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Friday, February 25, 2011


          Benny is a young man, stocky build who absolutely loves sleeveless shirts all year round. His shorts are mid-calf in length and apparently he is losing weight because he spends almost as much time pulling his britches or shorts or hell maybe they are old britches he use to wear and he had a growth spurt, anyway UP as he does talking and he talks non stop.
           You know how that damn energizer bunny keeps on going and going and going, you know never stops playing those damn cymbals that continually rattle inside your eardrums and makes you want to get your 12 gauge shotgun, just as Elmer Fudd did in one of his cartoons and, and, and sorry I lost it there for a second and blow that damn fly to smitherines!!!

"Seems like Senor forgot to take his quart of prozac today" says Jose "Marijuana" Gonzalez. (I feel the need to apoligize to those of you that might not know, that I have a band of misfits living upstairs in my seldomly used for thinking f***king brain of mine, Jose is a new addition he loves smoking a little weed to calm him down and hey a little second hand smoke don't do me no harm baby).
          As I try to get back to my original story, please stay sharpe because you never know when one of them damn misfits or a brain fart from an old man like me will cause me to get side tracked into a temperal or temporary, damn I hate when I watch Star Trek and them Aliens plant some new words into my tiny huu-man brain.
           Benny loves the sound of his own voice, I figure when he was a wee baby his momma mus-ta sat him in front of the T. V. and left him for a few years and all that non-stop chattering, woo-wee can you just imagine what 2 years worth of the cartoon network would do to ya!!! Gives me the he-bee-gee-bees just thinking about it. So Benny is a talker for sure and he is a worker for sure. So even if it is colder than a witches titty outside (can I say that).

"Why @#&* yeah it is your damn blog you stupid Gringo" says Jose.

          You see what I have to put up with, even when I try to relax and do some writing. Now back to Benny. He loves to wear hats even if it's 90 degrees outside, in the shade. Oh Benny loves his camouflage hat. Soo let me recap a tad, Benny is a good-ol-boy who wears sleeveless shirts and shorts all year long, wears a camouflage hat, spends as mush time pulling his britches up as he works and talks. You cannot help but like Benny because life is one gigantic playground filled with toys and he ask you, are you having fun? Why not life is his toy box and that is how he views it, he is having fuuun. He is having more fun than a barrel of monkeys!

"What the hell is that suppose to be funny or something a barrel of monkeys, you been into my stash of Tijuana Gold or what"? adds Jose.

MAYBE FROM TIME TO TIME I'LL WRITE MORE ABOUT BENNY AND THE NUTS. WHAT DO YOU EXPECT HERE ON GLENVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!             

Thursday, February 24, 2011


          Another feature of Main Street that cannot be overlooked was the vastly similar yet different Service Stations. I cannot remember the names of them, there was so many. You would pull into the lot and run over a rubber type hose that signaled the attendants. Immediately someone dressed in a uniform would be there before you turned your Chevrolet off. He would say, yes sir filler up, check your oil. While he was putting gasoline in your faithful old 51 Chevy that you just came into town from deep into the countryside where only gravel roads existed. This smiling neatly groomed man in uniform would clean your windshield so you could clearly see the big town. I kid you not, once upon a time gasoline retailers fought over your business. They would have promotions and give away free goodies like glasses and such. Them there Service Stations would even check the air in your tires for free! Uh Huh them crazy S. O. B's actually wanted and fought over you for your 10 gallons of gas at 20 cents a gallon.They would hand wash your car of course they charged for that. They would fix a flat tire for you. Them fellas would tune your old Chevy up to purr like a kitten. Instead of that old 235 cubic inch six cylinder running sickly them there engine wizards would put new points and plugs, throw a new air filter, time that baby and adjust the carburetor so that your return trip into the boondacks had you sliding like you was running the Daytona 500 on the ocean side like they first did many many moons ago. That old dust covered bucket of rust became a smooth running mean machine or at least until Grandma smacked you side the head and said straighten up boy, you made me spill my coca-cola all over myself and you know, you don't want Grandma mad because you won't get no homemade dumplings for Sunday dinner.
          I know it is hard to imagine times like this but this type of Service Stations once existed, before giving way to what became Filling Stations and somewhere along the line gave way to what we call today, Convenience Stores. What the hell is convenient about them? You pump your own gas if you can get Big Bertha to turn your damn pump on for you. You hear a voice squawking something unintelligible over the squawk box. You don't know or care what was said, finally your pump is turned on as your freezing your ass off pumping over 3 $'s a gallon gasoline. You decide to clean your windshield, there is no window cleaner in the plastic bucket hanging lopsided on the pole, no paper towels, no squeege. You are thinking to yourself, what do they expect me to wipe my windshield off, with my frozen ass! You put 80 $'s of gas in your SUV and walk in to pay. There is 10 people in line waiting and Bertha is talking on her cell phone. You are frozen and have the fun of paying all of your weekly allowance on gas. You are thinking I am going to tell that Bitch what I thunk of her Convenient Store. As you wait 20 minutes in line your ready for Big Bertha but as you inch closer you see tattoos and writing etched on her knuckles from her time spent in prison. You can't read the message on her fingers and you have now changed your mind about doing anything except for paying for your gas and getting the #@%& out of there. You finally get close to Big Bertha and you gladly hand her your 80 $'s and tell her to have a nice day. You run to your SUV where you are safe and glad to be alive thinking to yourself I won't have to go through that again until next week! AH! HA! HA! HA! HOPED YOU ENJOYED MY LITTLE BLAST FROM THE PAST AND MY SCARY CONVENIENT STORE STORY. I BID YOU ADIEU UNTIL NEXT TIME.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


