Saturday, December 31, 2005


"To understand truth one must have a very sharp, precise, clear mind; not a cunning mind, but a mind that is capable of looking without any distortion, a mind innocent and vulnerable."
--J. Krishnamurti


Thursday, December 29, 2005


OK... it's alittle sideways. I always suspected that the girl was a little devil... but you can see the fire in her eyes, eh?


Tuesday, December 27, 2005


I came across an old paper by CER Bruce on the origins of stellar novas that was pretty interesting... enough of the technical stuff to make it worth reading, but not so mathematical that it might scare the average shopper. I remember Bruce from my childhood. He wrote a text on astro physics that I used to carry around with me in my dissipated youth. Enjoy.


Saturday, December 24, 2005

~Stitched Up~

I just got a note from Eric and in trying to send him a link about a new CD of Herbie Hancock that has a John Mayer cut on it I realizsed that it wouldn't link in the comments. So here it is:

Stitched up.

So there Eric. Mery Christmas by the way.



So you tell me... could this rotation of the gyre get any stranger? I drifted in to a fast food joint this morning for a couple of egg/sausage/bisquits and the gal who waited on me at the drive through window wanted to chat. She was rail thin and had junkie written all over her. And she had four little tear drop tattoos down the left side of her face.

"So when is your old man getting out of the joint?" I asked, just making some conversation. You don't see many jailhouse tats in Imperial Polk County. I mean... where the fuck was I anyhow?

" He ain't. The dumb fucker capped a guy with a plastic shank in the bathroom there at Angola two years ago and he was shagged two weeks later by some of the guy's banger buddies."

"I guess that's reason enough to move to Florida."

"Yeah. But things are OK. Me and the kid got a pretty nice trailer out of the hurricane deal from FEMA." She handed me a grease stained brown paper bag that was harboring two bisquits and some leathery scrambled eggs. Some asshole behind me honked his pickup horn. Guess he was in a hurry to get back to his rented TV. The gal looked up and I could see the look of pure hatred that she shot at the goofy swamprat behind me... he subsided into silence.

"Well, hang in there girl. And.... Merry Christmas."

"Same to ya." She brushed at the blue tears with an unthinking hand. I noticed that she had a Outlaw property tat on the back of her hand. My kind of woman.

Ain't life grand?


Thursday, December 22, 2005


There aren't many of these Grumman Mallards around any more. I think that the shuttle service to the Bahamas provided by Chalks is the last of the commercial flights supported by the seaplanes. This is a shame... 19 lives too.


Friday, December 16, 2005

~ vote! ~

I heard on the radio that a typical American turnout for a presidential election rarely exceeds 50%... and this most recent Iraqi effort at nationbuilding brought in over 70% of the registered voters. Excuse me while I'm just impressed as I can be. And... several of the slackers in my office here in Winter Haven showed up today with index fingers soaked in symbolic blue ink. Is it possible that these Iraquis can teach us blase Americanos some lessons in the power of freedom in people's lives?


Wednesday, December 14, 2005


I might as well admit it. I hate Christmas. Aside from the mawkish sentimentality of the season as well all the deliberate pandering to unfulfillable wishes and the subsequent adjustable accomodation to good intentions... it's also the time of year we all set aside to lying to ourselves and to each other. Example: most people know that I don't drink much. I'm careful to say that because several of my best friends, women who are important to me... make good livings by lubricating the general public. But in my business I find myself rubbing up against a number of attorneys and the guys invariably feel obliged to send me a gift of a bottle of hooch this time of year. Now that would be OK if the guys were actually intentional in the effort. I'll take a drink with them if they really want to lift one with me, but I get these boxes... pre wrapped by the lizards at the ABC store no doubt... of booze because the giver thinks that they "should" send me a gift. Not so boys!

All I want for them to do is properly represent my clients in the courts and at least give lip service to honesty, probity, and all that good stuff. My personal attorney and I agreed years ago to forego the gift giving ritual. But.... he still remembers my birthday... as do I has, as well as the birthday of my kid, and a few others. Nice guy... and the best criminal lawyer in Orange County. Want a referral? Happy to oblige you. But... save the gifts for a more meaningful venue.

I know... I know.... Bah, humbug. I appreciate the intentions, but most of these guys don't really want to do more than just wish me a "Merry" then they can move on to the more serious business of raping the system.

