You want fries with that cheese?

What I meant to say yesterday was that upon meeting Brittany at the produce stand I smiled and, as I looked down at my feet, complimented her on continuing her education. Sorry if there was any confusion, contusion.

Today is picture day. I have some stuff to show. Starting, I suppose with the gong. If y'all pictured it as huge, that's cool. Like one of them big ones in a Kill Bill fight scene. And I gotta ask you, wasn't Kill Bill just about the coolest? I still don't think Tarantino will ever top Pulp Fiction, but Bill was pretty killer, too. On Vol. 1, go to the bonus materials and pull up the music video by the 5,6,7,8's. Big hair and bare feet. Need I say more? Oh yeah, the gong. It's not so big. Behold.

Here are the bromiliads of which I spoke yesterday. They sure do look better than the tangle of bushes and vines that they replaced. Although, for some idea of what I was up against in the bush and vine department, check out the yard behind me, which by the way, the law forbids me from just jumping the fence and taking care of myself. I know how and when to cut off the flower on them when the time comes, which in turn will encourage it to grow suckers, and they are, as I understand it anyway, born every minute.

And another view. Front and side, just like a mug shot from the Yardville City Jail.

At the flea market in Bradenton, we had the good fortune, really good fortune, to run into the most uninteresting man on the planet. Well that wasn't really the fortunate part, although he did seem to have misplaced his sense of humor. Not dour, just kinda...well, blah. Still, he had elephant lamps. And, while we didn't actually know this when we walked into the huge corrugated tin building, we were in need of elephant lamps. Can you see where this is going already?
Me: Hi, old timer. What's shakin'?
Old Timer: blah
Me: [insert forgotten witty comment here]
OT: blah
Me: Oh, cool lamps
OT: Hmm, yeah, blah
Me: How much?
OT: $30 each (not so blah now that we're talking money)
Me: $40 for both
OT: $50
Me: Sold
OT: blah, blah, will take a few minutes to wrap, blah

My friend, his family, mother in law, 3 cats and a dog, or perhaps two, are coming down in a few days. They're kinda floating until they're allowed home, and he says even then he's not in a big hurry. I can't imagine being JoeMama as a refugee, but isn't that kinda what it is?

He said he was coming down to mooch off us for a while, but I told him that was silly. I told him I knew if I knocked on his door one night unannounced, and asked him for his help that I had no doubt he would gladly do it. And if the shoe was on the other foot, which in this case it is, he should expect no different from me. I cautioned him not to get out of his car in my driveway moping. I told him to get out of the car with a big smile on his face 'cause I'n gonna be happy to see my old navy bud. And he could stay as long as he needed. He decided that sounded fair enough.

Today is the "WELCOME EDDIE AND NORIKO TO THE LOOP PARTY". If you were ever a kid somewhere, and I suspect you were/are, then you know that old ladies will not change. They can usually give change, if it's not a large bill, say over a twenty, but they do get pretty set in their ways. Take the title of the party. How many grown men do you know who are still Eddie. Not many. Only slicksters trying to sell you a used Buick. Or Eddie and the Cruisers. I, for example, am Ed. Or Mr. Abernathy. Or even, on occasions, "Honey, that was wonderful". Do you think I'll ever get the lady who sent out the flyers to stop calling me Eddie? Doubtful. Unless I owe her money. It is something I accept, for in matters of social interaction, I am Gumby.

a novel approach

i offered you a story line
the plot disguised from time to time
i offered you my novel for the day
and as you read between the lines
your eyes betrayed you everytime
there's nothing left for novelists to say

my optomistic point of view
presented every line or two
was written in a mem'ry we both share
i tried to write it just for you
the paperback edition too
was written in a novelist's despair

a lover cannot always write
and writer's leave on endless flights
and then return to storytell it all
the love affair i'd hoped to write
was stalled behind the story line
i'm really not a novelist at all

eddie
brandon, fl
28feb1979

Fleximus Maximus, out
Ramblin' Ed