          Once upon a time in the heartland of the good old U. S. of A. Main Street was the thrill, the heart of any community. Family owned and operated stores with flashing neon lights and appealing store fronts with immaculate windows giving a tiny glimpse of their amazing products. Made you want to go in and browse. There was an old fashion Drug store with a real soda fountain and a bar with them rolling round seats that children loved to roll around on and make themselves dizzy as they wait for their hand made milkshake, banana split or freshly concocted coca-cola with a shot of lemon or cherry. It would be made by someone dressed in white called a jerk, "a soda jerk". Wow! those were the days my friends and I wish they had never ended! (Today's Drug stores seem so cold and the drugs, all the new modern drugs that promise to fix every ailment and keep you coming back to buy more.) It is at one of those old fashion family owned Drug stores that I purchased my first AM transistor radio with an earpiece so that I would not bother my parents, wow! was I thrilled. I would listen to it under the covers at night and no one knew. I could put the radio in my shirt pocket and felt like one cool little dude at the age of 12. 
          Each and every store had its own unique appeal and was an individual pleasure shopping. Guess what a shoe store sold? yep! you guessed it, shoes. (I rememder each time I went  to the shoe store there was this gigantic shoe on display, I would just imagine the giant that would wear it, you know how the imagination of a child can is). A whole store with nothing but shoes, you ain't heard the best part. You would sit down in chairs and they would have sales people working on commission, now hear this (sorry now read this) would slip the shoes on your feet for you, whoa can you imagine that in todays world of serve yourself! This was called customer service, a lost art. What do you think a Hardware store sold, yep your right, hardware. They employed helpful and knowledgeable people who understood the hardware business. You could take in some du-ja-ma-thing, something you had no idea of what it was called and them smart helpful hardware people could fix you right up.
          My personal favorite was Murphy's 5 & 10, (called five and dime). I reckon at one time they actually sold stuff for a nickel and a dime. The basement was toys and clothing. Upstairs was a hodgepodge of everything and as you walked around looking the squeaky old floors seemed to talk to you with every step. (The squeaking of the old time floors in the old building gives an uniqueness not experienced on the cold cement slabs today). As you first walk into the five and dime there was a square counter chocked full with candy and all kinds of heaven's delightful most precious chocolates laying unboxed for you to buy any amount you wished and weighed on one of them old fashion hanging scales. It would be a kids dream to work behint that counter and stuff yourself full um-um-um!!!
          The 5 & 10 was tiny compared to the acres and acres of the stores now. You could take all the stores on Main Street and put them in one of them super-duper stores of today. (They just get bigger and bigger, if they continue the city will be inside the Mega-Store-Super-Duper-Metropolis, our motto, work here, sleep here, buy here). Now ain't that a nightmare sheesh!I won't dream of nothing else for a week. 
          So you take all of thase magical, friendly, heplful stores from a thriving Main Street and build yourself a suburbia utopia. Main Street becomes a ghost street, with out the business's down town looks like a home for vagrants. The once beautiful uniquely appealing structures disintegrate. The once proud buildings have fell out of favor in today's society.
          After many years of neglect, wise mayors and civic leaders say let's bring businesse's back down town. A 20 year proposal is drawn up to re do the heart of the city. Let's spend millions of tax payer dollars to remake Main Street what it once was. A wonderful place to gather, have fun, a new thriving proud place once again.    
          Seems what was once too old to mess with is new once more. Hotels, Convention Center. Parking garages are now needed with the overflow expected. The heart of the community is shocked back from its demise with new money, new ideas but using the old flavor that once made Main Street thrive. Brought back from extinction, to faithfully serve a new agenda, the once old, now new again cornerstone of a new generation is the old still solid and useful courthouse as was prevalent in all communities at one time.  


          Conscience is all encompassing and a threat to our very soul. How so? We cannot go against our inner beliefs, no matter how hard we try. They have been engrained into us as surely as rings in a tree. It weighs on our heart and is permanently marked. We cannot function without being truthful.
          I think an early act of conscience might be something like pouring you and your sibling a glass of milk and you put a tad more in one glass. Childishness or greed would be taking the tad more for oneself. Conscience would give the fuller glass to your sibling. You just do the right thing.
          Let's bring it up yo an adult situation. You see a woman standing on a street corner with a sign asking for help. Your inner voice kicks in and you feel an uneasiness in the bottom of your stomach. Your first instinctive reaction most likely is compassion. Conscience comes after compassion, as you're waiting at the stoplight for the light to turn green, your mind flashes hunger, kids, no place to stay, hopeless and you try placing yourself in her shoes and feel what she must feel. That would be begging on a street corner. How terribly sad! Your conscience immediatly floods your mind to please help her. As you leave the stoplight and no longer can see the poor unfortunate soul you console yourself by thinking what if she is just a meth head begging for more meth to further end her existence. Your conscience has reacted twice in this situation by first asking what if I was in her shoes and then rationalizing it out in such a way to remove guilt by not helping her.
          Many years ago as part of my job I would have to visit an area of a large city where the bums or beggars frequented. They walked the neighborhood and asked for handouts. I was new to this type of behavior and was took-a-back at it. I saw Lincolns and BMW's and beggars walking the streets asking for change for food. In the beginning I would give them something, was it pity or conscience? I was advised by the business to ignore them and not to give them anything. At first I thought how cruel! My conscience felt for them, it was literally a way of life for alcoholics and people with mental problems. It tends to toughen your heart for ones that might need a helping hand. Your conscience never leaves you even as you try to tune them out. I cannot imagine life without a conscience, can you?          

