I AM SITTING...

in a school meeting during my FRESHMAN year of High School staring at the ceiling, ignoring daily announcements when I first heard it.  "Click!"  "Clip!" "Snap!"  I cased the room in search of a culprit.  Nothing.  Nobody else was even flinching.  I thought I'd finally lost my grip on reality.  For a second I imagined the RICE CRISPIES characters sitting behind me jumping around, but of course they weren't.  Then I heard it again.  "Snap!"  That's when I noticed a rather large, suspicious, white-bearded HUMAN at the end of my row.  I suspected the sound was coming from his direction.  I watched him closely.  I noticed him focusing on his hands as the HEADMASTER continued to speak.  I turned away, then... "SNIP!" "Crack!'  I quickly snapped my head back at the Santa Claus look alike and the sonofabitch was clipping his fingernails!

I bursted out with laughter.  I laughed so hard I almost had a coronary.  The kid to my left elbowed me in the gut and said, "Dude, what are you doing?"  While continuing to chuckle I pointed down the row and replied, "That WILDMAN is clipping his fingernails."  The kid didn't even sneak a peek (what a sissy)... he just gave me "the nod" to look forward.  Slowly I realized everyone in the room was staring at me, including the Headmaster and Fred Claus' brother.  Some nerve.

The Headmaster glared at me with a look I'll never forget, and then in front of the entire student body he said, "Is there something you'd like to add, Mr. Richerson?"  To which I promptly replied, "No sir."  I couldn't believe it.  How was nobody else laughing?  Was this normal?  I'm at one of the most prestigious boarding schools in the country and one of the faculty members is clipping his nails in PUBLIC!  And I thought I was moving up a social class by going here... Guess not.  What the fuck was going on!  Nobody said a word.  Important announcements are happening and human nail shrapnel is flying all over the place.  It was a war zone!  You've got to be kidding me.  I wondered, "Can this dude really get away with that?"  And the answer is... YES.

Through the grapevine I heard Mr. Holmes (Kris Kringle) had been cutting his TALONS during school meetings for years.  And since he'd been at the school for 30 years, everybody was afraid to say anything.  This included the Headmaster who had only been there for about 10 years.

Mr. Holmes was one of the ON DUTY study hall monitors in my dorm, so I made it my personal project to know everything there was to know about this guy before I dropped the big question.  I started by chatting with him for a few minutes every night he was around.  Everyone else thought I talked with him to get out of doing homework (that was part of it), but I truly wanted to know what made the MADMAN tick.

Mr. Holmes was a big man.  He stood 6'5 and I'm guessing he weighed in roughly around 290.  I wasn't afraid of him.  I wanted to get to know him... key in on his madness.  How was he so well respected that people were willing to shrug off the fact he was clipping his nails directly onto their heads?

Through our conversations I learned he fought in a war.  I can't recall which one, but it was probably the Revolutionary War.  He also played professional football for the GREEN BAY PACKERS in the 50's.  He was an avid sports fan and a staple in the art department at my school.  He was also a CERAMICS teacher.  I was floored when he told me.  This big maniac threw pots all day?  Yup.  And he was awesome at it.  Did I mention he laughed a lot?  Well he did... And at a decibel level that would frighten a T-Rex.

I got into trouble later that year and was sentenced to Weekend Work Detail during the winter term.  Coincidentally, my job was to shovel the entire Holmes residence, including the driveway, both front and back walkways, porches, and the flat part of the roof just above the porch.  Good thing we were hit with 27 inches of snow on Friday.  Shit.  He laughed at me while I furiously shoveled his 1970's model VOLVO out of a snow drift.  I wanted to Karate chop him in his beard.  Finally, he offered me a cup of hot cocoa and we chatted for a bit on the porch.  He told me about the fierce winters of Green Bay and how hard the playing surface was.  "It was like playing on the TURNPIKE, HAHAHAHA!!!" he cackled.  I stared at him in awe.  He was nuts, but kind of likable. 

Sophomore year I took ceramics.  I thought since I was in with Holmes, I'd cruise to an easy A.  I thought wrong.  Turns out, I'm the WORST potter on the planet.  Clay and I are not friends.  I was worse than Demi Moore in "Ghost" and I didn't even have Patrick Swayze breathing down my neck.  I received a C for my masterful work in the class and was not happy about it.  I tried hard as shit though, ceramics just wasn't my thing.  When Mr. Holmes handed me my grade during the final week of class, he laughed yet again, and I wanted to yell out, "Go clip your nails ya fucking jerk!"

By the time Senior year came around, Mr. Holmes and I were quite friendly.  He was at every one of my football and basketball games.  He always made comments like, "The game's changed quite a bit since my day, HAHAHAHA!!!"  I would just laugh along with the jolly old fellow.  Funny thing is... I never saw the guy around Christmas time.  I used to imagine him up at the North Pole making toys for all the good boys and girls, laughing away... Or maybe he just hibernated for the month of December.

