Don't look so sad I know it's over

"...I'm not sure about the rape one"

A worn black plastic Croc swung from her swollen ankle like a piece of over ripened fruit as the artsy woman, spread out alone over half of the gallery bench with a pale alabaster unshaven doughy leg exposed from between the drapery of a large black muumuu, loudly pontificated.

How does one respond to such profound artistic criticism like that?

To be fair, she did start her statement with, "it's a nice show...". But, regardless how her criticism started, it ended with a comparison of my art to a rape.

"Well, it's only rape if everyone involved doesn't have fun" , I returned to an almost empty room of opening night gallery visitors.

You know those times in your life when you say something to a group of people and the very instant it leaves your lips you realize that it was a completely inappropriate thing to say. Every spoken syllable echoes in your head while you pray to whatever Godd you kneel before to grant you a single wish of turning back the clock and never uttering whatever statement that you will now regret for eternity. Well, my retort to my grandiose critic was not one of those times. In fact, I said it loud enough so that even people in the lobby of the gallery heard it and dipped their heads in to see what kind of Cro-Magnon would even utter such a crime.

The several audible gasps was payment enough for a show that didn't sell a single goddamn thing.

..And so ended my short career as an artist of Metro-Detroit.

As a young child I was told that if you can't leave a party with elegance and demure, leave the party by vomiting on the shoes of everyone in the room, that way everyone will remember you. A month later, when the show ended and my van was packed with all my unsold artist treasures for the long return journey home, I knew that I would never be returning to the gritty underbelly that is the Detroit art world. I was free. The chains had been broken and I wouldn't even beg for reparations.

My wonderful wife made a comment the other night, "Why is it on Facebook that when someone posts pictures from a Detroit art show, there are always the same seven people there?"

I told her that those seven people must come for the free wine and cheese, because they aint coming to buy art.

I have learned from my last solo show that's never a good thing to get anchored to something larger than yourself. There is always a risk of drowning when that large chunk of shit sinks. From this point on, I am now insisting that I be considered one of Muskegon's premier visual artists. It's a safe bet that Muskegon cant sink any further from where it's at.

If life is making you feel like a little fish, put on your big boy pants and walk to a smaller pond. Smaller ponds are not so bad. Smaller ponds have studios with twice the size and half the rent and a fucking great beach on Lake Michigan to roll around drunk on in the middle of the week. Small ponds also don't have fat ladies in muumuus comparing your work to a prison rape. Nope, the fat ladies here are happy to get what you fucking give them and say thank you for sharing.

"Don't look so sad I know it's over

But life goes on and this world keeps on turning, yeah

Let's just be glad, we have this time to spend together

There is no need to watch the bridges that were burning"

“I want a do over”

“I want a do over”

A phrase every child has yelled on the kick-ball field during recess. Maybe the ball took a wicked bounce on the way over the plate, maybe it was just too fast of a pitch, or maybe we were just not ready to kick the ball. Regardless, a called ‘do over’ was usually granted.

I want a do over.

I want a do over that rubs the slate clean and takes me back to Mrs. Petersons 8^th grade science class and Lowell Middle. I want a do over that takes me back to that day when I heard a very loud and very strange laugh from the far corner of the class room. I want a do over that takes me back to the day I met a very dear friend.

I’m sure Mrs. Peterson was great teacher. But, her classroom was always excessively warm and her lectures were always a bit dry. If one were not careful, one could doze off. And if one were on the very cusp of dozing off, you know that twilight time just before full sleep when your body disconnects with the brain and does unexpected things, one might let out a completely unintentional yet very loud belch. My belch was what earned a single laugh from the corner of the room, a laugh that I will never forget.

An old friend passed away the other day. A friend that I wish I could hear laugh one more time.

Bob Hammons was my friend.

He was my friend during those awkward early teenaged years when life seemed endless and huge.

As young adults we were friends, when life began to get a little more serious but there was still fun to be had.

We were friends when we entered our forties and life was a warm Fourth of July weekend spent with his wonderful son at the beach.

Memories of Bob are pouring over me like waves, memories that I never want to forget.

Memories of the cardboard U2 setting in his bedroom window that you could see from Lilley Road. In 9th grade, I didn't have a clue what a U2 was.  

Memories like the time he let me borrow his Adam Ant album. It was the first album I ever listened to.

Memories like the time Kenny Kim met us in the 2nd floor at Salem High and Bob grabbed the violin out of Kenny's hands and played the most beautiful tune I had ever heard.

