Archive for category Ordained

A MISPLACED AND DISHEVELED LOVE……just joe stalks his way into her heart

edda moserGood Morning Pusillanimous Drifters,

Have you ever seen a mirage?  Something you felt was a sure thing with tactile surfaces and substance only to watch it evaporate?  I ran into one of our own last night and was pleasantly surprised given nobody has seen him in months!  We sat at the bar (surprise) and caught up with missed “rules committee” meetings although I spared him the minutia normally associated with these little soirees’ and cut to the chase.  Interestingly enough there was very little substance but hoped he appreciated the gesture. I asked where the hell he’d been which caused him to change his demeanor and immediately became serious.  He confessed a horrific story but swore me to secrecy.  This is generally not a good idea as my responsibility to this forum supersedes any promise of keeping lids in place.

Before I move into the meat of the story, I’d like to post this disclaimer:  The following story contains graphic language and adult themes; readers sensitive to such are advised to log off now.  Should you choose to read on, you do so at your own risk.

The Management

This curmudgeon like many of us fancies himself an aficionado of the ‘classics’ and maintains he’s the last of the Renaissance Men.  While I have no problem believing this, however I know only of one thing he does well and had already demonstrated his talent by farting “Yankee Doodle” at the bar. He says the older he gets the pursuit of his passion has taken on a sense of urgency so he travels the country to hear everything from Rachmaninoff to George Gershwin.  He is now rushing to see as many classic operas as possible and has what I can only describe as a ‘bucket list’ with each entry prioritized according to historical significance.

Our associate finally took a knee to the groin though.  In a film production of Mozart’s Don Giovanni in San Francisco our good friend became smitten with Edda Moser who played one of the lead characters ‘Donna Anna.’  Evidently Edda is an accomplished soprano and our associate put taking her to bed atop his ‘bucket list’ postponing the other performances.  Our adventurer further confided that he’s been involved in a campaign of letter writing, phone calls, Fed X, and a standing offer of $5,000.00 to simply enjoy a dinner together.  To date, all efforts have gone without reply.  I had no idea, but according to our heart broken friend, even opera singers have ‘groupies.’  I suppose from her standpoint it’s just best not to encourage anyone!

Our committee member was discouraged but not yet ready to give it up and pressed on.  Ms Moser lives in a ‘gated’ community in Westchester County, New York and is married to a heart surgeon so she lives quite well.  Undaunted, he continued his quest by moving into a nearby Motel 6 that had weekly rates and plastic sheets.  He planned to accidentally bump into her creating an opportunity to introduce himself. Unfortunately by the time he discovered her routines she’d spotted him enough times to be convinced he was stalking her.  Before he could execute his plan the police were summoned and our well intentioned ‘Dickhead’ was taken in for questioning.  There’s now a restraining order in place and was forced to leave the county.  Our boy’s family has rotating shifts to keep an eye on him.

It was good to see my old friend but he’s quickly losing what’s left of his feeble brain and seems to lack discernment of right from wrong.  I understand the idea of chasing a dream only to see it obliterated, but to actually stalk someone who obviously has no interest what-so-ever seems a bit demented to me.

Please join me in a moment of silence for this poor son of a bitch.


ZUKI TAKES MUCH NEEDED VACATION…….hoards of revelers heighten experience

Sunday's Breakfast

Sunday’s Breakfast

Good Morning Sand Dwellers,

How does one begin to describe the living hell that is vacationing with the Grizwald’s? I know I’ve had a few rotations but even with my limited reasoning skills I pictured a paradise of white sand, palm trees, and blue waters maximizing my complete relaxation.  How could anything go wrong?

A gentle breeze wafted the smell of coconut sun tan lotion as I trudged awkwardly through the sand dodging the hundreds of bodies absorbing the sun’s vitamin D but feeling good about the $9 sunglasses I’d just purchased.  I felt pretty hip for an old guy.