A few weeks before I graduated, I was sitting in another school meeting and I heard it again.  That noise I had heard so many times during High School.  "Clip!"  I turned around just to make sure and there was Holmes sitting in the same spot clipping away at his nails... Scaring the shit out of the Freshman class.  I shook my head and smiled.  I was ready.  Immediately following the meeting, I marched right up to him and said, "Hey Mr. Holmes, how come you clip your nails during school meeting and not at home?"  He stopped in his tracks and looked down at me with the DEVIL in his eyes.  This was obviously not a familiar question.  Without answering he walked on.  I caught up to him and continued, "Isn't it weird how nobody says anything to you?"  He stopped again and just looked at me like I impregnated his Great Granddaughter.  I went on, "It's kind of crazy, right?"  Then he leaned over me continuing to stare at me with this serious scowl and said, "CRAZY, HAHAHAHAHA!!!"  And he kept on walking... Laughing at me along the way.  I just stood there like I'd been hit by a MACK TRUCK.  That mystery will never be solved.

Ten years later I often find myself sitting in my living room clipping my nails in front of the TV.  Although I do it with some tact by keeping a mini trash can beneath me to catch the clippings and I pick up the rest by hand, my roommate still complains.  And when he does, I unleash this diabolical laughter into the air.  I guess that's just me channelling Mr. Holmes.  Every time I cut my nails for the rest of my life, I will think of that WILDMAN.  I bet he's clipping his nails right now at a STARBUCKS... laughing like a mad scientist.  And I bet my bottom dollar... Not a soul in sight says a word to him.  Keep clipping Mr. Holmes.  

I AM IRISH...

And today is ST. PATTY's day.  Ah, what to do, what to do?  How about work?  Yeah, that's what I'm doing.  Perhaps I should call my Mom and talk about her favorite Holiday!  Just kidding... She's Italian, my POPS is Irish, so I think she'll pass on the corned beef and cabbage.  

Everybody keeps asking me if I'm wearing GREEN.  No FRIEND-O, I'm not wearing green, but my eyeballs do everyday.  No, I don't wear eye-shadow, my eyes are just GREEN-ISH.  I think there may be a little green on my boxers though.  Let me check.  Bingo.  So much for separating myself from the masses.

I can't stand when a fun Holiday falls in the middle of the week, especially when you don't have off from work.  In the STATES, St. Patrick's Day is about as important as the NHL finals.  Nobody really cares.  It's like Chinese New Year's up in here... If you know what I mean.  No land mass was discovered on this day.  No life-changing event occurred either.   Really, it's just a day when Catholics are allowed to take a break during LENT.  For all you HEATHENS out there... this means you can eat meat if you gave that up, get shitfaced if you gave up alcohol, or get laid if you gave up sex (sounds crazy, but Catholics can be that way).  Ever heard of the Crusades?

Every year on the 17th of March, everyone wants to celebrate by doing the kegs and eggs thing in the morning, drink GREEN beer, and pin the tail on some IRISH DAME they met at some bar around NOON.  By the time they try to take this unlucky lady home at 8pm, she's completely blacked out... What's the point?  And how the hell are you meeting people out on the town at NOON?  Isn't it Wednesday?  Doesn't anybody work anymore?  Fuck.  I need your job.

A little history behind St. Patrick's Day...  Saint Patrick was a man (obviously) who was kidnapped by Irish Raiders at 16 and held captive to Ireland as a slave.  One night while sleeping, he believed GOD came to him in a dream.   And what he said was, "Yo Patty, you have to get the fuck out of here and head for the coast.  Return to Britain ASAP!"  So of course he escaped... And as soon as he got home, he studied to be a priest.  Go figure.

Later in 432, he was called back to Ireland as a bishop.  (For those of you non-Catholics, a bishop is step or so up from being a priest. Basically he got a promotion)  The Irish who once captured him, now needed his help.  Again, God spoke to him... "Go save those poor bastards!"  Man, The HOLY SPIRIT talked to this guy a lot.  He must have been REALLY popular.  So Patty left for Ireland to save the country from poverty, famine, and of course... other religions.  He used the SHAMROCK in his teachings, saying it symbolized the HOLY TRINITY (the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit).  It didn't take much for those poor drunk maniacs to believe.

After spreading the word of the Almighty for 30 years; Patrick died on March 17th, 461.  He gave the Irish people love, peace within, hope, and a great holiday to get wasted on for ALL TIME.  

What began as a purely CATHOLIC holiday has now become more of a celebration of Ireland's culture.  Now EVERYFUCKINGBODY celebrates this day.  Every schmuck on MELROSE is sporting green today.  The MUSLIMS next door, the people we pigeon-holed as terrorists down the block, the cool INDIAN dudes in 7ELEVEN (well maybe that's just because their uniforms are green everyday?), Asians (who hate being called that by the way), regular Jews and Hasidic Jews, too.  well maybe not the HASID'S, but I bet they want to, cause it's ridiculously hot and the black get-up they rock has to be uncomfortable as HELL.  And who wants to wear the same thing everyday?  Weird.

