sealed

It’s a quest that probably will never have a completion.

Never have a happy ending.

It quite possibly could be impossible. I have no idea.

Maybe it's like love. You always want it to be like in the movies. Those 87-minute or so pieces of celluloid that always end happily. You never see the other, oh, 60, 70 years.

But it doesn’t mean I won’t stop looking.

What the fuck am I looking for? (Randy, why do you have to cuss so much?)

I’m looking for an unopened, sealed shut, copy of INXS’ cassette tape “Listen Like Thieves.”

Why?

Because I still remember the way it smelled when I opened it one day back in 1985. That smell now is a curse, because I can’t describe it. Which is why I want to find a copy of the original pressing of the tape. Sent to a Sam Goody’s or Peaches or Tower Records that year.

It’s got to be a clear cassette tape. Not black. Not covered with a sticker. Or any of the other ways it was released over the years.

I still have my old, very worn copy of LLT. It’s been through the ringer of my high school days. Of road trips and cross-country moves. Of being in blizzards and in 120-degree days without air conditioning.

Will I find one? I can always hope so.

There was a Canadian version on ebay not too long ago. I thought about buying it anyway, but didn’t. It might even still be there. It’s not the one I want. Or, to be silly, what cha need.

So, I will keep looking.

I probably would have had better luck in the late-1990s and early 2000s. When record stores started to die in a fast way. Much like newspapers, right when I was deciding to go to work (for the rest of my life!) at one.

Idiot.

Or not.

Depends on your perspective.

I’m not going to make it to 750 words.

I need to sleep.

naming a baby

Blasting Turgonegro’s “Retox” album has become my favorite pastime. It’s especially fun when driving onto the campuses of the assorted Christian schools in town.

The smell of dog shit fills the air inside my 2010 Hyundai Accent. Apparently, stepping dog shit has become another favorite pastime. The waffle of my Sambas appears clean, but, they are brown in color and one could easily miss shit when just looking quickly.

If you’ve ever had bad teeth, you will always have bad teeth.

Was talking with someone at work the other night. A conversation that lasted two-plus hours after deadline. Finding your passion? Ha. A study said you’re happiest as a grownup if you followed you first true love. I wanted to be an archeologist. I didn’t follow through. In fact, I never really pursued anything until I decided to move across country and see what newspapers were all about. What a knuckleheaded decision that turned out to be.

I’m seriously debating quitting my job and being a stay at home dad. If I didn’t have so many stupid bills from stupid, yet fun, times, I would already have made up my mind. Never knew it was so hard to find a part-time position when you’ve been working the same job your whole life. Well, except for the few years in between.

The dryer is spinning around and around. Drying clothes seems silly. Washing them too. What’s wrong with smelling? If we all did, we wouldn’t feel so bad about it anymore.

Wearing shoes without socks is a good idea, until you take off the shoes.

Netflix has made me a lazy filmwatcher.

Eating snails does not appeal to me.

Redheads still make me wonder.

“Have you ever been to Spokane?” she asked.

“Why no, I’ve not been to Spokane,” he replied.

“Too bad,” she said.

“Yep,” he replied.

They both returned to their drinks, never to speak again.

Marvin is a horrible name for a kid.

Not having anything to write about  is painful. But so is writing about what you want to write.

I’m going to go on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Youtube, gangbangsrus.com etcetera and rant about something some celebrity did/said or fucked. It’s cool, and gosh, it’ll get lots of views.

Why are we all so mad at each other, but pretending to be oh, so happy? Is it the food? Probably not, but maybe. Who knows.

I stare at the window

And wonder where you are

You don’t.

I wonder if Mickey Rourke’s plastic surgeon looks like a bladder?

“I’m not surpised, I knew about it,” all the sports media folks are saying.

“Shame on you NBA,” for not doing anything about it.

Fuck all of you. Why didn’t you expose it in the 1990s when you “knew”?

George Clooney is engaged. So?

He’s also a bad drunk.

Do you have any more gum?

More gum?

More gum?

Do you have any more gum?

When you take a shit, do you look at it?

If you do, are you satisfied with what you see?

Or are you scared to look.

Hoping it’s not bloody. Full of worms.

Don’t worry if it is. We all end up with worms in our shit.

In our head.

“Do you like drinking in this place,” I asked.

She turned her head and looked at my shirt.

“Do you like wearing that shirt?” she snarled.

“Of course,” I said. “I don’t have to worry if I leave it at your place later.”

She smiled.

Why shit like that works, I’ll never know.