Actually, my antipathy towards the season pre-dates my time as a bondsman. It comes from teaching school: pitiful creatures that they all are. I taught school for about twenty five years and Christmas was a very unforgiving time of year for these folks. They want desperately to be middle class, but they ain't. Most teachers make around thirty K a year, that's just above the povery line. Teachers and cops both are just above the cutoff for food stamps. But over and over I met teachers who would actually borrow money so that they could pretent to be middle class for Christmas, blow a bunch of money on gifts and then spend the rest of the year repaying the credit card company for their foolishness.

Just gives me a giant pain in my ass. That's all.Sorry. I'm really not a bah-humbug type, it just gives me a pain in my ass.


Sunday, December 11, 2005


Homeostasis. That's when a thing quits growing or changing or moving. Homeostasis is basicly when you're dead. Maxed out.... no mas. That's interesting, because nobody likes too much change, but nobody wants to be dead either.

Example: I mostly live a life of confirmed batchelorhood. I've got stable, ongoing relationships with several different women... they all know each other and share the usual war-among-women BS that comes with tolerating me. These are girls who have known me long enough to know what a terrible mistake it would be if they were to sudden go crazy and marry me... but I make fairly good company for a long weekend. Lousy husband material but pretty good friend. I was a lousy husband when I was married... I might not make it home for days at a time... not doing anything bad usually, just doing something more interesting than going home. Most women need for the hubby to be properly house trained.... bring the check home and don't make messes... be properly wifeocentric. Sorry. When I was married to Katie's mom I made her life a misery. Not on purpose... I'm really not that kind of a shit (maybe some other kind). But I was mostly interested in going to graduate school back in those days and working... and lets face it, what I was doing was more interesting than being a husband. See? Not evil or mean... just selfish and guyocentric. The usual kind of male jerk.

Because of this, I've evolved into a guy who has relationships that are different from most of the traditional models. Over the years I've found myself eating dinner in bars. Rather than go home I'll appear in the early evening looking for company and dinner... and usually nothing else (some exceptions, but mostly just feed me and pretend to fuss over me and I'm happy).

But I've found that the same processes of upheaval impact me as they do every other selfish male -- my friend Elaine is moving from Otters restaurant... taken a job with Darden at a Bahamas Breeze eatery in Altamonte... more money, more security, every reason to move... but for the fact that selfish Bob may have to eat more seafood. I suppose that's OK, but it's a jolt. It's like that old Yeates poem... ever expanding in the widening gyre... and what rough beast rears it's ugly head... homeostasis.

Years ago I used to go eat with a gal named Jessie who ran a bar/restaurant in Winter Park called Harper's Tavern. Great place. A landmark. Whole generations of lawyers and Rollins students can harken back to hanging in that watering hole... a real honest to goodness copper clad bar... Baileys and espresso and a band in the back room. It was attached to a fairly good French restaurant and Jessie would just bring me whatever she wanted and I'd eat it. See? No committments, no wimmin troubles, just pay the tab and get up off your ass and see you tomorrow. The old Harpers burned down and we were all thrown out on the street. Things change. I'll still go down to Jessie's condo in Wintie Park and drag her out for dinner occasionally, but it's not the same. For one thing, if I take her out people come over and we wind up doing the "I remember Harpers" routine while they think that me and Jess are married and we ain't. The girl is much too smart for that. Her words are "I'd rather take a beating", but that's because she's been married in the past and didn't like it.

Me... I'm just trying to get fed. But I miss picking the lady up at Harpers, taking her to the old Bubble Room up the street ( mmmm... fattening!), then taking her back to her own bar and getting her a little tiddley. Me? I don't drink enough to be a trouble maker. Truth.

Of course, the old Bubble Room is gone too these days. Everything changes. Now Otters is gone too. Next Friday is the last day to go see the Redhead in her natural lair. Then we'll all have to eat the seafood special. Hopefully, Darden will keep itself together. That's the chain that owns Red Lobster. Some buddy of hers in the company has been after her for a couple of years to come over and manage one of the chain stores and the owners of the marina where Otters is sold the whole shooting match to some other corporate gobbler...

The law of nature: homeostasis means death. Grow or die. Change means movement and movement means life. If you're too still they'll come and throw dirt in your face.

