Everyone who writes gets some rejection slips.  Here are some children’s stories I wrote that were rejected by Golden Books Publishers. 

1.  You Are Different And That’s Bad.

2.  The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables

3.  Dad’s New Wife Robert

4.  Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her

5.  Curious George and the High Voltage Fence

6.  All Cats Go to Hell

7.  The Little Sissy Who Snitched

8.  Some Kittens Can Fly

9.  That’s It, I’m Putting You Up for Adoption

10.  The Magic World Inside the Abandoned Fridge

11.  Strangers Have the Best Candy

12.  You Were an Accident

13.  Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will

14.  Pop! Goes the Hamster and Other Microwave Games

15.  The Man in the Moon is Actually Satan

16.  Your Nightmares are REAL

17.  Places Where Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things

18.  Why Can’t Mr. Fork and Mrs. Electric Outlet Be Friends?

And, the one I can’t understand for the life of me WHY WHY WHY they rejected:

19.  Daddy Drinks Because You Cry

I’m not discouraged.  I’m working on the next one:

A Skyrocket for Baby Sister’s HooHah

Sinatra is in the back yard, batting around a pine cone.

There is $412,000 worth of cat toys (more or less) inside, but he likes the pinecones.

He seems to have developed a probability wave GPS system of placing the pinecones where I will step on them.  How he knows EXACTLY where the tender arch of my foot will be when I step out of bed or the bathroom is, I think, a testament to the superior intelligence of the feline.  I don’t believe any human power could compute such a thing.

Once, a long time ago, I was sure my children had developed a system for knowing where to place jacks and marbles just where my heel would hit as I came down stairs, but I’ve since forgiven them and put those paranoid fantasies away.  Almost.

Had I given it enough thought, I might have predicted that Sinatra would prefer a pine cone to the balls, feathers and “mice” I have inside.

When my children were just toddlers and just before, the most successful toy either of them were ever given were a sauce pan holding three cubes of ice and a wooden spoon.  Both of them could sit in their diapers and nothing else on the kitchen’s linoleum floor and play happily for EVER.  They stirred the ice, they tasted the ice and they banged on the pan with the spoon. 

Much more elaborate toys never engaged them as well.  Expensive mobiles above their cribs on up to bicycles and videogames, at each age, it seems to me now looking back, the more simple the toy, the better they liked it.  Some of that is my fault.  For example, my son was given at Christmas one year an elaborate toy that “shot” items through a tube system that used vacuum and forced air.  I really booted that one as a Dad by not using it as a teachable moment, but by taking all the fun out of it by trying to control perfection.  It was a replay of my own father’s behavior when I was given an electric model train one Christmas, and that makes my shortcoming all the more bitter.

My parenting aside, the more simple the toy, the better my kids seemed to like it.  An example I often hear is about children who get a ton of Christmas presents and end up playing with the boxes.  I certainly saw some of that in my own kids.

Now, I’m seeing it in Sinatra.

And, I’m wondering …

You know, I wonder if the toys we buy our cats, dogs and children aren’t toys we’re really buying for ourselves.  I wonder if all the computerized learning devices we’re giving kids now — as good as they may be — might not be more about parents and their angst and preferences than it is about play and being a child. 

For certain, the toys we buy our pets are all about anthropromorphizing our substitute children and we delight in buying the presents we think we’d like if we were the cat we fantasize we’d be.

My cat is perfectly happy chasing leaves and pouncing on houseflies and bringing pine cones from outside and putting them under my bed until I go to sleep and then carefully placing them right where my damn foot will hit the carpet when I wake up.  How does the little bastard know I’ll get up on the right or left side of the bed?   Uhm…Oh, well.

And I also wonder if we don’t kind of do the same thing as adults to ourselves.  I wonder if we would actually have more fun and play if we got ourselves the boxes instead of the videogame/plasmascreen/ipod/thingamabob. 

When was the last time you jumped rope for the fun of it or got on the swings and ran to the slide?