So... What a day.  A GREEN day.  It's another excuse for everyone on the planet to party.  Gotta love it.  Embrace it.  Thanks, Patrick.  I just wish the day you croaked would have fallen on a Saturday this year.

Have fun out there tonight you phony Irish jokers.  Don't drink and drive.  Don't text and drive.  Don't make out and drive (unless she's really HOT).  What I'm getting at here is... take a GOD DAMN cab!  You kids can first base just fine in the back.

I AM PROUD...

To be an AMERICAN most days.  Well, not proud enough to belt out the song baring the same name, but proud nonetheless.  I enjoy the freedoms we have in this country.  You can pretty much get anything you want if you can afford it.  You can dine on exotic foods, sip fine wines, buy all the flat screen TVs you desire, and almost say whatever the hell you want without having your privates chopped off in a public arena.  Personally I can't afford to do or buy all the things I'd like, but I get by.  Someday I'll be able to spoil myself a little... I hope.

Our country is rich with history.  Some good, some bad.  We fought for our freedom during the American Revolution demanding the rights our new nation's people deserved.  Abraham Lincoln abolished slavery in 1865.  The long winded Woman's Suffrage Movement came to an end on August 20th 1920 and women were granted the right to VOTE.  Dr. Martin Luther King marched for Civil Rights in the 50's and 60's and eventually won those long deserved rights in 1964.  I'm not sure why it took so long for some of these issues to pass, but better late than never I guess.   On December 7th 1941, Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese.  During the Civil Rights Movement people were hosed down and beaten by police.  On September 11th 2001 the World Trade Center was brought to rubble during a terrorist attack.  Another plane hit the Pentagon and another crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.  As a result of these attacks on 9/11/2001, 2,973 American lives were lost.  In August of 2005, Hurricane KATRINA demolished the great city of New Orleans and 1,836 people died and it took days and weeks for the proper help to arrive.  Why some of these things happened, I'll never know... but I can take a guess... Mother Nature.  Money.  Greed.  Power.

I was raised CATHOLIC in a MIDDLE CLASS and LIBERAL family.  My father was a UNION worker.  He drove a truck for well over 30 years, probably 40.  He was an officer of the Teamsters Union with Local 478.  I still remember some of the Teamsters getting together at my house to discuss sanitary working conditions, wages, and fighting for the respect they deserved.  Those men worked ridiculously hard to stay afloat.  They refused to allow their lack of education or where they came from hold them back.  All they wanted was to keep a decent roof over their heads and food on the table for their families.

The Middle Class used to make up a great deal of our country.  Unions kept people paid and paid decently.  Then wealthy people took over.  We elected a few puppets for Presidents and the Middle Class was fading.  So many people lost their jobs in the 80's and why you ask?  So BANKS could profit.  Cut jobs, profits increase, stocks stay up.  Move plants to different countries, cheaper labor, more product, stocks stay up.  It was really sad.  I don't even know what's made in this country anymore.  I know a few American Apparel T-shirts I have are, but I'm sure the hat on my head was made in Taiwan, the car I drive in Japan, and the slippers on my feet were definitely made in India.

So what happened to the Middle Class?  I'll tell you... It's almost nonexistent.  Assholes like RONALD REAGAN destroyed the Unions (who were made up of a major percentage of the Middle Class) and forced millions of jobs to disappear right before our eyes.  As a result, people were encouraged to live on this fictional currency called CREDIT.  This set up up Americans to be in DEBT for LIFE.  Who profited on this encouragement?  BANKS.  And who Runs the banks?  RICH PEOPLE.  Who ran the rich people?  The government?  Nope.  The government, the banks, and the rich folks were all one in the same... Since at the time the government was made up of Bankers from Goldman Sachs, the rich people were running IT.  Ronald Reagan took direction much better as a President (too bad it was from the wrong fucking people).  He was a shitty actor... and an even worse PRESIDENT.  Great job deconstructing the class of people that made this country what it is, douchebag.  

Today people are struggling more than ever.  I realize there are problems in other countries and I do believe we should send aid immediately, but we need to get our priorities straight and take care of our own.  Every other person you meet is without HEALTHCARE.  Every third person you meet is out of work (and I'm not talking about actors).  What the fuck is going on?

We need to open our eyes people.  Those earning in the top 1% of our country are running this place.  The government has kept the wealthy at their side so they can get even richer.  It's sickening.  Back in the day (1940's or so) the wealthiest people in our nation were taxed at a much greater rate than those in the middle class.  Now those same dickheads making all that money have arranged it so everyone is taxed almost equally.  It's not fair.  I know life isn't fair, but come the fuck on.  Should we watch our own people die because they can't afford healthcare?  Should we just stand by while people we know and love get pushed out of their homes?  I think not.

