Buy One, Get One Free: The Art Of The Modern Day Gimmick In A Sluggish Economy

Buy one, get one free…get a free turkey just for test-driving a 2006 Honda Accord…valued customers receive an extra 10 percent off all purchases…the previous examples are all gimmicks, gimmicks designed to draw in potential buyer or customers. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don’t.

All businesses have gimmicks to lure folks in to sell their good or their junk, depending on how you look at it; some companies know how to do it well, while others don’t know how to hang onto their clientele.

In a blistering economy, where jobs are supposedly plentiful, yet prices are high for virtually all goods and textiles, the lonely businessman needs an incentive to bring in customers as well as keep his current stable of patrons too, so they offer incentives like free food, gift cards/certificates, free music (CDs & tapes), free visuals (DVDs & Videotapes) and of course percentages off of goods.

Five years ago, when I was among the ranks of the unemployed, I tried to find ways to amuse myself after spending hours looking for work or responding to advertisements. I’d search the newspapers & the Internet for fun and adventure, and then I fell into a couple of possibilities; that of test-driving new cars.

It didn’t take me much effort to do that. All I needed to do was listen to the high-pitched pressure salesman as I drove the car and get the gift! My roommates at the time felt I was wasting my efforts on this that was until some of the gifts started arriving in the mail including a four-CD box set consisting of 30 years of highlights from a Canadian jazz festival and a giant Igloo cooler.

When I test-drove a Saturn during that same time period, I received a $25 Borders Books & Music, gift card. Credit card companies often give away loads of free stuff like mugs, ball-caps, pens Tupperware & tee shirts. All this just to sign up for a credit card? You betcha!

The best gimmick by far is the “buy one get one free” deal. Grocery stores, retail fast food restaurants and many other businesses employ this sort of deal the most in order to get the customer to keep coming back for more unique deals and most patrons do come back. Besides that gimmick, there’s also the ever-popular free sample tables they set up on weekends in grocery stores and that keeps people coming back in droves.

The most recent within the last 10 years or so, that has kept customers coming back for more is the “preferred (discount) card,” in which customers of a particular store will get 50 cents or a couple of dollars off an item on sale and it does change all of the time, so people do come back for more, the main idea being that this particular gimmick keeps drawing people in for a lifetime. I’d say with the way America is going to hell in a hack, chances are these gimmicks will last forever!

Something Rash!

For the past several weeks, I’ve been treating a severe rash on my right arm. At first I didn’t know where it originated from and so I thought by ignoring it, the rash might go away on its own.

For weeks I had put on various crèmes, lotions and ointments, hoping it would flush out the rash from beneath my skin and disappear, but alas it didn’t happen.

Then I tried petroleum jelly and that worked for a little while, drying out the skin and causing some of the bumps to go away.

Yet the rash has persisted & flourished like new grass growth in the springtime.

Like any person with a rational mind, I began to comb through my brain and try to remember what I had used that set off this irritation across my skin that enabled it to manifest itself into a rash and I thought about a lot of different possibilities.

I did have several mice in the apartment nearly one winter ago; I know there are some remnants of the mice are still around like bits of nesting & such, but almost all of those areas have been swept up and kept clean, but I think overall, it boils down to three valid substances; dietary supplements, cologne & laundry detergent. Let’s examine all three, shall we? Yes, we shall!

One of the troubles I have with taking dietary supplements almost daily is those darned side-effects, which can occur at almost anytime; this includes bodily dysfunctions like diarrhea to feeling lighted-headed and dizzy. If only I didn’t have to take them, but alas I have to, in order to keep my body in sync with all the other things I put into it. Drugs are so wonderful, aren’t they?

Next, I looked at cologne. The funny thing about cologne is that like anything that is supposed to be smelly, misty, musky toilet water that we spray or splash upon our bodies and is supposedly to make us smell manly or womanly, usually isn’t, but most people wear it to mask natural odor that make some men and women sweat like swine on a hot July afternoon.

I’ve had allergic reactions to cologne before, so I knew it was no biggie, but lately the brand I’ve been purchasing, hasn’t been hurting me all that much, no quite the opposite, it’s been making me seem a bit more attractive than normal, which I guess for me, is a good thing!

So, like the theory of the big bad wolf unable to blow down the third pig’s brick house as opposed to the other two pigs’ homes made of timber and straw, I felt it really must have been the laundry detergent (Purex) I was using this past summer. Sure, my clothes itched, but I never thought it was because of that at first; I always thought it was something else, yet as time grew onward, I realized it must have been the detergent.

These days, I've been treating my rash with tee tree ointment and the stuff works like a charm. It's far better than buying over-the-counter medicine. Overall, I used to think that buying cheaper was better, but not anymore! Sure, some lesser-known food brands can taste better than those expensive brand names canned and packaged goods, but when it all comes down to what ingredients are mixed in with whatever they are mixed in with, it all nearly tastes or feels the same, at least pizza, beans & cereal does.

I haven’t quite washed my clothes in pizza or beans just yet, but one of those days, who knows? Maybe someone will invent a laundry detergent that tastes like pizza or beans.

I know what you must be thinking, but you know something? They laughed at the (Wilbur & Orville) Wright Brothers when they took their washing machines out to Kitty Hawk and flew them, too.

Tis' The Season To Be Parking, Other Hazards Of Malls & How To Avoid Them

Tis the season to be parking, fah-la-la-la-la-la-la-la, crazy drivers act like rabid dogs barking, fah-la-la-la-la-la-la-la, now they lay upon the car horn when they are stuck in traffic, fah-la-la-la-la-la-la-la, holiday shopping sucks like my sister’s rubber phallic, fah-la-la-la-la-la-la-la…MishegasMaster outtake parody lyrics

Well, as most of you know retailers survived Black Friday and did better than expected. Of course they did! Did they expect to do otherwise in an economy that is laden with bullet holes, huge discounts and buy one, get one free offers everywhere they walk?

And with that comes the ever-popular, fun-loving holiday shopping season that I of course disdain with a real passion. If there’s one thing I learned how to do long ago, was to avoid all malls period for the next two months! I suspect it’s different in smaller towns and cities, but where I live, oh no!

The glut of malls is incredibly bad and exceedingly much. I don’t think we have as many malls though as some other cities like Houston, Texas, for example. Back in the 1980s when I knew people in Texas (other than my sister Naomi who’s lived there now for the past few years), a friend took me on a tour of ALL the city malls, which at that time, numbered in 26.

The trouble with malls are numerous, but not limited to the following three difficulties 1)-wandering gangs of teenagers; wandering gangs of teenagers who have nothing better to do, but to walk inside malls in search of adventure, which usually ends up as jabbering at the food court. It’s as if all the modern day conveniences like television, Internet chat-rooms, talking on the telephone or cell-phone computer and video games aren’t enough; today’s teenagers have it so very easy. Where are supervising parents when they are needed? They might be gabbing away on the phone, online purchasing the latest Neil Diamond CD, listening to talk radio or watching the boob tube. Such good examples to impress upon their children, right? Or perhaps they are working. Well, at least it gives the rent-a-cops at the mall a legitimate reason to harass them and tell them to stop loitering.

2)-Shoppers with no direction known; hey I think Bob Dylan wrote a song about them! Seriously though, there are scores of shoppers who will spend several minutes walking about aimlessly until they even think about asking for help to find a store or retail shop. There are mall information desks, yet they rarely get used. There are also giant detailed store maps installed at different points throughout a mall, but what’s the chance on someone using those when it’s so much easier to ask someone? People take everything so very much for granted these days.

3)-Drivers looking for parking spaces; these are always a troublesome bunch, although this time of year, “the holiday season” as its now called, is probably the worst time to park at a mall, because well, besides being so many people out looking for gifts to bribe each other with, thereby bypassing the true meaning of each holiday celebrated (another topic for another day).

Having worked in Old Orchard Shopping Center nearly eight years ago as a bookseller at Barnes & Noble, let me tell you parking is no fun at a mall like that, especially in light of the kinds of folks that go to that mall; the affluent, mainly as it is billed. Affluent people expect so much and yet give little in return, whoops! I made a mistake; what I meant to say, they give a lot; a lot of attitude that is! Obviously, it is felt both ways, through retail and through the mall itself, but I’m straying just a little bit.

Parking at Old Orchard Shopping Center, just like any other mall can be a nightmare, if not darn near impossible to find a parking space; too many cars, not enough parking spaces. Some people forget their manners when it comes to finding a parking space and will do things like approach people who are leaving, by rolling down their windows and ask them if they are leaving. Still others will sit inside their cars and wait for someone to leave, thereby blocking traffic and causing mini-traffic jams within the parking lot.

Then there are the parking sneaks who will zoom inside a free space once it’s opened up by someone pulling out; that sort of maneuver usually results in a lot of anger, name-calling and cursing. There have even been fist-fights and tire-slashing incidents over parking space shortage!

