Gabe Newman's Blog

Greetings Peeps!  I've started something called The Socialite Press intended to feature new artists, specifically up and coming musicians and bands.  Our first featured artists are a band out of Athens, GA called S2, formerly known as Sursie.  By either name, you will experience the new sounds of the town, Athens, GA, long known for music, but also long resting on the laurels of previous successes. 

Today's music scene offers something you're not quite used to if you are accustomed to listening to the radio.  If that's the case, then you're not going to be accustomed to S2.  Having first discovered Electronica/Chill/Acid Jazz/Lounge genres of music on Internet media such as Radio Free Virgin, I first heard S2 online on My Space, before ever seeing them perform live.

The following is "scraped" from S2's profile on My Space.  I couldn't "scrape" the music player, so you'll just have to visit them for a listen.  Please take a minute and afford these new artists, our first featured act of The Socialite Press, your ear for a moment.  I'm sure you'll find something new, different and less than volatile.  The Socialite Press intends to bring music, and eventually a host of other categories including food and beverage, to you that won't disturb you.  There's enough out there that's disturbing.  Let's keep the peace.

-Gabe

...

About S2:

S2 (formerly Sursie) entertains their audiences with a dynamic, energetic, soul-shaking sound. Described as "Athens' next break-out band" (Hot 100.7 FM), S2 plans to be just that. Emotive vocals, atmospheric keys, funky bass, tribal drumming, and a tight horn section all compliment each other in this captivating live experience. Crowds are inspired by their genre-blending sound; S2 combines aspects of funk, soul, R&B, electronica, and has hints of reggae and Latin influences.

The roots of S2 began during the summer of 2001 in Athens, GA, where vocalist Star Scott and drummer Shannon Saussercrossed musical paths. This alluring duo quickly began their prolific songwriting career together and established the band sursie. Several years later, with a growing sound and a new line-up, sursie was reintroduced BLEEP2, meaning the downbeat of the heartbeat.

S2's vibrant sound consists of emotive vocals (Star Scott), melodic drumming (Shannon Sausser), colorful percussion (Eddie Glikin), and solid, funky baselines (Kurt Blankenship). Also in the mix are Luke Powell(saxophone, bari-saxophone, and flute), Mark Milby(trumpet), and Elijah Carter(saxophone, clarinet, and didgeridoo).

S2 views music as a medium to transcend boundaries and bring people together. Their shared dream of a life creating music and spreading positivity is fueled by a love and tolerance for all, and a desire to share that love with the world creates a unique blend of positive vibes for your inner soul. Be on the lookout for new album coming out soon!! 

Visit S2 Now At:

http://www.myspace.com/s2musicproject

Or, Find them on my front page at:

http://www.myspace.com/wickgraves

So, I was on the way back from a Lesbian Dance Party the other night, just riding the Trek as usual, when I made a left hand turn and a lonesome five gallon bucket appeared in the road.  I swerved to the right, and back to the left only to avoid a side swipe with an oncoming vehicle in the next lane. 

It was quite a scare to say the least.  It was a good thing that I got to dance with a couple of lesbians because I think it gave me the moves I needed to avoid that bucket.  I mean the dances didn't last very long, before they left me like a lonely bucket in the middle of the road, but the question remains as to what that bucket was doing in the middle of the road, standing upright at that!

I'm not quite sure how things like that get there.  As I've said before, it's usually one shoe I see in the middle of the road.  Usually, one high heeled show I assume to be there from a night of partying left by a princess with bleach blonde hair, but five gallong buckets... stand upright, although upside down, right in the middle of the street, you know?

The next day, I saw another single shoe, but this time, it was a child's shoe, and not only that, but it was a lace up wing tip.  Then there was another woman's shoe, but this was a flat.  Do you think there's connection?  Maybe the five gallon bucket is meant for picking up all the lonely shoes.  Maybe I'll start a collection, except I didn't have that thought until just now, and I didn't grab the bucket to begin the collection process. 

That doesn't really matter, because I know where I can get my hands on a multitude of five gallon pickle buckets, but I gotta make my way back to Athens first and since I'm busy with the bike tour it may take awhile, but I only have until November 4th.  I'm staying well below the Mason-Dixon line right now for the sake of warmer weather. 

It will be a different day after the ice caps melt and and I can no longer ride this path through the Southern half of this country.  The day will come, if it hasn't already before, where Atlanta will be beach front property, and this path will not be travelled by road bound vehicles, yet a five gallon bucket might come in handy in that case as if your row boat springs a leak, then you can always use it to start bailing it out... except you won't need seven hundred billion of them to do the job, just one will do.  That is, unless, of course, you're on a luxury cruise liner cutting through the waves over what used to be New Orleans.

Until then, I'm peddling my ass off trying to get home before Thanksgiving which is when the feast commences only this year we're eating Gator meat the DAWGS bring back from Florida after this weekend!  I mean the Volleyball team beat Florida this past weekend in Athens after 18 years and over 40 matches!  That's a good sign!  I'm not calling the game before we play it, but those Lady Dawgs set the tone, so fellas take a hint and go down there an do some skinning! 

That reminds me...

It reminds of a story where a blonde woman was shopping for alligator shoes. She told the shopkeeper that the shoes were too expensive, and asked him why?

The shopkeeper said, "If you feel like they're too expensive then you can always go get your own from the swamp down the road!"

The blonde storms out offended, but determined to get her an affordable pair of alligator shoes. She happens to have a shot gun in her car so she proceeds to the swamp as the shopkeeper instructed her.