Sunday, February 20, 2011


Why must I feel sad with life? Why must I wake up blue? My first thoughts, just another day! While dreaming I ride the currents of the winds and soar to new heights. I'm free, I ride tall, never fearing, never failing. My problems, the earth itself, looks so different, so small. Sailing high above the clouds, I wish to remain forever, to never fail, to never fall, high above all.  

I wake up each morn only to to feel sadness creeping into my heart, permeating into my very soul. Sad as another day begins, another day of heartaches another day of pain. As I get upset and lose pieces of my life, at my own expense. Why was I born, to live life this way? I feel animosity that gives way to compassion; however no matter how short a time the animosity exists my life shortens a wee bit! Why lose a bit of life this way! It is the uncaring attitudes and emotions that place shackles around my very soul and arrows through my heart, that hurt me so!

I'd rather not sense others pain, why me, why can't I refain? I tire of playing life's painful game. The game resets itself over and over again, what do I gain? My gain is one shovel deeper to my own demise.

Seems salvation comes near the last chapter of my life, possibly extending an old man's time here on earth, now thankfully! A new passion of life no matter how late, would be a passion too late, if I could not  appreciate. Not so, as an old man tries to capture life to be put into words, a new beginning with a new ending. My goal as I feel reborn, with passion toward the end of life, to breathe in new air, at given a chance of expression never conceived of before. To write my dream of dreams to share with you. My dream is to dream of life as I wish it could only be sooo!!!

Saturday, February 19, 2011


          We the "Wonderers" of the world! Yes! Us the ones that wonder about everything. As of this moment I am wondering if all the Social Security taxes I have paid in will be of any value to me. I have paid my share for over 40 years of working faithfully and never questioning that this money was serving a respectable purpose for the elderly and the disabled individuals that deserved my help via my money. I am know wondering a lot. Maybe it's just age getting to me, since I'm not as physically fit and able to do the things I once took for granted. Perhaps I have too much time to think since I do not find the television entertaining and all news seems controlled by T. P. T. B. The moving acceptance speech of President O'bama gave way to the reality of the worlds insurmountable problems.
          As I become handicapped from too many changing seasons. "MY" money, the unbelievable amount of $'s, I have invested from a lifetime of blood, sweat and painful tears. We the baby boomers that have financed the world with are hard earned dollars and loyalty measured in wars with arms, legs, lives. We have paid and paid.
          We grew up patriotic with instilled values as we're taught about our founding fathers.Work hard, do the right thing. We did do, what we thought was the right thing. Where has it got us! We naively believed the system wasn't broke as we prospered.
          Somewhere along the line the average hard working raise our family live and let live mentality was sucker punched by every minority group that begin controlling us the working class men and women. (Seems the tail began wagging the dog). We, that have always been the backbone of society the very seeds of life have been screwed our rights no longer matter!!!
          We have financed every minority group into the new norm of today. "ILLEGAL" aliens have more rights than a hard working family man and woman. Sheesh! makes my skin crawl. My latest and current outrage is develpomental disadvantaged, now what is the correct wording for wackos, imbeciles, today oh yeah challenged. Shit! we the average pillars of society have been challended our whole life. So now we must stand aside and let the new generation of genetically dummied down nincapoops take our jobs.
          What frost my balls is the government giving handouts (our fricking money) to companies to hire the challenged. There was no handouts given to the wonders (the men and women that made it possible) for the challenged, whatevers of today!!!        

