I Never know Where The Blog Will Go

I feel like writing something lyrical and soaring. An up-lifting poem perhaps, or an inspirational song. At the very least a bit of prose uniquely crafted that is so spot on a reader will return to the page for a second perusing and even a third.

Wish I knew how to do that.

Actually that song writing thing may not exceed my grasp. I'm always coming up with new lyrics to old tunes. Okay, they are usually funny or failing that, obscene, but you could, if you were being generous, apply the word clever to them.(Fairy tales can come true, they can happen to you...if you're gay at heart!) So that's it then, I'll write a song.

What's that you say? Melody? Hmmm. Which comes first, words or melody? Probably melody I'm thinking, so go ahead and hum me something.

Got it. Now let's see.

I love you, I love you, I love you, Babeeee.

Yeah I know, been done to death. Let's try something else.

Dancing on the patio, the sky was bright with moon.
Music from the radio (hey, come on, some people pronounce it that way)) harmony by loon.
I smelled her hair and I was lost, we spun around and dipped.
I kissed her cheek a time or two, while words we carefully (sung "careflee") lipped.
We knew this song that wrapped us round and held us in its grip
She palmed my left but with my right her zipper I unzipped.

Chorus: Oh you sneaky guy, you sneaky guy, I should have known your plan. But I don't care, I'm nearly bare, you're gonna be my man.

I made a twist and then a move, my actions grew much bolder.
As I kissed her on the lips, her dress I slipped from shoulder.
I freed her then to back a bit and watch it fall to floor.
She didn't seem to mind at all, I knew this called for more.

Repeat chorus

I swooped back in and picked her up, our lips were back to locking.
I put her down upon the grass and wrestled with her stockings
The mood was right, we felt the urge, I fumbled with my pants.
Who would have thought, with all so right,
that we would find the ants.

Repeat chorus.

Hey don't blame me. It's your melody.

Gruber's Jungle Oil

Yesterday I purchased a bottle of Gruber's Jungle Oil, a jar of Gruber's Pomade and a jar of Gruber's Herbal Cream, all of which are "quite the rage" among gringos in our part of the world. The first is made from "Panama's finest medicinal plants and soybean oil. It rapidly neutralizes poisons and allergic reactions to sand flies, chiggers, mosquitoes, tics, wasps, bees, spiders and scorpions." I put these claims to the test last night by wrestling a mosquito to the ground and forcing it to sting me. I don't know what the definition of "rapidly" is in the phrase "rapidly neutralizes", but the itching caused by the sting did subside quicker than usual. The label on the bottle states that the ingredients also repel these creatures and I can verify that so far, apart from that odd mosquito - just by having the stuff in the house - none of the other little beasties have bothered me. Mr. Gruber, the label further says, is an FSU science graduate who once used the Jungle oil to heal a mole (the kind you get on your skin and not the kind from the book and movie "Wind in the Willows" who, we presume, are healthy and need no curatives.) Mr. Gruber's troublesome mole is described as having changed color and was bleeding before being eradicated by the oil. Alrighty then. Bloody moles, yuck. Additional uses for the Jungle Oil are "prevention and treatment of jungle rot, fungal and bacterial infections, acne, cuts, bruises and the cure of gangrenous skin ulcers."
It also can be used as "a massage oil to alleviate tense muscles, lupus and arthritis pain, varicose veins and inflammations." The Herbal Cream is used to "remove age spots, wrinkles, vanish acne and often heals some skin cancers." The Pomade is for athlete's feet and other problems like "Toenail Fungal Infections." The products were not sold from the back of a horse drawn wagon or even from the trunk of someone's car as you might suspect, but through a friend of mine who uses the profits to buy and make wheel chairs and crutches and such for the area's poor kids.

As you can see we are now prepared for all the tropics worst assortment of issues other than corrupt police, rapid Spanish speakers, slow restaurant service, rain and
frequent power outages.