Here are a few quick solutions; use public transportation or park out further. Sure I know it’ll be further to walk toward retail heaven, but it will save you a lot of heartache, anger and frustration in the long-run. i know it's tough to use your two good legs to walk everywhere, but try to think about how it feels to have those two good legs, as opposed to someone confined to a wheelchair for life or have limited use of their legs? i bet walking never feels so good, now does it?

So, what can one do to best to avoid the mall madness situations totally? Go out to your local retail store or shop and throw ‘em your support by shopping at a local business, as opposed to a chain store that’s supported by a corporation, that’s how! It seems more and more that the “Mom & Pop” shops are getting swallowed up or run out of business by the likes of corporate America, who try to sell items cheaper by the dozen made overseas, as opposed to crafted material made right here in America.

Not everything made in America is crafted well, however, like the freedoms of choice we enjoy and embrace so much everywhere we set foot. Given that surmise, this should be the same approach one should take when it comes to choosing stores to give our hard-earned dollars to. The holidays should be enjoyed just as much as shopping for little trinkets should be (if that’s your bag, no pun intended) relatives and members of your family.

Alternatively, homemade gifts work just as much. Just ask The Arizona Babe & Rex Pâtér Homo; they always enjoy what The MishegasMaster sends to them each year!

Freecycling: What A Great Idea!>Act One

I belong to a few “Freecycle groups” in the city where I live. It’s a great idea frankly, the free exchange between people who give things/items away just so they’ll be reused again, as opposed to having the items being trashed.

The mission statement according the general website http://www.freecyle.org/ “is to build a worldwide gifting movement that reduces waste, saves precious resources & eases the burden on our landfills while enabling our members to benefit from the strength of a larger community.”

The idea of free-cycling began in May, 2003 by Deron Beal of Tucson, Arizona. Again, according to the website’s history description; Beal sent out the first e-mail announcing The Freecycle Network to between 30-40 friends and a handful of nonprofits in Tucson, Arizona.

At the time Deron founded The Freecycle Network, he worked with a small nonprofit organization, RISE, which provides recycling services to downtown businesses and transitional employment to Tucsonans in need. As Deron and his crews recycled, rather than watching perfectly good items being thrown away, they found themselves calling or driving around to see if various local nonprofits could use them.

Thinking there had to be an easier way, Beal set up that first Freecycle e-mail group in a way that permitted everyone in Tucson to give and to get. Freecycle was off and running.

The Freecycle concept has since spread to over 50 countries, where there are thousands of local groups that have more than a million members – truly a grassroots wildfire of people helping people by “changing the world one gift at a time.” As a result, we are currently keeping approximately 50 tons a day out of landfills!

By giving freely with no strings attached, members of The Freecycle Network help instill a sense of generosity of spirit as they strengthen local community ties & spirit. People from all walks of life have joined together to turn trash into treasure.

As a result, packrats like me can give away our stuff without the little known fear of our relatives pawing over our goods when we pass away; it’s also a great way to clean out my car! In all seriousness however, I’ve began to get rid of stuff that I’ve accumulated over the many years slowly, but surely and it seems to do the trick too.

People are so happy to receive items, things they’ve been looking for and can really use. In some people’s cases, finances are kind of tight these days, so for a recycling market like Freecycle, I‘d say the chances are finding the most essential and basic item needs are out there for the taking are pretty good!

Through Freecycle, I’ve been able to get usable things like milk crates, a teapot, winter coats, shirts, pants, CDs, DVDs, food, books, costumes, combination CD, cassette & radio players & mousetraps (especially when I had my mega-mouse problem late last winter!), plus a whole load of other stuff.

I’ve also been able to ask for other things for other people who live on fixed incomes. There’s also a section where users can sell items too. For the most part people in general are pretty friendly and forthcoming and will usually email back advice if an item someone is looking for is especially hard to find.

I’ve met some great friendly folks during these exchanges, including a couple of potential dating prospects and I’ve even made some friends along the way, how wonderful is that!

The biggest disadvantage I have, along with others is not having a computer at home or work I can go onto and claim something, as usually it’s first come-first served basis. Sometimes I feel lucky when I’ve gotten something, while other times I feel sad when I’ve missed out, but so it goes, what was not meant to be, was not meant to be.

In many cases when I send an email requesting an item, I also insert my phone number within the email. As I’ve learned through time & experience, I’m not always going to be hanging around a computer waiting for an answer, kind of like the way men & women hang around the telephone waiting for a crucial call or a potential date to call them back.

And then there are those who receive items who can get downright persnickety about free items offered. Some people can be downright rude and selfish about their items they’ve been promised. It seems to be a common theme or trend than runs through Freecycle regularly.

Bargain-hunters sometimes forget when items are free as well. People do forget who is passing out the goods and it’s as if they want it their way by making insane demands, send threatening remarks, display adult-sized temper tantrums or pout when they can’t have their way through an email; imagine that!

Then there are those who say they will pick up an item (this writer included) and then don’t for some reason or another, even if the other person has worked out their schedule for the benefactor. Sometimes stuff comes up. That’s not an excuse, but a reality of life. And the stuff then just gets re-posted or donated, so it seems to be no big loss.

As for those who post and pass out the goods (this writer included), some have specific rules about getting their items either now or never or pick-up on certain days while others have funny schedules that they must work around in order to give those free things away.

The benefactors usually will work with the free givers, and vice-versa. They also have to remember that being a benefactor is just that; you might have been promised an item, but again you don’t go around making email threats or pouts just because YOU cannot have the item when it was promised!

People do have lives to lead just as others do and people do get thrown off the beaten track from time to time, so you have to give them a little room to breathe in that sort of situation. You cannot expect them to revolve around your world; in fact it should be the opposite. The benefactor should be darn grateful that they are getting a free item that they might have had to pay for in a shop elsewhere.

As getting an item for free isn't a free-for-all situation like money flying through the air from money bags that have been ripped apart by the wind, a try to remember to be polite, be courteous, prompt and reasonable too. Givers will remember you next time for certain!

For the time I’ve been within the two groups, I’ve only had two that have balked; I’d say for the record overall, that’s pretty damn good!

As the cliché reads; beggars cannot be choosers and so goes the application to Freecyclers everywhere; can’t adhere to the system or people? Get out! Don’t screw it up for everyone else making an effort to make a good system work. Don’t be greedy and attempt to hoard everything offered. Let other people have a chance at some of the stuff. Remember to follow other people’s rules and instructions; it’s their stuff to pass out, not yours.

Above all and most importantly, follow each Freecycle’s site/group rules and instructions; they are usually listed on the website when you join. Leave the attitudes behind and above all, work together! Make Freecycle, a great organization that started out on a grassroots level, a good system for future prospective people.

Isn’t that what sharing is all about?

The Piano Man At The YMCA

On my day off yesterday from the salt mine, I fell into the usual traffic pile-ups, both on the road and at the YMCA (gym), but it was more like the sort of pile-ups as in the lunchtime crowds that are seldom and sparse during a normal/regular work week schedule.

Usually it takes me about an hour or so to work out and then I relax in the lounge, just taking in all the sounds around me such as parents and children’s excited chatter on Friday evenings (when I usually go), adults talking to people manning the front desk and sometimes men or children bopping on the piano.

Today was one of those times, where I caught an older well-dressed mustached man bopping on the piano and it was enjoyable. He was just bopping out an improvisational tune, while playing a tune called “Melinda,” at least that’s what was written across the sheet music he had.

I approached the man casually and asked him what he was playing. He told me he was just banging out some tunes and adding his own material whenever he could stuff it into the notes.

I asked him who his influences are and he told me that he really dug artists like Smokey Robinson & The Miracles, The Temptations, The Spinners and other 1960s rhythm and blues groups. He kept on playing, pinching out notes and then he stopped suddenly in his piano-playing, turned to me and asked me, “Am I disturbing you?”

I was a little taken aback by his question and reassured him that he wasn’t “disturbing” me by any means and I meant it too. In all honesty, I do appreciate any musician of any type, from amateur to polished spitfire. I told him I was a performer, singer and musician too, although my method of playing was far outweighed by his, as my piano method is more like my typing method, three fingers, followed by hunt & peck playing.

He laughed when I told him that, but insisted he wasn’t very good and he plays by ear only. He was more concerned though as to whether or not I was “being disturbed” by his playing. I reassured him over and over that I wasn’t disturbed and was just enjoying his playing.

I told him, “Anyone who is disturbed by music of any shape, sound or form must be disturbed too,” but you know something? He didn’t buy it, nope, he seemed more concerned as if he were polluting the air with what he thought was his strange, weird and possible mistake-ridden music. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

My guess and it is a safe one, by the astonished looks on his face that seemed more surprised and awkward than anything else, it seemed as though no one ever commented on his playing methods before. For a little while afterwards, after wandering out of the lounge, out the door and to my car, I felt kind of bad that I said anything to him, for it seemed to upset his balance.