I don't consider myself an avid follower of politics, but I often find a way into heated discussions about some topics.  One of my best friends comes from a similar background as I do, yet we have completely different political views.  He's a Wall Street guy; I'm a Main Street guy.  This confuses me, since we both come from Main Street.  I just don't understand the REPUBLICAN way of thinking.  How can you be educated and NOT LIBERAL?  How can you not believe in Gay Marriage?  How can you not believe in a woman's right to choose?  How can you not believe in tax breaks for the middle and lower classes?  How can you not believe laborers have a right to form unions to protect themselves?  I don't get it.  Are you like one of those assholes that didn't believe in Civil Rights?  Should women not be allowed to vote?  You may be thinking I sound stupid, but if you disagree with me you're bred from the same cloth as the haters that came before you.  It saddens me to know many of the people I love have opposing views.

Most families of wealth dislike unions (which are predominantly made up of laborers).  These are the people who fix your cars, teach your children, build your houses, fly our planes, and more oft than not are the men and women fighting YOUR WARS.  How can we not pay them sufficiently?  And somehow we pay the people who handle rich people's money and other's who hand out bullshit loans to those that can't really afford to pay them back so much more.  Are they more important?  No.  They're actually less important.  The rich want to overwork people and pay them shit to make their products.  It's ludicrous.  This isn't some 3rd world country.  This is our home.  We need to take care of the people that inhabit this great land.  We need to treat them like human beings, not rats.  People that work hard for a living deserve the right to an education, a safe home, healthcare, and sufficient food to eat no matter what class you come from.

We're supposed to be living in a prosperous land built upon equal opportunity.  This couldn't be further from the truth.  Remember a little thing called THE CONSTITUTION?  It's "WE THE PEOPLE of the United States, in order to form a more perfect UNION..." not "We the Rich People of the US, in order to destroy the Unions..."

If you start from the bottom, it's very hard to climb, but it is possible.  That's what's great about this country.  It's really hard though.  Now if you come from a wealthy family; it's a cake walk to success.  It's unsettling.  The people are supposed to be running this country, not banks and big businesses.  I'm disgusted when I think about GREED standing in the forefront.  We're veering in the wrong direction.  Being greedy doesn't make you happy.  It doesn't mean you're motivated.  It means you're an asshole.  So go ahead and work hard.  Make all the money you can.  Get a respectable job.  One that allows you to sleep well at night.  Don't take advantage of other human beings.  Don't thrive on someone else's misfortune.  Provide for your family and don't be a scumbag.  You may be doing really well, but that doesn't mean you need 12 cars, 20 TVs, a $30,000 purse and $2,000 shoes.  If you have earned the right to afford these luxuries, think about giving back.  Give back to your community.  Realize you're privileged enough to make a difference... And make a difference in somebody else's life, not just your own.  Be selfless, not selfish.  And make sure you think twice when you're voting.  Make sure you think about the people who are protecting your freedoms (firemen, police officers, soldiers) because they're the people we're fucking over.

I love this country.  I love the beautiful people in it.  I love its diversity.  I love the freedom.  I'd hate to see it destroyed to make a profit at the expense of its people.  We have a new idealistic Sheriff in town and he has some stack of papers on his desk.  In the past year and change he's probably gotten through about 3 pages, but let's hope he gets it done... And remembers the people that built the house he's living in.  To change... and having a country to be proud of.

I AM COMING TO TERMS...

With the fact that one day, I will be BALD.  This is harsh reality to face.  Isn't it bad enough that hair turns gray?  Balding can be tricky.  It creeps up on you... Excuse me, creeps away from you.  One day in High School your forehead is just a few inches above your eyebrows, a few months later you have a Widow's Peak like Count Chocula, before you know it you look like Larry David, and finally Mahatma GANDHI.  Bald as the day you spontaneously combusted into this world.  Such a shame.  What's even worse is when baldness hits you from the back, in what I call the REVERSE YARMULKE.  This is when your hair recedes from back to front, giving you that dreadful bald spot making you look like you've been at a Bar Mitzvah every day since you were 12.  Now that is way scarier than walking around with a Tyra Banks-like forehead.

I get it.  It's not cool to lose your hair; it just happens.  I'm not exactly delighted that the only brush in my future is one for my teeth, but what can I do?  This is nature's way of letting some men know how small they really are.  You think you're a pretty boy?  How does BALDNESS SOUND?  Boom!  It's just another way to keep us grounded.