About an hour later, the shopkeeper is on his way home after closing up for the day and as he drives by the swamp where he told the woman to go. He notices there are five or six dead gators piled up at the edge of the water and the woman still has her shotgun in hand.

Curious, he stops and asks her, "What the heck are you doing? Is everything alright?"

The blonde replies, "Whew... now, I know why those alligator shoes are so expensive! I've killed six of these bad boys and I haven't found one with shoes on yet!"

And, oh yeah, by the way, Holly Huddleston of the Olly Girls sent this video out, and I just thought I'd share it.  It has nothing to do with Alligator shoes, one red shoes, or five gallon buckets, but what the heck!

Just follow this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyspCRmJv7w

A man forgot his anniversary.  He comes home and after several moments, of his wife dropping slight hints she clearly reminds him, "It's our anniversary!  Tomorrow morning I expect something that gets from 0-200 in less than 6 seconds!"  The next morning she found a bathroom scale in the drive!

Come on people!  Neither Obama, or McCain are doing anything but blowing hot air.  Why not harness that and use it for energy?!?!  That's not part of the Pickens Plan, but maybe it could be incorporated... 

If you're seriously tired of the same ol' same ol' in Washington, especially regarding our energy policies which happen to affect our WAR policies, then please check this out and JOIN!  You can read the synopsis of the plan is less than ten minutes.

Do it now!

http://push.pickensplan.com/

Imagine being angry in a moment, after the moment before you were perfectly calm.  Also, imagine this happening several times per day, for most every day you lived.  Imagine further, you took that anger and lashed out against others with violent stikes against those you ‘love’; or at least against those you love to hate... only it's not you, it's someone else.  Do you know anybody like that?

You decide to polish your car, only to run out of polish half way through, and use a different brand to finish the job.  As it turns out, one part of the car comes out shinier than the other part.  Your Grandfather, who raised you and gave you more than you deserved in material possessions, and who also beat you on a regular basis, as well as beating your Grandmother, comes home admires the job you’ve done, but then notices one side shinier than the other sending him into a violent rage directed only against you. 

 

After the beating, with your nose still bleeding, you tell him that one of you is going to hell tonight.  Then, you kill him in his sleep.  Afterward, you find $600 in his wallet and decide to take care of some bills that need to be paid, post disposal of the body.  You get caught.  You go to court and are given a reduced charge of voluntary manslaughter, instead of murder, and you get a five year sentence for that, but against the will of the jurors, you get a life sentence for armed robbery for taking the money out of the wallet and doing what you did.  You’ve now been in prison for ten years.  Stop imagining and now realize this is the story of Billy Crowder, a kid who got fed up, and rightfully so. 

 

I walked into the room with a television blaring on A&E where they were running this story that I proceeded to look up online for further details.  I urge you to do the same, and then follow the instructions at the end of the brief story listed on this website: 

 

http://www.billycrowder.com/

A Catholic Priest, an Indian Doctor, a rich Chinese Businessman and an New Yorker were waiting one morning for a particularly slow group of golfers in front of them. The New Yorker fumed, "What's with those numb skulls? We must have been waiting for fifteen minutes!" The Indian Doctor chimed in, "I don't know, but I've never seen such poor golf!" The Chinese Businessman called out "Move it, time is money". The Catholic Priest said, "Here comes George the greens keeper. Let's have a word with him." "Hello, George! Said the Catholic Priest, "What's wrong with that group ahead of us? They're rather slow, aren't they?" George the greens keeper replied, "Oh, yes. That's a group of blind fire fighters. They lost their sight saving our clubhouse from a fire last year,so we always let them play for free anytime." The group fell silent for a moment. The Catholic Priest said, "That's so sad. I think I will say a special prayer for them tonight." The Indian Doctor said, "Good idea. I'm going to contact my Ophthalmologist colleague and see if there's anything he can do for them." The Chinese Businessman replied, "I think I'll donate $50,000 to the fire-fighters in honour of these brave soles" The New Yorker said, "Why can't they just freakin' play at night?"

Well folks, here I am sitting in another public library, in another town, only this time I arrived by bike.  It's my mission to visit all fifty states before election day.  I have my work cut out for me.  One problem I have encountered this morning is that My Space is blocked from these computers.  So, whereas I would typically blog there and repost here, if appropriate, I cannot even get to My Space this morning. 

One thing I've noticed about this small town, is I have yet to see anyone sleeping in the bushes, and sitting on the square looking 'po'.  As I pulled out of Athens, GA last week, I left behind a scene of many players and paupers, and I was again reminded of that eternal question, "Why?"

Rick, the stroke victim survivor, still sits there left to himself, his cigarettes, and his coffee, I am sure.  I only mention that in hopes that somebody will cover his story.  There isn't anybody in that town that doesn't already know his demise, but nobody steps up to give a place to live in what could very well be his last days.  He had a place, but that time ran its' course, and there he sits again waiting for his fellow downtrodden to join him at the table for what usually amounts to a certain download of information on pretty much any topic as it relates to Athens, GA.  He is a walking (or should I say "shuffling") encyclopedia of information on anything Athens, as he drags himself around doing as much for himself as he can with one side of his upper body still paralyzed.  He's just been left there to himself as the "community" who always greets him as they walk by do nothing to give him a little bit of comfort in what appear to be his last days.

Last night, I was fortunate enough to watch Extreme Makeover.  This a show I haven't watched in sometime, but exemplifies to me, what America is really all about.  The Community has lost its' sense of identity as we have seemingly left everything to do with anything humane and community oriented in the hands of the government.  Otherwise, why is he still sitting there?