Are you playing with the right toys?

http://www.glumbert.com/media/easter.html

A guy get’s on an airplane seated next to a cute blonde.

He immediately turns to her and makes his move. “You know, I’ve heard 
that flights will go quicker if you strike up a conversation with 
your fellow passenger. So let’s talk.”

The blonde had just opened a book but she closes it and says “What 
would you like to discuss?”

He says “How about nuclear power?”

“OK” says the blonde. “That could be an interesting topic. But let me 
ask you a question first. A horse, a cow, and a deer all eat the same 
stuff…..grass. Yet the deer excretes little pellets, the cow turns 
out a flat patty, and the horse produces muffins of dried poop. Why 
do you suppose that is?”

The guy is dumbfounded. Finally he replies, “I haven’t the slightest 
idea.”

“So tell me,” says the blonde, “How is it that you feel qualified to 
discuss nuclear power when you don’t know shit?”

got some interesting news last night for the Paseo people.  Ed and Mandy have signed a lease on 1,300 square feet at the south end of the street and will open an eatery with pizza and beer, vegan plates and other goodies.  It’s hush-hush about the name of the new place, but it’s supposed to open around Sept., if I recall what Ed told me.

Watermelon Slim was loud and proud at the GSpot last night, but my own best moments were in the back patio at Isis, almost deserted and out of the wind but still with a strong blues beat from Slim and the Workers next door.  Oz and Deb, Rachel, the lovely Juliet and I wasted away some time rather pleasantly back there while the GSpot smoking crowd fought for space on the sidewalk.  Caught Jenny W, spouse Frank, Mabry O, and others celebrating the 21st  (hmmm.  maybe a later version of 21, I”m not real sure)birthday of Gail Sloop, who assures me she’s happy to finally get legal.

As usual, it was a blessing for me to get to spend some time with Lucky.  Sure wish our craziness matched instead of clashed, but that’s the way of the world.

Saw my hero, Mike Mutt, having a few with friends on the sidewalk, so it must have been the place to be and I was glad to be there with all the other cool people.

I understand I missed a good time at Red Cup listening to Terry Purcell play guitar and gossip with Kat’s Mom and MCARP, but I was busy a little north of there telling a long story about my drinking days and my sober days that followed and how they compare.

tiny nina took a pass on my activities last night so she could go to a Hornets game, but I’ll catch up with her tonight.

I thought I’d have some good fun with DeShan yesterday afternoon.  We’d made elaborate plans for a “kidnapping” and I took the time and effort to gather a film crew and props and get all dressed up and we got the director, cinematographer and me all over at her studio at the appointed hour and … and … no DeShan.  Called, no answer.  Knocked, no answer.  Finally got her on her cell phone and she was down in Norman.  “I forgot,” she told me.  when I say John X was vexed, it’s my own understated way of stating what was the obvious.  In the end, it was just Lisa being Lisa and I was satisfied because I got her to promise to make the next appointment include filming some nudity.  A Sweet Potato Queen promise?  Stay tuned.

dinner for 10 last night at Irma’s deck was pretty cool from my perspective because Sonic Sharon brought her son, Cole, who was a student at HH when I taught there.  He’s grown into a fine looking young man.  Tall Ed and Book’emDanO shared the Corona beer special and the rest of us had varied dishes, including my catfish blue plate special, some burgers and a chicken, peppers and avacado sandwich the lovely Juliet had recommended.  Aside from all that, the onion rings are killer.

UCO’s Kathleen was at the Paseo festivities before dinner, but said she had a date and didn’t tag along.