But it’s in my nature to react to music-playing, whether, good, bad, ugly, strange or otherwise and it shouldn’t keep a good man down from playing whatever he feels like playing; that’s what the piano is there for, out-of-tune or not; it’s there to play and to for those to listen to the beautiful meticulous sounds that are plinked, plunked, pinched, poked and other creative and ingenious key-stroking methods.

Not everyone who plays the piano will be end up in some concert hall playing for a roomful of haughty music critics and attentive music connoisseurs who react with smiles or winces broken out in little patterns within their facial structures because they paid for someone they weren’t expecting, no, that won’t likely happen.

Nor will every pianist end up playing the small bars, clubs and bistros that dot in triplicate in every town, city and village across the United States, sometimes that’s a little too much for the ego and usually the sights are set higher.

And sometimes they’re just not ready for the “big-time” and prefer the one or two people that listen to them tinkle the ivories from time to time. They might play a talent show or help out in their house of worship (if they believe in a God system) every now and again or teach someone how to play. Those kinds of folks are not playing for the money, rather the pleasure they receive watching other people react happily to their playing.

That’s the best kind of satisfaction there is on the planet, too. So when you see someone playing a piano anywhere, be sure and compliment him/her. Although money is always good in the tip jar if they have one beside the piano, a few words of encouragement always helps too.

(Confidential to that man I saw playing yesterday in the YMCA lounge, keep up the good work!)

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Excavations From The Subterranean

Oh my stars and heavens-to Betsy! Friday is here once again, the blessed capper for the week and thankfully it was short! Just think, one month from today will be three days after my 44th birthday and here some of you thought, that I was going to write Christmas! With recent talk about U.S. troops withdrawl, I thought it might be an appropriate time to post this poem, a first attempt in writing anti-war lyrics from the mid-1980s. And please remember dear readers; always, always, enjoy!!!

Excavations From The Subterranean

Images built on mountains
Drawn on
Wiped away
Start over
Smash away
It’s a cycle we all go through
Break up
Settle down
Drink a few
Be a clown
Love is bad
When you spread yourself all over town
War is hell
Blood is spent
Words are shouted
Boys are sent
When government heads can’t find something to screw
They invent a war; it’s the “in” thing to do
Poverty’s rotting
Children are starving
Who’ll be the next turkey world leaders will begin carving?
It’d be nice, but never done, to watch poverty equal to none
Set little fires
Call them liars
Can’t you see what you’ve just done?
You’ve called your neighbor a stupid son
Don’t you see?
It’ll (will) never end and when it does
What will you have then, my friend?

The MishegasMaster Presents: Holiday Dinners From His Past>Act One: Thanks-Giggling Dinner, 2002

Thanksgiving dinners have always been kind of awkward for me between eating with my family growing up MishegasMaster-style, the homes of friends & their relatives and girlfriends. Some years are better than others. Today’s act is one of those “other” years.

In 2002, I was invited, then dis-invited and then re-invited to my good friend Lew Brickhate’s sister’s home for Thanksgiving dinner. Lew’s sister, Dr. Birdie Katz is a vegetarian and a well-known animal communicator; yep that’s exactly what I wrote, an animal communicator who communicates with animals on personal level, but that’s another story for another time.

It was some weeks earlier during that same month when I had spoken to Lew’s mother, a self-declared Republican and a rabid fan of right-wing talk radio. Lew’s mother had at some point deemed her daughter’s professional career as crazy and pin-pointed her daughter as a goofball, so when I repeated her same sentiments, Lew’s mother turned right back around and told her daughter and as a result I was dis-invited.

It was Lew who then re-negotiated the invitation to her home, but I had to revoke and refrain virtually all of my beliefs even if I felt that her choice of occupation was a little oddball-ish, if not downright shady, but it was for one day only, so I’d live.

So finally, Thanksgiving Day rolled around and yet, I didn’t know what to expect of her going in with those rules. Besides her husband, Lew & his mother, she also invited over a friend of hers from New York and a Christian Scientist family from nearby. Dr. Katz also practices the religion. Christian Scientists are a bit backwards in thought; they believe that God heals all in sickness and health, not medicine, either standard or alternative.

I arrived there early with a chocolate layer cake. Lew had advised me to bring one, as his mother loves cake, an investment that proved to be true amusement for me later on, which made it all the more better and it felt like a television situational comedy.

Here you had an animal communicator with a Republican mother that worshipped radio hosts like Rush Limbaugh & Sean Hannity, plus an anti-establishment jobless musician son who claimed the FBI, the states of New Jersey & Illinois and the United States government was out to “get” him, a hen-pecked husband, a Hindu from the state of New York, me and a family of Christian Scientists, all sitting down to share a vegetarian Thanksgiving meal.

The replacement turkey, called a vegetarian “holiday roast” was made up of soy or tofu-based, full of nuts and seeds, with a terribly bad spicy sauce, which I am sure came with the roast just to give it some flavor. Also on the menu were sweet potatoes, green beans and various drinks.

Conversation was light on my end, considering that I was on a self-imposed lockdown of a politically-correct woman I was dealing with and I had to appease his mother as well. So, I didn’t try to say too much and instead, I chose to begin turning my attention to the Christian Scientist family. Every time one of them sneezed, wheezed, choked, hacked or coughed, they would recite a quick prayer to God. Suffice to say, I was pleasantly amused because almost everyone in the family sneezed or coughed every five minutes!

I didn’t eat much dinner, but I sure as hell dug into dessert, which turned out to be soy-based ice cream and glutton-free or soy-based pastries, with the exception of the cake I brought. Both Lew & his mother fought hard that afternoon in the kitchen and out, arguing over how many pieces each other had.

It was almost as if control was a running theme with Lew’s family. His sister used control for situational purposes and make everything in life seem like paradise, while his mother needed to control both children and take them far away from the wild wanton wickedness that had crept into their lives and made several attempts to steer them both to a righteous path, while Lew did everything he could to break away from both sets of controlling forces, his sister & his mother placed upon him, while making attempts to control other forces or people who mucked up his life from time-to-time.

Still hungry after the meal, both Lew & I decided to listen to our stomachs and retreated down to a local Denny’s restaurant. This year, Lew & I are going to a restaurant that takes pride in making its patrons happy, with real turkey meat, not fake turkey meat. Gone will be the control issues, the fighting over food and all that sassy political correctness that goes along with it…ain’t life wonderful, dear readers?

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Thoughts On The 42nd Anniversary Of President John F. Kennedy's Assassination

In an age where terrorism is easily recognized and shrugged off like an overused word, the very thought of terrorism had yet to enter the minds of Americans and the world for that matter on this day, 42 years ago, with the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

I was very young then; one year and eleven months to be exact when Kennedy was gunned down in Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas.

I can’t say I remember much about the event, other than what I hear from my mom, The Arizona Babe, that she and my only sister Naomi cried their eyes out upon hear the news.

Kennedy was by all accounts a well-liked man, mostly by the American public; he had charisma and youth on his side. He had his lovely wife Jackie and his beloved children as he entered office in late 1960.

Yet there were those who hated, rather disdained him, for what he stood for, who he was; after all he was a Kennedy, part of the ruthless Kennedy clan that seemed to dip their fingers into everything. He also was a victim of a vicious rumor that of being linked up to “doing” Marilyn Monroe.

Before Kennedy became a politician he was a journalist and he himself said at some point that he’d rather be on the inside developing, planning and executing dreams and goals, than just writing about them.

Kennedy like his other brothers Bobby & Teddy later followed started off in politics as a senator. Running for office seemed to be an easier occupation back then it didn’t involve the astronomical hard-pressed politics of money like it does now.

And yet Kennedy did what any president could have done during his first 100 days in office; seemingly now that’s what United States presidents are measured by. But Kennedy had a lot on his plate; a lot of crisis and soothing to do. The word assassination although old, is a familiar term in within Washington. a couple of presidents have been assassinated while in office, while others have had attempts made on their lives, including Gerald Ford and the late Ronald Reagan. It's just too damn bad that Hinkley missed, but I'm straying.

Vietnam was already in place, although not widely known until Johnson took office after Kennedy’s death. Of course, Kennedy’s death widely affected many people from around the world. To say that people were deeply saddened by his death would be an understatement.

I’m personally not so well-versed on the particulars of the conspiracy theories regarding his death, but I know for certain that Lee Harvey Oswald did not act alone; there’s no way he could have. Having been to Dallas, Texas several years ago and seeing the various angles that anyone with a gun could have taken, was just too easy.

There was no true protection for him. It was too open to begin with. What was the government thinking when they proposed an open-air motorcade to go through a virtually empty locale in Dallas, Texas, anyhow? And then yes even that kangaroo court called the Warren Commission of course concluded that Oswald acted alone.

