Bummerang

I wouldn't say that men live in denial so much as we are blissfully ignorant. And I think I should stress blissfully. You see, we all think we're as sexy and desirable as we were in high school and college, even 30 years and 55 pounds later. I mean seriously, sometimes we can't believe how lucky our wives are. And what a shame it is that we can't be shared with more of the female population.

Now, about the desirability part, high school or otherwise. See, a dude really only needs to get laid once in high school to get the "I'm sexy, I'm cute. I'm God's true gift to boot" mindset. For us, the girl's high levels of intoxication, desperation, and/or self-esteem issues simply do not come into play. We slept together therefore "I am darn sexy!" Fortunately for us, that never goes away.

OK, moving on. I got some serious stuff to tackle so I need to start edging the tone thataway. But first, red hair. I love it. It turns my head. It tingles my love receptors. It doesn't matter if she looks like a goddess or a truck driver, she has my attention. My eyes don't wander quite as far afield on the truck driving misses. Thems the breaks.

I bought some Reese's Peanut Butter & Banana cups yesterday. Yes... they WERE as good as they sound. Reese's implored you to check inside the wrapper to see if you had won some fanglorious prize. Which I hadn't. But I always check, thinking "This might be the time." Anyway, can't remember exactly how it was worded, but it basically said, "Congratulations. You're not a winner." Congratulations? For not being a winner? Not being a winner is, for lack of a softer term, being a loser. Congratulations. I'm a loser.

Which brings me to the homeless. I know, I'm sounding pretty bleeding heart today. Although it's not like I have done anything more substantive than to ponder their plight. Well, that and give the clothes I have outgrown, and there are more than a few of those, to the League of Mercy. But still, I was looking at how many of the homeless are not unemployed. They work as day laborers and such, but cannot afford a home on the wages.

See that kinda smacks up against the stereotype of drunken, drugged, and demented little bit. It is easier to think that they have chosen to be homeless somehow and therefore deserve, if anything at all, a lecture on the finer points of capitalism. Clean yourself up and get a job is pretty easy to say. But if you couldn't shower in your bathroom, print out resumes on your home computer, and drive to a job interview, well, where would you be? That's as ridiculous as assuming someone somehow chose to be born mentally unstable.

Anyway, you should rightly blast me on actionless compassion. I don't have a real answer and am not really looking for one. Sometimes I will hand a buck out of my car window, but not always. My support tends more towards supporting the notion that churches and rescue organizations that help the homeless should not keep getting shut down over petty city and county regulations. I know, big whoop. The moral of this whole thing for me is: Do we denounce the homeless and talk loudly of tough love policies simply because feeling like they are not doing their part makes us feel less guilty about not doing ours?

Well I came across a child of God, he was walking along the road

and I asked him where are you going, this he told me:

Well, I’m going down to Yasgur's farm, going to join in a rock and roll band.

Got to get back to the land, set my soul free.

We are stardust, we are golden, we are billion year old carbon,

and we got to get ourselves back to the garden.

Well, then can I walk beside you? I have come to lose the smog.

And I feel like I'm a cog in something turning.

And maybe it's the time of year, yes, and maybe it's the time of man.

And I don't know who I am but life is for learning.

We are stardust, we are golden, we are billion year old carbon,

and we got to get ourselves back to the garden.

By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a million strong,

and everywhere there was song and celebration.

And I dreamed I saw the bombers jet planes riding shotgun in the sky,

turning into butterflies above our nation.

We are stardust, we are golden, we're caught in the devil’s bargain,

and we got to get ourselves back to the garden, out

Ramblin' Ed