I need to make a very small confession here.  Sometimes, late, I go out to Lake Hefner to get a whiff of humid air and taste the winds from the south and see the water.  It tends to calm me, somehow.  It seems to make me feel connected to the earth, sky and water.  It doesn’t matter, but I like it and it’s something I do.  Anyway, the moon’s been full lately and it shines in a lovely way across the water.  Last night’s moon was occluded by clouds, but it was still plenty bright to see wind-pushed waves lap onto the dam.  Last night, the winds were strong enough to make whitecaps.  I love the sound of the water when it’s up enough to intimate the ocean.  Last night, it seemed to wash away at least some of my worries.  I spent almost all day yesterday with friends, all last evening certainly.  when I got to the lake last night, I felt like a very lucky man, maybe even the most lucky guy in Oklahoma City, if not the whole world.  Sometimes, I get oppressed by the common irritants of life, but I felt caressed by friends and life itself last night at the lake. 

Speaking of friends, I need to use just a sentence to say “thank you” to the Pink Lady for being a friend.  Glad you’re back from Montana, now shut up and sell me some of those cigarets in the green box. Let me also say thank you to the lovely Juliet and Lucky, who both came to see me speak last night.  It was comforting to see you there.  Finally, let me say thank you to SuzArt for being a friend today. I know I can always count on you to be a wise and caring counselor and friend and you didn’t let me down. Suz, you are a treasure.

Just to make all y’all jealous about my speed racer jet lag playboy life, let me tell you that my plans for this evening are to read a book and listen to Mozart.  I’m not expecting company of either gender and, if God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world, I’ll be in bed asleep before midnight.  Whew!  Where’s the Page 6 strong arm gossip columnists when something really momentous is going on?

Last night was a terrific Paseo dinner and movie night in my book.  For one thing, the weather was lovely as evening fell over my back patio and Oz, Deb, The Gary, Suz and I enjoyed watching Oz play with the BB pistol, seeing Sinatra in his element, and talking over politics and gossip while drinking strong black coffee and smoking those nasty cigarets.

Dinner at Iron Star, table for 10 that included the above as well as Kat, Kat’s parental units, Book ‘em DanO and MCARP, was made all the more wonderful by seeing Derrick and Ralph sucking up some half price wine.  The Morgans sat in the front window and dined as a couple, but the appropriate pleasantries were passed.

The movie last night was “Me and You and Everyone You Know,” a very sweet and quirky indie film written and directed by the “star”.  I liked it and recommend it.

Saw DeShan late in the evening on Paseo with her friend Bart.  She insists on being kidnapped again Friday, complete with being bound and gagged and I’m going to accommodate her if I possibly can.  Even going to try to talk John X into filming the event.  She’s such a complete goofball and I mean that in the most affectionate and nice way.

My friend Lucky is back in town and I can’t wait to hear about her adventures in Texas.

Got a piece of fanmail on MySpace from a woman in Enid who says she likes my short stories.  Maybe I will do what Suz demands and “write the book” if you get nice fanmail.  Of course, there’s also the chance I’ll get bad reviews and that will make me suicidal.  All these two-edged swords one encounters in life.  It can be so confusing.

Tomorrow is Passover for our Jewish friends, Good Friday for our Christian friends and my speaking engagement at the Western Club for our recovering friends.  The rest of you can have a beer and relax after a hard week.

I’ll be glad for Easter this Sunday so I can start wearing my white pants.  Now if I can only remember not to wear my black undies with the white pants … talk about your obnoxious VPL (visible panty line)!

TTFN!

I spent a big part of last night reading a book — some mind candy, a psych mystery by J. Kellerman called “Therapy”.

I’ve been driving myself batty over money lately, and it was a cheap evening.

Without boring you about my personal finances, I have a problem lots of folks have when they own their own business.  I make the money, but it doesn’t always come in on my timetable.  there are really tight months and then there are months when I’m flush and this is one of several months in a row that have been tight.

Part of that is my own fault.  I screw around and do other things when I should be working.  I blog when I should bill, for example.

I’m not very good at the business side of my business.  I hate sending out bills because that’s boring.