Even as there are hundreds of conspiracy theories abound with regards to Kennedy’s assassination, sadly we’ll never get to know the truth. Oswald was knocked off the very next day by Jack Ruby, a strip-club owner that was somehow able to get into the basement of the jail in Dallas that housed Oswald. I think he knew the police department fairly well to do that. And Ruby got off scott-free.

And the witnesses to the assassination; where did they all disappear to? Mysteriously, they either died suddenly or from odd circumstances. Even as the government released several hundred papers a few years ago on the Kennedy assassination it didn’t do much good. As far as anyone can tell, Oswald didn’t act alone.

But to the witnesses who are left, like George Bush’s father who was in the CIA at the time, why doesn’t he come out and speak about it?

Who would have so much hatred for this man, a man who had so much hope about the future that they would want to kill him, other than Fidel Castro, the Mafia or anyone else? Ignoramuses, ignoramuses who couldn’t be bothered with such things, that’s who. And those ignoramuses moved on and helped wreck one of the greatest, most noble of countries in the universe and by that of course, I mean the United States.

Some people I speak to could care less about what they could do to better themselves or the surroundings the live in. I believe it’s called apathy; in that no one cares about anything anymore, just as long as they get something out of the big picture. It’s selfish and piggish to think such thoughts.

Funny, but our current presidential administration behaves this way. The way they keep carrying on is one step closer to the grave than would ever be thought and yet, they don’t care as they feed us lines to soothe us.

Jack (John) Kennedy didn’t think that way; he believed in himself and didn’t take advantage of his country like George Bush Jr. does. We need more men like Kennedy and less men like Bush whose intent on screwing his own country just to for fun and his own self-gain, is anything but American or patriotic.

American Yarnprose>The Great Urban Tale: Suburban Upper Middle Class Girls

The Great Urban Tale: Suburban Upper Middle Class Girls

Gang of girls gathered ‘round table smoking tea leafs rolled neatly in pairs with north suburban names: Courtney, Brittany and Sasha. Little upper middle class girls suburban white tits, milky engines.

Snowing their chatters, quivering lips all pretending to be interested in little Indian boy who introduces himself as "city folk" and I wait outside my window, book face down, sipping my tea. Spice tea. Smoke breathes from surface my left hand not smearing my writing and I see one white suburban chick’s tits pointing toward the sky.

Starvation through flimsy white tee shirt and her fake blonde hair and it’s snowing even harder. One typical upper middle class suburban girl cries because she has to stand out in the cold cruel world, oh boo-hoody boo-hoody boo-hoody-hoo.

Windshield wipers flap back and forth dirty taxis swish down slick streets of Clark and Belmont and the smoke keeps rising from the coolness in their corner.

As The Great Urban Tale persists we know that when the Sashas, the Courtneys and the Brittanys of white suburbia are picked up and taken home by their domesticated parents, they’ll change their clothes slip into their warm designer pajamas jump into their soft three-piece canopy beds with 12 stuffed animals to protect them for all eternity and go to sleep leaving me and city folk behind, cold and defenseless.

Jews Of Our Lives: Tips & Twaddles While Kvetching Within The Glass Prune-Spit Juice Jar>Act Five

There are chatters of all kinds who enter that chat-room; people looking for intelligent conversation; people interested in other people’s cultures, people looking to pry into other people’s lives (like Zisapunim & Gemini), people who behave like sheep looking for similar sheep to vegetate with.

Then there are those who are looking for something a little extra; a little fun on the side, as in cyber-sex or a little extra-marital affair, something that the wife, husband, boyfriend, girlfriend or partner would never suspect you of doing online.

In this case, it being a Jewish chat-room, they come from all backgrounds, including; Modern Orthodox & Orthodox, Chassidic, Lubovich, Conservative, Reform, Renewal, Reconstructualist, Traditional, all branches of the tribe looking for the emotional love they aren’t receiving, period.

In that chat-room the popular conjecture that it’s mostly men that are on the prowl is just plain naïve; there are an awful lot of women that come in there, looking for a quick “pick-me-up” too. Having previously written an essay on August 6 of this year, see: http://themishegasmaster.blogspot.com/2005/08/i-was-jewish-female-impersonator.html I think it’s time reiterate all the tell-tale signs of potential cyber-sex.

For purposes of this blog-column, I’ll use the old-standby of what a male does to a female. Usually, after a female enters the room, a male will pm (private message) her within five seconds and say something like “Hi, how are you?”

They wait for them to respond and then immediately type ASL (Age, Sex & Location), then comes the old sweet-talk, something like; “What do you like to do for fun? Tell me a little something about yourself, etc,” the basics of a conversation that help break the ice for a male and usually the female will tell them things that are a bit too personal, because people in general can be way too trustworthy at times.

Once the conversation gets flowing to a smooth groove, that’s when the male moves in with the harder stuff, softening the female up with terms of endearment, using the words “honey,” “sweetheart,” “dear” and other such words. Slicksters like Les & Shammes use these words all of the time to appease women, for whatever reason still unknown to me, but I’m straying.

When a female chatter asks the male about him, he seems to suddenly freeze up and say, “Well, what do you want to know about me,” assuming he was going to break down all of her defenses so easily. Then the male chatter will ask the female what she looks like, i.e. measurements, what she’s wearing, how does she like to “do it,” etc. etc.

You can bet your bottom dollar that while the female is describing this to the male, he is happily drooling or his hand is down his pants, masturbating on her every word. And usually that’s still not enough as a male will broach the subject with suggesting they meet for a drink or meet somewhere in the city provided she lives in the same city he does; if she doesn’t, sometime the male will go entirely out of his way to offer his phone number so they can chat, meaning phone sex or offer to fly up to meet her.

It’s not uncommon in this chat-room or any other chat-room. Sadly, it’s a fact of life, that cyber-sex goes on everywhere you travel on the Internet. On the other hand, you just can’t lock-up the family computer just because it might happen.

Yes. There conditions are ripe for a chat-room like that, but it’s not the fault of your better half, it’s the fault of the chat-room monitors/owners for not looking out for these kinds of predators.

Sure I know it’s a great way to fuck up marriages and ruin relationships, I know a few couples that have met with those circumstances, still what does cybering do for a person anyway? It makes them feel good all over; it soothes their souls and makes them feel wanted and loved; it’s a great big safe online fantasy that can be done at home or an online café, but those who go beyond the fantasy stage as opposed to those who don’t, the numbers are staggering!

What can one do to prevent these self-styled perverts from taking advantage of you? Well, for starters, you have a right to be uninvolved. Tell them that you’re taken or you’re spoken for. Usually, the person will counter with “All I’m looking to do is talk, I have someone else too,” and that’s just a ruse, because the person is trying to engage in further chatter.

If that still doesn’t work, tell them good-bye. People do understand the word goodbye, whether they like to see it or not. If that still doesn’t work after they’ve cursed you out by calling you a “bitch” or something just as equally awful, threaten to report them to chat-room management. I promise you they will back off! No person wants a bad reputation. If that still doesn’t work, answer them in public, so other chatters can see what the person is doing and saying to you.

Other things you can do are to keep interrupting him/her, keep asking questions, do anything you can to throw them off, it will jolt a person so much that they will get mad and move on. In the meantime, you can report them to chat-room management. It’s up to management to act upon the reports. Sometimes they do and sometimes they just build up files, waiting for the right moment to strike back.

What you should also consider doing as well, is to not frequently visit that chat-room so much; spend time with loved ones, especially your spouse or better half. If the situation is bad, fix it. It takes two to compromise and it doesn’t happen overnight. Running away from the situation won’t help matters much either.

Everything has its time and place and yes, charity begins at home and not in a chat-room.

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Spurs

My goodness goodness me! Here comes Friday, though this week felt a bit slower in coming than usual, perhaps due to the time change, even though we're a few weeks into it, yet it's still the great capper for the week.

Seeing as I've been writing a series about a particular Jewish chat-room that I frequent, I thought it might be appropriate to run a little poem I wrote about that very chat-room! And my dear readers, remember as always, enjoy!!!


Spurs

Feeling inferior
A piece of istle
Lying on the floor
Afraid of being honest,
Afraid to fight off
The ghouls of tomorrow and choose to ignore
The afraidiness of feeling the self bleed just a little bit

Just too scared to step out of shadows and take the world by the balls,

Dig in them spurs, shouting,

“ride ‘em cowboy!”

Jews Of Our Lives: Kvetching Through The Glass Prune-Spit Juice Jar>Act Four

I empathize with guys like MD3. He’s had a rough life. Wife and kids left him behind years ago and then his wife tried to scam him and succeeded. Left him without a job or home while still making alimony payments to her and his kids.

Gotta hand it to her, this kind of sounds like an old Jewish stereotype: skim the top for the cream, scam for the money everywhere else between and the funny thing is that he’s not Jewish, but stumbled upon this chat-room some years ago.