Now, the delusional behavior that follows a man with MPB (Male Pattern Baldness) is disturbing.  Rugs, implants, Rogaine, and comb-overs... do you think we don't know?  Donald Trump, for example, has the whole comb-it-forward thing going.  It's ridiculous.  You have to be shitting me, Trump.  Don't get me wrong, he is THE MAN.  He's wealthy, not as bad looking as he could be, and he can have any woman he wants... On the Planet... FACT.  But let's be honest here Donnie, give it up man.  Peel your cap already.  I'm sure you'll look fine.  Maybe he's trying to hide some gruesome scar he got back in the 80's when he was banging a cocktail waitress in one of his Casinos and he hit his head on a SLOT MACHINE.  It's possible.

Look at Bruce Willis... He went bald and what did he do?  He shaved his head.  And the guy looks great.  I have to tip my hat to the fellow New Jersey Native.  He did it right.  My dad did the same thing when he was a little over 50 and he still looks good.  My Mom's not a fan of the baldy, but it looks better than the horseshoe that old men love to rock.  Then again, I'd take the horseshoe over that fucking comb-over ANY DAY.  The comb-over is flat out embarrassing.

I can't imagine looking at myself in the mirror and deciding how much gel to put in my SIDE hair so that it will look thick when I carefully place it over my shiny top.  I would never do that, I say now, but let's hope it never comes to that.  Gene Keady, the former PURDUE basketball coach, is the greatest example of rocking the COMB-OVER ever.  Google him.  It's absurd.  Great coach.  Great man.  Even greater insecurity.  You're 70-something years old!  People understand.  Let it go, Gene.  If Rose could let go of Jack, you should do the same with your hair.

What about RUGS?  Hair pieces are insane.  Remember Maury from Goodfellas?  He's the guy that wants Jimmy (DeNiro) to pay him back.  He has that commercial for the Wig company where he jumps into the pool with his hair piece on.  It's quite amusing.  Watch it again.  If you haven't seen Goodfellas, please make a fist with your right hand, lift your arm and punch yourself in the face as hard as you can... because you are an imbecile.

When a man wears a RUG, it's so blatantly obvious.  Give me a fucking break.  If any of my balding friends decide to wear a rug, I will most certainly put some Mach 3 Turbos in their stocking that year as a parting gift... cause our friendship will be over.

My brother has been shaving his head for about 10 years now.  He loves it.  It's HIS look.  He thinks he's going bald, but he's not.   We just have big foreheads, or 8-heads as I like to call them.  He may go bald in the next 20 years, but we'll never know because he will continue to shave his head as long as he has the strength to glide that razor over his cranium.  I'd bet my life on it.

When I was in college, I used to shave my head too.  Bald.  As the people in the bald community like to call it, BIC'ED.  BIC'ING your head means you put a razor to your dome as you would when you shave your face or legs for the ladies out there.  I Bic'ed my head for about 2 years.  Then one day while running the razor over my head in the shower I thought, "FUCK, what if this shit doesn't grow back?"  I knew I needed to hold onto my hair for as long as I could.

So what causes baldness?  Some experts say it comes from a gene passed on by your mother's father.  If that's true, thanks a lot GRAMPS.  Others say it comes from stress and some say it happens if you wear hats too much.  Well, I have a problem with this one.  I like to wear hats.  And maybe it's not helping my cause for keeping a full head of hair...  That's just too bad, because hats happen to look good on me.  And if balding is the result, that sucks, but so be it.

There are a lot of ballsy bald men out there.  One of my favorites is Danny Devito.  I love how he rocks the horseshoe with a ponytail.  It's hilarious and awesome.  You don't see him trying to comb-it-forward or over.  He's given up, accepted his fate, and rocks what he has... more power to him for that.  He's a masher.  Larry David is another good example.  He's made the most of his situation.  He's got a skinny head, so maybe he can't shave it off cause he'll look like Beaker from the MUPPETS, minus the orange top.  The curly horseshoe works for Mr. David.  Honestly, he can do whatever he wants because I love the guy.

The time will come for me, when I have to decide whether to rock the horseshoe, get implants or a rug, use Rogaine, or shave it off.  So many choices.  I'm pretty sure I will BIC it, since I've done it before and that's how my brother and father roll.  I used to worry about it, but I don't really anymore.  If it's in the cards for me to be a bald eagle, I can deal with it.  I've been holding on for quite some time now and let's knock on wood... I think I have a good 20 years left before I have to make that choice.  That's good news because not everybody is so lucky, but when the time comes I'll be ready... Perhaps to head on down to MAURY'S WIGS... cause they... "Never come off!"

I AM DREAMING ABOUT...

a great deal of weird shit lately.  I've never understood how people don't remember their dreams because I've always been able to recall my own.  Well sometimes I can't put the whole story together, but the pictures in my mind always come back.  I have many repeat dreams, which I'll get to in a moment, but lately my mind's eye has been witnessing some strange incidents.