Memories like the time I met him on the stairs in Canton High school to show him a flyer I was drawing. He was DJ-ing a teen dance night at that night club in Canton on Ford Road that is now a Wal-Mart. Standing next to him on the stairs was a girl that I had never met before, I would marry her one day.

Memories of Bob at my wedding. I told Hanna that I would only get married if I had three things there, Bob, Val and BBQ ribs at the reception. I got all three that night.

I want to go back at tell my younger self to spend a little more time savoring the few real friendships I had. I want to go back and tell Bob that I love him and that I will miss him very much one day.

I want to tell Bob thank you for being my friend when I was a young teen and had no friends. Bob gave me the strength to be myself and be proud to be different.

I want to tell Bob thank you for being my friend when I was a young man and I believed that I didn't fit in and that my life was over. Bob opened my eyes to what was important and that things can always get better no matter how dark it may seem.

I want to tell Bob thank you for being my friend as a middle aged man. Bob taught me that it is never too late for anything and that life is about the journey and not the destination.

I just wish the journey would have lasted a little longer with him in the passenger seat.

I want a do over so much right now.

I miss my friend. I miss Bob Hammons. I loved Bob Hammons.

DAYS AWAY FROM SWEET SWEET AFRICAN GOLD...

Say Hello to Mr. Tushy

Got an Email Today:

Mrs Monat

To 

Today at 11:33 AM

FOR YOUR COMPENSATION

Dear Partner 

Greetings, How are you with your family? I hope

fine. I'm happy to inform you about my success in getting those funds

transferred under the cooperation of a new partner from UK ,

Presently I’m in Australia, meanwhile I didn't forget your past

efforts to assist me in transferring those funds despite that it

failed us somehow with you.I know you thought it was a joke and you

did not follow me up and droped out.

This is to notify you that I have deposited the sum of $750.000.00

USD drafted conformable cheque for you with the Airmail Delivery

company in my country Burkina faso through my secretary.

You are advised to quickly contact them so that they will deliver the

cheque to you.

Feel free in contacting them by email or phone, their contact below,do

inform me if you do so.

Airmail Delivery services

Manager Dpp Airmail

+226 76 940571

Email: airmaildelivery.services@yahoo.in

www.airmail.org

regards

Lady Monat

_____________________________________________________________

Topher Crowder To Mrs Monatairmaildelivery.services@yahoo.in

Today at 4:05 PM

Hello Miss Monat.

I just got your email regarding the sum of mony. I am not understanding wat you wnt me to do? Is this a PAYPAL thing? Please contact me as soon as you get this because I would relly like to halp you in what ever way.

Assistant Director of Fecal Transportaytion Systems Maintanence.

Mr. Topher Crowder

_______________________________________________________________

Confirmation Notice from Airmail Delivery Services

Dear Beneficiary .Mr. Topher Crowder

open the attached file for our delivery notice,

After making your choice you are advised to send the fee by western Union money transfer for us to deliver your cheque, here below is our Accounts officer's name for the payment

RECEIVER'S NAME : OSSAI OSSY CHUKS

ADDRESS: BURKINA FASO

Thanks We stand to serve you best.

Mr John Kara Zongo

Manager DPP

Airmail Management

_______________________________________________________________

Me

To Airmail Delivery servicesMrs Monat

Today at 2:47 PM

Hello my good freind mister John Kara Zongoo

I a just reading the email you sent me and I need your help. it says that i need no money but i thought i needed to send you money to get my check for 75 million dollares. I dont see how much i am to send you.

I need your help becauese i want my money as soon as possible.

1: is the money going to be in african money? what color is african money?

2: can you send me a copy of the check? i have never seen a 75 million african dollars beforew.

3: can we do this through PAYPAL? I can give you my PAYPAL password and you can just put the money in PAYPAL

please answer these questions my loving african male freind (with soft hands?) (i hope)

your loving ameruican frend

Mr Topher Poostain Crowder

________________________________________________________________

Confirmation Notice from Airmail Delivery Services

Dear Beneficiary .Mr. Topher Crowder

Thanks for your mail and request, for your clear understanding options were given to you to choose any courieer service of your choice and send the money to us by western union, now we are making the best choice for you DHL and the cost is $820

Be assured that as soon as we receive your payment with your full address in the next 48 hours your cheque will be delivered to you with the Bank clearance guarrantee of payment.

Here below is the information to send the fee $820 Dollars

RECEIVER'S NAME : OSSAI OSSY CHUKS

ADDRESS: BURKINA FASO

Thanks We stand to serve you best.