I mean, there is hardly a soul in that town who doesn't know who that guy is and still he sits there as if counting the ticks and tocks of the clock.  And, then faith in community is restored when you see a show like EM!  There's no government  agency there to demolish a home and rebuild it.  There are only people from that community, and corporate America, pretty much.  What's wrong with that?  I can't think of a single thing wrong with that. 

CVS pharmacies and everyone altogether got up enough cash to not only pay off the mortgage on this new home built for a family with two kids in wheelchairs suffering from a disease I had never heard of called Spinal Muscular Atrophy.  Two girls, sisters, one eight and the other four, both have been trying to maneuveur a bi-level household to no avail for years.  Extreme... came in a leveled the place replacing it with a one level mansion of sorts with high end accents and a level floor running continuously throughout the house.  This is truly community in action, not Washington is distraction. 

Rick shuffles along jumping through beaureacratic hoop after hoop.  Of course, these hoops are local hoops, but still it seemsridiculous that a stroke survivor has to go through this.  He says, he has nobody who will take him in.  I didn't ask any questions after he made that statement to me, but I don't doubt it.  Word is that Rick never "wanted" to work.  He just wanted to drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and that's why he is where he is.

Regardless, it's a damned shame that you even witness this scene in America.  It doesn't really matter what the circumstances are at this point, and "how" he got to where he is.  The fact of the matter is that it's wrong for US to just leave him sitting there.  I hope that some member of the media will pick this up and do something about it.  At least call some attention to the situation and somebody put this 'man up' in peace for a minute.  Does he deserve it?  Has he earned it?  Is that really the question?  It's something called grace, and that's just what he needs. 

So, as the wheels of my Trek 1100 have burnt rubber for the time being on Athens, Rick is still there.  I'll get back around there eventually, and I hope by the next time I pay a visit to that town that somebody will have taken care of the situation whereas if I could I would.  Days on the square of Athens, might be one of the most pleasant of experiences, but for Rick, it's just another day at the office, and we all know how that can get to be.

For now, I will ride on to the next town.  We got a long way to go and a short time to get there, before November.  Somehow, and only by grace, I always end up finding a place to stay.  Maybe it's because I bathe regulary, and don't really look homeless so it gives me some sort of advantage over a shuffling stroke survivor, but I just know it's not right that he's still sitting there.  This is a call to the Community... not Washington.

 

 

 

A girl was going around passing out copies of Obama's speech in Philadelphia back in March of this year. I have a little more insight as to the way his mind works after reading it, but it's not much different than the opinion I had formed just from listening to and reading the media. I have a stronger appreciation for his perspective as a mixed race American, since I am one myself, just not mixed black and white. The average person would say I was white, but it's not that simple.

I knew a guy that lived in a "cult" somewhere in Oklahoma, or Arkansas, or some place like that. He said he had four wives and children between them. How many I don't know. He had left that lifestyle and moved into the mainstream, having left it before, if I remeber correctly.

He gave me a book called Vigilantes of God, which I read about five pages into when it made it very clear that I was not WHITE if I had any other blood than white blood within ten generations, or something like that. At that point, I put the book down and stopped reading. I was relieved to know that I wasn't "perfect", and finally became content with it. Not satisfied, but content, you know?

But, reading this speech reminded me of my own racial make-up that goes by pretty much unnoticed, except in my convictions and behaviors. I'll put it to you like this. Having spent a lot of time in the South, most of my formative years, in fact; I have been influenced, but not designed by the South. We agree on pretty much all of the broader issues that identify one as a conservative, except I don't think there is anything wrong with marijuana.

I am not a hedonist by any means, and know full well that your life's decisions have consequences. Some consequences lead to other consequences, to a point where your decisions mean very little except in terms of how you're going to survive for the day as you aim for freedom and prosperity from the streets of your nearest small city.

Obama said, in speaking of his former pastor, "Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright's sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change."

Self-help, as individuals. Community help, as a group. This is the missing link between Obama's great vision for society... as it changes. As we all want "better health care, and better schools, and better jobs". The "self-help" aspect is what Democrats continually overlook, and have somehow have managed to define the "government" as the "community" in their minds, and in the minds of their constituents.

I asked Katie what would happen if she needed to go to the hospital. Would she go to Washington? Healthcare, education, and jobs occur in your neighborhood, not in Washington, unless of course, that's where you work. If all you have to do is go down the road a short ways to get to the hospital for your healthcare, even if you don't have any insurance, then why in the world would you want to send money to Washington, DC to pay for it? It just doesn't make sense!

The Community... with a capital C, is the solution... even to campaign finance reform... I live for the day when we never have to hear another politician run a campaign promising things that they shouldn't be providing in the first place. As far as I''m concerned the Federal government should only exist for Foreign Relations and the Military... everything else should be left to the states and local municipalities.

Call me what you will, even if it is a former rodeo clown, with a BS degree in Comedic Justice from the University of South Hawaii Institute of Technology... but one thing I am not is SOLD on Barack Obama, no matter how mixed he is! Sure it gives me another level to relate to him on, but it doesn't pull the wool over my eyes.

I'm as adamant as Yahoo is not to sell out to Icahn in their hostile takeover attempt, where once again, the big dog is trying to pick on the little dog... as far as I can tell without knowing all the financial details, but it does sound like another David and Goliath story to me.

People are always slow to change. Life is so fragile, and resilient, we keep trying to make things better while trying to keep things the same as why "fix" what isn't broken?