Friday, February 18, 2011


Once upon a time there was a man who dreamed so much. How much? He dreamed so much reality and dream world started overlapping and he could not separate them. He was no longer aware of what was real and a dream. His dream state was fuller, more interesting, more colorful, more of everything. If he thought of something it became real or was it in a dream? He was missing work all he wanted to do was sleep. It consumes him, nothing in the daily grind called life entertained him. Movies were bland whether on T. V. or the movie screen. He had lost touch with the real world, he was losing weight his face was pale and eyes sunken. He lost his job, he was helpless and hopeless.
          Sleeping pills no longer work he was unable to sleep. He sat down in a chair after weeks of only momentarily naps no longer able to dream. No longer able to function as a human being he sat down in a chair to wither into nothingness.
          How long he set in the wooden rocker he did not know. He tried moving his hand, nothing happened, he tried moving his leg, nothing. He could not feel anything, no cold no warmth, no heartbeat. He could not will his eyes to blink. The only sense of surroundings was a movie screen that was blank just like in a theatre before a movie, dark with only a faint hint of a white wall to wall screen visible right in front of him.
          He felt nothing inside, no bodily form. He had become the chair in a movie house, an old time wooden chair.
          The screen comes to life. He was reliving the shock of being born, pushed from his mother to coldness, to sounds he could not understand. Movement, pain, noise.
          Every pain, every unsavory emotion, every bad word ever spoken to him was heard and felt. It starts at birth and ends at the time he sat down in the chair to die. It replays over and over, he could not stop it.
          He did not exist, he existed only as the frames of his life flashed by slower and slower. He holds no sense of time. Only repeats of his lifetime of painful moments that never stop. This was to be his punishment for abuse of a simple pleasure.
         The frames on the screen stopped, darkness, only darkness. It was to be darkness forever an emptiness of nothingness. Why not end? Many lifetimes of pain was relived, why eternal darkness, even the pains of life was better than darkness.
          The screen slowly comes to life frame by frame until real speed, real time begins. But now it's different, you see life as it was. The goodness as well as the pains of life. However the highs are higher than you remember them. The spirit of Christmas was fresher, brighter fuller. The taste of turkey on Thanksgiving was wonderfully savory. Pumpkin pie was out of this world. Colors of flowers was euphoric. The dog licking your hand was so real. Babies are a bundle of cuteness to be held and shared. Love well love was off the charts unmeasurable. Family, full of love for you. Friends, ah friends. Work, what is work? Work is the way to exist that makes everything else achievable!
          You think, what was it about life that I found so hard that I needed to escape from? If only!!! The magic thought. You awake to find yourself able to wiggle your toes, to run your hand over your face, you feel your heartbeat. You shut your alarm clock off and jump into the shower and sing with all the happiness you feel. Ain't life grand!!!         

Thursday, February 17, 2011


A week ago it was 0 degrees, how much more can I stand?

There's times I feel, I might die!

Today is warm and sunny with a southern breeze.

Please continue, I plead!

I visualize beautiful Easter Lillies in my mind.

Robins appearing from wintering in the woods.

Soon nest to build for life to renew.

Little ones give me a springtime thrill.

The essence of life, so lovely, so real.

Precious newborn calves and long legged colts.

Feels so right, shedding winters might. 

The cold, the darkness, I wish to stay snug in my bed!

To dream of bunnies dancing in my head.

I cannot wait for the flowers to awaken from the dead.

Smells, colors, so vibrant of life.

A rainbow, after a warm cleansing spring rain.

Washes away winter's remaining frame.

Springtime, overrated, if not for winter's everlasting cold, dark, dreary nights.

From agony to ecstasy.

From dark, into the light.

Nothing like springtime to make one feel alright!!!


Tuesday, February 15, 2011


The gloom of the nighttime darkness stretches into the daytime light. The sunshine cannot penetrate the invincible shadow of gloom. An ever present shadow inside. No precious vitamins to soothe my soul. Why does darkness prevail? I despise the darkness of winter, I wish to inhale the sweetness of flowers, the smell of newly mowed grass, the gentle wind spreading warmth over my body and into my waiting spirit. The tide of another spring with birds chirping their delight of fresh worms from the rejuvenating spring rain. The trees opening up their beautiful budding limbs stretching to the enjoyment of springtime.

If only I was a bear waking up after a long winters nap. The winters nap is to protect me from the gloom of winter. Sleep through the cold north westerly wind and snow to awake at the proper time. Yes in my next life I wish to be a bear.  

Saturday, February 12, 2011


I have always been fascinated with Trains. My Grandpa worked for the railroads for 40 years. He told me stories that interest me further. Of course there were many more trains years ago. The peak for trains was probably mid 1900’s. I watch intently as we would wait at the railroad crossings. Drivers of automobiles would get upset but not me. I learned numbers by counting the cars that big powerful diesel locomotive pulled. I loved the rocking motion the individual cars made and the clickety clack sound as they slowly rolled along. At nighttime as you drove across the tracks, if there was a train near the crossing the gigantic powerful eye of the mighty train reminded me of a dinosaur coming to devour a little boy, the loud horn would sound saying I’m coming to eat you little one.
                I love to hear the far away horn sound, I find it to be a warm comforting glow in my heart because I smile and think of my grandpa. He always wore an Engineers hat so momentarily I see a vision of grandpa and my childhood imagination.
Once upon a time in this city where I grew up in, trains crisscrossed into the heart right across main street as I ‘m sure they once did everywhere. Now they skim the outskirts like an unwanted nuisance.
Before President Eisenhower committed us to superhighways everything was shipped via railroad. The superhighways slowly eroded the railroads to a mere fraction today.
The railroad was the connecting link to the rest of the world even to the smallest communities. The big iron horse may not stop or even slow down but would drop off the mail and pick up the mail with a unique hooking system. So slowly the railroad industry withers and the trucking industry takes off and blossoms.
Seems ironic, shipping by trains had to be a fraction of the pollution and more cost effective than millions of semi-trucks spewing pollution. In addition the mass transit of people, instead of individual gas guzzling smog producing automobiles. But it seems our new world demands everything immediately the hell with anything else. Who cares about scaring the planet that gives us life, we as uncivilized morons released hundreds of millions of gallons of crude into Gulf of Mexico. Is that acceptable behavior? Who cares we have destroyed some life forever; that’s the price of progress right!
So with the life of one type of economical adventure gives way to another. We now have fast food with drive up windows. Motels, shopping centers, convenience stores and them damn big box stores with everything under one roof a modern version, of the wonders of the world. Damn where did people buy before.
Do you reckon it was the middle of the community called main street U. S. A. where you would park your car and walk to a real shoe store, hardware store, bakery, jeweler and such. Now you can go to one store and fill up a shopping cart where nothing is made in AMERICA! PROGRESS MY ASS. DESIGNED BY THE POWERS THAT BE TO MAKE MONEY AND BECOME A ONE WORLD GOVERNMENT BUT THAT’S ANOTHER STORY.  