Mr John Kara Zongo

Manager DPP

Airmail Management

_______________________________________________________

WU ZONAL AREA OFFICE BURKINA FASO

PLOT 6 AVE NKURUMAH OUAGA BP

TEKEPHONE/FAX +226 6424 3973

BURKINA FASO

ATTN: Mr. Topher

Here is our office and you are directed to send the money through our Accounts officer’s name

As soon as we receive your payment in the next 48 hours your cheque will be sent to you

Send us your full address where to send your cheque

RECEIVER’S NAME: OSSAI CHUKS

ADDRESS;BURKINA FASO WEST AFRICA

Regards

Regional Director

WU BURKINAF FASO

ALHAJI DANCO ZONGO

_______________________________________________________________

Me

To Airmail Delivery services

Today at 10:10 PM

Hello my chocolate african man freind Airmail Manager Mr. John kara Zongo

I got your email but when I opened the file you sent, i ciould not read the goddam thing. It looked all crazy with crazy words. Even mother could not make heads or tails of it. It may be becaue you are typing it in africa and when it comes to america it isnt spellet right. I am sure as an airmail management person you spell pretty good for a african but here is america we spell much better.

I have turned mother's check into cash I(i sent a photo of the cash) Say hello to mr tushy, he is my kitty. So I have the money, But i just need yu to resend the western union address so I can send the cash to you.

DONT SEND THAT FILE AGAIN...copy and paist it in american english not your crazy african speak.

1: as soon as you resend the western union address I will send you the $900

2: DO you have family members in american, Maybe I could drive the money over to them?

3: Please hold my $750 for me untilll you have my western union mail in your chocolate soft hjands.

Thank you, you are a soft and kind chocolate african man that I would be proud to kiss full on the lips.

Thank you for your patience, i know we will have our money soon with your help.

Mr Topher PooStain Crowder (Is it true what they say about brown men from africa? how big is yours?)

_______________________________________________________________

Airmail Delivery services

To Me

Today at 12:16 PM

Dear Beneficiary .Mr. Topher Crowder

view the attached file

Thanks We stand to serve you best.

Mr John Kara Zongo

Manager DPP

Airmail Management

_____________________________________________________________

WU ZONAL AREA OFFICE BURKINA FASO

PLOT 6 AVE NKURUMAH OUAGA BP

TEKEPHONE/FAX +226 6424 3973

BURKINA FASO

ATTN: Mr. Topher

Here is our office and you are directed to send the money through our Accounts officer’s name

As soon as we receive your payment in the next 48 hours your cheque will be sent to you

Send us your full address where to send your cheque

RECEIVER’S NAME: OSSAI CHUKS

ADDRESS;BURKINA FASO WEST AFRICA

Regards

Regional Director

WU BURKINAF FASO

ALHAJI DANCO ZONGO

______________________________________________________________

Me

To Airmail Delivery services

Today at 9:44 PM

Dear locving tender choclate man freind Mr John Kara Zongo.

I just got your resent email with the same goddam attachment. I had mother take a look at and she thought it might be best if we had fer boyfriend Mr. Hatwood Jablowme look at it. Mr. Haywood was [planning to come over tonight to service my mother (she needs lovin' twice a week) ....anyways, he helpped us out with downloading your african jiberish so that americans can read it.

Mr Haywood Jablowme did ask me to ask you if everyone in africa was 'fucking retarted'...I told him that i would ask you. If you are your chocolate african countrymen are retarted, i hope the tender baby jesus will smile opon you to make you no retarted so much...

Any ways, I have the money $900 and mr. haywood Jablowme coppied this info for me..

1: Is this the banks mailing adress that I am to send the western union to?

WU ZONAL AREA OFFICE BURKINA FASO

PLOT 6 AVE NKURUMAH OUAGA BP

TEKEPHONE/FAX +226 6424 3973

BURKINA FASO

2: It is just that Mr. Haywood Jablowme is right, it looks fucking retarded....i mean what kind of name is WU ZONAL? A retarted name?

3: RECEIVER’S NAME: OSSAI CHUKS

ADDRESS; BURKINA FASO WEST AFRICA

Who is OSSAI CHUKS? He he a chocolate retard too? Should I just send the money to YOU?

4:Who is...

Regional Director

WU BURKINAF FASO

ALHAJI DANCO ZONGO....he he another one of the african retarts? Jeeze you guys need to learn to spell american.