I am not going to scoff and make fun of the aforesaid products that I was compelled to purchase by my wife and far be it from me to point out the the nature of the gringos in town has been changing since these products have been introduced to the area. I am not a conspiracy theorist and don't mean to suggest that the sudden rise in the incidents of gringos wandering unblinking and aimlessly about our fair town has anything to do with the use of these fine products. Drooling gringos muttering "Gruber Gruber" may have other causes for their zombie-like states. I merely mention this as one of the perplexing "coincidences" that have been occurring since words like pomade, herbal and oil began being used together.

I have to leave you fair readers now because even though I don't see any pesties around, I feel the need to put on some protection. I also, and this is oddly amusing, have the urge to chant. Exactly what I don' know, but for the moment, "Gruber Gruber" seems to work.

Free the Pukka

I'm writing like the Dickens, not Charles, Eddie Dickens down the block. He writes a lot. Charles writes like this: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." Eddie and I write: "So, whads news wid youze." We like to call it sylin' but mostly we are just lame writers. Nevertheless, we do have fun at the old keyboard, especially Eddie who is either a pukka or a figment of my imagination. I'm going with pukka because it is more fun to say and because figment, which is usually pronounced fig mint, might be some kind of Arabian after dinner treat and a horrible one at that. I wonder though, how many imagination figments we have. I once counted up to nine, but then my pukka distracted me and we went off to romp in a meadow and I forgot the whole thing. By the way, romp is not only a fun word to say, romp romp romp, it is also a fun activity. I plan to romp at some point later this day and I hope you all do too.

Given the circumstances surrounding the arrest of Eddie Dickens, one would be remiss to accept the official version tendered by the authorities. There remain even unto this day so many unanswered questions that prosecution of the apprehended seems less than likely. There were no witnesses to verify the trumped up crime of Monkeymind abuse and the subsequent additional charge of resisting arrest and development of said Monkeymind has only now been brought to light and seems but a ploy the District Attorney is attempting to assure that something, anything, will bring a satisfactory conviction and conclusion to this case.

To all this I say, balderdash and poppycock, the latter of course being something achieved when smoking opium. Rise up in protest is my cry. The pukka must be saved else monkeyminds everywhere will be stilled and all that will remain for the common man and his close but not that close pal the uncommon man, are the carefully chosen and doled out by English teachers words of import like, you know, those of that other Dickens guy. Perish, I say, perish the thought. Or for that matter, any thought. Who needs thought? It's a hindrance I tell you. A hindrance. So rise up I say again and free the pukka! Free the pukka! Free the pukka!

Alrighty then. Now yer down wid it.

The Week in Review, Sort Of

How in the world, how the heck, how in the Dickens, how in the name of God, how for crying-out-loud, - there are so many ways to say something it is difficult to choose - did it get to be Saturday already. This week has sped by so fast it has to have been on steroids.

(A congressional committee has been formed to investigate charges that the week of May 10th through the 16th was injected with human growth hormones, DHEA, which I believe means "dramatically heroic energy additives" and whatever the stuff is that makes Jamaicans run so fast. Alex Rodriguez and Barry Bonds have agreed to testify that they saw the week popping pills on a daily basis in exchange for leniency in their own cases. Manny Ramirez, on the other hand, was overheard asking where he could get some.)

The week saw a trip to Lovely and Talented Daveed for medicinal porpoises, but none were available so I went to the doctor's instead, the arrival back in Boquete of friends from Colorado and Texas, a vet visit to get the Cocker's rabies inoculations, a Friday lunch at a place called The Big Food Grill that was okay although the food was regular size, two new writing assignments, and, you know, other stuff of incredible importance that I fail to recall at this moment and likely others as well. Zoom.

