To Be Continued...Plan "B' Or "The Blogmonsters fight the King for Pic Placement

Plan "B"..I Know plan "B" I Lived it

(Prelude)Once upon a time there was a fair maiden, actually, she was a Queen, but still fair as she never cheated on things..and her name was Jerri. As the story goes, Queen Jerri was going to turn 40 (gasp! says the audience.. but alas true)and there existed a Plan "A" for this large and wonderful occasion. This Plan "A" was Far Off Miami Beach...drinking Cuban rum drinks, served by Cuban Beach guys, and all this hosted by The Irish Catholic Sister-in-law and her Wonderful Cuban Husband Miguel, what a Fabulous Plan it was...and truly deserved the grand title of "A" as far as plans go...But the forces of Evil came as a cloud over the fair town of Graham, and threw a cosmic monkey wrench into the works of the beloved Plan"A" "What to do?" The Queen's King wondered. And there was born a New Plan...A plan so wondrous...so ingenious...so freakin' fabulous..it could only be described as "Plan B"...and this is it's story. Plan "B" went as follows....... The Emerald City. While Dorthy had many obstacles to over come, The King knew many sort cuts to access the Emerald City, one of those was interstate 5 which by-passed those trees that threw apples at you and the poppi field that made warm blooded Peeps and creatures fall asleep...The king had learned many things from repeated viewings of " What's up with these stupid people" as he liked to call the 1939 film. Going by all the "Bad stuff" he was soon at the Queens Realm in The Emerald City..here to be known as Seattle, because that's kind of what's it's really called. The King knew there was only one castle that was truly worthy of the Queen,...and that was the 102 year old Sorrento Hotel. And though The King Commanded the photo to be placed here...the gods have decided otherwise...

My Sweet Young Thang....

This will be quick. Just a note that Jerri, the love of my life...the reason I put socks on my feet every morning, as opposed to my ears, will be turning 40 next week. I know, 40!?! why that ain't nothing but a word! Been there done that ( but please don't ask me exactly when as it was SO long ago, and things get hazy after awhile.....)but the fact is She hasn't, and I think I understand the way she feels. Forty just sounds a whole lot more serious than thirty. You could be found with a party hat and clown makeup on, bent over the hood of a car with a scoop of Starbucks Mocha Fudge Ice cream shoved up your ass, and people would say,"Oh! She's Thirty? What'd you expect?" But Forty...not so much. The world says,"Well, come on now you're moving up there...you gotta start getting serious about stuff." I've really never bought into that...and I hope Jerri avoids that trap too. I love her SO much,..she will always be My Sweet Young Thang,..and no matter how she chooses to view the new decade before her, she'll always know she's a shitload younger than me, and always will be.

School Dazed...