5: OK OK....i just need you to confirm that i send the western union check to

WU BURKINAF FATSO at the WU ZONAL area office in Burkina Fatso

Is this correct. if it is I will send the $900 in the morning.

Please let me know as soon as you get this.

I will keep the vasoline warm until we can meet at I can see your african man root

((huggs))

Mr. Topher Poostain Crowder (not a retard)

______________________________________________________________________________

Airmail Delivery services
To Me
Today at 7:26 AM

Why are you making mistakes  see where to send the money to Mr  OSSAI CHUKS

His address is Burkina faso West Africa

That is all

____________________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services
Today at 12:01 PM
Look Mister Chocolate uppity african who cant spell....ok that was un called for, im sorry.

Mr. Zongo, i am sorry.

I rode my bike up to the wesern union shop to get the check but there was a problem. The old bitch up there would not let me get a check. She said she would need a few things before she could make the check.

1: I have been dealing with you Mr. Zonger and I trust you (I would trust a mouthfull of your manroot).

2: I dont know who Mr  OSSAI CHUKS is and I will need to see identification ....I would hate for him to take the money and screw us over.

Please either have Mr  OSSAI CHUKS email me or have Mr  OSSAI CHUKS send me his photograph id card. Is Mr.Chunks a 'large' chocolate man?

Please send me his photograch and his papers. (from the waste down would be better)


I will be waitin g with my $900 dollars for your email photograph. with one hand one the computer and one hand on my white snake.

Love, Peace and Magic ((huggs)) **kisses**

Mr. Topher Poostain Crowder

_____________________________________________________________________________

Airmail Delivery services
To Me
May 31 at 1:26 AM
If you want to receive the cheque simply obey and send the fee that is all

_________________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services
Today at 8:40 PM
Helloo My Chocolate friend.

I have the money all $900 for shipping
1: Western union needs your information photo.
2: the bith wont give me the check with out your identification card photo

I trust you but she does not. Please email your photpo itentification card photo. please

thank you

Mr. Topher Poostain Crowder

____________________________________________________________________________

Airmail Delivery services
To Me
 Today at 5:04 AM

Dear Beneficiary  .Mr. Topher Crowder

 view the attached file my photo
Thanks We stand to serve you best.

Mr John Kara Zongo
Manager DPP
Airmail Management

Say Hello to MR. Zongo

_______________________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services
 Today at 3:39 PM
Hello and praise jesus my sweet sweet little chocolate man friend...

thank thank you you for the photograph as proof that you are an honest and loving african man and from the look of the photo, it looks like you are hung like a horse (i am dreaming yes)

I hope that some day i can have a taste of that sweet chocolate man root.

well i just messed myself...

ok ok back to business. i just got back from the western union shop with my check for your (see photo graph)

i am placing the check in the mail today. i want to get this right.

I am mailing your $900 to:

WU ZONAL AREA OFFICE BURKINA FASO
PLOT 6 AVE NKURUMAH OUAGA BP
TEKEPHONE/FAX +226 6424 3973
BURKINA FASO

please confirm. My mothers boyfriend mr. Haywood Jablowme says that i can kiss that monmey goodby but i know you are trustworthy.

please, confirn the mailing address.

i have inclided a photograph of your money and a surprise wish photo that maybe we can some day hold each other like my mlother and mr. haywood jablowme do (a boy can dream)
please confirm mailing address!!!


((huggs)) **kisses**  @@rim job@@

your white love
Mr Topher Poostain Crowder

A Boy Can Dream!!

________________________________________________________________________________
Airmail Delivery services <airmaildelivery.services@yahoo.in>;
To Me
Today at 7:10 AM
OK SEND

___________________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services <airmaildelivery.services@yahoo.in>;
 Today at 5:36 PM
Hello my chocolate love king..

The check is boxed and addressed (see photo) I added some gifts to celebrate our loving relationship. I hope you like them.

1: I placed a check for $900 made out to Mr. Magoo Cockrocket just like you told me to.
2: I placed a used pair of my soiled underpants in the box. They have a little bit of ME in them so treat them well.
3: I placed a pair of Mother's used under pants (they almost did not fit)
4: I made a crayon outline of my erect penis and inclided that to.

I hope you love my gifts.

Please
1: could you send me a photo of your bank?