My favorite news item of the week was about scientists at the Univ. of Texas who were using a South American fly to turn fire ants into zombies. The flies drop eggs on the ant colonies that cause maggots to grow in the ant's brain. The maggots eat the brain and that causes the ants to wander zombie-like from their colonies until their heads fall off. Surely, I thought, a useful science like this one could be extrapolated to include neo-cons, annoying celebrities from the sport and entertainment worlds, Osama Bin Laden and other evil doers like whoever is running the Yankees these days. Of course some of these people are essentially brainless to begin with so they may be immune.

My second favorite was a Yahoo news bit listing the countries that have the happiest populaces. Most were Scandinavian although Canada also made the top ten. Oddly, they were also all amongst the most heavily taxed countries in the world. Go figure.

I have to go now, there is something buzzing overhead.

The "I've got to keep up the blog" blog

Alrighty then. A rainy Tuesday, wet dog scent permeates the air. One of my favorites. No golf in the offing or oning which, linked like that, sound more like sex than golf. What shall I write about today? (Do rhetorical questions require a question mark and why don't I know the answer? This is clearly a failure of our public school system that Obama needs to address. Or is it redress? You see, my lack of education knows no bounds and it is not my fault I tell ya. If I grew up in Sweden I would know this stuff and other stuff absent from my mental resume like why are there so many blonds there?)

There is always sports. (I won't linger long here, I promise.) "No NBA team up 3 games to none has ever lost a playoff series." That's what the announcers keep reminding me. Obviously a Denver team has never held a 3 to 0 lead before. Denver teams are famous for negative stats. Worst loss in a Superbowl, worse loss on Monday Night Football, never making it to an NBA final, losing four straight in their only World Series, all come to mind. The Nuggets 3 to 0 lead over the Dallas John McCains, I mean Mavericks, is clearly a set up so that Denver can hold the dubious record of being the first NBA team to blow a three game lead also. Remember, you heard it here first.

Does anyone know how to find the song from the movie "Tin Cup" called Double Bogie Blues?" (At least I think that's the title. It's the featured lyric.) I exhausted my search the net ability when Itunes couldn't find it and Google failed me. I don't know who sang the song and that makes it hard to find and also I'm not very bright and that makes it even harder. I would like to have it for my Ipod and also to learn to play the song on my guitar and sing the lyrics while traveling around the world giving free concerts to deserving nations like Somalia and Mozambique. You never hear about concerts getting played there.

Some of you have expressed concern over of our lack of a nearby outdoors due to the dogs having brought it all indoors. Well not to worry. The same dogs have brought distant outdoors onto our property in the form of discarded plastic bottles and containers, chunks of charcoal, blackened and rotted banana bunches, bits of paper and cloth, a jaw bone of an unknown animal and, of course, the usual pools of vomited up mice and insects. They present these things to us as gifts and enjoy chewing and slurping them directly under our feet as we sit on the patio admiring the far off view. Ah yes, our pups are definitely thoughtful and adorable.

Okay, I have now written a blog where none existed before even though as I am wont to say, I got nothing. Why I am wont to say it remains a mystery.

Whole Lotta Shakin Goin On

Big fat earthquake a 3:30 A.M. Lasted, I dunno, five, six, seven seconds. Two out of three puppies bezerko. Nary a yip from Finnegan the Fearless though. 'Course he's only five months old. Probably thinks the floor is supposed to ripple. At first I thought it was Mattie, our black Cocker who's invisible in the dark, jumping on or off the bed that woke me, but as the tremor continued and the fog of sleep dissipated in a portion of a second too short to measure, I knew we were having a whoop-de-do of a shake-rattle-and-roll. I worried then that the ceiling would fall because when you are experiencing an earthquake it's pretty much kosher to worry about something. Even though I've seen those movies where the earth opens up and swallows dinosaurs, I figured I'd start with a small worry like getting a plaster shower. When it ended, the quake and the worrying, Woowoo Charly and I had our usual post temblor conversation. Goes something like this: "Alrighty then! That was a good one!" Either one or both of us would say either one or both of those things. After that, we calm the dogs and go back to sleep. I never thought I would see the day when I took an earthquake for granted but, you know, there you have it.