Advances in technology have occurred faster than our minds can even conceive, to the point where we can truly get an objective point of view on things. Now that we have this rapid ability to access information on the fly it's easy to see how stupid we are, and how unreliable a community can be just as has been made evident with the latest war over Wiffle Ball in Greenwich, Connecticutt and Sudbury, Massachusetts where kids have been accused of being in a cult for playing this game in a clearing in the woods. Some locals have accused them not only of being in a cult, but of bringing down property values!

Don't you just love this crap? Are they serious, or just a bunch of jokers? Well, at least, they're covering both issues. Not only are they demonizing the kids, but they're just being perfectly honest too. It's about the money!

Yeah, the community isn't perfect either, but at least it's local. What's the bigger issue is healthcare, and at least these kids are playing OUTSIDE! Can you imagine that? They're not inside playing video games! They're OUTSIDE!! They're not being sedentary and lying around eating potato chips, and whatever other box of processed food they can get their hands on! They're OUTSIDE!

Don't you think, that's where the solution really lies... on the wiffle ball field, so to speak? Do we really need to raise taxes higher just because that's the way they do it in Europe, or Canada? Don't you think we just need to PLAY a little more? I think a little playing is just what the doctor ordered! Not a national healthcare plan!

It doesn't matter if it's Athens, GA, or Chebanse, IL... that's where the community is! On the other hand... there is no community, if there aren't any jobs, and this is the most important issue we have in this age of global capitalism, where casualties are simply written off to the numbers game, and flags don't matter. All that matters is your investments, and your accounts. Global capitalism ignores individuals, and communities unless the numbers make it worth caring about.

This attitude is what's wrong with the future of our nation more than anything else in the tangible realm! It's not going to matter whether you have insurance or not, if there aren't any hospitals to go to... unless that's what they're trying to do and make everyone go to Washington for their healthcare! I mean, if that's what they're trying to do, then it makes perfect sense! Vote for Obama!

Otherwise, just stop and really think about this for a few minutes. We're bright people. Can't we figure this out right here at home, instead of believing Washington has the answers? I mean, I guess they'll be bussing the kids to Washington for school every morning too. That's gonna make for quite a commute, and what about the additional fuel costs! See, it just doesn't make any sense, right?

I got nothing else to say, except let's keep our "communities" at home. The Community of Obama is a long way away!

-Gabe

Hello Fox Atlantans!  For those who may not know, you will note from the results shown on the graph below, that it is still a tight race, and even though Hillary shouldn't even be on the ticket at this point, I haven't updated this poll since her dismissal.

So, cast your vote now on the front page of my My Space site, and read the latest on the campaign at www.street-people.com where you can also nominate your favorite bar as your town's campaign headquarters!

Vote Now! We can't let the Chicken Ceasar Pita run away with this!

Thanks,
-Gabe

Well, Peeps,  I've been very busy lately, especially after recently receiving the 2008 Street Person of the Year Award from the folks at Street-People.com.  Yes, that's right, I won an award, and not only that, but they nominated me for President of the United States too!!!  So, drop by my My Space page and cast your vote.  McCain, and Obama haven't even gotten any votes yet, but I running neck and neck with the Chicken Caesar Pita, so I need all your help!!!  Tell your friends to vote too!  In fact, copy and paste this message and send it to everyone in your email address book.  It'll only take you a few quick seconds.

However, and more to the point, I wanted to be sure to pass along this message for your review as it contains my presidential platform, just so we can all be sure we're on the same page.  Check it out, and let me know what you think!  And, don't forget to VOTE!!  We have less than six months to make this happen, so let's get busy!!!

______________________________

June 2008

Written By:
The Boxman
Of Street-People.com



Gabe Newman's Presidential Platform


Tired of Presidential politics? Obama and Hillary bumming you out? Then let's talk about a real bum – Gabe Newman. Gabe is a unique street person. Prior to winning our 2008 Street Person of the Year award he had a dream to rise above his condition of living in his late model American made car and be one of the most recognized men in America, live in a big mansion, have men fear his power and women desire him as he sets the tone of American culture.

Gabe wanted to be our generation's Hugh Hefner. Recognizing that he needs a stepping stone to launch this campaign, he has agreed to use his media exposure as Street Person of the Year, for the good of our country, and run for President.

His thinking is based on all the other bums running for office... "Why not put a real bum in the White House?"

If you think about it (but not too hard, and preferably after you have had a beer or four) it all makes sense.

Gabe is unemployed.  Or, as he expresses it, he is pursuing his dream job; but it is not impacting his revenue streams in a manner that creates a slightly, positive cash flow. Thus, he ends up relying on the American system of social services, the generosity of the common man, and the free peanuts in bars to exist.

Yet, he has a plan to free America of this burden, and the burden of others like him. Elect Gabe Newman as President with your write in ballot this November!! Your tax dollars are paying for both the White House and Social programs that assist people like Gabe so why not put a street person in the White House, then you can save the budget dollars because he will be employed and have housing? I am pretty sure he can do just as good a job as President Bush.

To help make your choice even easier Gabe, has developed his own platform of issues and promises. Screw bogus stimulus packages that were proven not to work over 40 years ago, or Universal Health Care that will be squashed by the drug and insurance company lobbyists. Gabe has programs and promises that may not make you better off in four years, but are sure to distract you from how crappy everything is currently.

