Mr. Happy go lucky

I'd say that for the most part that describes me. Others might use the phrase self-indulgent without causing me much concern. It's all in your perception, and I percieve me as an OK guy. Ergo, I'm an OK guy.

I did some stuff different today. I signed on and went to y'alls blogs first before signing on to mine. Dudes, y'all gotta understand, for me it's all about y'all. Ramblin' Ed cares about you. And you...and you...and yes, partially about even you.

Went to Celebration Station yesterday. It was hidden off on the butthole end of Palm River Rd., but visible from SR 60. Raise your hand if you imagine I cruised up and down SR 60 for a while, muttering and gesturing and wondering how they expected to make any money if it was impossible to get into the monkey lovin' joint in the first place. Oohhh...I see my hand went up first.

I wanted to ride the go carts. And I did. I took my 8 year old nephew with me. Key words: with me. I was going regardless. Since it was only 3 days between me deciding to go and him coming up for a visit, I felt I could wait to see if he wanted to go. I'm magnanimous...magnminus...I'm nice that way. In fact, nice would be my middle name if it wasn't already Edward.

Wife woke me up at 2 Am and told me the washer had leaked all over the laundry room floor. So I said, "Why the heck are you waking me up at 2 AM? I'm getting up in 2 hours and would have stepped in it then." She had cleaned it up, but now the floor's wet again. Since the floor will undoubtedly wet itself again but the blog won't write itself...well, you do what you gotta do.

Sorry about yesterday's post. But check this out. I went back to it probably a half dozen times and went over those pieces parts again and again. While it may not have done much for most folks, it made me very, very happy.

Jn is back from Peru and crashed out right now. She's already posted a good start, including a photo of a pirate boat that's made out of the skeleton of a dead bird. Those Peruvians are some kinda wacky, are they not? Arrrgggghhh...me birdy.

I think sculpting with dead animals is all right. I prefer that only animals who died of natural causes, such as boredom or the embarrassment of being at a dinner party in the exact same fur as someone else, be used. But I'm not going to go into the shop asking a lot of questions. It's not like I'm "Ace Bigelow, Male Pet Detective" or something. One of my favorites has always been the dead toads/frogs that were posed up on their freakishly large hind legs, shellacked, and then posed wearing little hats and vests while playing tiny, frog adapted instruments. Yes, the little frog mariachi bands. The horn playing one was always my favorite. I could ponder for hours how hard it must be for him to play a trumpet. I mean, you know, he's really got no lips and all.

The drum player had it kind of rough also. Close your eyes. Clear your mind. Relax. Relax. Relax. Now imagine a frog playing drums. What do you see? Do you see very tiny arms? Are those little armies practical for playing a set of drums. That's right, "Heavens, no!"

AI suggested that I wear my wrinkled up memory shirt whether it fit or not. Well, AI, I'd have to leave it unbuttoned and tied down at the bottom. I've only done that once and even then I had to take it off and put on a t-shirt. I couldn't handle all the people who kept stopping me and wanting a picture and stuff. Apparently dressed in a tied off, midriff baring shirt I am easily mistaken for Jennifer Anniston. Who knew? But anyway, it's really not worth all of that trouble.

Gonna leave you with a poem. Besides the modified Oscar Mayer song, I really haven't posted much stuff. Waiting for the Coal Miner's Wandering Daughter to return. Now, let the (cheesy, forced) rhyming begin!


Quiet Place

Will you turn your head from my outstretched hand
pretend like it ain't something you can see?
Are you hard and rough? Are you big enough?
Are you just another lie that I've believed?

What I suspect. And I don't want to know.
Smiles apart and still the distance grows.
I will close my eyes to better comfort me
a quiet place beside a different road.

When our hearts beat close and times like those
Time's a friend I don't think that I need.
It's an aching hurt. And dark as dirt.
I ain't used to having thoughts like these.

What I suspect. Maybe I don't know.
Drifting smiles apart the distance grows.
I will hold my hand to the flame to see
if love is pain and I can make it grow.

I am tired and worn. Like my heart is torn.
Don't care my stories do or don't get told.
Murder twists like rage in a rusted cage
begs a steady hand to keep control.

What I suspect. What I think you know.
Our smile's a part of all we should believe.
The things you say, they will have their day,
but words lie trampled down beneath our deeds.

Will you turn away? That's a dangerous thing.
Calm ain't always calm as it might seem.
If the songs you hear but the words aren't clear
What's become of lies that I've believed?

I gave the heart that beat for you inside of me
you brought me lies that oh so slowly bleed.

Ed
Kamakura 22


Th-th-that's a wrap, folks.
Ramblin' Ed