--- Something scribbled in a notepad years ago.

She wasn’t going to take it anymore.

He never made a decision. He just let things “happen.”

So, one night, she answered the phone when he called and told him: “It’s over.”

He never understood.

Until now.

Well, not really.

Benzene in my veins.

Fracking on my brain!

Punk rock is easy.

I wonder what it’s like to chew things without feeling pain?

It’s been so long, I don’t remember.

That is the thattiest that that I’ve thatted.

Microsoft Word does not believe thatted is a word. Fuck you Bill Gates.

The name Syl is kind of cool.

Darn it, man, he said.

“Darn it?” his buddy said before chuckling down a beer.

He punched him seconds later.

Who is he? He is who?

Donkey Kong high score in high school while getting high. That’s the opening to a script.

If you smell pot, are you cooking?

Laser beam eyes. They don’t lie, they kill.

Sleep.

Wade Boggs, Stan Musial or Joe DiMaggio?

“It’s time!” a voice inside my head yells.

I try to figure out if it’s Michael Buffer’s kid brother, the guy your event gets when it wants a cool introduction, but has a budget of a movie that would have Sid Haig in it in the 1970s, not in the 2000s when Tarantino wannabes made him cool again. Sort of.

Anyway, I sit here every night wondering when the first tooth is going to just fall out. I’ve been thinking about that for over three decades now. I think about it a lot more than I used to. Mostly because that reality is actually a reality now. It used to be some kind of badge of honor that the chicks dug. “Yeah, I wrecked my bike once, almost lost all my front teeth,” I’d say. “Ooooh, that’s so cool.” or “You’re full of shit.” or maybe they’d say nothing because they were now scared or turned on or just stupid. I really didn’t care because it was rare for me to get into a conversation with a lady.

But seriously, it is time. Time for me to make up my mind. Am I going to say fuck it and do it, or am I going to once again just get by.

Three months and a few days from now, I’m going to be a dad. That shit is starting to get real. It’s no longer off on the horizon. It’s speeding up like the Jeepers Creepers dude. And you either get sewn into the fucking mural or you kill the mother fucker.

How the hell did that go there? I have too many damn stupid things going on in my head.

It’s why I spend money on ebay for Weeble Woobles for the damn kid.

He’s going to be playing Atari 2600 at 3 and it’ll be cool. Until his friends show them their cell phones at 5.

Why the hell does a kid need a smartphone?

Get off my lawn!!!! I will shake my cane, dammit.

I don’t have a smartphone. I’m 43.

Do I want one? Yeah, sometimes it would be nice to find out exactly that fucking restaurant is that you drove 400 miles to go eat at, but can’t find it b/c you don’t have a fucking map.

I used to think I could write a pretty darn good story. Just one story, but a good one. I tried and tried to do it, but never really fully tried.

I’ve watched awful writers I know get books published (usually self-published, but fucking a, someone bought at least one copy). I’ve watched liars and shitheads get great jobs, simply because they don’t mind lying and being shitheads.

And I keep making excuses.

It’s not fun. At least not as much.

I don’t drink anymore. It actually bores me. Unless I’m with friends, but then I’ve got to worry about saying or doing something stupid.

Yesterday, a fuckhead in a giant small penis truck wouldn’t get out of the lane. Finally, I got beside him and I fucking tried to punch the car. At 60 miles per hour.

That’s just dumb.

But funny.

And if you don’t do some of that bi-polaresque shit, you can’t write about it.

Just like Ben Nichols used to say “I can’t write the fake shit.”

Well, he writes fake shit now. I think. I mean, I guess taking it from a book, script or TV show means it ain’t fake, exactly.

Fuck, it’s all fake and it’s all not real.

See, see what happens?

I might just quit my job one day in  August. Just leave. Right before my two-year. Yep that would be a Randy move.

Just like all of them.

Follow your heart, they tell you. But then they don’t do it.

You do, and you end up making less at 43 than you made at 33. And less than just about every, single person you know or knew.

Hell, my dead grandfather probably still makes more money every year than I do.

Is that possible?

Stop with the fucking Jim Gaffigan shit.

It stinks.

Hahahahahahaha.

I used to say I didn’t hate things.

I think that’s true. At least I hope it’s true.

Hate is waste.

Love isn’t, even if some don’t believe it’s enough.

Really, though, it’s everything.

We all figure that out one day. Some  earlier than others, some really late.

Hopefully, some don’t ever figure it out. They either end up being Wade Boggs or Stan Musial. I hope I don’t end  up as Joe DiMaggio.