I’ve heard about his struggles over the years and I even tried to find him help in his city of origin, for places he could go to for help whenever he was hungry or needed a place to stay. He’s doing much better these days, thank goodness. Still, I personally understand the struggles of falling like a house of cards when a pack of impatient wolves are licking their chops, standing on all fours are waiting.

MD3 like me is an independent thinker and loves to espouse on conspiracy theories. There sure have been a lot of them since George W. Bush Jr. (GWB) took office, appointed, rather in 2000 and strangely enough, we’ve hit it off pretty well. He seems to get along with others too, except when the subject focuses on GWB.

Supporters for GWB come out of the woodwork in that chat-room, which is a surprise because I always thought most Jews were liberal. GWB supporters say GWB is doing a great job of keeping “those people” (terrorists) at bay. I agree. Adolph Hitler in his time also did a great job of exterminating Jews during WWII, while doing whatever else he was supposed to be doing. It’s the same principle.

Lest we forget and yet old-timers like Les do forget; must be the stroke. Russian transplant Aries also forgot in her own country, the USSR, before it simply became Russia, forgot about the torture methods used by the KGB (the secret police) and the USSR government inflicted upon its own citizens long before glasnost and even Gemini, too young to understand and probably doesn’t know history as well as she might know how to read the label of a wine bottle, also forgets. MD3 is ageless and lives in Portland, Oregon.

On the same wavelength with MD3 is Oy Vey. Such a good name that is, Oy Vey. She’s a Native American Indian Jew and has been shit upon by many factors, some which for the moment are too sensitive to mention. She seems to get along well with others in the chat-room though, with the exception of the idiots; that would include the aforementioned in previous acts of this series, except for Soulm8ted Sunshine.

How we hooked up, I still can’t remember, but I think it had something to do with her crazy “adopted daughter,” who turned out to be an accident waiting to happen, which it did horribly. Oy Vey can be at times as tough as nails and for good reason too. Trust means the world to her. There are days when she gives me a hard time, but I think it has something to do with tough love and that’s alright. She’s always been kind to me and tough on me too, which is why I look up to and toward her as a mentoring guide in my life.

Oy Vey is in her mid-50s, a trail-blazing Shomer, meaning you can’t touch her, and only her immediate family can touch her and if you do try to touch her, watch out! Oh yeah, Oy Vey lives in the mundane state of Iowa.

Then of course, there is Dr. Lord Poetmonk Bodhisattva-Throatnik Bingo. Bingo, Dr., Dr. Lord or Poetmonk is how most chatters refer to him as far as a chatter’s handle goes. His long name derives from a stage name and a later attempt to make his name more distinguished. Poetmonk is a smart and wise chatter; he knows the ins and outs of the chat-room and he has been banned, mutilated, mutated, destroyed and eaten alive based on the fact that he doesn’t always agree with others’ values and philosophies.

He is seen as a bad influence, an argument starter, a fighter, a non-Jew, a Jew hater, mentally unstable and basically a thorn in every chatter’s side when he doesn’t agree with them. He enjoys wearing all of those badges proudly because he knows his accusers well and the labels simply aren’t true.

Whenever a chatter doesn’t agree with him and calls Poetmonk a name, he highly encourages them to call him another name. And why does he do that? So he can show other chatters how immature that particular person is. Besides, he thinks hecklers are good entertainment value for a room with chatters that sometimes take their own selves way too seriously.

He enjoys talking to chatter outcasts to understand their behavior and why they behave the way they do. In doing that, he brings them one step closer some level of acceptance in a room, plus feel safe and warm in an environment that they might not necessarily be welcome in. Poetmonk always looks out for his friends too and will always come to the aide of defense when they are being unfairly attacked, ridiculed or treated.

Most of all Poetmonk is observant like Moloch and understands far more that goes on in the chat-room that anybody gives him credit for. Poetmonk’s philosophy speaks for itself and that’s what other chatter don’t get. They only see and hear about the bad and not the good that he’s done to brighten somebody’s day. Too bad.

Like me, Poetmonk is a 43-year-old throat-singing industrial poet-actor-spy disguised as an American black crow cawing his lungs out across the fields of the Middle West within the hills of America, where he calls home.

This following story is true; no names have been protected to hang the guilty, while others have been praised as the truly innocent. It seems like all the right elements to make a good religious cult, but it also sounds a bit like a soap opera on television or cable, right?

No!

Afraid not!

Welcome to the world of http://www.jewishstreet.com/, an Internet Jewish chat-room on the world-wide web, where real lives play out like some big bad soap opera, day in, day out. Quite frankly, it’s pathetic and downright hilarious, too! So friends, until the next installment, give the room a visit, won’t you?

Jews Of Our Lives: Kvetching Through The Glass Prune-Spit Juice Jar>Act Three

Yenta is into one upmanship. She always has to be one better than the next. She always has to be right. No one can compete with Yenta, but when you challenge her position and make a better suggestion, she will always answer with “whatever.” This is her temper-tantrum way of saying that she doesn’t like the situation and she won’t stand for it. It’s either her way or no way.

Whenever anyone challenges her position, she will often say, “You don’t know me.” Well, if no one knows you, why not be more forthcoming instead of showing your trump card all of the time? Whenever Yenta throws an adult-sized tantrum, she will remark, “Oh, they’ll talk anyway,” meaning she only wants the world to hear her voice, which to her is the only voice that matters.

Yenta is similar in behavior to Aries, Les, Zisapunim and Shammes, who are all into control and mega-power trips. I call them control freaks. For this mere reason, I don’t see on the same level with her and it shows, especially when she is disrespectful. Once a Yenta, always a Yenta. Her name suits her well. Yenta is in her late 40s and lives in Baltimore, Maryland.

Similar in syntax is Kayzeegee, who is quick-witted and sharp with her tongue. A long time ago, whenever I would speak to Kayzeegee, she has said she works at a publishing company that censors reading material, i.e. books. When I asked her how she could work for such a company, she angrily snapped at me and told me she worked her way up the ladder “in the business” from a kind-hearted boss several years ago who showed her the ropes. In layman’s terms it probably means she slept with him.

Some people it turns out, can be pathological liars, so it was no surprise that she tried to pass off a photograph of saying she was 38, when in actuality it turned out to be her daughter.

Cleverness and quick-wittedness does has its downfalls, however, especially when one tries to cover all of their bases; it’s called being shallow. When words are minced, but not used for merely the intention, rather crafty and yet I have to hand it to her, she sees to hit it off well with Les & Zisapunim, although Zisapunum denies any link with her.

She slithers like an escaped reptile on the loose; always running, always hiding from someone or something. Needless to say we don’t hit it off at all and for good reason.

One time, I recall, when I was involved with Flowerpower, another chatter, we cornered her in a room together and asked her why she dissed us so much, which she of course denied and exclaimed, “What kind of pig do you think I am?”

A snotty pig; a Bud Powell braggart lonely spinster pig who is nearly 60, divorced and lives in Society Hill, a fashionable, upper-crust suburb of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Then, there’s Soulm8ted Sunshine, a seemingly happy woman. From time to time, she greets everyone who enters into the chat-room whenever she is present. She is sort of like an unofficial greeter. She is pleasant in demeanor and a good conversationalist of that there is no doubt, but she has one downfall and that is her huge obsession with pop singer Neil Diamond!

It’s not so bad to be an obsessed fan, but to people who come into the chat-room, it can be a little annoying. Sometimes clowns like Shammes and Yenta will cloak themselves under different screen-names and come back claiming they are Neil Diamond ad do typical things to pacify her. Soulm8ted doesn’t buy into the bullshit, thank goodness!

Other chatters such as Kayzeegee, Les & Gemini make fun of her to no end. Gemini also spreads vicious rumors and lies about her, but then again, what could one expect from a drunkard, anyway? Still, there are others that go out of their way to hurt Soulm8ted and that’s not right either. Yes it is true that she is obsessive, but it’s the mania that goes with being a fan of a famous pop singer. Even I jive and jest her about Neil Diamond, but it’s all done in fun.

Soulm8ted is one of the kinder and more warm-hearted women chatters whom I've met in there, which for that room is a rarity indeed! Soulm8ted is in her mid-50s and lives in Canada.

This following story is true; no names have been protected to hang the guilty, while others have been praised as the truly innocent. It seems like all the right elements to make a good religious cult, but it also sounds a bit like a soap opera on television or cable, right?

No!

Afraid not!

Welcome to the world of http://www.jewishstreet.com/, an Internet Jewish chat-room on the world-wide web, where real lives play out like some big bad soap opera, day in, day out. Quite frankly, it’s pathetic and downright hilarious, too! So friends, until the next installment, give the room a visit, won’t you?

