P. B. Friedman
Touch magazine profile. My name is Paul Friedman and I write off. The wall poems, which people don't like and good ones that they do. I'm a sports freak.
The last sentence no longer holds true. My interests are dominated by feminism.
Maybe I have been trying to convert my current Number Two sedative into, as it were the old board game Easy Money. " You don't have to shout or leap about and ya' know it won't come easy " . Pay your dues, if ya' want to sing the blues and ya' know it just ain't easy. Will those old Jersey hits ever cease coming?
Country Club Boulevard
For what seemed like forever but was just, one would guess, a few years I participated in pick up ball games usually on Saturdays. Baseball was generally the sport, although there were two other options, including football and versions of hide/seek/tag.
" You are in your own little world, are you not " , said someone to me, just not in those exact words. If I recall I had no interest in whatever he was insinuating ( somehow I imagine this now seventy something year old guy has little if any even ex Ivy League fake prestigious instructor memories of his own smart ass attitude that day ) . Virginia, there may be a Santa and a Clause or two but I challenge you to ever introduce me to an Ivy Leaguer worth two shakes of a lamb's tail, to be polite about things. Do not let us get started on the relative worth of said grad versus what comes out of the space under the sheep's tail.
I was thinking of a few more things that posterity cannot do without yesterday morning. The best story I have written ever was a Junior High School piece titled Worm Man Versus The Criminals Of The Underworld. I am a big fan of the sexual abilities of these creatures; I liken myself to a worm and have been referred to derisively as having their basic characteristics. In fact a relative in law said that I personally do not need any one other person; seemingly a statement that could be interpreted in different ( perhaps some rather dark if not morbid ) ways. To present a balanced view of our non relationship, she in her almost late seventies will converse with me on the phone at most once a month for a very limited time lately.
Music To My Ears
Do ya' luv her meddling? Wanna sea her peddling? Have you met her bodily ( and soul ) ? You been her baby daddy. Once a love is goin'...last seen upon library steps.
Mutual Of Oh My Gosh
Here's the ( Snoopy referencing The Red Baron? ) dedicated episode prone blogger tackling yet another Mission impossible Challenge. Odds of even gaining entry seem slim. I mean I have no way of challenging for cash prizes or recognition as usual, only this time I cannot meet the submitted photo qualification.
Sequels tend to ordinarily not equal their forebear/ progenitors whatever those big words mean. I never was going to get away with sitting through vocabulary development in college ( I would have been easily identifiable as a ringer ) .
Watching The Tide
In answer to the prompt, no I am not at all prepared to enter yet another goody two shoes phony baloney overpublicized advertisement ( read: Challenge Contest ) for this excuse for a blog site.