World Famous comedian, George Carlin, was known for saying that white men who shave their head bald look like freshly circumcised penises. This guys sunburned so he looks more like dog lipstick to me.

Hey You,

It’s #2.

This might sound stupid, but oh well, here goes…

…I don’t watch, listen to or read the news, at all.

As a matter of fact, I pay closer attention to the juicy gossip spread by People magazine than I do USA Today.  And guess what?  I don’t feel like I’m uniformed, in the dark or out of the loop.  Instead I feel the opposite, EMPOWERED.

There is no part of me that feels I’m inferior because I don’t know what “The Puppets” in the press and government  (or the U.N./New World Order) want me to know is “Supposedly” happening in Washington D.C., England, Japan, Africa or Europe.

What would make me feel like a loser was if I spent more time focused on that propaganda/opinion/theory than I did learning about what I could do to be more valuable to myself & to the people with whom I have the pleasure of interacting with, perhaps even influencing and transforming their life for the better. Time well spent for me is focused on aspects of my life I can control — My ability to listen & communicate with intelligence, humor and compassion… The questions I ask myself on a minute by minute basis that allow me to put out a loving and kind vibe… and tools & techniques & examples of how normal people like you and I are bringing home some REAL FUCKIN’ MONEY despite the fact of us being in an economy that’s reminiscent of the Great Depression.

And I’ve gotta tell you, just focusing on those three things is a FULL TIME JOB!!!

News?  Shiiiiit! I don’t have time for that, not if I want to get ahead.  Focusing on what ‘s possible and right with the world takes time, work and sacrifice.  So does focusing on what’s wrong.  The only difference is that when you focus on what’s right, what you can do to improve your situation and opportunities for you to grow and contribute, you don’t end up feeling like a battered, hopeless, raped by the system victim, which in my mind is a dreadful existence NOT worth living. Not, when the life enhancing choice is right in front of your face batting it’s pretty eyes at you, begging for you to grasp it  in your arms and take it behind the junior high and get it pregnant.

Tracy Morgan, engulfed by two of the funniest women on T.V. right now.

For those of you unfamiliar with the comedian, Tracy Morgan, one of the stars on Tina Fey’s show, 30 Rock, the zinger on the end of that last sentence might be lost on you.  No problem, I’ll fill you in.  In some phase of Tracy’s career whenever he saw something he liked, person,place or thing, he’d say, “I want to take you behind the junior high and get you pregnant.” I think it’s HUH-larious and it popped in my head here so I used it.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

This past Christmas, I received one of my favorite gifts of ALL TIME.

This holiday season brought in a great stash, and two of the presents that really stick out in my mind was, Number 1: a Bose Multimedia Sound System and Number 2: the book “All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten” by Robert Fulgham.

As weird as it may sound to die hard Bose fans, which of, I am one, my favorite gift was Robert’s book.  Yet I didn’t realize the book was my favorite gift until I was sitting on the can reading it a couple of days ago and rolled into the small chapter I’m sharing with you here today.

My mom, technically, my step-mom, the only mom I’ve got left on the planet, gave me this book.  It’s her original that she bought back in the 80’s complete with yellowed pages and her name written in ink on the inside cover.  For two months I’d put off even opening the book and just let it sit on the stack of others adorning my counter/bookshelf in the bathroom.

A couple of weeks ago I finally relented and opened it up and I’m forever grateful for having done so. Robert Fulgham’s writing style speaks my kind of fun, loose and enlightening language.  Common sense lessons in common language.  If you’ve yet to give this book a chance, read this teeny chapter below and decide for yourself whether you’d like to…

“GOOD FRIENDS FINALLY PUT THEIR RESOURCES together and made themselves a child.  Me, I’m the godfather in the deal.  I take my job seriously.

So far I’ve introduced the kid to the good things in life–chocolate, beer, cigars, Beethoven, and dirty jokes.  I don’t think he cares much for Beethoven.  But he’s only a year and a half old, and he’ll get tired of chocolate, beer, cigars and dirty jokes.  I haven’t told him about sex yet, but he’s got some ideas of his own already.  I won’t go into details here, but if you’ve ever had a little kid or have been a little kid, then you know what I mean.

Also, I’ve introduced him to crayons.  Bought the Crayola beginner set–the short, fat, thick ones with training wheels.  Every few weeks I would put one in his hand and show him how to make a mark with it.  Mostly he just held it and stared at me. He had a cigar in his other hand and couldn’t tell the difference between it and the Crayola. Then we went through the orifice-stuffing phase, where the Crayola went in his mouth and ears and nose. Finally, last week, I held his hand and made a big red mark with the Crayola on a sheet of newsprint. And WHAM! He got the picture.  A light bulb went off in a new room in his head. And he did it again on his own.  Now, reports his mother, with a mixture of pleasure and pain, there is no stopping him.

Crayolas plus imagination (the ability to create images)–these make for happiness if you’re a child.  Amazing things, Crayolas. Some petroleum-based wax, some dye, a little binder–not much to them. Until you add the imagination.  The Binney Company in Pennsylvania makes about two billion of these oleaginous sticks of pleasure every year and exports them to every country in the United Nations. Crayola’s are one of the few things the human race has in common.  That green-and-yellow box hasn’t changed since 1937. In fact, the only change has been to rename the “flesh” color “peach.” That’s a sign of progress.

The way I know about “flesh” and “peach” is that, when I bought my godson his trainer set, I indulged myself. Bought my very own set of sixty-four.  In the big four-section box with the sharpener built right in. Never had my own set before. Seems like I was always too young or too old to have one. While I was at it, I bought several sets. Got one for the kid’s mother and father and explained it was theirs, not his.

What I notice is that every adult or child I give a new set of Crayolas to goes a little funny. The kids smile, get a glazed look on their faces, pour the crayons out, and just look at them for a while. Then they go to work on the nearest flat surface and will draw anything you ask, just name it. The adults always get the most wonderful kind of sheepish smile on their faces–a mixture of delight and nostalgia and silliness. And they immediately start telling you about all their experiences with Crayolas. Their first box, using every color, breaking them, trying to get them in the box in order again, trying to use them in a bundle, putting them on hot things to see them melt, shaving them on waxed paper and ironing them into stained glass windows, eating them, and on and on. If you want an interesting party sometime, combine cocktails and a fresh box of Crayolas for everybody.

When you think about it, for sheer bulk there’s more art done with Crayolas than with anything else. There must be billions of sheets of paper in every country in the world, in billions of boxes and closets and attics and cupboards, covered with billions of pictures in crayon. The imagination of the human race poured out like a river. Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev used crayons, I bet. So did Fidel and the emperor Japan and Rajiv Gandhi and Mrs. Thatcher and Mr. Mubarak and maybe even the Ayatollah. And just about everybody else you care to name.

Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A Beauty Bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. It would explode high in the air–explode softly–and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth–boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn’t go cheap, either–not little boxes of eight.  Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination.

Guess that sounds absurd, doesn’t it? A bit dumb. Crazy and silly and weird. But I was reading in the paper today how much money the Russians and our congress just set aside for weapons. And I think about what those weapons will do. And I’m not confused about what’s weird and silly and crazy and absurd. And I’m not confused about the lack of, the need for, imagination in high or low places. Pass the crayons, please.

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So, what’d you think?

Like I said, this book “All I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten” speaks my kind of language.  A kind of language that focuses on what’s right instead of what’s wrong, what’s possible, not impossible and how not to take yourself too seriously.

A life spent expanding your focus in these areas is a life well spent.

Have fun making great things happen in your life!!!

Talk Soon,

Note Taking Nerd #2

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