Jews Of Our Lives: Kvetching Through The Glass Prune-Spit Juice Jar>Act 2

When a new female comes into the chat-room, she suddenly creates a powerful magnet-like effect, three males are already probably pming her, asking her about her vitals AKA ASL (age, sex, location), these males are desperate, but none more desperate than Shammes.

Shammes, a man in his 50s, finds out everything he can about her, takes the information, files it away and proceeds to romance her, ply her with little love words and makes numerous passes at her. What woman could not resist such words and actions?

Desperate women; women, whose boyfriends or husbands don’t treat them well or give them the respect they deserve. Shammes, in many ways is like Les. He loves power and needs to have control of the situation, otherwise, he too will pout and like Les, his harem of women will coo and soothe him because they don’t want to see their “Virtual Daddy” upset. No doubt these women enjoy being submissive; they know no other way how.

Shammes’ behavior is indicative of his profession, that of being a lawyer. I’ve had a number of run-ins with Shammes, including the time he tried using his profession as a badge of authority in acting like a self-appointed chat-room monitor and I outed his deceit. He’s disliked me ever since. Can’t say I blame him, but slick attorneys like Shammes are a dime-a-dozen in my book. For some reason I’ve always equated lawyers to liars, cheats and con-men. Is it any wonder I trust them? By the way, Shammes is married, has a couple of grown kids and lives in Portland, Oregon.

One of these women who has been victimized by Shammes is Zisapunim. She’s a bit older and considers herself very funny and yet loves to flirt with every male that arrives like a stranger into the chat-room, whether she knows them or not. Zisapunim considers herself to be the matriarch of the chat-room, because she is one of the one of the first chatters that arrived in the chat-space and also, was a regular chatter in the previous carry-over room from five years earlier. She considers herself a regular, due to the fact that she is in the chat-room, morning, noon & night.

Zisapunim has changed her name a few times. At first she called herself Jackie, and then changed it to Grandma Jackie, then to Hot-Lips, then to Daffy Duck and a few other names before she settled on her current screen-name. Zisapunim is good friends with Shammes. She even met her abuser over a year ago in her own home country with his wife in tow. A little awkward you would think, but it’s apparently one big secret.

Zisapunim has enough information on other chatters to write a great big book. She gossips privately and publicly about others who enter the chat-room, primarily about their good and bad habits. That’s called loshen hora; ain’t nothing else, but pure and evil. Loshon hora can be used as a weapon if someone like Zisapunim knows what they are doing with it. I imagine that Les took some private lessons from Zisapunim.

Zisapunim publicly says she “would never tangle with me, for I’m too clever.” She likes using flattery on me all of the time. She thinks I will buy into it. I don’t. Publicly and privately, she curses at me when I make her look bad. Zisapunim wants to appear to be friendly; most people would want that reputation too, so they could be remembered that way before they die. Zisapunim is 83, been married for over 50 years and lives in Canada.

There always seems to be a festive atmosphere whenever Gemini enters the chat-room. Gemini is a rock-and-roll party girl who loves disco music, America, American president George W. Bush Jr. and alcohol. Alcohol is her best friend, perhaps more than she realizes at times. Perhaps she drinks to forget or maybe she drinks to remember how good things can be once she is lit up like a Sabbath candle on Friday evenings.

Gemini likes to know where everyone who ever enters the chat-room is from. Anyone who does not agree with her, she calls “a nut.” Her husband Eric, who she describes as a sports fanatic is a great guy, she says. Perhaps he is or perhaps that’s just the alcohol talking. Anytime anyone comes out against President Bush’s policies or administration, she immediately types the refrained lyrics of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born In The USA.” It makes her proud to feel that she is an American. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking again.

Gemini uses two other names; her Hebrew name is Kaila and a red-neck name, Amy Sue. Like Les, Gemini is a racist and hates Blacks, Muslims, Arabs and any other skin color that isn’t pure white nor Jewish. Les and Gemini ought to start a Jewish branch of the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) and recruit members within the chat-room; I bet they will find plenty of sympathasizers, just like the folks that sympathized with the Nazis during WWII.

Every year when it gets close to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Gemini professes to be a stalwart Jew and a supporter of Israel. It must be the alcohol talking, because the rest of the year, she behaves like Sybil, you know the case study of a woman with 16 different personalities all rolled into one person?

Gemini and I don’t get along, based on my choice of politics and whom I choose to support in my life. She will often tell me that I’m a nut, I’m not Jewish, that I need to get laid and that I have no friends in the chat-room. When I tell her that her best friends are Mr. Booze and Miss Alcohol, she leaves rather hurriedly, as if I spoke out of turn.

Gemini is 47, jobless, with no responsibilites and lives in New Jersey. Need I say more?

This following story is true; no names have been protected to hang the guilty. It seems like all the right elements to make a good religious cult, but it also sounds a bit like a soap opera on television or cable, right?

No!

Afraid not!

Welcome to the world of http://www.jewishstreet.com/, an Internet Jewish chat-room on the world-wide web, where real lives play out like some big bad soap opera, day in, day out. Quite frankly, it’s pathetic and downright hilarious, too! So friends, until the next installment, give the room a visit, won’t you?

Jews Of Our Lives: Kvetching Through The Glass Prune-Spit Juice Jar>Act 1

Meet Les; he’s one fine manipulator of women. He likes to be in control of the situation at any given moment. He always pampers his women by calling them “Baby,” “Sweetheart,” “Honey,” “Darling,” “Dear” and half-a-dozen other names he conjures up.

And women fall for these dopey terms of endearment. Take Mazel, a woman in her early 50s who doesn’t have a steady boyfriend nor shows any interest in men for that matter and yet, falls for his mannerisms and then obeys whatever her adopted house mom Aries says.

Aries could well be a Russian double for Imelda Marcos! Aries is similar in mannerism to Les, in that they both hold on tightly to Mazel, making it seem like an almost trancelike stranglehold on her conscious.

Les pouts when he can’t get his way and so “his women”, Aries, Mazel and a bevy of 10 other women comfort and attend to his every need by saying nice things to him; it’s called being submissive.

Les is a 73-year-old man with an ex-wife, and a family of children that absolutely disdain him, yet Les always speaks highly of them as if they still were part of his life. Les had a stroke recently and is coming around and seems like his old self again; crabby, idiotic and conniving.

I was involved with the trio under different circumstances that of being a love interest for Mazel. Les behaved like a protective father, while Aries behaved like a hen-pecking mother. Things didn’t work out between Mazel and I.

Aries & Les created a hostile environment for me. Aries browbeat me privately & publicly, while Les publicly trashed my name in public whenever he had the chance and told anyone he could that I was mentally unstable. Could I help if I rejected a few “touched up” photos of Mazel and became extremely suspicious of whom I was dealing with?

In public Les says Mazel has a nice face, yet behind her back Les says she could stand to lose some weight. When Les smeared my name in public like a dirty rag, I threatened him with legalities and got in touch with the proper authorities that we both know. Rather than listen to both sides, the cops chose to take his side and read me the riot act and then the cops declared a “cooling off period” between Les and I.

No sooner was that enacted, when Les was up to his old tricks again and chose to smear my name in public again. This time I took no chances and explored all legal avenues. I told him I was going to fix him legally so he couldn’t speak badly of me ever again and that’s when he turned it around on me and claimed I was physically threatening him. When the cops stepped in, sure enough they chose to listen to him first and then interrogated me to no end and once again read me the riot act.

Les carries around a brown suitcase with him. Some suggest it’s a symbol for a coffin, a way to let others know that his time on Earth is almost up. His harem of women don’t want to hear such words, so they coo and soothe him with kindness and tell him he’ll live to the ripe old age of 95.

Death is eminent for a man like Les who just had a stroke and spreads evil loshon hora, along with counterpart Aries who does whatever Les instructs her to do. Les is a retired circuit court judge living in Gainesville, Florida. Aries is a housewife in her 50s with an adopted daughter and a loving husband, living in Columbus, Ohio, while Mazel is an innocent woman caught up in all of their madness, living in Mexico City, Mexico and yet, all three of them belong together.

This following story is true; no names have been protected to hang the guilty. It seems like all the right elements to make a good religious cult, but it also sounds a bit like a soap opera on television or cable, right?

No!

Afraid not!

Welcome to the world of http://www.jewishstreet.com/, an Internet Jewish chat-room on the world-wide web, where real lives play out like some big bad soap opera, day in, day out. Quite frankly, it’s pathetic and downright hilarious, too! So friends, until the next installment, give the room a visit, won’t you?

American Yarnprose>The Red Hanger From Hong Kong

The Red Hanger From Hong Kong

The Red Hanger from Hong Kong. Having coffee with Alex, early p.m. ritual weekend snop. I listen with content the latter of the former, tears stream inside my eyes, I was gone when you were all there, laughing, chatting, giggling about, I was gone, gone onto monsters of the past lives generated from darkness placed on white plates, the corrective of princeliness.

