30 Seconds

It’s funny how I think about stuff and remember people from my past. While working around the house late this afternoon I thought about a kid I knew in grade school. Maybe I was thinking about the past because the kids are away at school and Bek is working on a theater project and the house is unusually still.

His name was John. He went by “JP”. For some people initials don’t work. My brother Chris is a “CJ”. I think he tried it once but it was just trying too hard. John, on the other hand, was JP.

I remember him as a kid. He was bigger than me, and really most of us. He had wavy sandy brown hair and blue eyes that saw to your soul, making any space between you and him closer. He wore sweaters. Brown ones. Sometimes stripes. And he was friendly.

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Offensive Skull

A friend recently forwarded a link to my blog to her girlfriends. They said they couldn’t make it past the skull and didn’t read. “Can’t Vince just put his picture on there?”

Look, no one wants to see this puss. If Uncle Fester and Homer Simpson had a kid…. That’s me!

A skull. Really? “It’s scary.” It “offends” them? They’re put off by a red, white, and blue skull but not our political and societal decadence? If that’s the case, they shouldn’t read my stuff and should stay in the warm fuzzy comfort zone of sheeple-TV…the great think tank that is “The Voice,” or “Ellen”…. Or maybe the anti-American, skin-crawling, foreign funny guy Trevor Noah.

“What’s the point behind the skull Vince?”

I’d like to say there is some deep meaning, like… it’s meant to identify the transparent, bare-bones reality of America. In reality, I see myself as a patriot… and I like skulls. But if you REALLY think I should change it, let me know. Maybe puppies… or balloons…

What’s your diagnosis?

YOU’RE MENTALLY ILL!

Thank you for your professional opinion… I mean diagnosis. Now I can start fires, say anything I want, run over baby ducks at the park, run naked through the YMCA, and engage in any kind of abhorrent antisocial behavior. And now that I’m “mentally ill” I can expect all of the protection and empathy that society offers the infirm. (Because I’m craaaaaaaazzzy. Wink wink.)

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Frog Soup

I think I’m tolerant. Mostly. I mean, I get kinda frustrated when I go through the McDonalds drive through for a medium coffee and routinely get the wrong change, but only because I’m pretty sure there’s a screen that recommends how many pennies, quarters, and ones to give back from a five when my coffee costs a buck-twenty-six. I’ve even tried to make it easy, digging in my change cup for a quarter and a penny to hand with a five-dollar bill. But my success ratio is dismal. I got $3.81 back today. Not $4.00, $3.81. I assume the difference was a tip. I couldn’t muster the energy to attempt to explain it to the cashier.

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