LET ME

There was an old Motts store next door to the Gibson's Department Store for a while. They had 45 records. I bought "Incense and Peppermints" and the pretty older girl behind the counter told me it was a "good choice" and I thought she might want me, like a lover, even though I was only 12 and she had to be at least 16, and every time I went back and bought another .45 I hoped she would be there, and maybe she would want to be my girl, based on my wonderful musical tastes, but she was never there until one day there she was, and I spent a long time looking for just the right records, and ended up with "Snoopy vs The Red Baron" by The Royal Guardsmen which she didn't have a word to say about that one and I was heartbroke.

Thinking back I should have gone with "Let Me" by Paul Revere and the Raiders.

NAKED KITCHEN DREAMS

Over and over it’s the same kitchen dream. I don’t want to go in to work.
The reasons are many:
I don’t like it there.
The job is too hard.
The pay is lousy.
The pressure enormous.
There are no utensils. No spatulas spoons ladles or tongs.
The walk-in doors are many, dimly lit, and its cold in there.
Often, in my kitchen dream I am naked. As naked as the Pillsbury Doughboy. All I am wearing is a cloth chef’s hat and a neckerchief. No one seems to notice, but it’s a very uncomfortable feeling, talking to waitresses and frying bacon, bare-beamed and butt naked.
Last, but not least, are two really good reasons:
One- I’m already 4 hours late.
Two- I’ve been no call no show for several days and they’ve probably fired me by now.

Then there is the sinking feeling where we realize since we have been no call-no show for the last week, we probably won’t be getting a check for some time.
Still,we don’t want to go in.
Its really that bad.
Just as the anxiety level reaches its peak, we begin to sense there is no cause for worry.
Its just a dream. We don’t work in a kitchen anymore. We work in an office. Its well lit, warm in the winter, cool in the summer and never smells like shrimp. The pay is good, the job is easy.
In fact, now that we know its just a dream we are in the clear. We can dream whatever we want!
Besides, we recall now the dream where we asked the waitress if she liked our chefs hat, thinking it would be a good opportunity for her to point out that yes, the chefs hat was fine, but she wished we would put our pants back on. But she did not, so we deduce that she must not notice we are naked.
And its just a dream anyway, right?

Like this:
I come in in the morning, 3 hours late, take off my pants and hang them on the back of my chair. i sit and tap-tap-tap at my computer. In the next room is the Employee Cafeteria and if anyone wants something to eat, I will put my clothes back on, wash my hands, and fix it for them.
But that is optional. I do not have to cook if I do not want to.
Then I will strip back down and start to work at the Computer again. Something doesn’t seem right about working in my drawers but it is quite comfortable, just as it is right now, and I’m not one to complain about everything.
It is a busy day. In fact, Corporate HDQ people are coming through the door. We don't get to see them very often, so this is a real treat.
I stand and greet each one with a warm handshake as they admire my physique. What a fun dream! The women are especially friendly today; I have been taking vitamins and my hair is fuller, or else my head has grown smaller.
Grown smaller? Is that a thing?
The CEO of the company enters, I introduce myself and he asks if I might fix him some breakfast.
’What would you like this morning?’ I inquire.
‘Biscuits” he says.
‘Biscuits it is” I snap back, trying to hide my disappointment.

You see, in the kitchen there, we have everything. And we have a HUGE Freezer where the Biscuits are kept. It is so huge a river runs through it. But I can NEVER, I mean NEVER, find the damn biscuits. It doesn’t matter how long I look.
I get my clothes on and go into the freezer, knowing I am more likely to find Admiral Byrd or Daniel Webster in there than I am to find a single Biscuit. I enter like I’m stepping into a time machine.
Its very cold, and even with my clothes on my balls start to draw up.
Shelves reach a mile high, filled with boxes.
I cannot see the back wall, and the side walls run to the horizon.
Surely this freezer was built by MC Escher.
But just on the other side of The River That Runs Through It I find a box that says “Pillsbury”.
Hallelujah!
I grab it and clutch it to my breast! See? That wasn't so bad.
I make my way back across the Frozen Tundra, past Saint Alphonsos Pancake Breakfast, cheese blintzes, 16/20 Shrimp, and just as I reach the door leading me back to the kitchen and the CEO or whatever the hell this guy is, I look inside the box.
Damn….its Pillsbury Dinner Rolls!
Thats how fast a dream can turn on you.

