Posts Currently viewing the category: "Written Blogs"

What’s up with aqua-suspension massage tanks at the mall? For the seductive price of $9.99, you’re inserted face down and fully dressed into the bottom half of a huge torpedo-shaped glass chamber and onto the bottom half of a turquoise-colored rubber membrane. The hinged top closed, latched tightly, and…(Read More)

Have you ever noticed how often the word “fine” is used as the default response to some of life’s most significant situations?  “How are you doing today?” “Fine.” “I’m moving out.” “Fine.” “How are you feeling about losing your job?” “Fine.” “Would you be OK with my mom staying with us for a…(Read More)

There’s a reason why the best things in this world, are not of this world’s things. The sky is limitless. When I was an 8-year-old kid, I would spend endless hours chasing the sky from my pilot’s seat on the swings at Preston Hollow elementary school in Dallas, Texas. I…(Read More)

  The other day I overheard two women saying “Bread & Butter” as they walked around either side of a slate-colored concrete stantion on the sidewalk. Their casual comment triggered memories about my family, where superstitions were super-sized. In addition to the tried and true variety of superstitions about mirrors, ladders and black…(Read More)

“Please read my new blogs.” “Please like my blogs.” “Please follow my blogs.” “NEVER ask people to read, like or follow your blog.” According to Tumblr, as of April 2018 it is estimated that there are 409 million registered blog accounts. All my bookie friends have advised me that 409,000,000:1 odds are…(Read More)

Born in 1951, I’m the by-product of parents from the Bronx New York tribe. When I reached communication age (mostly muttering “Huh?” and “Wha?”), they disclosed the “You’re-a-Jew” essentials. We are God’s chosen people; Jesus was a rabbi and died a Jew, not a Christian; Jesus is not the…(Read More)

“6822”

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  6822: Part 1 (1956) Summer storms attacked Texas flatlands vengefully and without warning. This Dallas afternoon—playing alone in our front yard—was no different. I was pursued by five Apache warriors on painted ponies: coyote-yelping, bows and arrows drawn, sun-toughened faces streaked in white, black and blood-red symbols. The sudden…(Read More)

I relieved myself today in the Dazbog Coffeehouse at the corner of 9th and Downing. Having walked  over an hour on the splendid, greening, crisp spring Denver day, urgency struck. With a snap-pea sized bladder, I was grateful some establishments allowed non-purchasers respite and access to a more civil outlet for bladder release…(Read More)

The plane truth. (2018) Will someone please tell me why airline passengers sitting next to each other feel compelled to converse at decibels loud enough to shatter concrete? The two people sitting next to me are close enough to each other to hear their swallows of Chablis and vodka splash into their stomachs. “For God…(Read More)

9th and Downing

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  9th and Downing (August 2017) The northeast corner of 9th and Downing, Denver. A whirligig of mixed senses splattering asphalt and concrete canvas. August’s breath, tepid and leafy green, exhales on scaly fleshed stucco, brick, and glass. Sitting on a metal chair in front of Dazbog coffee shop, seat of black faux wood…(Read More)