But I do miss Harpers. Same with Otters. I'll probably take the amazingly lovely Jessie to the last night of Otters. She and Elaine (the official Redhead) can talk about the good old days and take turns abusing me. Maybe this is what old age is -- a long line of funerals and celebrations commemorating the residue of caring without the odium of ownership. Like I said, I'm just trying to get fed by someone that I like. The women know each other and agree that I'm worth something, they're just not sure what.


Sunday, December 04, 2005


There probably is a good reason for it. I'm busy managing stress and angst at the same time. I've been at it for the last three weeks and Xmas is staring me right in the face. I got my friend Tom an ebookman for Christmas. Hopefully, he'll like that. He can download whole text files and then pour them through the thing. And he can get audiobooks and pump them through the thing too. The trouble with trying to get him gifts is that it's impossible to get anything for him cause he already has everything in the world he wants. Boys with toys... it's tough to get guys with money anything that means anything. I'm just filling my head with uncertainty because I'm pissed at getting stuck with work on a Sunday. What crap. I left DJJ because of being overloaded and now I'm falling into the same trap here. Got that ole sinking feeling. Maybe I should just pack it in and retire for real. That and I miss Elaine... and my kid... and Mary Alice... and all the rest of these wimmins (as the Gutrumbled guy says) who fill up my loose change kind of existence. Poor Bobby.

But I feel as if the holidays are rushing up on me. Probably because I'm worried about my damned car. The automatic transmission seems to be shifting oddly. This is a lousy time for that thing to crap out on me. And it's cold! What the heck is that all about? I may have a new guy to work on things down here in Winter Haven. There's a guy over on Ave. G named David who helped me with the overheating problem about a month ago that I liked. I'll take it to him tomorrow and see what he says. Interesting... home isn't home until you can find a mechanic you trust to work on your junk. Until then you find yourself strategising about how to get the broken car back to Winter Park. Jeez. What a life.

In the meanwhile I'm fooling around posting old pictures of dead girlfriends. Where did that come from? I should have thrown all that crap out years ago. Thought I had... but noooo. Keep picking at the old scabs and sure enough, you find yourself bleeding. Pictures of Joanie. She was an old old friend. Prescription junkie mostly... I remember her sitting in my mother's Buick cooking up a Dilaudid. I used to call her the Queen of the Number 4s. I'm still amazed that I drifted through that period of my life without ever actually doing any drugs. Nope... but I had all these junkies around me. Ah, the 60s. I guess if I hadn't gotten into the service I would have probably joined Joanie and Hurricane Lorri. Click... you're dead. Strange that I'm thinking about those girls now... years and years later.... all that madness and wasted life. What was that old Neil Young song? I hear you knocking on my back door... I hear you baby can I have some more... Oh, the damage done. I suppose it's because this job that I've got now is just weighing me down and making me aware of other people's stupidity. Like the waste of being a junkie. Joanie was a good woman, an talented and creative musician, a danger to herself but to noone else. Ah.. forget it Bob. She's dead.

I just hope this job isn't gonna turn into another monster like DJJ did. It creeps up on you... mostly taking over your free time... just this once you know... but then you find yourself losing a Saturday here and a Sunday there and eventually you find yourself working 7 days a week shorthanded and you begin to feel like the world's biggest jerk because your personal space becomes narrower and narrower until you just vanish. What I need right now is enough time to get over to the coast and check on my boat. Need to see if the damned thing is still afloat. But nooooo.... I have to wander around Winter Haven looking for pin headed parents who can't seem to abuse their children during regular business hours. Buncha idiots. And... one of the allegations that I got this morning is about an incident that is 3 months old. Three months! What the hell is that all about? And why call it in now? I just don't get it.


Saturday, December 03, 2005


I was cleaning out an old drawer of pictures and came across an old pic of Joanie, queen of the Number 4s. Christ, those were the bad old days. That girl and another old timer Hurricane Lorri, ODed on some Mexicar Tar in Lorri's bathroom. Joanne had a skill... he could pee down into a long neck Bud bottle without spilling a drop. Took me to Germany one time and I lost her there for three weeks. Wandering around the train station looking for junkies in closets. Damn... I used to be more fun than I am now. I miss Joanie but I damned sure don't miss Germany. What a trip.


Modigliani did a portrait of his redhead.

My redhead is on the left. I'm thinking that I got the better deal.