Ode to Autumn

Red and orange fire have set the trees ablaze.
Persian-carpet-like the lawn is laid
far behind the warm summer days
The path to winter as years gone by is paved
Feather-like golden hues the leaves do flutter
Alas, some time next week I must rake those muthas

Why I'm a Christian

A Hindu relative, let's call him Bob, 'cause his real name is a tongue twister, asked me why I'm a Christian. So, I told him, "I'm not. I'm a George, 'cause my parents named me that just like my friend, who is named Christian, is a Christian 'cause his parent's named him that, but we call him Chris. fused for  second then turned real annoyed like and sarcastically said, "NO. Why are you of the Christian faith, you idiot?"  "Well smart ass" I responded "'Cause unlike other saviors, Jesus has a sense of humor, man. When he comes back, I'm so gonna ask him to help me play a joke on my friend Christine, ('cause that's what her parents named her, OK). And he's so gonna do it. I'm gonna ask Jesus to appear to her right away and tell her, 'Ya know, Mary, Joseph and I hate you. We never really liked you!' and then just disappear. Then he's gonna head on down to the sewerage and water board and turn all the tap water into wine. And we're all gonna hit the tap with Jesus and laugh and I mean all of us at once 'cause he's Jesus and can be everywhere at once like Santa Claus. And Jesus will down a glass and say, 'Oh man you should have seen the look on Christine's face'. Then the next morning Jesus is gonna visit Christine really early and say "JC, JK!' And Christine will look all confused and frightened by him appearing like that in her shower and just stammer a bit. And Jesus will repeat it then add, 'JC, Jesus Christ,  JK, just kidding' and they'll both laugh real hard until Christine's eye starts twitching and then she starts crying and he'll get all uncomfortable and leave. Then we'll all wake up later with wine headaches except Jesus 'cause he's like Jesus and still in total party mode. And we'll all say 'please Jesus enough with the singing already man'. Then we'll all think, 'WOW. It's so great there's a toilet next to the shower when we turn it on and more red wine come out and we can smell it'. That, Bob, is Why I'm a Christian. Can your god do THAT!?" To which he just nodded to say NO and walked quickly away glancing at me over his shoulder like I might follow him or something.

Evangelists Hate Naked People

I bought this old house when i was a young man, 'cause it was old and included in the charm was big etched glass front door. I hung lace curtains from it the day i moved in. It was to me the highlight of the house that let in a stream of light every morning and cast delicate lacy patterns on the dark oak floors. Unfortunately every damned Sunday these elderly black folks would come to my big glass front door and attempt to save me through their Baptist church. I'm jut sitting there, in full view through those beautiful glass door mind you, minding my own business not particularly thinking about much less wanting saving. They always seemed to catch me off guard. I'm just lounging about on the sofas and bamm! They're peering at me through the door. I want to be rude, but they're like 108 years old and just so nice. So I'm polite and after a botu twenty minutes of "yeah praise him" and "see ya at church and stuff" eventually tear away and get back to my minding my own business on the couch routine. But they never see me at church and they keep coming back and I can't be rude and they smell blood and keep coming back and one day I see 'em coming up the block and like snap man. I send my toddler off to her room, remove all my clothes and stand with arms crossed in front of that big glass door, smiling baby. The lacy curtains made a curious pattern on my skin. I felt a bit chilled but the sun was strangely warm. I considered doing this more often. The elderly Christians approached. I inhaled to enhance my badly needing enhancement chest and waited. They reached the walk,close to hear them talking about what a nice man I was and needed their help, when one of the ladies, there was one elderly man and two elderly women, stopped cold halfway up my walkway. She instinctively reached out to stop her companions to either side. Her face signaled alarm, her eyes wide and fixed on me or parts of me. Her mouthed was gaped as wide as her eyes. He alarmed companions asked what was wrong and motioned to my door indicating they had work to do here to which she just insisted they had to leave. They attempted to stop her as she forcibly repelled them and made her way down the sidewalk as fast as she could, her companions struggling to keep up. I never saw them again. Which got me thinking that they must hate naked people. I'd think someone standing naked at the front door must need something, like I dunno, saving from himself or whatever. I mean the cops would have made some attempt at saving me. What the hell man. Perhaps I should have removed item with each visit. I figure I could be completely naked by their, lets see, shirt, pants, underwear, socks, fourth visit. You see, I don't want to go to hell. I'm naked and want to be saved. I want to go to heaven naked. It's the way I came in damned it. I don't think they should treat me like that. Man I'm so glad I'm Catholic. Of course they go door to door, but I bet they know I'm naked at home and don't really care. They're possibly naked but not doing anything 'cause sex is just too naughty unless you're making a baby like ya spose to and not enjoying it or at least feeling guilty bout it later. I'll bet there are lots of naked Hindus and Methodists out there and maybe some Muslims. And some might be standing in front of glass doors. I think we should have "Let's All Stand Naked in front of Our Glass Door Day". If ya don't have a glass door, you can just open it and stand just inside. We could ring bells and shout, "I'm naked and going to heaven, man!"