So, it was like so many other days, except I was off ( I mean off from work, not my head, which would in fact be like so many other days) when I pull in front of our mailbox, put the key in, twist it, open the mailbox door and peek inside. There lurking in the deep abyss was a large envelope, addressed to me, sent by my Sister Debi, from far off Miami. "What could this possibly be?" I muttered...well, actually I said that quite clearly as if I mutter I tend not to understand myself..but I do digress. I took the large envelope home and carefully opened the top, paying attention not to rip the mysterious contents, and dumped it out on our kitchen counter. Whatever was in this envelope was old, that was to sure, as a musty smell followed the documents as they found rest on the counter.What I discovered, what my Sister sent me, were Class photo's from first grade through Junior High School, along with report cards, and various ancient parchments, that had been sitting in a bag, forgotten, for the past fifteen years. A bag that was marked by my late Mother with "Michael" written on it, that found it's way through all these years and miles to my kitchen counter." Un-Freakin'believable" I thought, as I sifted through these old pieces of memory. I looked at the class photos and had a hard time spotting myself ( except for 3rd grade..all the boys had on clean white shirts, and there I was the only kid wearing plaid,..Hey! I didn't get the memo,..OK?). And as I looked things over a distant memory began to weasel it's way to the forefront...something I had kept repressed over the many years since first grade,...something that came to me and explained why I was never really "Good" at school. My mind when back to my very first day at PS 201, six years old, and ready to impress Mrs. Weiss with what I knew to be true. That I was Freakin' Brilliant...the smartest, most well behaved child that was ever spit out of a uterus! Other kids need not even try to come up to my standard of wonderfulness,...they wouldn't even come close. I was feeling smug by the end of that first day, quite sure I had hit "My" mark, and was sure I had displayed my superior Intellect and upbringing to everyone who had the chance to bask in all of my six year old glory. Feeling this way I listened carefully to Mrs. Weiss's last instructions of the day."Children", she said," It's time to go home now. I want you to all sit up straight, with your hands folded in front of you, and the people who do that best will be released first. when I call your name pick your chair up, put it on the desk, and then you may leave." I thought,"OMG!How freakin' easy is this?" Looking around me I thought there might be some kids in here who might be challenged by such instructions, But, "Davey Crockett!", I exclaimed (to myself of course), I got this one aced!!.just another chance to show Mrs. Weiss, that I am in fact, the most fabulous child she would ever have the pleasure of teaching! Man, at that moment, My life was Good! So, I sit up as straight as I can, fold those fingers in front of me, and practice putting my chair on the desk in my head, being careful to exhibit just the right amount of superiority a truly perfect example of six years old maleness, should display. At the sound of Mrs. Weiss's voice I was already starting my move to stand up. " Benny Coen..you may leave." I was like,"Huh? Wha-?" I thought How is That possible? I mean, I was looking straight ahead, and couldn't really see Benny, maybe he had some moves I didn't know about. I made a mental note that if we ever played this game again, I was totally going to sneak a peek at Benny and check his stuff out...but no worries, I'm next so I better get my self reading for my Grand Exit. I got ready to stand again. "Sheila Burnstein, You may pick up your chair and leave." Sheila Burnstein!?? A freakin Girl?! I thought for a moment that maybe I mis-heard, but as hard as I tried to find similarities between Sheila Burnstein and Michael Gorry, I just couldn't seem to make it work.It was true, Mrs. Weiss hadn't called me. I remember thinking, "This has gone too far! I know sitting up straight better than anyone...why, My Dad's Military...Sheila's Dad owned a dry cleaners for cryin' out loud!! "Ruben Swartz, you may put your seat on the table...you're dismissed" "Steven Friedmann, when you put your chair on your table you may leave." On and On it went...soon I was sitting in a jungle of upside down wooden chairs, their gray metal legs sticking up into the air, looking like one of the NYC "waterbugs" after my Dad chased it down and assaulted it with the Sunday Times Book Section, while my Mother screamed over and over, "Kill It!Daddy Kill It!!" I could hardly see the front of the classroom. Soon, I was the only child left .I remember thinking, What does this woman want from me? If I sat any straighter I was sure I was going to cause major harm to my back that would prevent me from ever making the major leagues and by now my interlaced fingers were blue and cold...should they be purple and colder? And there I sat, watching the clock above the front blackboard, watching time go by...5 minutes, 10 minutes...15 minutes. Mrs. Weiss was busy, looking down at her desk..paying absolutely no attention to me and I was seriously rethinking my concept of sitting up straight, when I just had to ask what was it that I was doing wrong.From my seat, I raised my purple fingers, and said, "Mrs. Weiss?" And you know what her response was?...She Screamed! Flung papers in the air and shot straight up from her chair knocking it over." Michael!! What are you still doing here!!??" Yup, she forgot I was even there. She apologised, said she couldn't see me, and said it was OK to put my chair on the desk and leave...which was easier said than done as my body had atrophied all the while I was displaying my perfect form wondering what the fuck wasn't I doing that everyone else seem to know. This is the memory that came back to me from looking at report cards and pictures from long ago...and I wonder where I got the feeling there was no pleasing these folks...The Teachers...scarred at such a young age...for life. Why if it weren't for that first traumatic day of school,..I believe I could have become President...or a circus clown, or something in between.