In other Boquete news, Mayo is mosca month. That's fly month for you English only speakers. You can stand in the average kitchen here and swat the pests all day. As you mash them other flies swoop in to feast on their fallen comrades. That's what I call a nasty cycle.

And I did, speaking of nasty cycles and for those of you wondering, return to the Abominable Doctor Panagas for my skin cancer surgical procedure which is the approved medical jargon for slice and dice. The evil Dr. P had me lay down on his examining table under a brighter than the sun close up lamp and then turn my head and cough. Just kidding there was no cough. He then put a towel over my head that had a hole in it just large enough to expose my ear. There were needles after that that didn't really hurt enough to matter, but still caused me to flinch a bit. After one flinch the doctor said to me, "duele?" which means pain and I missed my cue to say, "No gracias, tengo basta", (No thanks, I have enough). The auditioning for the lead role in a slasher flick doc then went to work. Took him forty minutes to do the job. He first cut away some of the hair above my ear. No charge, he told me later, for the styling. He then did whatever was necessary to remove the offending growth, none of which I can speak to apart from saying that I could hear and feel odd scrapings and clippings, the buzz of a weed whacker and the beep beep beep of a bucket loader as it backed up to its target. You can't really see your own ear without a mirror and the doc wasn't providing any of those for fear I would notice he wasn't in its reflections. I got to see the chunk of raisin sized tissue (the size of all unwanted growths must be compared to fruit; it's a law) that had been incised when all was said and done - mostly done as Dr. P is not real chatty - before it was sent to some other mad scientist's lab for further identification. It was...let me find the proper word here...icky. The Doctor then snapped his fingers and I came out of my trance but not before agreeing to return for a follow up treatment next week.

Earthquakes, flies and surgery. A bizarre trinity, eh what?

Another Rant

It Ain’t Fair, I tell Ya!


Everybody’s got one but me. A rant, I’m talkin’ about. Something to complain about in depth. Some thing that really bugs the crap outa ya. You know, bad weather, noisy neighbors, reptile dysfunction commercials, stuff like that. Well I’m telling ya right off, I ain’t got a one and that’s not fair. Oh sure I could bring up a couple of things like an achy back or a tricky knee, but c’mon! Everybody else has operations and attacks and psoriasis to write about. Lucky dogs. One guy I know says he has shingles. What the hell are shingles and how come I can’t get them? All I ever get is stuff Advil and Tylenol PM knock right out. Well of course I get like regular sick, but so does everybody else so you really can’t count that. And then there is husbands and wives. A lot of people have complaints there. You know, ugly, grouchy, farts in bed, dumb as a rock. I know one woman says her biggest complaint is her husband breathes in and out. She hates that! Me? I’m stuck with a beautiful wife who’s smart as they come and a good pal too. Cripes! What fun is that when you’re lookin’ for a rant? No fun at all I tell ya. I mean this just sucks. My car is running good, my dogs are semi-well behaved, my live in brother is a funny guy and to top it all off for crying-out-loud, I live in Boquete! Land of eternal Spring! (Okay it rains some but who can really complain about that? I mean we all like stuff green, don’t we?) So what am I left with to rant about? You tell me. The stock market? I don’t shop there. I get more value at Romeros. The government? I can’t really find one around here and I make that a good thing. War, hate, intolerance, bad attitudes and the rising cost of pretty much everything? Well sure, no doubt, you bet and like that, but truth is, I leave those to the smart people.

So there you have it, my fellow word workers, I’ve got nothing, not a damn thing, and I’m tellin’ ya right now…it just ain’t fair!

(Wait! Wait!... WAIT! There is one thing that really pisses me off, gets my goat, sticks in my craw! What’s the deal with all these people around here wearing New York Yankee caps? Don’t they know the Yankees are the team of the devil?)

Rant # 1

What follows is the first of a couple of rants I will write this month for our writer's group. Bob Applegate is the founder of the group and the guy who dreams up each month's assignment.