I struggled with where I should go for my 4-day vacation.  At the end of 2014 I managed to squeeze out 16 days of vacation but spent all of it working in my studio and watching daytime TV.  Please note:  Daytime TV has nothing to offer anyone with a brain.  So I was determined to actually leave town and travel to someplace with palm trees.  I contacted my very good friends euphemistically referred to as “The Grizwald’s” taken from National Lampoon’s ‘Vacation’ series with Chevy Chase.  It was all set.

It’s with a bit of shame I admit most women are far superior to me and suspect most men when it comes to planning.  Not only was I unaware it was ‘Spring Break’s final weekend but was Easter weekend as well.  For those who’ve not had the privilege of visiting Clear Water Beach, FL—traffic headed to the beach and across a two lane causeway backs up to a crawl 15 miles before even reaching the causeway!

Jimmy my host knowing the above to be true and what must have been at considerable expense set us up at three different hotels nestled right on the beach! This kept us at the center of the beach’s nightlife and its many clubs my entire time there.  I think my host knows me pretty well.

I’ve known Jimmy & Stacy since 1992 and watched their three boys grow up until a tearful goodbye when they traded the Rockies for the gulf shores of Clear Water Beach.  As life’s rich pageant never stops, each of their sons has grown to be young men with successful high school & college football careers, smarts, and all of them are good looking.  As one might expect they all have beautiful girlfriends and an entourage of teammates and friends the Grizwald’s have adopted as their own.  I had no idea they’d all be staying with us and our drunken overnight vigils each successive night.  Yikes!

I quickly discovered the key to surviving this late night sardine can was to drink enough and inhale voluminous amounts of accoutrements suitable for the occasion so that you essentially pass-out allowing a modicum of rest.  I was promised at least half a bed each night, but that proved to be a fools dream and was regularly, sometimes brutally, forced off the bed and onto the floor usually on top of another body.

I had contracted a nasty dose of heartburn…I suspect as a result of “Street Taco’s” eaten earlier and needed to seek relief.

I removed myself from the occupied 10 inches of bed and negotiated each body as much as my physical conditioning would allow and almost made it to the door but got snagged on a blanket or towel and kneed an offensive lineman (nickname of bowling ball) in the ribs!  He never moved or even acknowledged the event so I wandered the streets at 5 am looking for a 7/11 to buy medication.  Jeez….

Sunday being the last night we pulled out all the stops and went to Shepherd’s to get out on the dance floor.  For the two or three of you still reading this dry-humpty hump perhaps you can appreciate the fact that at 65 rotations the pickings are pretty slim for dance partners so I turned to technology.  Tinder is designed to find women/men wherever one happens to be using GPS location algorithms and hook up.

I matched almost immediately with Pam a reasonably attractive 59 year old woman and noticed her location was one-tenth of a mile from me.  Using the Tinder text messaging feature I told her where I was and with my directions and landmarks she arrived within 15 minutes sipping on a Rum Runner.  Engaging me in what quickly turned into dirty talk and subsequent high school make out and groping session, it was crystal clear where this was going.

We danced to a few songs then around 2 am and without saying anything to our hosts we ditched the crowd and walked a block up the road to a Quality Inn.  They had one room available and of course raped me at $309.00! The clerk sized it up pretty quickly and wouldn’t come off the price.  So I gladly paid it not only to get lucky, but more importantly to actually have a bed to myself.

We had what could only be described as drunken sex immediately followed by deep snoring.  When I awoke about 10 am Pam had already let herself out without a note or kiss goodbye…but that’s the idea behind Tinder.  I lay there for another 30 minutes basking in my alone-ness before I showered and dried myself with clean dry towels instead of a damp used washcloth!  Heaven!!!

I hadn’t seen my hosts & family for 5 years.  I love the Grizwald’s and the time spent with them and committed to go back at the end of this year’s football season to catch number 3 son as he’s a highly recruited QB for one of Florida’s top high school teams.  They will no doubt be involved in the state championship series.

