All Hallows Eve

All the costumed dandies

looking for some candies,

are crowding the scene

this Halloween.

All the kids want treats and snacks

but I’d rather dole out heart attacks.

I think you should get a scare

when into the night you dare.

There are monsters and ghouls

willing to frighten you from your shoes.

They’ll swallow you whole

And to hell, drag your soul.

Those rattling noises outside the window

is something escaped from hell’s side show

That thumping and creaking in the hall

is something from heaven that did fall.

That creepy house on the corner

is visited by a ghostly mourner

whose moans and cries

fill the blackened night skies.

The monster you ignore under your bed

will creep out tonight to feast on your head

and dine on your dreams

and dessert on your screams.

Hear you heart beat in your chest

as you struggle to get some rest.

May Happy Halloween nightmares

cloud the space between your ears.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have had

so much candy,

you costumed

dandy.

Happy Halloween everybody!!!!

I always liked the bad guy

When I was a boy and watched reruns of Lost in Space I was a huge Dr. Smith fan. I thought the Robinsons were a bunch of boring, plastic models of the status quo. (How I knew that inherently as a small boy I’ll never know) But I rooted for Dr. Smith most of the time. I so enjoyed his antics that I asked my mother for a Dr. Smith toy for Christmas one year. She had to break it to me that the TV show had been off the air for nearly 20 years at that point. I didn’t know about reruns then, but I sure could spot the more interesting character.

The villain, in this case Dr. Smith, was just more interesting than the boring Robinsons. He was always making things interesting and acting completely cowardly. He had depth while the other characters had shiny silver space suits. There was something I liked about that and stayed with me as I got older.

I thought Professor Moriarty was cool. I rooted for COBRA. I rooted for Skeletor. Heck, I even rooted for Mum-Ra on the Thundercats. I want Vegeeta on DragonBall Z to win, just once. Hannibal Lecter is still one of my favorite villains. The villains were always more appealing to me. They had a position and were willing to do just about anything to achieve their goals. While the good guys were just… boring.

Not that I grew up to be a bad guy. In fact, I’m quite good. I have a strong moral compass and a deep compassion for my fellow man. I don’t think I learned that from the good guys though. I think the example of the evil-doers I saw as a kid made me recognize the value of goodness. Even if it is boring.

History is rife with villainy and I am certainly no fan of Hitler or Mussolini or Stalin. I’m no fan of terrorists or despotic dictators of any kind. I believe in mans ability to do good in the face of such opposition. But I wonder where would the world be without history’s villains? Would any global progress have been made if there were not great challenges to overcome? I just don’t think so. But of course, that’s the counter point isn’t it? Without evil there is no good?

Without adversity we would become stagnant. We’d be quivering bowls of fleshy jelly moving across the surface of the planet leaving a slug-like trail of slime. Yawning all the time.

But I do wish Dr. Smith had gotten his, just once. It would have made all his scaredy-cat nonsense that much more bearable. Oh the pain, the pain.

Yeeee-haw?

Today is one of those days where I feel like Junior Bonner. From the moment I woke up I feel like I’ve been riding the wildest and most aggressive bull ever. I think the name of the bull is Tornado Nutsquish. Also known as Thursday.

It’s really been a fast paced morning with all kinds of phone calls and meetings and all the while I’ve been wearing a big smile on my face. It’s a completely phony smile but I’m wearing it nonetheless. I can’t let the bull riding crowd that’s cheering me on know that I broke my spine while flopping around on good old Tornado Nutsquish.  

I plan on taking Tornado Nutsquish outside the arena and putting him down. I might get him really drunk first and then put him down. I have a feeling he might grow on me though and in the end, old Tornado and I might become best of friends. Plus being a bull, I’m sure he’s pretty smooth with all the single ladies. Perhaps I’ll cut him some slack, he is a bull after all and I am trying to ride him.

Plus I’m not much of a cowboy. I always wished I was though, but I’m a city slicker for sure. I’ve only been on a horse once and it kept stopping mid-trot to take a crap. I could give him a little jolt with my heels and he’d look back at me like, “Hey, I’m crapping here. Make yourself useful and get me a magazine”.

