Racing Team Huffy! Racing Team Huffy! Purple bike, yellow bike, banana seats and V steering bars. On the trail, off the road, across a field and anywhere you want to go. Schwinn’s are for adults and why pay more, I’m racing for Team Huffy, that is who I am racing for. Go Huffy! Let me … Continue reading Racing Team Huffy!
Jodie Foster’s sunburn advertisement sign board was compelling. Rather the poster was about tanning and not burning because of the lotion she wore. Also, Jodie Foster wasn’t really the model for the sign. As a young girl of about the same age, Jodie was in a TV ad which also featured the famous poster of … Continue reading With Jodie, I Kinda Always Knew, Not That She Isn’t Hot
Michael Immanuel David tied me to a tree with a rope. He ran in circles around me waving a small hatchet saying he was Indian and I was white man and he was going to kill me. Michael Immanuel David was adopted and turns out he was part Catalonian, but he was mostly Irish Catholic … Continue reading Tied to a Tree with a Rope
“Hello Sam. Hello Sam.” Does he mean ‘Sam I am?’ You know, from Dr. Seuss, Theodor Geisel. “Do you mean Sam I am?” “Hello Sam.” Everyday by the beech tree near the cement court in the playground. “Hi Sam.” He knows my name isn’t Sam. I have an uncle named Sam, or rather, his nickname … Continue reading Sam Adam
“I’m not sharing Sharon, of this I’m swearing.” – Jim Stafford, comic country singer-song writer in 1974. Strange how a song lyric can take your mind back in time, like a particular smell can. Stranger still is this song brings me back to a memory of recalling memories, or rather, of not recalling memories. Buddy … Continue reading Sharing
Naked with the baby-sitter in the elevator. Scraps of a Penthouse in the forest by the library. Who left it there, an adult? Another kid? Doesn’t matter so much as will they leave more there. Will West sells pulp quality magazines for quarters to buy pills. Will the pill. He’ll O.D. one night, not fatally … Continue reading Baby sitter in an Elevator
Fink-a-dope, fink-a-dope, fink-a-dope rock. Little Ronnie sang this to the tune of “Jingle-bell Rock”. He called me fink-a-dope after Mohammad Ali’s late career boxing strategy to tire out his opponent by enduring multiple fist blows while he protected his face with upraised fists and his back near the ring’s ropes. “I’m so pretty.” Mohammad would … Continue reading Fink-A-Dope