My Powers

I was siting in a local Barnes & Noble bookstore cafe about to write some really profound stuff that I'm quite certain would have change the face of humanity for the better for at least the next 10,000 years when a middle aged man wearing a knit cap leaned over the railing I was seated next to and asked, "They let you use power here?"

I responded that my powers were such that I needed no consent and could conjure them at will but only for the betterment of mankind.

The man just stared at me for a minute then whispered, "I need to plug in my laptop. Do they allow that here?"

I nodded yes as he walked away, his eyes never leaving mine, and towards the power outlet. I'm assuming he sensed my immense powers and couldn't turn away. But, to mankind's detriment and the eternal shame of the man in the knit cap, I forgot what I was about to write.

I then noticed that there had been a shift change at the service counter while I spoke to the gentleman in the knit cap and the new guy, wearing the kind of beard only worn by a geologist or a man fully attuned to the forces of nature and by those who vigilantly recycle was staring at me. I sensed that he sensed my immense powers and made his way over to me.  I smiled, anticipating his reaction.

"You can't put your feet up on the tables dude", was all he said.

He was right, of course. I, like others of my kind, must take special care not to arouse too much attention. I winked, like members of a secret organization  offering a secret handshake, signifying our special connection and politely removed from feet from the table.

If I Won the Lottery!

My wife asked me what I'd do if I won the lottery.

"Well, if I won the lottery", I says to her, "the first thing I'd do is call a wig shop to see if they have powdered wigs 'cause I always wanted to wear one of them, but I was afraid of how people would treat me. But if I had a few million bucks, I think I could pretty much get away with anything. So, I'd also go to the local gym and hire me about eight female body builders, the kind with ripped abs and fake boobs, to carry me to work on one of those carriages people carried back in the day. And then I'd have 'em surround as we walked around the place two or three times so everyone could see me in my wig and with the babes and then into the bosses office where I'd quit. But I'd do it in French and end with some rude nasally noises like french people do and then leave. I'd probably also have a mediaeval band accompany me that would throw off their peasant clothes when we got outside and turn into a high tech Bollywood band. And everyone would go "WOW! Who knew the flute payer was a hot Indian actress man!" But I wouldn't kiss her, 'cause look at the crap that Richard Gear had to go through after kissing that Indian gal that day. So I'd probably bring along some non Indian babes too with the band. Then on the way home I'd hit the Mercedes dealer and so get the under-coating and extended warranty and sports package and Bose sound system. And in the back seat stretched out on a couple of the body builder laps, while one peeled me a grape and another drove the car, I'd wonder, now that Michael Jackson is dead, what ever happened to John Merritt's remains? Then that night I'd throw a huge party and invite all the right people and some democrats too. But when they got there I'd have the bouncer, probably more of those hot body builder babes stop them and tell them they're so not on the list and you're gonna have to leave sir or madam and make a huge scene. And I would so laugh and have people raise me unto their shoulders like I actually did something and hit the disco ball with a bat and it would break like a pineada and iphones would rain down on everyone with one-year free unlimited service including text and web. And they would text everybody from their new phones to tell 'em what a rad party they're at and how cool I am and we'd get to host again the next year and disappoint even more democrats and many other politicians.

So then I asked Daya what she'd do. But she just sat there reading her book like she didn't hear me and it was real quiet for awhile and then went to bed.

Jesus e-mailed Me!

Jesus mailed the other day from a domain in Nigeria asking for cash to buy an airline ticket to the states to visit ... ME! All I had to do was send him my bank account number and routing information and he'd do the rest, 'cause that's the kind of guy he is. He even promised to repay me when he got here and TEN-FOL:D in heaven. What a  guy! Well, it so happens that I had received another email from none other than the son of the former president of Nigeria just the day before. He was trying to find a way to get $20 million US out of Nigeria before the current corrupt regime, his words, seized the funds. He said he prayed for days until my name came to him. I immediately forwarded his email to Jesus. The president's son can just give the cash to Jesus and we're all set. I'm so going to heaven for this one!

Given Up Drinking

I've given up drinking. No one in the family seems to believe me. I think my 20 year old expressed the general sense of surprise and disbelief best when she said, "Wait, wha.. what, wait what, huh? Nahaa!" But I'm serious. Not that I drank much to begin with. But lately it's just taken a turn for the worse. Normally, I'm the happiest damned drunk in the world. Just ask the minions of tiny leprechauns that seem to come out of nowhere to join me. I know this to be true, I've seen the bar tab. But I'm sure they bought their share of rounds as well from their cute little gold coin filled pots. Especially that Karl, funny name for a leprechaun, but I digress. Anyway, lately even the leprechaun's have abandoned me due to my less than happy demeanor. I was turning into a mean drunk whose drinking buddies degraded from happy little green guys to those mean soldiers from the evil camp in Lord of the Rings. The ones that were created underground in vats of mud. I'm not buying those bastards anything. I quit.