Here is Gabe's set of promises that he scrawled on a bar napkin and passed to me to share with you:

1. Hef & Gabe's birthdays will be named federal holidays by executive order. The German's get six weeks off a year and we all are blowing at least two days a year looking at stuff on MySpace at work anyway.

2. Liven up those boring House meeting and debates by adding "The House Hotties" a cheerleading team comprised of one cheerleader from every state. Just like pages but in skimpy outfits and they will have their own calendar for sale the proceeds of which will help to erase the national debt.

3. Beer & Gin added to the list of food staples and are now tax free just like bread. Plus WIC coupons may now be used to purchase these items.

4. All newspapers must have a centerfold. English newspapers have the Page 3 girl (if you don't know about this journalistic soft-core porn check it out) and our papers have nothing creating a "Hot chick gap" that must be closed.

5. ESPN must be included with all cable and satellite TV packages free of charge. .QVC and Home Shopping channels are banned or must share a channel with Telemundo.

6. Every man, woman and child in this great nation gets to BLEEP slap one of the following celebrities of their choice, one time: Tom Cruise, Any of the ladies on The View, Matt Lauer, Oprah, or any male performer that has ever appeared on American Idol.

7. People who drive with their hazard lights on or can't remember to turn off their turn signal are allowed to be run off the road by other drives and the offending driver has to pay to have any damage done to your car in the process of running them off the road to be repaired.

8. No more mixing of two breeds of dogs and giving their offspring cute names like Puggles. They have a name for dogs like that and they are called Mutts.

9. Congressional hearings into if Lindsey Lohan, Brittney Spears, and Jessica Simpson had boob jobs and why cute Kate Hudson has not.

10. Barry Bonds record removed from the record books.

11. National Health Care for everyone. Unfortunately it will consist of Gabe's mom coming to your house, feeling your forehead and saying "You don't have a fever. Go to school/work and you will feel better by lunch."

12. National Job Program: 5 cent deposit on all water bottles, soda bottles, and beer bottles spurring people to pick up all that are thrown onto the side of the street and redeeming them for money.

13. Education Program: Students attending schools of Massage (especially those that teach how to give a Happy Ending), Exotic Dancing, and Casino Worker Training are now eligible for Pell Grants because those guys in India are going to end up with all the computer and call center jobs and you can't export Happy Endings.

To achieve these lofty goals our candidate needs your help. If Obama can raise $280 million on the internet and Hillary can loan herself $20 million, we hope you can spot Gabe a $Dollar so we can launch a media blitz to announce Gabe's run for the presidency.

This is not a donation, it has no tax deductable status, and there is no big operation behind all this except Gabe and The Boxman. We are trying to panhandle our way into The White House. So, hit the PayPal button and give us a dollar. Want to do more drop us an email at streetpeople@gmail.com offering your services to promote our candidate. If you think we are to proud to beg, than you really have not been reading this website.

GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08 GN'08

So, I haven't felt much like writing lately.  It's not that I haven't run across good material.  It's just that when I sit down at the keyboard after working at the Rollery, for less than slaves wages, I'm tired.  Plus, all this bike riding is making me tired too.  But, I had to post this latest encounter as it was nearly unbelievable.

I went to the bar after work the other night.  It was a couple of hours before closing time.  It was a light crowd, as it was a Monday night, but there was one guy sitting at the bar in front of Tony the bartender.  He was wasted, but as soon as I approached the bar, he asked what I was drinking and offered to buy me a drink.  Of course, I obliged him and then tried to strike up a conversation, but this guy was so obliterated he could barely form words.  The next thing I knew his head was on the bar and he was out like a light.

Tony told me he had been buying people drinks during his whole shift and he was already here when he came on for his shift at ten o'clock. Whenever someone would approach the bar he would ask what he or she was having, and buy them a drink as well as one for himself.  So, you can imagine how he got to be in the condition he was. 

Tony woke him up enough to get him to close his ticket, as it was time for last call.  It was a two-hundred dollar tab, and as he scribbled his signature on the receipt, I noticed he also tipped Tony a hundred bucks!  Tony tried to tell the guy not to do that, but he insisted and then laid his head back on the bar.

It was time to go home, but this guy was still here and he wasn't moving.  I suggested he call him a cab, and let them take him home.  Tony felt like he should do more than that for a hundred dollar tip, and looked for his address in his wallet on his drivers license to figure out where he lived, if indeed it was the correct address.  He asked me if I would help get the guy to the cab, and then ride with him to the address and get him home.  I was buzzing pretty good by that time myself, but I agreed, and off we went. 

I mean, it was ridiculous!  The guy couldn't even stand up as we lifted him from the bar stool putting his arms around our necks and hoisting up with full dead weight.  He couldn't keep a grip, and he kept slipping from our grasp and we dropped him a couple of times before we finally made it to the cab, but we got there. 

So, in the cab we got, and off we went arriving at the address within just a few minutes as it wasn't far.  I thought we would just drop him off on the porch, as it was a nice night anyway, but Tony wanted to knock on the door to see if someone was home.  So, we did.

The light came on, and a woman came to the door in her PJ's, startled for a moment.

Tony annoucned, "We have George here.  He just had a little too much to drink tonight, and he was such a good customer, we thought we'd help him home."

The woman exclaimed, "That's fine and thank you very much.  I don't know why he does this, but can you tell me one thing...  where's his wheelchair?"

...

She said she was going flying and left me sitting at the bar.  I told her she shouldn't drink and fly, but she didn't care.  She had to fly!  It was her passion, even though until recently she had only been a flight attendant.

