, days came to an abrupt end. Jyun`s face got a little banged up but nothing that wouldn`t heal, and the boys lived to drink another beer. Stay tuned for more Tales of June….

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If…

If I were a sin, I`d be the kind that stains your soul. The kind that follows family lines and makes incomplete cycles whole. If I were a whiskey, I`d be the kind that stings. The kind that wakes up that other you, the side of you that screams.

If I were a disease, I`d take on many forms. I`d leave them all left guessing, I`d close every open door. If I were a picture, I`d steal a thousand words. I`d just stand there looking pretty, expressionless and stiff and cold.

If I were a guitar, I`d play myself to sleep. Then I`d throw myself against an amp and I`d tear off all my strings. If I were an artist, I`d paint myself a home. I`d paint it anyway I  like, I`d paint it made of stone. If I were a drug then I`d take all your pain away. I`d fill your veins with warmth and ease, and I`d take you all around the sun.

If I were a mistake, I`d be the kind you never learn. The kind that everyone else can see, the kind that makes them cringe, the kind that makes them burn. If I were a wise man, I`d be safe and warm at home. And if I were an island I`d be alone.

If I were a clown, I`d be the scary type. The kind with wooden teeth and eyes, the kind that keeps you up at night.  If I were a train, I`d be black and put out lots of smoke. Enough to make the heaviest smoker choke. If I were a memory, I`d surely get it wrong. And if I were a lyricist I`d write you a fancy, upbeat little happy love song.

If I were a snub nosed pistol I`d be picking them off one by one. And if I were a lunatic I`d be having all my fun. If I were a father, I`d name my daughter Sun, cause that`s just the kind of son-of-a-bitch that my father left me to become.

If I could say just one more thing before I have to go, I`d tell the world to go fuck themselves, for me, you`ll never begin to know.

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Livin` the Dream

    I learned the hard way that there is nothing in the world more boring than hearing about someone else`s dream. Apparently, according to my brother, I am notorious for doing just that. Don`t worry, this isn`t a trap or anything, but dreams are funny things aren`t they? George Carlin used to do a bit about explaining dreams to aliens who had no concept of dreaming. That for 6 or 7 hours everyday, usually in the dark of night when you are most vulnerable to your enemies, you go into a vegetative state where you see things that could never happen in reality and blah blah blah… Sorry, telling someone about someone else`s comedy bit may be worse than dreams.

    I can go months without remembering a dream and then I can have one that is so profound  I obsess about it for days. It started a long time ago when I had a dream that my Japanese teacher was chastising me for wanting to level up to the next book. She quizzed me for a while and I did really poorly and finally she was like, “See, how can you level up if you can`t pass my quiz.” I woke up feeling pretty crappy about myself until it occurred to me that, in the dream, everyone was really me. Like an Eddie Murphy movie, I was really playing everyone, including the Japanese teacher who was speaking fluent Japanese the entire dream. I started to feel a little bit better, although that didn`t mean I could produce that kind of fluency in real life, it must mean it`s up there somewhere. 

     Other times I`ll dream some obscure person is telling me I should or shouldn`t do something. I usually respond very defiantly and wake up cursing that person. Then two things occur to me. 1, Why did I want to tell myself to do or not do that thing and 2,  Why on Earth did I choose that person, of all the people I`ve ever known to tell it to me?

    I`ve learned that if I`ve maybe had a few beers, my dreams will get lazy and I`ll use the same `extras`. Maybe I`m walking down the street and I see the same person walk past like 3 times. I realize that`s impossible, waking myself up knowing it must be a dream. Either that or I walk around for hours looking for a toilet, not finding one. No panic or sense of urgency, just boring. That`s annoying.

     One dream that`s not annoying is if I`m being attacked by a bunch of people and I know I`m screwed, I may be terrified but I make a decision that, if I gonna be screwed, I may as well go out swinging. So I do just that, start swinging and I`ve never lost. That is a good philosophy to take into the real world I`ve also learned.

    Sorry, that actually did turn out to be kind of a trap didn`t it, I apologize.

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King for a Day

   I`ve alway thought that the government and politics in general was a pretty big joke. An elaborate show not unlike professional wrestling where both sides put on a big huff and puff in front of the cameras then afterwards, collect their millions and go off and get drunk together, laughing at the peasants who take them seriously, and I think I can prove it. Why else are presidents just as ineffective in their 2nd term as they are in their 1st term? Think about it, you`re the President of the United States of America, the most powerful position on the planet (for now anyway). Sure, to get elected the first time you had to sell your soul, compromise your values and become a political whore. But now you got re-elected and you can never run again, EVER. Why in the world would you hold back from doing anything and everything you ever wanted to do in your political as well as personal life. You literally get to be King for a day, yet no one ever does anything interesting with it.