Two nights ago I was doing UNGODLY things to CHER in the bedroom at the Roosevelt Hotel.  She was LOVING it.  I remember feeling a tad uncomfortable for a moment, then I just went for it.  Wait, not in REALITY... this was a dream (or a nightmare) you sick maniacs.  It was quite the romp until I suddenly woke up.  I looked left... right... I giggled a bit, grabbed the remote and turned on the telly... And what movie was on?  "MASK" starring Eric Stoltz as a disfigured teenager named Rocky Dennis (Remsburg).   Who plays his mother you ask?  None other than the free spirited CHER!  Do you believe in life after love?  I do.

Now last night I was dozing off to the movie "SNATCH" (keep that in mind).  I kept rolling over with my glasses still on my face, so I knew it was time to call it a night.  I turned off the tube and immediately drifted off into wonderland.  Suddenly my Boss, my old roommate's cousin and I were arguing over driving a caravan we just bought across the country.  We were standing at the dead end of ALBEE LANE.  Albee Lane is the street one of childhood friends grew up on.  He wasn't in the dream but interestingly enough we were in front of his house.  

After the argument died down, I decided to drive the shitty pickup truck with the caravan attached out west.  The skies opened up.  It began to pour.  I waved goodbye, hurried into the car and turned the key.  The car started.  Phew.  I hit the gas to make a u-turn at the dead end, but for some reason I was going too fast.  Somehow I lost control, so I turned the wheel and the truck began to flip.  I immediately did a WALTER-LIKE (Lebowski reference for you simpletons) roll out of the car and hit the ground safely.  The caravan was flopping my way.  Just before it landed on me... I rolled left and BOOM!  It smashed to the ground.  I jumped up, made my way through the wreckage and my boss and my old roomie's cousin were standing on the front lawn of my friend's house with the entire cast of SNATCH holding up their middle fingers in my direction.  I smiled.  Seconds later I was wiping drool from my favorite pillow.  Crazy right? 

So I figured in light of my ridiculous dreams I would give you all a top ten of my most frequent dreams. 

10.)  I'm surfing on an IRONING board with wheels down FORD AVENUE into oncoming traffic on ROUTE 1 all while laughing my ass off.  Anyone who knows those streets knows that is no laughing matter.

9.)  I'm being chased by FREDDY KREUGER on the runway of an airport.  I run toward the hangar and hide behind the wheels of a plane when... BANG!  I take a bullet in the shoulder.  I have no idea who the hell shot me.  I hit the ground writhing in pain and... Freddy is suddenly standing above me screeching his knives on the metal of the plane prepared to end my life.  As he leans down to chop me into bits; I pull out a DIRTY HARRY-LIKE 44 Magnum and blast his fucking head off.

8.)  I'm sitting in my childhood bedroom playing the LEGEND OF ZELDA on snow day... I can see particular levels that I loved conquering (6 and 8) and I always wake up before beating the game.  In real life I used to kick that game's ass.  I still love it.

7.)  In this one, I'm in the middle of a college football game at Lehigh and I am performing like Deion Sanders.  I'm a star.  I'm crushing opponents, running back every interception for a touchdown and the crowd loves me.  This is way better than I actually was.

6.)  I'm building a deck with my father in the backyard of my childhood home.  At the end of the day, the deck is completed, my old man thanks me for my services and heads inside.  I stay outside until the middle of the night and then I lay on one of the rails we built staring at the stars listening to the sounds of nature... in peace.

5.)  Flying.  I dream I'm flying high above the city (none in particular).  Floating on I take it all in... I begin to pick up a head of steam and I can't slow down.  I see dark clouds up ahead.  I start to get scared.  More speed.  Then as I'm about to head into the black clouds... I wake up.

4.)  I'm 12 years old and about to kiss my girlfriend for the first time.  We're standing right before the Jewish Cemetery I used to walk through to get home.  I lean in... She does the same and... WE DON'T KNOCK TEETH!  And it is glorious.

3.)  The sex dream.  Everyone has them.  In mine, I'm always intimate with people I have shared special moments with in the past.  Sometimes it's a girlfriend... Other times it's CHER... and the rest are people I wish I could have had more time with.  In every case the dream always ends in a good way... if you know what I mean.

2.)  I'm stepping off a CURB and just as I'm about to hit the ground... I wake up.  This one's always quick.  It usually occurs when I doze off... At school, at work... or watching the tube on Saturday afternoon.

1.)  I'm in my childhood basement.  It was my favorite place as a kid.  I spent long hours down there boxing with my friends, playing hide and seek, tackle NERF football and Basketball, darts, pool and raiding the toy closet.  In this particular dream I get to the bottom of the stairs and stop.  I reach for the light switch and only half of the lights go on.  They flicker.  I see the toy closet in the distance cracked open.  I try to step toward it, but I can't.  I cannot move forward.  I'm walking in place.  And that fucking toy closet keeps getting further and further away.  It's as if the other end of the basement is moving.  Suddenly it looks hundreds of yards away.  I walk faster and make no progress. I reach out for it, but it's too far away.  The only sound I hear is the furnace behind my Dad's work room.  All I want is a Damn toy.  Then I stop trying to move forward and everything stops.  Then... I wake up.