WASABI

Went to a new sushi place. You sit in the booth and plates of sushi come by on an automated belt. They put two or three pieces of sushi on each plate. Some have four. You grab a plate that looks good to you on its way by. Then you watch the procession, looking for another plate that looks good to you. They charge you $3 a plate. I had four plates worth. It was very satisfying and very good sushi, and a lovely variety. I was skeptical at first, having an aversion to too much tech, but it was FUN!
Plus, they use real wasabi, and serve it up with a silver coke spoon.

This is how the world will end.

A couple of months ago, and for the last several years, when I logged in to FEDEX their header would be two smiling women.
Then about two weeks ago they started putting Avatars of the women on the other side of the header.
One side, real women. The other side, their Avatars.
So today they have done away with the real women entirely and added two men.
Only not really men.
They have added ‘toons” of men. Cartoons.
There is something very insidious about this.
Its just like the phone call “tree” I must navigate several times a day. There are usually three branches before I get to a human. Or four branches before I get to a dead end, and no human available.
And the dozen phone calls I get a day? They are just like ‘toons. They are ‘bots.
I had a call last night from the Tarrant County Health Department. It was a real person. I was so glad to hear from a real person that I spent the thirty minutes answering all sorts of questions. Every time I got a little perturbed about how long it was taking, or how redundant the question was I reminded myself there was an endangered species on the other end of the line, just trying to do a public service and her job.
A human.

Waylaid!

If you want to see the Dolphins vs Chiefs, and Taylor Swift on Saturday night, you are going to have to stream it. Some streaming service called Peacock paid the NFL $110,000,000 for the rights to stream it.
Greedy bastards.
Capitalism. Its what’s killing America. Its supposed to be the right of every red blooded American to watch all the playoff games for free. And get shit faced.
But that’s not what this post is about.
This post is about my prediction that the Dolphins will whip the Chiefs. All because two words…
Taylor Swift.

It reminds me of back in 2008 when Romo was quarterback for the Cowboys and on the way to the playoffs he got tangled up with Jessica Simpson. He was totally distracted, and understandably so.
They were leading the division going into December but lost 3 out of 4. All they had to do was beat the Eagles in week 17 to clinch a wild card spot, but they got creamed 44-6.
You know, something like this happened to that famous old ship, the Bounty. The Bounty. Waylaid in the Cook islands by a bunch of virgins and all the breadfruit they could eat.

My prediction:
Dolphins 31
Chiefs 17

Princess Margaret

I've been binge watching The Crown on Netflix. I have a crush on Princess Margaret. She's very pretty, and funny despite her broken heart. I'm a sucker for a broken heart.
Oh, and those shoulders are lovely, quite.

Nikki Haley on Slavery

Here at Bulletholes we occasionally feature women that we have crushes on. Nikki Haley doesn't quite make that list, but we do see her as an outstanding presidential candidate and could see ourselves voting for her the way we could have voted for Mitt Romney or John McCain. Or Chris Christie even.
In the meantime we would advise her to read and reread Lincoln's Gettysburg address.

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived, and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle field of that war. We come to dedicate a portion of it, as a final resting place for those who died here, that the nation might live. This we may, in all propriety do.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate we can not consecrate we can not hallow, this ground The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have hallowed it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here; while it can never forget what they did here.
It is rather for us, the living, we here be dedicated to the great task remaining before us that, from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here, gave the last full measure of devotion that we here highly resolve these dead shall not have died in vain; that the nation, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the the earth "

FAR FROM PERFECT

Its probably not going to be a popular opinion, but as I sat at the Gastroenterologist office last week studying the diagram of the human digestive system I couldn’t help but think God could have come up with something a little more simple, a little more elegant, especially considering some of the symptoms I was experiencing.
What a mess.

Where Do It go?

When I was in the hospital last year they weren't going to let me leave unless I had a bowel movement. I kept telling them I hadn't eaten in 3 days there was just nothing there. They insisted there had to be something.