Coming from a small town in the South, and being of mixed decent, she never felt like she fit in.  Her skin was brown, and she was surrounded by black and white.  It made her a spectacle.  She had never really seen another brown person, except for her mother.  In small towns, there's not a lot of mixing going on, you know.

There was a small factory in town where her mother worked when she was a young girl.  They didn't have a lot of money, and then NAFTA hit, and the factory shut down and hauled off to Mexico, just like Ross Perot said it would.  They were without income AGAIN! 

Her mother would take her to work with her because they couldn't afford child care.  So, Yung, as she was called, spent her time in the janitors closet tearing pieces of paper into ever smaller pieces, which is what led her to Quantum Physics, but that's another story!

Now, there she is, flying that plane over the neighborhood causing many to awake in the wee hours!  She left that small town for a better life, and look what she's become; some sort of terrorist, or something!

I don't know what to tell you, but she makes more money than me and she still complains about it, even though she rarely ever has to leave the house.  She owns that frickin' plane, but has somebody else fly all those chartered flights.  All she does is joy ride!  I guess that's what you get to do when you're the boss... and then you get to complain about it!

Then, there it was, a small craft flying right in front of her abou the size of an automobile, but probably closer to the size of a Suburban.  It was silvery in color with windows surrounding its' oval shape and rods with lights at the ends of all white light.

She dodged it with a hard left, but then veered right to become upright again.  Gazing upward about two o'clock at that point she saw it vanish without a sound.

It is egotistical to think that we are the only planet in the universe with life as we know it, meaning organized communities of like beings, but the universe demands that we think that, because it is not provable by the scientfic method that aliens exist. 

She could never get it out of her mind.  What she had seen was real, but of course she was drinking and flying, so who knows?  Her witness couldn't be proven.  Therefore, she could only hold on to her memory, knowing that it wasn't a dream.

She landed the plane with a bumpy bounce just like they do on major airlines except occasionally when it as smooth as butter.  That's when you tell the Captain it was a great landing, and really mean it.  Every so often that happens, and every so often you are sincere.  Regardless, even the bumpy landings are safe, but those smooth ones are also held in memory, just like a UFO sighting.

She got off the plane, as she was alone, even though that wasn't advisable, or legal in her condition.  She knew the peeps, and the peeps were guys, and they wanted her, but she was very selective about her mates. That's what made he most desirable.

I was already in bed by that point.  I could have tried to stop her, but then she would have cried foul and called the cops, as she had done before.  I couldn't afford any cops because I was on the run from the warrants that I didn't feel like I deserved, but that were there.

She came back inside the house, and crawled in bed next to me.  She was warm blooded, and I felt her snuggle up next to me, though I was barely awake.  She'll do what's she's going to do, and if I interfere, then she'll find a way to make sure I pay.  She's the boss.  I'm a former rodeo clown...

She always wrapped herself up next to me, when I wasn't doing the same.  I loved that reciprocity.  It wasn't one sided at all.  Sometimes, I'd hug her, and sometimes she'd hug me.  Sometimes, we'd just go to sleep, but tonight was different.  There was a certain exhiliration in the room, even though I didn't really know where she had been, yet I had certain suspicions about what had occurred. 

I trusted her, without doubt.  Maybe I shouldn't have, but that's just the way it is when you have a vibe with someone.  That's when she laid it on me.  "I saw a UFO tonight." 

She said it exactly as I have written it, with a small dot, or period, at the end of the grand announcement.  I replied with the obvious question, "What?"

She answered, as calmly as she is, "I saw a UFO.  I know I was drinking and flying, but I did, and I don't even believe in them because they can't be proven by science"... once again as calmly as she is.

I rolled over and looked her in her deep brown eyes saying, "You're drunk!"

She responded casually, of course, "I was, but I'm not, and I wasn't then either."

She began to explain the scenario to me, and I could only listen with amazement!  She finished the story, as I almost lay there silent, and naked beneath the sheets.  I asked, "Are you serious?"

She asked, "Are you really a former rodeo clown?"

She said she was going flying and left me sitting at the bar.  I told her she shouldn't drink and fly, but she didn't care.  She had to fly!  It was her passion, even though until recently she had only been a flight attendant.

Coming from a small town in the South, and being of mixed decent, she never felt like she fit in.  Her skin was brown, and she was surrounded by black and white.  It made her a spectacle.  She had never really seen another brown person, except for her mother.  In small towns, there's not a lot of mixing going on, you know.

There was a small factory in town where her mother worked when she was a young girl.  They didn't have a lot of money, and then NAFTA hit, and the factory shut down and hauled off to Mexico, just like Ross Perot said it would.  They were without income AGAIN! 

Her mother would take her to work with her because they couldn't afford child care.  So, Yung, as she was called, spent her time in the janitors closet tearing pieces of paper into ever smaller pieces, which is what led her to Quantum Physics, but that's another story!

Now, there she is, flying that plane over the neighborhood causing many to awake in the wee hours!  She left that small town for a better life, and look what she's become; some sort of terrorist, or something!

I don't know what to tell you, but she makes more money than me and she still complains about it, even though she rarely ever has to leave the house.  She owns that frickin' plane, but has somebody else fly all those chartered flights.  All she does is joy ride!  I guess that's what you get to do when you're the boss... and then you get to complain about it!

Then, there it was, a small craft flying right in front of her abou the size of an automobile, but probably closer to the size of a Suburban.  It was silvery in color with windows surrounding its' oval shape and rods with lights at the ends of all white light.

She dodged it with a hard left, but then veered right to become upright again.  Gazing upward about two o'clock at that point she saw it vanish without a sound.