I digress, Thursday is rocking and reeling and shifting right under my feet and I’m doing everything to sustain verticality. I do feel like a bull rider at times though, just trying to hang on for seven seconds or so before being hurled to the ground and nearly trampled. I’m sure I’m not the only person that feels that way.

I don’t know that many folks who have a sure handle on their lives and are merely doing their best to stay on their own metaphorical bulls. I would have to say I know three people that had taken the reins of their bulls and have turned them into passive, reliable forms of transportation, all the way to the bank. But most of us are just average bull riders trying to win that coveted brass belt buckle that says, “King of the Cowboys”.

Yippee-Ky-yea.

Blue Line

Roger didn’t much care for riding the blue line, “el”. There wasn’t anything specifically wrong with it, he just didn’t like it. It always made him feel a little depressed and sleepy. There was something about the rocking of the train car and the noises that made him feel melancholy. Which he supposed was appropriate for October and the approach of Halloween.

The train car quickly filled with the denizens of the city. Some dirty, some clean, some noisy, some fat, some skinny, some white, some black, some with their music too loud in their headphones, some with their heads buried in a cell phone and all of them made Roger feel uncomfortable. As usual there was at least one very attractive woman riding the train, but she was too far away to try and start any conversation with. Roger felt good about meeting beautiful women on the train.   

He’d met lots of women on the train over the years and had had lots of conversations with them, but after following them and breaking into their homes to continue the conversation they seemed so less receptive to him. They almost always tried to struggle and run or call the police or something. Roger just couldn’t understand why they would be happy to talk to him on the train but not in their bedrooms.

Roger tried not to breathe through his nose on the train because he didn’t like the smell. The one attractive girl got off the train before Roger had a chance to cozy up next to her. He’d discovered over the years that women trust a guy wearing a wedding ring who talks about his kids or his dog and maybe mentions things are a little tough with the wife but he was committed to working it out. Women had that inherent sympathy thing, usually the prettier, the more sympathetic they were. They listened and often tried to offer him advice. Sometimes he did listen and would take his wife out for a fancy meal or do something to show her how he appreciated her just as those women would suggest.

It was funny to Roger how quickly all those nice and kind words always turned to screams by about three o’clock in the morning. He didn’t hate them. He just didn’t think it was fair that he couldn’t have them, especially after they made such a pleasant connection while riding the train. Some other jerk was going to feel their skin and touch their hair and Roger just couldn’t abide that.

The train pulled into Roger’s train station and he got up and squeezed between the fat, skinny, white, black, noisy, ugly people and stepped out onto the platform into the crisp October evening.  He would have to make a new friend tomorrow.

One year and counting

Today marks the one year anniversary of A Minute with Michael. This post will be the 240^th I’ve written. I am amazed a year has gone by since I started doing this. I must again thank Lauren Burke for setting the whole thing up for me since I am a technological misfit of the highest caliber. I owe her a debt.

The articles and blogs have been pretty wide and varied in topic and scope, from short fiction to my regular complaining about the woes of a regular working stiff, it’s been a sincere pleasure to write them. I hope you as the readers have enjoyed them just as much, or if you’re a wealthy investor, even more.

I still hope to turn this daily minute into something a little more substantial and would still prefer to be paid for it. There’s no shame in wanting to be paid for what one is good at doing. Even Leonardo was taken care of while he fiddled with Alchemy and bronze horses. Of course I’m not comparing myself to Leonardo Di Vinci. That man was a genius. But I do feel that mystical connection of the arts.

Everywhere I look I see a story, this morning on my street they were installing new street lamps and I had a story about either the guys working on the lamps or the lamp itself. I noticed people walking into work downtown with either their heads held up or looking down as they were walking along. I felt there was probably a story there too.  

So I think I’ll have plenty of new things to write about as this blog heads into its second year and I hope to continue to find an audience as receptive and generous as you. I thank all of you for reading this and I encourage you to tell your friends or family members in the publishing industry about this awesome and modest Chicago writer, and how they should probably check him out. (cough).

I look forward to this new year, as a psychic told my mother a few weeks ago, things are looking pretty good for me. All I need to do is become a successfully published author, meet Mrs. Minute with Michael, and settle into a rewarding career and life for which I won’t feel any embarrassment when my grandkids ask me about what I do.  