So, anyway, i’m thinking about how many people out there must have the same problem I do.  Folks who work on commission, own their own home computer-based business, anyone who doesn’t have a steady paycheck.  I’m thinking that the norm — a steady paycheck — isn’t the norm now the way it once was.  We’re a service based economy and there are fewer and fewer factory-type jobs where you show up 9-5 and punch a clock.

What with April 15 showing up any day now, folks are worried about paying taxes and the IRS gets preferential treatment because they are the biggest and baddest ass creditor you can have this side of the knee breaking Mafia.

My clients are busy getting the tax man off their backs instead of paying me and they might also just not have received a bill from me since I’m so bad at sending them out.

Even though I’m smart enough to know better, I also make the problem worse during the months when I’m flush because I should set some of the money back for these rainy days and what I do is run out and treat myself because it’s been so tight during the past few slim months.

Again, I don’t think I’m the only one.  I think I’m in a growing minority.

But it sure feels damn lonely and guilty when I’m looking at the pile of bills and it’s the middle of the month and I can’t pay them all and I’m worried sick about my credit and my flaws and I get overwhelmed and feel helpless and powerless and … and … I WANT MY MOMMY!!!

Damn hard to type the blog when you’re sobbing uncontrollably and having a temper tantrum.

So, anyway, it’s a problem and I’m struggling with it, but the reason why I’m writing about it is this:  if this is a problem for me and I’m not the only one and there’s lots of folks out there like me, it’s also an economic opportunity for someone.

I believe there’s a need and a demand for a flexible credit system that takes into account people who make pretty good money, just not on a schedule.  I believe the beancounters will never think of a solution to this because they are just too linear in their thinking.

I don’t pretend to be a good enough business person to figure this out, but someone will.  I just want to get in on the ground floor since I think it’s a very big opportunity.

Credit for the childish and stupid but basically honest person.  Where’s Adam Smith’s Hand of God making the capital markets fair when you really need it?  Probably the same place it went in the late 19th Century during the age of the Robber Barons.

Come to think of it, with the billionaires piling up and the poor getting poorer, this just may be the second coming of the Robber Baron era.

Damn that William Jennings Bryan.  Here we are being crucified on crosses of Eastern Banker silver and the bastard is dead and gone.  The robber barons launched a period of imperialism by America (the Spanish-American war and “big stick” diplomacy in south and Central America).  All that was to divert us at home from the fact that Carnegie was killing workers at the Homestead Steel mills.  Eventually, we got Wilson and the progressive era.

Damn, I hate knowing my history and seeing it be repeated.

TTFN

I had the most awesome musical moment of my life last night at Rococo.

It was the celebration of Shy Oren’s graduate recital on the double bass.

All kinds of musical friends showed up and played with Shy at Rococo.

Among his friends who showed up and played was Adam, a classical guitarist from Isreal.

Oh. My. God.

Carter Sampson, a damn fine musician herself and who comes from a musical family, sat and watched open mouthed at the display of virtuosity.  Her comment was that she would go home and smash all her guitars because there was no hope she could ever play that well.

I hope and pray she meant that metaphorically and not literally, but I understood what she was saying.

It wasn’t just Adam, as wonderful as he was.  Various vocalists, trumpets, keyboardists, flautists, drummers joined in for a jam that went from about 9 p.m. to shortly after midnight.

It was absolutely magical.

The place was packed and there were moments when members of the audience would spontaneously jump up and applaud.

You, my faithful readers, know me as the dawg I can be.  There were just oodles of good looking women dressed hothothot and the music was too good for me to pay any attention.  Well, OK.  I paid attention to the lovely Juliet.  Aside from that, however, it was really about the music.

One of the greatest things about a musical evening like that is that it allowed me to be in the moment.  For once, I wasn’t thinking about my wretched past and my catastrophic future.  I was able to just be there and enjoy.

An Isreali whose name I can never remember sang Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose and it would have brought tears to the eyes of a hard bitten soldier of fortune.  I danced with the lovely Juliet to Carter Sampson’s rendition of Etta James’ At Last.  It seemed as if we had always been in each others’ arms, dancing rhythmically, as if the moment would never end and had always been.