Friday, February 11, 2011

DIARY 2/11/2011

          The word for today is "Opine" I was looking up the word opinion in the dictionary and must say didn't particularly like the explaination Mr. Webster gives so I was browsing above and below opinion. Above opinion is opine, to express an opinion. I lik-a that word. I have never been shy about expressing my opinion. I love opining. It does not mean I know anything but if I think it, I want to say it or sorry folks write it. It don't cost a dime and still is one of the things not taxed. Of course no one gives a rats ass about my opinion. You know the old saying "an opinion is like an asshole, everyones got one". (Sorry it's my attempt to be funny at the end of a long cold ass, windy ass day).

          I found opiate above opine wow don't that o-pin-on up a whole other can of worms to opine on. When I see the word opiate = opium = Afghanistan = poppy seeds. Ooops! hold on a dang second. I am from the seed of my Poppy (you know slang for your father) I am confusing myself. That don't appear to be anything new per what I read about Afghanistan. Seems any foreign invaders have gave up and left Afghanistan, well hell yeah. Everyone gets #$*&ed up on opium. Them poppy seeds must pack a whallop!
          Why don't Pharmas sell them little poppy seeds as poppy pills. The hell with developing them unsafe and untested new meds to screw your head up. Why not sell the all natural time tested soothing drug that is grown in Afghanistan. Hell yeah! get all them soldier boys and all them terroist on opium and let them sooth and chill out. Bring all politicians and terrorist from around the globe and have an old fashion Chinese festival. It's no wonder they love Dragons. You get #&*@ed up on opium and all of them little problems in the world go away. You would be to worried seeing them Dragons to give a hoot.    

Thursday, February 10, 2011

DIARY 2/10/2011

          Yikes, it's colder than yesterday. The word for today is "redneck". Remember yesterday, well the dude, the crazy let's call him Mr. Freeze wore in a sleeveless shirt and get this, drum roll please. Shorts, well maybe long shorts, I don't know what they call the crap today. Maybe the way to explain is if-fin he pulled up his knee hanging low ass britches he would then have shorts, but the way he wore his shorts they hung half way between the knee and ankle. Just think Mr. Freeze . Imagine this scenario, he goes outside like yesterday and a big ol north westerly wind blew up his shorts all the way up to his what-cha- ma-call-it, woo-wee makes mine shiver just writing this.


"I GOT SOMETHING I'LL USE TO MUFFLE HER BIG MOUTH WITH IF YOU WANT ME TO" SAYS FELLOW BROTHER JOE PESKY. (Well thanks Joe I believe everyones imagination can figure out what you are willing to muffle her with.

          You understand I don't go looking for unintelligent life, it's just always there where ever I go! Apparently I'm like the light to the moth. I'm a magnet to the ments (mental ones). Who knows maybe it takes one to see one! Are they everywhere, you bet-cha. I try to steer clear, but no they always find me. Just as I have a numerous supply of dim witted mentally disabled disorderly dum asses in my penthouse that once housed my brain. (A new resident I call him Ti-Chi has been speaking I assume is Japanese, I don't understand a damn thing).

          Tomorrow I'll try to write something brainy But as you can probably tell mine went into a deep freeze a long time ago. AH-ha--ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


          SHEESH let's examine the day, my word for today is "COLD". I'm shivering, everybody's cold except one dum-ass who goes outside in a short sleeve shirt for about 5 minutes. I'm thinking (#$&*ing idiot).

          Another stinking winter day my mind wants July 4 and 88 degrees, I'm seeing visions of tan curvy bodies. I open the door, the cold north wind hits me squarely in the face I'm thinking (#&**ing winter). I go to work a half hour early & read the paper before the start of my shift.

"Did I hear you correctly, I believe I did since I live in your head but I want you to confirm you fricking moron what kind of a nin-ca-poop goes to work early" ask Joe Pesky.

          I do, I reply (and yes I know I am talking to myself, not out loud but inside so what I do inside my cranium ain-na hurting noo-body, is it!!! Okay, okay, okay, shit, the little #@&*er has me doing it). The reason I go to work a half hour early is to drink caffeine and gear up for the W word "work" I'm an old man and don't accelerate from 0 to 60 like I used to!    