I Gotcher Rant Right Here Wise Guy
By Doc Whatsisname


What’s with this Appledude guy? Every month he picks a topic for we whacked out wordsmiths to write about and like lemmings we go right ahead and follow his lead. What are we thinking? I mean this guy couldn’t pick a topic if you gave him a How To book entitled How To Pick a Topic! Rants. You call rants a topic?! And last month, for crying out loud, we had to write something that started with “I live.” What kind of topic is that? Of course we live! If we didn’t we wouldn’t be writing anything at all would we? Clearly something has to be done. We have to stop this merry madman before he goes too far with his “experiment.” Next month he’s likely to have us writing SciFi or autobiographies, maybe even descriptions or dialogue. What’s that you say? He’s already done those? Well that just goes to show you what I’m talking about people. This guy is out of control. I can picture him right this minute sitting in his laboratory rubbing his evil hands together, saying heh, heh, heh, while pondering what insidious theme he will torment us with next month. I say to arms! To arms my fellow writing wretches! Let’s take this into our own hands. Let’s pick topics that suit us, for a change. We can do that, can’t we? Topics we’re certain we can write about… for sure… like…well…you know………….give me a minute.

Health and Stuff Like That

I don't follow health news on a regular basis, it's seldom uplifting. I have a theory that lacks empirical and even anecdotal evidence, but must be true because why else would I have it, that the more you read or hear about these horrible diseases the more likely you are to contract them. I mean the Common Cold isn't common for nothing. You hear about it all the time. On the other hand nobody ever catches the Uncommon Cold because it is rarely even mentioned. Dodging reports about Swine Flu though, is nearly impossible, it's everywhere. You might even say it's pandemic if you are the kind of person who likes to throw words like that about. So far my only thought about Swine Flu, apart from not wanting to contract it, is that if it is bad, then Swinehundt Flu is probably worse and Dirty Rotten Low Down Bug Eating Bottom Dweller Swine Flu is even worse than that. My second thought, which just came to me now, is Swine Flu over the cuckoo's nest, but I don't really know what that's all about. I'm taking every precaution though, and so should you. If there are precautions laying around, I say, take them. I'm also washing my hands, except for my left one where I have nice hard guitar callouses on my fingertips I don't want to soften, but that's okay I shake with my right, staying out of school, avoiding Mexican swine and also Mexican rat bastards because they are probably carrying something bad too, covering my sneezes and coughs with my recently washed right hand so that it requires another scrub, taking time off from work, enveloping myself in Saran Wrap, wearing a surgical mask, which, speaking of sneezes, can get really nasty inside, and never breathing air that comes form the north where the U.S. and Mexico, those hotbeds of viral voodoo, lie. I also take a lot of preventative medication in the form of holistic, natural chemicals in pill form that ward off ailments of all sorts including reality. At least I would if I could get some. So I figure I'm safe.

I'm not safe though, from The Abominable Doctor Panagas whose lair I visited only last week. Dressed all in white and wearing a mask of his own, the evil physician showered me in bright lights and probed about my skin with diabolical instruments once used, I'm certain, in the Spanish Inquisition. I was forced, coerced, literally needled into agreeing upon a further session in which, during the cycle of the full moon, Dr. Panagas will morph into Dr.Scalpelhands and carve away, that's right, carve, chunks of my facial skin - here's the satanically clever part - and replace them with skin from my chest. What he will then use to cover the now missing chest skin remains a mystery known only to he and members of his, I suspect, coven. To prepare for this less than sterling moment, I was sent to get a blood test, presumably to determine if my precious red bodily fluid coagulated at an acceptable speed, but, also I suspect, to find out what my blood type was so he could determine whether to serve it chilled or at room temperature. It turns out that I can coagulate with the best of them, so I will be scheduled soon for the surgery that will take place in Doctor Phibes, I mean Panagas, office where there are no witnesses. Stay tuned for further details.