It’s the reason I go out and don’t watch television.  Don’t bother to tell me you watched The Ten Commandments last night since I watched a real miracle happen before my eyes.  The transportation of human beings to another place by the strumming of strings and the pounding on stretched hide.  No CGI involved.

I have never seen nor heard another human being play the guitar as well as Adam and I attended Segovia’s concert at Civic Center Music Hall.  I’m telling you, it’s perfection.  He will be playing his own senior recital at OCU on the 24th FOR FREE! 

I likely should pause here to mention for the sake of the ladies that Adam is about 6’4″ with light complexion and black black black hair.  He looks like a god.  The next time you hear about him, I expect he’ll be an international star with bodyguards and an entourage.  He is that good and that good looking.

And as long as I have a memory, I will remember when …

late and soon

getting and spending

we waste our lives

Workers of the world, UNITE!  You have nothing to lose but your chains.

We won’t be fooled again.

No doubt the universe unfolds as it should…  Avoid vexatious people…  Go placidly amid the haste…

When the teacher is ready, the student will appear …

Judge not, lest ye be judged.

***

My goodness, but there’s a lot of crap floating around in my head.  Snippits of songs and poetry and the Bible, aphorisms, platitudes and, well, just crap.

I have a ready quote for almost every occasion.  Sometimes, I’ll say one thing and then quote something exactly the opposite the next day.

Just like the crap in my head, I sometimes just float through my life, another bit of flotsam on the river of life. (Or, am i jetsom?  Jetsons? Whatever)

This is one of those days. 

I can’t seem to focus.

Just chaired the noon meeting at the Western Club, standing in for a friend who is out of town.  I don’t chair many meetings these days, although I have done it bunches in the past.  I’ll speak Friday night.  Same deal.  Used to get called on to speak pretty regular and then not so much for quite a while.

Seems to me that a lot of things in my life are kind of floating around lately.  Everywhere I look in my life, as a matter of fact.

I can’t seem to figure out where I am and where I want to head towards.

No plans, no goals, no dreams.  Just get through today and then tomorrow and then another day.

When so many balls are up in the air, I’m not so good a juggler.  Some of the balls are dropping.  Too many to pick them up because that would just make the problem worse because if I stop juggling to pick up a ball, all the rest of the balls will fall.

My pattern is to give up and let them all fall.

Then, whine until no one wants to listen anymore.

Then, I go hunting for the balls that rolled under the couch and the ones the cat got and put in the back of the closet.

Sometimes I find them all, sometimes I find I’ve lost some balls and sometimes I find balls that I didn’t know I had because I’d dropped them sometime in the past and forgotten about them.

Now my head is full of references to cojones.  Hee hee, he said “balls”.  Obligatory Beavis and Butthead reference.

So, today is scattered thoughts with a small percentage for a reign of obstinate and tumultuous thrashing about.  Good chance for strong winds of hot air emitting from every oriface.

All you need is love.

Last night, I witnessed one of my friends with long term sobriety drinking again.

It breaks my heart.

I know where it goes from here and it isn’t good.

AND THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT BUT WATCH THE TRAINWRECK HAPPEN.

Oh, and try to stay out of the wreckage so I can be there when the dust settles.

It says in the Big Book of AA that alcoholism is cunning, baffling and powerful and that’s true.  Sometimes I think the Big Book is literally divinely inspired, like much of the Bible.  A kind of gospel for our times.

So, I’m sad about that and trying desperately not to be co-dependent, the flip side of just about every alcoholic.

Damn.  Sinatra has caught something small, likely a bug, and has brought it indoors as a trophy.  Life has a way of intruding on my depressive thoughts.

The Mighty Hunter has conquered a beetle.  Now I have to go hold his hand because he needs love, love me do and not yesterday.  I’ll get back to you when I’m back in the U.S. back in the U.S. back in the U.S.S.R.