Whenever I hang with the Grizwald’s it usually takes a little while to put it all in perspective and realize I really did have a great time!  Knowing how this works now, my next visit will include a female masseuse and private sleeping accommodations!


BAGWAN EXPLAINS ST JOSEPH’S DAY……zuki says drinking needs no explanation

Just Joe's personal altar

Just Joe’s personal altar

Good Morning Magniloquent Revelers,

As he often does, our very own Bagwan in his typical pedantic fashion felt the need to dwell among we the unwashed to prevent further embarrassment.  We owe him much for his tireless pursuit of truth & light thus nurturing the uncouth, both  in manners and procedures.  He felt it important to ensure continuity on the upcoming holidays.  Please take a look and if possible read his illustrative decantation and enjoy:


There are two big holidays coming up this week, St. Patrick’s Day on March 17 and St. Joseph’s Day on March 19. I am guessing that all of our readers know what they are supposed to do on St Patrick’s Day but maybe are a little less sure of how to celebrate the Feast of St. Joseph. Well that is why we are here, to make sure you never miss a chance to celebrate and more importantly to celebrate appropriately.

Just to review the symbols of St. Patrick’s Day still include shamrocks, green beer (with subsequent green bowel movements), vomit and sobriety check points. I first started celebrating St. Paddy’s over 40 years ago in my 20’s at a place here in Denver called Duffy’s Shamrock Bar. Duffy was long gone by then and the place was run by a couple of “Irishmen” suspiciously named Lombardi. My friends and I used to arrive before 8:00 am in order to beat the crowd. It is hard to describe the raucous nature of this event but it got so raucous that the Lombardi’s quit opening at all on St. Patrick’s. I guess I decided that was a sign from God and I gave up too. It had just become one of those days when people try too hard to have fun, not to mention it had become one of those days when the local police went out in force looking for those people. For old time’s sake I did have Brian over at the Sporting News pour a little green food dye in my Chardonnay last year.

The lesser known event is St. Joseph’s day or the Feast of St. Joseph. Of course Just Joe gets very excited for this day, not just because of his name sake but because the celebration is built around food. I have copied and pasted the history here:

During a famine in Sicily, when food was scarce and many people were starving, the poor people had only their faith to rely on. St. Joseph was known as the protector of the Holy Family and Italians had strong family relationships, so they prayed for St. Joseph to intercede for them so they could have successful crops. Their prayers were answered, and the famine came to an end. In gratitude, people promised to make annual offerings of their most precious possession – food – in St. Joseph’s honor.

Today, the faithful erect “St. Joseph Tables,” which are set to honor St. Joseph. They are filled with beautiful and often elaborate foods, including meatless dishes such as stuffed artichokes, pasta and fish, as well as breads, cookies, pastries, cakes and other delicacies. Each table is blessed by a priest and presided over by a statue of St. Joseph. A stalk of lily blossoms, votive candles and a lace tablecloth are other typical items used to decorate the feast table.

When you visit a St. Joseph’s table, you often receive gifts of fava beans and breads. Fava beans play an integral part of the celebration because this was the food that saved the Sicilians from starvation. The bean is said to bring good luck, and it is believed that if the St. Joseph’s bread is kept in the home, the family will never starve.

Many Sicilian immigrants (including my own grandfather) entered this country through New Orleans and as a result the city really goes all out for its St. Joseph’s Day celebration including a parade. You combine that with the fact that every day in New Orleans looks like a St. Paddy’s day celebration and it becomes obvious that if you are feeling like a party, that would be the place.

I doubt these two events are going to alter much around Curmudgeon Corner.  They aren’t going to drink any more on St. Patrick’s than they usually do because no one can drink more than they usually do. As far as St. Joe’s goes, good luck finding one of those tables set up around Littlewood.

