Passwords

I spend a lot of time hunting down my passwords. I’m on this site or that site and it seems I need a password in many instances. I tried to keep it simple. I have one password for my business affairs, and I have a different password for personal matters.

Somehow the situation has gotten away from me. I had to change a password ever so slightly here and there to fulfill the requirements of the site. The password required a number or capital letter, something stupid like that. My email was hacked once and I made a subtle change to my password to get the hackers off my back.

            Now I have so many subtle variations I can’t remember what’s what. I suppose I could make a password chart and hide it somewhere, but that’s evidence should I ever get robbed or violated in anyway. If I’m away from a site too long and I check in month’s later there’s a pretty good shot I’m not going to remember my password, so I find myself hunting down the password, resetting them, or answering questions about my childhood. So far I’ve remembered to answer the questions about my childhood correctly, but I foresee a day when I start to answer them wrong. 

Election Day

            I voted yesterday. I voted for Barack Obama and Joe Biden. I marked my ballot and said to myself, my guys. 
            A picture of Joe Biden’s smile flashed before me while I stood in the voting booth. What a bunch of rapscallions. I’d like to hang out with them. My team. You know they’re troublemakers when the cameras aren’t rolling, when they’re smoking their cigars and making fun of their opponents. I’d like to see that. I’d like to have a bourbon in my hand, while laughing at the expense of John Boehner’s hair, and his fake tan, or Mitch McConnell’s strange looking jaw and mouth. I’d like to see Joe do an impersonation of Mitch. Joe would make the funny mouth and jaw. We’d laugh. I’d sip my bourbon. Somebody would say “John Boner,” and we’d laugh some more. 

Back Pain

            I tweaked my back. It goes out every now and again. I don’t know if I injured myself while digging ditches, or sleeping. I’m beginning to think sex is bad for strained backs. It’s a risk verses reward scenario that requires very little thinking, at least I didn’t think about it much.

            It’s a strange thing sex with a bad back. Things slow down some. I was trying not to exacerbate the situation , but I seemed to forget all about my bad back at a certain point. I think that’s why sex is bad for backs. I lost my mind and senses and I forgot about the big picture. The picture became very centralized, and the only thing that seemed to matter was the moment. I was finally living in the moment, but now the pain is bringing up the past. 

Open Mic

I went to an open mic last night. I’ve never performed at an open mic before. I’ve heard stories about them, and to some degree they get a bad rap, and now I know why. There’s a beauty to them. Anybody can get up and sing a song or do what you want to do. There were a few people who wanted to express themselves a little too much. They forgot about their audience. Self-indulgence I think it’s called. One guy didn’t want to leave the stage. He played a couple of long drawn out songs. The host finally started clapping when his song came to a lull. It was a nudge, a subtle hint to get off the stage. The singer-songwriter was offended by it. The guy gave the artist a bad name.

           The other musicians were very nice. I got up and did my two tunes, and they went over pretty well. I’m going back next week to try out some more new songs. Guinea pigs that's what I need. Guinea pigs.  

Bowling

Bill the smog guru told me a story about the first time he smoked pot. It was nineteen-sixty something. He was a teenager living in San Francisco. His father was a colonel in the U.S. Army. Bill was living at the Presidio at the time. Military housing.

Bill was at the bowling alley when a beautiful young girl with pale light skin and straight dark hair asked him if he wanted to smoke a joint. Bill took one look at her and said yes.

The two went outside and found a field, and leaned up against a tree. The girl pulled out a huge joint and they smoked it to the roach.

They went back inside to bowl. Bill picked up a ball and threw a strike. Then he threw another, and another. Pretty soon a crowd started to gather. Bill kept throwing strikes one after another. The crowd got bigger and Bill kept throwing strikes. The crowd started to cheer him on. The bowling alley was filled with excitement.

            Bill was one strike away from a perfect game. He threw the ball and it smashed hard into the pins. The pins scattered violently. They all fell down but one. The seven pin, it wobbled pretty good before it settled back upright. The crowd was disappointed. Bill didn’t care. His best score to that point was one-twenty. 

Svengali

            It’s Monday and I should have another blog for today, but I don’t. I’m saving myself. You can’t do it all at once, you need to save something for later.

I’m a blogging conservative, which is kind of like a fiscal conservative, but for bloggers. What ever that means? The term fiscal conservative has always intrigued me, for it seldom if ever makes sense as it pertains to the Republican party. Bill Clinton was a fiscal conservative, but a bedroom liberal.

            Our society is all twisted up. There are people who are pro-life who support the death penalty, and deficit hawks who helped create the deficit. There’s crying on the left and crying on the right, and there are people who can’t make up their minds called the undecided, or as I like to call them, Republocrats. We’re constantly being manipulated into believing terms, framing I think they call it. Don’t fall in love with my writing, what ever you do, do not fall in love with my writing. 

Jujitsu

            I went out last night. I can’t be a hermit all the time. I like going to a bar that a friend of mine manages. He and I have good laughs together. He’s learning Jujitsu so there’s a lot of hand movements and jabbing and poking as we talk. I like to know what he’s learning and he’s nice enough to show it to me. But I find myself on the defensive while talking to him. I’m constantly avoiding his hand movements. I have to watch his every move. It’s a little unsettling. Last night he showed me how to dislocate somebody’s shoulder. He grabbed hold of my arm and stepped through an opening and twisted up. I stopped him before I felt any pain. I got the gist of it. I found myself in an awkward position. My friend was holding my forearm  and my shoulder was nearly touching my ear.