Hindus Chrisitans and Magic

I, along with my wife, Daya, own the Indonique Tea & Chai company. Our first venture into the tea business was a packaged tea store in ultra-conservative Mandeville, Louisiana. It was a cool little shop, if I don't say so myself, that sold, in addition to packaged teas, imported Indian textiles, spices, clothing and other unusual items. The teas filled a shelving untit just behind the counter resembling an old English tea shop. In the center of the shelving unit, a large brass statue of the elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesa. Very cool place that attracted many locals for the atmosphere and a few with less pleasant intensions.

One customer, more accurately called a visitor, as he regularly came in to sample the free teas but never bought a single item, will forever remain in my mind. A devout, I soon learned, christian, he asked one day what the Ganesa statue was all about. Well versed in hindu mythology, I was happy to tell him the story of Ganesa and how he as a young man/god lost his head and had it replaced with an elephant head. The visitor stared emotionless at the statue as I detailed the ancient myth. When I finished he shook his head as if understanding and offered, Yeah, those hindus believe in a lot of CRAZY MAGIC (HIS EMPHASIS) and stuff". I shrugged and offered, "Yeah, religion ya know". Then he continued, "Of course we know Jesus was our Lord and saviour because of all the MIRACLES (AGAIN HIS EMPHASIS) he performed". I nearly fell over laughing at his comments until noticing he was staring at me in a somewhat confused and indignant manner. HE WAS SERIOUS (MY EMPHASIS). I offered a "magic' with one hand then raised the other "miracles". "Wait you're serious"? "of course I'm serious", he responded somewhat physically and verbally defiant. "Just leave - please", I asked. He did and that was that.

Unfortunately, many more indignant visitors would peruse the shop, scowl and leave. After a Rinpoche visited and offered a lecture on Buddhism, the visits turned into a full scale boycott and verbal assaults against my employees. We moved to New Orleans a few weeks later. Ironically, our first customer in our New Orleans cafe was a Bourbon Street stripper, the second a Catholic priest. Neither had issue with the Ganesa nor each other. The shop was an instant success and customers included muslims, priests, rabbis and ministers from a variety of protestant faiths.

Peacock Feathers - A Novel

 Although their meat was more than an adequate substitute for goose, my Russian friend Vadim's family had instead, for generations, raised Indian peacocks for their colorful expensive feathers and, due to the bird's tremendously annoying screeching, as a means of lowering neighbor's property values to an attainable level.

I think is an opening to a book that needs to be written!

Connie George

What Sells?

I haven't the faintest idea. I own a tea company with web site. I track all activity through Google Analytics. Apparently the best campaign was the list, "Top 5 Reasons to Believe Yerba Mate is an Aphrodisiac". Lots of hits, more than any other blog post since Hurricane Katrina images were posted. But, sadly, not a single sale of Yerba Mate. I'm guessing visitors were looking for photos that might be posted with the article.

Sooo, maybe a posting/campaign, "pics of live nude girls with every purchase" will work. Huh, ya think?

Blogging While Drunk (BWD)

Blog that you're trapped in a burning building and it won't be discovered until a week after your charred lifeless body is found in the cinders, at which point some ass will post how dumb you were not to have tweeted your distress call instead. This post will be read by millions the instant it's posted. Likewise, any honest assessment of meddling in-laws or casual comments about annoying relatives to close friends over secure networks will magically find their way into vast social networks - copied, forwarded and posted everywhere at speeds that would frighten Chuck Yeager.

The new communication tool, the social web, unlike the phone, not only keeps a copy of your ramblings for all unintended to see, but bestows upon the series of ones and zeros - life, allowing it to multiply and evolve in milliseconds. And like many offspring, a life that will eventually turn on the parent. The internet has become a dangerous vehicle that can careen off a cliff with the slightest turn on the wheel or in the case of texting, tweeting and emailing, a misplaced comma or emoticon.

Slightly more dangerous with longer lasting effects would be under-aged internet use, as dangerous as the adult use with the added peril of attached photos. You can't get 'em back. They just become forever young-you, multiplying faster the hotter or more embarrassing they are. You're left with the futile option of changing your name and moving far away, which doesn't work cause the internet is everywhere and some nerd with specialized, I never got out to play ball skills will find you, cause you did get out, played ball and had a life and he or she hates you because of it.

And so, like other vehicles, should operating the internet vehicle while under the influence of mind altering substances be outlawed?

NO! We need the entertainment and some of those photos! Yes I'm posting while drunk. Oooo, maybe a nice name for a blog!