Tuesday, February 8, 2011


I have always been an observer. To this day I believe I can learn more about someone through observation than listening to them. (Well I’m hard of hearing and that might account some for the not completely listening to them) Ha, ha! (Sorry the devil made me write that). I believe this served me well when I was a supervisor.
                As a young boy I observed my grandfather’s hobby of gardening. This was his way of relaxing; one with the earth. My grandfather raised a big garden and sold his produce I would go door to door in my neighborhood selling. He gave me a nickel for every quarter I sold. I developed regular yearly customers. I also mowed their grass and shoveled their walks during snow, (Quite a little entrepreneur at age of 12).
                My grandfather and I were very close. His large garden was just one house away from where we lived, so every evening and Saturdays in the spring and summer we would be at the garden or just sitting on the back of his big old Buick. I am named after him and share his fate of hearing loss. I like him enjoy simple pleasures.
                I’m sorry it was my intent to write something funny per the title but I have found myself reminiscing and turned serious.
                Back to my original point, what the hell was it. You know as you age you lose brain cells and I ain’t never had enough to begin with and I just found out I am anemic so them little red blood cell critters ain’t getting enough oxygen. Shit I betcha that has been the problem all my life and it has taken them there Doctors 59 years to figure it out. Whew wee, ain’t they smart. The best part old Glen Bob View dude don’t just have one of them there anemic thing-a-ma-bobs he has two of them critters. How so you ask. Well since I heard you ask I am-ma gon-na tell ya. (By the way don’t worry about my slang and misspelled words, I am such a bad typist/speller, I always have red underlines in my writings. Any how I have a chronic anemia and iron deficient anemia. You reckon if I take two enemas and call my Doctor in the morning I will be better. (SORRY MY ATTEMPT AT AN OFF COLOR JOKE). Well you might not find it funny but I did!
                Again I have forgotten my point oh well it doesn’t matter with my writing. Observation has made me the individual I am and has been a double edged sword. Although it served me well in my management years in picking up on a lot of things that go unnoticed. I would use my little observations to help train and separate the men from the boys and so to be politically correct to separate the women from the girls.

“You bet your lard ass you better include us females. You men wouldn’t be worth the Kleenex to clear your brains out without us women.” That irritating inner voice would be Suzy Smart Assy. You can always count on Suzy to give more than her two cents worth.
“Okay! Okay! Okay, you are allowing yourself to be sidetracked once more, whats-a-matter you feeling a turd moving through your lower intestine”. That would be Joe Pesky sounding off inside my head.
             Damn just when I thought I was going to catch that pesky little misfit in my head sleeping, so I could write one damn story without his peskified annoying okay, okay, okay . But nooo! It, ain’t a-gonna happen. I betcha Suzy and him are in cahoots to take over my brain. There is not going to be a “mutiny in my body”. (Sounds a bit like Mutiny on the Bounty, don’t it).
Keen observation helped me in management; it encumbers me in my old age. I wish that I could block out the incompetence that is visible in my every day environment, it only raises my blood pressure. That’s why I have a large Aorta I bet-cha.  Any-who! What makes you who you are also can break you unfortunately. It’s awfully hard to break old habits. When you are taught one way that works it is hard to look the other way. Must I become like ones I disapprove of to survive; I will try.

Monday, February 7, 2011


You could call then “Energy Vampires”. I’m sure you know someone like this. Imagine you’re at a party where everyone appears to be having an extremely good time. The good time is not necessarily from the alcohol but the vibe of the party is just everywhere. The rental band seems to even be in tune and have smoked just the right amount of “smoke” to be on top of their game. It’s one of them, man am I ever glad I didn’t miss this party even, your redneck cousin Jimmy Joe Bob is hitting on a woman and she is not running for her life to get away from the crazy asshole. (When he walked into the door you were thinking to yourself tell me he didn’t wear his camouflage pants and fish hook hat). The women look fine, free drinks and good snacks you’re thinking nothing is going to kill this party. You’re planning on a long night of socializing, having fun!
                The party is smoking the band is on break everything is still alive and in walks Elmer Killer Dud. You are thinking what simple headed moron invited the energy killing vampire himself. Instead of the life of the party he is about to screw it up. (You are thinking out loud and I can hear you saying, how can one person destroy a great party). There are individuals that bring death, destruction, terror, okay, okay, okay I might be overstating somewhat!
“No fricking way you are overstating about this guy with his obnoxious whiney voice and whiney talk and whiney mentality in general. Just look at the simple minded fluff head bringing the hair from his cat Hairball, can’t you see the white hair on his black shirt, sheesh he has already killed the party look at the people look at him and shake their head. You think anyone is going to put their hand in the chips and dip after Mr. Dud walks by with cat hair blowing in the wind behind him. There ain’t no way Jose” says Joe Pesky. (That is my favorite smart ass talking character in my brain).
                The band comes back from break they are off key out of tune and they now suck. Your cousin Jimmy Joe Bob has just been kicked in the nuts by your home coming Queen 15 th runner up. The fine looking women have aged 20 years since you last looked. You look at your beer and realize it is Pabst Blue Ribbon light instead of Budweiser the king of beers. You are feeling something at the bottom of your gut that tells you the chip dip was past its prime and you are headed for the bathroom the rest of the night. So instead of scoring you end up s###ting you guts out all because of the dreaded “Energy Vampire” dude who’s name is Elmer Killer Dud.
                We all have worked or come in contact with an individual that destroys our good moods, never gets the punch line to the simplest jokes, literally wreak havoc wherever they walk. At Sunday school your Pastor must say an extra prayer after shaking their hand or makes him question his occupation.
Another type of energy vampire is someone who always seems to have more problems than anyone else and make such a big deal out of everything they do both in their working life and their personal life.  Whether they do or not is not the problem, they simply have to tell everyone all about it every day and you want to tell them. What actually makes you think I give a rats ass! (You thought I was going to use the F WORD DIDN’T YA)!