I need to tape it on the outside of the box so the retarded african mail people know where to take my money

1: Please send me a photo of your bank

I love our friendship and look forward to the day I can tatse your sweet sweet man root

Your lover
Mr Topher Poostain Crowder

A Gift For My Sweet Chocolate African King

____________________________________________________________________________

Airmail Delivery services

To Me

Today at 1:32 AM

YOUR HEAD IS NOT CORRECT YOU JOKER

GET LOST SON OF  BITCH

______________________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services
Today at 1:33 AM

Please....help. dont leave me

Sent from Yahoo Mail on Android

______________________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services
Today at 2:11 AM

Hello?

Sent from Yahoo Mail on Android

______________________________________________________________________________

Airmail Delivery services
To Me
Today at 6:29 AM
If i should help you then send the fee then I will help you to ensure that your cheque worth of $750,000.00 seven hundred and fifty thousand USD is sent to you and it mush be cleared in your bank account with the bank payment guarrantee we shall send to there in USA

_______________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services
Today at 5:52 PM
 Prase Sweet Baby Jebus.
I though I had lost you my deer chocolate african man friend lover. You are a sassy buck arent you?! All in my face calling me not right in the head. My little chocolate man has claws (meow)

1: I am sending $25 along with my soild 'gifts" for you...
2: When you say you are sorry for calling me names I will mail $300
3: Whne you get my $300, you will mail me a check for $1000
4: When I get the check for $1000, I will mail you $600 more.

That is how it will go. Please email me and confirm that you are sorry for call ing me names.

I will sent the 25$ today.

@@rim job@@ {{hugs}} **kissess**

Your eturnal butt pirate
Mr Topher Poostain Crowder

______________________________________________________________________________

Airmail Delivery services
To Me
Today at 12:57 PM
OK AM SORRY I WAS JUST KIDING
________________________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services
Today at 9:17 PM
Hello my little chocolate african man...all is forgiven!!!

Prase Baby Jebus!!! I forgive you.
I am mailing $25 american dollars (cash money) in exchange you will send me a saucey photo of yourself.

1: please let me know when you get My $25 cash
2: when you send me a photo of your wife or daughter wearing sheer to the waste pantyhose, I will send you $200.

Please send me more photos for more money
3: please confirm when you get this email.
I love you!! dont ever leave me. Some day we will live togehter under the eyes of our lord Baby Jebus

@@rim job@@ ((huggs)) **kisses**

your white man with a small pink wang

Mr. Toher Poostaine Crowder
_____________________________________________________________________________

Airmail Delivery services
To Me
Today at 12:02 AM

make contacts lets  make money ok
_____________________________________________________________________________

Me
To Airmail Delivery services
Today at 3:21 PM
re: your white snake lover craving chocolate man root

I am sorry, did I do something wrong? Why wont you speak to me?

If we are gonna make this love work, I am gonna need more that 3 or 4 words and a moneyshot to the face.

1: send me photos of your wife.
2: I will send you $20
3: My mother wants a photo of you with your shirt off
4: tell me you love me

your lover with a penis like a curly pig tail

Mr. Topher Poostain Crowder

A Mother's Love....

As we progress through life, we come to the realization that there exceptions to certain rules.

• You break it, you buy it....unless you are a hobo. Then it seems like you can break all kinds of shit and no one will do a damn thing, because urine soaked hobos are so damn lovable.
• If you can't feed them, don't breed them....unless you are an uneducated single mother on food stamps and without a job. Then by all means WE will feed your damn ugly poor kids so keep pumping those rats out.
• If it aint broke, don't fix it...unless you got a new set of $5000 22 inch chrome rims. Then by all means bolt those fuckers on your twenty year old Cutlass that you bought off of Craigslist for $100. Those rims will make any POS car look hot AND it's a good investment.

Today is mother's day. It has been fun looking on Facebook and seeing everyone's mother's day posts. The faded Polaroids showing young vibrant women holding their young children in a loving embrace. The black and white high school graduation photos of their mothers, taken when their mothers had their whole lives in front of them. Taken when their dreams were as bright as the noon day sun. Taken before they became pregnant. Taken before the unfulfilled dreams of youth were washed away and replaced with 6th grade parent teacher nights and waste cans lovingly placed next to the beds of children who ate too much Halloween candy.

Most everyone I know believes that their mother should be made a saint for what they had to put up with. The wrecked cars, the poopy pants at Denny's, the vomit on her favorite blouse, the $200 long distance phone bill for a girl you thought liked you and you would call every day, the eating of her reddest lipstick and then ruining the wallpaper by kissing it all down the hallway, the sealed letters from the homeroom teacher waiting for her on the kitchen counter when she came home from work informing her that her child has a problem with biting other students and she will need to come in to discuss it and finally all those times when she would have to make up the fold out bed in the basement again because her adult child spent the rent money on a various ill planned adventures.