It is egotistical to think that we are the only planet in the universe with life as we know it, meaning organized communities of like beings, but the universe demands that we think that, because it is not provable by the scientfic method that aliens exist. 

She could never get it out of her mind.  What she had seen was real, but of course she was drinking and flying, so who knows?  Her witness couldn't be proven.  Therefore, she could only hold on to her memory, knowing that it wasn't a dream.

She landed the plane with a bumpy bounce just like they do on major airlines except occasionally when it as smooth as butter.  That's when you tell the Captain it was a great landing, and really mean it.  Every so often that happens, and every so often you are sincere.  Regardless, even the bumpy landings are safe, but those smooth ones are also held in memory, just like a UFO sighting.

She got off the plane, as she was alone, even though that wasn't advisable, or legal in her condition.  She knew the peeps, and the peeps were guys, and they wanted her, but she was very selective about her mates. That's what made he most desirable.

I was already in bed by that point.  I could have tried to stop her, but then she would have cried foul and called the cops, as she had done before.  I couldn't afford any cops because I was on the run from the warrants that I didn't feel like I deserved, but that were there.

She came back inside the house, and crawled in bed next to me.  She was warm blooded, and I felt her snuggle up next to me, though I was barely awake.  She'll do what's she's going to do, and if I interfere, then she'll find a way to make sure I pay.  She's the boss.  I'm a former rodeo clown...

She always wrapped herself up next to me, when I wasn't doing the same.  I loved that reciprocity.  It wasn't one sided at all.  Sometimes, I'd hug her, and sometimes she'd hug me.  Sometimes, we'd just go to sleep, but tonight was different.  There was a certain exhiliration in the room, even though I didn't really know where she had been, yet I had certain suspicions about what had occurred. 

I trusted her, without doubt.  Maybe I shouldn't have, but that's just the way it is when you have a vibe with someone.  That's when she laid it on me.  "I saw a UFO tonight." 

She said it exactly as I have written it, with a small dot, or period, at the end of the grand announcement.  I replied with the obvious question, "What?"

She answered, as calmly as she is, "I saw a UFO.  I know I was drinking and flying, but I did, and I don't even believe in them because they can't be proven by science"... once again as calmly as she is.

I rolled over and looked her in her deep brown eyes saying, "You're drunk!"

She responded casually, of course, "I was, but I'm not, and I wasn't then either."

She began to explain the scenario to me, and I could only listen with amazement!  She finished the story, as I almost lay there silent, and naked beneath the sheets.  I asked, "Are you serious?"

She asked, "Are you really a former rodeo clown?"

She said she was going flying and left me sitting at the bar.  I told her she shouldn't drink and fly, but she didn't care.  She had to fly!  It was her passion, even though until recently she had only been a flight attendant.

Coming from a small town in the South, and being of mixed decent, she never felt like she fit in.  Her skin was brown, and she was surrounded by black and white.  It made her a spectacle.  She had never really seen another brown person, except for her mother.  In small towns, there's not a lot of mixing going on, you know.

There was a small factory in town where her mother worked when she was a young girl.  They didn't have a lot of money, and then NAFTA hit, and the factory shut down and hauled off to Mexico, just like Ross Perot said it would.  They were without income AGAIN! 

Her mother would take her to work with her because they couldn't afford child care.  So, Yung, as she was called, spent her time in the janitors closet tearing pieces of paper into ever smaller pieces, which is what led her to Quantum Physics, but that's another story!

Now, there she is, flying that plane over the neighborhood causing many to awake in the wee hours!  She left that small town for a better life, and look what she's become; some sort of terrorist, or something!

I don't know what to tell you, but she makes more money than me and she still complains about it, even though she rarely ever has to leave the house.  She owns that frickin' plane, but has somebody else fly all those chartered flights.  All she does is joy ride!  I guess that's what you get to do when you're the boss... and then you get to complain about it!

Then, there it was, a small craft flying right in front of her abou the size of an automobile, but probably closer to the size of a Suburban.  It was silvery in color with windows surrounding its' oval shape and rods with lights at the ends of all white light.

She dodged it with a hard left, but then veered right to become upright again.  Gazing upward about two o'clock at that point she saw it vanish without a sound.

It is egotistical to think that we are the only planet in the universe with life as we know it, meaning organized communities of like beings, but the universe demands that we think that, because it is not provable by the scientfic method that aliens exist. 

She could never get it out of her mind.  What she had seen was real, but of course she was drinking and flying, so who knows?  Her witness couldn't be proven.  Therefore, she could only hold on to her memory, knowing that it wasn't a dream.

She landed the plane with a bumpy bounce just like they do on major airlines except occasionally when it as smooth as butter.  That's when you tell the Captain it was a great landing, and really mean it.  Every so often that happens, and every so often you are sincere.  Regardless, even the bumpy landings are safe, but those smooth ones are also held in memory, just like a UFO sighting.

She got off the plane, as she was alone, even though that wasn't advisable, or legal in her condition.  She knew the peeps, and the peeps were guys, and they wanted her, but she was very selective about her mates. That's what made he most desirable.

I was already in bed by that point.  I could have tried to stop her, but then she would have cried foul and called the cops, as she had done before.  I couldn't afford any cops because I was on the run from the warrants that I didn't feel like I deserved, but that were there.

She came back inside the house, and crawled in bed next to me.  She was warm blooded, and I felt her snuggle up next to me, though I was barely awake.  She'll do what's she's going to do, and if I interfere, then she'll find a way to make sure I pay.  She's the boss.  I'm a former rodeo clown...