Sunday, February 6, 2011


I have always been fascinated by those big massive wooden structures you cannot help but notice as you drive through farmland. So many different sizes and shapes; majestic with a down home cathedral like look to some because of their sheer size. They appear on the horizon, Americana castles that show we the people create our own destiny. Instead of holding royalty they held life and everything needed to sustain it. Nothing spells America’s individual freedom better.
                The barn was the centerpiece of the old fashion farms. In the mighty barn was stored your most valued treasures. Your work horses, their harness and all equipment needed to run the farm. Your livestock to refresh life every spring, hay, feed etc. It is your workshop. Most everything was trusted to the barn.
                I remember as a youngun seeing a most unusual barn. It was a round barn. I was fascinated and still am to this day. I have viewed but a few like it in my lifetime. Sadly this unusual old barn was torn down for a highway project. This was before the city I live in became interested in saving unique architecture. If that project was today that old round barn would have been salvaged.
                Barns of my youth also had another important feature. Advertisers would rent barns along state highways. You would be directed to tourist destinations or the Marlboro man would entice you to try his brand of smokes and on and on. There are very few of these barn/billboards left. I’m getting goose bumps just reminiscing of a different era.
                As a child growing up in a small community, a drive into the country was exciting. Seems every farm of my youth had livestock. There were many more family farms back then. Today you see subdivisions, malls and individual homeowners with a few acres and two Toyotas, instead of family homesteads of a few hundred acres. Smack dab in the middle was the country high rise, the trusty weather beaten barn made up of the finest hand hewn oak with a rooster weathervane on top. You most assuredly would also witness a wind mill turning, harnessing the power of the wind to pump water. Now that I ponder on this, they were definitely more eco friendlier than we are today. So you have water and the barn, the necessities of life.
                You want to talk about hard work and work ethics. The family farm represents to me what America used to be all about. Self-sufficient hard working individuals that wish to be free to raise their children to run the family farm generation after generation. Creating and growing new lives and crops year after year. Working hard, sleeping well.
                At the center of the farm was the heart and soul of any farm, solid foundation and solid structure to weather obstacles with little glory. Sounds an awful lot like mothers don’t it. Huuum!!!
                                                                                                                          Farmer Glen

Thursday, February 3, 2011


The definition of jealousy is, resentfully suspicious of rivalry or resentfully envious. It is a frailty that creates havoc, a lot I suspect. As bad as I hate to admit it I realize that a certain untamed emotion has been gnawing away at me for quite some time. Jealousy is normal in childhood, right. However I’m not sure growing older changes that emotion. As we age do we use excuses to disguise jealousy because we do not wish to admit it, I don’t admit to jealousy easily. It literally hit me like a ton of bricks. While watching the young ones where I am employed, I truly realized I am growing old. In the yearly countdown I’m not ancient as in the pyramids but thinking back to when I was let’s say 20 years old. I’m rather positive I would have considered 59 “old”.
                Mentally I should act my age, yeah right! like age grows wisdom for certain emotions. Jealous at which those young bodies can perform with apparent ease like I once could. My body creaks and groans and I must double up on Aleve to get through my day. They simply stop in their tracks to tie their shoes. (I must look for something off the floor to prop my leg up to tie my shoes). I resort to my mind and my experience to tell myself I’m a fine wine getting better with age, yeah, sure who the hell do I think I’m fooling, I’m fricking old!
                As I witness their youthful thirst and the freshness of life I cry out! Amazing childlike innocence still prevails, man am I seriously jealously disturbed!!!
Professor Phil an inner voice reminds me “you have the wisdom acquired through age”.
(I bet you can guess my answer). “The hell with wisdom, I’ll take youthful exuberance, youthful naivete any day.
I have been jealous all my life but try to hide it, instead of having an outlet to release the inner demands of destruction, in my case high blood pressure. That I ‘m sure has lead to my current dilemma physically, an enlarged Aorta. I have asked my physician many times to prescribe a nerve pill to take during working hours. Who knows me better than me? Apparently years of medical school trump my inner understanding of myself. I bet-cha he will prescribe them suckers now! Seems a case of “too little too late”. I think, no I know my father died from the demons of self- inflicted inner stress. UNFORTUNATELY THERE IS NO DOUBT. After 59 years of being in my body who would know me better.
                Blame, I reckon there is no one to really blame. That’s just another meaningless emotion. If I blame someone or something that just fuels the flame, doesn’t it! One thing is “deathly” certain I now recognize the problem. But can one overcome self- inflicted life threatening bad habits and start over at my age.
                I write this with an air of certainty but only because of my new hobby of writing and new found self- diagnosis. Ain’t that a hoot! Maybe some wisdom does come with age if you live long enough. If I can recapture my humor plus have you out there in the Blogosphere read my stories and perspectives. Shucks I don’t know what to call my meandering neanderthal untrained style of simple humor and ramblings. If it salvages an old man and brings a laugh or smile I am tickled plum to death.
                Human frailties are inevitable. If you think not, you haven’t suffered or as yet recognized them. Tormented souls most certainly can overcome adversities and learn to appreciate life anew. Perhaps there lies the ultimate reward. One could never appreciate the everyday pleasures that await your enjoyment that have always existed.  THANK YOU FOR TUNING IN, YA’ALL COME BACK NOW YA HEAR. Glen  