In the meantime however I’m sure I’ll continue in my attempts to entertain, provoke thought and generally make a nuisance of myself. Here’s to the next year….  (clink, clink) Cheers.

Don’t watch the News on Monday

Monday’s are hard enough these days. The factory and cubicle workers of the world know that it’s quite often the cruelest day of the week. (Imagine if you worked at a factory that made cubicles. The horror, the horror) There are so many things that need immediate action and so many people that want our attention we often feel like we’re being pulled apart Spanish Inquisition style.

I made the mistake of compounding Monday’s cruelty by naively checking CNN’s web site this morning.  I thought I would try and find a topic for today’s article, something light and colorful, something to hopefully lift those down Monday spirits and try to get things going on the right foot. Unfortunately, I was not that lucky.

All the stories are terrible these days. I know that news is usually more often bad than good, but it just seemed far worse than I remember. There’s almost a viciousness and abject indifference out there which seems to make it far easier for evil, true evil, to take hold.

Missing babies, toddlers run down in the streets of China, the disparity between rich and poor, the humdrum of our own work toiling away toward some unforeseeable end. The news is not the way to start the day. It only makes me feel smaller and less in control of the world around me and damn it, that’s depressing.

Of course I realize that making me depressed these days is as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. I’m practically a walking, talking mockery of rationality and stoicism. I put up a very indifferent front but deep inside I am often overwhelmed with helplessness for those that are suffering around me.

When I was very young, perhaps five or six years old I saw those first commercials on TV about those suffering from famine and drought in Africa. I don’t remember if it was Ethiopia but something very similar. When I saw this commercial asking for money and they showed the images of the distended bellies of starving children I started to cry. I think about it now and I think I was actually weeping for them. I went to my mother, in tears and begged her that we had to send money; we had to help those people. She did her best to calm me and tried to explain where those people were and what the real problems were over there. She did manage to calm me down but I never forgot. I can still remember the commercial and how it made me feel.

When I see the News these days, especially on a Monday, I feel those old tears stirring. I have to force myself to remember my place in the world and that while things might be bad now; they can’t always be. So let’s get through this Monday and maybe just by doing so, the world might be a better place, if only for a little while.

Friday needs more medication

So a few things to get through today; number one, today is the second Rapture. Yes, way back in May, preacher and all round 90 year old crackpot, Mr. Harold Camping predicted the Rapture would be on May 21^st. It of course, didn’t happen. He said he would have to adjust his biblical math and get back to us. Well, his calculations were re-checked and wouldn’t you know it. He had the darn date wrong. So today, October 21^st is the real rapture. So get ready folks, heaven’s a-waiting’.  Personally I can’t wait to see your naked body rising toward heaven. In fact, I think I’ll just run around the city, naked screaming, “Uppy! Uppy!”, like a three year old.

Secondly, stop spitting on my city sidewalks. Really, what the hell are you chewing on that requires you to spit every fifth step? It’s absolutely disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself. I don’t want to step in your nasty mouth juices as I head into work. What the hell is wrong with you? Spitting is only acceptable if you’re playing baseball while simultaneously scratching your crotch.

Thirdly, I love this trend for women wearing tight black stretch pants and boots. It’d be a little creepy of me to describe why I think it’s awesome but I’m sure you can use your imaginations. As I do.  

Don’t show me your damn “Rah-Rah, we’re an awesome company”, videos while I’m at work. I hate them. Yesterday we were treated to a crappy, mostly stolen content from Saturday Night Live Rah-Rah video featuring all the highest paid CEO’s and CFO’s for the company I work for. I don’t care that how much money the company made. I don’t see squat from it. Sure, I’m happy to have a job, but for me it’s still just a job, not a successful career where I’m excited and proud to be there. I do what I do because I have to. I have no other choice. Well, I do have a choice but unemployment and poverty don’t appeal to me all that much. My mother was in the video and she was great, but other than that it made me want to jump out the window.

And finally a thought on depression, I am completely depressed and I think I should probably seek some sort of mental health care. However, I’m also Robert Mitchum and talking to someone about how depressed I am makes me feel sick. It’s a spiral of hell of which I don’t feel good about. This, writing, is the only thing that makes me feel good and I need to do it professionally. Otherwise, I’ll keep this constant complaining going until I am formally committed to an institution.