    If you asked 1000 people what they would do, given a go at that age-old question, I think an equal amount of people would offer selfish responses to humanitarian responses, fair enough. But either way they would most assuredly be harshly criticized after the fact, but it would be just that, after the fact. Yes, you would have to live with the consequences of your decisions you made that day, but would you not make them never the less? If you had a chance to cure world hunger by some extreme means or even if you opted to simply have your childhood priest assassinated, professionally, would you not take it?

    A president in his second term has this very opportunity, yet you never hear about anyone doing anything other than some lame pardons or knicking some candlesticks from the Lincoln bedroom. How about making the first year, idealistic law student you proud. At least do something to make the 15 year-old you proud, anything but the same old, same old political bullsh!t. 

    I, not being very political in nature, have no idea what that may be but I think it would have something to do with putting a smoking black hole where Thailand used to be on the map or making Anderson Cooper and Bill O`Riely fight a bare knuckles, to the death cage match. Somehow taking money out of elections, news, medicine and the Catholic Church and putting it in things like schools and hangoverless whiskey research. Maybe start putting pimps and drug dealers in jail instead of addicts and 12-year-old sex slaves or digging wells in 3rd world countries so people can finally stop dying from drinking disease infested water. You may say I`m a dreamer, but I`m not the only one. Well, maybe I am.

    I don`t know, it just seems incredibly spineless to not take extreme measures in your second term seeing as you`ve no doubt had to compromise and `play the game` so much up until this point and now you have nothing to lose except your personal livelihood and well-being. A small price to pay for making the kind of changes, global and domestic that you are capable of making. At least expose the truth about UFO`s and who Lincoln`s gay lover was. I`ll be waiting with bated breath to see what Obama does with his second term should he be elected again, then we`ll see what he`s made of. If the White House isn`t painted black in the first week, he`ll be exposed as just another sleazy, lying politician. Make me proud Barry!!!

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Ga Ga

    Anyone remember Coolio? Anyone know why he dropped off the face of the Earth? Because after his (last) hit song Gangster`s Paradise, Weird Al made the hilarious parody Amish Paradise and Foolio got his knickers all in a bunch over it.  The last thing I think he ever said that pompously made it`s way on an air wave was something like, “…You can do that (parody) to other songs but not this one, the song`s too important yo!”

    We can only pray that Lady Ga Ga`s career will follow in Coolio`s footsteps and disappear forever after she recently denied Weird Al permission to parody her song Born This Way. My God, with names like Lady Ga Ga and Foolio, to deny the honor of a Weird Al parody, you deserve nothing less than public shame and permanent irrelevance. This is not to mention Ga Ga`s recent meltdown in regards to accusations that Born This Way plagiarized Modonna`s Express Yourself. While I don`t know if it`s plagiarism, the similarities are as obvious as Oasis`, oh, let`s call them `inspirations` from The Beatles. Defend yourself against plagiarism love,but to try to deny that the 2 songs are similar is just nuts. But from Lady Ga Ga, I would expect nothing less. Let`s hope this is Goodbye.

   P.S.  I actually thought about Weird Al the other day as I ate a banana.  A lyric from Eat It popped in my head, “Have a banana, have a whole bunch…” That song was great.

    P.S.S.   Speaking of plagiarism, I feel it`s only fair to disclose that the article I read also draws the Coolio parallel. While I usually like to draw my own parallels, I can confidently say that the Coolio thing immediately came to me, before I got to that part. I also don`t think anyone else has ever denied Weird Al permission to parody a song so, Shouganai.

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Happy Birthday Martin

     Justin Martin, today you would be like 34 or something. I guess some legends aren`t meant to see their 30`s. Like Jimi, Curt, Morrison, or Janis, the thought must have been just too lame to bear. I know, I was there too, right along with you. While it is a bit creepy, being allowed to be in charge of a class of students or being respected by old people or being allowed to actually look after a child, it`s actually not that bad.

     I`m sorry, kind of, that the last time I saw you I punched you in the jaw and told you to stop stealing from me, but you had just stolen my car, again. I just had a boy, his name is Keith, obviously after Keith Richards, another legend, not unlike yourself, but one who managed to not die. Sometimes he looks out into space when I`m holding him like he`s looking at a ghost and I always ask him, “Is it a guy wearing a Rams hat turned around backwards? That`s your uncle Marty. Don`t give him any money!”

   Martin, I love you. Happy Birthday. I hope where ever you may be that the whiskey is strong and the rules are soft.

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