Oh well, it’s unlikely that all the fava beans and shamrocks in the world are going to change the luck of that crowd.




tax-toon-1094Good Morning Patrons of Circumvolve,

Once again our very own Bagwan has gently lowered himself into our earthly fray and dwelt among we the unwashed.  He has found extra time on his hands which is of course “The Devil’s Workshop” and found himself in mortal combat with Turbo-Tax.  This classic battle between good and evil was played out over the weekend.  We could all learn valuable lessons if but we could find the same bandwidth as our beloved but troubled Bagwan.   Please enjoy:


Weekends this time of year are very boring for me. I prefer to stay out of saloons on weekends because you get a much different element than you do on a Monday afternoon. On Mondays you get guys who for one reason or another don’t have a job. Maybe they are retired, or have a trust fund or maybe they drank too much on weekends and got fired. In any case they are a more docile lot than the crowd you find bellying up to the bar on weekends.

Football solves my weekend blues but once the Super Bowl is over I go into a serious funk. I watched the end of the Daytona 500 but since NASCAR plays their Super Bowl at the start of the season instead of the end, I see no reason to watch the regular season now. I don’t follow hockey, I hate basketball and I only watch golf when Tiger is playing.

I grew up loving baseball in the 1950’s. I could probably still tell you the starting lineup for the 1957 Yankee’s. Somehow I have fallen out of love and I’m not entirely sure why. It probably has something to do with the league being overrun by Latin players. Just to be clear I am talking about players from Latin America NOT American kids of Hispanic heritage. For example Nolan Arenado is a fabulous third baseman for the Rockies who is a Hispanic kid from Newport Beach — in other words, an American. I guess I’m just opposed to America’s pastime being taken over by foreigners of any stripe be they Latin, Japanese or Cossacks. The Japanese deal with this by only allowing 4 foreign born players on any team’s 25 man roster.

This past weekend was a little better. Thanks to Daylight Savings time Sunday was only 23 hours long (every little bit helps). The other thing that took up most of my Saturday is that I decided for the first time ever to do my own taxes on Turbo Tax. That should give you an idea of just how bored I am that a 23 hour Sunday and doing my taxes both cheered me up a little bit.

Looking back now, the tax preparation should have taken about an hour and a half. In my case it took from 9am to 5pm although that includes a half-hour nap. And like any good drama my tax preparation was divided into three parts. Act I was start on TurboTax and get stuck and delete, Act II was start on H&R Block get stuck and delete. For those of you who demand a happy ending you will be glad to know that in Act III I went back to TurboTax, got stuck again but after an hour on hold with the service desk my problem was solved and my returns have already reached their electronic destinations.

Having gone through the process with both TurboTax and H&R Block I consider myself something of an expert now. I am not saying you would want me to do your taxes but in the tax preparation food chain I clearly rank above those idiots you see on street corners dressed up like the Statue of Liberty waving a “walk-ins welcome” sign.

I have a couple of observations that I would like to share after having been guided through the maze of possible deductions. First it is clear that JJ should be declaring Zuki a dependent – or is it a despondent. Second, there have to be at least 5 different “disability credits” that Cush could qualify for.

I did this not only to wash away my boredom but also to save money. I saved about $500 compared to what my CPA charged me last year but who knows if I got it right. Maybe I cheated myself or maybe I shouldn’t have taken that credit for having a blind butler. It will be interesting to see what the IRS thinks of my effort – stay tuned.


ZUKI LEAVES VIADUCT FOR ‘WALK-ABOUT’……..johnny appleseed turns over in grave

johnny-appleseedGood Morning Affixed Ones,

As you travel about ensconced in work, life, and love….take a moment and think how much better off you are than me. I know this is a familiar refrain, but after all isn’t it always about me?

I don’t mean to complain, and I know life isn’t always fair, but well….yes I do, because it’s often brutal when others have a place to hang their hat, take off their shoes, or even plant a garden and I don’t. Not that I have any great desire for cultivating squash, it just seems my part in life’s rich pageant is to be like Kwai Caine the aimless wonderer of TV’s Kung Fu fame searching for peace and joy.  But all he ever got was abused of course, but fortunately for him as well as the plot—he was skilled enough to survive and occasionally get laid.

