PICS: Buffalo, Limtucky, Self-Portrait

FLASH: Drunken Poet of the Riverlands

This is Aram Steeds, who claims to be the Poet Laureate of Limtucky.  Below is an interview I conducted with him at his tent home behind the sandpit.

HOTEL REVIEW: Cheektowaga Comfort Inn

This hotel is full of middle aged couples here to see Niagara Falls.  Caged chimps on the television behind me, ganging up, screeching little humans they seem.  I might have had too much water today, bottle after bottle of generic aqua vitae.  The water of life, yes; Niagara was the waters for which at least two generations of easterners chose as the starting point of their lives.  Honeymoon central now seems to be a take-two destination for mid-life crisis second, (or third), attempts at love, by the looks of the crowd.  Not so many nineteen-year old virgin brides here to bungalow for a day or two and watch the awesomeness of nature in those falls even as they make their first honeymoon entry into that other frightfully awesome natural game within the game of life, that being first sex with the new hubbs, and, (if lucky), rushing together within the act, losing all identity, and figuring out just what IT is all about.

Too much bottled water, and so it is an accidental and unfortunate detox, the waters rushing through me, diligently sloshing me.
Another lost day to come while people bigger than me decide whether to pay for work.  Another day of niagara bettys and berts, of going to the best supermarket in the world, Wegmans, for zuccini and eggs and kraut; another night of plugging in to laptop, and audiobook, and digital book, and blog, and screenplay program, and drawing tablet; and maybe one of these days some engineer will explain to the money how his computer program couldn't explain to him the obvious signs of the water table, and how ultimately to dig down seven feet now costs double; maybe after the mobilization of heavy equipment, rebar, and labor, maybe we can get a day of work done out here.  But I doubt it.  It's never that easy.  Not with water.

Is life a circle?  I hope it is a river.  But I fear it is a plastic bottle of wa.

AUDIT: Last May Pics

CHAZZ: Rumford Is For Lovers

+ Rumford, Maine was settled in 1782 by a gaggle of dopes out of Shrewsbury, Mass who ran up north as conscientious objectors of the Revolutionary War.  While Rumford has moved on from the fact that these cowardly coats loved their king, there are other bad Shrewsbury habits that have been passed on even up to today's generation of Rumfordians -- for instance: Rumford is the birthplace of the horrific Maine accent, an accent I can only describe as, "Mark Wahlberg ate a jar of paste".

FOOD: Value Meal

23 cents worth of lentils