A mother's love is fascinating and seemingly endless.

That is why it is best to learn very early in life that most rules have exceptions.

I learned that a mother's love has limits during the summer of 1972. I was four.

In my eyes, my parents were golden gods who worked very hard and could do no wrong. I didnt know it back then, but we were not a monetarily a wealthy family. But, my two older brothers and myself never were allowed to go without anything. It seemed that we had it all. Sure, I had iron-on knee patches on my hand me down Tough-Skins, But when you are a kid, those patches are goddamn badge of honor and look really cool. I didn't realize it then, but both my parents busted ass to make I and my brother's journey through childhood as effortless as possible.

Effortless and educational go best when they walk hand in hand.

My dad worked in the grocery business and received a lot of cool stuff from food brokers. We recieved toy race cars from Coca-Cola, a COX gas powered airplane from Sprite, and inflatable rafts from Coppertone. All this stuff was really cool but it was a portable cassette recorder from the guys at 7-up that I remember best.

Back in 1972, portable cassette recorders were big, had fake wood grain trim and generously trimmed in chromed plastic. The recorder was as big as a briefcase and had this massive black dial on the top next to the tray the cassette was placed into that made a loud 'click' when you turned it from stop, record and play. It also came with a single 60 minute Maxell cassette tape and a swanky handheld microphone.

This thing was tits for my eight year old brothers.

At first my brother's only were recording songs off the radio, favorite television shows, the neighbor kids were enlisted to scream silly songs into the mic, the cat was enticed to meow and the flushing of toilets was explored extensively. But soon, more creative outlets begged to be unearthed.

I have never been comfortable listening to a recording of my own voice. I have always thought that I sounded like some kind of Kansas City homo with a bad head cold and a stuffed up nose. As an adult, I have come to terms with my feelings about this. I mean, what can I do? It's not like I can cry about how I sound on someone's voicemail.

But, I could cry about it when I was four.

I don't remember what started me crying on that warm summer afternoon. I do remember my brother saying to me, "Why don't you cry loud enough for mom to hear?". 

At the time, his advice seemed like a good bet. Through my tears I could imagine my mother hearing my painful wailing and running into the livingroom to rescue me from my brother's dastardly plan to disembowel her youngest child. 

A mother's love...

My crying escalated. Maybe mom was next door having coffee at Rosie's house? Maybe it was time to take it from an eight to a ten?

Then I heard it. The sounds of my own nasally wails wafting throughout the house. I stopped long enough to hear a loud click and cassette tape being rewound. Then my recorded cries of distress again began to echo loudly. 

"STOP IT", I cried.

"NO", my brothers laughed.

I began to cry again. This time the tears were real and not just a call for the safe loving embrace of my mother. I ran from the living room and into my bedroom and slammed the door. From outside my room, I could hear my own sobbing being replayed, rewound and replayed over and over again. My brothers never stopped laughing and I began to cry louder and harder. 

Every new recorded broadcast was met with my own sobbing demands that they "STOP". After what seemed like an eternity, I finally resorted to burying my head into my pillow to muffle my crying but they had that damn swanky microphone that seemed to pick up everything. 

At this point, my entire face was a glistening mixture of snot and tears. Thats when the sound of the screen door slamming caught my ears. Mom was home. Now my laughing torturous brothers would be punished and my wounded bleeding soul would be healed by a mother's love for her youngest child. 

I cried loud enough for mother to hear.

The cassette recorder heard me first.

Through my recorded crying screams mixed with the wild laughter of my brothers, I could hear my mother ask "What is going on in here?". 

"Listen to Topher", my brother Tim chimed as he clicked play on the cassette player.

"STOP IT", I protested.

The cassette player did it's job, my brother's broke into wild laughter and my mom began to giggle.

In her own way, she thought the recording was funny. The recorded sound of her youngest child crying in pain amused her.

What little composure I had quickly melted and I became a sweaty sobbing blob with my head buried into a thoroughly moistened pillow. Every recorded cried of despair was met with a trio of hearty laughs from both my brothers and my mom.

"If you stop crying we will stop recording you", my mom added after every replay. That afternoon I also learned what 'circular logic' is.

But more importantly, that afternoon in 1972, I learned that a mother's love has limits. Scraped knees, bee stings and ear infections all fit into a mother's list of things that deserve her loving attention. A mother will go to the ends of the Earth to make her child with a swollen bee sting feel better. 