Happy Hump Day Kids!  I'm going to work on getting CHER out of my dreams and into my car!

  

I AM IN 2ND GRADE...

LAUREN was her name.  Blonde hair was her game.  I loved her with every ounce of my being and I was only 8.  She was the one to end it all.  As an adult I've never been much of a blonde aficionado, but as a little whipper snapper gold locks could bring me to my knees.  Valentine's Day was on the horizon...  Wait a second... Let's backtrack.  A few years before on the day of my graduation from Pre-School (I was 4 or 5), I kissed KAREN.  She smiled.  Heaven.  It was only on the cheek, but it was certainly life changing.  I thought I could get a ring from a Gum-ball machine outside of the A&P for a quarter, ask her to be my wife, and then I would be set for LIFE.  Well obviously it didn't work out the way I'd planned.  We went to different elementary schools and I didn't see her again until 6th grade.

Back to 2nd grade and Lauren...  She was the cutest thing.  A few days before Valentine's Day Mrs. Ragucci told us to start thinking about making our cards for that special someone.  I knew immediately who was to receive mine.  As the day drew closer, I hoped she had the same feelings for me.  I hoped she was planning the perfect Valentine for me.  I thought, "The clock was ticking so she had better stop answering all the god damned math questions and get her mind right."

The BIG DAY came.  I was prepared.  I had scissors, plenty of red paper, and glue to place hearts carefully on my card.  When Mrs. Ragucci finished up our spelling lesson near the end of the day; she told us to take out our art supplies.  Little did she know I had surreptitiously been working on my Valentine all day.  I learned nothing in school on that particular day.

As the rest of the class quietly worked on their cards, mine was finished.  I thought receiving a Valentine from me was as coveted as a degree from Princeton.  I looked around the room with a shit eating grin on my face at the rest of those saps who thought that had a bleeding chance in hell at my lady.  She was mine for the taking.  We were in CCD together.  Our parents took turns carpooling us,  yet I don't think we ever said anything to one another.  I was just working my game and waiting for the perfect moment... and this was it.

With my head on a swivel, I watched all the other guys closely.  I wanted to see who thought they had a drop on my future baby mama.  It was looking good.  You see, the thing was... Lauren was a sleeper.  She wasn't the class favorite.  She was number 2.  A girl named Christine was everyone else's heartbreaker.  I didn't see it.  I only had eyes for Lauren.

At the end of the card making session I took a deep breath, tied my little Jordan's tightly and prepared myself for the walk over to her desk.  Then Mrs. Ragucci made an announcement, "Okay kids, I'll come around and collect all of your cards, and I'll hand them to your Valentine."  Shit.  What the fuck was that all about?  She wanted us to turn them in so that SHE could redistribute them to protect our anonymity.  I was pissed.  I get it, she didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but how did she think the funny looking kids felt when she was standing over Lauren and Christine's desks handing them all the cards?  Furious.  I wanted to give her the card myself.  So in a freak out moment when Mrs. R got close, I signed the card... "Love, Your Secret Admirer."  What an idiot.  When she took the card from me I was deflated.  Later I saw her handing Lauren 10 or so cards and I knew I was a goner.  I had no shot.  She'd never know... Story of my fucking life.

I waited until 5th grade to tell Lauren I loved her.  She was so shy, but apparently she liked me back.  All that time we wasted!  Our torrid affair lasted for a week or so before middle school started.  I think we held hands once or twice on the crosswalk.  That was it.  I got more play in Pre-School.  Then once middle school started everything changed.  There were more options for the both of us.  We drifted apart.  I always wanted to go back to 2nd grade and tell her everything.  I wanted to tell her we could run away and live in my parent's basement, but I never did.  I moved away after middle school and who knows what could have been if I'd only sacked up.

So this Valentine's Day... Let's not miss the boat fellas.  It's time to make your damn move.  Otherwise you'll be spending a Friday writing about some chick you haven't seen since 2nd grade.  And hey ladies, don't be scared to make a move yourselves... I mean what's the worst that could happen?  You might get shot down...  So what... My feelings are more deeply hurt watching one of those suckers get kicked off American Idol.  Remember Valentine's Day can be like it was in 2nd grade, just with a little more communication I hope.  But nothing can replace the wonderment you have as a child.  Damn I miss my youth.  Happy Valentine's Day to everyone out there... Especially you Mom.