The ribs of Adam, covered in red sauce hot sauce, sauce that the saints once called home, sauce that accounted for the aches and pains and sicknesses over the past 100 years of the golden moonlight cresting upon the hill.

The Red Hanger from Hong Kong, floating in a bowl of Cheerios, her Japanese response when we made love on mattresses dragged from the room next to her mother’s room, her Japanese heart, her Japanese love, her Japanese smile, her Japanese eyes, her Japanese voice, by now, so American, invading white-bread chromosomes into her back, her spine, her walls of life, which by the time I got there were fiery, screaming a wild curse to the American sky, moaning in Japanese, crying in Asianisms, laughing in Orientalologies, the secret you were to my parents for four and a half years, killing me with love, sex, words, food, abuse and kindness, buying me presents, dinners, clothing, gasoline, vacations, while I supplied the condoms.

Why, I remember the time in DC, that broken down old hotel we stayed at, the garbage truck kept you awake, so we moved to a more expensive down-the-street sort of inn, just to get some rest, knowing full well that wasn’t going to happen, sucking and fucking in that same DC night, me coming, you high and dry, but loving the sensation more and more, later waking up in each other’s arms, bathing and dressing together, Siamese twins in historical city.

Wanting to separate to see other lands, you wouldn’t hear of it. Had fight. First of several that lost weekend. I as a child seeing Smoky Bear that very first time, President Kennedy still alive. Me, a man. Holding your hand. Telling you I must go alone to see some of the land.

You reluctantly agreeing.

It worked out, didn’t it?

Dinner was sickening. You took care of me, cradling my head upon your breast.

Mother you were to me that night.

The Red Hanger from Hong Kong.

Thoughts On Not Watching Television

I feel sometimes as if I am missing out on the world offers me for “free” just because I don’t watch television. It’s what I was raised on in my formative years and later watched it when I was in college and beyond.

Within the last year however, I made a vow not to watch television, not because of all the stupidity in programs offered, I realize there’s cable television that show more daring programs that regular television doesn’t offer as well the old standbys I used to watch when I was a kid.

Maybe it’s just the glut of crap on the boob tube, yeah; maybe that’s it. Maybe, suddenly after several years of attempting to be realistic, television has finally caught up to us and is trying to show us how stupid we humans can be.

I do catch glimpses of it though, when I am working out at the YMCA, at a friend’s apartment, at a restaurant or at a bar and yet it doesn’t offer much to me, just colored light.

Realistically though, Saturday morning cartoons sure aren’t the same, especially on the local channels. Disney took care of that and from what I understand, cable television cartoons aren’t any better, although they are more modernized in approach and reality. I guess I am used to “Bugs Bunny atmosphere” that a cartoon offered to me as a viewer, fantasy creations with a little too much violence and smart-ass wit that accompanied the cartoons with awesome orchestral music flailing in the background.

I have three television sets in my apartment, all gathering dust. I think I find television taking up too much time and its approach and style is there to amuse us after a hard day of work. News broadcasts are amusing, almost like the reality shows and sometimes a little too Hollywood for me.

Since when do newscasters behave like actors and actresses? I can’t tell the difference sometimes between the two mediums and then even when they are interviewing witnesses at ghastly murder scenes or car wrecks, the witness become part of entertainment as well, almost a little too hammy for the camera, putting a little too much emphasis on their own words, than what was really witnessed.

I guess it’s a form of reality television, much like the programs that are being produced by the networks; easy formula to follow, as all you need to do is find a bunch of willing strangers to forgo all of their human rights and basic needs for a few months or a year, just for a chance to be seen by possibly millions on the television screen.

Reality is craziness, really. And given the chance to act like an ass on television and being unpaid for it other than getting housing and a few other promotional goodies, but hey it looks good on your resume and you’ll be a hero to your friends and you’ll look real cool to everyone else, so why not? But no. there’s a little too much reality within our reality to begin with.

Trends inspire more trends. It’s easier to follow the crowd than to be on your own and lead yourself down your own path to your own destiny. Why stray from the pack when the pack knows what is good and a single mind wouldn’t know what is good and what isn’t good, anyway?

These are the same questions I ask myself night after night when I get off work and flip on the radio and find a radio station I like and listen to the nice voices telling me about the realities I don’t necessarily agree with, but can accept to some degree of happiness.

And that to me is one reason I prefer radio over television. It forces me to use my mind and imagine what a person looks like and imagine what they are doing while they are on the microphone speaking. And what they are wearing. And the stories they tell.

That’s far more challenging being complacent sitting in a chair or a couch and watching someone in a situational comedy acting on stupid impulses scripted out or a news program telling me about the latest scare tactic that the Bush administration is planning to implement.

By the way, did you know the U.S. government has plans to monitor what television programs you watch, simply because there are too many complaints of sex being a little too much for some people’s realities?

Perhaps those complaining are secretly enjoying it and are getting off on the visual fantasies that are being produced. One can never have too much of a good thing, you know, which is why the U. S. Congress believes now is the time to act as cops. Next thing you know, they’ll tell you what to listen to (music), another favorite target of theirs in years past.

There is hope however…which is all the more reason to junk your lazy mind, stop watching television and listen to the radio for a fresh approach; perhaps shortwave radio or even ham radio, as all three force you to critically think and make you listen to reality in a whole different light than television ever could do in a 30-second commercial spot for McDonald’s.

And that’s a good start for reality’s sake.

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>The Great Gangsta Tale of “Chollie The Body Furnace”

My goodness! Here's Friday again, it comes around faster than we realize it, but ah, thank heavens it is here to cap off my uneventful week, with the exception of last night, which I'll tell you all about one day soon dear readers, so here's a funky little poem for you from my administrative assistant salad days and remember as always, always enjoy!!!

The Great Gangsta Tale of “Chollie The Body Furnace”

Got ants in my anus
Just been read the gangsta habeas corpus
Amid scowls, scorns and stares
My days longer
Nights worse
The short end of the curse will inevitably
Deliver me swiftly home in a hearse
I try to meditate
But all I can do is masturbate
My worries and my woes
Worry gets you gray and wrinkly
The character assassination missed again by Huntley-Brinkley
The two most bored ghosts of my youth
See, all I do is tell the truth and yet I have failed miserably
A tragic loss
But I guess I now know who is boss
And who gets the axe, but it’s not really that
It’s that familiar rat-a-tat-tat
Supply and demand
Caresses the fateful hand
Of whom to dropkick when they are no longer needed
The commander-in-chief
Slinks in the shadows like a lonesome thief
And gets her boys to do her dirty work
“Hey man! The big boss needs to see you!”
Why even on the lift last week,
Her little stoolie that brought me onboard into the fold
Once upon a time,
Now unplugs the cord and can’t even remember my name
It’s all part of the gangsta game, the gangsta sublime
Nor does he even try
“Hi,” says he. So now I see.
We cannot even keep the same company.
The status quo has changed
The gangstas rearranged
And whom it ever be so humble
Can only fumble for words.
I look behind and I look ahead
The dragged river is nothing more than a dry lakebed
And I see the blood-drenched cross
And I think, “Shit. Jesus is coming back.”
And all the senseless fighting between them gangstas
Will launch a new attack
So I better run inside and get the eggs

Parental Advisory: The Crimes & Misdemeanors Staining Parenthood

I’m not a parent, but I aspire to be one someday and yet when I see the efforts of child-rearing parents being splashed all over the newspapers, evening news & the Internet throughout the United States and beyond do what they do to their children, it just makes me cringe and I wonder how they got into the blissful part of the parenthood lottery pool, while others struggle so hard in attempts to have children and are unable to and have to go the adoption route, which is a tough road to hoe too.

Take into account the several reported cases of parents leaving their younger children alone to take care of themselves and often found in disheveled conditions. Then there’s children beaten or starved to death because that child didn’t obey them. There have been more reported instances of parents chaining them up like slaves, locking their children in dark closets and locking them in cages, treating them like animals. Some children have even been murdered by their parents.

Then there are parents that let Disney, Sesame Street, cartoons, cable programs, films, videos and DVDs to baby-sit them, while subliminally formulating in their impressionable young minds a taste for “Everything Mickey” and the like.

Most of all, there are parents, as reported by the New York Times in recent days, staging a protest at a Chicago coffeehouse, Taste Of Heaven to be exact in the Andersonville neighborhood on the north-side of Chicago. They are boycotting the establishment because the coffeehouse’s owner allegedly told those particular parents that he didn’t like how their children behaving in his restaurant.

You can see where this is leading, right?

Parents are beginning, if not already behaving like children, throwing adult-size tantrums in public just because someone else tells them how to behave in THEIR establishment.

In the other examples I mentioned, it’s just parents shirking off their responsibilities off to other means or displaying immature actions, just as children do when they can’t figure out what to do because after all, babies do not come with how-to instructions when they are born into the world.