But if you are gonna cram your head in a pillow and cry like some kind of fucking pussy, you got another thing coming. I learned that my brothers probably would have stopped recording me had I punched them in their fucking heads. Sure, it may have turned into a bruised face and a nose bleed for me when they hit me back, but at least I wouldn't have been recorded and laughed at like some kind of retard. Besides, a black eye and a nose bleed would have got me a fair share of the mother's love thing.

So if you want your mom to love you, don't be an idiot. No one loves an idiot.

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Drunky Haiku

No one could see me

Alone and all by myself

I was wrong, both times

Drunky Haiku

"Are you done?" She said

"Um, I think so" I nodded

Her skirt was ruined

Unfriended and Blocked...

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This interweb thingy is a strange thing.

In my entire life, before 'social media', I doubt I have known the full names of more than twenty non-family members. I'm serious. I can look through my high school yearbook and recognize photos as people I interacted with regularly, but for the life of me I can not say that I knew their names.

I remember dating a girl for an entire summer and not knowing her last name. The only thing I had to go on was a scrap of paper with her first name and a phone number. After the fourth week of our 'relationship' I spent a weekend scouring the school yearbook for her photo only to find out that she was a transfer student from an all girls catholic school and didn't have a senior photo. Three months later, I ended up resorting to picking through her family's mail and getting her last name off of a gas bill. Problem solved!

Entire friendships were founded upon a warm 'HEY YOU' or a thoughtful 'HEY DUDE'. I've had countless conversations with 'close' friends and never known or used their actual names. They knew my name but, to this day, I never knew their name. Once in a while I would get lucky and someone would say something like "Frank, are you going to Burger King?" and I would then have something to hang my hat on. Other times I would encounter the nightmare of a nameless friend meeting another one of my nameless friends and inquiring "So, Topher, are you going to introduce me to your friend?". That was like dancing in a fucking minefield. Usually, if we were in a nightclub or some other loud environment, I would lean over and mumble some unintelligible thing in their ear. Other times I would just make some lame assed joke to change the subject.

The internet changed all of that.

...OK, it didn't change it real fast.

Way back in 1993, I was so excited to have a 14.4k modem and a brand new AOL account. The idea of meeting new and interesting people from around the world seemed so exciting. I still remember the first time I engaged in sex-chat. She was tan0045 and I was lumpy001 and it was a Wednesday night. We had met in a chat room and quickly moved to our own 'private' chat room. We had began chating about Twilight Zone episodes, moved eventually towards spicy sexual innuendo and then we both exploded into a pornographic rant that would make last month's Penthouse Forum blush. Needless to say, I needed a fresh pair of underpants when all was said and done.

It wasn't until several months later that I learned that lonely men were masquerading as women in AOL chat-rooms and enticing heterosexuals into quasi-homosexual sex-chats. I doubt that tan0045 was a guy because she knew sexual things that only women knew, but news of the whole homo thing ended my run of sex-chats pretty quickly.

Regardless of sexual orientation though, I realized that I still did not know tan0045's full name. Tan0045 was only a screen name and I had not moved any further from my habits of anonymous friendships. But, at least I had now moved on to faceless anonymous friendships with a happy ending.

Over time, AOL evolved and I matured. Looking back, AOL and all of it's awkward, anonymous and messy sexual encounters, best represented my early teens. The time between AOL and Myspace could best be represented as my mid to late twenties. You know what I mean, a lonely Saturday night spent with rented VHS porn and a jar of Vaseline.

Yep, life back then pretty much sucked.

While Myspace seemed pretty good at the time and could best represent my late twenties and early thirties, the dawning of Facebook was a complete game changer and truly represents my life as I am today and who I have always wanted to be. I now have over 500 Facebook friends and if I want to know any of their names, all I have to do is click their picture. It's all there for me and easy as pie. I can see their high school prom pictures, how hot their teen-aged daughters are, what movies they like, where they work, where they eat and who they are sleeping with. How easy is that?

I also love getting friend requests and seeing that it is a nameless someone from my past who I used to know.The excitement, of looking over their Facebook photo albums to see if I recognize them from my past and clicking around their profile to see what they have been up to since 1986, is epic.

Well, that fantastic journey can sometimes be a one way street that is not shared by both parties.