I AM FASCINATED...

by the unbelievably large SQUID that are appearing off the coast of California.  Have you seen them?  If not, Google it because I don't have time to drop the link.  They are GIGANTIC.  I've always liked fried calamari, but I couldn't imagine one of these sonofabitches on my plate.  You'd have to dine on the hood of your car.  These carnivorous cephalopods can weigh up to 100 lbs and squirt nasty ink when they're pissed.  Can you picture yourself jumping into the ocean and seeing these phallic-like creatures swimming toward you?  They look like John Holmes' dong on steroids... with tentacles.  One second you're going for a dip in the ocean, the next you're in a Jules Verne/Michael Crichton novel/70's porno flick.  I would lose it.  Isn't it bad enough we have have sharks to be afraid of?  Granted, shark attacks are highly unlikely... But if one of those suckers ever gets a hold of you... Kiss your ass goodbye.

When I was a kid I loved swimming pools.  At one point we had one of those above ground pools that you've only ever seen on TV in New Jersey.  For me, it was like having the Atlantic Ocean in my little backyard.  Pools are a safe place to swim.  No sharks.  No giant squid.  No waves.  No undertow.  All I had to worry about was my big brother and his friends dunking me.

I remember my parents taking us to the SHORE when we were young.  My brother and I loved the ocean.  Personally, I wasn't a big fan of the sand or too much sun, but the water was my sanctuary.  I thoroughly enjoyed navigating underwater.  I pretended I was a deep sea diver... In 4 feet of water.  Then one weekend in the mid 80's I saw a little film called "JAWS".  Maybe you've heard of it?  And suddenly everything changed.

Even though my father used to swim out as far as he could without getting whistled by the lifeguards; I worried about him.  He's not afraid of anything though.  My old man thinks he can kick a shark's ass.  He probably could.  

As I got older, I went to the beach more often, but shied away from being in the water for long periods of time.  I'm not sure if I was just scared of sharks or more simply... THE UNKNOWN.  The problem with the ocean is... you can't see very far down... Especially off the coasts of the US.  And that scares the shit out of me.

I have the same problem with LAKES.  Lakes are creepy as hell.  One time in High School, I was staying with a friend who lived just outside of Scranton, PA.  There was a huge lake in front of his house.  They had a dock and this awesome homemade raft tied to it.  He and his father built the raft out of wood planks and barrels.  He asked if I wanted to take the raft out.  I said, "Sure" cause I didn't want to sound like a sissy.  So we jump on, untie the rope, grab the oars, and paddle out to the middle of the lake.

It took a while to get out there.  We picked a nice, serene spot and dropped the anchor (yes, this thing had an anchor; it was that big).  If Jack and Rose had this sucker on the Titanic, that bullshit story would have been told from a man's perspective and definitely rated R.

This place was beautiful.  Robert Frost poems were running through my mind.  Other people were far off on boats and rafts.  I was thinking, "Man, this is the life."  We proceeded to take our shirts off to catch the day's last rays of sun because it was going down.  We were out there less than a minute when I said, "What the hell are we supposed to do out here?"  My buddy shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yeah, this sucks... let's head in."  I say "Okay." 

As I turned around to pick up an oar, I hear a splash.  He jumped into the water.  I scream, "Where the fuck are you going?"  He turns to me and says, "Let's swim in... I do it all the time."

"NO FUCKING WAY!" I yell.  "Don't be a pussy" he replies... and starts swimming in.  FUCK!  I was not a happy camper.  There was no way I could paddle this MONSTROSITY to shore by my lonesome; it was a two man operation.  I started to freak out.

As I watched my asshole friend, who was on the swim team by the way, move with relative ease through the water I thought, "You can do this."  Then I looked up and saw how far away the dock was... Bad news.  At the very least it was a quarter of a mile, probably way more.  I'd never swam that far in my life.  My diaper needed to be changed immediately.

I took a deep breath, stepped back, and with a running start dove into the dark abyss.  Honestly, I don't think I looked up once.  I couldn't hear anything but my breathing.  I pushed forward and kept my head moving side to side while my arms made quick strokes.  I was like Michael Phelps cutting through the calm water of a Beijing pool.  I felt like something was chasing me.  I'm obviously insane.  Before I knew it, I was feeling muck and underwater plants touching my arms and legs.  I stopped swimming and stood up.  I was in less than a foot of water and had mud all over me.  The dock was two feet from my face.

Up on the dock my buddy was laughing hysterically.  I looked up, shot him a death stare and said, "Go FUCK yourself."  He looked down at me and said he'd never seen anyone that scared in his entire life.  He also said it was the quickest he'd ever seen anybody make it back from that far out.  I didn't give a shit.  I was pissed.  If he was in the water, I would have drowned his ass.

Two years ago I went to the Galapagos Islands.  I swam with penguins, sharks, dolphins and all kinds of underwater creatures for hours.  I was scared, but I figured this was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.  It was an amazing experience.  I also climbed a 60 foot cliff with the natives and jumped off, but that's another story altogether.

I owe thanks to my buddy for stranding me in the middle of the lake that day.  I conquered fears I never wanted to face.  And what happened was... I realized it was okay to be afraid of the unknown, but you can't let it hold you back from experiencing what's out there.  Life is all about experience my friends.