I want, I want, I want

I want the Deja View channel, just for Saved by the Bell. I may actually, literally, physically order it for $2.95, just to have the background option of 6 episodes a day, for those 6 or so times every day when my life feels empty without it.

I want the boys to win tomorrow, and 8 more times after that, so I can finish writing the greatest song ever, about Ryan Kessler, called: My Favorite American.

I want a rancher-style home on a golf course in Eloy, Arizona.

I want to thank my wonderful employer for starting this year's Half-Day-Friday Summer Program on May 20th, the very day millions of loyal May-Long campers leave for Harrison. Everyone else booked the whole day off, because they hadn't already sacrificed their last 4 vacation days on the upcoming MB Vegas Stag. I cautiously stand by my decision, and have wagered much on the after effects of 4 more years at the MGM Grand. Days, years, it's all the same in the soaking desert of Adult Disneyland.

I want to commend my Dad for barbecuing a delicious salmon on this fine Mother's Eve. I want my cat to stop eating my salmon-flavoured fingers. I want all dump trucks to stay off Highway-99-South tomorrow morning.

I want to party, I want a cookie, I want to stay up.

Me me, mine mine, now now now.

May 1, 2011

I shot a 58 at Kensington today, and when I got home, my celebration was highlighted by a half bottle of leftover Wild Turkey from Docc and I's Friday fun. Enjoyed by me right now, spillfully, on the day they finally killed osama bin laden. I call no victory from this, only a bandaged ankle, eventually healed, knowing the next side-swipe would happen again at nearest opportunity.

Here I am, trying to write a new acoustic album, of sloppy love songs, when my golf game suddenly improves, and priorities get quickly re-adjusted. Meanwhile, we loom over another oppressive federal election, and beg for something that will un-affect our paycheque dependance. No dice. Get used to the raw assumption of doomed forecasting. Dick off, I can't concentrate on golf with your real-life distractions.

I am more happy about my birdie putt on 18 than the last breath of a terrorist icon. But of course, I would trade the latter for a ladder, especially with the water on 16, and even though I flopped my tee shot on the fringe, and 2-putted a safe par, securing my 6-shot lead. Some days, that river sucks back, and swallows the hopes of lowly employed gamblers on their way to a higher nothing, but not today.

The last, and most important drink of my Sunday night, resides right now, in my favourite drinking glass. Water with ice cubes, stop signs and alarm clocks, slip-and-slides and soiled dreams. Today was a day of victories, large but mostly small. With stories told using commas, nervously, in uptight places. No royals were married, and everything changed.

With enough practice, I'll frame Clay's money, but not today. -CWP

"The towers are gone now, reduced to bloody rubble, along with all hopes for peace in our time, in the United States or any other country. Make no mistake about it: We are at war now — with somebody — and we will stay at war with that mysterious enemy for the rest of our lives." -HST