There Ain't No Bad Luck Like... (A Poopy Toilet Seat)

*For those that visit this blog after I've sobered and had time, the full title is "There Ain't No Bad Luck Like... (A Poopy Toilet Seat)." This is a pretty much G rated blog. Because that's where my mind is, I suppose. And I do find the word poopy cute in its minimizing type way. But my usage here sort of de-humorizes in it's grossness. Poopy toilet seat? Encountered while watching a New England Patriot's football game? Of course they'd loose.*

But getting back to Buddhism. This being the time to avoid "poopy" and the underlying issue of the moment, a lost football game. Buddhism. Like I was saying... I heard someone describe Karma last week and it severely disappointed me. I've always thought of Karma as some free flowing whatever like thing? And this robed individual was linking it to past lives and whatnot. What a boner.

*Oh. Just realized I haven't stated the biggest reason this blog is "G" rated. I've never learned to cuss well.*

*Obviously.*

Ah, Brady. Where were you. As long as you don't go driving a car into a fire hydrant (see Tiger Woods,) we'll assume you're okay. And it wasn't you're fault. Or the defense really. Some might say it was? But. I kinda thought you guys (and its only guys like why isn't there at least a female coach) are still in a formulating stage you should've resolved a couple of games ago. The secondary of the Pats is among the best, I think, but it remains to be proven.

Next time I'll check out the facilities first. GOOOOOOOOOOO PATS!

*Sigh.* Did I mention I haven't won the lottery yet?



*I haven't checked the final Pats/Saints score. ugh.*

Work in Progress...

Here's a pendant I'm working on. My mother gave me that ugly green stone in the pic, and asked me to make a pendant for her out of it. *She doesn't know she's getting the pin yet.* *I think she thinks she's "helping" me.* *lol.*

I don't like the stone. I figured I'd use the stone as a size gauge, but set another stone that I liked more and tell her if she wants her ugly one put in she can take it to another jeweler. But. That was before I saw the price of cabachons that size. Yikes. So. She'll get a slightly smaller, but cuter stone. The wax isn't finished at all. Its just roughed out. I need to wait for the stone to finish it up. I think I might go for a one off... not mold and reproduce it. But I do think the basic shape works.

(The wax in the picture is carved, and will be lost wax casted for silver.)

Making Music with MY PIANO!

When picking up MY PIANO! from the salvation army thrift store today, I expressed *hopeful* optimism that the piano can be tuned somewhat. Or, at least enough for my tin ear. I'm not musical at all. I know this very well having grown up in a family with a musically inclined older brother, and parents that could differentiate between musically inclined and not. The instruments I tried as a kid were piano, guitar, banjo, french horn and bass violin. The bass violin is something I played in grade school. There are no pics of that wonderful juxtaposition, unfortunately. I wonder if I had my black horn rimmed glasses at the time. ;) *oh. I think I looked into harmonicas at one time too.*

*The moment of greatest impact of my french horn career was when I decided to exercise my eyes during band practice. This involved making big circles with my eyes and looking out the corner of one side and then the other. That the clarinet section, which I was visible to, had difficulty playing was due to my ernest pursuit of visual health.*

But I've always felt that I'd never be really grown up or living somewhere until I owned a piano. It's sort of the fine wine of life. You have to understand. I don't own a stereo and have never owned a stereo. I've gone many years without a microwave or telephone or computer. Stuff is not a big concern of mine *unless you're talking tools.* There's just something centering about pianos, like a wooly mammoth in the room. Also, like the salvation army guy admitted about himself, I just like being around pianos. I have no illusions of making beautiful music, I just enjoy thinking about it. Here's MY PIANO!

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And onto other matters. I must admit I've been starting my New England Patriots games watching at the easy neck bad beer bar. Which didn't make last week (against the Colts) any less painful. I ended up at the bad neck good beer bar... with an Austrailian asking me "what's the local team?" when the Pats are at 4th and 2 late in the fourth quarter. And I'm explaining its them... them... "F*** ITS THEM!" Well. As just a fan, what can you do but have another brew. *As an aside, I'm learning to meditate.*


Here are a couple of other pics. One is the pin I finished for my Mother. The other is of a piece I've posted about before. I'm just happy with new the pic!

A Penny Pendant

1965 was a good year, I suppose. Here's my first penny pendant, sterling silver with a pink tourmaline stone.



*I was tempted to use a penny to show size.*

"I Drink Beer"

"to clear my mind..."

**lol. not to celebrate overindulgence, as it were, though it is a bit unclear. This being after a New England Patriots game and all. One in which I had a career high of 2 spilt beers in one half of play. Understandably, it was the second half. I do not remember a previous incidence of spilt beer, including falling over a couch, beer in hand and not one drop wasted. There was one (sad) sack moment of me pouring a glass of wine on a guy's head. But that's wine. And after a play play, not a football game.**

**I'm of that time frame where bouncers would laugh at fake ID's, and as long as the hair color was okay so were you. I think. I never was of the officiating crew but they seemed to be motivated by number of players in the field, and the longer the hair the better.**

**I have fallen off a barstool. Which could count as a false start, but was totally unrelated to football or overindulgence or beer spilt. And it was in the theatre district of Boston, not a sports bar.**

**Maroney (39) had a good day today. And I do believe he counted an assist of one of the beer spills. So did Moss and Watson and Tully Hyphen. What I like about Tully Hyphen is, he lost his Super Bowl ring in the Providence Place Mall and it was returned to him. That's a kick, for sure.**

Getting back to beer. Here's the thing. I was finishing up a penny pendant this weekend, and listened to Dan Reeder's "Sweetheart" album.

The Small Things

*I am writing this with my new Cincinnati pen. If you tilt it a river boat floats up and down. I choose it over the horsey Kentucky pen. Because this feels like Cincinnati, even though the airport may be in Kentucky. That's its name, after all.*

Its the small things.

I've noticed my walks are producing less found change (off the sidewalks and streets.) Currently I am gainfully employed. Not sure if that effects my road change finding ability, or whether fall leaves hide the orphaned coins too well.

I still enjoy the walks. Particularly this time of year. Nothing feels harsh including the cool, the evening darkness, the eddy of leaves at street edges. I enjoy the sound of my feet on the pavement, the swish of the leaves and my jeans, a porch light pooling on a front door.

My meandering walk startles a girl cupping a cellphone. She breifly looks up, then stares back at the communication device. I can't tell her what she is missing. Up the street a kid is going "Oooo oOOO" in an aimless but not unmelodious fashion.

I have heard a prediction that by 2045 the interface of computers will be within us. (At that time, hopefully, cars will be fully automated. Driving while googling is not a good idea.)

I don't remember whether I've ever dove into piles of fall leaves. *I think that's more for cartoon characters without dogs in their strips.* But I recognize the desire for saturation in an evening fall walk.