I stopped worrying long ago whether anyone ‘gets’ the title; a copy/paste from a pamphlet written by a guy who had worse problems than mine. And no, not Jody Foster.
Yet I do have compelling ‘issues’, and thought today that maybe, just this once, I’d profit by writing a ‘normal’ Xanga entry. Starting with
1) What I had for breakfast; 2 eggs over-light, toast and coffee, a gift from my loving ex. Lots of folks would trade their intact marriages for my mutual-help-and-respect relationship with this woman, whose only sin was… um.. I still don’t know precisely. At least now the Byzantine Israeli government can’t legally take the house if I ‘forget’ to pay a bill or two.
2) Meanwhile, my 3 shekel lighter’s eternal flame seems to have wimped out. Running to the gas-station for a new one’ll cost me 2 shekels in gas. That’s why God invented the toaster-oven, I guess.
3) I have to get out of here and ‘working-visit’ the Untied Snakes of Armenia. Soon. The recent floods in Pennsylvania were less than kind to my log house’s 1798 basement walls. This imperative creates a laundry-list of ancillary ‘tsorises’ (yiddish for ‘dumb shit that I have to deal with’)
4) Meanwhile the well-meaning (?) scoundrels at the ‘Institute whose Name we shan’t mention’ have me holed-up in a cellar which, as of yesterday, is owned by some Israeli Bank. The ‘luft-geschaefters’ (Yiddish: ‘profiteers-from essentially air’) have a technical right to abscond with my hard-won lifetime booty, down to the 30 Tee-shirts in cardboard boxes, which scares a guy almost as much as the thought of being murdered in his sleep by Israel’s most heroic but nameless Secret Agent, lately become ‘unsound’ and demented at age 62, due to what, a brain hemmorhage? I shall never ever ‘out’ her alias, but still, damn, I’m getting tired of pooping in a drywall-bucket for my Country. There, ‘I’ve said too much’, as the saying goes…
5) Meanwhile, in the interest of brevity, I have the following physical problems, all unaddressed. Even nailing down the Zip-codes would cost me a day of work I can’t afford to lose. (Did I mention I’m broke, except for a 2 million dollar farm I quarter-own, but don’t feel like selling to smurf-villagers?)
Prostate. It’s what happens when you’re 61 and thought it was kewl to love five women a day for decades. If a gland could talk, mine would scream ‘Oy Gevalt!’. Not that I’d ‘take back’ even one gram of its output, nor have I ever heard any second-thoughts from the recipients. (Damn, I sound like some other guy, only with documents, ha)
Vision: I ‘see’ out of only about half of my field of vision. All the rest my brain ‘makes up’, thank god, or else I’d see holes. I don’t, I just see little old ladies who aren’t there, wearing funny hats. Bonet’s syndrome. Fun.. for a while. except in traffic.
Teeth: the fewer you have left, the less time it takes not to brush them. I do have incisors though. Nobody ever said I wasn’t incisive. I can gum a steak to death as fast as a cow, assuming
bovines are cannibals, in extremis.
Emphysema: I’ve found a work-around. Breath deeply, and only bicycle downhill. Like the Marlboro Man on his ‘I’d gallop a mile for a Camel’ horsie.
Whasit?: A little place on the back of one hand where a bite from some local critter failed to heal up correctly. I suspect a bot-fly. I may do radical home-surgery. That’s why God invented the exacto-knife. The Brits call it a ‘Stanley-knife’ (correct me, Rambling_man?). and we Israelis make-do with ‘japanese-knife’. God help us.
6) No car insurance? Simple: just change the policy-scan in Ms-Paint to ‘Expires 2010. Good enough for a guy in an emergency.
7) Needing a beer or two for breakfast in order to deal with our world-class crew of annoying Levantine rat-peoples is mostly a financial problem. I waste the equivalent of a half-month’s rent monthly just to fill my recycle bags with aluminum.
The Good news: At least I discovered Xanga five years ago, and have laboriously cultivated a coterie of uniquely-kind and thoughtful friends, with whom I can, (albeit rarely) share some of the bitter truth which emerges as I collect my thoughts here. Let there be no mistake; I sub to only one in a thousand, approximately, after a lengthy ‘trial’ period of reading your posts and comments for hours every night. If you are one of my subs, you are ‘special’ by a hard-to-describe filter, and merit looking deliciously downward on 98% of the Top-Blog paste-eaters on a normal hair-day. Thanks so much for reading this far. I couldn’t survive without you./ JS Tel Aviv Israel
Wu: An honest post? What happened? You fell off a horse and banged your kopf?
Me: Maybe I just want to be ‘be-loved ‘?
Wu: Probably better than to be be-headed…
Me: Hmm.. sometimes the two are hard to tell apart.. ‘Course I can always ‘Delete Post’…. assuming Xanga’s working.