Wednesday, February 2, 2011


          I seem to be stuck in a slump recently. My mind is in a dark zone. I'm trying to break free by writing. I prefer writing humor, but gosh darn it, life is not always funny.

          I love when I am in a good mood, life and writing fulfills me. ( It's also much better for my heart ).

          When I lean to the dark side my mind develops cobwebs. I do not like it when spiders are building cobwebs it tends to short circuit my synapses.

"What the hell is a synapse" ask Joe Pesky. You have been around too many of them damn shrinks, they have been @#$&ing with your mind" Joe further adds.

"Actually I'm not sure, it has something to do with the brain functioning properly and old Glen needs his brain functioning as proper as it can get" I reply.

          There hasn't been a spider man movie in awhile quite possibly he is taking an hiatus inside my head. He's probably feels right at home with the characters that homestead my unused space.

          When my mind goes dark the most trivial events seem to grow roots. I have a tendency to over-react to simple emotions, they seem to grow as I continually rehash them growing until I am able to cast them devils out. My mind goes into alert mode and I find myself regressing to childhood insecurity. No matter how old you are unwanted flashbacks seem to always win. The dark side prevails.

"In other words my boy you are screwed up" says the old ####er himself Fartman.

"Alright I'm screwed up enough without all you dum-asses upstairs adding your two cents worth" I reply.

"Oh my God I'm talking to myself about myself and letting all my voices upstairs get to me. I must need more help than I thought" I answer to myself. Maybe the drug traffickers, I mean drug manufacturers have a new drug on the horizon they might let me sample that will give me more problems than I already have. I could use some new characters in my repertoire.

          Stress and illness move me to the dark side. It is during these times I do not remember my dreams. I love remembering my dreams because they are usually enlightening and intense and almost always good. They appear to positively charge my mental batteries and Glen needs all his batteries at maximum strength.

          About a month ago I was having a breathtaking dream and I was flying. I would leap into the air and sprout wings. I could hear them flapping as I soared effortlessly to any height. I ride the wind, it was absolutely amazing and I wake up with the same feeling. ( It does not get any better than the euphoric feeling I had ).      THANK YOU FOR TUNING INTO GLEN VIEW.


Tuesday, February 1, 2011


          I want off, I grow tired of the demands in life. Why have I been sentenced to life for crimes I did not commit? I'm innocent!!! It seems every day makes me more tired and harder for me to just barely survive. I can handle my body as it slowly withers. My soul cries stop. The simple pleasures have been replaced by burdens I no longer wish to carry. Am I to deteriorate to a mindless clump of nothing? It would seem more humane to turn in early, than become this.  

          I die, slowly but surely as I watch the anointed brethren reap rewards never within my grasp. I grow tired of one foot forward followed by two steps backwards. Why I even try to walk the line, I'm not sure. I grow tired of seeing undeserving ones bestowed praise of glory. Have I not paid my dues to society? I receive no praise only pain, suffering, torment, the likes of which "others" do not experience. Why me? Why must I carry a chain around my heart that I don't deserve. I have fought all the battles gallantly and not scarred another soul, yet why do I feel as I've failed? Absolutely nothing has been given to me, while I have seen others handed the proverbial "silver spoon". I have not defaced the "golden rules". Why do I mentally suffer so?

          My only wish is to live my life freely by simply being "ME". I wish no one any harm. Others are free to be themselves. Was I cursed at birth with another one's soul, not meant for me? It seems I am paying for someone else's crime. I wish only for my mind and spirit to travel free. Please if not in this life but the next. Age grinds the grime of others deeper into my heart. What I once did not know I cannot fix. Poor unfortunate souls suffer enough. Why must I know of a dastardly deed I cannot mend. By tormenting me it serves no purpose. I am only another to torture slowly.

          I harm no one. I'm forced into reclusion to protect what little I have left. Hide from the harsh realities of an unforgiving world. Ones that make me carry pain and suffering, I never asked to be part of. 

          The chosen reap rewards. I ask for just a small part, a minute amount to finish my remaining years with peace. Is that too much to ask for a tired soul? And out of the way in a corner of my very own. I have no wish for the limelight, only to be acknowledged as an individual who carries his load valiantly. I have made mistakes but carry my head high until the day I die. Please stop. I wish to get off the merry-go-round!!!