"Why do you post stuff like that? You're weird"

The above message was posted to my Facebook wall by someone I had a major crush on in high school. She was a cute girl who's name I never knew, until she became my Facebook friend. Her post was in response to my sharing of a wonderful photograph of a couple of Hooter's waitress's enjoying each others company. At first I was intrigued by her post and excited with the slim hope that she was masking her own wonderful fascination with Hooter's style pantyhose with a healthy dose of theatrical disgust at my post.

Boy I was wrong.

While we ended up 'chatting' back and forth via Facebook for a couple weeks and I found out that she was now a divorced mother raising three wonderful children, her disgust at my public fascination for the female form encased in pantyhose became to much for her handle and she felt the need to tell me.

Almost every one of my Hooter's posts would get a message from her. Until....

It was a week night and I was in my studio when I first noticed that I was at 499 friends. Someone had dropped me, but who was it? A quick stroll through my 'inbox' answered that question. I could see her messages to me, but the her name was now listed as 'Facebook user' and her picture was that generic gray silhouette against a baby blue background. When I clicked on her picture, Facebook told me that her account was not available. A quick Google for some answers and I found out that she had probably de-friended and blocked me. The crush was over.

Maybe it was for the best? The person who had that crush way back then was a very shy and private person. I am as different now from who I was way back then as AOL is different from Facebook. Now I'm public and out there shaking it free and in the breeze; like a guy with a closed head injury who now doesn't know the difference between 'inside the head' thoughts and 'outside the head' thoughts. Facebook allows me to be the man I have always wanted to be; unafraid to post my hopes and dreams for all to see. If little miss-divorced with three kids and hates pantyhose doesn't like what I post, well fuck her. I have 499 other, very close friends, who DO like to read my posts regarding Hooter's waitress' encased in sheer suntan hue pantyhose.

It's Been a While...

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Those damn things have been keeping me very busy.

So how has it been shakin'? This winter has been a bitch hasn't it?! Sucks to be a hobo.

Coming home from the studio the other day, I passed one of our town's lovable urine scented hobos standing near the freeway entrance ramp with a tattered cardboard sign that read "truly homless hard worker any help needed god bless". Of course I drove by without even looking in my cup holder to see how much spare change I had. Fuck 'em. Coldest day of the goddam year and this asshole is standing on a street corner begging for spare change? Really?! I freeze my ass off everyday in an unheated art studio making art that no one buys so I can give what ever cash I have to some dirty hobo on a street corner? That shit wont fly in my book.

When I got home, I my hobo encounter got the old gears turning. I couldn't help but to think about what life choices we both made to place us where we where in life. You know, those specific points in our lives, when we make a simple decision and it irrevocably alters, for better or worse ,our journey through this mortal world.

For example, if I created enough art that people actually wanted to buy, I could have heat in the winter. Or, if the panhandling hobo had never tasted the sweet intoxicating nectar that is gin, he may have very well been a United States senator that help write a law that gives every voting American exactly what they want for the rest of their lives. The dude would have been a fucking king if he had never placed that clear glass bottle of gin to his lips. Well, shit happens.

That night, in front of a warm fire and with a fresh bottle of booze, I began to draw out a short list of things I have done that changed my life the most.

It's time to share my candy....

1: Loudly calling my son's Cub Scout den mother a "FUCKING CUNT" during a den meeting. Boy, there really is no coming back from that. The look in my son's eyes the next week when I had to tell him that we were not welcome in the Cub Scouts and that daddy had to give back his little kerchief and hat pretty much laid the foundation for his hatred for me during his pre-teen years.

2: Surrendering to peer pressure and trying that rope swing at Murray's Lake. The sunken log got the best of me that day. It's been over 30 years, five surgeries and I still can't maintain a full erection for more than four and a half minutes.

3: Proposing to my first wife at PF Chang's. Her fortune cookie that night said 'You will find disappointment in new adventures'. Eight months later, I found a used condom on the floor of our living room. It was one of those Magnum condoms for guys with really big wangs.

4: Not learning how to tell time. I know, it's stupid but true. Way back in like third grade we all took a class on how to read a clock. I just remember joking around the whole time with a group of really cool fourth graders at my table. I didn't learn a goddam thing and to this day I can only tell time from a digital clock.

5: The three separate times I used the phrase 'YOUR MAMA' to end what I thought was a harmless confrontation with an urban Detroit local after a Red Wings hockey game. You would have thought I had learned my lesson the first time I got my head kicked in. It took two more times for me to come to the conclusion that 'YOUR MAMA' is an 'inside your head' word.

Well, those are the first five I could think of. Let me know what yours are.