She always wrapped herself up next to me, when I wasn't doing the same.  I loved that reciprocity.  It wasn't one sided at all.  Sometimes, I'd hug her, and sometimes she'd hug me.  Sometimes, we'd just go to sleep, but tonight was different.  There was a certain exhiliration in the room, even though I didn't really know where she had been, yet I had certain suspicions about what had occurred. 

I trusted her, without doubt.  Maybe I shouldn't have, but that's just the way it is when you have a vibe with someone.  That's when she laid it on me.  "I saw a UFO tonight." 

She said it exactly as I have written it, with a small dot, or period, at the end of the grand announcement.  I replied with the obvious question, "What?"

She answered, as calmly as she is, "I saw a UFO.  I know I was drinking and flying, but I did, and I don't even believe in them because they can't be proven by science"... once again as calmly as she is.

I rolled over and looked her in her deep brown eyes saying, "You're drunk!"

She responded casually, of course, "I was, but I'm not, and I wasn't then either."

She began to explain the scenario to me, and I could only listen with amazement!  She finished the story, as I almost lay there silent, and naked beneath the sheets.  I asked, "Are you serious?"

She asked, "Are you really a former rodeo clown?"

This is my first post on My Fox Boston.  I hope you'll look forward to more.  You can check out my other blogs at www.myspace.com/wickgraves

Thanks,

-Gabe

...

She said she was going flying and left me sitting at the bar. I told her she shouldn't drink and fly, but she didn't care. She had to fly! It was her passion, even though until recently she had only been a flight attendant.

Coming from a small town in the South, and being of mixed decent, she never felt like she fit in. Her skin was brown, and she was surrounded by black and white. It made her a spectacle. She had never really seen another brown person, except for her mother. In small towns, there's not a lot of mixing going on, you know.

There was a small factory in town where her mother worked when she was a young girl. They didn't have a lot of money, and then NAFTA hit, and the factory shut down and hauled off to Mexico, just like Ross Perot said it would. They were without income AGAIN!

Her mother would take her to work with her because they couldn't afford child care. So, Yung, as she was called, spent her time in the janitors closet tearing pieces of paper into ever smaller pieces, which is what led her to Quantum Physics, but that's another story!

Now, there she is, flying that plane over the neighborhood causing many to awake in the wee hours! She left that small town for a better life, and look what she's become; some sort of terrorist, or something!

I don't know what to tell you, but she makes more money than me and she still complains about it, even though she rarely ever has to leave the house. She owns that frickin' plane, but has somebody else fly all those chartered flights. All she does is joy ride! I guess that's what you get to do when you're the boss... and then you get to complain about it!

Then, there it was, a small craft flying right in front of her abou the size of an automobile, but probably closer to the size of a Suburban. It was silvery in color with windows surrounding its' oval shape and rods with lights at the ends of all white light.

She dodged it with a hard left, but then veered right to become upright again. Gazing upward about two o'clock at that point she saw it vanish without a sound.

It is egotistical to think that we are the only planet in the universe with life as we know it, meaning organized communities of like beings, but the universe demands that we think that, because it is not provable by the scientific method that aliens exist.

She could never get it out of her mind. What she had seen was real, but of course she was drinking and flying, so who knows? Her witness couldn't be proven. Therefore, she could only hold on to her memory, knowing that it wasn't a dream.

She landed the plane with a bumpy bounce just like they do on major airlines except occasionally when it as smooth as butter. That's when you tell the Captain it was a great landing, and really mean it. Every so often that happens, and every so often you are sincere. Regardless, even the bumpy landings are safe, but those smooth ones are also held in memory, just like a UFO sighting.

She got off the plane, as she was alone, even though that wasn't advisable, or legal in her condition. She knew the peeps, and the peeps were guys, and they wanted her, but she was very selective about her mates. That's what made he most desirable.

I was already in bed by that point. I could have tried to stop her, but then she would have cried foul and called the cops, as she had done before. I couldn't afford any cops because I was on the run from the warrants that I didn't feel like I deserved, but that were there.

She came back inside the house, and crawled in bed next to me. She was warm blooded, and I felt her snuggle up next to me, though I was barely awake. She'll do what's she's going to do, and if I interfere, then she'll find a way to make sure I pay. She's the boss. I'm a former rodeo clown...

She always wrapped herself up next to me, when I wasn't doing the same. I loved that reciprocity. It wasn't one sided at all. Sometimes, I'd hug her, and sometimes she'd hug me. Sometimes, we'd just go to sleep, but tonight was different. There was a certain exhiliration in the room, even though I didn't really know where she had been, yet I had certain suspicions about what had occurred.

I trusted her, without doubt. Maybe I shouldn't have, but that's just the way it is when you have a vibe with someone. That's when she laid it on me. "I saw a UFO tonight."

She said it exactly as I have written it, with a small dot, or period, at the end of the grand announcement. I replied with the obvious question, "What?"

She answered, as calmly as she is, "I saw a UFO. I know I was drinking and flying, but I did, and I don't even believe in them because they can't be proven by science"... once again as calmly as she is.

I rolled over and looked her in her deep brown eyes saying, "You're drunk!"

She responded casually, of course, "I was, but I'm not, and I wasn't then either."

She began to explain the scenario to me, and I could only listen with amazement! She finished the story, as I almost lay there silent, and naked beneath the sheets. I asked, "Are you serious?"

She asked, "Are you really a former rodeo clown?"