This no longer does it for me and must find a way to change. If I’m going to assume the mantle of vagabond, it’s high time for me to leave the comfort of my hovel and become one.

This kerfuffle called my life these last few years has made me strong insomuch as being prepared emotionally for the worst, but long to achieve something significant. John Chapman or “Johnny Appleseed” had little in the way of worldly possessions, but spent most of his days wondering the valleys of Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana planting seeds, helping settlers create orchards, and offering saplings to pioneers headed west. He became a recognizable character given his shoddy dress and eccentric manner but was welcomed into most everyone’s home as a beloved member of the family. In today’s 21st century universe, this behavior would no doubt get you killed or at the very least put way for a while, but his efforts were appreciated and noted in his lifetime.

I’ve decided to go for a ‘walk-about’ and like Forest Gump see America on foot. I don’t believe I’ll be doing much running though, but I purchased a large backpack, sleeping bag, fishing pole, and as much food as I can carry. I’ve created a special pouch for my Iphone w/solar charger to facilitate posting accounts of my journey west. Once I hit the coast, I’ll head north until I reach Anchorage. “God willing and the creek don’t rise,” I intend to walk, but will accept rides if offered. I’m not sure what I’ll find, or how it’ll all turn out, but at least I’ll be in control of my destiny.


I found my way to Morrison and managed to kill much of the afternoon getting there. Although the days are getting longer its dark by 6:45 PM so I began to look for a place to bed down for the night. I decided to travel up the canyon toward Evergreen thinking there’d be several spots I could hunker down without being bothered or arrested.

I walked through the little town and headed up Bear Creek Rd that runs along Bear Creek toward Idledale. I found a place on the furthest southern point in Red Rocks Park. Didn’t see anyone so I found a spot close to the water (I love the sound of running water) and was sheltered from view. I broke out some canned peaches and set up camp such as it was.

It was a good location as I laid out my bag on a sand bar with few rocks. There were a few minutes before it would be totally dark so I tried my luck fishing and managed to catch a little Brook Trout on my second cast. This good fortune would indeed complement my peaches. I cleaned my catch leaving the entrails on the river’s edge. After fashioning a skewer from a forked branch, I cooked my meal over a small fire made using lighter fluid and small dry twigs rotating the fish until cooked. It was a fine meal, and all in all it was a great first day. Given my lack of physical conditioning though, I was extremely tired and ready to get horizontal so I packed it in for the night.

I’m not sure how long I’d been asleep, but was awakened by splashing sounds that couldn’t have been more than 10 feet away. Getting up on one elbow, I looked in the direction of the splashing and immediately shit my pants! An adult Bear looked to be munching on the fish entrails I’d left earlier (very stupid).

The Beast had finished it off in seconds then began sniffing the air. I knew I was dead. I quickly lay down, placed my head inside the bag and played possum. I could hear the Bear’s heavy steps as it walked toward me and as one might imagine, I rediscovered God. He/she sniffed the length of the sleeping bag until I could feel the Bear’s hot breath on the top of my head. It pushed me back and forth like a cat playing with a ball of yarn further adding to my anxiety. I continued to lay motionless, and after more pawing and sniffing the animal decided to move on.

Waiting to move until I was sure this Ursus americanus was safely away, I finally got out of the bag. It took me 30 minutes to quit shaking. But once composed, I gathered my things and headed down the creek until I found the Morrison Hotel and called a cab. On my ride back I wondered if Johnny Appleseed ever got face to face with a bear. It’s probably a good thing he didn’t, or no doubt we’d have fewer apples around.

As you’ve probably guessed I’ve called off the ‘walk- about’ for now. I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a 21st century Kwia Chang. After all, who am I trying to fool here? Are we ever really in control of our own destiny?

Anyway I had to burn the sleeping bag in addition to my underwear. Jeez.