I said "You know, I can eat a footlong Subway sandwich and I only get an inch and a half out. I don't know where it goes. I can't explain it, but if you don't let me eat something I will be here forever. Until the end of time."
So they gave me a cup of broth and an enema.
21st century medicine.

We Do Recover

I made something for my daughter for a birthday present in 2002. It was a horse head, fashioned with colored grout glued to a piece of travertine. Before you go thinking what a sweet thing to do, you should know that the reason I made it was because I had no money, no job, no visible means of support. I was down, down to the dirt man. Deep in my addiction, I didn’t have two thin dimes to rub together to buy her a birthday present. So I made this stupid horse. It looked like a third grade art project. And though I felt a lot of shame giving her this gift, it was all I could do. I’m not sure what they call it when you pretend to not be ashamed, but what ever it is, that was me. I don’t recall if Aubree liked it, or thought it was dumb, or if she was delighted. I really don’t know.

So fast forward 21 years and her step dad calls me and says he has a box of stuff I might be interested in. And among several items that darn travertine horse head was in there.
The strangeness of this life sometimes cant be measured. I can hardly describe or explain the gratitude I felt to see this thing. And all that shame from all those years ago had faded away and left a wonderful sense of humility.

So I called Aubree and asked it she remembered this horse head. She kinda did. I told her how it looked like third grade art project and we laughed, and I sent her a picture of it.
“Yes, I DO remember” she said “And dad, its really not that bad. You can tell it’s a horse.”
She is very kind. And she kept it.
I plan to hang it on my wall somehow. Its like a prize, a trophy, a badge.
A crown of thorns.
We Do Recover

Raymond Carver

 

Woke up early this morning and from my bed
looked far across the Strait to see
a small boat moving through the choppy water,
a single running light on. Remembered
my friend who used to shout
his dead wife’s name from hilltops
around Perugia. Who set a plate
for her at his simple table long after
she was gone. And opened the windows
so she could have fresh air. Such display
I found embarrassing. So did his other
friends. I couldn’t see it.
Not until this morning.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

The Numinous

“We drove 22 miles into the country around Farmington. There were meadows and apple orchards. White fences trailed through the rolling fields. Soon the sign started appearing. THE MOST PHOTOGRAPHED BARN IN AMERICA. We counted five signs before we reached the site. There were 40 cars and a tour bus in the makeshift lot. We walked along a cowpath to the slightly elevated spot set aside for viewing and photographing. All the people had cameras; some had tripods, telephoto lenses, filter kits. A man in a booth sold postcards and slides -- pictures of the barn taken from the elevated spot. We stood near a grove of trees and watched the photographers. Murray maintained a prolonged silence, occasionally scrawling some notes in a little book.
"No one sees the barn," he said finally.
A long silence followed.
"Once you've seen the signs about the barn, it becomes impossible to see the barn."
He fell silent once more. People with cameras left the elevated site, replaced by others.
We're not here to capture an image, we're here to maintain one. Every photograph reinforces the aura. Can you feel it, Jack? An accumulation of nameless energies."
There was an extended silence. The man in the booth sold postcards and slides.
"Being here is a kind of spiritual surrender. We see only what the others see. The thousands who were here in the past, those who will come in the future. We've agreed to be part of a collective perception. It literally colors our vision. A religious experience in a way, like all tourism."
Don DeLillo, White Noise

On a rainy day like today I worry I might go to the Grand Canyon and come away uninspired.
A picture perfect barn? A restored ’59 Chevy Apache?
I really prefer my barns decrepit, weather-beaten, barely standing. My trucks all rusted out with broken headlights and a birds nest in the wheel wells
Like the State Fair. Big Tex? Dumb. Almost as dumb as those gaudy Angels on Bass Hall. Unless you can catch him on fire. now that's a picture.
The Car Show? Yawn.
Fletchers Corny Dog, ok, yeah yeah yeah, I get it. I like the corny dogs. And I like the Art Deco sculptures
But the high point for me, the sight that inspires me in a spiritual way, is watching the kid in the wheelchair at the rodeo, his chair positioned where they let the handicapped sit right up next to the arena rails, so close your hair blows back when the horses fly past.
That is the best..
The Numinous.