I think that these particular types of parents need to own up to their responsibilities immediately by taking care of their children like the way my parents The Arizona Babe & Rex Pâté Homo and my friends George & Sandy Weister, Mr. & Mrs. Zog-19, T-Bone & Cupid, Cathy Tedder, Cathleen Schandelmeier & Peter Bartels, Brian & Leah Grover, Michael & Debra Brownstein, Mr. & Mrs. Eric Brice, Steve & Lorre Johnson, as well as countless other parents have done and are still doing, raising their children the best way they know how to and that is with lots of love, tenderness & practicality. That’s how a child should be raised!

Well, tomorrow is Veteran’s Day, a salute to veterans of all wars, great and small. However, tomorrow when you see a parent with their child either in tow or alongside of them, whether big or small, young or old, give them a great big smile! Here’s to the parents of the real wars, the difficulties of raising their young to be good upright citizens of the world.

Yes it’s true, there are already holidays set aside for mothers and fathers aptly titled Mother’s Day & Father’s Day and the veterans who fought for freedom should have their day as well, but if it weren’t for the parents who raised these children to determine right from wrong and keep freedom intact, where would we be today?

The 1st Annual MishegasMaster Lyrics-Writing Contest AKA Put Your Talent Where Your Mouth Is!!!

It’s so incredibly easy to criticize America these days and the top five ways to do so are: (1)-Blog (like The MishegasMaster); (2)-Air your grievances on a radio talk-show call-in program; (3)-Go into an Internet chat-room and complain; get together with a group of friends either at coffeehouse or over a meal and collective discuss the troubles and of course, writing a letter to the editor of a newspaper or opinion page.

Why is America such an easy to target for criticism by its own citizens? Perhaps it’s because the criticisms and freedoms we enjoy have been twisted, tweaked and taken advantage of, eroded and exploited so much, that there’s no approachable point to dig in, claim a territory and stop the insanity/madness!

So, it got me to thinking about the entire situation at hand and wondered what it would take the wagging tongues, the pointing fingers, the Nay-Sayers and all of the other self-appointed United States citizens critics mixed in between to come together?

Why a new national anthem lyric-writing contest, that’s how!

Long ago, in the days before the humans in world had ever known what a computer was, let alone decent writing utensils, Francis Scott Key composed a poem that eventually became America’s national anthem during the war of 1812, one of only three American wars we lost besides the Confederate and Vietnam Wars, although with the latest “war on terror” efforts by our wondirtful (sic) president, you’d swear it was a real war that we were truly losing, but back to the matter at hand.

In the late 1930s, folksinger Woody Guthrie at some point heard vocalist Kate Smith belt out “God Bless America” over radio airwaves and didn’t like what she was singing, so he wrote out the entire song in long-hand and wrote his own set of lyrics which became “This Land Is Your Land,” which became a popular American song as well. Guthrie had a healthy habit of taking his own melodies and rewriting old lyrics into new lyrics ever constantly.

In the years that followed, other songs became representative of the United States, like the lyrical poem “America The Beautiful,” by Katharine Lee Bates & popularized by Ray Charles, Simon & Garfunkel’s “America,” Neil Diamond’s “Coming To America,” Bruce Springsteen’s “Born In The USA” and James Brown’s “Living In America,” to name a few.

The contest; officially titled: The First Annual MishegasMaster Lyrics-Writing Contest; The rules are very simple; all you need to do is write lyrics for a new American national anthem with the underlying theme being America, of course. There are no length requirements, so you can write it anyway you like, using any method of inspiration; it can be anything from a parody to hip-hop to popular song.

The prize categories are as follows: 1st Prize: a copy of the novel On The Road (Jack Kerouac) 2nd Prize: a copy of the novel Bound For Glory (Woody Guthrie) & 3rd Prize: a copy of the poem Howl And Other Poems (Allen Ginsberg).

The Fun & Legal Fine Print: In case the prize winner of the said categories already owns the titled book, a substitute title by the same said author will be awarded. All entries will become property of The MishegasMaster. All prize-winners WILL BE published on my blog. Only one entry per person; in the case of multiple entries, only the first entry will be accepted.

No purchase necessary, unless you deem yourself to donate to the cause. Residents of the United States, the Universe and beyond the Universe may enter, age 9 & older. To enter, follow these instructions on this screen.

To email an entry, be sure to put in the subject line 1st Annual MishegasMaster Lyrics-Writing Contest and e-mail to sid_yiddish@hotmail.com For those of you who prefer snail-mail like The Arizona Babe does, then send your entries to: 1st Annual MishegasMaster Lyrics-Writing Contest c/o CB, Post Office Box 5008, Evanston, Illinois 60204-5008 USA. Be sure to include or write down your full name, address, city, state, zip-code, email-address and telephone number for either the email or snail-mail submission. Contest begins on Wednesday, November 9, 2005. Electronic entries must be received by 5pm, Wednesday, June 14, 2006 & snail-mail entries must also be postmarked by 5pm Wednesday, June 14, 2006.

In the event of a dispute over the identity of an online entrant, entry will be deemed submitted by the holder of the e-mail account. The MishegasMaster is not responsible for technical failures in entry transmission, or lost, late, misdirected, damaged, incomplete, illegible or postage due mail. Winners will be selected from all entries received by said participants.

The MishegasMaster’s judging decisions are final. Winners will be notified by snail mail, e-mail or telephone on or around July 4, 2006. Any prize or prize notification returned to The MishegasMaster via a bad email address or a non-working telephone number will result in the awarding of that prize to an alternate winner.

Odds of winning depend on number of entries received. Except as required by law, The MishegasMaster will not share entrant information with any third parties. The MishegasMaster may contact entrants in the future with contests or offers he feels might be of interest. Family members of The MishegasMaster including Louie, Benjy, Joey, Naomi, The Arizona Babe & Rex Pâtér Homo are not eligible, despite the fantastic creativity that runs in the family!

For a list of prize winners, send a self addressed envelope to 1st Annual MishegasMaster Lyrics-Writing Contest c/o CB, Post Office Box 5008, Evanston, Illinois 60204-5008 USA. Entry constitutes permission (except where prohibited by law) to use the winner's name, hometown, likeness, and any text submitted for purposes of advertising and promotion on behalf of The MishegasMaster without further compensation. Anybody who believes otherwise is probably not all there. Rules and regulations subject to change in case of a freak snowstorm, raging flood, dust-storm or Act of God; you know how strange weather or situations can be here in the middle west of the United States during the summer!

Good luck to all entrants!

American Yarnprose>Stav (The Stand)

STAV (THE STAND)

I sat silently in isolation, contemplating my next move. My day had not gone well. Flat tire on the way to the interview. Stood-up lunch date. No go from another job prospect. I was sad, depressed, but then again, what else was new?

I admitted to myself, "What a bore, broken record I must sound like to everybody. Where do I go from here? I've tried close to every avenue that's humanly possible."

"Wonder if I'm loved? No truly. Everybody down to my parents and close friends tell me so, but I wonder half of the time why I was even brought into this world to begin with?"

I felt like an old hack player, a good-for-nothing has-been musician, snatched from the limelight just because the big boys didn't like my style. Here I sit, reduced to nothing. Looking back on it all, I wouldn't have changed my style.

I hated those industry jet setters, smooth-talking motherfuckers who played those poppy, sap-flavored tunes and sold out for a cool million on the spot. But me, no I learned from the books, note-for-note, listened to the true masters and took my time interchanging, cooking up my style and boy did it change, enough so that club owners started to notice me, began to book me into little nobody-knows-your-name/my-name clubs and when they heard me play, jaws dropped, eyes stared, ears perked up, as I wailed away, blowing their hearts and minds. I had soul, brothers and sisters, yes sir, I had class, but I worked my way up to the top and then I would fall, but I'd get right back up again and play, play my heart out, 'til I fell down. This happened over and over, but I wasn't afraid of anything, no sir! I kept moving as if I had steam in my lungs or heart.

I just kept playing and playing and playing and playing and then, thunk! Thunk, thunk, thunk! Everything caved in, lost everything I ever worked for, just frickin' collapsed in a matter of seconds.

San Francisco, 1989.

No. San Francisco, 1906.

Me, myself and I, ground into the dust, seconds flat, the lights had gone out, the steam was gone and the paranoia set in, all those “what if” questions followed me around like a sad imitation of the Pied Piper. Life was not steak and potatoes, more like soup and crackers. I felt poor, broke, cheated out of one of the greatest opportunities I'd ever been given and now it was gone, destined never to come back. I picked up a cigarette from my stash and lit it, puffed a few smoke rings, blew out and flicked ashes into a tin can. I walked over to the fridge, but it was bare, just like my soul, I had nothing left to live for.

Sadly, I asked God for a sign, but all he could give me was the eviction notice handed to me by my landlord. Slowly I walked to the train station with all of my belongings.

As the train approached and its whistle howled, I knew I had found happiness once again.